#they can't just pull Jaws because they *do* complete the op

[inkblot-inc]

Fury and Hill come to realize pretty quickly that their orders mean basically nothing to Jaws. There’s nothing they can threaten jaws with either to get them to comply. But simply asking Natasha or Wanda if they could get Jaws to do it will always get them results. Jaws might be dramatic and grumble a bit but they would do it. That’s why 95% of Jaws’ missions have Natasha or Wanda on the team as well.

mhm precisely

There's not much you can do to intimidate Jaws into doing something they don't plan on doing themselves.

It took two times when Jaws was finally able to go on missions for them to be like, "Well this is gonna be an issue."

You had an instance where Jaws is just beating a target till their two inches from death for information even though they're a public figure and their instructions were to incapacitate him and bring him in for questioning.

The thing is: Jaws is efficient at getting the job done, it's the specifics of what they have to do that they pass over. "Let's skip the song and dance. I can get the answers you want right now, gimme five minutes."

Jaws works best in strike missions or those with high threat level since they get shit done. Jaws definitely has to be with Natasha or Wanda for something like and intelligence or recon mission though. Again, you wanna guarantee Jaws will listen? Bring Natasha and/or Wanda *shrugs*

[tricksterkisses]

'my thoughts on this were formed in part by my experiences with autistic friends visiting me from out of state and refusing to engage in cultural exchange. The only restaurant they wanted to eat at was Chipotle, because florida’s locally owned hispanic restaurants were unfamiliar and therefore scary to them.'

This has nothing to do with this post. Like, even a little bit, at all, you have fundamentally misunderstood the post and now you're doubling down and condescending to someone with a medical condition.

And before anyone throws a fit, issues with food are not one of my symptoms, I have very few foods I dislike or can't eat, less even than most neurotypical people.

Pulling from my own experiences: You are doing the equivalent of telling someone in a wheelchair with a spinal disorder that if they just exercised more, maybe they would be able to walk.

That's great that your, particular, individual, experience being on the spectrum (and I must assume you are also on the spectrum, because if you aren't and you're doing this as an allistic person...it's just ableism like it's just straightup anti-autistic ableism and you should probably like, turn that over in your brain and inspect it and figure out why and like, idk maybe work on it) doesn't come with the particular symptoms that do make it so that certain textures are world endingly unpleasant.

To put it another way, imagine if every time you ate a cracker, someone punched you full force in the jaw, wouldn't be very pleasant would it? But honestly even that's beside the point, because you aren't even talking about the same topic as OP.

OP has used as an example, a situation where they have made it clear they have already tried the food, and made it clear that they are very much willing to tr y new foods consistently (although even if they didn't that still isn't your business, make your own post if you hate picky eaters or you resent your friends or w/e) and you came in and accused them of being immature.

In essence, OP went:

'Every time I eat a cracker, someone punches me full force in the face'

and you went

'I find it immature and bad to not continue eating crackers until you get used to being punched full force in the face, you absolute immature baby, I can't believe you won't just let someone punch you in the face until you like it, grow up'

You came in swinging, You came in with insults, You came in being disrespectful to a person with a specific disability talking about their experiences with their disability, You are the one lacking in understanding, You are the one who refused any manner of grace or attempt to empa/sympathize.

People with disabilities -- and we are discussing a disability -- aren't immature for their symptoms, and even if they were, still not your business. Especially when Autism has been The disability used as an excuse to bully people for being 'immature' to such an extent that I won't even get into that, because the primary issues are.

A total and complete lack of reading comprehension on your part that you continue to double down on

Wild ableism that you continue to double down on.

If you don't want to budge on either of those points, fine, but at least have the dignity and tact to stop arguing with a disabled person about their disability and go complain about how much you hate The Immature Autists (because that is exactly how you sound, intent does not matter) in a private discord server or make your own post or something.

Also, policing the experiences of disabled people is way more immature than thinking tomatoes are icky. So keep your stone in your hand if you want to live in a glass house.

every time you say you dislike a certain kind of food someone will invariably chime in like "thats just because you haven't had it from [country i live in]" and like, first off, when an autistic person tells you they don't like a food it's often vastly deeper and more encompassing than just thinking it tastes bad, but also american cuisine is like the only exceptionally good thing about this place. im sorry but i've probably already had the best of it.

[soleilnomoon]

Soo~o... I can't NOT do this, you know? I'm addicted to your writing (and especially you writing OP boys) and can we ever have enough sweets? Nooo~o. :D Could I... *tweedles thumbs* ask for: frozen yoghurt with marshmallows, a fruit tart on the side, a ginger bread cookie aaand some ice cream cake? With some whipped cream and caramel :D And perhaps with Marco / OP? Or completely random: With Corsa (Alabaster Arc), who I think I've never read anything about? Thank youu!!! <3

hi omg thank you for requesting again ♡꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱ also ty for being patient with my slow slow writing, but i wanted to take my time since this is my first marco fic lmao anyway i hope you have fun reading 🥰️

4.6k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, fluff somewhere in the middle maybe, angst, smut smut smut; reader is a brat and stubborn, marco isn't any better and is a lil mean when he's annoyed; feat. cute stuff like nipple play, spanking, oral (f receiving, m giving), overstimulation, marco's a greedy mfer idk what to tell u if u see any grammatical errors, no u didn't 😌

the sun sits low in the violet sky, kissing the horizon gently, casting a delicate, golden light along the underbelly of the fluffy clouds above with splashes of pinks, oranges, and light purples slowly swirling about. it’s magical, you tell yourself as you watch the sun sink further, a spell from mother nature herself.

it’s a belief you’ve held onto since you were a child, one that you tend to keep to yourself; people love to turn their noses up at strange ideas, and unfortunately, you learned that lesson the hard way many years ago. you drum your fingers along the railing of the balcony, enjoying the way the clouds resemble cotton candy; you reach a hand out as if you can scoop some into your palm, wanting a bit of that magic to help get you through the week.

a bitter wind blows close by, and you shiver, pulling your jacket around you tightly as you look over your shoulder. you absolutely detest winter — the way you can never keep warm enough, the snow is always terribly slippery, making you slide and fall over. you also hate that you’re stuck sharing a room with the incredibly obnoxious, first division commander. with your jaw clenched, you turn back to watch the sunset, determined to absorb as much warmth and magic as you can.

the wind brings a flush over your cheeks, nose, and ears; you should head back inside, find a spot to warm up, and go to sleep — but the idea of sleeping is out of the question.

marco is as insufferable as he is absurd — for being tall and more handsome than necessary, for being so naturally personable and so knowledgeable, for having no qualms about helping those in need, for being gifted with his hands, for teasing you without even trying, for making you flustered every time he’s near you — and you refuse to let him get the best of you.

obviously, he finds the situation laughable — particularly because you are so against it and vocalized said opinion earlier at lunch in front of everyone. you were so damn determined, went to various crew mates to try and trade spots but they all said the same damn thing: what? why? you and the commander get along so well. it’s not that he goes out of his way to get under your skin, but you make it easy enough. maybe he likes seeing you struggle to find a retort; maybe he likes that when you do find one, that you throw it at him with as much strength as you can muster — but without the venom necessary to make it hurt; or maybe he really doesn’t like you at all.

oil and water. that’s what you told him weeks ago. you’ll never be able to see eye-to-eye on anything because you are two completely different people. except, that’s not true at all — you’re both just too stubborn to see it. especially you. still, you’ll never openly admit that, and keep reminding yourself that had you not taken your time earlier, you’d have found a room that wasn’t occupied by him.

“foolish,” you mumble, breath visible from the cold; another annoyance, another thing to deal with. if you stay outside any longer, your fingers will fall off, so you do the sensible thing and return to the room in the hopes of warming up a bit. after being stuck on the winter island for days due to a persistent and heavy snowstorm, the weather finally lifts a bit. you suggested that your crew sail out last night, but marco vetoed the idea stating that there was no harm in staying for a few more nights — much to your annoyance, the rest of the crew cheered for his decision and the inn remained booked to capacity for the duration of the week.

the owners are ecstatic to have such a lively group stay with them — it’s almost hard to believe that you’re all pirates.

the first division commander was given the task of sailing out there to scope out the newest territory under whitebeard’s protection, but what you hadn’t considered was marco personally volunteering you to assist him with making house calls around the village. given the weather and overwhelming volume of patients, marco takes it upon himself to assist the practicing physician make their rounds in the area. it’s easy given that most of the inhabitants of the sleepy village are in relatively good health.

you watched him carefully and tallied all his grave offenses over the course of the week — the way he made the children laugh, the way he took his time explaining things to various patients, the way he’d randomly look over and catch you staring intently, the way he’d snort and try to fight back laughter only to fail miserably and laugh anyway. a thorn that you keep pricking yourself on, and just when you think you’ve reached your limit, he finds a way to push you completely over the edge.

of course, the room he chose only has one bed; on the first night you boldly declare that you refuse to share the bed with him and despite him saying that there’s enough space, stop being silly you still took refuge on the lone chair in the room and placed slept near the desk. he frowned at that, shot you a disparaging look — irritation at your immaturity given the circumstances — but didn’t fight you on it. you don’t remember when or how, but sometime during the night, marco swapped places with you. when you eventually wake up, feeling surprisingly refreshed and body ache free, you find him completely knocked out, asleep at the desk, a medical textbook open in front of him.

guilt seeps into your pores, has you scramble out of bed quickly, feet softly padding on the cold floor, shivering as you drag one of the thick blankets with you so you can drape it over his large body. bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you roll it back and forth in silent contemplation. because you’re not ungrateful, you lean forward and whisper thank you against his skin, lips making contact with his cheek as you leave behind a soft, chaste kiss. he stirs after that, making you leap back, hand pressed to your chest as your heart does the most disrespectful thing — beats rapidly, drowning out your thoughts, making you dizzy. when he doesn’t move again, you hop back into bed and curl onto your side and bury your head underneath the pillow.

when you see him later that day, he doesn’t thank you for sharing the blanket — on the other hand, you don’t think him for giving you the bed, either. his reasoning is because he’s still trying to figure out how best to broach the subject of you kissing him — or, his cheek, rather — and running away after. he considers himself a somewhat patient man, but with how much time he’s given you to get over your stubbornness, he’s not sure how much longer he’ll last at this rate.

your lips haunt him throughout the day, well into the night when you pretend to be asleep while he sits at that same desk, flipping through another book, but not absorbing a damn thing — he wonders why he hasn’t said anything yet, or why you still refuse to look at him, but he knows one of these days you’ll eventually concede. he must be patient, that’s all.

the following night tests your resolve; you make a small barrier with the pillows on the bed, struggling for a few minutes, even after he asks repeatedly if you need any help — but you decline, as you always do — before finishing and designating sides. eyebrow quirked; he looks at you in confusion. “it’s a bit much, don’t you think?” you inhale deeply, remind yourself to be as pleasant as possible and do your best to ignore the way his dark eyes keep you rooted in place.

“no,” you say quietly, but muster more courage to speak louder. “i think it’s an excellent idea. this way we can both lay on the bed without an issue.” you spent most of the day coming up with ideas and this was the best one; marco’s lips curl and he laughs without remorse.

“the problem is, the bed’s too small for that.” he checks the time and grabs his scarf. “i’m going out for a bit,” he says suddenly, “i’ll be back later.” he lingers by the doorway and says, almost as an afterthought, “i suggest you keep brainstorming,” before leaving.

you grab a pillow at random, determined to toss it at his retreating form, but don’t; instead, you flop onto the bed and bury your face in it, letting out a distressed cry out of frustration. no matter what you do, it seems the universe is determined to undermine your plans. maybe you should just stop fighting so much and see where things go, but when you think about the prospect of dropping your guard down around him, your mind spins — makes you lightheaded and impossibly foolish. you realize, belatedly, that the pillow you’re using is the one he used the night before.

it’s only evident because you’d recognize his cologne anywhere — it’s the kind to siphon all of the logic in your body, infiltrates your lungs so that it’s all you can smell and think about — you push the pillow away and roll onto your back, groaning audibly as you stare up at the ceiling. by the time marco gets back, you’re asleep, holding his pillow to your chest. naturally, he tries to pry it out of your arms, but you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for — so he acquiesces and after changing his clothes, climbs into the bed with you. just as he said before, there’s enough room for both of you; but he knows why you keep fighting him, and it’s amusing to see how far you’ll go to keep up the ruse.

again, you’re compromised, as marco’s arm rests around you lazily, his pillow discarded somewhere, and what’s worse is that you were possessed to do the unthinkable last night — cling to his body for warmth. his body temperature runs hotter than normal, so he’s the ideal person for you to share a small space with given the circumstances. however, when you take into consideration that you can barely function when he’s ten feet away let alone right next to you, this is the worst kind of situation to be in. your traitorous body makes it difficult to untangle yourself from his hold, but you succeed only to scoot too close to the edge of the bed and fall off.

“damn it,” you rub your shoulder and when you get off the floor, you see that he’s awake and doing a poor job of concealing his laughter again. a flush forces you to stomp away and angrily head to the bathroom to take a shower in the hopes of cleansing yourself of the indecent scenarios your mind keeps bombarding you with. you’re pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, riling you up to the point where a single touch from him has you spiraling out of control. no amount of cold water can expunge the remaining heat from your body — the one that found you late last night when your fatigue had you so delusional that you languidly threw your leg around his, hands absently roaming along his exposed skin, your justification being that it was more comfortable to lay like that.

he was more than okay with that reasoning and wasn’t inclined to let you go; not when your body was so soft and pliable, where your breathing slowed to match his. he’d be a fool to disrupt that serenity and, besides, he liked having you to himself — away from the interference of the others.

you do your best to avoid interacting with him as much as possible, scurry off to the room under the guise of taking a nap — where he gives you an unreadable look in response, one that has tiny butterflies flapping around nervously in your stomach, that makes your hands shake, before telling you he’d be back later in the afternoon. nodding seems to be the only thing you’re capable at that moment, shutting the door in his face before lounging on the bed. frustration swells inside of you, splashing around angrily as you berate yourself internally.

there’s no real reason for you to be this difficult with him, but you’re unsure of how to proceed — your feelings are all over the place and you feel like throwing up constantly. if this is what the initial stage of love feels like, you’d rather spend the rest of your life sinking to the bottom of the ocean instead.

it’s ridiculous, though, that he can have you like this without even being remotely affected — to your knowledge, anyway — you bite down on your lip, wondering if maybe you just need to let go a little. you’re so tightly wound; you’ll never survive at the rate you’re going. lounging back on the bed, surrounded by your mini-fortress of pillows — as if that’ll protect you from him somehow — you think about the hard planes of his chest, how your fingers shamelessly traced along the ridges of his muscles, how he let you touch him freely without stopping you. it was confusing, to say the least, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it

it’s partially why you shimmy out of your pants and socks, toss the clothes haphazardly onto the floor, and find that your fingers are on the move again, brazenly slipping underneath the lace of your panties, legs parting to give yourself more access. this is wrong, you tell yourself as you gingerly dip your fingers in between your folds, arousal pooling as you imagine that it’s marco’s fingers touching you instead. and soon it doesn’t feel wrong at all; it’s freezing outside, but you’re burning up. a memory of his hand drifting down your back, of his fingers on your hips gently nudging you out of his way, of his mouth grazing your ear when you froze and didn’t immediately move.

the memory knocks into you repeatedly, battering your willpower, turning you into a sighing, whimpering mess — pitiful as you attempt to chase that similar feeling — once you starts rubbing slow circles on your pussy, hips jerking as you moan softly. while marco intended on taking some time for himself, he also happened to forget something in the room; so, imagine his surprise when he returns only a few minutes later, hand on the door handle as he watches you play with yourself. propriety would have him leave you be, walk it off, return much, much later and never speak of the incident again — but he’s beyond that now. he closes the door behind him, leans against the sturdy wood, eyelids lowering as an irrational whim washes over him.

you’re so into your fantasy that you didn’t hear him enter the room, nor did you hear him lock the door either. your fingers sink into your pussy, thrusting in and out slowly, at first, building momentum as you slide your free hand underneath your shirt to play with your nipples. it was hard enough the past few days dealing with being in the same room with you, which only amplified his agitation — with himself, of course — when he found that his cock was hard enough to incapacitate him last night. it’s only when he hears you call out his name — once, then again and again — that he bites his fist hard enough to draw blood, feeling whatever resolve he’d been desperately clinging onto snap with ease.

so of course, his legs carry him over to you, and of course he climbs onto the bed to swiftly remove your hand from your panties, his hand rough and warm around your wrist, your eyes blinking rapidly when you realize that he’s actually here and isn’t a figment of your imagination. you finally find your voice as shame sits heavily on your chest, making you squirm underneath him.

“don’t give me that look,” he says candidly, eyes drifting lower as they take in the sight of your damp panties and the wetness on your fingers. you should pull your hand away, but you don’t — too absorbed in watching him glide his tongue over your fingers, licking your arousal off, and lighting your entire body on fire. “you’re being selfish, y’know,” he says lightly, tongue clicking softly in his mouth as he looks down at you, while you attempt to form a coherent sentence, “keeping this from me…” he pinches your clit and drags another moan out of you as you buck your hips forward. “what do you have to say for yourself, hm?”

all you can do is open and close your mouth, for fear of telling him something mortifying — to admitting certain truths you keep trying to bury, but marco isn’t having any of that. not today.

“wrong answer,” he says with a sigh, almost as if he feels apologetic for what’s about to come. a different kind of anxiety fills you — mostly excitement that bubbles around inside, knocking your heart around, making it difficult to breathe as he tugs the rest of your clothes off of you. now, you’re quite certain this isn’t a dream, but on the off chance that it is… you hope you never wake up.

marco’s fingers twitch before he cups your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his mouth following suit as he licks and sucks on them. you try your best to keep quiet, but it seems that marco’s determined to make you vocal; you fight hard against it, clamp your lips shut tight, moan bouncing around your mouth as you inhale sharply to keep grounded. he chuckles darkly, kneading your breasts, coaxing some soft whining out of you until he bites the curve along your breast. you stifle a loud moan when you press your hand against your mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer as you grind your hips against his. marco sucks his teeth at your insistence but admires your restraint; he trails kisses along your chest, teeth sinking into your skin as he leaves reddish marks behind.

your mind is melting, your body is completely under his spell, and you don’t even know why you’re fighting him this hard, if you’re honest. so, you simply give in — let desire take control for once, in the hopes that you’ll finally purge yourself of his lingering touch once and for all.

when he notices that your shoulders are much more relaxed, he shoots you a haughty grin before licking down the column of your throat, his fingers rubbing your pussy lazily, drawing out soft sighs that quickly morph into moans once he inserts a thick finger inside of you.

“marco,” you pant, eyes flying open again as you look at him, dazed but energized; you lick your lips and he circles his thumb around your clit. “more,” you say, a little breathless from his finger plunging in and out of you quickly — another finger joining the first one almost immediately. “more, please.” you don’t know what you’re asking for exactly, only that you’re slowly descending into a marco-induced-madness that currently has no cure.

“decided to stop being stubborn, huh,” a smug grin takes hold of his face before he kisses you. his lips move against yours with ease, your skin burning as his tongue slips into your mouth. your hips tremble with each thrust of his fingers, his cock pressing against the front of his pants, making it difficult to focus. you slide your hands underneath his shirt — soft and warm, skin smooth as it rubs softly against his abs — admire his hard muscles, and scratch at his chest when you clench around him suddenly, a dangerous flash of heat pooling in between your thighs as you cum unexpectedly.

your hips buck wildly under his hand as he keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of you. it’s impossible, the way you’re currently consuming every part of him — infiltrating the deepest parts of his mind, settling as if you’re intent on staying permanently — he hates how much he wants you and hates the way he doesn’t hate it at all. his teeth tug on your bottom lip, sucking roughly before releasing it with a small pop.

before he can say anything else that’ll piss you off, you tug his shirt off of him; he helps you take off the rest, and gives you a heated look, eyes raking down your body, admiring the bite marks he left behind. a good look, he wants to tell you, but keeps the comment to himself. for now. instead, he lowers himself so he can properly taste you. he runs his tongue flat against your pussy, the sensation making you yelp — you cover your mouth with your hands again, which makes him pull back and slap your pussy.

“don’t cover your mouth,” he says gruffly, mouth lowering as he spreads your folds open, “i want to hear you.”

his voice alone could trigger another orgasm within you, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything else. “but,” you start, swallow hard, hips rolling to push your pussy against his mouth as he eats you out, “w-what if s-someone hears?” you could kick yourself for sounding so timid, but you really don’t want to deal with anyone’s teasing after all of this. marco doesn’t answer right away, and before you can tell him off, he flicks his tongue against your clit and you let out a loud moan.

shameless, absolutely shameless; you don’t even bother feigning innocence, you’re too far gone for all of that right now.

“so what,” he says in between long licks, “let them hear.” it’s not like they’d actually have the guts to ridicule you in front of him. you want to tell him how ridiculous that is, that he can’t possibly mean that. but, when he looks up at you, a devilish glint coasting along his eyes, you decide against it. marco is something short of a man possessed, tongue dipping deeply inside your tight hole, enjoying the way your thighs press against him. pre-cum drips down the head of his stiff cock — he wants to fuck you so badly but is also very invested in ripping another orgasm out of you. there have been one too many nights where he envisioned his mouth on your pussy, devouring you like a man starved.

marco slurps on your pussy loudly, the noise lewd and making you flush all over again. he doesn’t care and likes the sound, committing it all to memory for later. when his mouth latches around your clit, a sinister jolt pulses through you, he holds you as he roughly sucks on your clit.

“fuck, marco, yes,” you words are strained, breath coming out in shallow pants, when you cum for the second time, he laps up your arousal, he taste hypnotizing him. you must’ve lost your mind because when he tells you to get on your hands and knees you don’t argue with him. marco runs a large hand over your ass, enjoying its suppleness, slapping it roughly. you let out a startled cry, nipples painfully hard as you clutch the bedsheets tightly.

“don’t hold back, love,” he says in warning, and you nod weakly before he slaps your ass again, prompting you to say yes repeatedly. “good girl,” he rubs the head of his cock against your glistening folds, a shudder passing through him at the contact. he’s so upset it took both of you so long to get to this point, but he’s glad it happened. and you are too, even though you fully plan on denying this tomorrow — because the idea of admitting that you liked marco so much you couldn’t handle it is too damn embarrassing, even for you.

marco inches his cock inside of you and you push your hips back to take more of him. he hisses and grabs onto your hips, fingers digging into your plush skin, a series of moans tumbling out of your mouths when he snaps his hips forward. he pauses briefly, allows you to adjust to his girth and length, and knocks his hips against yours all over again. his strokes are deadly — broad, hard, filthy — your back arches as you bounce against him, pussy tight and hot around him. not one to lose control of himself without reason, he finds himself unraveling quickly. he grabs your ass as he lifts his hips to angle his cock differently.

by now you’re sure your crew mates have all heard you scream marco’s name, panting as you beg him to fuck you harder, his hand wrapping around your thick hair, yanking you back towards him. he bites your neck as his hips remain close, strokes brutal and fast. you doubt you’ll be able to fuck anyone else after him. his body envelopes yours, sweat trailing down the side of his face, a light sheen coating your forehead and chest. he sucks on your neck recklessly, flicking his tongue at the spot, your hips bucking against him.

he pushes you down onto the bed, pulling out and rolling his hips forward, burying his cock in one go, a deep groan rumbling from deep inside of him. it’s feral, the way his thrusts are frenzied, possessive, tantalizing; a bit of drool trails down your lip, onto your chin as you sob, another orgasm powering through you. he pulls out again, rolls you onto your back, your lips parted — swollen from the way he kissed you earlier — eyelids lowered, a bit of adoration and hunger coasting along your face. there’s no way he can let you go after this; it simply wouldn’t work.

marco plunges his cock back into your puffy, aching cunt, your legs wrapping around him once more, your nails sinking into his skin as you scratch him. his lips are on yours again, tongue caressing yours hotly as he thrusts into you ardently, the orgasm lasting longer than necessary, body trembling from overstimulation. “i know,” he says in between kisses, reassuring you that he’s not that barbaric, “i know, i’ve got you.” something about the way he says that fills your chest with warmth, making you clench around his cock, your soft, plush walls milking him — spoiled and just as greedy, but he has no problems indulging you for something like this.

kissing you fervently, all teeth and tongue — messy, intense, crazed as you tug cling to him, hips rocking against his, pushing him over the edge indefinitely. his cum is thick, hot — even more as he keeps fucking you. later, you’ll tell him that he’s insatiable, an actual monster — but for now, you’re much too preoccupied with the delicious waves of euphoria that take over you. his hips slow but he doesn’t pull out right away, opting to kiss you again — properly, taking his time to map out your lips with his — breathing uneven, body heavy but a welcomed weight over you.

despite all of your theatrical tantrums, you know that a part of the reason why marco fucked you so hard was to tame that side of you. if he knows he was successful, you’ll never hear the end of it. so you don’t say a thing and enjoy the way your body feels light and weightless, a feverish hazes taking over you in the end, your arms wrapping around him, not wanting to let him go anytime soon — which is fine with him, your pussy is top priority on his list of things to do today, anyway.

[cosmicbash]

Famous Singer Kelly/Normal Dad Marshall AU

Everything is the same except instead of being a huge famous rapper Marshall is a close friend of Dre's who makes beats and helps produce other artists albums.

They meet when Whitney begs her dad to let her go to one of Kelly's concerts.

Marshall is of course still an over protective dad as in every AU so after taking a few peeks at footage from previous concerts and hearing first hand off Dre about how hard Kelly and his band can go Marshall is reasonably nervous at the thought of his 17 year old going by herself or god forbid with some of her ALSO underage friends.

Thus he nominates himself as chaperone. Something Whitney is at first a little annoyed with but after her dad reveals that to make up for his boring encroaching dad presence he not only paid for all of their tickets, but got them VIP passes and bought a meet and greet with their idol she's considerably less upset.

Grateful even.

The concert itself goes off without much of a hitch. The music is loud and while some of the rapping and beats do catch Marshall's interest the thing that distracts him most is just how expressive and passionate the lead singer is. Machine Gun Kelly runs and dances and jumps across the stage like he was born to be there. He plays instruments and sings to his fans like everyone of them is the only one in the room.

All in all it's one of the few concerts Marshall's taken his daughter too where he feels like he's got his money's worth.

Whitney undoubtedly feels the same if the way she's screaming and jumping is anything to go by.

Kelly actually even comes over their way a few times, leaning so far over the stage to sing directly in the girls and even his own face that Marshall can't help but instinctively reach out to steady the blonde when his body tips just that much further over one time. Kelly's own hand shooting out to curl around the back of his neck during the fumble in a move so smooth Marshall almost feels fooled himself.

The shoulder and ribs beneath his palms feel hot, but not as much as his face when Kelly doesn't falter in his singing. Their eyes locked and close as the drums rattle on and the blonde's voice puffs out warm against the older male's face.

"I can't hide, How I feel about you, Inside, I'd give everything up, Tonight, If I could just have you be mine, Be mine,"

Marshall feels utterly transfixed by the other man's gaze and voice. His breath hitching at just how close the rapper tips, their lips almost brushing before that tempting mouth curls up into a sharp smile and Kelly is flinging himself back away with such precision and ease it leaves Marshall stumbling back a step.

Even with Whitney screaming and freaking out in his ear he can't help but still feel struck.

Despite pulling away and moving back out to the center of the stage Kelly's eyes are still locked in his direction. Cementing that flush that's spread across Marshall's cheeks until the set is over and he can excuse himself to go wash his face in the bathroom.

As embarassed as he feels the brunette has to admit Kelly knows how to get a person's heart racing. In just a few seconds the blonde had somehow managed to make him go from a disinterested father to a weak knee'd mess, and he wasn't even one of the guys fans! It was no wonder the girls screamed so loudly and fawned over every simple glance.

It took more splashes to his face with cold water than Marshall would like to admit too before he could make his way back out to their spot front stage. Every look shot his way and belted out lyric just threatening to send the heat rushing back up through his cheeks.

By the time the actual concert finished and his daughter and her friends were excitedly jumping on him about the meet and greet Marshall's heart felt exhausted. He really was starting to feel too old to be going to these kinds of concerts, let alone staying after just to watch the singer smooze and grow handsy during a few private photo ops but there was no way he was going to send Whitney back there on her own. Not with her age and the ease at which he watched Kelly put the moves on every person he locked eyes with.

So of course Marshall soon found himself awkwardly standing around back stage, his wrists shoved deep into his jacket pockets while he watched the girls fawn and giggle with the band. Their attention focused over on a thankfully young looking drummer, and what sounded like a respectful bass guitarist. Kelly shockingly absent.

Marshall honestly didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed by the blonde's absence. Relieved because just the thought of speaking to the guy after that unnecessary serenade made his heart race and annoyed because he did pay a hell of a lot of money specifically so the girls could meet him. But his quiet grumbling to himself didn't last very long before fingers curled over his shoulder and a tall presence pressed itself up behind his back.

He actually saw Kelly's shadow in front of him before the blonde himself, his eyes widening slightly at the sheer height of the artist when he flinched and looked back.

The rapper's larger than life presence on stage translated just as physically off stage as well. With how far up Marshall had to look just to meet twinkling blue eyes Kelly almost felt a full foot taller than him.

"I was just talking about you-" The blonde's talking voice was scratchier than Marshall had imagined it would be. More than likely due to the several long sets.

It still had the father's ears burning in response. His lips drawing across into a tight annoyed line.

"Can't believe you paid extra just to see me, I was going to invite you backstage for free." The sly downright flirtatious smile being shot Marshall's way had his arms flying up to defensively cross over his chest.

It was good to know his assumption about the rapper being a bit of a sleazeball was right.

"Save the asskissing for my girls, kid, I'm only here to supervise. They're the ones who're smitten-" If Dre heard him talking to another artist like this Marshall would probably have a palm clapped aside his head by now, it was horribly rude, even for his usual grumpy persona. But something about the blonde's flickering gaze and lack of personal space had Marshall's stomach knotting up. "This aint my kinda scene."

Surprise colored Kelly's face, but that smile also just grew sharper. His eyes leaving Marshall's to glance over his shoulder at the girls.

Of course that gaze shifting over to his daughter also made that knot tighten. The urge to protect all but compelling him to snatch the blonde by his jaw and prevent any leering. Before he could even raise his hand the rapper's attention snapped back to him. The peek of his white teeth reminding the father of a shark as they grew ever closer, until they were out of sight and warm breath was blowing inside his ear. A large palm sliding up over Marshall's hip inside his jacket.

"How about me and you get out of here then Daddy? Promise the only ass I was thinking about kissing tonight was the one in those jeans you're wearing-" Just as quick as Marshall's fist had swung out the taller male had caught it. The man's free hand wrapping around his bony wrist while the hand on his hip slid back and down to squeeze his ass. "Just, think about it. Okay?"

And in the blink of an eye the blonde's hands were gone and his long lanky form was brushing past. His tone completely different from the low seductive one that had been purring into Marshall's ear only seconds before. "Yooo, we totally killed that set guys-"

Of course girly screaming followed, and the way the pitch rose and the rapid babbling tripled Marshall should probably turn around. But the father still felt frozen in place. His face burning so hot steam might as well start billowing out of his ears. The thick folded up piece of paper stuffed into his back pocket felt electric.

Marshall didn't need to pull it out and unfold it to know a number and probably some pervy message was bound to be scrawled inside.

[bluboothalassophile]

hey blu! can i request a Jayrae Spy AU story, enemies to lovers? thank you in advance ^^ Ps: Can't wait to see what's going to happen between Aunt Alice and Rae in Hopes for a Bastard's next chapters ^^

Hello,

I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying Hopes for a Bastard. As to Aunt Alice and Raven, we shall have to see how those events unfold… 😈

A Dead Man and a Little Bird…

She roused in the morning and she stared at him for a longmoment before she sat up, pulling the sheet with her. Her long black hair fell downher spine and she stared at him with awe before she traced his cheek lightly. Shefelt his eyes on her when she was out of the bed, the sheet discarded as shepicked up the shirt.

They worked for the same government, she was a analyst, hewas a black ops operator, a fancy term for an off the books assassin. Initiallythey had despised each other, she believed he was an ugly necessity in thisworld, but she did not like having to use him to get what they needed done. Itfelt wrong in a way, wrong to kill some people. She and he had had long moraldebates about his methods, full out shouting matches when their paths crossed.

However, an attempted bombing in Lagos, a near bio-attack inLondon, an attempted dirty bomb in Paris, they had come to terms when workingtogether, and somewhere between all that they landed here.

“You’re awake early,” he breathed into her neck as shebuttoned up his shirt. His arms slid around her and his mouth pressed on thecurve of her jaw.

“This was a mistake,” she informed him.

“Mmm, didn’t feel like one,” he smiled.

“This is a bad idea,” she countered.

“Aw, Rach, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

There was a stab in her at him not even knowing her namewhich had her pushing him off her as she turned to him.

“This is a mistake Peter,” she snapped. There was a flash ofsomething in his aquamarine eyes but it was hidden.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist,” heshrugged. “But I’m going to need this back,” he toyed with the button on the shirt.

“You destroyed mine, so I don’t think so,” she snorted andbreezed by him as she continued getting dressed. “Don’t die, and don’t take itpersonally but I hope to never see you again, Peter.”

“Likewise Rachel,” he gave her a sloppy salute as she walkedout. Raven walked to a cab and got in. She made it to her hotel, he alreadyknew where she was staying so it wasn’t a leap for him if he followed her. Andafter she packed, changed, showered, she checked out and disappeared into thecrowds of Istanbul. The mission here complete, the threat neutralized. Now itwas time to move on. She would work the intel she got, and continue her job.Just as Peter would continue about the elimination of the dangerous threats.

Walking through the crowds she made her way to her leave.She didn’t feel him watching her, and she would bet she didn’t matter enough towatch.

~~~*~*~*~~~

The next time they ran into each other, Raven was stateside,on a vacation as she lay on the beach in Hawaii, just soaking in the sun. Ithad been three years since her last run in with Peter, he was rumored to havedied in a bombing in London last year. Which was a bit saddening but no onecould or would confirm it was him. Though they all knew it was.

A shadow landed on her.

“You’re in my light,” she said as she didn’t open her eyes.

“It’s Jason, not Peter,” he said suddenly which had her eyessnapping open as she looked up at him He gave her a cocky grin, his black hairruffled in the ocean’s wind, and his hands were in his board shorts. There werea few new scars on him, but other than that, he looked the same.

“Mmm, and I should know this why?” she asked sitting up.

“For the same reason I know your name is Raven, not Rachel,”he said crouching to her level.

“And how would you have found that out?” she asked icily.

“Same way I find out everything else,” he said cryptically.

“What do you want?” she asked, she didn’t feel nervous ortense as she looked at him. No, there was no threat with him today. No harm inwhatever his intentions were.

“You,” he answered. “I missed you.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Possibly,” he smiled. “I’m retired, officially. Got out, wantedto see how you were.”

“People like you don’t retire.”

“Car bombs make us retire,” he pointed out.

“That was you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I missed the pretty bird, and she’s got twoassassins on her tail,” he smiled as he traced her cheek. “They’re indisposed, permanentlybefore you worry,” he said softly.

“Stalking isn’t attractive,” she said as she picked up her sarong.

“No, but come on little bird, time to cut the vacation shortand get you back to the safety of your nest,” he said. She gasped when hepulled her into his chest and kissed her hard.

He pulled away with a devilish grin. “You taste better than Iremember.”

“You are insane!” she gasped.

“Maybe, definitely I’m dead and helping you, come on, timeto go,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her along, she stumbled after him and didn’tcringe at the bodies as she passed them. She found herself tucked up into Jason’sside as they walked, he had shades on and grinned roguishly as they walked downthe street.

“Why are you following me, I thought you despised me.”

“Quite the contrary little bird. And I followed you becauseI heard the whispers that the Russians were targeting a pretty little bird inhopes they’d make her sing. And that just simply isn’t allowed, only I can makeher sing.”

“I’m not landing in bed with a dead man,” she warned.

“How about Jason Todd?” he asked her.

“He’s handsome, but not that handsome,” she grumbled.

“You can just admit you missed me,” he smiled.

“That woud imply I knew you were dead,” she pointed out.

“Did you cry for me Little Bird?”

“No.”

“You are a cold, cold little bird.”

“I’m not little!”