#and Vera was working over time

[mask-of-anubis]

Vera’s ending on the show was so anti-climatic, you have the most well-done villain on the show and she just like peaces out?

[recurring-polynya]

Despite absolutely despising the Disney Pinocchio film as a child (stories where characters were naughty caused me a great deal of anxiety), I watched Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio last night.

1) It also caused me a great deal of anxiety 2) I read that Guillermo del Toro made it because the Disney version also freaked him out as a child

That’s not the important part, the important part is that I am now obsessed with the four rabbit grim reapers who are voiced by Tim Blake Nelson:

At first, I was convinced that they must be a reference to the Black Rabbit of Inlé from Watership Down. I have never read or watched Watership Down. My relationship with Watership Down is that everyone I know irl who has read it was traumatized by it, and a lot of horror writers I like were inspired by it. I refuse to read it, thought, because Ursula K. LeGuin says it’s a shitty male power fantasy, and I always listen to Ursula.

I looked it up though and it turns out those rabbits are canonical to the book. What the fuck?? To be fair, I read the wikipedia synapsis of Pinocchio and Carlo Collodi was wilding. Wikipedia makes no mention of the rabbits, though, but I was able to find the part where they appear:

"Aren't you afraid of death?"

"Not a bit. I'd rather die than drink that awful medicine."

At that moment, the door of the room flew open and in came four Rabbits as black as ink, carrying a small black coffin on their shoulders.

"What do you want from me?" asked Pinocchio.

"We have come for you," said the largest Rabbit.

"For me? But I'm not dead yet!"

"No, not dead yet; but you will be in a few moments since you have refused to take the medicine which would have made you well."

"Oh, Fairy, my Fairy," the Marionette cried out, "give me that glass! Quick, please! I don't want to die! No, no, not yet--not yet!"

And holding the glass with his two hands, he swallowed the medicine at one gulp.

"Well," said the four Rabbits, "this time we have made the trip for nothing."

And turning on their heels, they marched solemnly out of the room, carrying their little black coffin and muttering and grumbling between their teeth.

In a twinkling, Pinocchio felt fine. With one leap he was out of bed and into his clothes.

The Fairy, seeing him run and jump around the room gay as a bird on wing, said to him:

"My medicine was good for you, after all, wasn't it?"

"Good indeed! It has given me new life."

"Why, then, did I have to beg you so hard to make you drink it?"

"I'm a boy, you see, and all boys hate medicine more than they do sickness."

"What a shame! Boys ought to know, after all, that medicine, taken in time, can save them from much pain and even from death."

"Next time I won't have to be begged so hard. I'll remember those black Rabbits with the black coffin on their shoulders and I'll take the glass and pouf!--down it will go!"

I found an illustration, too!!

Never in my life have I considered having some grim reaper rabbits stroll into my house in order to threaten my children into taking their medicine.

Anyway, thank you Guillermo del Toro, for never shying away from taking something weird as Hell and completely leaning into it. (I’m still incredibly pissed at Encanto for trying to turn 100 Years of Solitude into a feel-good family film)

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Ok so I watered all my plants for the second time this month (they’re succulents, cacti, and air plants so they’re fine). Chopped off all the dead parts of my aloe vera, for favor of the healthy bits… I’ll try to water them from now on; because the only reason I don’t like caring for them is because they’re not in the right spot (in my windowsill (which prevents the blinds from closing (which gets awkward when I’m changing (and the weight of the blinds bends the plants over like little old men)))); but when I move out, I can put them all together in a nice big pot and make a cool scene with them.

Anyway when I get my own place, I’m filling it with giant fragrant houseplants…

[mercuryislove]

flashback to when tejin was named surya and was also a boy

[tarjapearce]

Poppy Blue

Blue Jones! Miguel x Baby Doll! Reader.

Art by @marbipa on x

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Power play, choking kink, rough sex, mentions of abuse, preying, toxic and perverted behavior, implicit clandestine and illegal activities, lobotomy, dissociation, implicit depersonalization, objectification, hate sex, manhandling, violence, sub space. No Proofread.

Summary: Messy things ~ (I guess?) Miguel as Blue Jones from Sucker Punch.

A/N: Watched Sucker Punch last night and... yeah. Had to get this out of my system. ~ Another one for the Miguelverse ~

Masterlist

All it took was a bullet. Aimed at your assailant with no intentions of missing. Yet you did. You missed, failed terribly so. His chest was your goal, instead it went directly to his shoulder.

Projectile ripping and scorching skin, tissue and muscle in the go, earning a shaky and pained yelp. But it was the least he deserved after trying to be sneaky on your sister, that laid cold and bled out in the floor. She was no match for his knife and his blood thirst of the night. The rest was a blur.

And now, you were dragged down to the wet and dull greys walls of your future home. Lennox House. Or rather Lennox Asylum for the Mentally Ill.

Everything about the place screamed danger, everything about the people working in the monstrosity of place yelled I'm no better.

Barefoot, soaked in rain, holding your new uniform and gazing at the biggest man you've seen in you life, holding a bunch of keys while his eyes bore into you.

The way he stared made your skin crawl and it didn't help your clothes clung to your body. Arms braced the uniform closer to your chest, trying to cover it up. His eyes wandered to the man behind you, a police officer with three scratched lines into his face. You hadn't left him unscathed. Not when he tried to play rough with you back at your old home.

The man showed you around, place was as depressing as it was from the outside, but The Theater took the prize.

Girls your age dressed in gray, socializing in the area. And by socializing it'd mean to watch them either receive therapy with a polish beautiful woman named Vera Gorski, or watch them fight over the stupidest things. But who could blame them?

Some probably had enough time inside that had memorized the cracks in the wall, the scratches on the floor, the number of chewed gums underneath the table or how many dust particles were accumulated in the windows. Gray. Everything was gray and dull.

Even the voice of the men behind you talking about a price for your silence were tiresome and dry. Two thousand. That's what your memories were valued as. A number you now hated.

Corrupt pigs

The police officer gave you a gentle push forward as a nurse came to fetch you. The simple touch of that man made your skin revolt and slapped him hard across his wilting face, a scowl on your grimace that slowly turned into a smirk as the police officer tried to catch you, but you were being dragged away by two nurses into a life that would turn your head upside down and backwards, the many times it saw fit until you'd understand that you weren't in charge.

Until you'd understand your purpose.

Dance.

"If you don't dance, you have no purpose."

Madam Gorski murmured to you. Pretty, dangerous and aware of the many many situations revolving in the brothel. Cause in truth, the asylum was just an alibi and a frontage for the real deal. House Lennox. A house of pleasure.

Bets, drinks, sex, meds and a hell of a show to anyone that filled Miguel's pockets.

The main attraction? Girls that society deemed unfit to keep within her picky guts. Too into messy situations to keep the pretense around relatives. Too fucked up to function properly but good enough to mold and shape into something useful, and too tempting to break even further.

She mumbled while circling you, her dark eyes scrutinized you unabashedly, taking in everything her sight could reach. Pursing her pouty lips upon your body.

Pretty, scared, still holding a grip on reality while trying to swallow a really hard to deglute pill, and oh so perfect for a new purpose.

"We do not keep things in here that serve no purpose."

The collide of her cane on the floor was like a metronome, setting the pace to enter a forbidden place, somewhere that none could reach but you. Mind splitting in two, dissociating soul from conscience, leaving an empty, moving vessel behind. You were free for a moment. And now you wanted more, more of that place where your imagination ran rampant.

Where Gorski's words meant nothing, where the guards had no power, where you were allowed to break down and feel without second intentions or being frowned upon. But mainly, without Miguel’s preying gaze licking you raw while undressing your form with it.

But the clapping and praising brought you back to this reality. Red eyes fell upon you, studying, raking over your body upside down, stopping at your thighs to then go back to your flushed and breathless face.

Mr. O'Hara. Miguel 'Blue' O'Hara. The asylum guard, the key bearer, perverted pimp, and your new shadow.

Ever since that dance many things changed.

Even though you danced, duties in the asylum weren't to be neglected. If you said no, you'd get a visit to the hole.

If you didn't dance, you'd get a visit to the hole.

But if you didn't do things Miguel's way, you'd get a personal talk with him, and then a visit to the hole.

And those talks, surely weren't words.

Scrubbing the floors gave you the chance to listen a bit of everything. Girl's derangements, psychotic outbreaks, mumblings that were filled in with regret and many more flourishing emotions; the ever loud music from the cook, and the unceasing mewls and obscene noises coming from Miguel's office.

Some girls misbehaved on purpose, just to get a taste of him. Others did anything to draw his attention to them, specially in the dance floor. But you knew better to anger him.

Sure, pleasure came in hand with a high price. He wasn't good, he wasn't nice nor gentle, matter-of-factly some girls cried during their one on one sessions and the degradation only enhanced the tears.

Sick fuck.

Gorski's alarms flared up upon seeing belt marks on their legs and ass, bites in their inner thighs and bruises on their hips. Eyes a bit too gone and tired to actually work in anything. They might have spread the gossip around of Miguel fucking them, and even enjoyed it.

But the aftermath of it, said otherwise. And it was enough to keep you on check, but even so he was pulled to you like a magnet so strong you could see the refrain in his eyes every time he approached you.

Hands shaky, tongue rubbing and wetting his plump lips, a soft flush on his cheeks and pleading eyes. A silent 'Let me play too' cause he wasn't allowed to touch, or taste you. Instead, he'd use the girls willing to please him to take his anger out. Their bodies meant nothing, they meant nothing cause they weren't you.

They didn't have your body, they didn't have your sweet voice that distorted into moans and gasps that he'd kill to induce every time you danced, but above all, they didn't have your spark.

That little interaction with the police when you first arrived, had him folding on a bathroom, stroking himself to oblivion at the mere sound of your slaps.

Unbeknownst to you, you held so much power over him. Power he was set to dull, because he was the only one in control. Not even Gorski and her stupid polish methods to get in the rest's head. He ran the place and had it under control.

For how long though?

You wanted out. His little Poppy wanted out and surely would get everything to be free and leave him, forsake him in this damned place.

Anger flowed within his veins like molten lava upon remembering how other men looked at you, how other men wanted you. They'd possibly been imagining how good and tight your insides would feel cause the way you moved when you were up in the stage, was surreal. It was like another person took over.

But he, a sick fuck through and through, would want both. No. He'd have both. He craved and needed both, even better when you were dressed in such things that only added more dry bones to his needy fire.

Fucking lucky of them to feel you and be a your second skin. Even that stupid and everything but innocent uniform you were to dress every day, stirring up enough to let him take a peek of your panties, or the stockings underneath that remained etched on your supple thighs he'd often fantasize in getting lost between.

He just had to wait for you to misbehave. But sadly you didn't seem keen into breaking the rules. He'd wait.

---

"Stormy, come."

Vera called another girl. Whoever gave their names either knew them too well or picked random words in a go. Gorski too engrossed into her lessons to notice you had been dragged away by other guards under Miguel's petition.

Had you forgotten about something? No. Surely not. Last week's chores were fulfilled completely, the bathrooms were clean, the kitchen's dishes turn were washed up, and so were the floors. Your wrists sore, a reminder to ask for a new brush.

And-

Shit.

Fuck.

The laundry.

Some dancers had ran out of stockings, lingerie, and some sheets from the brothel needed to be replaced ASAP.

But you, Poppy, as Vera had called you and it stuck with the rest ever since, had trouble. Just cause you had forgotten about the damn laundry.

Miguel's formidable frame came into view, he was on a call, lying on how well someone's daughter was doing after a lobotomy. How they didn't have to worry about her anymore.

Your stomach felt sick and your heart leaped on your chest once he ended up the call. The guards had been long gone, leaving you with your shadow alone.

If honest, you knew Miguel either followed or kept you watched under hawk's eyes. Time stopped as soon as he turned to face you.

Pupils wide blown as soon as you came into his sight.

"My sweet, sweet Poppy."

He inhaled deeply and clasped his hands together before his face. An uncontainable smirk morphed into a light titter.

"You've been a bad girl, princesa."

His hands slamming on the table before him made you jolt and blink at his sudden mood shift.

"We..." He wetted his lips as he came behind you, "We were counting on you, Mi cielo. But... you failed us. Failed me."

A gulp as his breath fanned over the crook of your neck.

"You see..." His big and long fingers brushing your hair away from the right side of your head joint, "Now I gotta improvise something for the next show. "

"I'm sorry, I forgot-"

His hand took a hold of your neck and the contact made him growl. Warm, smooth, feeling every heartbeat underneath his big and calloused palms.

Lips dangerously close to your ear, breathing and panting as he pulled you closer to him, your back colliding against his torso and abdomen.

"Shh"

He hushed while taking a big whiff off you. A mix of soap, perfume and cigarettes. His hand squeezed tighter, earning a lovely and sweet yelp from you as he pushed you against his desk.

Your eyes widened in surprise upon feeling the hardening cock in between the slot of your thighs, poking, begging to be released and finally take you.

"You remind me of someone. Too bad she lost her spark."

His hand riled the skirt of your uniform up, passing up some layers of extra clothing, your underwear and stockings. Hand plunged inside to finally allowing his fingers to have a sample of your flesh.

"But I'm keeping yours alight, sweetheart."

His cock twitched when he found your clit. Fingers dexterous and peeling the outer folds away to give a gentle rub before you closed your legs almost instantly. A little delaid reaction, your brain was still processing it.

You went completely still when he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. He sucked them off with hunger, groaning and trembling at the taste.

"Por Dios, preciosa..."

You tried to pry his hand out of your neck but the struggle made his breathings more labored and needy as he humped and ground against you from behind. Letting his tip to speak volumes at how hard and wanton he was. How bad you made him react. How much power you had over him.

Of course.

The idea of having him subdued to you assaulted your mind. Pressuring you into pleading, just like your clit that clenched and twitched upon having his tip rubbing in a slow yet firm strokes.

His hands went back inside your panties, searching for the nub of nerves that had you melting. Tongue skimming at the tender skin of your neck.

Just as he was about to bury a finger knuckle deep, the ever annoying voice of Vera urging Miguel from outside the door, asking for you. Her dear and lovely Poppy.

"Chingada madre" (Fucking shit)

He sighed with an exasperated growl and looked at the door.

"The fuck you want?!"

"I need Poppy on the practice. Now."

Where was the shocking baton when he needed it the most?

For once, you were relieved to know that you didn't go unnoticed under Gorski's watch. She protected the girls in her own way.

Knees trembled as he kept the hand inside. A little miscalculation had you whimpering while his fingers remained trapped in your flesh. His eyes snapped back on you with a smirk.

A hand clasped on top of your mouth, suffocating any moans as he worked his fingers between your pussy. Touching and prodding at the forbidden flesh, a moan vibrated through his hand with a high pitched Hmm

"I'll get her to you right away!"

Miguel yelled while working his fingers harder and faster, alternating between rubbing and fucking your hole with them.

"Spread your legs wider, pretty baby" The husk of his voice made you close your eyes and hips hump ever shyly at his hands. Gaining as much friction as possible.

"Miguel, I need her now."

He grumbled under his breath while moving his hands faster. The wet smooch and sucking squelch had him humping against your panties, breaths agitated, muttering something you could only decipher as filth in spanish, your hands clenched onto him, tightly fisted on his clothes.

Just a bit more

He heard Vera cursing in her native tongue as he prodded his fingers inside, toying with your opening. Stretching and fucking it at his likings.

"You fucking little slut"

He tittered while rubbing furiously in your clit. A bit too rough that had you bucking and trembling in his arms. If his hands made you quiver and melt he couldn't wait to see what his cock could do. You drenched his fingers.

Said fingers were cleaned up again by his mouth with a droopy and pleasure drunk face.

Despite having your legs shaky, he held you by the hips, and forced you to grab onto his desk. His hands quickly fumbled with his pants and boxers, pulling his cock out.

He stroked a couple of times, tip susceptible to stimulation. He pulled the panties aside, your stockings the only barrier between you and his erection. The flimsy layer of clothes instantly adhered to your soaked skin, He pushed in between your thighs, rubbing his cock back and forth with slow thrust against your pussy. His hot length brushed against the already engorged and sensitive nub.

The tightness of your warm thighs smooshed together created the perfect friction hole for him without actually penetrating you. So close and yet so far of that forbidden territory. Soft mewls and whimpers came out your mouth, too enraptured in feeling than verbalizing your pleasure.

He also needed his toys. Specially his favorite. Stockings were thoroughly soaked the more he pushed his cock in and out. Labia clothed and slicked parted to feel his shallow moves. He used you as his fleshlight, his hips smacking yours. His chest rumbled with animalistic and low growls.

His hands were clumsy as the pleasure turned overwhelming, you could see the flushed tip of him peeking out your thighs, the urge of tasting him turned bigger the faster he went. You were trying so hard to keep it as quiet as possible.

"Wished I was inside you, don't you?"

You gasped as he purposely angled his tip in your dripping hole. A shivering breath was all he received.

He took you by your chin and squeezed

"Don't you?!"

"Y-Yes!"

"Yes, what?!"

"Yes, sir."

Jesus fucking Christ.

He pushed in deeper in your cunt, his cock pushed a bit of the stockings inside as he doused it with his cum, unable to hold back any longer, marking you.

You had never heard a man pant and wheeze like that before. So deep, raspy, needy, cradling you tighter, anchoring to you as he shook his orgasm out.

"Fuck- Ay Dios, fuckfuck-"

He slurred while engulfing your frame against the table. Breathings matching his erratic ones.

Your skin between supple thighs felt clammy and sticky. Black stockings ruined completely by the white and wet patch of his scent.

Hot breath fanned over your neck.

"Can't wait to feel the real de-"

The door banged.

"Boss! We need you!"

The guards and Vera had proposed to fuck around with him cause his patience had been tested many times.

Your steps marching away from him snapped him out of his thoughts, He blinked and held you by the wrist, pulling you once more to him to kiss you.

Your first kiss in years. Soft but needy and filled in with a promise to fulfill later.

Now that he had a taste, there was none to stop him. He'd take his favorite toy and go home.

----

Freedom was taken away from you, right before your eyes. Forsaken by your so called friends, marooned by the crew you had gathered within the depths of despair. Your hope had given them a chance at surviving, your courage had transformed you into a fucked up sisterhood, but it was their greed that made you the ultimate sacrifice to their success.

You could only watch while thrashing your way out, but the more you fought, the more guards came to you, but one in particular pulled you out of the mess like a feather. But you didn't stop fighting. Not even when your tabs were in absolute zero probabilities of winning, not when Miguel dragged you inside manhandling your crying form like a ragdoll.

Scratches, fists and other punches didn't move him in the slightest. His grip tightened once you both were locked up in his office once more. He tossed you on the floor.

"Why... Why did you want to leave?"

His tone menacing yet hurt.

The idea of you almost slipping away from him had sent him in a berserk mode that unleashed hellbent through the asylum. Just to find you and when he did, he wanted nothing but hurt you, just the way you've hurt him.

Wasn't his attention enough? , wasn't him being lenient on you and your chores enough? Wasn't he enough?

"WHY?!"

You were too dumbfounded to process his question. Too marked with shame at your failure and rage to pay him attention, and that alone sent him grabbing you by the neck and crash you against a vanity. Tossing everything above it to the floor.

Your back collided against the now shattered mirror, you yelped but still managed to slap him and that made him groan and nod frantically.

Yes

One of his hands was more than enough to hold your both arms as he positioned between your thighs, pressing further against you.

"You don't like me, Poppy? Why?"

"Let me go!"

His hand squeezed your neck tightly, cutting all air for a minute while he kissed you. Sloppy, angry and so full with lust and rage. It gave you no time to react while his other hand tore the panties from underneath your skirt.

You kept slapping him, but that only enticed him to spread you further

"Love that fucking spark on you, preciosa."

He then thrashed you against the table sending a painful jolt through your body, It made you still for a moment.

"No! No! Don't-" his eyes widened in panic, "Don't lose it. Please-"

"No" You panted, "Just found it" A flower vase was smashed in his forehead. And that granted you freedom from his hands as you fell on the floor, gasping for air and crawling away from him.

Heavy steps echoed, trailing dangerously after you. Miguel took you by the ankle and dragged you towards him.

"No!"

He hissed and pulled you upwards, like a statuette, and slammed your torso against the desk you had been clenching onto. All air knocked out your lungs.

A hand passed over his buckle and removed in a swift motion his belt in one go. The sight of your pussy peeking underneath the ruffles of your skirt made a smile that didn't reach his eyes to appear.

He quickly got the belt around your neck, your hands instantly pried, or at least tried to pry it away, scratching yourself in the process. The smell of copper filled in the air, the vase had broke the skin of his forehead.

"You fucking ungrateful bitch!"

He secured the belt tighter and you wheezed, hands flailed to get a hold of him. Fingers already prodding and toying with your cunt, to his surprise, the struggle and fight turned you on, knowing that a man wanted you so badly that would do anything to have you, and you denying such power had you soaked.

Specially when the man in question was this 6'9" cell guard that wanted nothing but to wreck you, destroy you the way you had destroyed his fucked up illusions.

"All I did for you, everything I did meant shit for you-"

He rasped before slapping your butt with such force it stung and left a red imprint on the now reddening flesh.

"I didn't... a-ask you for shit!"

He grunted at your broken words as he pulled the makeshift leash backwards, separated your legs and pulled out his cock once more.

"There we go, baby"

"Y-You're so pathetic-"

Words died in your throat as he slid inch by inch inside. The intrusion made you sob a feeble whimper, it burned and hurt, but in a way you weren't expecting and you liked it.

"Me? Pathetic? Ay muñeca, is not me whose gonna beg me to stop" He pulled your face towards him and kissed you once more, "You won't even remember your name once I'm done with you."

He buried to the hilt as he watched your expression. Troubled yet blissful. A little grip was loosened as he felt you were about to speak again.

"You talk too much shit-."

Part of you regretted said words, cause he smashed your head in the desk and dug his fingers around your hips.

"Is that so?"

Nothing had you prepared for the assailing onslaught of his hips. Fucking was a measly word compared to what he actually was doing to your poor and snug cunt.

It wasn't slapping, his hips thwacked yours with such force you were sure your cervix would be bruised and your legs wouldn't walk properly for the next few days, but as it hurt, it felt good. Too good for your own comfort. Specially when propped a leg ontop of a stool for more leverage to ruin you deeper.

A garbled moan came out your lips, before gritting your teeth together and shaking your head vehemently. He laughed in between deep growls and moans.

"Am I dulling that spark, muñeca?"

Your body lurched forwards, pussy drenched him with every remorseless push he delivered. Eyes struggling to keep on the front, but it was unavoidable to have them rolling back as your jaw slacked open.

High pitched wails rumbled out of your gaping mouth, permeating the once silent room. Two of his fingers slid in your mouth, hot breath colliding against them. They hooked forcing your mouth to keep open.

The desk shook under your weight, the room filled in with moans so sweet and delicious, unlike the many that had been under him.

You were experiencing first hand the danger. Miguel wasn't nice, he wasn't gentle. The latter made an emphasis on its own as he pulled the belt impossibly tighter. A gurgling and rasping noise came from your throat. He wasn't squeezing anymore, he was choking you.

And Dios mio, you were sure you'd die. But dying sounded way too much of a reward than staying in this awful place.

"Yes"

You hissed in between butchered pants and wheezing mewls. Mind set in welcoming the reaper as air was still cut out of your lungs. Legs too weak to keep on their own. Dizziness fogging your mind, fire engulfing your body, Your cunt slurped him in, wetness no longer an issue since he slid and out so easily.

The only indicator you still had consciousness was the little pathetic cries you did as his hips plowed you with a new intensity you didn't know possible.

He had been whispering the filthiest things into your ear, a couple of degrading words you couldn't quite hear, too busy being cock drunk and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Your torso and arms laid in between his arms and the desk, his upper body keeping you still as his hips did the whole assault. His face too snatched in a myriad of things.

Pride cause he finally got to have you and proved you wrong, lust cause you felt just like he had imagined, anger because of your previous words. He was the one that was rawing you into oblivion, had your brain turned upside down, not Gorski, and had you cumming with such an intensity it was overwhelming and too much for your brain to digest.

Too much.

The choking had your brain's fuse in a shortcut, shutting itself off for what it felt like forever, until he spilled himself inside. Renovating your walls white.

Hot cum spurted and not a single drop was wasted as he made sure you kept it inside.

His hulking figure trembled, torn in between subtle and violent spasms that shook him to his very core and raged pants that sent a shiver down your sore spine.

He finally had you and you were his. He wasn't letting you go. Not when he was about to give you a new purpose.

Being his.

---

Everything that he thought good and right blurred. Eyes filled in with tears at your state. Gone. Gone from this world, gone from him, the spark had vanished.

No

How this happened?

His mind raked through the memories, trying to find the right moment everything went to shit.

He signed a paper. A lobotomy authorization in your behalf.

No!, no!.

"Come back" He pleaded while kissing you and squeezing his hands on the joint of your head and shoulders, to pry something out of you. But nothing came.

The spark had been lost.

And so were you.

"Please, muñeca"

He sobbed and cradled you in his arms, but there was no push, no retaliation, nothing. Only a lovely vessel of his love.

You were gone. For real.

He had been so naive to believe that fucking you senseless meant to have you. He had been such a fool to fall for such a simple thing as that.

And now he had lost you. His own hand brought his demise. Guards and Gorski dragged him out, his hand latched on to you, but even your skin felt different.

"Poppy!"

He yelled but you didn't answer. Just watched him with a look that shattered his heart.

You were free. Free and far far away.

[kitchenwitchtingss]

50 KITCHEN WITCH TIPS TO MAKE YOU FEEL MORE WITCHY

(And other useful things I've learned over the years)

Hi! This is a list of dos, don'ts, tips, tricks, and other fun things that I've learned over the years. I always love finding more effective and efficient ways of doing things so if you have any cool things you'd like to add, leave them in the comments or reblog. I'd love to read it.

Anyways... On with the list ^_^

Light candles around your kitchen space (just make sure nothing flammable is near you)

Annotate your cookbooks with the correspondence of the ingredients.

Mediating is really good to calm the mind before cooking.

Cut oranges and lemons thinly, dry them, and hang them with twine around your kitchen

Need a cleansing tip? Open all your windows near your kitchen. Let some fresh air in.

Cutting sigils into apples, pie crusts, and carved potatoes.

Save lemon and orange rinds, freeze them, and then use them to clean the garbage disposal.

Make infused oils and honey: Things like garlic honey, lavender honey, herb oil, sun oil, moon oil, dandelion oil, and other different edible oils are very fun and useful to make.

Hid sigils in pages of your cookbooks and kitchen witch journals.

Add some plants! Snake plants and spider plants don't need too much light, and growing your own herbs in your kitchen is awesome too. Basil, lavender, thyme, aloe vera, rosemary, etc. are good fits. You could also add some plants that require more sunlight on the kitchen window sill. Like cacti and succulents.

Bring crystals into your kitchen space such as rose quartz, clear quartz, amethyst, or whatever you want the space's intentions to be.

I keep a small money tree on the sill, along with cacti for luck and protection.

Make a simmer Pot! Mostly because it makes the whole house smell good, easy, and fun.

Stir clockwise for best results!

Learning how to pickle things is actually pretty witchy. Plus, anyone could do it as it requires absolutely no kitchen experience. You could pickle any vegetable, even if you don't like pickles. I originally learned this after having to take shelter from a natural disaster. A person brought a bunch of stuff and taught us how to pickle things with different spices and herbs. Very fun!

Decorate your kitchen with your favorite stuff. Crystals, decor, heat mits, that cool mushroom cake stand you've been eyeing at the World Market for the past 2 weeks, cool looking curtains, sun catchers. Why stop there? Paint the walls, hang shelves full of marked-up cookbooks that are a little too well-loved and thumbed through.

Wanna be the person that has the amazing-smelling house every time people come over? Syrups take some time to simmer down, it's actually a pretty good time to leave it on the stove to simmer. Since syrups have a lot of aromatic ingredients, it acts as a really good-smelling simmer pot.

Hang up herbs to dry with twine from cabinets that are rarely used.

Invest in that new set of plates and cups.

Homemade jams, butter, sauces, and syrups are your best friend.

Crochet or knit your own dish rags, pot holders, etc.

Don't pour extremely hot things into a glass that's not Pyrex, it will break, and you will be very sad about it.

Don't cook anything while extremely upset or emotional (For safety reasons)

Make recipes you want to make, not just because you'll like the effect. Make it because you think it's tasty.

Chinese Five Spice works in place of herbs for protection and luck spells a lot of the time! It's cheaper to buy 1 spice than 4 different spices that total up to 15 dollars when you could just spend 3-4 dollars.

Take a shower before cooking (I don't know how to explain this one other than it makes you feel better)

Don't use microfiber/plastic material clothes on hot burners, it will fuse to the burner and melt. It is VERY hard to get off.

I don't know if I need to put this one but I did see someone do it so nonstick pan = wooden utensils and plastic utensils, metal pan = metal utensils. Do not use a metal spoon in a nonstick pan, please. It can make you very sick.

Keep your pets away from hot oil, open ovens, and hot pans.

You can proof bread dough in the fridge overnight if you don't have the time to bake, or want to eat fresh bread right in the morning.

Need a quick witchy meal for dinner in 12 minutes? Use premade tomato pasta sauce and doctor it up with thyme, rosemary, and garlic, for protection and distilling stagnant energies. Serve with pasta of your liking.

You can substitute Butter for Crisco/shortening, buttermilk for 1 cup of milk + 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and heavy cream for 1 cup of half and half plus 2 tbsp of butter.

Use leftover animal bones to make bone broth

Teach yourself the art of bread scoring (It's fun, and you can show it off to your loved ones!)

Collect and hoard your own and others' family recipes.

Sometimes the food doesn't have to be a spell, sometimes it just makes you feel good and you don't know why.

Listen to your favorite music in the kitchen, it makes the monotonous things like chopping veggies move faster.

Invest in a vegetable chopper if you don't like chopping vegetables.

Find a really good hot cocoa recipe and make it once a week. Master it. Just for your own happiness because hot cocoa is really good. You could also be the friend/family member that makes the best hot cocoa ever.

Focaccia Bread Lasts a very long time, and it's very easy to make!

Keep a first aid kit near where the oven is, in case of burns, cuts, or serious injuries where time is everything.

Quick Bread and no-rise loaves are simple for beginners, tasty, and take little time. They also feel very witchy to make.

Study a bit of Herbalism! It's fun and really helps better understand the herbs you're putting into your food.

While something is boiling, put your wooden spoon over the pot to minimize the chance of something boiling over.

Try a bit of coffee magick, it's simple to get into, and gives you a boost of energy to take on the day!

If you're over 21, wine-making is a very interesting way to celebrate the sabbats. Just with that, make sure you KNOW what you're doing. With anything fermented, there's always a risk if you don't store things correctly. Apple wines, strawberry wines, dandelion wines, etc. all very cool to experiment with. If you're not over 21, vinegar is a similar way to experiment.

Hang up some witchy things, sigils, photos, cool magnets, and other things that give you joy on your fridge. (Sometimes if you are lucky they have some fun magnets at five below)

If you live in the US, for some reason, there are a lot of books in the book section dedicated to witchcraft and spirituality. At least where I live. And they are all under 5 dollars!

Teas are the cheapest and easiest things you can practice being a kitchen witch.

[kquil]

JAMES POTTER | JOINT SCHEDULE

request. : Hey can you do some more ice hockey player James imagines? I love them sm! —@prongsbandit

sum. : you booked the university's ice rink to practice your routine for an upcoming competition but so did the university's ice hockey team, whose captain screwed up the timings

g. : fluff ; modern au ; ice hockey player james ; figure skater reader ; shy reader ; university au ; jock james potter ; supportive figure skating coach ; supportive hockey team

length : 1.6k

In preparation for an upcoming figure skating competition, you were dedicated to getting in as much practice as possible. Thankfully, you were able to book the university ice rink for two months in the lead up to the competition. Your regular practice sessions were every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday for five in the late afternoon until seven. It was a bit excessive but you wanted to win. Many of your friends view you as someone sweet and docile but also hard working and quite the perfectionist. What they don’t realise is how competitive you can be behind the scenes. Everytime you cancel plans, you usually excuse yourself with the ‘I’m busy’ reasoning that your close friends readily accept, believing that you were working through papers and research articles for uni classes when, in actuality, you were spending time in the rink. 

Today, you had brought with you your portable stereo to go through the routine with the music over and over again, gradually perfecting the appearance of your more grandiose moves as well as the sequence of your steps on the ice. It felt good being at this stage of your development, the entirety of your routine has been choreographed already and had been revised by your coach, who suggested some minor changes but approved it overall — you knew what you were doing, it was just the case of perfecting things now, something you were talented at and even enjoyed. 

The main focus for today’s session was the polishing of the big jumps and ambitious spins of your routine. It was a little tiresome and you don’t believe you’d be able to cover all of them for this session but you never really expected to in the first place. Your only saving grace was that you had some time to apply light makeup earlier in celebration for the new figure skating set you were gifted by your parents. It was an all black set that paired a sleek skort with a long sleeved turtle neck top that had lacing to decorate the open back and thumb holes in the sleeves as the hem reached half way up your palms. You liked feeling pretty in practices, it always helped to encourage your self-confidence so there was always a little spike in your performance. The praises of your supervising coach was all you needed to confirm this fact. 

“Brilliant, my girl! Again!” Vera sang her high praises from the stands and helped you control the music whenever you wanted to repeat a particular part of the choreo. For this routine, you had settled for something more elegant and based the choreography around the ‘Waltz of the Flowers’ by Tchaikovsky. The soundtrack made you miss the time you did ballet until you were fifteen before eventually falling in love with figure skating. A lot of your routines tend to be based around the elegance of ballet in addition to the complicated turns, spins and jumps that encompassed figure skating; your coach, Vera, loved how you were able to combine both sports in such a seamless way. 

The music kept playing even after you had repeated the skid spiral so you naturally flowed into rehearsing more of your choreo, allowing muscle memory and the music to guide you over the ice as you subconsciously waited for Vera to pause the music and ask you to repeat something that didn’t look quite right. Polishing up the routine was filled with more critiques than any stage of creating your final performance so your anticipation for Vera to pause the music, repeat a move and provide additional tips lingered in the back of your mind as you flawlessly spiralled into one of your most difficult spins — a one-handed beillman. 

“Beautiful Beautiful!” Vera praised, clapping as you gradually spun out of the position before abandoning the routine and grinning widely to yourself, proud and giddy for finally nailing the transition and spin. 

“Vera!” you shout across the ice and over the music, cheering with your fists raised to the air in victory, “I did it!” It was then when you realised that Vera’s clapping was accompanied with an entire audience of applause and your panicked eyes fell upon a grinning hockey player standing beside your coach, behind them was a team of hockey players, some whistling and whooping in between their applause. 

As you tried to catch your breath and suppress your bashfulness, you gathered that Vera had neglected to reply to the soundtrack to discuss something with the hockey player, and so, it seems that the entire hockey team just saw a glimpse of your routine. Eventually, Vera paused the music and motioned you over, looking to discuss something. 

“Wh-what’s wrong?” you ask upon reaching the sidelines, fiddling with the hem of your sleeves as you avoided the hockey player’s eyes. He was dressed in most of his equipment, only missing his headgear, and was sporting the dopiest grin on his face. “It appears as though the university hockey team had booked the rink to practise for a match happening early next week, however, there was some miscommunication over the timings and schedules,” you furrow your brows as Vera explains the situation before shyly glancing up at the hockey player beside her, who had unruly dark curls and glimmering hazel eyes behind a pair of cute glasses. It seems your simple acknowledgement of him was enough to prompt his self introduction. 

“I’m James,” he reaches out his gloved hand for you to shake, quickly taking it back to rip of his glove off before reaching to shake your hand once again, “James Potter, Captain of the Hockey team,” behind him the rest of the hockey players wave at you, some with friendly grins and others sporting a mischievous smirk as they regard their captain’s behaviour around you, “Vera explained that you were practising for a competition and also booked the rink in advance but since you got here early, we’ll put the decision to you,”

You raised a brow and tilted your head slightly, prompting him to continue, “make a decision on what?”

“On whether to kick us out and continue your practice or finish your practice early and allow us to have the rink for drills exercises and plays,” James finished, grinning at you with no malice and insinuating that he wouldn’t hold any ill-will over either outcome. 

“Oh!” your cheeks heat up under his warm voice, amiable manner, pretty eyes and charming dimples and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment before eventually shaking your head and giving him your resolve, “I’d be happy to give you the rink, I’ve covered a lot of ground already so I don’t mind,” James’s smile reaches his eyes once more and he nods. 

“You heard the lady boys, what do we say?” he shouts back to his team, his voice commanding attention and is as firm as his build, encouraging an ensemble of ‘thank you’s to sound from behind him, “Thank you very much,” James finishes and nods to his boys, signalling them to set up the rink and get ready for practice while you also take the time to shake off your nerves and walk off the ice, where James greets you once more.

“I hope you have a good and productive practice,” you wish him and offer a warm smile, your heart finally settled down to a semi-heightened beat. He’s really quite handsome…you think to yourself but quickly look away to, again, keep from staring too long. 

“Thank you and thanks again for letting us have the rink,” James takes your hand and lifts your knuckles to his lips — an act of gratitude that has a dangerous heat creeping up your neck to occupy your cheeks once more, “you’re very beautiful on the ice, by the way. I’m sure you’ll smash it at the competition, your competitors don’t stand a chance,” the two of you share pleasantries and more smiles before you finally make your way to the locker rooms to change with a straighter back and a lighter heart. 

What an encounter. 

“She practises every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday from 5 to 7pm,” Vera says out of nowhere as she approaches James, who stares off to where you had disappeared. 

“I’m sorry?” 

A stone cold look crosses over Vera’s face, “avoid those times at all costs,” she warns, her russian accent suddenly thick and intimidating, “my student doesn’t need any distractions,” the statement makes James raise a brow in question, “her competition is on the 14th November, held in the city community rink, and it starts at noon, don’t be late,”

Suffice to say, James wasn’t late to your competition, in fact,  he was early and he brought the entire hockey team with him to support you. You won second place but felt like a gold medalist when the hockey team hollered the loudest for you at the awarding ceremony and lifted you onto their shoulders with the congratulatory flowers James brought you in your arms and your silver medal around your neck.  To return the favour, you attended their next hockey game and made sure to shout the loudest whenever their team scored and eventually when their team won the match.

“When do you think our captain’s finally gonna grow some balls and ask out his ice skating ballerina?” Sirius whispers to his taller brunette friend.

“Let them take their time,” Remus replies, the two staring as James throws his arm over your shoulders and you wrap your own around the back of his waist, “everyone already thinks their dating anyway so they’ll get it eventually,”

“Wait! So they’re not actually dating yet?” Peter asks with a surprised face as the other two laugh, “But I swear I saw them kissing by the locker rooms before the game earlier!”

a/n : i know nothing about ice skating or ice hockey but i tried my best! i'm sorry if this is not very realistic. i also hope that the request was fulfilled to a satisfactory standard despite the long wait, i'm really sorry for that by the way (┳Д┳) nevertheless, i tried my best and i hope this made you happy, darling, thank you for the cute request (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

navi.

taglist : @ghostgardn @fredweasleysjumper @rosalyn-s @melinajenkins @astonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @sageskisses444 @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @neeezza101 @chaosofmanyfandoms

[nasa]

Caution: Universe Work Ahead 🚧

We only have one universe. That’s usually plenty – it’s pretty big after all! But there are some things scientists can’t do with our real universe that they can do if they build new ones using computers.

The universes they create aren’t real, but they’re important tools to help us understand the cosmos. Two teams of scientists recently created a couple of these simulations to help us learn how our Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope sets out to unveil the universe’s distant past and give us a glimpse of possible futures.

Caution: you are now entering a cosmic construction zone (no hard hat required)!

This simulated Roman deep field image, containing hundreds of thousands of galaxies, represents just 1.3 percent of the synthetic survey, which is itself just one percent of Roman's planned survey. The full simulation is available here. The galaxies are color coded – redder ones are farther away, and whiter ones are nearer. The simulation showcases Roman’s power to conduct large, deep surveys and study the universe statistically in ways that aren’t possible with current telescopes.

One Roman simulation is helping scientists plan how to study cosmic evolution by teaming up with other telescopes, like the Vera C. Rubin Observatory. It’s based on galaxy and dark matter models combined with real data from other telescopes. It envisions a big patch of the sky Roman will survey when it launches by 2027. Scientists are exploring the simulation to make observation plans so Roman will help us learn as much as possible. It’s a sneak peek at what we could figure out about how and why our universe has changed dramatically across cosmic epochs.

This video begins by showing the most distant galaxies in the simulated deep field image in red. As it zooms out, layers of nearer (yellow and white) galaxies are added to the frame. By studying different cosmic epochs, Roman will be able to trace the universe's expansion history, study how galaxies developed over time, and much more.

As part of the real future survey, Roman will study the structure and evolution of the universe, map dark matter – an invisible substance detectable only by seeing its gravitational effects on visible matter – and discern between the leading theories that attempt to explain why the expansion of the universe is speeding up. It will do it by traveling back in time…well, sort of.

Seeing into the past

Looking way out into space is kind of like using a time machine. That’s because the light emitted by distant galaxies takes longer to reach us than light from ones that are nearby. When we look at farther galaxies, we see the universe as it was when their light was emitted. That can help us see billions of years into the past. Comparing what the universe was like at different ages will help astronomers piece together the way it has transformed over time.

This animation shows the type of science that astronomers will be able to do with future Roman deep field observations. The gravity of intervening galaxy clusters and dark matter can lens the light from farther objects, warping their appearance as shown in the animation. By studying the distorted light, astronomers can study elusive dark matter, which can only be measured indirectly through its gravitational effects on visible matter. As a bonus, this lensing also makes it easier to see the most distant galaxies whose light they magnify.

The simulation demonstrates how Roman will see even farther back in time thanks to natural magnifying glasses in space. Huge clusters of galaxies are so massive that they warp the fabric of space-time, kind of like how a bowling ball creates a well when placed on a trampoline. When light from more distant galaxies passes close to a galaxy cluster, it follows the curved space-time and bends around the cluster. That lenses the light, producing brighter, distorted images of the farther galaxies.

Roman will be sensitive enough to use this phenomenon to see how even small masses, like clumps of dark matter, warp the appearance of distant galaxies. That will help narrow down the candidates for what dark matter could be made of.

In this simulated view of the deep cosmos, each dot represents a galaxy. The three small squares show Hubble's field of view, and each reveals a different region of the synthetic universe. Roman will be able to quickly survey an area as large as the whole zoomed-out image, which will give us a glimpse of the universe’s largest structures.

Constructing the cosmos over billions of years

A separate simulation shows what Roman might expect to see across more than 10 billion years of cosmic history. It’s based on a galaxy formation model that represents our current understanding of how the universe works. That means that Roman can put that model to the test when it delivers real observations, since astronomers can compare what they expected to see with what’s really out there.

In this side view of the simulated universe, each dot represents a galaxy whose size and brightness corresponds to its mass. Slices from different epochs illustrate how Roman will be able to view the universe across cosmic history. Astronomers will use such observations to piece together how cosmic evolution led to the web-like structure we see today.

This simulation also shows how Roman will help us learn how extremely large structures in the cosmos were constructed over time. For hundreds of millions of years after the universe was born, it was filled with a sea of charged particles that was almost completely uniform. Today, billions of years later, there are galaxies and galaxy clusters glowing in clumps along invisible threads of dark matter that extend hundreds of millions of light-years. Vast “cosmic voids” are found in between all the shining strands.

Astronomers have connected some of the dots between the universe’s early days and today, but it’s been difficult to see the big picture. Roman’s broad view of space will help us quickly see the universe’s web-like structure for the first time. That’s something that would take Hubble or Webb decades to do! Scientists will also use Roman to view different slices of the universe and piece together all the snapshots in time. We’re looking forward to learning how the cosmos grew and developed to its present state and finding clues about its ultimate fate.

This image, containing millions of simulated galaxies strewn across space and time, shows the areas Hubble (white) and Roman (yellow) can capture in a single snapshot. It would take Hubble about 85 years to map the entire region shown in the image at the same depth, but Roman could do it in just 63 days. Roman’s larger view and fast survey speeds will unveil the evolving universe in ways that have never been possible before.

Roman will explore the cosmos as no telescope ever has before, combining a panoramic view of the universe with a vantage point in space. Each picture it sends back will let us see areas that are at least a hundred times larger than our Hubble or James Webb space telescopes can see at one time. Astronomers will study them to learn more about how galaxies were constructed, dark matter, and much more.

The simulations are much more than just pretty pictures – they’re important stepping stones that forecast what we can expect to see with Roman. We’ve never had a view like Roman’s before, so having a preview helps make sure we can make the most of this incredible mission when it launches.

Learn more about the exciting science this mission will investigate on Twitter and Facebook.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[enbyenvy666]

I'll do a request how about todoroki and bakugou accidentally burning their partner while sparring? Figure it's how they apologize or make up for it. Partner isn't mad though.

hope you enjoy :)

CONTENT WARNINGS - gn reader, semi-graphic depictions of burns, comfort, mild mild mild angst, accurate first aid, no beta we die like men

w/c - .8k

Todoroki

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

It was part of your weekly routine, sparring with Shoto to hone your skills and his. It wasn’t odd to end up with a couple of bruises and scrapes, you were a pro hero and so was he, both with powerful quirks, it was an occupational hazard. There were never any serious injuries, no black eyes or anything that needed stitches. 

Until one night when you tried to dodge his flaming fist and your exhausted body caused your knee to give way, falling against his arm. He reacted quickly, deactivating his quirk and helping you to the ground so you fell safely. Your shirt was singed, burning away to reveal the reddened skin underneath. You could only writhe, stuck between sucking in deep breaths and being unable to breathe out.

Shoto spat out apology after apology, wanting to hold you but afraid he would harm you again. But you reached out to him, gripping his arm as you pulled yourself upwards. Through gritted teeth, you asked him to help you to the bathroom so you could run room-temperature water over the burn. He quickly helped you to the bathroom, running the shower so you could sit in the water stream. 

“I’m really sorry, love,” he whispered as he removed your shirt. The cool water over the burn eased the pain enough for you to smile softly, reaching out to cup his cheek, your thumb running over his scar. 

“I’m not mad Sho, it was an accident,” you explained. “If anything I should blame myself for falling.”

“But that’s not your fault!” Shoto countered. With a grin, you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Help me wrap this up and we’ll call it even.”

Bakugo 

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Not everyone knew that when Katsuki used his quirk frequently in a short period of time his hands got really hot to produce more sweat. During his hero work, he wore gloves so it wasn’t usually a problem and thus he forgot about it. He was training with you on one of the few nights he had free. He was training his endurance in particular, testing the longevity of his quirk by firing off explosion after explosion in quick succession until he couldn’t produce any more nitroglycerin. 

You held padded blocks over your hands, protecting yourself from his onslaught of explosions. They weren’t as strong as normal as Katsuki was more focused on his stamina for the time being, but even for a moment you felt like you were going to be knocked off your feet. But he finally stopped, shaking out his hands as he felt his muscles twist into cramps. 

You slipped your hand out of the padding, holding it up to high-five as you usually did to congratulate him on a job well done. And as usual, when your palms met, he could pull you in for a kiss. But when his fingers wrapped around your hand, you let out a shriek, ripping your hand out of his grip. It took a moment, but the shape of his hand and fingers showed up on your hand in a bright red.

He cursed, wiping his hand on his pants as if that would cool them faster. They were still warm when he grabbed your good hand to drag you to the kitchen, running the sink and sticking your hand under it. He was quiet, brow knitted more than normal as he glared at the water flowing from the tap. Not a word was said as he retrieved the first aid kit, gently drying your hand with paper towels before rubbing aloe vera over the burn, carefully avoiding spots where blisters started to form. 

You watched his eyes flickering, tense muscles in his face twitching as he fought with himself internally. He made sure to wrap the bandages loosely in case your hand swelled, but his ginger touches were juxtaposed by how he roughly put the first aid kit away, slamming the cupboard closed afterwards. He didn’t come to you when you reached out to him as if he was punishing himself by not allowing you to comfort him. So you went to him instead, fingers weaving through the soft, blonde hair at the back of his neck to pull him down until your forehead met his. 

“It’s okay, I’m not angry,” you whispered. Katsuki shut his eyes, arms slinking around your waist as he allowed himself to bask in your relaxing touch. The back of your fingers on your injured hand lightly brushed across his jaw. He grasped your hand delicately, bringing the digits to his lips to kiss tenderly. Pressing your lips to his, he felt you pulling away after, and quickly wrapped his strong arms around you to pull you back in, his chin on your shoulder. 

“Just a bit longer.”

[satorusugurugurl]

Aloe Vera

Summary: When on vacation with your boyfriend, things are great, the drinks, the sex, and the pool. What wasn't great, was the sunburn? But you're dating the strongest sorcerer of the modern age! He’ll take good care of you!

Characters: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,408

Warnings: language, sunburn (please wear sunscreen!) fluff~!

A/N: As someone who lives in the desert, this happens a lot. My S.O was sweet enough to rub aloe on me last week, thus my muse!

“Oooh fuck me.” You whine, shuffling into the bathroom. “Fuuuuck me.”

Satoru is right behind you, towel wrapped around his neck, sunglasses pushing his bangs out of his face. “I told you to put on sunscreen! But nooo, somebody stayed by the pool because someone wanted to live, laugh, and work on her tan.”

Your boyfriend was right; you had said those exact words to him earlier that day. When he specifically tried to get you to put more sunscreen on. You had a shirt for him and that you were fine. The sunscreen you put on four hours prior was waterproof, as you floated in a donut.

But the sunscreen had to be reapplied every four hours. If you had taken the time to read the bottle, you think you would know. You really should have listened to your boyfriend. But you were so excited that summer was just around the corner; the only sound you wanted to listen to was the sound of margaritas being made and beach balls bouncing.

If your skin ever felt like skin again, you would listen to whatever the sunscreen bottle and your boyfriend told you to do.

Your skin was so burnt it wasn’t even funny. It was painful and hot; it hurt to move with every step you took towards the shower. Satoru winced, watching as you whimpered, stepping out of your swimsuit and turning the water to a lukewarm temperature.

You don’t even have a chance to step in as arms gently wrap around you. Satoru intended it to be a comforting gesture. Instead, it had you jolting in pain as the cloth of your boyfriend's jacket rubbed against your burnt, sensitive skin. Your yelp had him pulling back, arms held out in front of him.

“F-Fuck baby! I’m sorry!”

“N-no, it’s okay, it’s fine, I-I’m just going to sit here and suffer for all eternity.” Satoru doesn’t say anything as you step into the water. You try to hold back the cries of pain that threaten to pass through your lips, but Gojo can still hear them. The tiny, pained whines have him wincing along with you. He hated seeing you in pain and regretted not making you put on more sunscreen. If he had been more stern with you, then maybe he wouldn’t be in the position that you are right now. But it wasn’t like he could go back in time. You had neglected to put on more sunscreen, and he had failed to pin you down on the pool deck and rub it all over your stupidly cute face. He could not go back in time to change the outcome.

There was, however, one thing he could do.

“Hey, I’m going to step out for a little bit. I need to run to the store in the lobby and grab a couple of things. Are you going to be okay?”

A pained yes is all he hears before you slowly sink to the shower floor, allowing the cold water to run over your burnt skin. Gojo wastes no time; the second who knew you would be okay on your own for a bit, he was bolting out of your hotel room and running down to the hotel store.

You shower to your best abilities without being in excruciating pain. Skipping on the rag and the loofah, you gently wash your body with your hands, which still hurts. You made a vow to yourself with the showerhead that you would never forget to reapply your sunscreen again. Even if you were to fail, your boyfriend wouldn’t.

For the time being, the only thing you could do was try to relax, even though it felt like you wanted to peel your skin off of your body. After your shower, you shuffle back into the main room, collapsing onto the bed, bare butt naked, enjoying the cool crisp sheets underneath you. Between your still-wet skin and the air conditioning, You felt some form of comfort as the hotel room door opened.

At first, you jumped, searching for anything to cover your skin, but quickly, the door shut a second later, and you heard the wrinkling of a plastic bag heading further into the room. “Toru?” You call down gently, lifting your head to search for your boyfriend.

“It’s me; you weren’t doing anything naughty, were you?” he teases, even though he knew the only thing you could do was cry in pain from the sunburn that covered most of your body. Having sex like this was out of the question.

“If by naughty you mean laying my naked ass on our bed, then yes, I am being naughty.”

You can hear his running footsteps just before his shadow spreads on the bed before you. For a second, you think that he’s going to wolf whistle or fist pump or even make some crude comment about how sexy you look naked on his bed, and he didn’t even have to ask you to do anything. Instead of crude comments, the bed dips under his weight as he flops near you.

One second, you're lying there in silence, and the next second, a cold jelly-like substance is squeezed on your back. Said jelly instantly eases the burn on your back, making you moan softly as Satoru’s hands gently rub the cooling, earthy-smelling liquid over your irritated skin. The contrast of cool against your burning skin felt magical. The pain subsided from a persistent throbbing or a mild sting.

“Mmm, Toru, that feels good~” You smile happily, “Thank you, baby.”

“You're welcome, sweetheart. Just remember this moment when I'm lathering sunscreen on you from now on.”

You scoff as Satoru rolls you onto your back so he can rub aloe vera over the front of your body. “Oh please, you think I’m ever going to get this burnt again?”

“You won't once I lather you up in sunscreen.”

“I just wanted to get a little tanner to give off goddess vibes.”

“Babe, you already do that.” The way your eyes widen and glimmer at his words makes Satoru fight the urge to pat himself on the back. “My sunburnt goddess.” He admires the lighter skin tones from where your swimsuit was to the darker tones of your sunburn. God, your skin was so pretty, even when it was burnt.

“Oh, haha, asshole. Sunburnt Goddess, my ass.”

“It's true; allow me to lather you in aloe vera and fan you with a palm tree leaf.”

You rub your face against the sheets. “But of course, my devote ivory follower~”

“Heeey, why am I the ivory follower?”

“Have you seen your pasty ass?”

Your boyfriend's hands stop their treading as he sputters in shock. “Pasty ass?! Pasty!?” You laugh out loud, lifting your head to look up at him. “I do not have a pasty ass!”

“I'm sure the astronauts in the space station can see your pasty ass when you're naked,” Gojo grumbles, digging in the bag and opening something. “The aliens can see your glorious ass from galaxies away. The honored one's ass, the strongest ass of the modern age.” Gojo perks up with a smirk, nodding as he slaps a cool patch on your forehead.

“Keep going, sweetheart~ I'm almost there~.”

You don't get any further as Gojo grabs one of his oversized t-shirts and carefully slips it on you. “Thank you, Satoru, for taking such good care of me, Satoru.” Your boyfriend grins, eyes shutting as he lies down next to you, teaching into his bag, handing you a popsicle.

“You're welcome, sweetheart.”

You both lick at your popsicles in the cool air of the hotel room. When a single thought crosses your eyes, wander over your boyfriend's exquisite body. “Hey Toru?” the man is sucking down on his popsicle like he was giving it the gluck-gluck-five thousand.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get sunburned with infinity?”

“Huh,” he blinked slowly, “I mean, the special grade curse Jogo didn't burn me—so I'm assuming not. Just another benefit of being the honored one.”

“The honored one with a pasty ass.” A smirk pulls at the corner of your mouth as Satoru chokes on his sugary treat.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

[bookofbonbon]

i know yours - aemond targaryen.

pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

warnings: explicit language. implied sexy times.

summary: people watching with Aemond turns into an interesting conversation.

word count: 470+

gif credit: @vera-kozhemiakina (x)

People watching was something that you often did with your close friend, lover and betrothed Aemond Targaryen. An odd match to most but, the only one Aemond (and you) wanted – quite simply, it was you or no one. Although not ideal, Alicent knew that if she did not grant him this, his wild and wilful nature compounded with his hot temper would result in something she would rather avoid.

Your hair moves in the summer breeze, the cool air blowing in through the open windows and offering some reprieve from the stifling heat as night began to fall. You stood hidden in the shadows with Aemond on the second floor, watching over the festivities as Lord’s and Lady’s became steadily wine drunk.

Watching one Lord in particular, your eyes follow Lord Jason Lannister. Intrigued by his wildly off beat and ridiculous dancing as you lean comfortably against Aemond, his hands braced against the rails on either side of you.

“Lord Jason Lannister is…” you trail off, trying to find the right word.

“A cunt,” Aemond quips without hesitation, recalling previous conversations with the egomaniac.

“Aemond!” you scold quietly, turning in his brace.

“I speak only the truth,” he shrugs.

Rolling your eyes, you let the comment go but, not before remarking sarcastically, “and what would you know about cunts?”

You wait a beat for one of his witty remarks but, it does not come - not right way, at least.

You feel Aemond close the remaining space between the two of you, his body pressing impossibly closer to yours as his breath fans across your ear and cheek - his lips hovering nearby.

“Mm… I don’t know,” he ponders mockingly, a ghost of a smile that you cannot see tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I’d say I know yours pretty well.”

Your eyes go wide, cheeks burning as you press your hand against his mouth with such force that you push him against the opposite wall as your eyes search wildly for any stragglers who may have heard the risqué statement.

“You cannot say such words a loud, someone may hear,” you whisper frantically but not bothering to defend your maidenhood, fingers loosening on his mouth.

“I speak only the truth,” he smirks lightly from behind your fingers, eyes twinkling with mischief but, it's gone as quickly as it comes when you do not smile.

“Hey, I promise you need not worry, my love,” he reassures, seeing the genuine fear in your eyes if people found out about your pre-marital activities. “I would never allow you to be in harm’s way.”

Calm washes over you and your resolve breaks, knowing his words to be true. Shoulders slumping, you lower your hand from his mouth but, he captures it in his own before you can completely drop it. Bringing the tips of your fingers back to his mouth, he presses a gentle kiss against them before laying your hand to rest between his own and over his heart.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

[ghouljams]

Price comes off as the type of husband who no matter if it's kid number 1 or kid number 4 he's always overprepared. He'll phone in shit for himself, but his family? Hell no 110% for them always. He's spending the weeks leading up to child birth getting your post op care kit put together, even making 4 or 6 weeks worth of padsicles (frozen aloë vera soaked pads). Like you swear he's nesting worse then you are.

You're not worried because you have John he's already written down what you want for your birth and you can bet your ass he's advocating for you especially when a nurse gets a bit too pushy about things he knew you didn't want. He might've even hired a Doula who could talk through the things he doesn't understand.

If you had to have a c section he was already prepared for that making sure the fridge is packed with ice packs and calling for extra hands to help (with the house and extra chores, like farm work. he'll take care of the wife and babe) he'll be by your side for the months it takes to recover. This man will make sure that the postpartum care he gives you is just as good as the prenatal care. He is up with the babe at night even if you're breastfeeding getting you back to sleep quickly while he just gently rocks baby Price to sleep make sure they're happy before he'll crawl back into bed with you.

-Hot Mess Rambler

(He just comes off as a guy who wants to make sure bad labor/recovery isn't the reason you don't have more kids especially if you wanted a big family)

God, you're so right. Price is a family man, and I firmly believe that. There's a universe where Price leaves the service after Goose is born, and she ends up with 4 extra siblings.

There's a lovely little pocket universe where Price is only home long enough to be there for the birth of his baby girl before he's deployed and he can't handle it. He can't handle not being there for you, wondering if you're handling the post-partum well, if the baby is alright, if you have the support you need. It kills him not being able to call you, not being able to see you. He misses so much, and it makes the military feel hollow. He thought this was what he wanted, the job he wanted, but not if it means missing the chance to be a father.

When he gets home his baby is so much bigger, she's eating baby food, she's smiling and grabbing for things. And you tell him it's alright, that he didn't miss the important things, didn't miss any of the firsts, but you have bags under your eyes. You're quieter, the house is messy, there's take away in the fridge. It's not how it should be, you're not taken care of like you should be. So he doesn't renew his contract. He leaves and he doesn't look back. You're in medical school, you're stressed enough. He stays home with the baby, and looks after things while you get back on your feet.

It's not the life he thought he'd have, but it's better in all the right ways. He's there for his baby's first steps, for her first word. He's there when you hold up a second positive pregnancy test and tearfully tell him you don't know if you can do it again. He reads every book, he talks to every expert, he prepares for everything, but he can never handle your tears or his own short comings. He can only promise that this time will be different, and that he truly isn't going anywhere ever again.

So you decide to have another baby, and Price makes up for everything he missed. He nests more than you do, he keeps Goose entertained, he takes over your prenatal care, he preps for the postnatal stuff. You have your baby with the utmost certainty that nothing will go wrong, and that even if something does at least Price will be there to fix it. You graduate medical school with a husband and two babies in the audience. Your little flat feels smaller with four people in it. Price suggests looking for residencies near your parents for the extra help, and you can't think of any reason not to.

So you move back to Texas. You wrangle a toddler and a baby onto a plane, you ship all your meager belongings, and you find yourself back on the farm with a lucrative position at the nearest hospital. And Price finds himself, once again, in a life he never imagined for himself. He discovers his toddler has an affinity for horses, he finds out his baby tries to eat worms, he realizes he wants a million more of these little things when their laughter fills the big old farmhouse. He realizes there's something special to coming in from a long day on the farm and seeing you passed out on the couch with two little girls cuddled against your chest.

He never misses the military. At least never more than he missed you in those months away. He goes to dance recitals, and 4H shows. He teaches a gaggle of kids how to shoot, how to ride a horse, how to rope cattle. He's never misses anything, he's never not there. He picks up five little Prices from soccer practice and realizes he's never been happier than he is sitting outside the hospital with your pack, waiting for the end of your shift.

[lynnbanks]

It was the first real day out on the lake for the summer with all the boys and a few of the girlfriends including y/n. The sun was high and so was the energy so much so that she had forgotten to re-apply sunscreen leaving her as red as a tomato after her post-lake shower.

Getting sunburnt was never really a problem for her because of her skin type her mother was Caucasian and her father was Micronesian so she was fairly tan most of the year and would turn 3 shades darker in the summer; so sunscreen was never her main priority when having fun on the boat even though she would usually tell her boyfriend to re-apply every chance she got. Today it had just slipped her mind.

And she was left to deal with the consequences looking in the mirror and frowning at what she saw; making quick work to get the aloe vera and applying head to toe or at least what she could reach.

“ LUKE” she yelled out to her boyfriend sitting on the bed “Can you help me real quick?” Luke walked in and before he could agree “What the fuck baby that is bad.” he said looking at her back “I know I need help” she wines “Can you put some of this on my back please” handing him the bottle of aloe.

“This is why you need to put on sunscreen my love this is going to take like a week to heal,” he said in a voice of pity and y/n just frowned at him in the mirror. After thoroughly applying letting it dry and then applying it again.

“There is no way I am going to be able to wear a bra” she said as she pulled a shirt over her head trying to be as careful as possible. “ maybe it's not so bad you got burnt after all,” Luke said with a smirk causing y/n to hit him with her towel “ that is not nice Luke,” she said with a pout “I'm sorry baby I was joking,” he said pulling her to his chest “ we need to get some food in you and some water you will feel better then hmm?” she shook her head yes but didn't pull away just yet.

Down in the kitchen, Luke started preparing a plate for her full of the chicken Jack had just grilled on the new grill he got for his birthday now that he had learned how to cook and all the other sides. Before setting it down in front of y/n “thank you lukey you are very sweet” Leaning up for a kiss he gladly reciprocated “You are very welcome baby”

It wasn't until the next morning that the whole no-bra thing started messing with his head. Y/n was feeling much better and was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when Luke walked in greeting her with a lopsided smile “Good morning baby” “Good morning handsome” she said before rinsing her mouth.

Luke was about to grab his toothbrush before something In the mirror caught his attention; his girlfriend's perfect boobs staring right at him as she started her skincare. Good God that was a direction he thought before continuing his morning routine.

Not even 30 minutes later did it happen again this time in the middle of the conversation he was having with her about breakfast “Lu are you listening” she asked “I-um yeah I'm listening” That was a lie.

And again about an hour later when they had made their way out to the hammock they sat in every day at least once. When she had laid down on his chest and he could feel her boob press to his chest in a way they couldn't when she had a bra on; causing a groan to slip out of his throat.

“Sorry Lu I didn't mean to hurt you” y/n said trying to sit up but before she could Luke pulled her down to where she was “It's not that it's these,” he said slipping a hand up into her shirt, and giving her a hard squeeze “ oh” she moans slightly “ my boobs are the problem?” “ they might be if we don't do something about it right now,” he said voice low even though they were the only ones outside “Well we aren't doing anything about it out here that is for sure.”

And I will leave the rest for y'all to imagine <3

[brayneworms]

gouge away (if you want to) | johnny joestar

kinktober day ten: kissing

word count. 2.4k

content. disabled johnny, but like his prostate works, anal fingering, prostate orgasm, kissing, johnny cries after sex it's canon, gender-neutral reader, fluff, mentions of ableism, established relationship, this is sappy

♪ gouge away - pixies

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

For a while—a long while—after his accident, Johnny thought he'd never be with someone again.

A part of it was the paralysis. Okay, a big part of it was. He learns after using the chair for a bit that he sorta stops becoming a real person to most people, that their eyes just sorta slide past him. Oh no, how sad, that guy in the chair must have it so bad. Don't be rude and stare, now. Sometimes he wishes they would stare at him, like he knows they wanna. He almost finds their determination to ignore him totally more jarring.

And that's only half the problem. The other part is that even if he could find someone, his goddamn dick doesn't work anymore. Which would for sure pose a problem. So Johnny resigns himself miserably to a sexless and potentially loveless life, and pretends it doesn't make him want to die.

Still. Anyways. It all seems kinda redundant now, 'cause he's lying under the sky in the dirt with his pants halfway off, and you're—you're doing something, or you're tryin' something that Johnny is extremely skeptical about. A bit of time travelling with Gyro had taught him many times that there was a lot of things about the human body he was ignorant of, but he still can't help but be dubious of the claim you made to him a few minutes ago.

I'm gonna make you cum.

At once, a protest had risen to his lips. You can't. Almost a reflex. You'd cocked your head in inquiry, and Johnny had gone redder, down to the tips of his ears hidden by his hat. It's my—it doesn't work. Down there doesn't...

You seem to consider this for a few moments. Then you say, there's something else we can try.

You disappear inside the tent and come out with the bottle of aloe vera they'd been using to treat the burns that had blistered as a result of the unforgiving desert sun. He had red peeling skin all up his shoulders and the bridge of his nose.

He watches dubiously as you squeeze a clear, cold glob onto your fingers. "Wh—where are those goin'?"

He's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You know what a prostate is, Johnny dear?" You always call him that. Johnny dear, like it's all one word. Johnnydear. He always gripes and groans about it and then has to turn away extremely quickly to hide his flush. He's going to examine the reaction he gets when you baby him sometime, he promises himself, just not right now. He's got a lotta shit on his plate, okay? Corpses to find and such.

"N-no," he answers, stammering when you kneel between his legs and spread his thighs gently apart. He sucks in a breath; one of your fingers leaves a cool trail of aloe along the skin there.

"A prostate," you tell him patiently, like you're not situated between his naked thighs, "is a gland that people with your particular reproductory set are born with."

"You sound like Gyro," he mutters. "Kinda killing the mood a little."

"I just want to make sure you're fully informed." You roll your eyes. "It's just that you're leaking precum, see?" To his mortification, you swipe your fingers over the tip of the dick he can't feel and hold them up; under the starlight, they gleam, and he burns with embarrassment. "Means you might be able to feel it. Means I might be able to make you cum."

Johnny swallows hard. He wants—it sounds good. Sounds great. But with the hope comes that fear, an ever-present shadow. What if it doesn't work?

"Hey." You lean over him, and before Johnny can protest you've captured his lips, a slow, deliberate cling. Johnny loves kissing you. He thinks it might be his favourite thing to do, other than jockeying and he can't do that anymore, so this takes an automatic first place. He sighs and melts against you like softened butter, his hands winding themselves over your shoulder and jaw. He loves everything about it. The closeness, the slow gentle intimacy, the way you smell. That last part is probably weird, 'cause you mostly smell like sweat and leather, but Johnny likes it all the same.

You kiss for a while; one of your hand strokes soothing shapes into his ribcage. When you pull back, the panic that had been rearing up inside him has faded to a dull murmur.

"Don't get in your head about it," you whisper. "If you can't feel it, then that's that. You know I won't think less of you."

A lump rises in Johnny's throat, and he shields his eyes from the burning sun of you seein' right through him. "I know," he says, almost petulantly.

"So? Wanna give it a try?"

A part of him doesn't. A part of him is so, so scared. But a bigger part of him, the one that likes kissing you and likes the way you smell and the way you touch him and look at him and everything, really, is nodding before that first part can protest. You kiss him again with a smile, a little faster, a little dirtier this time. This is another thing Johnny likes about kissing—it can take so many different forms. Even if he did find the corpse pieces and get the use of his legs back, Johnny reckons he'd still like kissing more than real sex.

Your mouth starts moving down, sweeping the sensitive skin of his neck and collarbones, the valleys of his pectorals, a nipple. The last one makes Johnny gasp and you giggle, and he splays a palm over his face in embarrassment. You coax such stupid noises outta him. But you seem to enjoy it, so whatever.

Down, down, down. Somewhere between his navel and his pubic bone he stops feeling it. But it still somehow feels sorta nice, which doesn't make a whole lotta sense but it does to him, so. He watches you between his fingers as you reach between his legs, he thinks prodding.

You look up at him. "I'm going to put a finger in, okay?"

Johnny nods eagerly. "Don't gotta tell me. I won't feel it."

You roll your eyes. "I'm still gonna tell you. We can stop whenever, okay?"

"Okay," Johnny says impatiently, and wiggles his hips. You smack his hipbone playfully, which does nothing to temper his brattiness on account of him not feelin' a fuckin' thing. Then you get a quiet, serious, concentrated look on your face that Johnny usually only sees when you're fighting. Or when he's making you cum. That expression, more than any of your words or hesitation, it what makes him quiet down and take it serious.

There's a silence that stretches on. Johnny supposes you must be doin' something, considering the slight furrow he can see between your brows and the achingly careful, gradual movement of your wrist. Finally, after about a minute, you look up at him.

"My finger's in," you tell him, and Johnny bites his lip.

"Can't feel it," he says. He's starting to think this was a really bad idea.

"Just lemme—hold on," you say, and your wrist moves a little, and then—

Johnny keens. He feels, he fuckin' feels so much that it lights him up from the inside and sets his nerves alight, some part deep inside him that he didn't even know existed 'till five minutes ago and it's so good it immediately brings tears to his eyes.

"Oh," he says like he's surprised, and he is, apparently so much so that it's all he can say. "O-oh, oh, oh—"

Your finger retracts back into nothingness, and Johnny bites back a sob. "Johnny?" you ask worriedly. "Did you—is it too much?"

"No, no," he babbles, feeling incoherent already. You brush his hair back from his face with your free hand, the one that ain't inside him, your thumb stroking over his cheek. "It was—fuck, felt so weird. But good. Really, really good. Can you—are you gonna do it again?"

"Will if you want me to," you answer lovingly, and Johnny is biting back another sob for a whole different reason. "Might be a bit intense, Johnny dear. You sure you wanna?"

"Yes, yeah." He stares up at you beseechingly, feeling a bit pathetic but also too far gone to give a shit. "Please, I wanna—I wanna feel it again."

You nod, leaning over to kiss him again. Johnny relaxes into the embrace, losing himself in the familiar touch of your lips, the smell of you, taking the bite out of his surge of panic—and then with no warning you're brushing against that spot inside him again and he's moaning into your mouth, loud and unrestrained. It's pitchy and startled, and your free hand cups the back of his head as he pulls away in shock.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ," he swears, slamming his head back against the dirt. "O-oh, oh god, ohgodohgod—"

"Still good?" you ask, and your fingers made a weird sort of curling motion and it occurs to Johnny that you're movin' them in and out, sort of like you would if you were actually fucking him, and the thought makes him flush so hard he feels feverish. You're fucking him. You're fucking him.

He nods deliriously. "Mhm, yeah," he gasps out, feeling breathless, feeling giddy. "Don't stop, feels so fuckin' good, oh my god."

Your fingers press into him over and over like you're ringin' a bell, and all the while you kiss him and for the first time in ages Johnny feels that both parts of his body are equal. The bottom half has come alive under your jackhammering fingers, the top half consumed by you and your kiss. The kissing makes it so much better, 'cause Johnny reckons if anyone else had their fingers in his ass he'd probably hate it even if they were touching his whatdidyoucallit like that and making him feel amazing. He'd hate it 'cause they wouldn't be you.

The kissing reminds him it's you. The chaps on your lips, the smell of you, the feel of your face and skin, your body pressing into his. It's so all consuming it makes him wanna cry, in a good way, in a weird way. Your fingers move faster and weirder, and Johnny starts making those stupid oh! oh! noises again, stifling them against your mouth, and your tongue presses in and you swallow them whole.

All too soon, Johnny feels a weird tightening, one he hasn't felt since before the incident. He feels a constriction of panic, his fingers clutching at your clothing. "I—hah!—I f-feel weird."

"Bad weird?" Your fingers slow down, nearly stop, and Johnny whines.

"No, no, good weird, good," he pants. "Move again, fuck."

You pick up the pace; Johnny shudders, tensing in your hold all over again. He feels like he's burning, like he's sweating out everything bad he's ever felt.

"Do you mean you're gonna cum?" you ask, your voice lower this time, so close to Johnny's ear it makes him shiver. The harsh brush of your chapped lips against the soft skin there makes his body feel electric.

"I think," he whispers, eyes screwing shut. "Sorry—oh—I think, yeah."

"Don't feel sorry," you tell him almost sternly. "I want to see you cum, Johnny. Wanna see you cum so hard your pretty little head goes blank. You deserve it, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps out. "I deserve it."

What you do next with your fingers is almost brutal in the wracks of shivering pleasure it sends simmering through Johnny's body; every curl of them has him writhing and gasping and moaning, he must sound so stupid but you seem to be liking it and fuck, he's liking it, he likes feeling a little stupid and helpless while you take care of him and he's definitely gonna have to unpack that, but later, 'cause—

"I'm gonna cum," he gasps, hands flying out to curl in your clothing. "Baby, baby, I'm gonna cum, I—kiss me? Kiss me, okay, I wanna, oh, oh oh oh—"

You crash your lips together, and your fingers curl up one last lingering time and Johnny shatters. White stars explode over his vision, shatter inside his head, and for a split second it feels like every cell in his body freezes up and screams and dies. He's vaguely aware of some long, drawn-out, breathless noise he's making and the way you swallow it with your mouth.

It takes several seconds for him to come back down to earth. When he does it's to the sensation of you running your fingers through his hair and pressing soft, feathery kisses to his cheeks.

He pants like a dog. When you see his blue eyes on you, you sit up, seem to retract your fingers from between his legs. Your image starts to blur, and Johnny sees your expression crease in concern. He realises he's crying. Not like, actually, not like he's got something to be upset about. He's just... tearing up. Like someone's turned a faucet on behind his eyes and just left it there. He pushes the heels of his hands into the sockets and presses down, willing it to stop, willing the overwhelming feeling blooming in his chest to deflate.

"Hey, hey." Your voice, low and soothing, pressed into his hair, your arms holding him tightly. "You okay?"

"Yes," he says almost angrily. "I'm fine. Dunno why I'm—fuck. Sorry. I'm good, I promise I'm good. That was... so, so good."

Your expression of concern gives way slightly. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Johnny sucks in a shaky, wet breath. "Thanks. Thank you. I didn't even... I didn't even know I could feel like that anymore. Not just 'cause of—you know." He gestures vaguely to the lower half of his body. "All of it. Like, I didn't think anyone would wanna—while I'm still like this. And I—I figured I didn't deserve it, or something. But... it was really good."

Your smile is a little sad. "I'm glad, Johnny dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now that we know it works, we can do it again. And again, and again." He flushes, and you laugh sweetly, and Johnny could just die to the sound of it. "Still, we should get some rest for tonight. Gyro will skin us alive if we oversleep again."

You're right, of course. Johnny lets you maneuvre him onto his sleeping skin, and you unroll yours right next to him. When you do, Johnny reaches for you, clinging like a damn insect. But you don't seem to mind, 'cause you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him in even closer. He tucks his head into your shoulder.

He thinks that he'll get to kiss you tomorrow, too.

His sleep is dreamless and deep.

[agendabymooner]

ollie on thin ice(man) || ob8 (+ kr7) scenario

ollie bearman x raikkonen!ofc (ft. dad!kimi raikkonen)

EXTENSION TO ICE ICE BABY (SMAU)

ANOTHER RECOMMENDED READ: STOP THE WORLD I WANNA GET OFF WITH YOU (KIMI R. SMAU)

Summary: It was the Formula 1 summer break, meaning that The Iceman’s two driving children, including his beloved Romania ‘Aroma’ Raikkonen, were home. This also meant that a certain Ollie Bearman would make his presence known to the Raikkonen household- which was unpleasant for Kimi’s part.

Content warning: Dad!Kimi being protective, Andrea Kimi Antonelli is addressed as ‘Kimi’ by the Raikkonens but is addressed as ‘Andrea’ in narration, humour, wooing, Ollie wanting to cry really bad, Antonelli x Raikkonen!OFC (Rooney)

Note: this might not make sense to most but… enjoy regardless xx read the recommended fics for more context.

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

For Kimi, it was never a problem to have people over.

 He was retired and he pretty much had nothing all day but to spend some time with his kids all while his wife, the Academy Award winning director Vera Coppola, worked on days end while she travelled to New York for a week. 

It was a life he loved to live, really.

To have people over was a usual case for the Coppola-Raikkonen household, as Kimi had three children that were at the age when friends and peers were important. 

Kimi and Vera always thought that it was much better that they allowed their children to have friends over than having them go out and about at night— better be free at home than rebellious and endangered, right?

It was now the summer break of this year’s F1 season, which meant that his two children were also home and didn’t need to be travelling with their mum to wherever the next race was.

It meant that they didn’t need to do their schoolwork on the plane while their private tutors sat with them on the way to wherever. 

It gave the two young racers the break they needed from competing, anyways. If there was something that Kimi knew, it was that his eldest daughter and oldest son had the same drive as him. 

Though, if he was being honest, his son was more like him in terms of interviews and personality in front of the camera. But still… both were racing out of pure joy.

Thank goodness, their mother was a Coppola and Kimi made millions before this. 

“Dad, Kimi’s here,” Johann-Lauri Francis Coppola-Raikkonen, or simply Jo, announced as the fifteen year old walked into the living room where Kimi and his two younger kids sat. 

Andrea Kimi (whom Kimi was never confused with whenever Jo or any of his children said the name ‘Kimi’ as they addressed their dad as ‘Dad’) made his presence known to Kimi as he waved, “Good afternoon, Mr. Raikkonen.” 

“Ah! Andrea,” Kimi nodded. “Nice seeing you. When did you get here to Italy?” 

“Hm… We just got back from Nice two hours ago,” Andrea replied with a purse on his lips, “Mamma and Papa made sure I got here in time. I even brought an overnight bag.”

“Okay,” Kimi said with a nod, “Johann, did you clean your room?”

“Yes, dad,” Jo replied.

“Do you want me to order food later?” Kimi asked.

Just the mere utter of the words ‘order food’ had Kimi’s second daughter running from the home library to the living room.

“Dad? Why is it that every time Kimi’s around we always order food? Why can’t we order food when Kimi’s not here?” 

Rooney Italia Coppola-Raikkonen, at the age 17, never once enjoyed the presence of Andrea. But that was because they were both at that age when pissing each other off was just a phase. Now here she was, complaining about Andrea getting a special treatment.

“Bwoah, he is a guest, Roo,” Kimi answered plainly. “Mama isn’t here right now, and I’m sure you’d like some pizza too, no?”

“For dinner?” Rooney whined. 

“You can order off the menu and tell me later,” Kimi negotiated, making Roo jump excitedly. 

“Nice,” Roo said with a grin before she glared at Andrea, “You suck, Antonelli.”

“Rooney Italia—“ Kimi was about to scold his daughter, but she had already sped off to the home library once more.

Kimi sighed, watching the two teenage boys head upstairs to Jo’s room. Kimi looked down at his little boy and his toddler girl. Both little kids were less of a menace than the older ones, thankfully. 

Betty-Elina was suckling on her pacifier when she looked at Kimi and raised her comfort blanket up to Kimi’s chest level.

“Thank you, kulta,” Kimi told Betty with a grin. He turned to where his youngest son was. 

Henrik was snoozing on Kimi’s lap, not even minding the noise that his big siblings were making just about now. 

God. What a life he was living. 

Somewhere in the mansion, rather down the hall of the east wing, was a quiet muffling sound of a girl who was speaking to herself. Well, Romania Eleanor was barely speaking to herself.

She was streaming. It was her first stream ever since F2 had gotten to her system. 

Having to fight her friends to keep her second position before the season ends told her enough about how taxing racing could get. Thus she did the second best thing to racing and streamed cozy games to her fans.

Aroma, once she heard a knock and a creak of the door, looked over to see her younger sister Rooney. She paused her game, trying to see what the girl wanted all while her stream remained running.

“What’s up?” Aroma asked.

“Dad‘s going to order food,” Rooney started but was quickly cut off.

“Let me guess: Antonelli?” Aroma quipped.

Rooney huffed out, “As always.”

Aroma knew that the two, for some reason, hated each other’s presence. Or rather, Andrea Antonelli was simply amused at the one sided beef Rooney had with him. 

But regardless, the ART Grand Prix driver chuckled as she nodded. Aroma said, “If Dad is ordering from Signora Leona’s restaurant, can you ask if I can have some seafood fettuccine Alfredo?” 

“Got it,” Rooney raised a thumb up before she left the room. 

Aroma watched Rooney leave and shut the door behind her before she sighed, proceeding to play her Animal Crossing as she spoke to her stream, “It’s like I’m watching a cringe version of enemies to lovers.”

Ollie Bearman was never scared of anyone.

Anyone but one person that wasn’t his parents: Aroma Raikkonen’s father, Kimi.

He’s heard stories about The Iceman and how he couldn’t care less about anything that didn’t involve him nor his children.

Sure, for most people it wasn’t a scary thought. But in some ways, the British man was involved with Kimi Raikkonen’s eldest daughter. 

That alone was a scary thought. He’s had a crush on Aroma since they started racing together, back when Aroma raced around Europe while her mother Vera took her to travel. Ollie was a welcome face to everyone in the Coppola-Raikkonen household. 

But god… People called Kimi ‘The Iceman’ for a reason, Ollie thought. 

Kimi’s icy stares and cold demeanour were always directed to Ollie and no one else. Ollie knew the difference between ‘icy’ and ‘indifference’ especially when it came to Aroma Raikkonen and her ‘wholesome’ father. 

News flash: Ollie called bullshit on Kimi being a sweet man. Kimi’s stare could burn holes and Ollie could rot on them— so much for being the ‘Iceman’. 

Now here Ollie was in Italy, hoping to hang out with Aroma…

To sum it up: Ollie and Aroma had some sort of thing going on. One that Ollie wouldn’t dare show to Kimi because god only knows what the Finnish driver could do to the Brit. 

Anyway.

Ollie patiently stood in front of the Coppola-Raikkonen home, his posture still calm. He had just rung the bell, now he was patiently waiting for anyone to answer. 

He didn’t expect for the patriarch to answer the door, his brown eyes meeting Kimi Raikkonen’s blue eyes. 

Ollie grinned and politely greeted, “Mr. Raikkonen-!” 

“-You’re not the delivery man,” Kimi stated bluntly. 

Well… Ollie stood there awkwardly and nodded, “I am not, sir. I am here for Romania.” 

“…Bwoah?” Kimi asked, his head tilting as he watched Ollie nod in confirmation. “I was not told.” 

“I- uh,” Ollie’s demeanour grew awkward and uncomfortable as he stammered, “She- she didn’t tell you?” 

Now this could go two ways: The British driver would have to go back to his accommodation in Milan and wallow in self-pity because Aroma Raikkonen had completely forgotten about their plans during the summer break OR he would die in the hands of Kimi Raikkonen because Kimi’s daughter had forgotten to tell her father about the said plans. 

Either way, Ollie knew he was screwed. 

Kimi stated, his typical indifference seeping through his voice, “I can check with her.” 

Ollie sighed in relief and smiled politely, “Thank you-“

Kimi had already shut the door on Ollie, making the younger man sigh and wait by the front porch for five minutes…

Then five turned to ten…

Then ten turned to fifteen. There was no sign of Kimi. No signs of Aroma either. 

Ollie sighed and took his phone, trying to ring and text Aroma. There was nothing. So he did the next best thing and rang the only other guest in the Coppola-Raikkonen household. 

“Ciao, Ollie,” Andrea Kimi Antonelli spoke from the other side of the call, in the background was a multiplayer game of FIFA.

“Hey Kimi, listen,” Ollie started and looked around while he spoke, “You’re inside, yes?”

“Yes,” Andrea said shortly as he let out a ‘Idiot! Johann!’ “Anyway, why do you ask?”

“I’m outside—“

It seemed like Ollie was distracting the boy from an intense online game with him and Kimi Raikkonen’s eldest boy Jo. Because the next thing that interrupted Ollie was a, “Andreaaaa! What did you do?!” 

“Listen, if you’re looking for Aroma she’s streaming— okay, ciao!” Beep.

Ollie was on the verge of tears; Being left alone in front of the house of the girl he was wooing (supposedly) by her father wasn’t in Ollie’s bucket list this summer break. He could have sworn that Kimi Raikkonen hated him. 

Now he did the last best thing: pay his way into the house.

[OLIBEAR8 HAS DONATED €5: “i just spent money so you can open the gate for me] Aroma listened to her text to speech donation as she was preoccupied from playing her game and paused briefly. “Huh?” She asked and looked at the text. 

She didn’t even realize who it was until she saw the donor. It was Ollie. 

“Ollie..?” The moment she peered down on her phone she saw the countless notifications on the screen. 

oli 🐻: hello 👋

oli 🐻: miss maam 🤓🤓 i’m downstairs

oli 🐻: if u see this i’m stranded downstairs. i can hear ur little siblings laughing at whatever ur father is saying

oli 🐻: if u see this i’m also prolly dead lmaoooo plz come downstairs

5 missed calls from oli 🐻

oli 🐻: aroma 😭 please i’m begging

“What the hell…” Aroma trailed off before asking aloud (particularly to no one), “Did Dad not even realize you’re at the front?” 

But it seemed like she was heard by a certain individual who remained watching her stream at the front porch since he donated once more.

[OLIBEAR8 HAS DONATED €5: “he did but he doesn’t like me”]

“Oh my goodness,” Aroma muttered and paused her stream, standing up as she said, “Dad needs to stop with the Iceman act already!” 

“Dad!” 

Maybe her father had good intentions, Aroma thought, but she knew better. Her father might be reserved half the time, but it didn’t mean that he had a hidden agenda when it came to her dating life. 

So much for being a ‘cool father,’ right? 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @hiireadstuff @biancathecool @scorpiomindfuck @stinkyjax @youdontknowmeshh @hyneyedfiz @decafmickey @lightdragonrayne

[moonchildstyles]

I saw you were talking about curious gazes stuff.... is citrine a part of that group 🧍‍♀️

wordcount: 2.6k+

——————

Parker kept his eyes on his phone, rereading his new text notification over and over even when the bell above his head jingled as he walked through the door of the record shop. 

Annie asked if he was going to be at Vera's party tonight. She asked him if she could go with him.

His cheeks almost ached from the width of the smile on his face. Maybe tonight would be the night—maybe he'd finally get the courage to ask her on a real date instead of all these friendly group outings. 

Parker pulled his gaze up only when he heard the familiar voice of the shop attendant, catching the wide smile on the man's face. It was the same man every time Parker came in, his name starting with an H (it was Harry, or Henry, or something in that universe but he could never remember and felt too shy to ask for clarification at this point). He knew so much about all of the records and the artists behind them, it was always interesting when Parker wasn't in too much of a rush and could talk to the guy. 

"Good afternoon! How are you?" he asked, the glimmering fabric of his top shimmering from the light spilling in from the large windows. 

"I'm good, man. Thanks," Parker greeted, feeling infectiously happy at the moment, "How are you?" 

"I'm doing really well, thank you," Harry (maybe?) said, dimples in his cheeks, "Are y'looking for anything specific today?" 

Shrugging, Parker shook his head. "Not really, just wanted to look and see if I can find something new." 

Harry perked up at the sound of something new being in need, a dark curl falling over his forehead. "We got a bunch of second hand records in the other day. It's mostly older albums, but 'm sure there's something you'd like. Let me know if you want any help or have any questions." 

Typically, Parker wouldn't mind asking a few questions, especially about the more vintage artists and pressings around the shop, but his mind was still buried deep in his phone. "I will, man. Thanks." 

With that, Parker drifted between the shelves that marked out the aisles in the small shop. Huddled between a pair of shelves holding different records and elaborate displays with special edition pressings, he pulled his phone out once again. Annie's thread was still open, her two texts shining in a beautiful, shining, hopeful blue. 

ur going to v's tngiht right ? 

if u want we could go together :) 

He'd never seen a string of letters look so perfect. It was like he was reading poetry. 

His fingers held a tremor as he texted her back. He attempted to play it cool, but of course he wanted to go with her. He would have given anything to enter that party under the label of being together with Annie. 

Sure! I have to do some homework tonight, but I'll be heading over there at around eight. Does that work for you? 

Shooting off the message, Parker felt conflicted about staring and waiting for the messages to be read with another set of preemptive bubbles filling where her next message would be, or locking his phone and not being so desperate for a single text. 

When the receipts didn't immediately switch to show that it had been read with another time stamp, Parker forced himself to lock the screen and shove his phone back into his pocket. Around him, colorful records asked to steal his attention, to put him back on track and remind him why he came to the shop in the first place. 

It was his sister's birthday next week and he wanted to pick out a couple of records for her since their mom was gifting her a player as well. (And, there was an album or two Parker had been looking at that he really hoped the shop carried). Forcing his mind off of his phone, he took his time perusing through the shelfs for anything special he knew she liked before he would start looking through the crates for something vintage she could brag to her friends about. 

Across the space, the bell dinged again, another customer stopping by. 

Instead of the usual greeting Harry offered to all guests, Parker heard a giddy sigh of, "Sunshine!" ring from the head of the shop. 

Lifting his gaze from where he was examining a record cover laden with roses and glimmering gold font, he saw a woman with a beaming smile making her way towards the register area. A plastic takeaway bag hung from her elbow, her hair pulled back with her outfit consisting of a logo'd shirt and black pants. The logo was familiar, from a restaurant deeper in the plaza that had margaritas that were a little too strong but cheap enough it didn't matter. 

"Hi, Harry," she greeted, opening her arms as Harry met her halfway and reciprocated her hug. 

The plastic bag crinkled over his shoulder but neither of them paid the food any mind as they wrapped around each other. Quiet whispers were shared between them, Harry's curls creating a small curtain so Parker couldn't even see what kind of reaction these secrets pulled from the newcomer. 

Instead, Parker only got to hear the sound of her laugh as she drew away from the hug. He felt a bit bad as he kept watching, but even when they shared a small kiss, he couldn't pull his eyes away. 

Harry had mentioned more than once these small details about his wife, interjecting that she loved a certain album, or that she recommended something new to him that he was now letting others in on. Truthfully, with who Harry was—so eccentric, extroverted in an introverted way, and seemingly from a different time—Parker had imagined his wife to be completely different than to who was standing before him. 

This woman seemed... normal. 

Not that it was a bad thing, or that Harry wasn't, but she wasn't draped in lace and gauze with jewels and glitter following her every step. She looked like she belonged in this century. 

He turned his attention back to the record in his hand a split second before she would have caught his stare. Though there was a track list right before him, he didn't read a single word, feeling a bit flustered knowing he had just witnessed what was most likely a private moment between the two of them. 

Parker couldn't help the way his mind went back to Annie. 

Would she visit him during her lunch? Would they embrace like that, without a care? What kind of secrets would she share with him? 

He couldn't help the minute check he made to his phone screen. 

No new notifications. 

Folding his phone back into his pocket, Parker directed his focus back onto his shopping. Meandering back towards the crates, he started flicking through the alphabetized stacks. 

With only a quiet album playing on the shop's record player—something crackly and old he didn't recognize but didn't mind—, he could hear the murmurings of the couple now huddled behind the register counter together. Though he didn't mean to eavesdrop, he didn't particularly try hard not to either. 

Straining an ear, he heard their hushed conversation over the music and quiet rustling of the plastic bag. 

"I can come back later, or save this for dinner," the woman said, "I don't want you to get in trouble, honey." 

"'S fine, dove, really," Harry insisted, his smile audible, "I know him—he's really nice. He won't mind, I promise. If he needs my help, I'll help." 

"But, H—" she tried again, only to be abruptly cut off. 

Maybe it was the romance on his mind, but Parker wondered if the soft sound he heard was another quiet kiss they shared. Harry's tactic to get his wife to let go of the argument. 

"It'll be fine, I promise. I've missed you all day, I don't want you to leave already." 

A plume of laughter could be heard alongside the laying out of styrofoam containers. The scent of warm food drifted through the shop. Parker's stomach piqued at the smell, reminding him the last time he ate was during breakfast. 

Maybe Annie would want to stop and get some dinner before the party. Or go for a late night snack after. 

Harry's wife's laugh pulls him out of the possibilities he was beginning to churn before he'd even received a text back. 

"We spent all morning together before you came here," she countered, her tone a gentle tease. 

"So?" Harry argued, quietly serious under his own joking tone, "'S not enough, and I've told you that before." 

A beat passed, the rustling of the bag filling the moment. "Well, I only have forty-five minutes left of my lunch, so you better make the most of it." 

Another set of hushed conversation sounded, words too quiet for him to hear. Parker figured with the scolding Harry! that left the wife's lips, he didn't really want to hear what had made them go quiet anyway. 

A vibration from his back pocket had Parker practically scrambling to reach for his phone and get the screen to light up.

Annie had texted him back. 

sounds good (: 

if its isnt to late by the time we r leavig we should get food or something 

Parker's heart just about soared right out of his chest towards the record player, the beats wishing to play their own love song in Annie's name. 

They were going to get food or something tonight, just like he hoped. 

Was this love? 

I was thinking the same thing! I'll see if I can finish up any sooner than eight, but I'll let you know when I'm on my way:) 

 There was so much Parker needed to do. 

Now the priority wasn't the set of essays he was planning on editing before he got ready for Vera's. These plants were now shifted, urging him to skip cleaning his apartment and instead rushing home to do his work then agonize over getting ready for the remainder of the evening. The cowlick on the crown of his head that had his hair sticking in weird places after every shower was going to be his prime enemy today. 

Focusing on the records before him, Parker skimmed through before grabbing a Fleetwood Mac album his sister would either love or let become a statement piece about how much of an old soul she was. Turning back to the shelves he reached for a foiled album, the band's name one he recognized but only vaguely through his sister's Spotify. He wasn't familiar with the artwork, but hopefully this was a good one. 

These two would have to do for now. If he needed to find a third, he'd do it later. Annie was waiting for him (in six hours, but the urgency still mattered). 

Taking his tiny stack to the register, he saw the bubbly couple huddled together sharing a container of French fries with their own respective sandwiches. When the woman realized Parker was approaching, she startled in her spot, immediately moving to get their meal out of the way of the register. 

"Sorry, sorry," she said, covering her mouth as she swallowed down the bite she'd taken just as he emerged from the shelves. Harry watched with a fond quirk to his lips though he didn't make any move to assist her move. 

"'S alright, love," he attempted to soothe her. While Harry was always purely friendly and full of a kind and giving spirit, Parker had never heard his voice take on the notes it did now. This man was in love with his wife—everything she did was special to him. 

"I don't mind," Parker jumped in, settling his records on the clear area of the desk, "I get it." 

"See, (Y/N)?" Harry pointed out, though he did begin straightening up and tapping at the register keys, "I told you he was cool." 

The woman—(Y/N), the name said with a reverence—didn't pay Harry's argument any mind, continuing to move their boxes out of the way for Parker. Harry shook his head, his green eyes lighting up with every glance her way. 

"You find everything alright?" Harry asked, sliding the records towards the inlaid scanner on the desk. Before Parker had a chance to answer, he saw Harry's face light up when he spotted the Fleetwood Mac record. "I didn't know you listened to them! Is this your favorite album?" 

Holding up the beige cover, complete with a familiar woman in pointe shoes and an unfamiliar man at her side, Harry looked to him with expectant eyes. 

"Um, this is actually a gift for my sister," Parker explained, feeling a bit bashful now that he let down Harry. "It's her birthday next week, and my mom is getting her a record player. I don't really listen to older music." 

Casting his gaze down at the album cover, Harry pursed his lips. "I guess it did come out in '77—feels like it was only last year, I forget sometimes." 

Parker canted his head. That was one of those things about Harry that had him assuming he was meant to exist long before this time. It wasn't the first time he made a comment like that. 

"If she likes that album," (Y/N) piped up from where she had stepped back to lean against the back counter, "you should get her some Stevie Nicks albums. She'd love them." 

Harry perked up with a smile on his lips, though he stayed quiet as he typed a few numbers into the register before the total popped up on Parker's end. 

"She's the singer from Fleetwood Mac, right?" Parker asked, sliding his card into the reader, "I didn't know she had her own music." 

"She's the best," Harry interjected, his words a clear praise of his idol, "Even if your sister doesn't get into it, y'should still try it out. Y'won't regret it." 

Maybe Annie would like some of this kind of music. They could have a song if they found one they both liked.

The idea had Parker giddy once more, itching to head home and prepare for the night.

"I'll have to come back then and see what you recommend," Parker said, grabbing his carefully bagged records with the receipt tucked inside, "Thanks, Harry. It was nice to kind of meet you, by the way"—his eyes moving to Harry's wife—"He talks about you all the time." 

The smile that stretched along her features was like the sunshine her husband named her after—bright and eclipsing. 

Though they were small, the things Parker picked up between the two had his heart softening in places he didn't know could soften. A love like that must be consuming in the sweetest way.

Annie was all that was swirling through his mind. 

"He does?" (Y/N) asked, her eyes drifting towards her husband. He only shrugged in response, a bashful set to his features with blushing cheeks. 

"See you next time," Harry said, biting back his dimpled smile as he bid Parker goodbye. 

Tossing a wave over his shoulder, Parker drifted towards the door, his precious phone sliding into his hand on instinct. His heart jumped when he saw a text from Annie. 

perf ! excited to see u (: 

His heart rocketed into his throat at the small string of words. Just before he left the shop, Parker didn't think before he was looking over his shoulder and catching Harry pressing a loving kiss to his wife's lips. 

He wanted a love like that. Hopefully, that will start tonight. 

——————

:))))) thank u sm for all the excitement about this pov I hope everyone likes it! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please send in any fun ideas!