#since they are together forever they are going to do ALL of them
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Your Ride, Best Trip
Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time
Word Count: 9,001
Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader
Rating: 18+ Explicit
Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing
Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3
A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time
Marcus Pike is perfect.
He’s your dream man.
He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.
He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place.
He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees.
He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally.
See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit.
How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own.
So you asked him what was up, and he told you.
Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it.
You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.
After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.
You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too.
And then he finally kissed you.
It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight.
You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things.
But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.
You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him.
It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt.
You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing.
His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow.
When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore.
You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training.
“Sweetheart—”
His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager.
“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated.
But it’s fine. He’s so worth it.
You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed.
“What do you want?”
His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in.
“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.”
But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine.
“You’re lying.”
You sigh and close your eyes.
“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.”
You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty.
“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers.
It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—
“I have a small dick.”
His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.
He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment.
“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?”
He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction.
“Marcus…”
“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“
“Marcus.”
You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.
“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?”
He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little.
“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs.
You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation.
Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not.
“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him.
He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his.
“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”
“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?”
He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead.
“Everyone?”
You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you.
He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up.
“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”
He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at.
“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?
All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”
He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you?
“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.”
There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze.
“Really?”
You scoff.
“Really really.”
A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth.
“Why?”
“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”
His face flushes, but he lets you continue.
“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”
“Me too,” he whispers.
“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”
You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine.
“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah… For one, your hands.”
“My hands?”
He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment.
“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”
He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back.
“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”
He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.
“And I love to give head.”
“Jesus.”
“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”
He says your name again, this time with a warning tone.
You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted.
“You’re not lying.”
His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again.
“Fuck.”
It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs.
“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.”
That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth.
His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you.
You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction.
You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long.
Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs.
You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt.
Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking.
But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved.
He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice.
“I think about you, too. All the time.”
You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest.
“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?”
Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter.
“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”
Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod.
He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience.
His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt.
“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?”
The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss.
“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”
You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head.
He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you.
He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before.
“Marcus—”
“I know, I know.”
His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers.
“Can I?”
You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch.
“Oh, are you that sensitive?”
His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck.
“It’s just you.”
And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief.
And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans.
“So sweet, huh?”
You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess.
He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips.
“That’s all for me?”
There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.
But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again.
He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip.
“Can I take these off, sweetheart?”
The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you.
“Yes, please.”
He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes.
Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs.
You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face.
It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control.
“You sure you’re ready?”
You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.
“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”
He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him.
The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest.
He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels.
His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.
“You’re soaked.”
His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest.
The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure.
Oh, he’s fucking good at this.
There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else.
You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding.
“That feel good, sweetheart?”
Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers.
“You have no idea.”
He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face.
“I think I do,” he mumbles.
He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side.
You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles.
All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself.
You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together.
Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing.
But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids.
You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours.
“That’s it. This what you needed?”
A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.
He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder.
“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?”
You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs.
You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction.
He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants.
“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.”
You huff.
You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it.
Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours.
“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe.
He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.
He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs.
He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out.
All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation.
The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again.
Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you.
All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold.
Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs.
A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever.
His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.”
You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust.
His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there.
It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake.
“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.”
To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping.
All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue.
As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him.
His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him.
He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach.
Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers.
His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that.
And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is.
You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him.
Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat.
“So… How’d it compare?”
Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question.
“Pardon?”
But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them.
“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?”
You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up.
“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are.
He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs.
You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs.
“Better,” you whisper.
You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back.
And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver.
You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips.
You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants.
He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension.
His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little.
But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard.
But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up.
“Will you let me suck it?”
All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods.
“Please.”
It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction.
He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants.
You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough.
So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go.
Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you.
You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel.
He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock.
His little cock.
It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess.
And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing.
You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.
When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this.
You’ll make him look, one way or another.
For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention.
He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head.
And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth.
It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him.
You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show.
You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to.
Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens.
“Fuck, sweetheart.”
Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more.
You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool.
It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere.
You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock.
“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”
Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself.
He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds.
He says your name.
You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls.
He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked.
“Sweetheart, stop, please.”
You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face.
“Are you okay?”
He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face.
“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”
“Marcus.”
His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question.
“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”
He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face.
“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”
His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe.
“Yeah? You still want it?”
His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek.
“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.”
You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away.
“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?”
You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later.
For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.
The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body.
He’s so hot.
It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation.
“Please,” you whisper.
He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed.
“Perfect, sweetheart.”
He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit.
“Are you ready?”
You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling.
You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time.
You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.
“Oh fuck.”
You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense.
“Fuck, Marcus, please.”
You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you.
He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him.
But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles.
And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm.
“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out.
Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh.
“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”
A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it.
“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”
You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display.
“Yes ma’am.”
Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up.
He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist.
His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you.
But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them.
His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.
Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.
“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?”
Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit.
“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”
His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight.
Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy.
There’s screaming.
You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts.
“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”
“In me.”
Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene.
His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks.
He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps.
His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair.
“Jesus,” he says.
Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again.
“Huh?”
God, how are you ever going to move again?
“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”
Christ, why is he using such big words?
“What are you talking about?”
He clears his throat.
“You like— You squirted?”
You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly.
“I what?”
You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright.
“Yeah, like, a lot.”
He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out.
You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.
“What?”
“Why do you seem so surprised?”
His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver.
“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”
He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees.
He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you.
You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body.
He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body.
“Hi,” he whispers.
You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.
It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high.
Both of your breathing seems even, when you part.
“That was—”
“It’s never—”
You both chuckle.
“Ladies first.”
You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach.
“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”
You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do.
“It’s never been that good.”
A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest.
It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?
You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth.
“When can we go again?”
#Pedro pascal#Pedro pascal x reader#Pedro pascal smut#Pedro pascal fanfiction#Pedro pascal characters#x reader#marcus pike#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike smut#the mentalist
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um actually grover underwood is the bravest character because when percy and annabeth left for college, they drove from new york to san fran. coast to coast. and grover went with them. this dude willingly went on a long road trip with his two best friends who are in a relationship. you would not catch me dead going on a road trip with just 2 people who are dating. and 18 year olds nonetheless?? oh hell no
remember how every time in cotg when percy and annabeth flirt and kiss, grover gets so uncomfortable? how the FUCK did he enclose himself in a car with them for that long? and yes i KNOW grover is their best friend. and i KNOW he is used to them, and they are all gonna be a close trio forever. but that doesn’t mean that this road trip didn’t include many moments that made him WIDLY uncomfortable. he hasn’t been on a long extended adventure with them since before they started dating. (that we know of.) like… were percy and annabeth making flirtatious jokes with each other during the drive? were they playing love songs? did- did percy horribly belt out the words to cheesy romance songs? oh gods… do they have a song?? also percy and annabeth are so PDA it’s not even funny. they have no subtlety whatsoever. remember when they just, like, fully made out in front of piper in BoO?? (yes, the kiss with annabeth’s grunt-whimpers 🫠)
i just want to know the logistics. like are they stopping at hotels/motels? if so, are grover and percy in one bed/room and annabeth in another? or are they typical teenagers and percy’s going “so, grover, buddy, you wouldn’t mind if annabeth and i took that one, would ya?” same thing if they are camping. what’s the tent situation? are they all in one? either way i feel like percy and annabeth are gonna be sneaking away. are they going on long “walks” together while grover just sits there and chats with the trees? or do they not leave his side, and instead sit there and cuddle and flirt and act absolutely disgustingly adorable while grover is just chilling there like 🧍🏽
they love grover so so much and would NEVER do anything to purposefully make him uncomfortable or feel like a third wheel. but… it’s also percy and annabeth. they kinda have no chill when they’re around each other. zero sensible thoughts happening. it’s pretty much just “wow he/she looks so good right now” all the dam time. and yes, i also know that annabeth mentioned they faced danger on the trip, but that only seems to make percy and annabeth MORE down bad for each other. like remember in tartarus, aka LITERAL HELL, when they were suffering the worse pain and trauma imaginable, and percy’s only thoughts were how annabeth looked like a “hot barbarian princess?” they are literally the worst. i love them for it, but oh my goddess
grover underwood, you are braver than me
#god bless grover underwood#he could have just done that tree transport thing#there’s no way this trip didnt scar him for life#he is much braver than i will ever be#grover underwood#percabeth#percy jackson#annabeth chase#pjo#heroes of olympus#trials of apollo#percy jackson and the olympians#lol
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Imagine proposing to Shanks
At a bar
You: [brooding over a drink by yourself]
Benn: [comes over and sits next to you, like a concerned papa bear] You've seemed really down lately, what's going on up there in that head of yours?
You: Shanks and I have been together for years, and ... I don't quite know what I was expecting, but I am not happy at the idea of being only his dating partner forever.
Benn: Is this because of the wedding we saw yesterday, down at the Chapple?
You: Sort of, now I know that I'm never going to get a traditional wedding like that, but I would like for him to wife me up.
Benn: You should tell him that because he's never going to come to that conclusion on his own.
You: I know, but I can already picture what his proposal would be like, improvised, sloppy, and probably involving alcohol.
Benn: [mutters to himself] Well, at least you know what you're getting into with him before you marry him.
You: what was that?
Benn: nothing. Can I offer you a piece of advice?
You: [nods]
Benn: Don't wait around for others to do something for you when you could do it a million times better yourself.
You: hmm, thank you for the food for thought.
Two weeks later
Shanks: [tugging on the white collar of his button-up like it's choking him,] Why the hell are they making such a big fuss? Insisting I dress up, just to go on a picnic.
Benn: [straightening his captain's tie] Because they love your dumb ass, for some fucking reason, and they went through the trouble of planning a special night for you two. So you're going to dress up, look nice, stay sober, try to behave, do whatever they say,
Shanks: [mutters] I already do whatever they say
Benn: [gives him the side eye as a warning] And you're going to bring them flowers and this cake.
Shanks: yeah, yeah, it's just it's been ages since we've had time to do something special, we're out of the honeymoon phase, you know? We're like an old married couple, we only have sex once a week and everything.
Benn: Oh, I know, we can hear you two in the crew's quarters, we appreciate that it's the same day every week too. [puts the flowers and box of cake in Shanks's hands] Now get going, if you're late I'll kill you myself.
Shanks: Alright, don't shove.
At the docks
You: wow, you made it on time.
Shanks: I wouldn't be late for our first date in over a year.
You: [winces at the reminder]
Shanks: [realizes he's made things awkward, he holds out his gifts] Uh, these are for you.
You: [can see Benn's meddling] Thank you, but we're actually going to have to wait for the boat to get here. I took your habit of arriving late into account when I made the plans, and the time I told you to come was forty-five minutes before you actually needed to be here.
Shanks: [puts his arm over your shoulder and presses a kiss to your head] You know me so well, and no worries if we have to wait, just means that I get more time with you, my love.
On the boat
Shanks: [looks around the glass bottom boat in amazement] Whoa! Look look! There's a tiger shark.
You: I knew you'd like it, we have it all to ourselves tonight. We'll sail around the reefs, and have dinner.
Shanks: we get to eat.
You: yes, they have your favorite, you can even pick out which lobster you'd like to eat.
After dinner
the boat captain: excuse me, we've landed on Firefly Island, you'll have two hours before we raise anchor and head back to the port.
You: thank you, [turns to Shanks, grabs his hand, and leads him to the heart of the island where all the fireflies are]
Shanks: [visibly resisting the urge to run around and chase them]
You: [rolls your eyes playfully] Go ahead, I know you wanna run, go get your energy out. Why don't you run around the edge of the clearing and herd them this way? [sits on a stone bench beside the pond in the center of the meadow]
Shanks: [kisses your cheek] aye aye
You: [waits until he's tuckered himself out, and has collapsed on the bench next to you] Sweetheart, are you having fun?
Shanks: the most fun I have had in a while, look at this jar of fireflies I caught. [holds up a large mason jar, packed with the luminescent insects] I know if I leave them in there too long, they'll die, but I wanted you to get to open it.
You: [gets down on one knee, positions the ring box on the side of the jar and unscrews the lid to let critters free]
Shanks: Isn't it pretty? [looks down at the jar to see the box on the other side of the jar] What'cha got there?
You: [sets the jar aside and opens the box to reveal the ring inside]
Shanks: [freezes]
You: ... I know I'm not going to get a fancy wedding in a place of worship or even a marriage certificate, but I would still like you to marry me. For us to be marriage partners, even if it's only in name.
Shanks: wh-... how ... [pulls out the ring and slides it onto his finger] it fits and everything.
You: [waiting for an answer]
Shanks: [notices your staring] what?
You: will you marry me?
Shanks: [pulls you into his lap, and kisses you] Of course I'll marry you, and no you're probably not going to get a fancy wedding, and you're definitely not going to get a marriage certificate. But I promise you, you'll get one hell of a wedding.
You: Thank you, love. [peers over to see Benn sopping wet in the bushes, taking pictures with a camera snail] Benn, what are you doing?
Benn: getting engagement photos, obviously.
Shanks: how did you get here?
Benn: I swam, now you two stop moving, so I can take a picture before these fireflies can eat the camera.
List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter| Kofi || Patreon
#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece imagine#one piece scenario#akagami no shanks#red haired shanks#red hair shanks#red hair shanks x reader#akagami no shanks x reader#shanks x reader#benn beckman#from the depths of the dragon's hoard#tma original#4/25/24#no beta we die like men
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Daisy Chains and Kept Promises
George Weasley x reader
Based on this request🫶🏽
Summary: George Weasley was never one to break a promise. Especially not one sealed by a daisy chain ring.
word count: 3.2k
©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.
It was the first sunny afternoon in what seemed like forever, but in reality had only been a few days, and the residents of the burrow were eager to escape onto the vibrant, green lawn.
“Fred, George you stay out of trouble now!” Molly shouted from the kitchen as you run out the door with the twins.
“Come on now, it’s our last summer before they ship us off to Hogwarts! We gotta make the most of it!” Fred replies, sprinting out to the shed where the Weasleys stored all their brooms.
“Hurry up Georgie, or I’m taking the good broom!” You tease as you race past the other boy, snatching the best broom from the rack before he has the chance to protest.
“Aw c’mon! Why’s she always get the good one?” Ron complains as he catches up with you all.
“Oh shut it Ronald,” George retorts, not bothering to give his youngest brother a second glance.
The four of you spend the afternoon zooming across the field, a beat up quaffle tossed between you in carefree bliss as the sun shines down on you and Ginny watches from the ground below.
Eventually you all tire and you find yourself lying in the shade of the old oak tree that loomed over the garden. Thankfully the rain had scared off the gnomes that had a habit of sneaking into the garden for a tasty treat.
“Show me how to make those daisy crowns? Like the muggles?” Ginny asks, bringing over fists full of the little white flowers.
“Not now Ginny,” Fred sighs, rolling his eyes at the young girl.
“No, no, we can do it now,” you argue, patting the ground next to you, gesturing for the younger girl to sit beside you.
“Yeah, let her stay,” George agrees, smiling fondly at you.
Fred snorts at his brother, eyes rolling once more.
“You always side with her, you’re supposed to be my twin! How are you two going to survive without each other?” Fred retorts, leaning back against the tree.
“It’ll only be a year, then y/n can join us in the fun,” George replies happily.
“Oh at this point you might as well just marry her,” Fred responds with a huff.
You feel your cheeks begin to grow red and you turn to focus all your attention on the young girl beside you, showing her how to intricately wrap the stems together to form a chain of daisies.
You’d known the twins for as long as you could remember. You’d practically grown up with them. Your father Remus did the best he could raising you on his own, he really did, but it was hard. Especially on full moons. The Weasleys always took you in on those nights, often resulting in you staying for days while Remus recovered.
George had had a soft spot for you since the beginning, always being the slightly softer twin while Fred was more severe and brash. You could remember a particularly bad night when it had been storming, the loud thunder making you shake with fear. George had stayed up with you all night, making sure the storm didn’t get you. You had been seven at the time.
It had started back then you supposed, your little crush. It had confused you at first as you had thought of all the boys as your brothers, but now, at the ripe old age of ten, you could tell that Georgie was different from the other Weasley boys.
“There!” George announces excitedly, shaking you from your thoughts as he brandishes a single daisy up into the air, its stem tied rather roughly in a small circle.
Without warning, he grasps onto your hand, sliding the makeshift ring onto your finger, looking rather pleased with himself.
“There. You’re my wife now,” he says proudly as you stare at the little flower adorning your finger.
“You didn’t do it right! You have to ask her to be your wife. Everyone knows that!” Ginny exclaims, watching the two of you with a dopey little grin on her face.
“Oh. Right. Y/n, will you be my wife?” Georgie asks, batting his eyes dramatically at you and sticking out his bottom lip.
“Yes I will,” you reply with a laugh, admiring the pretty daisy that now sat on your finger.
“You two are so gross,” Fred says, making a face.
“Oh, oh! Do the promises! The ones where you say I do!” Ginny urges excitedly, clapping her hands.
“Alright. Do you promise to always laugh at my jokes, always be there for me when I need you, and always take my side when we argue with Fred?” George asks.
Fred begins to make dramatic gagging sounds.
“I do.” You reply with a giggle as Fred just glares at you. “And do you promise to always make me smile, always protect me, and always make me hot chocolate when I can’t sleep?”
“I do.”
It was dark. The whole house was dark really. All the time. Dimly lit and constantly smelling like mold and rotting wood. And the furniture seemed to be permanently damp, the coldness settling into your bones.
You hated it here at Grimmauld Place. The constant shrieking of decrepit, old portraits, the eerie feeling of constantly being watched. The only positive attribute about living in this wretched place was the fact that Remus had never been happier.
It had taken months to do it, but after Harry had been able to help Sirius escape the dementors, Dumbledore had inconspicuously been able to move Sirius into Grimmauld place where you had been staying ever since.
It had been strange at first, no doubt. You had only just met the man, but he grew on you quickly. Like a fungus. You loved seeing how comfortable he made Remus who visibly softened whenever the other man was near. And you hadn’t seen Remus smile as wide or as often, well ever. You could tell that the two of them were just meant to be side by side, and honestly, that was enough for you. Especially in dark times like these.
“Lighten up love, we have a surprise for you before dinner,” Remus announces, entering the drawing room where you sat wrapped in a pile of blankets, a book in hand as you tried to ignore the screeching bag lady in entry way portrait.
“Is it another one of those horrendous sweaters that Sirius keeps digging up from somewhere?” You ask, nose scrunching at the thought of another one of the putrid smelling things being presented to you. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you detested the nasty things, so you had been giving them to Kreacher to dispose of rapidly. “I know I keep telling him that they’re lovely, but how many of the things does he think I need?”
Remus just laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve told him to move onto something else, but he’s determined to fill your wardrobe I think. But no. It’s not another sweater. For now at least. No, I do believe you’ll quite enjoy this little surprise.” He tells you before leaving you to your book and your thoughts.
Dinner time couldn't come fast enough as you eagerly eyed the clock every fifteen minutes, only to be disappointed by how little time had gone by.
About thirty minutes before the three of you usually ate dinner, you began hearing a chorus of voices coming from the entry way. And not the familiar voices of the Black family portraits.
"Well where is she then?" a loud voice asks.
Hearing the voice, you immediately perk up, not quite believing you'd heard correctly. This place might be driving you mad.
"Oh bloody hell mate, don't seem too eager now," comes the sarcastic response.
You'd know those voices anywhere. Practically throwing yourself from the couch, you eagerly scramble to the door and down the staircase to be greeted by the whole Weasley family grinning up at you.
"Look Georgie, there's your wife, don't get your knickers in a twist now," Fred scoffs.
You fly into George's arms, sighing contentedly as his arms wrap securely around you.
"Well hello to you too," you hear him laugh as he gives you another squeeze before releasing you.
You hadn't seen him, or the other Weasley's for that matter, in what felt like ages. He and Fred had grown their hair out, and you didn't quite remember them being so tall last you saw them. His smile never changed though.
Bashfully, you greet the rest of the Weasley bunch, even Fred giving you a quick hug, before rubbing the top of your head affectionately and effectively tossling up your hair. You stick your tongue out at the boy in response, batting his hand away.
"I missed you all, so much! I've been going absolutely bonkers being here alone for so long," you tell them.
"Well not to worry love, we'll be here all summer. Hermione too, though she's not coming for another few weeks." George tells you.
Feeling eyes on you as you laugh with the boys, turning to see both Sirius and Remus gazing at you intently, eyes flickering between you and George.
Sirius silently points at you, then George before drawing a line across his neck with his finger before giving you a wink. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks as you turn back to the boys.
"What are you all doing here?" you ask eventually as the adults begin to file into the kitchen.
"Came to be used as house elves of course," Fred replies, earning him a nudge from George.
"Mum said that Sirius volunteered the house to be headquarters for the Order," Ron butts in.
"Yeah, then mum volunteered us to help clean the place up," Ginny adds.
You make a face at that.
"We have a lot of work to do then, this place is disgusting," you tell them, leading them up the stairs to the room you'd been staying in. On your way up the stairs, George's hand never leaves yours, fingers intertwined as you guide him up the dusty staircase.
"Long as there aren't any spiders," Ron replies, eyeing the spiraling stairs with suspicion.
You just look back at the boy with concern, pity overtaking your face as his own face turns pale.
For once Grimmauld place was silent. A rare luxury you'd found, especially since the Weasley's had moved in. Not that you minded, the red headed family made the grim, old place feel alive and vibrant. Something you thought the it needed desperately. But you liked the quiet too.
It had been a strange couple of weeks as everyone, the adults especially, seemed to be on high alert. And who could blame them? Hermione had just moved in, sharing a room with you and Ginny. You could hear their breathing now as you stared up at the dark ceiling above.
After the Weasley's arrival, you had all spent countless hours decluttering Grimmauld place. Sweeping, dusting, banishing the more mouthy portraits to the attic. It was hard work, but you had loved every second of it with George making you laugh until you keeled over, tears streaming down your face. His presence just made everything better. You thought so at least.
In the darkened room, your mind drifts to the conversation you had heard between the adults just hours ago. It definitely wasn't a conversation you had been meant to overhear, but Georgie had given you a pair of extendable ears that he and Fred had developed, and you just couldn't help yourself.
"Oh really Sirius, they've all practically grown up together, George would never do anything to hurt her," Molly had said.
At the mention of George's name, you just had to find out what they were talking about.
"We never said he was going to do anything malicious, we just don't want to see her get hurt," Remus replied with a heavy sigh.
Her?
"They're practically adults, you can't protect her forever. So what if they fancy each other? They're not children!" Molly retorts.
"Oh that's rich coming from you. Just the other day you were going on about young witches and wizards rushing into marriage during the first war. And how many times have you told the twins that they're forbidden from joining the Order hmm? They're adults, Molly, you can't protect them forever," Sirius responds.
"Oh but at least I've done all I can to protect them up to this point. What have you done for y/n? Nothing. Because you've been locked up!" Molly spits. You can hear the fury in her voice.
Your fists ball up in rage at her comments. None of it was Sirius's fault. He didn't do anything wrong. How dare she?
"That's enough!" you hear Remus cut in, a sharpness in his voice that you hadn't heard before. "We weren't coming to attack George, or the way you raised any of the children. We were simply raising our concerns, as any good parents would. Now that we've made our point, if you don't wish to interfere, fine. We won't either."
After that the only thing you had heard was the shuffling of feet as they abandoned the dining room. They had most definitely been talking about you. No doubt about it. You hadn't realized they were concerned about you. They never said anything. And it was only Georgie. The two of you had been married for six years now. In all the ways that mattered to you at least. He would never hurt you. In fact, he'd made it a promise.
Mind racing and unable to sleep, you slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound as you slowly creep to the drawing room that you so often took refuge in. To your surprise however, a dim light was already flickering inside when you approached, and a familiar head of red hair sat facing away from you on the sofa.
"Georgie?" You whisper cautiously, not wanting to spook him.
His head turns in surprise, but his face lights up when he sees you.
"What are you doing this up this late, love?" he asks.
"I could ask you the same."
"Fair enough. Just a lot on my mind I suppose."
"Me too," you reply.
A silence falls between the two of you as you stand, watching mesmerized as the light flickers on and off of the boy's handsome face.
"Want me to make you a hot chocolate?" George asks finally.
A smile grows on your face and you instantly perk up at the mention of your favorite treat. George always knew how to put you to sleep, and he always made the best hot chocolate. Nodding enthusiastically, the two of you make your way down to the kitchen where George begins gathering supplies.
One thing you'd always admired about him was that he never minded doing things the muggle way. While Fred was always quick to magic his way through things, George was content taking his time.
"Help stir the milk so it doesn't burn?" he asks, gesturing to the pot now on the stove.
You silently take the wooden spoon from his hand, fingers brushing ever so slightly, before focusing on the task at hand. George sets out two mugs on the counter before helping you melt in the chocolate.
It all felt terribly domestic. As if there wasn't a sociopathic murderer on the loose. Like it was just the two of you.
It isn't long before George is pouring the dark liquid into the mugs, sprinkling in a few little marshmallows and a cinnamon stick or two and the both of you are retreating back up to the drawing room.
The first sip sends shivers of satisfaction down your spine as you lean into George who wraps his free arm around you. You pull a blanket over you and revel for a moment in the comfort.
"Care to share what's been on your mind?" George asks, breaking the silence.
"Only if you go first," you reply, not quite sure how to explain that he was really the only thing on your mind these days.
George just sighs. "It's nothing you we haven't told you before," He tells you. "Mum is just fighting for her life to keep Freddie and I out of the Order, but Moody agrees with us. We're of age. There's nothing she can do to stop us."
"Will you be safe?"
"Safe as can be. Mum has made sure they don't give us any real missions. Just patrolling Diagon Alley since that's where we set up shop."
You simply nod your head, letting it fall against the boy's chest as you feel his even breathing and let it overtake you. You'd never admit it out loud, but you were grateful for Molly to an extent. The twins had an abysmal lack of self preservation skills, and you didn't know what you would do if you lost Georgie.
"And what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
You feel your shoulders shrug as you think carefully of what to say.
"I overheard our parents talking today," you mumble, not exactly sure where you were taking this.
"Oh?"
"Dads are worried about us," you tell him, hiding your face in his chest.
"Worried?"
"I dunno. They said something about your mum talking about how a lot of wizards and witches rushed into marriage during the first war, and there was a lot of talk about you being of age and what not. It got intense. There was a lot of yelling."
You feel George's chest rumble with soft laughter at your words.
"Well that's a silly thing to be worried about considering we've been married for years now at this point," he says.
You're not sure if he's joking or not. Maybe the exhaustion was finally getting to you.
"I'm being serious Georgie. I didn't know they were so worried about me. And Sirius sounded so upset," you reply, sitting up to take another long sip of your hot chocolate.
"So am I." he responds, looking you dead in the eye. The usual mischievous gleam is gone this time and you know he's never been more serious about something. "You know I'm not one to break a promise."
The air grows heavy as you feel yourself freeze for a moment at his words before you sink back into his warm embrace.
"I still have it you know. Your ring. Your mum charmed it for me so it wouldn't wilt. She knew all along," you tell him.
"She tends to have a sixth sense when it comes to these kinds of things."
Another silence falls between the two, but this time, the silence brings comfort as you feel your eyes growing heavy. George tries to stifle a yawn, but it escapes anyway. It was later then you had realized.
"I'm glad it's real for you too," you murmur, leaning further into the boy as your eyes flutter close. Something about being in George's arms provided a sense of security you couldn't find anywhere else.
"It was always real. I'd never break a promise to you, love."
bby's first non-slytherin boy fic🫣
don't ask me if I edited this- the answer is no and I don't want to talk abt it💀
tag list: @sol-lupin-black @breeistired
#harrypotter fanfiction#george weasley#george weasley x reader#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x you#fred weasley#harry potter universe#gryffindor#golden era#george weasley fanfic#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley imagines#gryffindor boys#sirius black#remus lupin#remus x sirius
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@jegulus-microfic | aimless - april 26 | 698 words part 1, part 2
James knew the day he married his wife wasn't the end of the thing he had with Regulus. He knew from the moment he caught a glimpse of him. The voice in his head whispered the whole time while he was making his vow to Lily.
It's not the end yet.
He tried to not think much it much, he tried to ignore it. Because how could he even consider that possibility? He was getting married for fucks sake. He got married, he didn't change his mind. But still, ever since then that voice didn't shut up. It was always there, at the back of his mind.
Regulus was at the back of his mind.
The first year went smoothly, everything was perfect. Lily was a considerate woman. He liked to make her laugh, he liked her. He loved her.
But there was still Regulus.
He saw him a couple of times after his wedding day, he was at Christmas and sometimes at the parties they hosted as a Potter family. Regulus was there, but at the same time, he wasn't. He was like a ghost, haunting James in the middle of the day and deep in his dreams.
The time passed slowly, it was as if he was counting every day. He didn't know why he was counting, he just did.
Maybe the reason he couldn't get him out of his mind was his memories with him that left a scar in his heart. They were always there, he was always there. At the back of his mind, at the pit of his stomach, under his skin.
He sometimes caught himself staring at Lily and thinking about Regulus.
It wasn't fair, yes. It wasn't fair to Lily, hell, it wasn't fair to Regulus either.
But it's just, he couldn't help it.
He told himself multiple times that it was just thoughts, he wasn't going to do something about his yearning for his ex. It didn't do anyone any harm, it was just silly thoughts.
Or so he thought.
The breaking point for him happened in the second year of his marriage.
It was the first time he considered getting a divorce with Lily. It was funny when you think about it, they didn't even argue, yet here he was, considering a divorce.
The more Regulus invaded his mind, the more he became obsessed with it.
Maybe it counted as emotional cheating, maybe it was cheating.
But even the mention of his name made his heart ache under his ribs, he had to take a few minutes to recover himself. He didn't know if Sirius ever caught him on it, if he noticed he was thinking about his brother still. He wondered if Lily suspected the same thing too, she was his wife after all. It led to him feeling guilty almost every moment. He couldn't even drink whiskey on rocks because of the night he met with Regulus he was having that.
As if every road pointed his way, he became obsessed with the idea of him and their memories together.
Here he was, sitting on the balcony on the first floor, drunk as fuck and thinking about Regulus’ soft laugh.
He craved him. He was burning for him.
Maybe it was an aimless effort, but he did the last thing he shouldn't be doing.
He called Regulus.
He never deleted his number from his phone, he wondered if Regulus did. He wondered if Regulus was thinking about him too, from time to time. Did he still have their photos together? Did he delete them already? Maybe he deleted it on his wedding day, maybe it was the day they broke up.
As he waited for Regulus to pick up, he clutched the whiskey bottle in his hand. Praying for him to pick up. It was now or never. He didn't think he could be this brave again. It was wrong, it wasn't fair, yet it felt like he should've done this before.
“Hello?”
James couldn't speak for a moment, it felt like forever.
“Regulus,” he breathed, and he heard something crashing at the other end of the line.
“James.”
Something swelled under his chest. He didn't even think for a second.
“You are unavoidable.”
#jegulus#jegulus microfic#sunseeker#starchaser#james potter#regulus black#microfic#marauders#slytherin skittles
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The ghost of Jason who decides to stay with Percy.
kinder, but still creepy - your lover's ghost doesn't want to kill you or hurt you, he just wants to be with you, even if by all laws he is supposed to be in hades.
Percy always feels Jason - a fleeting touch on his cheeks, shoulders and arms, a light breeze or a draft walking in his apartment, the way the electricity hums, a shadow too human to be a play of light that is always next to him, the feelings of familiar but cold hugs at night.
Percy has watched horror movies, he knows what to do... but he doesn't want to part with Jason either, and neither does Jason with him.
Oog anon, this one.
I was thinking about ghost Jason recently. In many ways and senses. I like this idea a lot.
Jason’s ghost haunting Percy, and Percy really struggles with it. A memory of his dead lover, a memory of something he could’ve changed if he had just been there, prophecy be damned. It wasn’t his fault, but to him it was. Having Jason surround him as a ghost, always there, leaving his body cold and shuddering as he laid beside Percy, was an unending mental battle. Jason was attached to Percy, stuck to him with a tie that he couldn’t break and Percy had to struggle to find comfort in the sharp and stark anguish he felt by having Jason here again. Because he couldn’t mourn properly while having his dead boyfriend follow him around, he couldn’t mourn properly when he noticed how the wind would caress him gently or the electricity in his house would flicker whenever Percy said him name, a reminder of “I am here and will be here forever”. But Percy moves through it, the motions are harder, his days are longer, because Jason is here, he’s with him, in ways that matter but these ways can’t make up for what he’s missing. He finds comfort through Jason’s subtle reminders though, slowly but surely they make him.
The others notice subtle differences about Percy since Jason’s ghost has found him, but Nico is the first to bring it up, because of course he can see Jason, not that Jason’s really paid him much mind, too focused on Percy. Nico warns Percy against allowing Jason’s presence to stay, he knows neither would be happy, but he knows it would only kill Percy, one way or another. And knowing that, Percy doesn’t care, but Jason’s ghost, he shifts solemnly and as usual, wordlessly.
This issue in the air now, Jason has been quieter than usual, Percy’s place is warmer and he doesn’t get to feel the cold presence around him as often, not unless he begs and cries. He’s desperate, Jason’s ghost is ill at ease. Jason may be dead, may want with his whole might to be with Percy, but he doesn’t want that by the means of Percy dying as well. He wants to be back with Percy when time says it’s right, not because he’s selfish and not ready to let go and wait that time out. But in the moments he keeps his distance, watching from a point away in the house, where he isn’t sucking Percy’s energy from his body just to be able to announce his present, he can’t help but break his own rules when Percy’s eyes well up with tears. He folds instantly, the contact point between Percy’s body and his incorporeal form buzzing with energy that makes him more powerful, but sucks that power right from Percy’s soul.
The two dance this dance, their wants to be together even after Jason’s death stronger than anything, but Nico puts his foot down for them, Percy looks like hell, he’s exhausted all the time and easily sick. The teen is rough about it all but is easy to give solutions. Sure, these solutions are taxing on him, but he won’t die that’s for sure, and his strength in his power has only been getting better, letting Percy see and speak to Jason on some occasion unless Jason so decides to reincarnate. It’s a save for them both, as uneasy it is to let Jason go, they both go for this. Somehow an easy out but also the hardest thing to do for them.
-
I’ve read a few fics of the dead haunting their past lovers in good ways, either visibly or not, I’ve always really liked them. Plus the ability to choose if they stay with their people or move on to the other side it’s so 😭😭😭
Thank you for your ask anon!
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„You’re not alone, together we stand. I’ll be by your side, you know, I’ll take your hand…”
“Just stay strong, ‘cause you know, I’m here for you…” (“Keep holding on” by Avril Lavigne)
I decided to set a trigger warning on this post: Miscarriages, high risk pregnancies, ICSI treatments, traumatic wish for a child journey, hysterectomy. So, please feel free to skip the following x paragraphs, if you feel triggered by these topics. Thank you.
Those of you lovely people of Snapedom, who know me and my way of blogging about Severus and my personal hardships might have noticed, that I’m mostly venting about ME/CFS and the crumbs, which are left from my former life. Since I can’t do much about it right now, I decided to “fix” another one of my countless issues…an internal wound, which desperately needs to heal!
As some of you might remember, I’m a mother of three wonderful children. There are my eleven years old twins and then there’s my six years old daughter. My pregnancies were the result of a long and painful journey of ICSI treatments, several miscarriages, way too many tears, about ten surgeries - due to Endometriosis and myomas - which eventually ended in a hysterectomy four years ago.
My desperate wish for a child led me to some decisions and life choices, which I probably wouldn’t have made, if I would have been clearer…maybe more stable in my whole mindset. One of these choices was a totally over rushed marriage to a narcissistic man, who made me believe, that he wanted the same. Gosh…I’ve been so desperate and so fucking stupid! Well, at least I got my twins because of him.
I went to the appointment for the transfer of the embryos on my own. He didn’t want to join the procedure…and I should have known, that he was already saying “goodbye” back then.
The pregnancy was rough. I had to lie in bed from the 8th week of pregnancy until they were born as premature babies in the 29th week of pregnancy. The last 4,5 months of pregnancy, I had to stay in the hospital…fighting for my babies’ lives all on my own. The father of them had decided, that he didn’t want to be a father anymore…wow…
I don’t want to go further into details about this phase of my life…at least not yet. I commissioned my friend @alinearthp for this project and asked her for several drawings of the different phases of my journey to become a mother. This artwork will be the start of my healing process…and I’m incredibly grateful, that you’re doing this for me, Aline! I know, that you’ll need time to draw all these wishes of mine, but I’ll be patiently waiting for each of your breathtaking pieces of art, my dear!
So, for the next couple of months, Severus will accompany me on my path through this phase of my past…just like he did back then, when I spent months in a hospital bed in “Trendelenburg” position. During this period of my life - and to be honest, in so many other phases of the past 21 years, as well - I clung to my imagination of Severus in order to feel less helpless and alone. His resilience and determination have always been my inspiration to keep going through all these hardships, which life kept throwing at me. He’s the love of my life…and he will forever be the guiding light in my darkness.
🖤Severus & Julia🖤
🖤Sevy & Jules🖤
#Severus x Julia#Sevy x Jules#Severus x oc#twin mom#icsi#this will be my personal healing journey#mom of 3#fuck me/cfs#disappointment#I have to heal#horrible pregnancies#severus snape#he was there#at least in my mind#i love snape#snape#i love severus#pro snape#snape love#pro severus snape#snape content#severus snape art#snart#snapedom#severus fanart#severus snape fan art#snape art#mecfs#single mom experiences#commissioning artwork is my goddamn coping mechanism
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ur katpee raturine post is making me wonder if aventurine and ratio would even survive the hunger games ? u should become president bladie and host one
I WAS PUTTING A BUNCH OF CHARACTERS IN THAT HUNGER GAMES SIMULATOR SITE RECENTLY
here are some highlights. furthermore, i rambled (huge surprise i know)
anyways i love hunger games AUs (i love when characters suffer and die) so i will definitely spend a long time considering this. ive fully written out several with ocs. my first fandom was the hunger games ok i read all three books 11 times so now i have to ponder everything forever
i think aventurine would do really well with getting sponsorships and all that. well liked by the capitol. kind of a finnick type of guy. ratio i feel like wouldnt be as well liked, but still have a decent amount of sponsors since he’s strong and very smart so he’s got higher odds of winning.
okay wait they do kind of have peeta and katniss vibes like not THAT much but the crowd-pleasing good at acting guy and the NOT crowd-pleasing guy who is skilled in survival and not great at acting but unfortunately has to play along with blonde mans act to get ahead. i can see ratio doing that thing katniss did with shooting the arrow at the people supposed to be judging her and sarcastically bowing and going Thank You. For your Consideration. but i suppose he just throws a chalk.
i think a lot of people would want to ally with ratio but he would reject them. makes no sense if they’ll just have to kill each other later. aventurine.. hmm. well like i said he’s well-liked by the capitol which means he’s probably not as liked by the tributes, and considering he doesnt like to show his hand (haha card reference) he wouldnt have shown any skills he has, so no one would particularly have any incentive to ally with him. but. Ough. well. kakavasha. if we made them separate like in the quest and kakavasha was one of the kids that got reaped for the games. well lets not think about that too much or i’ll get sad
ultimately considering aventurine’s luck etc i think he’d make it pretty far and if he DID die it wouldn’t be an accident or a surprise, he’d have set himself up for it to either allow someone else a win, OR spare himself a more gruesome/painful death later. if ratio died i think it’d be an accident. i dont think anyone could actually kill him in a fight, but he could get caught or hit by a trap or he tried to be smart and go out to the edge of the arena but hit the barrier and got zapped. like i feel like it’d have to be somethign small, ONE thing he happened to overlook. but i think it’s obvious neither of them is winning alone. they win together or they both die OR aventurine deliberately sets himself up to die at the very end so ratio is declared the victor. i think that one is pretty likely and hurts in the best way so lets go with that one alright? aventurine eats some poisonous shit or smth in secret and ratio thinks they’re going to find a way to win together until aventurine is like. actively dying and admits what he did. Lol. 😆
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🔥 for FE Heroes
I feel like Book... 7?? The one with all the Big Booba Snake Ladies. I feel like that one had a chance to be really interesting in exploring the depths of identity and how one feels they've lost too much of themselves to be considered the same person as who they were before, if, like... it cared to be anything but a Big Booba Lady Who Like-a Da Summoner fest.
Plus the old goat guy who turned evil out of nowhere actually had a pretty banger motivation in starting the chain of the Golden Seer but the execution of his EEEEEVIL nature and his plan were dumb as shit
#ask#anon#ask meme#like if i remember right Old Goat Guy was scared of losing his immortality and so forced Seidr to enter everyone into an endless loop#so that Old Goat Guy can technically ''live forever'' and like?? i feel like in the right hands that could work???#it damn sure didn't here lmao but yeah#plus the whole loss of identity and acceptance of the changes to yourself and how you were at different parts in your life#and how they all come together to form a mosaic of your life#IS COOL and I DO LIKE IT but god DAMN do these ladies have literally nothing else going for them#and i'm like 99% sure i'm just pulling shit outta my ass seeing this theme in them in the first place#since these girlies really are JUST Big Booba Ladies Who Like-a Da Summoner and nothing else
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it's the 23rd... you know what that means...
Happy Ash Day!
#hehe it's my day! not too many special plans other than some cake but. lots of f/o rot#my wonderful wife a.qua is canonically good at baking. i think she'd make a cake for her beloved. i get so happy thinking about a.qua!#shes the sweetest girl ever and i'm always soooo honored that she loves me too#i have a lot of f/os and i could go on forever about all the little things theyd like to do for their special pal's birthday#but also. i've been getting into x.enoblade... and have feelings for a character... i am 🤏 this close to putting him on the list#but uh. a birthday kiss perhaps?#ash rambles 💚#but man.. just spending the day with the people that i love is really all i need. hehe so happy to be with them all!#hope everyone has a great day!#and since it's very early for me. i hope i have a great day too!#happy ash day to me~~~ happy ash day to me~~~#i'd normally be asleep by now but. i'm very brainrotted over my wife tonight and i keep reading over some of my work about her and ash#i love this s/i so much. theyre childhood friends. shes blue and ash is red. a.qua is literally named a.qua and ash is ash#theyre red and blue. fire and water. been together forever. sometimes it really does feel like they were made for each other huh?#i have so much love for her in my heart. it makes my heart feel all skdjsjdhs when i think about her#oh but where was i#right. my birthday! i have a shit ton of fankids too so i bet theyre having fun as well#but.. on the topic of k.h s/i..... R.IKU! MY LITTLE BRO!#they arent related or anything. ash just saw him and was all 'wow who is this sassy lost child... you are little bro now'#she'd get soooo emotional just knowing that the kiddo remembered. he shoots her a text on gummiphone or even visits whatever world she's in#and ash gets all 🥺🥺🥺🥺 and hugs him so tight#but yeah. birthday. f/os. lots of fluff. the good shit fr#fun times!
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Help girl I’m doing it again (thinking about 2019-2020 until my tummy hurts)
#sometimes im fine and other times i get hit by a crippling wave of nostalgia :)))#charles's early years at ferrari and his meteoric rise and the online shift in response to that and the character study fics#everything to do with seb and charles and how that developed and ebbed and flowed and the massive media coverage of this new big rivalry#the way everyone was gearing up for a continuation of that in 2020 but then the pandemic happened#the insanity of the twitch era in the wake of the lockdowns and the emotional turmoil of seb's announced departure#the condensed 6 month season that somehow felt like it went on forever and was simultaneously far too short esp knowing what's coming#and just....the way things were in the online community at the time?? all that creativity and brainstorming and sense of togetherness#im aware im probably romanticizing it a lot but ironically the further away we get from those times the more i miss them ig??#we've had some good times since obviously but idk it feels like the zeitgeist of that time can't be replicated & a part of me feels so sad#idk this isnt making any sense but sometimes i'll see a photo or gifset or clip or whatever and think only a time machine could fix me#i need to go touch some grass 😭
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school is so weird... you see the same people in the same building five days a week for the best part of a decade and even if you're not friends you know their names and faces... and then one day school ends and you just. leave. and never see most of them again ☹
#thinking about all the people who touched my life who i'll never see again#wondering about my impact#do people ever think about me#the guy who would play chess with me at lunch when my friend group started excluding me..#the girl who came and sat with me at prom to watch the firework display even though we'd never spoken before because i was sitting alone..#the way people impact you and then they're just gone forever. sickening#but people are kind and good. like. i have faith in humanity#there were mean people too obviously but. there's always kindness#anyways just thinking about that. like. the people i grew up with. i wasn't friends with most of them but we watched each other grow#some of the people in my class had been in the same classes as me since we were 4 ☹ and then one day you're grown up and they're gone#that prom thing was important to me tho bc prom night was literally the last time i saw everyone#bc i finished my exams the week before so. aside from going in to pick up my results#prom night was the last time everyone in my year was together ☹☹ and then i just never saw anyone again#i hated school but i miss it so much. most confusing nostalgia ever#i didn't want to be there and i was so happy when i finished and i wouldn't go back if i could#but it hurts bc i missed out on so many experiences and just being around people.. i miss it#starting college (uk college not university) in september so maybe i'll be able to heal a bit#bc getting sick and dropping out of school ☹ being stuck in toxic friend groups and never having proper teenage experiences ☹#kinda fucked me up i'm ngl ☹#(no surprises by radiohead playing) no it's fine. it's fine#the way you spend so long in one place... with the same people... and then it's just gone. fuck 🤦♀️#even if you didn't like the place or the people... it aches in such a weird way omg..#i literally couldn't drive past my school for a bit bc. i used to get up at 7am & go there every day. and now i don't. does this make sense#ok to rb
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so: masking: good, unequivocally. please mask and please educate others on why they should mask to make the world safer for immune compromised people to participate in.
however: masking is not my policy focus and it shouldn't be yours, either. masking is a very good mitigation against droplet-born illnesses and a slightly less effective (but still very good) mitigation against airborne illnesses, but its place in the pyramid of mitigation demands is pretty low, for several reasons:
it's an individual mitigation, not a systemic one. the best mitigations to make public life more accessible affect everyone without distributing the majority of the effort among individuals (who may not be able to comply, may not have access to education on how to comply, or may be actively malicious).
it's a post-hoc mitigation, or to put it another way, it's a band-aid over the underlying problem. even if it was possible to enforce, universal masking still wouldn't address the underlying problem that it is dangerous for sick people and immune compromised people to be in the same public locations to begin with. this is a solvable problem! we have created the societal conditions for this problem!
here are my policy focuses:
upgraded air filtration and ventilation systems for all public buildings. appropriate ventilation should be just as bog-standard as appropriately clean running water. an indoor venue without a ventilation system capable of performing 5 complete air changes per hour should be like encountering a public restroom without any sinks or hand sanitizer stations whatsoever.
enforced paid sick leave for all employees until 3-5 days without symptoms. the vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through industry sectors where employees come into work while experiencing symptoms. a taco bell worker should never be making food while experiencing strep throat symptoms, even without a strep diagnosis.
enforced virtual schooling options for sick students. the other vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through schools. the proximity of so many kids and teenagers together indoors (with little to no proper ventilation and high levels of physical activity) means that if even one person comes to school sick, hundreds will be infected in the following few days. those students will most likely infect their parents as well. allowing students to complete all readings and coursework through sites like blackboard or compass while sick will cut down massively on disease transmission.
accessible testing for everyone. not just for COVID; if there's a test for any contagious illness capable of being performed outside of lab conditions, there should be a regulated option for performing that test at home (similar to COVID rapid tests). if a test can only be performed under lab conditions, there should be a government-subsidized program to provide free of charge testing to anyone who needs it, through urgent cares and pharmacies.
the last thing to note is that these things stack; upgraded ventilation systems in all public buildings mean that students and employees get sick less often to begin with, making it less burdensome for students and employees to be absent due to sickness, and making it more likely that sick individuals will choose to stay home themselves (since it's not so costly for them).
masking is great! keep masking! please use masking as a rhetorical "this is what we can do as individuals to make public life safer while we're pushing for drastic policy changes," and don't get complacent in either direction--don't assume that masking is all you need to do or an acceptable forever-solution, and equally, don't fall prey to thinking that pushing for policy change "makes up" for not masking in public. it's not a game with scores and sides; masking is a material thing you can do to help the individual people you interact with one by one, and policy changes are what's going to make the entirety of public life safer for all immune compromised people.
#dyspunktional#cripple punk#actually disabled#cripplepunk#a lot of these are major concessions for me personally as i'm an anarchist and loathe to support further concentrations of state power#but if you're gonna be operating within the structure of the system. here you go. handing you a cheat sheet for what you should demand.
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#idk maybe im thinking of doing a return#like i genuinely to this day feel like it wasn't just partly them being stupid but they were going to do it because what even was all of-#-that they did that felt like a puzzle being slowly put together#i doubt it'll get much attention since we are all still very much emotionally bruised and barely in the tag#forever got beef with js and bh#idk maybe i could do more au's idk
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The Daycare
Danny moves to Gotham after Lady Gotham themselves asks for his help.
Gotham's natural ecto has been deteriorating, and considering ecto was what held everything in existence together safely this was a major problem for Lady Gotham.
If Gotham got too bad it would spread to the rest of the world, and could cause it to cease to exist entirely.
So Danny came, as the Ghost King he had the power to filter in great amounts of the corrupt ecto just by being in the city.
But part of his obsession was protection & helping, Gotham already had a lot of help (Batfam). So he decided to focus on helping not with the problem at the top (villains), but with the problems at the bottom.
The problems at the bottom that would be the root cause in breeding more problems.
After all, many didn't start evil, but need and desperation pushed them towards that path.
So Danny moved to the worst part of Gotham, The Bowery.
What did he do there?
Why open a Daycare of course!
Many parents could not get a good or stable job simply because they needed to look after their kids and could not afford to pay the daycare fee.
Danny wasn't worried about money after all the coffers that he inherited as king would take forever to even make a dent in it, and that's only if he was living a very lavish lifestyle everyday for several human generations.
With this in mind his Daycare fee was pretty much nothing.
He would take care of the children of a very wide age group, while the adults could focus on getting a decent job or even returning to school for a higher education for better opportunities.
How does he care for so many children?
He duplicates himself of course!
At least in the very beginning, after a while he begins expanding his Daycare offering classes and tutoring to the children as well as free food at all times.
Who's helping him ?
His ex-rouges and other ghosts who volunteered.
Lunch Lady absolutely adores having so many people and kids to make food for, and Box Lunch can socialize and play with the other kids while she works.
Ember even volunteers to be the music teacher!
Danny has the help of many ghosts who once they heard his plans were very excited to help, many having the obsession with teaching children or in general. Other ghosts helped with building, expanding, and just generally helping maintain the building in great shape. Even building a very diverse and fun playground.
Of course all this catches the attention of Red Hood. Danny just appears one day on his territory with many others and practically having a building appear out of nowhere with how fast it was built, asking literal pennies to take care of the children, and free food for anyone who asks.
All that gains a lot of attention and is rather suspicious.
But the crime rate has been going down since he opened, which is a good thing.
But many people don't want good things and decide messing with Danny and his Daycare.
Unfortunately for them cuz Danny is absolutely down for violence if he's protecting what's his.
~
Villain: "What a lovely place you have here would be a shame if something were to happen"
Danny who has the audacity to fight Gods and win: "Someone call an ambulance! But not for me!
Also Danny: "These hands are rated E for everyone"
~
Other people:"Should we call someone for help?"
The ghosts:" Nah, let him have his fun he needs his enrichment"
~
Red Hood: "He's very suspicious"
Danny is absolutely covered in paint and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with the young kids: "Ah yes I'm totally doing normal Gothamite behavior"
~
Lady Gotham is having some self care spa time she's having a grand time: "Should I warn the young king of the other halfa (Jason)? Hmm best not, it'll be more entertaining if it happens naturally"
~
Just an Idea
#dp x dc#danny phantom#dc x dp#dpxdc#batman#danny fenton#dp x dc crossover#jason todd#red hood#dc x dp crossover#dp#ghost king danny phantom#ghost#ghost king danny#ghosts#Daycare#daycare#Lady Ghotam#she/they#pronouns for Lady Gotham#batfamily#adult danny phantom
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#I’ve got this stupid ache in my chest like an anxiety attack is lurking just below the surface#and I’ve been fighting it for about an hour now but it just keeps inflating itself in my chest#and part of it is just me missing him and the way things used to be for us cause that’s always part of it#but another part is me sitting alone in my cubby area listening to the nurses and doctor talk like friends#because they are all friends since it’s a small town and they’ve all worked here for forever#but it’s just this deep sadness that tells me I don’t belong#I don’t feel comfortable trying to go sit with them and join the conversation because I don’t know them like that#and yeah I get along very well with the doctor one on one#and one of the nurses and I chat a bit when we work together#even the other nurse has been making an effort to be nicer to me lately so we’re getting along better too#and yet I know that if I went to sit with them it would be awkward and probably end the conversation very quickly#because even though I’ve been here for a year I’m still the new girl who didn’t grow up here#I just thought that by now I’d have more friends and be closer to more people#I always pictured the days when I could sit at the nurse’s station and just hang out and chat with them like all the other clerks do#and that day still has never come#I wonder sometimes if it ever will because I’m still hoping for it all this time later#and I wonder if maybe I’m just not meant to have friends or be happy#because what’s so wrong with me that I have this much trouble making friends and having people in my life?#I don’t know how to change or fix that and now it feels too late to do so#I’m only getting older and I still have barely any friends and no prospects for a romantic partner and mostly I’m alone or with my parents#and it’s just so lonely and boring and pathetic and if I think about it too long all I want to do is cry#but I can’t because I’m at work and I have to keep it together#I try to just be at peace with myself but it’s so hard when I hate myself in the first fucking place#I’m usually comfortable in my own presence and have learned to be better about being with just me over the years#but it’s tiresome when you’re all you’ve got meanwhile everyone else is living a normal life#sometimes it feels like it will always be this way and I’ll always be unhappy deep inside my chest#I’m thankful for what I have but it gets harder to appreciate at times like these#I’ve gotta live with the choices I’ve made and I can’t live with myself today#personal
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