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projectionistwrites · 2 years ago

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FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 3

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Jake Lockley x afab!psychologist!reader (13.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, doggystyle, spanking, mean!Jake, degradation, dacryphilia, daddy/papi kink, cum eating, creampie, soft sex, needy/touch-starved!Jake, praise kink, dirty talk), lots of spanish NOTES: jake lockley deserves so much love. this was hard to write, i had so much i wanted to put into this chapter and i hope it all came through okay. also, i am not a native spanish speaker, but i worked really hard to make sure all of my conjugations/phrases were correct, but still, feel free to correct me! this is the final case study installment of this series, there will be one final concluding chapter (+ potentially a bonus part bc i’m feeling generous) DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

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CASE STUDY: JAKE LOCKLEY

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Protector

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Dismissive

CHARACTERISTICS: volatile, tenacious, arrogant, cunning, reticent; a true adrenaline junkie (engages in risky behavior in an attempt to fill his emotional deficit with a brief but intense adrenaline rush); extremely autonomous.

SPLIT FROM HOST: ??? currently unknown/unconfirmed (predicted to have emerged as a result of some feeling of physical inadequacy or repeated threats to safety; may potentially trace back to host's service in the military).

TRAUMA RESPONSE: thinks every hill is one to die on; unwilling to compromise or make sacrifices in fear of revealing vulnerability; maintains face no matter the consequence.

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: demanding, excitable, impetuous, unapologetic, aggressive; unafraid to take what he wants, but uncomfortable with affection.

Your heart was picking up speed as you knocked loudly against the door for the fifth time.

Surely he was inside. Where the hell else would he be? You’d texted with him just hours before—well, technically not Jake, since he refused to use a phone, but Marc—confirming that you were still good for your previously scheduled arrangement. Had he changed his mind? Did something happen?

Your anxiety got the better of you as you fished around in your jacket pocket to pull out your keyring. Steven had given you a copy of the key to their flat in case you ever needed it, or if you wanted to come over before he got home from work. You had yet to actually use it, but you figured this constituted as enough of an emergency to warrant your uninvited entrance.

You clumsily slipped the brass into the keyhole and jiggled it, twisting it until you heard the click of the lock. You silently prayed that Jake—or whoever was fronting—hadn’t engaged any of the other locks on the door that could only be unhinged from the inside. Fortunately for you, the knob twisted and the door swung open with ease, revealing the familiarity of the flat within.

It was... quiet. Not eerily so, but enough to make you proceed with caution. Everything appeared to be in order, undisturbed and in its place, but still, you felt a sense of uneasiness crawl up your spine.

You weren’t a stranger to the feeling, though. You often felt this way when you were in the company of Jake. You enjoyed his presence, and wanted to get to know him better, but still, he was unpredictable and volatile—you never knew what to expect when he was fronting. You couldn’t read him as well as the other two alters, and as someone who had an affinity for picking up on unspoken emotional cues, you weren't particularly fond of the element of surprise.

You heard a low buzz from somewhere off to your right, and as the door clicked shut behind you, you wandered towards the source of the noise on the other side of the apartment. As you grew closer, you recognized the previously indiscernible sound—humming.

“...Jake?”

You called out softly, and just as rounded the edge of the bookshelf that separated the living space from the bedroom, the door to the bathroom flew open.

The man in question strolled through the doorway, steam billowing behind him, whistling to himself, but he froze when he saw you standing before him. He quickly recovered from his initial shock, however.

“Bebita. Looks like you need to work on your patience.”

He teased, and you felt your mouth run dry as you took in his appearance. He’d clearly just finished up in the shower—there were still droplets of water rolling down his shoulders and the toned skin of his chest and abdomen, trailing southbound where a white towel hung lowly on his hips. You could see the dark hair of his happy trail against his navel, the towel very loosely covering his modesty. His hair was wet and tussled, curls falling across his forehead, and you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t one of the most attractive sights you’d ever seen in your life.

Much to your chagrin, he seemed to pick up on the effect that his appearance had on you. You watched as his lips curled into a devilish grin, staring at you with a depraved look in his deep brown eyes that only Jake was capable of.

“Why—Why didn’t you answer the door?”

Your voice wavered slightly, betraying you in your attempt to appear collected. His head tilted slightly in question.

“Because...I was in the shower.”

Oh. Right.

You swallowed, lips downturned into a small frown, suddenly feeling sheepish at your previous concern for his safety. However, your focus returned to Jake as he slinked forward, taking a few slow, deliberate steps in your direction.

“You’re blushing, mi vida. Am I making you nervous?”

You unconsciously shook your head at his question, although you could feel your heart racing in your chest as he drew closer to you.

“No? Hm, that’s a shame. I could’ve sworn I saw you staring at my cock.”

He paused when only a foot and a half remained between you, and you felt your face grow even redder at his statement. As much as you tried to resist, as much as you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, your gaze involuntarily flickered down to glance at his crotch—you could see the outline of his hardening member through the soft material of the towel, more prominent than it had been even a few seconds prior.

A dark chuckle escaped him, and you forced your gaze back onto his face. He was grinning wickedly, gazing at you with a carnal gleam in his eye.

“Está bien, bebita. I know how much you like it. That’s why you rushed in here, isn’t it? Didn’t want to wait for papi’s cock any longer?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your jaw fell slack at the nickname he assigned to himself—you felt your knees grow weak. Just as you’d said—unpredictable. You certainly hadn’t expected that.

But fuck, you really liked it.

His smirk turned into a toothy grin as he observed your reaction to his taunt. One more step towards you and you were only a short distance apart. You could see moisture congregating in the divot of his collarbone, and you desperately wanted to lick at the pooled water.

“Are you going to be good for me, bebita?”

You nodded dumbly at him, any cohesive thought escaping from your brain as all you could perceive was Jake, Jake, Jake. He parroted your senseless nodding, mocking you condescendingly. Without another word, he dropped the towel from his waist and it pooled around his ankles, exposing his fully-erect member to your sight, and you swooned.

His tongue traced over his lower lip sensually, looking at you through hooded eyes. A shadow crossed his face as his mouth contorted into a sneer.

“Get on your knees.”

You obeyed before you even consciously processed the command, collapsing onto your knees before him, your abrupt fall cushioned by his discarded towel. Your mouth watered as you became eye-level with the hardness of his cock, the vein beneath the underside of his shaft just begging for your attention. You resisted, instead opting to stare up at Jake’s face expectantly, awaiting further instruction. It was clear to you that he liked to be in control.

He smirked at your complacency, his hand reaching up to lazily stroke his cock a few times, watching the way your eyes followed the movement of his hands with laser focus, your lips slightly parted in anticipation. He tilted his hips forward and slapped your cheeks with the ruddy head of his cock a few times, and you whimpered at the action, eyes squeezed shut tightly with restraint.

“Stick out your tongue for me, bebita.”

You obliged, opening your mouth wide and letting your tongue loll out past your lips. He tapped his length against the slick muscle, and you savored the familiar tang of his precum on your tastebuds as he pulled back to fist at his cock again. You whined as he withdrew from you, but he just tutted at you condescendingly, slapping your cheek once more with his member.

“Oh, pobrecita. You want papi to let you play with his cock?”

You nodded feverishly, staring up at him through your lashes, doe-eyed. He pouted his lip out in a look of mock pity before removing his hand from his length.

“Go on, then, bebita.”

You lurched forward, your tongue flexing to lick a long stripe on the underside of his cock, tracing the jagged vein that had enticed you earlier. He hummed at the action, watching as you eagerly lifted your hands to begin slowly pumping the velvety skin of his shaft, your lips suctioning around the flushed tip and tongue dipping into the slit. A low groan rumbled deep within his chest as you bobbed your head, eyes never leaving his face as you studied each reaction he had to your movements.

“There you go, mi vida. So good for papi.”

You moaned around his cock at the repeated use of the title, and he chuckled at your obvious approval, one hand finally reaching up to card through your hair as you continued to work more of his length into your mouth.

“You gonna let papi fuck your pretty little mouth, hm?”

He pulled his hips back, removing his member from your touch and you gasped in a breath. You nodded in response to his question, opening your mouth expectantly, and he all but laughed at your eagerness.

“You want it bad, huh, bebita? You gonna ask nicely?”

“Please, papi.”

The word sounded foreign on your tongue, but your discomfort melted away when you saw Jake’s cock jump at the sound of your desperate pleading and he threw his head back in satisfaction.

“Please, fuck my face. Want to feel you in my throat. Please.”

He seemed satisfied with your begging as he wrapped both of his hands in your hair, tilting your head upward and guiding your towards his awaiting length. When your hands reached up to rest on his thighs, he pulled back, hissing at you.

“No, mi vida. Hands behind your back. Don’t make me tell you again.”

You clasped your hands behind yourself obediently, opening your mouth again, and you finally felt the fat tip of his cock rest against your tongue.

You practically choked when he harshly thrusted into your mouth, sinking nearly his entire length into your throat without warning. Before you could even recover, he was pulling back and repeating the motion, not giving you any time to adjust to the intrusion or ease you into a rhythm. You gagged unceremoniously as he fucked your face with reckless abandon, so you tried to slacken your jaw and just take it.

“Look at you, mi llorica. So beautiful when you cry for me, with my cock in your mouth.”

You could barely see him through the blur of tears as they rolled down your cheeks, mixing with the saliva that was foaming around your lips and dribbling down your chin. He picked up his pace, grunting with each motion, the head of his cock bruising the back of your throat with every forward thrust. He was guiding your head forward and backward in time with his movements, successfully burying himself into your face.

“You want me to cum down your throat, bebita? Going to take everything papi gives you?”

You garbled around his length as his balls slapped against your chin, and you felt his cock throb on your tongue as he sheathed himself completely inside of you, growling out your name as he shot his load as deep into your throat as he could. Still, he challenged you more, forcing himself further and further down your throat with each spurt of cum that he released, your nose smushed against his pubic bone as you swallowed around him, trying with all of your might to prevent yourself from gagging and ruining his orgasm.

With a satisfied groan, he slowly pulled his spent member from your mouth, and you gasped harshly, sucking in a deep breath of air and finally allowing the muscles of your neck to relax. There was a soreness lingering in the back of your throat, but you relished in the feeling as you wiped the mix of spit and tears from your face with the back of your hand, staring up at the fucked-out expression that Jake offered you.

“Did so well for me, bebita. What do you say to papi?”

There was an edge to his tone, his domineering persona not faltering for even a second as your scratchy voice responded accordingly.

“Thank you, papi.”

He nodded at you approvingly, watching as you blinked up at him expectantly. He was pleasantly surprised at just how quickly you’d fallen into submission—he thought he might have to coax you into cooperating with him, but it was clear to him that you were eager to please, your eyes glistening with residual tears from one of the best goddamned blowjobs he’d ever had in his life.

He leaned down and clasped his hands on your shoulders, yanking you to your feet without a word. You saw his eyes flicker down to your swollen, spit-soaked lips, but his gaze was hard as he took a step away from you, as if to resist the temptation to kiss you.

“Strip. Hands and knees, on the bed for me. Now, bebita.”

You didn’t protest as you hastily heeded his words, shedding your layers of clothing and tossing them to the floor before you scampered back towards the bed, crawling to your hands and knees in the center, head facing towards the pillows. You could hear Jake creeping up behind you, but you resisted the urge to turn your head and follow his movements, opting instead to squeeze your eyes shut and wait.

You weren’t afraid of Jake. Of course you weren’t. You knew he’d never hurt you—not unless you wanted him to. Nonetheless, you knew what he was capable of—actually, that was the thing. You didn’t know what he was capable of, but still, you could see the thinly-veiled chaos that swirled behind his coffee-colored irises, could sense the firm restraint he forced upon himself when he was around you, holding some unnamed beast at bay on your behalf. It scared you, but also sparked something inside of you—a primitive, savage excitement as he stalked you like his prey. Was it wrong if you secretly hoped he’d unleash the mayhem that resided within him, let himself go? God only knows the man deserved an outlet in which to channel his frustrations.

You felt the mattress dip down behind you, Jake kneeling on the bed behind your bowed position—your nerves spiked at the vulnerability you displayed, exposed as you practically felt his eyes tear through your body with crazed, wanton desire.

You were surprised to feel a soft caress on your hips, his rough fingers delicately ghosting over the supple skin on your waist. It was comforting, soothing, and surprising—a needed reassurance under his scrutinizing gaze. You felt his lips brush softly against the tender flesh of your left buttock, and you relaxed slightly, letting yourself sink down to your forearms but keeping your ass raised with the arching of your back.

“Are you ready, mi vida?”

He asked quietly, and you managed to squeak out a small ‘yes’ before sinking further into the bed and shifting your hips backs toward him in anticipation. He chuckled at your obvious eagerness, greedy for his touch, and you startled when his tender hold on your hips tightened into a bruising grip, the soft press of his lip to your left asscheek morphing until he was sinking his teeth into the flesh with a playful nip.

You yelped at the abrupt shift in demeanor, the sound earning you a sharp smack to your other cheek, his palm quickly rubbing the afflicted area to soothe the lingering sting of his spanking. You pressed your forehead into the sheet beneath you, your legs beginning to quiver with desperation.

“You’re going to stay like this, and take what I give you. Don’t move. ¿Vale, bebita?”

You nodded, but were met with another harsh swat on your backside at your lack of a verbal confirmation.

“Yes! Okay, papi, okay. Just—please.”

You were practically dripping onto the mattress beneath you, your arousal slickening your needy cunt as you desperately sought out any stimulation.

The pads of his fingers experimentally swiped through your folds without warning, and you jolted, involuntarily pushing your hips back to follow the withdrawal of his touch. Another firm slap against your opposite asscheek, a whimper escaping your lips as he scolded you.

“Stay still, bebita. Stop squirming.”

His order briefly brought you back to your first time with Marc, who had requested the same thing, but the words felt heavier when they were uttered by Jake—you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to find a way to make you comply.

When his fingers made contact with your core again, you clenched your muscles, forcing yourself to remain completely motionless, and you were rewarded with the tip of his digit just barely skimming over your clit. You whined at the sensation, but held your position.

Jake was pleased with your cooperation, but you couldn’t help but quake when you felt his tongue sweep through your folds to taste you. The spank he offered was softer, taking pity on you as he leaned forward and fully sank his mouth into your awaiting cunt. You mewled, fingers twisting into the fabric of the sheets beneath you and fisting at them tightly in an effort to keep still.

He was moaning shamelessly into your sex, his method tactless, sloppy and rushed. His movements weren’t practiced and deliberate like Marc’s, nor careful and precise like Steven’s—no, Jake was eating you out like a man starved, greedily mouthing at every part of you and reveling in the sounds that escaped your lips.

His hand lifted and he sank two fingers into your entrance, curling them forward frantically as his mouth latched onto your clit. He was working you to your orgasm quickly, hurriedly, desperate to feel you clamp down around him and cry out his name.

Your thighs were beginning to tremble. He must’ve sensed you were close, because he doubled his efforts, the vibrations from his growling buzzing through your flesh and pushing you over the precipice. On its own accord, your body lurched back towards him, your cunt grinding back against his face as your eyes rolled, your walls contracting around his digits and your juices leaking onto his awaiting tongue.

You felt dizzy, faint, your efforts to hold yourself upright through your climax exhausted you, and when you came down from your intense high, you felt Jake draw himself away from you, slow and intimidating. You felt your pulse spike as you awaited whatever came next. His large hand caressed your ass, gently smoothing over your soft flesh in back-and-forth motions.

“Sabe a miel, bebita. Such a pretty little pussy.”

His touch on your skin halted, and you felt his body lean over your back, his lips coming to brush against the nape of your neck.

“But you didn’t follow my instructions, pobrecita. You need to learn how to listen.”

You cried out when his hand swatted at your abused clit, your body jumping at the painful sensation in an attempt to escape his cruel attack. You felt one arm snake beneath your stomach to hold you upright, his forearm pressing your hips back towards him and keeping you there.

“I let you cum, even after you moved when I told you not to. Do you like being a brat, hm?”

You shook your head—another smack to your cunt, and you whimpered.

“No! No, m’sorry, papi, I—”

“Don’t you think I’ve been generous? Spoiling you? And still, you’re ungrateful, bebita.”

Your body flinched in preparation for the next blow, but instead, you felt his lips tenderly brush a kiss to the flesh of your ass.

“Compórtate. I think I need to teach you how to mind your manners.”

He slapped your ass again, harder than before, and you could feel the lingering sting forming a welt across your skin. He hummed.

“What do you say to papi, hm? For being so good to you?”

“Thank you, papi.”

You whimpered, tears starting to dampen the sheets beneath your face. Your appreciation earned you a soothing hand across the flesh he'd just struck.

“That’s right. Five more times, bebita.”

You sobbed in protest, body trying to pull away from him, but his arm wrapped around your torso forced you into place. He cooed at you.

“It’s okay, pobrecita. You’re going to say thank you after every single one, and then papi will fuck you. ¿Sí?”

He didn’t wait for your response. He smacked your clit, the sting burning its way through your lower belly. You choked back another sob.

“Th—thank you, papi.”

You stuttered, voice barely audible from where your cheek was smushed into the bedding, but Jake took pity on you. Two, three, four more times—the final blow landed sharply against your cunt, and you whimpered out your gratitude, eyes squeezed shut tight and your lip starting to freckle with blood from where you’d held it between your teeth.

He placed gentle kisses on your lower back, your ass, as far as he could reach, his arm still supporting your weight while the other came to softly smooth over your hip. Your mind was cloudy, your body completely surrendering to Jake’s will as you descended into subspace, clinging to his approval.

“You want my cock, mi vida?”

He asked gruffly, and you could feel his hardened length prod against your behind as he leaned further over you to press more kisses on your shoulders. You whined.

“Yes, papi, please, want you inside me, please—”

He shushed you calmly, sitting back to kneel behind you. He lifted your hips higher in the air with his arm, and you felt the flushed head of his cock brush across your soaked folds once, then twice. You mewled.

Without warning, Jake sank into you, bottoming out with one harsh stroke as his balls pressed against your puffy clit. You cried out, legs turning to jelly and giving out from beneath you, but he held you upright, keeping you stable in his arms.

“Mierda. Your little cunt is swallowing me, bebita.”

He withdrew slowly, and you could feel each ridge of his length as he pulled out until just the tip remained. Even though you braced yourself, you couldn’t prepare for the way he slammed back into you, his pelvis flush against your tailbone as you cried, pleasure sparking at the bottom of your spine in spite of the pain.

Jake’s pace was relentless, unforgiving, hips snapping forward over and over, the sound of skin slapping skin drowned out by your pathetic sobbing as your walls throbbed around his member. His teeth were bared as he railed into you, intently watching the place his cock was splitting you open.

“Carajo, you’re squeezing me so tight—going to cum for you, bebita.”

He practically growled as he speared you, and another orgasm was ripped from you with a particularly harsh thrust of his hips. Your cunt clamped down around him as he let out a long, low whine, hips stuttering at the sensation.

He let you collapse into the bed as he began frantically jerking his cock, pulling out of you just in time to shoot his load all across the reddening flesh of your ass. He let out a series of grunts, coupled with Spanglish expletives as he thrusted into his fist, his head thrown back in bliss. You felt globs of his hot spend settle onto your skin, streaking your backside with his seed as he panted above you, falling back onto his heels as he drank in the aftermath of his intense orgasm that was now painting your skin.

The moments that followed blurred together as you drifted aimlessly in the wakes of your pleasure, eyes fluttering in their attempt to keep you awake. Jake left you for several minutes, the absence of his body heat making goosebumps erupt across your skin, but you were too exhausted to move.

When he finally returned, you felt him softly dab the remnants of his ejaculate from your back before he gently shifted you onto your back, tucking an arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders as he hoisted you into the air. You whimpered slightly at the soreness in your muscles, your head falling limp against his bare shoulder as he carried you off. You weren’t consciously aware of your surroundings, but the sensation of warm water surrounding you helped ease the ache in your bones and clear the haze that had overtaken your mind. Jake gently lowered you into the bathtub, carefully tilting your head back to rest against the ceramic edge as you let out a relieved sigh, sinking into the welcoming heat of the water.

You felt as if you’d only blinked when you awoke, the water around you now lukewarm and the candle that had been burning beside you melted to the wick. You shifted yourself upward, hissing slightly at the soreness in your thighs, but you forced yourself to stand and exit the tub.

Silence surrounded you as you leaned to pull the plug from the drain before you noticed the plush white towel that had been folded neatly and left on the lid of the toilet for you. You gratefully reached it and wrapped it around your body, noticing the pruning of your fingertips.

How long had you been asleep?

You tentatively creaked open the bathroom door and peered outside into the apartment. It was dark, and empty, for all you could see, and you took a few cautious steps out into the room.

“Jake?”

You said softly, your soft call sounding much too loud in the quiet of the space. You proceeded forward towards the bed, shrouded only in light from the single lamp that was lit from across the way. Your clothes had been folded neatly and left in a pile at the foot of the bed, and you saw a small piece of paper settled on top. A note.

You picked it up and scanned it over once, then twice. You could tell this was Jake’s handwriting—it was a messy scrawl with an evident slant, the letters each written harshly with sharp lines. It was different from Steven’s languid scribbling, his words swirling together with smooth, clean strokes, and also from Marc’s, whose blocky penmanship was unmistakable. You couldn’t marvel at the fact that all three alters had markedly distinct handwriting, though, too focused on the content of the message to give it a second thought.

Went out for a drive Text when you get home See you tomorrow.

JAKE

You frowned slightly, heart feeling heavy in your chest as you forced yourself into your clothes. You checked the time—11:28. You’d conked out for nearly two hours, and you wondered how long ago Jake had stepped out. Was he waiting for your text in order to come back home? Waiting for you to leave so he didn’t have to see you?

You had absolutely no right to be upset, you knew. You should be grateful that he was sticking to his ordinary routine after your sexual encounter in honor of your experiment, but still, a pang of hurt bloomed in your chest. You briefly returned to the bathroom to blow out the flickering lavender candle before heading out the door, your legs wobbly as you trekked the two blocks back to your own apartment.

It was nearly midnight when you finally got home. You reached for your phone and shot the boys a brief message.

made it back safely x

A response came in barely thirty seconds later.

I'm so sorry Y/N He shouldn't have done this to you M

You fell into your bed immediately, eyes skimming Marc’s words, your lips pursing slightly. You let out a long sigh before typing your reply.

it's ok marc, i promise he didn’t do anything wrong i had a nice bath! :) tell jake i said goodnight xx

You connected your phone to the charger before setting it on the nightstand, quickly turning over and sinking into your pillow, trying to ignore the tears that were stinging the back of your eyes.

Your phone buzzed with a final message.

Sleep well baby Hope you give him hell tomorrow M

POINTS OF CONTENTION:

- slowing down

- embracing vulnerability and confiding in others

- accepting intimacy and allowing raw emotion

TREATMENT: - patience, foreplay - allowing himself to feel - aftercare (!)

You were, in fact, not going to give him Hell. Just the opposite, actually.

Jake spent too much of his time letting his demons possess him. Perhaps he needed a little taste of Heaven to show him what he's missing.

“Hi, Jake.”

You greeted shyly when the door swung inward. He leaned against the doorframe slightly, looking at you down the length of his nose. He didn’t say anything—just watched you. Studied you. Observing. After a few brief moments, you cleared your throat.

“Can I—uh, can I come in?”

A beat passed before he finally sidled back into the apartment, opening the door just enough to let you slip inside. Your side brushed against his front when you passed him, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke clung to his white shirt. Oh, Steven would be livid.

You didn’t wait for an invitation before plopping down on one end of the sofa. Jake quirked a brow at your forwardness, and you signaled with the jerk of your head for him to join you on the other end. He offered a slow, dramatic roll of his eyes before seating himself beside you.

“What time did you get home last night?”

You asked quietly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his gaze. He breathed out a slow breath.

“Not too late. Hardly slept, though—your boyfriend wasn’t very happy with me. Kept me up all night, nagging at me.”

You frowned, finally noticing the deep purplish bags that had settled beneath his eyes. His curls were spilling out from beneath the brim of his flat cap.

“I’m sorry, Jake. Marc isn’t s’posed to be bothering you—it’s your weekend.”

He waved a dismissive hand, turning to settle further into the couch as he stared at some point straight ahead of him.

“No pasa nada. I’m used to it.”

He shifted in his seat slightly, his brows furrowing, and you could tell that he was receiving an earful from Marc.

“I’m—I guess I’m sorry, mi vida, if I upset you.”

You shook your head derisively.

“No, Jake, it’s—you’re fine. That’s what I asked you to do—treat me like any other girl.”

He let out a humorless bark of a laugh, knuckles rubbing over the stubbled skin of his jaw.

“Any other girl wouldn’t have gotten to see my bed, bebita.”

He noticed the perplexed look on your face and offered a sigh.

“It’s not...often, that I sleep with anyone like this. Usually it’s in the back of my cab, or a quick one in a closet—tienes suerte, mi vida. It’s rare they ever see me a second time.”

You felt a deep sadness wash over you at his confession. All Jake knew were rushed, meaningless hookups, no strings attached and no obligations. One and done.

“Is that why you didn’t kiss me, yesterday?”

Jake looked startled by your question, eyes widening marginally as his brows furrowed deeply. His lips set into a straight line, his jaw clenching tightly.

“I did kiss you. A lot.”

He insisted softly. You shook your head.

“No, Jake. A real kiss. You wouldn’t do it. Are—Is that not usually a part of your... you know?”

His knee began anxiously bouncing, his discomfort making itself evident to you.

“No sé. Never really thought about it before.”

You stood from the couch, and his stare followed your movements sharply as you crossed the short distance between you, stepping forward to stand between his spread legs. He looked up at you with dark, brooding eyes, uncertainty churning just beneath the surface. You slowly moved to sit on his lap, your thighs slotting on either side of his hips so you were straddling him. His hands mindlessly settled on your waist, his touch timid and delicate. Your fingers smoothed over his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Can I kiss you, Jake?”

His lips silently parted, a flash of fear briefly flickering over his features as he gazed up at you longingly. His nervousness was palpable, his hesitancy evident through the tension in his shoulders and the crease between his brow. He didn’t offer you a response, so you carefully began leaning your face towards him, tilting your head so your nose brushed against his. You felt his stuttering exhale fan out across your face before you finally let your lips brush over his own.

It was soft, and tentative, as if he was unsure of how to respond or worried he would somehow break you. You pressed your mouth a bit firmer to his, melding against him. You wished, hoped he could feel all your emotions come through the kiss—how much you cared for him, how much you wanted to show him that. Maybe your manifestation worked, because after his few fleeting seconds of unresponsiveness, you felt him sink into the feeling, one arm traveling from your waist up your back to cradle the back of your head in his hand.

He shifted beneath you, trying to pull you closer, as if you weren’t already on top of him. You could feel the stiffness vacate his muscles as the kiss grew feverish, desperate, his lips moving against yours hastily and messily. His free hand began to roam the expanse of your back as he pressed his torso into your own, your nose smushing against his cheek as he gripped you tighter.

He whined when your tongue swiped across the seam of his mouth, his lips immediately parting to allow you access. You dove in to taste him, the stale tobacco and faint mint of his toothpaste overtaking your senses and inebriating you with the distinctive flavor of Jake. His own tongue began to tussle with yours as he mirrored your actions, your teeth clashing messily as he all but tried to swallow you whole.

You pulled back abruptly, gasping in a breath, and his mouth chased yours in a frantic attempt to maintain contact. You felt his hips instinctually rut up against you, his hands still pulling you tightly against his body as he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling the scent of your soft skin.

“Slow down, Jake, take it easy.”

You placed both of your hands on either one of his shoulders and forced him to relax against the couch, his body following your guidance as he sank backwards at your request. His eyes were practically crazed, his lips swollen and ruddy as he looked up at you with a half-lidded gaze, chest heaving with panted breaths.

“Oh, hermosa.”

His muttered, his grip pulling you back to his chest as he surged forward to hungrily meet your lips again, his hands beginning to claw over every inch of your body he could reach, trying to feel all of you. You pushed him away again, more forcefully this time, and he fell backwards with a grunt.

“Hey, relax. It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

A flicker of sadness glinted briefly in his dark eyes, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it expression, but you caught it. You offered him a soft, assuring smile, grabbing the hat from his head and tossing it to the side so you could sink your fingers into his hair. He leaned back into your touch as your nails gently scratched at his scalp, a soft, breathless moan breaking from his lips as his eyes fell shut. You leaned forward and pressed a single kiss to the exposed skin of his throat.

“Come on, handsome.”

He was reluctant to loosen his hold on you, but you reached for his hand and clutched his fingers tightly so he could still feel you touching him somewhere. You led him over to the bed, pausing at the foot of it and gesturing with a nod of your head for him to lay down. He quirked a brow at you, lips curling into a mischievous grin.

“You going to punish me for being so hard on you yesterday, bebita?”

You weren’t oblivious to the excitement that shone in his eyes—he seemed enticed by the possibility of you torturing him in a similar vein to Marc, and you figured that was some information you could keep in your back pocket for future reference.

Instead, you let out a saccharine giggle—it was sickeningly sweet, cloyingly so, and Jake might’ve gotten a toothache from the sugar if it weren’t for the softness with which you crept over his splayed-out body, sinking your front against his as you pressed a featherlight peck on his lips.

“No, Jake. Nothing like that.”

You let your weight settle onto him, straddling his lap and letting your chest fall flush against his as you kissed him again—he mouthed at you hungrily, trying to force his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance, and you gently pulled away.

“Hey, tough guy. What’s your rush?”

His brows furrowed, gaze flickering from your eyes and down to your dewy lips, his pupils blown wide. You smiled sweetly at him.

“Slow down, okay? There’s no hurry, really. Let me just feel you.”

He blew out a huff of air before your lips were on his again, and he heeded your request, letting you take the lead as your poured all of your passion into the kiss. It was slow, deep, intimate, your fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt and across the hot skin of his torso, pushing the material up as you went. You slowly drew back to discard the article of clothing before immediately latching your mouth to his, slow movements still heavy and dripping with desire. You finally parted his lips with the swipe of your tongue, and you felt his fingers sink into your hair, tilting his head for a better angle with which to lavish you.

You could feel him getting greedier as he pressed his body up into your warmth, hands sliding down the expanse of your back and making a move to rip your shirt from your body. You pulled back suddenly, giving him a warning look.

“Hey. Slow.”

You reminded, and he stuttered out an exhale, his fingers gradually raising your shirt above your head as he tossed it to the side. His eyes ravished your body as his fingers traced along the newly exposed skin of your sides, his touch softly skimming your curves before coming up to cup at your breasts. You smiled sweetly down at him as he pressed a few fervent kisses to your collarbone. His dark eyes found yours, lips parted provocatively as he silently asked for your permission. You nodded gently, and his fingers trembled with restraint as he slowly reached around to unclasp your bra.

It was taking everything within his power not to flip you over and pound into you, but something about the look in your eye—reverent, devoted, loving—he didn’t mind too much.

When your breasts exposed themselves to him, he made a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat, leaning forward to latch onto one of your nipples hastily. You tugged at his hair and he groaned in frustration.

“Jake.”

You warned, and he pressed his face down into your cleavage, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“Mierda, bebita. You like being on top so much, hm? Like being in control of papi?”

You gently pulled at his curls again, forcing his face to lift and look up at you. You regarded him softly, one of your hands coming to delicately trace over his jaw and cheekbone.

“No, honey. None of that, okay?”

His brows furrowed, and you leaned down to press a kiss against the crease between them.

“It’s just you and me. Jake and Y/N.”

He repeated your name back to you in a low murmur, as if saying it for the very first time. Actually, now that you thought about it—maybe it was. Jake had never addressed you by your name before, only used endearments to speak with you.

He seemed puzzled by your suggestion, eyes round and questioning and lost, almost uncomfortable with the proposal of having you call him by his actual name.

“You can be on top if you really want to, Jake.”

You pressed a kiss to his nose, then atop both of his fluttering eyelids, then one in the center of his hairline.

“You just—have to be patient.”

You pressed your forehead against his, letting your eyes drift shut as you took in the soft sound of his breathing, finally settling down and evening out. You felt his head tilt up to meet yours again, and you let him kiss you, his pace steady and deliberate, easing you into a rhythm. His hands slowly crawled up your spine, cradling you close to him as he licked into your mouth, his hips bucking up just slightly when you gently tugged at his lower lip with your teeth. He pulled away, shaking his head at your flirtatious action and giving you a playful glare before mouthing gently at your jawline, down your neck and behind your ear. When you leaned into his touch, he sank his teeth in and suckled a deep red mark into your skin, earning a soft whimper in appreciation. His lips stayed pressed against you as they trailed down the column of your neck, along your collarbone and shoulder, and finally down to the flesh of your breasts.

You breathed out a low moan when he placed wet open-mouthed kisses along the top curves of your chest, slowly teasing lower until his teeth scraped your hardened nipple and his lips puckered around it. His hand came to palm at your other breast, kneading at the doughy flesh as he stared up at you seductively through his lashes.

“Fuck, Jake.”

You whimpered, and the sound of his name rolling so deliciously off of your tongue caused his hips to grind up against you once more. When he was satisfied with the array of red and purple marks he’d imprinted on your skin, he dragged his face back up to your own and pressed his lips to yours once again.

You were impressed with his restraint. You could feel the hardness in his muscles, see the tension in his thick shoulders as he forced himself to take his time instead of jumping your bones from the start. You hummed against his mouth before pulling yourself away and off of his lap, your fingers slowly trailing down the length of his torso before settling on the buckle of his jeans.

His breath stuttered at the action, his abdominal muscles contracting as he awaited your next move. You gently reached down to palm at his bulge through the layers of fabric and he groaned throatily, his eyes fluttering shut at the much needed stimulation. Your fingers deftly worked to unloop his belt before unbuttoning his jeans, and he lifted his hips to assist you in pulling them off of him.

When he was left in just his briefs, you pressed gently against his shoulder to make him lay back down and relax. He sank back into the pillows, propped up so he had a decent view of you between his legs, your fingers teasingly stroking over his length through the thin cotton of his boxers. He hissed.

“Estás una calientapollas. Please, hermosa. Y/N.”

He saw the way your eyes darted to his face at the sound of your name, your lips parting and your fingers ceasing their gentle sweeping motion over his cock. You held his gaze as you slowly reached up towards the waistband of his briefs and coaxed them down his legs, freeing his member that had been straining against the fabric.

After you’d tossed his final undergarment aside, you settled back between Jake's legs, your hands stroking each of his inner thighs softly, watching as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your left hand slowly, slowly crept upwards until it ghosted over the silky skin of his shaft, his body shuddering in response to your touch. You waited until his eyes were open again, watching you, before leaning forward and letting a pool of your saliva drip from your lips and onto his awaiting cock. He keened at the sight, his hips jerking just slightly as you finally wrapped your hand around the base and began to stroke him at a treacherously slow pace.

“Mierda. Fuck.”

He grunted quietly, trying to keep his hips still as you started to pump him a bit faster, glittering eyes staring up at him reverently. It was dizzying, the way you gazed up at him with such infatuation. It almost made him nauseous.

You slowly leaned down and licked the precum from his leaking slit before letting your lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue languidly over the tip, watching his face scrunch up in pleasure.

You briefly pulled back to press kisses up along his entire length, coupled with soft caresses of your fingertips. It was clear to you that Jake was beginning to feel frustrated—his hands were buried in his hair, head thrown back against the bed as if attempting to subdue his desires.

You took him back into your mouth, working him slowly over with your tongue and swallowing him down bit by bit, agonizingly slow. You could feel Jake’s thighs tensing around you, his hands flying from his head to fist at the sheets on either side of his body.

When you gagged around his cock, he lost his composure. You made a startled choking sound when you felt his hand against the back of your head, pressing you down onto his length as his hips bucked up to try to sink into your throat. You immediately recoiled, and Jake nearly whined, his eyes desperately pleading with you to grant him some release. You weren’t taking any pleasure in seeing him like this—this wasn’t your end goal.

“You going to edge me like Marc, huh? Want to hear me beg?”

His voice broke off slightly, his frustrations venting through his lips as he almost glared at you. You sat up, moving to straddle his waist once more so you could press your lips to his again.

“No, Jake, I told you, I’m not. I just—Let me take care of you. Wanna show you how much you mean to me, wanna—wanna worship you, wanna make you feel good—”

His brows furrowed as you rambled slightly, your eyes big and round and glassy. He was confused—what exactly was it that you wanted from him?

“Let me fuck you, mi vida—make us both feel good with me inside you, hm?”

“No, Jake, just—hang on, that’s not—”

“Then what? Want to see if I can be as vanilla as your little Steven?”

“I want to make love with you, Jake.”

His breath resembled something of a gasp as his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, disappearing beneath his curls while his eyes widened almost comically at your hasty confession. You cringed inwardly at your forwardness, taking in the expression of sheer panic on Jake’s face that had him looking like a deer in headlights. You sighed, leaning forward to press your forehead into his chest in an attempt to hide your face from view.

“Fuck. Sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush through this. I’m sorry, I just—I want—want you to enjoy it, want you to let yourself feel it, Jake.”

You could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, his lack of response smothering you after your fervent explanation. You wanted to disappear, wanted the ground to cave in and swallow you whole—instead, silence consumed you, settling across your back like a weight that you weren’t strong enough to carry.

“That’s...a new one for me.”

His voice was quiet, sheepish, and you could feel the vibrations rumbling in his chest as you lifted your head to look at him.

“I know.”

You acknowledged quietly. He was staring at you. Dark eyes searching within yours, scanning your expression, every detail of your face, as if attempting to see straight through you. Your heart was still pounding, your face rosy with an embarrassed blush—you felt his arms shift, his hand hesitantly lifting, fingers ghosting over the skin right above the waistband of your jeans at your hips, getting about as close as he could to holding you without actually touching you at all.

You’d never seen Jake Lockley at a loss for words before, and you’d certainly never seen him look so unsure. He was always so collected, nonchalant and unfazed, never dropping his guard for more than a second before that smug smirk reappeared on his face. He took things in stride, his confidence stifling as if he was always three steps ahead of the rest of the world, always knowing what came next.

But now there was vulnerability displayed across his slacken face, a certain wariness serrating his words as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, mi vida, but I don’t—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Jake, really, I promise it’s okay.”

You reached up a hand to cradle the side of his face, fingers gliding across the stubble of his jaw as your thumb brushed over his cheek. His head instinctually tilted in the direction of your hold, turning to press a soft kiss to the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry. This—I don’t know what I was thinking. This isn’t fair to ask of you at all, it wasn’t a part of the deal, and—we can stop here. Let’s—just tell me where you wanna go from here and we can do it. Anything.”

You breathed, looking into his eyes, your brows furrowed in remorse as you anxiously awaited his reply. He was still just looking at you, unwavering, his chest heaving slightly with each brash exhale.

You felt his fingers skate up your bare spine and you straightened at his touch, letting him gently pull you towards him until your noses were brushing again. His gaze never left yours as he drank you in, his lips parting so you could feel his warm breath against yours. After a few more grueling beats, your pulse jumping with anticipation, his closed the gap and kissed you with a tenderness you didn’t know he even possessed. He pulled himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around you until they enveloped you completely, your bodies melding together as his tongue traced the seam of your mouth, although he didn’t press any further—just feeling you, tasting you, savoring the sweetness that seemed to course through your veins.

You were breathless when he pulled back, although he only recoiled just enough to speak. You could feel the movement of his lips against your face as his dark eyes burned through you.

“Hermosa, I don’t—I’ve never... Nunca he hecho esto antes.”

You knew what he was saying even if you couldn’t actually understand it. Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled softly at him, sliding your palms over his chest before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

“It’s okay, honey. I—we can figure it out together.”

He blinked rapidly at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought there were tears shining across his eyes. But then he was kissing you again, so softly and sincerely that it fucking hurt.

Your body was slotted perfectly against his, flush against the contours of his current position as his hands slid up and down your spine, settling lowly on your back, just above your ass. You could feel his aching arousal pressing into your heat, rubbing against the seam of your jeans as he held you against him. You let his tongue lick inside your mouth greedily before you drew away.

“Can I—Can I keep going?”

You asked softly, grinding your clothed core up against him for emphasis. A breathy whimper fell from his lips as he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before slowly nodding. You slowly crawled down the length of his body, pressing gentle kisses all the way down until you found yourself settled between his legs once again, not wasting any time in wrapping your hand around his cock and giving him a few gentle strokes. He sank into the mattress, throwing his head back into the pillows as his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

“You’re supposed to enjoy this, okay? But remember, this—this isn’t just about making each other cum, it’s—wanna make you feel good. We’ll take it nice and slow. You tell me when you’re ready to—when you wanna move on, and we will, okay?”

He looked down at you, his eyes still full of doubt and hesitance, but beneath the veneer you could see the warmth of trust shining through. He nodded at you reassuringly, and the soft smile he offered was one you’d never seen from him before—so genuine and credulous that it almost resembled Steven.

Without another word, you leaned forward and let the tip of your tongue trace the driblet of precome that had begun to slide down the length of his shaft. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, suckling at the flesh as your hand began to stroke him steadily, wrist twisting just slightly to maximize the stimulation.

Jake let you toy with him for awhile, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of him in tight fists while he endured you doting on his throbbing cock.

When you reached to squeeze for his balls, your head sinking a bit lower onto his length, you felt his fingers wrap in your hair and gently coax you off of him, a low growl rumbling in his chest. You immediately ceased your ministrations, staring up at him attentively as he blinked slowly at you, his lip swollen from where he had been biting it.

“Do you—you want me to stop? Wanna—want me to ride you, or—”

He interrupted you with groan, throwing his head back against the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen rippling.

“No, mi vida, it’s alright, whenever—you can stay down there as long as you like, I just—mierda, your mouth is so good to me, hermosa. Worried I’m gonna cum.”

He confessed, a sort of pained expression on his face. You gave him a pitying look—it wasn’t mocking, not at all, but genuine sympathy. You didn’t want to make him miserable.

“Just a little bit longer, okay, honey? I know it’s hard going so slow, I’m sorry, but—but I promise, when you finally let go, it’ll be worth it, okay?”

He smiled meekly at you, nodding as he removed his hand from your hair and returned it to its position tangled in the sheets at his side. You gave him one last reassuring glance before sinking your mouth back down onto his cock and lavishing him with more attention.

For several more minutes, he let you worship him, his hips jolting and cock twitching, although he was displaying great levels of restraint when it came to letting you dictate the speed and pace of your actions. You suckled one of his balls into your mouth, watching as he squirmed, legs kicking just slightly beside you as he mewled, his face scrunched up in pleasure.

You released him with a popping sound, finally satisfied with how you’d worked him up and extolled his cock. You crawled up his body and he eagerly welcomed your proximity, pulling you to his mouth to plant a hard, desperate kiss to your mouth. You smiled into him, fingers nestled in his curls.

“Thank you, Jake, did so well.”

You whispered, pressing gentle kisses to the expanse of his jaw as his chest heaved beneath you. He hummed to acknowledge your praise, although you could feel the tension in his muscles as he impatiently awaited your signal that you could continue.

When your eyes met his, they blinked at him, docile and alluring, and he took that as his cue to roll you onto your back so he could position himself on top of you. He pressed a few kisses to your mouth, as if he was struggling to pull himself away, before his lips traveled down your neck and collarbone, his hands popping the button on your jeans to finally have you bare beneath him. You didn’t protest when he pulled them down off of you, your panties joining them soon after. He leaned up to kiss you again, his rock-hard length dipping into your sopping folds as his body rocked against yours once, then twice, earning a low whimper from your throat.

“Go ahead, honey, I’m ready for you.”

You whispered, voice sweet, and he groaned lowly. However, he surprised you by pressing a soft peck to your cheek before sinking down the length of your body, his mouth trailing a line down the center of your torso before kissing right atop your pubic bone, brown eyes watching you closely. Your breath stuttered as you wrapped your fingers in his hair unconsciously.

“Jake, you’ve waited long enough, you don’t have to—”

“Wanna do this right, Y/N.”

He whispered, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your clit, causing you to gasp.

“Make me feel so good, hermosa. Promised going slow is worth it—gonna make it worth it for you, too.”

You couldn’t dwell on the fluttering sensation in your chest when his mouth pressed against you, wet tongue meeting your dripping folds with attentiveness—you released a soft cry as he lapped at your entranced, the tip of his tongue prodding at your clit gently, causing you to squirm.

Jake liked to run his mouth, but now, he was silent. It's not that he didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to spur you on with filthy praise—he simply couldn’t find the words. He was absolutely hypnotized by the sight above him, bewitched by the expression of pure, unadulterated euphoria on your face at each ministration he offered. He’d never been witness to such a beautiful view before—any time he’d gone down on someone, watching their nonverbal responses to his touch simply wasn’t his priority. It had always been rushed, forceful, as he ripped orgasm after orgasm from his partner with greed and insatiability. But now—now it was you. He was in between your legs, pulling angelic sounds from your lips as your thighs quaked around his head. You were glowing, radiant, ethereal as you basked in the pleasure, and Jake finally realized why foreplay was so important—seeing you like this might be even better than the real thing.

He heeded your words. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, wasn’t speeding you towards your climax with rapid swipes of his tongue and fingers. He was savoring you, each brush of his mouth against your core was languid and indulgent. His lips puckered around your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing slow circles around it with his tongue as your fingers fisted tighter into his curls, offering enough of a sting to make him groan around you. His tongue dipped into your entrance, lapping at your dripping arousal, your walls fluttering around his thick muscle as your hips jerked to meet his thrusts, pressing yourself against his face to chase your mounting pleasure.

This was different than the orgasms he’d granted you the day prior—this was a simmering heat, coiling lowly in your stomach, festering and building slowly as he sought out the places that made you squirm. You could feel the intensity spiking, even though his lazy speed remained constant—the way his dark eyes stayed firmly fixated on your face was dragging you closer and closer to the threshold.

“Fuck, Jake, oh God—”

You whined, and his hands slipped beneath your ass, lifting your hips to grant him a better angle at which to devour you. Your thighs were trembling, his tongue beginning to swipe over your clit in rapid side-to-side motions—the change of pace pulled a ragged wail from within you, the muscles of your abdomen squeezing tight. He couldn’t control the shameful rutting of his hips into the mattress beneath him at the sound.

“So close, Jake, yes, fuck—”

You were right on the precipice, stars clouding your vision, but right before you tipped over the edge, you yanked your hips back, lifting Jake's head away from you with your grip on his hair. He jolted, hazy eyes suddenly wide and alert as he sat back, bewildered at your abrupt departure from his lips. You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm dissipated, your tense muscles sinking back into the mattress as the coil loosened itself. You breathed out lowly, your lashes fluttering as you opened your arms to pull Jake against you.

“Sorry, honey, I—so good, Jake, fuck, but I—wanna cum on your cock, wanna cum with you.”

A low groan escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes blinking closed to stave off the arousal that was singeing his insides.

“You—¿estás lista, mi vida? Are you sure?”

You nodded vigorously, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he let out a slow breath, hands sliding to your sides. Your brows furrowed when he pulled back, gently attempting to roll you onto your stomach. You reached up to grip his shoulders tightly, shaking your head.

“No, no, Jake, I want—wanna see you, wanna be close to you, please.”

There was turmoil churning behind his eyes as he stared down at you, brows furrowed heavily as he fought his internal battle. You realized he’d probably never done it like this before—if the fact that he was afraid to kiss you was any indication, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’d never let himself be caught in such an intimate position.

But then his eyes softened, his hand coming to cradle the side of your face, his thumb pressing up against the swell of your lower lip.

“Okay, hermosa. Por ti hago lo que sea.”

You felt his member slide between your dripping folds, the head of his cock brushing across your clit as he guided it against your center, hearing the way your breath hitched at the feel of him over your bundle of nerves. You felt it notch at your entrance, the tip just barely breaching your folds. Jake cursed lowly under his breath, eyes glued to where his cock was about to sink into you. In spite of your desperation, your hands lifted to rest on either side of his face, forcing his eyes onto you.

“Look at me, honey. Want you to look at me when you split me open.”

“Carajo.”

He muttered, closing his eyes to steel himself before opening them again to stare into yours. You watched his lips part as he pushed into you, unbearably slow, a low moan rumbling through his diaphragm as he sank into you, only stopping when he was fully-seated within your fluttering walls.

The intimacy was stifling him. He felt lightheaded, breathless, his body hovering over yours just barely as he held himself up above you, drinking in your heavenly being—your hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath you, your pink lips slicked with saliva as your gazed up at him with doe-eyes, blinking slowly as your walls clenched around him.

“God, Jake.”

You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling so he fell against you, chest flush against your own. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, staying still inside of you for a few brief moments in order to just feel the way you surrounded him.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back his hips, just barely, before pressing back inside of you, your moans echoing in unison as his balls nestled tightly against your ass again. He’d always been so busy chasing his release, relentlessly pounding into you that he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate just how perfectly he filled you, just how perfectly your walls clamped around his pulsing length.

“So good, mi vida.”

He groaned against your neck, repeating the motion of his hips at a more steady pace. Each thrust pressed against your cervix, causing you to whimper.

“Fill me up so nice, Jake, fuck, feels so good.”

He felt your walls clamp around him once more, and he pulled his head back slightly, lifting himself up a bit more so he could increase the breadth of his thrusts.

“Me vas a matar.”

He growled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as one hand came to palm at your breast, his eyes glued to the way the other bounced with each push of his hips forward. His eyes drifted back to the fucked-out expression on your face, your lips parted as you stared up at him, and his hips stuttered just slightly.

God, he was close already.

“Fuck, hermosa, me arruinas.”

You could feel him faltering, a bead of sweat dripping from one of his curls and down onto your chest, sliding between your breasts and down to your stomach. He watched it dribble downward, eyes dazed, his abdomen clenching as he attempted to stave off his impending orgasm.

His hand clumsily wedged between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in crude circles, his arm trembling just slightly. Watching him grow desperate above you was enough to spark the beginnings of your climax. You pulled him down for a bruising kiss, teeth clashing and tongues swirling as you swallowed his incessant groans.

“Wan’ you to cum with me, Jake.”

Your words were drawled, drunk on the way his cock filled you, and you could feel pleasure sparking in the base of your spine. The speed of his fingers on your clit sped up slightly, his hips struggling to maintain their cadence.

“Mierda, hermosa, oh fuck, so tight—can’t, I can’t—”

“Cum inside me, Jake.”

Your words were only a whisper as you skated along the edge of your orgasm, just barely hanging on as you desperately tried to convince Jake to let go. His eyes blew open wide at your words, grunting as his hips continued jacking forward.

“Y/N, shit, don’t—I’ve never—”

“Oh, God, fuck, I’m cumming, Jake, please, please cum with me, fuck—”

He couldn’t have stopped himself even if he tried. The rhythmic pulsing of your walls around his painfully hard cock was harrowing, gripping him so tightly that he couldn’t have pulled out even if he wanted to.

His balls drew up tight as his climax exploded.

“Oh, me vengo—mierda, fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, shit, shit, shit—”

His eyes rolled back as he nearly collapsed on top of you, his hips pistoning forward again and again as he shot his spend deep into your walls, his cock pulsing. His orgasm seemed to last minutes as his vision blacked out, brain emptying as his awareness only focused on how the pleasure zipped across his skin with each pump of cum that he released and how tightly your walls were squeezing him, milking him for all he was worth. He’d never cum so hard in his life, or so much—his seed was leaking out around his length as his body slowed to a halt, your tired cunt stuffed full of him as his cock spilled one final spurt of warm release, the head of his member settling against your cervix as he stilled, his weight bearing down on you as he went boneless.

Jake was slowly grounded back into reality at the feeling of your fingertips brushing softly across the length of his spine, your other hand buried in his curls from where his face was tucked into your shoulder. He could feel your hot lips pressed against his temple, your breathing steady and even as you regained your bearings. He forced himself to follow your inhalation patterns, attempting to slow the racing of his heart.

As the endorphins flooding his bloodstream began to thin out, his anxieties threatened to consume him once again. He pushed himself up and off of you, groaning at the soreness in his muscles and the exhaustion tingeing the edge of his movements. You could do nothing but watch him as he slowly pulled out of you, and you expected him to leave you as hastily as he had the day before—maybe he would’ve, if not for the way his eyes glued themselves to your exposed center, enthralled by the sight of his cum oozing from your fluttering hole and dripping downwards.

Your hips jumped slightly when you felt his fingers gently sweep over your cunt—his gaze never lifted as he scooped his release from where is was beginning to escape and pushed it back into you, forcing you to keep as much of him inside as you could. His eyes were dark, possessive as he tilted your hips up just slightly in an effort to stop his cum from leaking out of you.

His sudden captivation and obsession with filling you was surprising, a stark contrast from just moments before when he had desperately resisted your pleas to finish inside of you. The ghost of a smile flickered over his lips as he settled you back down, seemingly content with the show. His eyes flickered up to yours, and as soon as your gazes met, you saw the way a shadow crested his features, abruptly throwing up his guard after the unexpected vulnerability he’d just granted you.

Jake walked to the bathroom, letting the door shut behind him with a click. You pulled yourself into a sitting position, sighing as you felt the stickiness between your thighs and settling beneath you. You should clean yourself up, get dressed and head out so that—

The bathroom door swung open again and Jake walked out, a wet washcloth awkwardly held in his left hand. He stood at the end of the bed for a moment, as if unsure of what to do next. His eyes hesitantly found yours.

“Do—I’m—I haven’t done this part before, mi vida.”

He quietly admitted, offering a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. Still, your heart warmed at his efforts.

“Thought—figured I’d try what Marc does, but I don’t—”

“Thank you, Jake, that’s perfect.”

You encouraged softly, and his eyes lit up with your soft praises as he knelt down on the edge of the bed, leaning down to carefully press the cloth to your ruined core. You sucked in a sharp breath, the coldness of the water a foreign sensation in contrast to the heat that was broiling between your legs—Jake recoiled, eyes searching yours widely for direction. You offered him a lopsided grin.

“Sorry, s’just—sensitive.”

You explained, and he nodded, slowly wiping at the arousal that stained your skin. His lips were pursed as he focused on his actions, trying desperately not to hurt you. After awhile, he sighed.

“Would you—do you want Marc? Or Steven?”

Your face fell as he finished cleaning you up, tossing the towel on the floor beside the bed, before facing you, his curls falling across his forehead and into his eyes. You frowned.

“No, Jake—not unless you don’t want to—it’s okay, I can always leave if that’s—”

He let out a humorless, bitter laugh, one hand coming up to stroke at his stubbled jaw as he stared at the ceiling, clearly uncomfortable.

“No sé lo que estoy haciendo.”

You heard him mumble breathlessly, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Do you—will you come lay with me, Jake?”

You asked softly, as if you were speaking to a wild animal and were trying desperately not to scare it away. His eyes darted to your face, lips parting to protest, to make up an excuse, but then he shook his head at himself, crawling up towards you and seating himself beside you, his back resting against the headboard. You tentatively leaned into his side, nestling your head against his shoulder. You felt him stiffen beside you slightly, but then his arm moved to wrap around you, pulling you closer against his side.

You felt him release a breath he’d been holding as you lifted a hand to rest on his bare chest, drawing random shapes into the warm skin mindlessly.

“Why did you think I’d want Marc or Steven?”

You asked softly, your eyes watching the movement of your fingers on his chest. His hold on you tightened.

“This—s’not my job. I don’t do things like this.”

You sat upright, turning to face him fully. His eyes were hard as they looked at you.

“What do you mean, not your job?”

His lips pursed.

“You know, hermosa. You’re the doctor, hm? Steven and me, we’re—we both do something for Marc. S’why we’re here. Marc and Steven, they—they get to feel things, know people. I’m—I’m just here to make sure they’re safe, that they don’t get hurt.”

Tears pricked behind your eyes as his words registered in your brain. There was an aching sensation festering in your chest.

“No, Jake, that’s not—that’s not how this works. You’re a person, you have every right to experience things just like they do, you’re—”

“No pasa nada. This is the way things are, hermosa. I know you thought—thought you’d be able to come and figure us out, show us what’s what, but—but I already know who I am, what part I play.”

The dejection in his voice was unmistakable. There was bitterness in his words, resentment. The pain in your chest expanded.

“I protect. That’s what I do. Means I don’t get—I don’t get to have this, mi vida. What happened today—that’t not mine.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, so you turned and sank back into his side, hoping he didn’t catch your display of emotion. In spite of himself, he let you press against him, savoring the feeling of your soft skin against his own.

You were hoping he’d open himself up to you after your intimate tryst, but you obviously misread the situation—his walls had come back up, even stronger and more unwavering than before.

Perhaps he sensed your sadness. You felt him release a long sigh, his muscles going lax as he let his head fall against the headboard.

“Lo siento, hermosa. I—you deserve better than what I can give you.”

Your head turned to gaze up at him, finding his eyes staring straight ahead at a random focal point. You felt your heart crack a bit.

“Stop, Jake, don’t say that. That’s not true, I don’t—”

“It’s okay, mi vida. I appreciate what you tried to do for me today. Significa mucho para mí.”

He swallowed, and when he finally looked down at you, the warmth he’d been unabashedly displaying for you had been replaced by the familiar austere glint that normally resided there.

No. You wouldn’t have it. Not after all of this.

Your hand reached up to cradle his jaw, thumb swiping over the apple of his cheek as you turned his head to face you.

“I know you’ve heard me say it, Jake. To Marc and Steven. This wasn’t—this isn’t just research.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his eyes flickered down to your lips, and you felt the arm that was wrapped around you tighten its grip again.

“I care about you, a lot—”

“You don’t know me.”

His words were brazen, suddenly harsh, insistent against your admission. Your brows furrowed.

“I’m not—I’m not like the others. I’m—I’m no good, hermosa. You care about Steven, and Marc, but I’m not like them. I don’t feel things like them, I can’t—estás mejor sin mí.”

“Then let me know you, Jake. You’re a part of this system, just as much as Marc and Steven, and you deserve to be happy.”

He didn’t answer you—his jaw rippled at the conviction your tone offered, so certain with yourself. You let out a long sigh, reaching to pull at his arm as you shifted. His brows furrowed, but he let you coax him into a lying position, his head against the pillows as you once again nestled into his side, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as you pressed your front against his side, face squished against his shoulder. You placed a soft kiss to the skin there.

“I’m gonna stay with you tonight, okay, Jake?”

You felt his muscles tense in protest, every fiber of his being telling him to make you leave, to get up and go, but the proximity and warmth of your body was intoxicating. After a few beats, he finally offered a slow nod, his limbs relaxing as he sank into the bed. You reached to pull the duvet over you two, clutching onto him tightly, and even if he refused to hold you back, you could feel the way his body went pliant beneath your touch.

He shouldn’t let you so close. He’d managed to keep his distance before—but with the way your breaths slowed into gentle snores, your hair tickling against his bicep, your comforting heat seeping into his bones—he felt his resolve begin to crack beneath the pressure of your insistent affections.

Jake let himself mold against you, his head tilting to rest against the top of yours as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head—he told himself that it was okay, you were sleeping, no one ever had to know just how much you’d softened him, how deeply you’d sunk your perfectly-manicured nails into his flesh—and no one ever had to know just how much he loved it.

For the first time in what felt like ever, Jake Lockley actually slept.

TAGLIST: @kezibear143 @gingermous @josephquinncore @steven-grants-world @am-3-thyst @fanofverymanythings @vaneyvfs @theboggyman-blog @belladri @roserfz27 @nowayhomerry @justanotherkpopstanlol @bagsy-not-it @elles-mind-palace @pimosworld @winterbiip @moonmoonboys @icuminurbutt @spxctorsslxt @fandomqueen74 @freerangesweets @wumpsquill @wordacadabra @lunaleah @hornkneeforbucky @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @ronanthesimp @deezisnotreal @avengersinitiative2012 @pri00r @wand-erer5 @bitchotine @cookielovesbook-akie @kingtwhiddleston @manofworm @welcometostayingawake @papillonoirsworld @xsarcasticwriterx @this--is--music @paradox-brody-chase

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 11 months ago

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Lumine, Eula, Noelle (obviously), and anyone else of your choosing with a late night working S/O, how would they go about persuading their S/O that they need to go to bed and sleep?

(Genshin Impact) Jean, Noelle, Shenhe, Dehya, Lisa, Xinyan, and Ei forcing their S/O to sleep

...Maybe I should sleep after writing this considering it's 12:45 AM. Also, Lumine and Eula's parts were done in a prompt very similar to this one!

"My goodness my glass house is sparkling delightfully in the morning sun, what a nice day to indulge in my favorite hobby of projectile mineralogy! - Yahtzee Croshaw

Yeah, Jean has absolutely zero room to criticize her S/O for working late into the night.

She does the exact same thing, usually passing out for doing so.

But ever since S/O had come into her life, she had been working on adjusting her schedule so she can properly rest at the behest of Barbara, for both their sakes.

Not to mention S/O was also concerned for her well being, so a compromise is made between the two.

(Jean) "If you rest S/O, then I will too. Like Lisa says, there's always tomorrow."

The last thing everyone needed in the Knights was two workaholics falling unconscious after all.

Noelle also has no room to criticize S/O for working too hard.

That being said, Noelle usually brings some tea for S/O, gently sitting it next to them.

(Noelle) "S/O, I know that I may not be the right person to say this, but you should get some rest."

Similar to Jean, Noelle also makes sure to take better care of herself so S/O doesn't have to worry, and hopes that they would do the same for her.

She has no problem helping S/O get tucked into bed before quickly settling in next to them.

WIth Noelle, she doesn't take long to convince them at all.

(Shenhe) "You should be resting S/O."

Shenhe is quite confused as to why S/O is up at this hour.

They should be resting, surely the work can wait until tomorrow?

At first she offers to stay up, thinking it was something related to no one keeping watch.

Only for S/O to explain it was just some work they could be finishing tonight instead of the morning.

(Shenhe) "It'd be far more efficient to have a clear mind and work later, would it not?"

Shenhe stares at S/O with an innocent expression, eventually making them break and relent.

It makes her feel more at ease, knowing S/O won't suddenly pass out from exhaustion.

(Dehya) "Jeez, you're still at that? Come on, it can wait till morning!"

Dehya playfully wraps her arms around S/O's upper body.

If they refuse to budge she'll make a loud and obnoxious sigh.

(Dehya) "If you don't put the paper down, I'll pick you up! It's reaaaal easy for me to do that, y'know!"

When they relent, Dehya chuckles and stretches her arms.

(Dehya) "Finally. Some shut eye will make you feel better too. Can't get paid for your work if you're paying for medical bills."

Part of her wishes that they would try to continue working, just for the excuse of getting to pick them up and embarrass them.

But alas, that would have to wait for another day.

Lisa refuses to bring any work home once she's done for the day.

And by all the damned souls in hell, Lisa will enforce that rule upon S/O as well.

(Lisa) "Darling, no bringing work home.~"

Despite her teasing tone, she is 100% serious.

Lisa was a hard worker herself, but that was only when she was supposed to be on the clock.

Their home was a place to relax and not think about work, so she'll first take S/O's hands gently and have them wrap around her hands instead.

Archons forbid S/O tries to continue working, then the tone of her voice becomes more lethal as S/O starts to feel electricity in the air.

(Lisa) "Won't you pay attention to little ol' me instead of some papers, S/O?"

(Xinyan) "S/O, get your tush into this bed! Don't make me sing some crappy ol' love song, I'll do it!"

The tone of Xinyan is half playful and half serious.

She doesn't want to play some cheesy song just to catch S/O's attention (mostly).

Xinyan just doesn't want S/O to overexert themselves when they don't have to.

Even she didn't write songs that late into the night

...Well, mostly, but S/O didn't need to know that little detail.

(Xinyan) "Trust me, your brain will make the work flow waaay better when you sleep, speaking from experience here!"

Ei convinces S/O to rest, though not in the way most would imagine.

Being an Archon, she could simply use her godly authority to force S/O to heel.

Or if it was the Raiden Shogun, then smiting S/O was an option.

Instead, Ei has S/O stop their work simply by being herself.

(Ei) "S/O, if you are going to stay awake during this time, can we eat some dessert?...It's too late at night? If you're working, then we can drink some dango milk!"

Simply put, it was annoying them for sweets if they stayed up for too long.

While it was because she was concerned for their well being, since humans are meant to rest, she was holding out for some hope that she can sneak in extra dessert for the night.

So far, it didn't work, much to her quiet dismay.

#genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #jean gunnhildr x reader #noelle genshin impact x reader #shenhe x reader #dehya x reader #lisa minci x reader #xinyan x reader #ei x reader #noelle genshin impact #shenhe genshin impact #dehya genshin #lisa minci #xinyan #ei raiden #jean gunnhildr

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kateeorg · 7 months ago

Text

Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks "Magneto was right" is bullshit? And really dangerous rhetoric to be spreading? I'm not really an X-Men fan, so maybe my opinion is invalid, but... (a venting rant, please ignore unless you are curious, not judgmental)

Look.

It's one thing for Magneto to be right within the universe of X-Men -- any X-Men iteration -- which gives a lot of evidence that the humans of that universe WON'T change and WILL see mutants dead before they are accepted.

Fine. Whatever.

But considering how so many see X-Men as a reflection of real world issues... we're really going this route? We're really saying violence and war is the only option?

Because people WILL map this onto real-world issues that they really shouldn't be. But the real world isn't a comic book. The conflicts are not oversimplified, and the "oppressed" and "oppressors" aren't always as clear as people think. More often, there is real hurt on both sides, and multiple facets the news can't capture.

Sometimes, both sides are violent assholes. And they will hold on to their rightness, to their feelings of being the only "oppressed" ones, to justify horrible things.

And who gets caught in the crossfire? We do. Ordinary people just trying to get by.

And the other thing is, violence and extremism makes for a better story, doesn't it? Better comics, better photos, better news readership. Peace... real peace is hard. It doesn't photograph well, like protest does. It needs to constantly be maintained, constant compromises. It doesn't make for a good movie, does it? Not a superhero movie, anyway. Or TV show.

It requires a maturity that most people? Will never reach.

Including the writers.

So screw your "Magneto was right". Maybe I'm wrong. I probably am! I'm probably letting my emotions about real world events get in the way. I don't like conflict or picking sides by nature, even when it's justified, and some will see that as a weakness of my character. Fine.

But I'm sorry, I just ... I refuse to accept that. Because I worry who is going to use that phrase as a rallying cry in the real world. And who will get hurt as a result because someone decided they "deserved" that.

This is also why I'm frankly not excited to bring the X-Men into the MCU. Because where there are X-Men, irrational hatred must follow, and I just... I don't want to see the MCU devolve into that. It will, of course, the die has been cast, but... I'm sad it came to that, because I'm not sure I trust the MCU writers as things stand to get this right.

In a world of superheroes and flying ships, the thing that takes real imagination is to see a world where peace is possible.

I'm not sure I'll ever have the writing chops to do it myself. But I endeavor to try harder than the X-Men writers clearly ever have.

Actually, I think Wonder Woman said it best: "It's not about deserve. It's about what you believe. And I believe in love."

#rant post #x-men #magneto was right criticism #x-men 97 #peace #overthinking #speculative fiction #please ignore me #magneto was right

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nyctophiliq · 2 years ago

Note

Hi mossy! requesting again but this time just comfort,, any sort of comfort with the ow agents,, anyone you want <33 just need a little comfort in my life atm,,

feel free to ignore if you don't feel up to writing! and pls remember to take care of yourself 🫶🏽

✮ — CUDDLING WITH THEM ; widowmaker, kiriko, d.va, moira, mercy, brigitte, sombra, ashe,

content warning; afab/gn reader. sfw ! — lowercase writing intended, no content warning applies

moss' notes; back from death !!! enjoy this fluffy little collection of drabbles and thank you for requesting celeste

— widowmaker˖⁠♡

widowmaker is not a woman who lets you cuddle her, no matter your reasonings, she cannot protect you if her arms are wrapped around you because she cannot reach for her gun like that, and having a third body like that in bed wouldn’t be comfortable for you. she refuses every single time but she will settle for letting you take her hand, lace your fingers with hers so you would stop demanding. you are happy and she is happy, perfect compromise.

“you keep your side of the bed, i keep mine… the hand is fine yes, it is… convenient.”

amélie however has a soft spot for holding you in her arms whenever she can, either in the bed or while watching tv and spending time together on the couch. she rarely sleeps on nights like that, she is trying to savor every moment that she can while being her true self. she doesn’t want to waste any minute while she can be with you when she can be outside so she pulls you as close as she can, enjoying the warmth of your skin against her cold body as you peacefully sleep.

“i can move if it’s uncomfortable for you, it’s just… i don’t often get to be this close and comfortable with you.”

— kiriko ˖⁠♡

most of the times, kiriko probably asks you to cuddle her or cuddles up with you when she is stressed. she likes whatever position, but half-spooning really is the thing that does it for her. kiriko enjoys holding your hand and playing with your fingers while her other hand is looped around you, circling either your back or arm. she can be a sort of menace, putting her cold hands under your shirt, telling you that they are cold and need to be warmed up.

“come here hanii, i need to cuddle you, hm? i am already laying down, come on now!”

— d.va ˖⁠♡

cuddling with hana is both good and bad. when it is a movie night and both of you ought to stay up, actively talk about what is happening and her little outbursts when somebody does something stupid keeps her up. at those times she is a really good cuddling partner, she likes holding onto you in any way she can cuddle up with your arm, or your chest, have you done the same to her or forced you to sit down on the floor, back against the back of the bed so she can loop around your neck and rest her head on your shoulder. but when it’s time to sleep and the two of you cuddle up, then she falls asleep, then she starts flopping around like a fish that ended up on the shore, stripped of water. she moves around, kicks, hogs the blanket, and takes up all the space on the bed! you cannot be mad at her, she is just so cute, but she is annoying.

“i am sorry nae sarang, it gets chaotic, gotta stay in the game at all times! let me make it up to you, please?”

— moira ˖⁠♡

physical affection doesn’t come to her naturally, she is always willing to comply with your request, experiment if you say that hugs in bed will make you happy. she will be eager to test your hypothesis. she finds it strange as you tighten your arms around her, how your heartbeat starts to fasten a little then calms down when you squeeze her a little stronger. she is just laying there like a dead body, her mind going at a speed of light, thinking of how it could be then her arms just wrap around you, her nails dragging along your skin. she once again picks up on your pulse racing a little before calming down and with all this over analyzing she is missing out the comfort that stirs in her, that her own heart is a little crazy as you lay so close to her.

“such a strange occurrence, your pulse seems to be all over the place my darling. my hand? i do not know… it just happened.”

— mercy ˖⁠♡

angela is a hopeless romantic and very affectionate, her love language varies between physical touch and words of affirmation. cuddling with her is like a fever dream, it’s the warmth that we all crave on a winter night. she likes to be face to face with you, brushing your noses together or with either your head in the crook of her head as she listens to how your day was, what you did, and what you plan on doing the next day. she progressively tightens her arms around your body, pulling you closer before sleep takes over her. she can hardly be coerced into taking breaks during the day so you gotta have to do with when she finally decides to come and lay in bed.

“liebling, your arms are my safe space, so that’s where i’ll be sleeping tonight, and you too, in mine! no safer than in the arms of a doctor.”

— brigitte ˖⁠♡

brigitte is a really good cuddling partner if not the best. she likes to be the big spoon and honestly who can deny her? but she wouldn’t mind you backpacking her, or would not object to it. she is estimated to be about 6 feet 3 inches tall, you bet she is gonna give the best bear hugs and cuddles. her strong arms looping around your frame, the breath of her sweet words hitting the top of your head before she plants a couple of kisses. there are times that she enjoys having your full body laying on her, literally, you are on top of her! she can’t really explain why it makes her so happy, but the plus weight on top of her is very comfortable for her, like a weighted blanket! it is embarrassing, she handles you like a baby at times like that, calls you one to tease you a little.

“you’re honestly the cutest when you’re all flustered and red. come on, don’t look so disappointed! you are the sweetest pie.”

— sombra ˖⁠♡

she is a bit awkward with it at first, slightly embarrassed to admit how much she needed physical comfort like this. she doesn’t know where to put her hands, where she can hold you and cannot, how to place her head or what would feel right for her so she just leans on you to show her. she really likes it when you cuddle her from behind, or the both of you are on your sides and you cuddle up to her chest. it is hard to believe someone like her would be at a loss of words yet could go on and on about how content she fills when being close to you like this. olivia is very shy to ask for such a simple thing, always needs to start all over again when she tries to ask for it.

“wanna, like- i mean, if you’re not busy… we could cuddle? or just hug that last a little while longer than it should, you know...”

— ashe ˖⁠♡

oh, how she loves cuddling after a long day between her gang members, having your head lay on top of her chest with her arms around your back, thumb slowly circling little shapes on the fabric of your shirt while she tells you all about what went down before the two of you got into bed for cuddling. elizabeth enjoys the feeling and knowing that she is protecting you as you are in her arms, safe from whatever might come. if you fall asleep she will just stare at you, no matter how her neck might hurt later, silently race her eyes around your face and study all your features. she can get a little cocky, and tell you all about how good it feels for her, the pressure on her tits, ask you if it’s the best pair of pillows you have ever had. of course she won’t tease you for too long if you find it too flustering or is not interested in talking about things like that. if you wanna enjoy the moment then be it, she will too, silently or while listening to you rant about what happened to you.

“you know you love me sugar, my wild heart, cuz i am wild at heart, that’s why you love me. don’t lie to me now, my favorite girl.”

tag list; @darlingmisa @soffisalive @sevikasangel @pixiegirlz @gonegonethankyouuu @xthescarletbitch @wolfheartsstuff

#📼 › moss tapes #ashe x erader #overwatch x reader #overwatch ashe x reader #overwatch kiriko x reader #kiriko x reader #overwatch widowmaker x reader #widowmaker x reader #sombra x reader #overwatch sombra x reader #brigitte lindholm x reader #overwatch brigitte x reader #mercy x reader #overwatch emrcy x reader #moira x reader #overwatch moira x reader #d.va x reader #hana song x reader #overwatch d.va x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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AITA for allowing my best friend to be in my wedding party?

Me (30F) and my partner (29F) are getting married in November. We’ve had our bridesmaids/groomsmen (both of us are having mixed parties) picked since December.

Well two days ago, my best friend (31F) who is in my wedding party announced that she is pregnant. I was super super thrilled for her, because her and her husband have been trying to have a baby for about six years. It’s been a hard road for them due to fertility issues, IVF, and financial struggles, but it’s finally happened for them (and I should add that they’re both now in a much better financial situation) and I was so excited for them because she’s been my best friend since we were children and I’m also very close with her husband.

After she announced this to a group of our friends, she approached me privately to make sure I was still okay with her being in my wedding party, because some brides are a bit weird about that. I assured her that it was absolutely fine, that I wasn’t worried about her “stealing the spotlight” from my wedding, because I’m more about having a good time with all of the people closest to me than having a “perfect spotless wedding”. Besides, she’ll only be four months pregnant, so it’s not like it’ll be massively “attention-stealing” anyway, and there’s no worries about dresses not fitting because the ones we picked out are looser fitting and can definitely manage a baby bump. So as far as I was concerned, there was no reason not to include her in my party.

I relayed the news to my partner, expecting her to be excited (even if she isn’t as close to that friend), but she got sullen and moody after that. She later confronted me and said that she’d rather my friend wasn’t in my wedding party, saying that she’s happy she’s pregnant, and is fine with her attending the wedding, but she’d rather she wasn’t up the front for everyone to see. I tried to calmly explain what I said in the previous paragraph, and expressed how important it was to me for my best friend of about 25 years to be one of my bridesmaids, but my partner kept on insisting, saying that it would be too distracting. We went back and forth for about an hour, until eventually I kind of snapped, and told her that I didn’t give a shit if my friend went into labour in the middle of the ceremony, she was going to be there as my bridesmaid. My partner got all huffy and refused to talk to me for a little bit, and then we mutually decided that it was getting late in the evening, and we should talk about it in the morning when we’re less tired and are thinking clearer.

At the time I am writing this, it is almost 10am and me and my partner haven’t discussed the issue yet (she went for a jog) but I’m assuming we will talk about it when she gets back. I do feel bad for snapping at her, and I am planning on apologising for it, but what I said was the complete truth, and I am not planning on taking back my words, simply the tone I said then in. I understand that this wedding is for both of us, and there will be points we need to compromise on, but I think it’s completely unfair of her to expect my closest friend to sit out of the wedding party. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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maxislvt · 2 years ago

Text

Silent Night

Summary: Even rock stars get caught up in the holiday rush.

Warnings: R being gay, Wanda being a mommy, me projecting a tiny bit but that's what y'all are here for!

A/N: No, I am not addicted to popstar Wanda at all!! (I'm lying)

Event Masterlist

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The Christmas rush was not something to be ignored, especially if you were a musician. Where most people only had to start worrying around mid-November, you were forced to start all the way in October. Halloween had come and gone, but you were on crunch time in your studio.

Despite the weeks-long headstart, you had nothing ready to spark holiday cheer. You did technically have some songs. Several fully completed songs. It was just that none of them satisfied you. The Thunderbolts was a band filled with magnificently talented people. Your music had to be perfect. You didn't care if that meant you spent long hours in your studio. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, did care. Wanda was a festive woman and refused to celebrate the holiday without you.

Originally, you two had compromised. You'd do all your lyric writing at home and then spend a few hours at your studio mixing and sampling as needed. Regardless of what you did, you had to be done by 6 pm and spend the rest of the night at home with Wanda. The lack of your familiar hums and empty driveway upon her return home told Wanda you hadn't kept your end of the deal. One slightly annoying drive later, her suspicion had been confirmed.

"I know the fingerprint lock on the outside is to keep people from getting in, but I didn't know it stopped you from getting out."

Wanda's voice made you stop in your tracks. For a moment, you just sat there. There was no way it had been past 6 o’clock. You left the house at 12 that evening and only wrote about 12 lines you were proud of. Checking your phone to see it was 9:46 pm was a major blow to your confidence. "I, uh, I thought I had another hour?" The statement sounded more like a question. Mostly because you were genuinely confused. You slowly turned around in your chair. "I'm sorry, I think I just lost track of time. I —"

Wanda cupped your checks and slowly examined your face. "Baby, how long have you been here? You look like you haven't slept in days." The bags under your eyes were genetic, but they somehow looked heavier. The once perfectly soft skin on your lips had been chewed and rubbed raw. She pulled you close and forced you to rest your head on her stomach. This wasn't the first time Wanda watched you overwork yourself, but she was happy to be the one to pull you out of your habits. "Why don't we go home and rest up for a bit? I brought back some of that hot chocolate you like."

Normally, the promise of good hot chocolate and cuddles would be enough to get you to do anything, but you were far too stressed. You shook your head and pulled away. "I can't, I gotta finish at least one of these songs before we go home." Pulling away from Wanda's touch was near impossible, but you forced yourself to do it anyway. "Just give me another hour, I promise I'll be done."

Wanda sighed. This was clearly important to you and dragging you away from your studio wouldn't do any good. She’d lost count of how many times you’d snuck out to work on music. "Fine, but I have to help and you have to sit in my lap." She giggled at the embarrassed face you made. "It's either that or I take you home and wrap you up in blankets like a newborn cat."

You huffed in disapproval but stood up and allowed Wanda to sit in your chair. It was hard to tell what you were feeling exactly. Either stress had entirely consumed you or you were falling into Wanda's trap. Part of you hoped it was the second option. "I wrote a bunch of stuff earlier, but these are the only complete songs I have." You opened some files on your laptop. "Only two have music behind them right now."

Wanda nodded along as you spoke. Her hand slipped underneath your shirt and rubbed small circles on the skin of your stomach. Sure, Wanda had promised you an hour but she was going to get you home as fast as she could. "Lemme hear the two with music, we can work on the 3rd one last." She put on the headphones attached to your laptop. She tentatively listened to the song as she rocked you side to side in her lap. "This is beautiful, baby! Why don't you like it?"

A heavy yawn fell from your lips. "It just doesn't sound festive enough! I feel like I'm not hitting these notes right." Staying awake in Wanda's grasp was an endless uphill climb. Keeping your will to fight was even harder. "I was thinking of giving it to someone else, but I don't wanna let it go."

"We can make a duet." Wanda smiled when you excitedly turned around towards her. "Tamper with the notes a bit and split up the lyrics and we'll have our first song together." She peppered your excited face with kisses. "We can record it next weekend and then the company can release it on Christmas day if you want. "

The longer Wanda kissed you, the harder it was to ignore that familiar warm buzz underneath your skin. Sleep was calling your name, but you wouldn't give in unless Wanda prompted you to do so. "That's fine with me…just highlight the parts you wanna sing." Your eyelids felt heavier than the metal you made a living singing. Your highlighting and annotating were so hard to read, Wanda had to guide your head through the rest of it. You didn't even register the fact Wanda moved on to the other song until you saw a new file opened. "Wait, I don't remember…"

Wanda hummed softly. "Hey, I think you've done enough for today. Why don't we head home?" Her arms wrapped around your stomach, pulling you impossibly closer. She had you wrapped around her fingers. There was no way you'd say no to her now. "We can watch that reindeer musical you like so much. Then I can wrap you up in your favorite blankets. Doesn't that sound nice?"

That was it. You had fallen under another one of Wanda's magical spells. "You mean the one about Rudolph and the dentist elf?" The confirmation was all you needed. "Okay, I'm ready to go home now."

Wanda gave you another kiss before letting you stand up. "Don't worry about your car, I'll have someone come pick it up in the morning."

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The promise of a movie night and hot chocolate had seemingly reinvigorated you. Though you were hesitant and sluggish when leaving your studio, you couldn't sit still during the car ride. Wanda thought it was adorable.

"How did you get the shavings so small? Mine are all big and chunky." The lack of a break was still clearly affecting your performance a bit. Cooking had always been Wanda's thing. You were always her little lab rat or dish cleaner, never an assistant. Even if you were a mess in the kitchen, you were proud of yourself for making your fancy hot chocolate without much help.

Wanda giggled as she took a sip from her mug. "I told you to use the other side of the grater." Being famous came with its perks, but nothing would ever top having you all to herself. To Wanda, you were perfect. All your odd preferences and little quirks only added to said perfection. "Y'know, I think I might have my own little Rudolph just like Santa does."

You turned your head around so fast, you got whipped cream on your nose. "Really? Wait, did you buy the reindeer antler for Sparky!?"

Wanda laughed and shook her head. "No, I just meant you." She playfully licked the cream off your nose. "Every time I give you a compliment, you hop around repeating it for days." She placed her mug on the nightstand. "I'm cute! I'm cute! She thinks I'm cute," Wanda said, recreating the scene that had played just a few minutes ago.

You huffed your chest out in defense. "I don't sound like that! If anyone does, it's you…or maybe Bucky, he's been a real simp these past few weeks."

"Oh no, don't bring your little friends into this! You wrote an entire EP after I started publicly calling you my partner, lord knows what you'll do when we get married." Wanda turned away to take another sip of her hot chocolate. When she turned back, she was met with the cutest puppy dog eyes she'd ever seen.

"You wanna marry me?"

Wanda could only laugh. "Of course, I wanna marry you! You're too perfect to slip through my fingers." She cupped your face and kissed you on the lips. "Also, this totally proves my point."

#pvntherz #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda fanfic #pop star!wanda #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda fluff #panther's 12 days of christmas

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upontherisers · 5 months ago

Note

if you're feeling it, could i please request "playing with each other’s fingers" for an oc of your choice👀 — @shoshiwrites

happy (belated) bday my dear shosh. here is a very very belated prompt to celebrate. this is an AU i've had for years but @loveduringthewar's beautiful West Wing AU inspired me to get some real writing done on it. summary: poet laureate mattie james is dutifully protected by secret service special agent joe toye.

a friday in autumn, 2:19 pm

Joe finds himself in a chair across from Mattie, who’s surrounded by a gaggle of vigilantly curious middle schoolers as she holds his palm and moves his hand around.

“See?” she says, angling his fingers toward the fluorescent lights overhead, “it’s too big. So,” she lets his hand down once more and slips her wire work off his finger. “We gotta make it smaller but if we squeeze it—”

“There’ll be a bend, like, a little point.” One of the kids makes a ‘V’ with his hands and Mattie beams.

“Exactly! Let me show you how to avoid that.” She sits back with the paperclip ring and the circle of kids closes around her once more.

Joe takes a moment to look around for help from any of the other adults in the room, hoping someone else is willing to jump in and play model while he gets back to his very serious job of protecting a representative of the state, but he’s only met with endeared smiles from the teachers and duty-bound refusal from his fellow agents. Bull’s at the door with a sympathetic but ultimately unmoved nod, Bill’s glancing over with a smug, thrilled sneer between chatting to one of the instructors, and Johnny shakes his head before looking at the floor. Joe knows what that means—you made your bed, now lie in it.

Or, as Mattie likes to say, grow a spine.

It’s not like Joe doesn’t have a spine. He spends his days telling people what they can and can’t do, where they can and can’t go, and who they can and can’t speak to, all without getting caught up in their pleas and compromises. This job does not allow for missteps; he’s not a man who takes chances. But this, and but is doing a lot of work here says the Mattie in his brain because she lives there now, this is different.

This is the fourth school they’ve been to this week and it goes the same every time. They arrive to a warm, overenthusiastic welcome from the teachers and an excited-slash-confused-to-borderline-hostile reception from the students. Mattie’s music isn’t necessarily targeted toward the middle grades, her poetry even less so. But she gets up there nonetheless.

Hi, I’m Mattie. I make music and I write poems.

Are you good at it? a kid will ask, always a boy—this one proudly introduced himself as Tyler, always towards the back of the room, always accompanied by giggles.

Mattie shrugs. Some people think I am, some people think I’m trash. And the shock of that admission, from an adult, from a capital-I important adult, breaks the spell of awkwardness and within a few minutes, she’s charmed the whole room. The kids are eating out of her palm. Even the ones who were determined to be difficult have either bought in or are about to.

Joe is now familiar with the mix of admiration and jealousy on a teacher’s face when they realize that Mattie’s nearing a participation rate that Maria Montessori would be jealous of. Johnny leans over to them with a grimace of empathy. It’s not you, it’s her. She’s a magician with this stuff.

Then, her least favorite part. She asks for a volunteer, just for a moment, just for a prompt. We can’t theorize our way into making art. We gotta do it. All the energy that had built up and the excitement on the kids’ faces fizzle. She’ll give it a few seconds and look at the adults in the room rather than the kids, half-pleading, half-resigned, then laugh like that was expected, like she asked them to skydive with no parachute.

She’ll let off steam about it later, when they’re in the car, when they’re back in her suite at the Library of Congress. How hard is it to set an example? They introduce me like I’m Nelson fucking Mandela but as soon as I ask them to engage for the sake of their kids, crickets.

Mattie, Johnny’ll say, it’s not that—

It’s because they don’t take this seriously. All this talk about how important artistic outlets are, but God forbid you have to do that art yourself. Because that’s not serious, that’s not real. She lets her bag hit the ground harder than necessary and runs her hands over her face before ripping open her beat-up laptop, mumbling to herself. It’s fine. It’s about the kids, it’s about the kids.

Bill’ll send a get a load of this guy eyebrow around to the other three, but Joe usually finds himself nodding in agreement with Mattie. Poet Laureate is quite a title, but it doesn’t mean anything when no one’s listening. People should listen.

So, on this particular Friday as Tyler, who reminds Joe of Bull—well-built and curly blonde—takes the awkward silence to look at him and the rest of the agents rather than his teachers or Mattie, Joe decides that it changes today. He knows the answers to her prompts already—think of a fruit, apple; think of a color that’s not also the color of an apple, purple. A four-man detail has one redundant agent and all entrances and exits have been secured; the other three can spare him for a while.

He pushes off the eastern wall or the room and half-raises a hand before fully raising it when he sees Mattie’s eyes light up upon realizing what he’s doing. He answers her questions only slightly disquieted by the sudden amount of eyes on him, but as she starts her poem building exercise with a thankful wink, he feels pretty good about it. He’s doing the thing, making art instead of theorizing, setting the example.

More like sitting the example. In his two months with Mattie, he forgot that making art could mean… y’know, making it, not just writing it down. It’s the whole point of the exercise, actually. Ten minutes of silent work, discussion, ten minutes of work with light conversation—Mattie’s the queen of light conversation, then presentations from anyone who wants to. The only rules are that you have to make something, whether it be using the poem prompt she walks them through or something from the classroom supplies at your teacher’s discretion.

The kids who wanted to write set off with their paper and pencils and Mattie walks around for a bit before settling into an empty chair and fiddling with the paper clips a girl is using crafts. Tyler wanders by first, then two of his friends, next a few of their friends, and soon, there’s a bundle of 7th graders watching Mattie make a paper clip ring. And of course, they want to make one too and of course, Mattie needs a model for show because if all of the kids are making one and she’s teaching, then who’s driving the boat? And of course Joe gets pulled in because he volunteered so nicely before.

The circle of children parts like the Red Sea and he’s face-to-face with Mattie again as she wraps the ring around his finger, her hands working around his to fit the metal securely. She’s full of focus, eyes locked on where their skin meets, still in her shoulders and steady in her breathing in the way she only ever is when she’s in the zone. He wants to laugh at the dedication to this tiny strip of wire, but he won’t, not in present company; he can’t have them think he’s laughing at her.

Maybe you don’t have to have volunteers, Johnny offers after their third visit with no adult participation.

Mattie sighs. It’s about the principle of the thing.

Oh, Bill snarks, the principle of the thing.

The kids don’t need to follow the teachers, they follow you just fine, Bull says from his spot at the door.

Johnny nods sagely. Yeah, monkey see, monkey do.

Well, Mattie says, tilting her head in sad consideration, maybe I’d hoped there’d be better monkeys.

Joe is being a better monkey, so no laughing. Instead, he looks from her face to their hands, wondering as always what she sees and how she sees it. It’s not just metal and space to her because nothing is ever just anything to her.

Her brain’s wired different than ours, as Bill says. And Johnny says, your brain isn’t wired at all.

He’s sure she’s watching the steel atoms bump into each other or she’s far beyond, watching the solar system spin on its galactic arm, just a blip in the rapidly approaching collision with Andromeda. Or she’s in both places at once, and here with him, too, capable of holding onto every eon and tense and time zone at once. He doesn’t understand it, not yet, where the poet ends and the person begins.

“There!” Mattie says, sitting back. Joe holds still for what seems like far too long as the kids investigate her handiwork and investigate him. Their inquisitive gazes wander from the ring to his face, some of them leaning in to squint at him, evaluative and unimpressed.

Most of them have figured what he’s doing here, with three other guys who have similar enough haircuts and stand with hands clasped at rest in front of them, plain clothed but suspiciously so. He likes kids, or at least, he’s discovered that he likes them more than he thought he would. They don’t understand that it’s some people’s job to fly under the radar. They meet his gaze as much as they meet Mattie’s instead of politely ignoring him and his fellow agents like adults know to do. And when they do look at him, they don’t care. He has to respect that.

He’s watching Mattie shape a paperclip for a kid when Tyler suddenly fills up his entire field of vision, staring wide-eyed like Joe is a fish in a tank. “Do you have a gun?”

“Okay,” Mattie says, reaching out and clapping Tyler on the shoulder, “it seems like we’re ready for presentations! Let’s take our seats.”

Joe bolts out of his chair and takes his place along the wall again as Mattie wraps up.

He doesn’t realize he still has the heart-shaped ring on until they’re back at the Library of Congress and walking into Mattie’s suite. It’s so light that he forgets he's wearing it and it’s only as she sets her bag down and the flower ring one of the girls gave her catches the sun that he remembers what sits on his finger.

He slips it off and holds it out to her. “Here.”

She takes it gently, turning it over in her decorated hands before flipping it back to him like a coin. “It’s a gift,” she says with a wink, “for being my guinea pig.”

His mouth opens to say something, anything, but the words die in his throat. Taking a moment, he studies it for the first time. It’s a delicate thing, slightly springy if he squeezes the sides, more of a square than a circle, and so very Mattie that he’d pick her if someone had him guess at the maker. The heart has been roughly colored by a red Crayola marker which she’d gotten all over a desk and apologetically wiped up and the imperfections of it—the bends that won’t come out from the original shape, the matte sheen from all the handling—makes it more beautiful.

He doesn’t know where to put it. It’ll fall right off the chain of his cross, and he can’t wear it and risk it getting snagged on something, but he wants it around. He wants to be able to see it and remember a day that was good, a day when he felt like they made a difference, that he made a difference. He hadn’t had a day like that in a long time.

It ends up in his locker at the D.C. headquarters office. Bringing it home feels too… too close, but this is a good spot, halfway between head and heart. He places it on the little shelf in the back next to his spare sunglasses and his old dog tags. He can’t seem to bring those home, either.

Johnny shakes his head as he passes on the way to his locker.

Joe pauses. “What?”

“You can’t say no to that girl.”

This is what Johnny’s amusement was about earlier in the classroom. There was nothing wrong with Joe stepping up or sitting down for a demonstration—it’s encouraged actually, especially at schools, something about giving the Service a friendlier face. Johnny’s gripe is with who Joe stepped up for and why he did it.

“No favorites, Joe.”

“You think I’m playing favorites?”

“I think you don’t understand her.”

“And you do?”

Johnny shrugs and shuts his locker. “No, but I don’t try to. You can’t let it go.”

“I think,” Joe starts as he follows the other agent down to check-out, “that if we understand her, we can understand this guy and get him.”

It’s the one thing that bothers Joe about this case. Lots of people get threats—protecting those people is eighty percent of his job—but there’s something about the ones Mattie gets that doesn’t sit right with him, hasn’t since the beginning. The letters are the one inroad that anyone has to solve this thing and as more show up with diminishing progress from the combined efforts of the Service and the FBI, he thinks it’s time to get a move on. Maybe the missing link is in the protectee and not the thing they’re protecting her from.

What’s the harm in trying? He keeps thinking about where Mattie gets stuck in her job, where she’s given status but no authority, and how she keeps returning to her painted corner with a brave smile, gracious to wait there until she gets called up to do her tricks again. People listen to poetry but they don’t understand it, she says and that’s not fair. When he looks at Mattie, he sees a girl who should be understood as completely as possible, if ever possible.

Johnny flashes his badge at the front desk sensor and looks back at Joe. “It’s not your job to understand. It’s your job to stand there. What if something happened while you were getting your ring sized?”

Joe’s offended. “Sitting down means I’m compromised?”

“Getting involved means you’re compromised.” Johnny’s facing him now that they’re both in the exit lobby, a pensive look on his face as his bag is slung over his shoulder. “Look, Joe, they’re not paying us to think on this one. If you think something’s up, talk to Dick, otherwise, this is not the kind of work you bring home.”

Right, ‘cause Johnny’s a family man now, with a wife and a kid and a baby on the way.

“I didn’t bring it home,” Joe says.

Johnny nods but his eyes are far away. “Yeah, but you thought about it.”

Silence falls for a moment before Johnny sniffs and shoulders his bag. “Who’s on duty tonight?”

“Talbert and Grant,” Joe replies.

Johnny nods. “Make sure they take a look at the cameras, see if they can figure out why they’re down.”

“Yeah,” Joe sighs and heads out with a nod.

The drive home is quiet except for the radio and as he pulls into the parking lot, one of Mattie’s songs comes on the folk station he’s been lurking on. He sits for as long as it takes to play—eyes closed, head rested on his seat—and lets her voice wash over him. She sings like she speaks, brassy and casual, effortless, not having to reach for what she wants, alluring, magnetic in a way that gets under his skin. He listens for anything that could teach him something and he’s so caught up in the mystery of the girl and the thing that goes bump in the night, that he doesn’t listen to the lyrics until the chorus.

But I’m in so deep, she sings, you know I’m such a fool for you. You got me wrapped around your finger, oh. Do you have to let it linger?

“What the hell do you know about The Cranberries?” he asks to the air, smiling softly.

It ends too soon, but the cool night outside shocks the spell of Mattie’s voice from his system as he enters his dark apartment. His nights off-duty are more and more standard as this assignment goes on; he’ll check in with his older sister as he gets dinner ready—Mom’s arthritis is flaring worse than usual and his niece is deciding between swim and soccer camp, catch the Pirates highlights on ESPN, do the dishes, then do his readings.

He started them on a curious whim, just to see what the hype was about and ended up standing in the aisle of a Brentwood bookstore for fifteen minutes, engrossed, until the attendant asked him if he was going to be making a purchase. He bought three books, none of them very long, but he’s not a book guy so they’ve been a task to get through.

He read Letters from a Convict Child first because it’s the book that put Mattie on the map and wrote a man out of incarceration and he’s not sure that he got all of it—he’s not sure that he got any of it—but he understands her now, at least more than he did two months ago. Each poem that paints a picture of the world paints a picture of the writer, too, and sometimes he wants to look away as Mattie touches her own raw nerves to get the words out. But he stays for her, he stays because people always look away. That’s why she writes.

As of yesterday, he’s officially halfway through reading grow lemon grow poem by poem and as he finds tonight’s selection, he’s struck by the opening lines.

Wire hurts my hands, makes my fingers stink But I bend another paperclip

He underlines in his shitty pencil and reads the poem over and over again until his eyes start to droop close and he drags himself to bed wondering what Mattie’s night was like, if she offered her dinner to Tab and Chuck like she does he and Johnny, what music she played. It was Nina last week, but she’d spent the morning humming the Lumineers. Did she skip eleven songs before settling on the twelfth, or did she demand silence and curl up on the chair in the corner of her patio, legs tangled together, and write until Tab had to shuffle her to bed?

Did she make them rings despite the way the metal presses lines into the pads of her fingers? What did she say? Did either of them listen?

He jolts up in the dull gray light of morning, scrambling to shut off his alarm as his chest heaves. In the bathroom, he splashes his face with cold water until the scenes of his dreams—lemon trees, paper clip rings, the shredded and smoking hull of an armored vehicle in the desert, a shadowed figure slipping a letter under Mattie’s door—wash away with the chill. His phone dings.

From B. Guarnere: Ur on coffee duty. Hurry up

#mail call #Anonymous #shoshi's bday bash #i meant to publish this yesterday but when i went to reread it i added two more pages oops!#mattie james #mattie x joe #my writing #wordsmith au #shoshi tag

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realbeijinger · 1 year ago

Text

A semi-coherent rant on climate change, the value of idealism, and a criticism of TGCF (But also not really because I haven’t finished it yet and also I love MXTX…)

I’m in the middle of Book 3 of Tian Guan Ci Fu, and it is legit making me depressed. Like really, unnecessarily sad. I know I should probably wait until the end to write up my thoughts since I don’t know how things will ultimately turn out, but I feel like I need to process. And so, here we go…

First of all, I am sooo Xie Lian. I feel like this story gets me down so much because it hits too close to home. When I was little, I was super idealistic—I used to go around telling people that love was the most important thing in the world, and that civilization was wrong, because we were destroying the environment, and so we should all go back to living in harmony with nature. I was like a crazy, radical five year old, but also somehow mature-sounding and nauseatingly sweet. Grownups loved me and assumed I would grow up to do something big. But… I haven’t really. Instead I am just a normal person and realized that the world is actually super complicated—like I said, sooo Xie Lian. Except I never became a god or saved even one person…

Anyways, it’s not like I disagree with MXTX’s criticism of blind idealism. She hit the nail on the head—crushingly well. But I guess, like Xie Lian, I am still clinging to that last bit of hope I haven’t let go of yet.

In TGCF and Mo Dao Zu Shi, things are never black and white, and she criticizes those characters who act with a blind sense of righteousness. She believes in nuance. And yet, in our current moment, we are headed toward a climate catastrophe, and it feels like we are all just sitting back, trying to carefully weigh the ideal course of action—the pros and cons, scared of being too rash, too impulsive—while the world burns.

When I first started watching the Untamed (which is where my MXTX journey started), I was initially drawn in by this extremely beautiful man who was willing to sacrifice so much to do what was right. I loved how he refused to compromise with this screwed up society. Because, I am so frustrated with myself for always compromising. For being part of this system that’s horrible and destroying the world and personally doing very little to stop it. And I wanted to be inspired—and for a minute I was by Wei Wuxian.

And then, of course, it turns out that the real message was the complete opposite of that, and having dogmatic, uncompromising morals is not something to be applauded. In the eyes of MXTX, it’s very dangerous.

And I mean, she’s not wrong. But I can’t help but think maybe we still need heroes like that. I really admire Greta Thunberg who refuses to fly in planes, buy anything new, doesn’t eat meat. Before anyone joined her protests, she was ditching school every day, literally sitting all by herself in front of Swedish parliament with one pathetic-looking sign. I mean that kind of commitment takes HUGE resolve. It has to come from a total sense of self-righteousness, from a complete unwillingness to compromise or back down—a refusal to listen to her parents, or her teachers, or the large numbers of people around her who were definitely telling her she was nuts. I mean, I try to go veg, and my mother-in-law hands me one homemade meat dish and I instantly fold…

In interviews, Greta often talks about how being on the autism spectrum causes her to view the world in very black and white terms—with good and evil being clearly defined. She often refers to the older generation as “evil” for their role in the climate crisis—a word MXTX would probably not approve of. Normally, I don’t think black and white thinking is good. I also believe in nuance. But when it comes to something like climate, it’s incredibly complicated but also incredibly simple. We have to stop burning fossil fuels. We have to do it now. If we want humanity to survive, we don’t have a choice. We gotta pull out all the stops. We can’t hesitate. And if we do, we’ll lose everything. Any drawbacks that may come from us not using fossil fuels are completely outweighed if the climate goes to shit. There’s no real nuance in that. And to get people to make that sort of change, you need passion. You need motivation. You need feeling. Basically, you need blind idealism. We are soooo screwed, and really, blind idealism is all we have left.

And I want to have that. Part of me wants to get back to that idealism I lost. But like Xie Lian, I don’t know how…

I dunno. There are always reasons not to do anything. Most of us know life is complicated—our limitations are usually way too obvious. But, I think, sometimes we still should take the single log bridge into darkness. And maybe we need some dumb, cliché hero story to give us the motivation to do it…

Of course, saving the world is not easy. Especially when it comes to large scale national or international politics, the situation in Xianle demonstrates very clearly how easy it is to create unintended consequences. Everything is so complex. There are so many factors, so many competing interests to consider. I do not envy political leaders.

But most of us are not political leaders. Most of us are just ordinary people who want to make the world a little better. We have the capacity to be activists, but that’s it. We don’t have the power to make detailed policy decisions anyway. And so, to some extent, I don’t think we need to worry so much about all that. We just have to push politicians in the right direction.

Even at that high leadership level, though, I do think it’s possible to make better choices—ones that create less harm. And I do think we have an obligation to try and find those. I don’t agree with what the State Preceptor said (and what I think MXTX actually believes), that “Assigning fault is meaningless.” To me, that’s akin to giving up on morality altogether.

A lot of this is a matter of perspective. Yes, if you zoom out far enough, assigning fault is meaningless. But then, if you zoom out far enough, everything is meaningless. Everything we love and care about will one day be gone. Our battles for justice, for equality, for the people we love, will all be entirely pointless once our current society goes the way of the Aztecs, once humanity disappears, once the earth gets swallowed by the sun.

Again, if we zoom far enough out, climate change is not really a problem. According to that wise state preceptor, “In this world, fortune—good or bad—is predetermined.” MXTX believes there is only so much good fortune in the world. If we somehow manage to take too much of it, we will eventually pay the price. Balance will be restored.

Which is exactly what is happening in this era of climate catastrophe. In the past 200 years since the industrial revolution, humanity has taken a lot of fortune. For the first time in history, we don’t worry every day about finding food. We’ve conquered a whole host of deadly diseases, have greatly reduced our need for manual labor, and can spend our days in mental pursuits, making art, or writing self-indulgent essays about Chinese web novels.

All of this, I would argue, is not really because of human ingenuity, but because we happened to find an incredibly powerful energy source—fossil fuels—which have given us the illusion of “human progress.” Let’s remember that this “progress” has only lasted for about 200 years, a small dot on the graph of human existence (300,000 years), and that for most of that time, people viewed history as a cycle, with inevitable ups and downs, rather than a continuous march upward.

In other words, in the past 200 years, we’ve taken too much fortune. But nature will correct the balance. I don’t think climate change will destroy life on earth. Even if the worst happens and humanity bites the dust, other species will most likely persist, evolving into creatures completely new—a rebirth, of sorts. Looking at it from that far-off, disinterested perspective, it’s not really a problem. It’s just what nature does. New species follow each other, one after the next—like passing seasons.

But, even if all this is true, I don’t think we can be so detached. I don’t think we can live our lives believing that morality is pointless, not trying to do the right thing, or not worrying about how our actions affect others. If we approach life with such indifference, what’s to stop us from completely giving up?

One of my favorite TV shows is this old drama called Dead Like Me, where a wise, older character (a state preceptor, of sorts), says to the main character, “If you stand too close to a painting — all you see are patches of color, if you stand too far back, you can't see any of the detail.” In other words, when it comes to life, you need to stand the right distance away. Personally, I think MXTX is standing too far back. It’s true, there is so much we can’t control. Though we may be able to make things better for a bit, we cannot alter the basic cycle of life. Life is suffering. It was true when Buddha said it, and it’s true now. And if we try to “attempt the impossible,” as the Jiang motto says, and radically change that dynamic, we will fail.

But unlike in MXTX’s universe, fate doesn’t really screw us at every turn. Every day there are small victories. I used to do social work, which really was an exercise in the futility of trying to fix deeply rooted problems with insufficient tools, but I still remember those few times when I did do something right: the old man with dementia I got to take his meds, the guy who found his family on Facebook.

Even just writing a stupid email to Biden telling him to stop the drilling… we have to value those actions. We have to be invested. Sure, the universe doesn’t care. But I think we should still care. We can’t just throw up our hands and say the world is fucked. Because if everyone did that, the world really would be fucked. Even more so than it already is.

Again, I realize I don’t entirely know where she’s going with all this. It’s very possible there’s going to be more to it than just criticizing idealism. Despite all the depressing stuff, I see crumbs of hope in how Hua Cheng loves Xie Lian, and values his attempts to help others. The line, “Although foolish, it is brave,” just floored me. I loved it so much. Honestly, I’d probably be happy if she leaves open any hope for idealism at all.

But also, I have to prepare myself for the possibility that I will not totally agree with what she has to say. Which should be fine. I mean, in real life, I’m pretty good at interacting with people I fundamentally disagree with. But… in the hands of an author like MXTX, I feel like my emotions are like putty. I’m completely at her mercy. And partially, I don’t want to fight that. I want to give myself to the story, and lose myself in it completely. That’s a great feeling, but also, kind of… vulnerable? And then, when so emotionally invested, to suddenly realize that what the author’s saying bothers me…

Of course, I’ll get over it. I always do. Usually I write meta or fanfic as a way to process—to get out of someone else’s story, out of their head, and back into my own.

Anyways, we’ll see. Don’t tell me what happens!! I am trusting YOU, strangers on the internet!

If that’s not blind idealism, I don’t know what is…

#tgcf #mxtx #mdzs #climate change #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #chinese bl

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esther-dot · 2 years ago

Note

If good chunks of people are refusing to see Dark Dany even after reading books and watching show, could it be grrm fault somewhere? I am not saying that he is a bad writer or Dany is a badly written character. But sometime I wonder that writing could be better. Especially related to handling of POCs in her arc and her unnecessary sexualisation. She was the one character whose show character was close to book according to author.

I don’t think he’s playing games with the audience the way D&D did. People often say the show just needed more seasons, but I think the problem was, D&D wanted Dany to be a heroine in the audience’s eyes until the moment she burned KL, so their choice there, to essentially force-perspective things by excluding dark moments from the books re-writing Tyrion, Jon, even Davos once they came onto the screen with her, that makes them “responsible” for the audience not getting Dark Dany in a way Martin is not.

If, say, they had left in Dany’s command to kill everyone wearing a tokar, and we had witnessed teenagers being slaughtered at her bidding, I think the audience would have realized the story we were watching. Or, maybe if Davos who had just lost a little girl he adored to a fire obsessed woman had cautioned Jon, or if D&D had Jon admit his fears to Sansa... There are so many things D&D could have done that would have permitted the audience to draw their own conclusions as characters responded to Dany in a more believable way, but D&D didn’t want to give away the twist. I don’t think Martin is doing that.

What he is doing is expecting readers to engage with the emotional world of characters while simultaneously exerting some judgment about larger ethical ideas. I believe agentrouka-blog has written on this. Martin is dedicated to the reader doing the work and not compromising his artistic standards, we all come to different conclusions about what his moral framework is, hence all the contradictory spec. Because of how he's written ASOIAF, and since it is so much more demanding than one might expect from genre fiction, I can't really blame the casual reader for not coming to firm conclusions about what his view is/how it all will end. It can be difficult when reading something to tell what's merely being presented to us, and what the author is endorsing (two different things!) when we don't have the end of the story.

Do I blame Martin? Well...I certainly can't criticize him for not being didactic, no one wants to read that nowawdays, but when you try to be a hands-off writer, to show not tell, all sorts of different interpretations are gonna happen. As I've tried to improve my own writing and make it more immersive, I've gotten readers upset with me as if *I* am saying something about Sansa or Jon, and I had to clarify, well, that's how they see the situation, that's how they feel, that isn't the reality of the situation, and it isn't what *I* am telling the reader to think. Now, I am not a subtle writer, and Martin is far more sly than most, and yet in my very limited experience, you can be pretty dedicated to undercutting a character's version of reality to communicate something more to a reader, and they can still miss it. If good writing is showing, if respecting your audience is assuming they'll intellectually engage rather than immediately react, I'm not sure if you can fault him for people not picking up on Dark Dany. He's trying to write literature, not spoon food people. (This of course, is with the understanding he won't pull a D&D and destroy other characters to keep the burning of KL /Dany's final descent into darkness a surprise).

Something I have lamented are his blog posts assuring people how different his books will be from the show when he has to know, the vast majority of the fans are upset about Dany's ending, are taking his words to be about Dany. He isn't being dishonest--the journey to his ending will be quite different, he does have characters that weren't in the show etc, but I think we all know how misled people will feel when we get TWOW. Still not technically his fault tho! And I should note, he did make it clear how awful slavery is in his fictional world right at the beginning of AGOT, and then he had Dany witness the slavery and rape and death that happens as a result of a war campaign and then had her use forced labor and profit off of the slave trade. It isn't his fault people have chosen to defend it and convince themselves that we aren't meant to judge her. 🤷🏻‍♀️

It also isn't his fault that some of the smart fans, the dedicated fans, know Dany will burn KL, but still theorize that she is a hero who will die saving the world...ya know, after she commits mass slaughter. It isn't his fault the ASOIAF "experts" assure people Dany murdering countless civilians isn't her downfall, and is instead, a speedbump. This is the peril of mature writing, of trying to elevate the genre. You give your audience space and they may run in a…surprising direction. If he ever finishes, it will a wonderful pay-off, even if it is a headache for us Dark Dany fans. Even so, I know why other fans don't see Dark Dany. Literature is an emotional experience as well as an intellectual one. I read some of the posts about what Dany meant to abuse survivors after s8 and even though it didn’t change my mind about who she was/the fact that she had to be stopped, it did make me realize why people couldn’t fathom that she was always intended for such a fate.

I agree that Martin has issues with his writing, how he's handled POC in his world, how he has sexualized Dany in the text and how he has spoken of her in interviews…that’s on him. I do think you're onto something that if he had done more to flesh out the characters that surround Dany, people would have been clued into where it was all going. Maybe that's his thought process, if you aren't enamored with Dany, if you think of the people who suffer in order for her rise..we might be less lost in her struggle, less caught up in the moment, and perhaps he doesn't intend the reader to fully grasp it all just yet. However, I don’t think hiding Dark Dany is why she is overlysexualized or why he wrote the Dothraki the way he did. I attribute that more to the norms of the era he grew up in/the problems with the works that he was formed by.

#anti daenerys #anti d&d #grrm critical #dot chat #< for filtering

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themagical1sa · 2 years ago

Text

oh now, holding this pain just like on the day I left you alone

the pain grows more every day endlessly before me, like deja vu

hi. my name is Isa Capi and I refuse to sleep once again lol my brain is so weird for wanting to be depressed on a rainy November night like tonight. in the Philippines. it’s the perfect kind of night to get cozy and sleep. if I didn’t want to sleep, I would have rather worked on some college assignments, but my brain doesn’t want to work either! what the heck 🧍 well, since my brain doesn’t want to sleep nor work and I don’t want to be depressed, I am now making a compromise by making something my brain and I can agree on: writing a vent-comfort drabble. this has happened before with my first Tagalog-written drabble and it worked well as a distraction from Being Mentally Ill™ lmao without further ado, here is the drabble.

⏳ WRITING START : 11-17-2022 ⌛ WRITING END : 11-28-2022

#️⃣ WORD COUNT : roughly 2.1k words

🏷️ TAGS : post-ISWM, Captaineer (The Captain/Head Engineer Mark), angst to comfort, holy shit veeery angsty now that I think about it, the Captain is Tired, we have Impostor Syndrome and it's Horrible, I am once again reiterating angst to comfort

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS AND HEADS-UP :

dabbles into what having a horrible and intrusive mental state feels like with impostor syndrome.

colored text (particularly colored red and blue) has been utilized for a visually immersive reading experience.

reader discretion is advised. in other words: read at your own risk.

“Good work today, everyone. You are all dismissed.”

You watch as everyone leaves the conference room, satisfied smile still enduring on your face. Once the last of the head officers and their assistants have left, you finally let yourself collapse slowly to the floor, barely leaning on the wall as you did so.

You’re tired.

You are so overwhelmingly tired — exhausted, even.

Then again, who wouldn’t be, after jumping through countless of lifetimes and endangering countless lives?

Who wouldn’t be beyond exhausted carrying unfathomable guilt while leading the first human colony outside of your own solar system and galaxy?

Good God, you didn’t think it would come to this.

You didn’t even think you’d even be here at all.

You curl into a ball from your previous sitting position, hugging your knees to yourself as you close your eyes.

How did you get here?

A lot of thoughts zoom by your mind as you sit there in the conference room, alone beside the door while contemplating your life decisions.

You were given this role of Captain because the world’s authorities thought of you worthy, but were they right to trust you with the Invincible?

Do they know about how much you had managed to screw up the multiverse?

How did you even get here?

Did you even deserve to be here?

You couldn’t trust your own mind at this point. Intrusive thoughts become louder by the second, making you hold your head as you shake it. “No, no, shut up,” you whisper to yourself. “I deserve to be here. I worked so hard and so well that I was entrusted here. They saw me fit. I deserve to be here.”

You reassure yourself, but your attempts feel futile as the intrusive voices in your head speak ever louder and more erratically. No, you don’t, they retort. You just faked your way into becoming Captain like the impostor you are. You’re a fail YOU FAILED!– failure and you’re undeserving of being Captain. WHO ARE YOU, REALLY? They should have put you down when they had the chance. You shouldn’t be here– who are you to be here?

You’re very aware of how it’s becoming worse — you should be having this breakdown in your room, in your personal space. You want to berate yourself for not having left the conference room earlier, but you decide against it as you try to get up, leaning on the wall for support before moving forward to the long table in the room. Your mental state has worsened your breathing, your once normal rhythm now quickened into panicked breaths. You try to take a deep breath before turning to the door–

“Captain?”

–where you see your Head Engineer, looking at you with worry clearly showing on his face.

“Mark,” You try to smile, but you’re self-aware of how it isn’t quite hiding your pain. “I was just about to leave. Did you forget something?”

Mark blinks as he looks around the empty conference room before worriedly looking back at you. “No, I– I was looking for you, Cap. Are you okay? How long have you been here?”

You softly (and yet, bitterly) chuckle at Mark’s response about finding you. You shake your head slowly as you say, “I’m fine, Mark. I haven’t been here too long. I was just about to leave.”

You mentally pick yourself up — it feels like carrying more than one dead body for you, and this is just you picking yourself up — and you try to make it seem like you’re not slowly staggering as you exit the conference room, but then you hear Mark say,

“I remember, Captain.”

You stop just at the doorway.

“…what do you mean you remember, Mark?”

You are now turned to him, seeing his face darken with trauma and regret.

“Everything,” Mark answers, his voice deep with remorse. “I– I remember how we kept jumping into universe from universe, and I– God, I thought it was you, but I– it was all me, Cap. It was me–”

“No,” you sternly interrupt him despite your current mental state. “It wasn’t just you. You may have built the Warp Core, but I was the one making rash decisions. I was the one who put everyone in the multiverse at risk. I put everyone on the line and I was the one who hurt everyone, including you.”

Mark is baffled with the way you’re owning up to what happened. “But you–”

“But I’m nothing!” You suddenly burst out, unable to stop the tears beginning to flow and stream down your face.

This takes Mark back, baffled and shocked as you unravel in front of him.

“I was the one entrusted with the lives of every single person on this ship,” You continue, “and that’s including you! Do you know how that feels, carrying that responsibility?! I was supposed to keep everyone safe, and I was supposed to make sure we all get through the journey unharmed, but I– but I–!”

You stop. You realize you’re unraveling.

You realize that you’re unraveling in front of your Head Engineer.

You realize that you’re unraveling in front of the only other person who knows about what happened.

He didn’t deserve to see you like this, not when you’re the same person who continuously looked for him; not when you were the one who persevered through lifetime to lifetime, hopeful that you could stop him from repeating his same mistake that destroyed the multiverse and trapped it into a destructive loop.

He didn’t deserve to see you like this.

He didn’t deserve to see you like this at all.

In fact, he shouldn't have to see you, his Captain, unraveling so messily like this.

You scoff; and then, you let out a bitter laugh.

“Ha… haha…” Your voice resounded, broken and unsure as your eyes darkened with your bitter smile. “I’m… I apologize for my outburst. That was… that was really unbecoming of me. I should go now.”

You turn to finally leave, but you feel a hand hold yours, halting your departure once more.

“Don’t…” Mark begins, trailing off. “Don’t go yet.”

You don’t move. You don’t even turn to look at him when you say, “Let me go.”

“No.” Your Head Engineer deadpanned, voice solid and stern. “I’m not letting you go.”

You turn your head a little, as if leaning to look. You don’t, however, as you refuse to see him.

“Let me go, Mark.”

“No. I’m here, Captain. I’m here, holding on to you, and I’m not letting you go.”

You suddenly remember when you held him back from the wormhole.

He was begging you to let him go, to let him fix what he thought was your mistake — but you knew how it was all him, and that even his older self knew he needed you to stop him. You spent lifetime after lifetime letting him slip through your hands until you finally, finally got ahold of him and never let him go.

It seems the tables have turned.

“Why…?” You weakly ask, voice barely above a whisper. “You know. You know how I put everyone in the multiverse at stake. I put everyone at stake and I treated it like a game. I was horrible for that and you know it.”

Mark could only shake his head, beyond baffled at what he was hearing from you. “What?! Captain, no! I don’t think of you that way, not anymore. Nobody thinks of you that way–”

“Well, I do!” You finally admit, turning so quickly to him that you feel a little dizzy. “I finally realize why you and Lady resented me so much, and– God, I didn’t see it, but I killed so many people– so many dead, and it was all because I thought we were just starting over!”

At this point, you’re sure you look much like a mess. Your hair is unruly from the way you held your head earlier, and your eyes are flowing with tears — tears that have long stained your cheeks and flowed until they drop to the floor. Snot is beginning to run down your nose. You’re sure you’re far from pretty and/or handsome.

You’re far from pretty and/or handsome.

Even so, Mark can’t help but love you more anyway.

“I thought…” You speak again, catching his attention once again. “I thought that… I thought if I find you, if I find you and hold on… I thought it would stop. And I was right– older you was right, even– and we restored the multiverse.”

Your eyes drop to the floor, closing them as you remember all those bodies — all those corpses — that came out of the wormhole for every time you died and/or jumped into another universe.

All those corpses.

All those lives.

All those people– dead because of you.

“We restored the multiverse, Mark,” you state to him, but your voice has become more broken as you hold back a sob before looking at him in the eyes.

“We restored it, Mark, but what did it cost? What did my foolishness cost?”

You couldn’t stand anymore — not when you’re already falling apart. You had half the mind to lean onto the wall before sliding down to the floor again. You don’t care about appearances anymore; it’s just you and your Head Engineer, anyway. You try to take deep breaths as haunted memories flash in your mind. You close your eyes and put your gloved hands over them as an attempt to stop seeing such flashbacks, but you can still see it all like a waking nightmare.

The fact that you can still remember almost clearly makes you whimper.

You don't feel it at first, but Mark had crouched to level with you, hands reaching to your shoulders. Before you know it, you find yourself in your Head Engineer's arms, wrapped in his warm embrace.

Mark hugging you feels very comforting — grounding, even. The voices in your head begin to die down, and the intrusive nightmarish distortion of your memories start to fade as your mind relaxes. Your breathing slows, and you find yourself leaning more to your Head Engineer as he carefully cradles and comforts you.

His voice is soft when he speaks.

“You know, Captain,” he begins somberly, “I'm really glad you held on to me.”

What he said makes you look at him with your tired, cried-out eyes.

“...what makes you say that?”

Mark sighs as he gently strokes your hair, closing his eyes as he thinks back to the loop. “Well, I was just making the same mistake after all,” he reasons out. “I remember catching wind of that.”

You remember when his older self realized it back in the diner, telling you that you had to stop his younger self. “Oh... you remember that, don't you?”

He chuckles bittersweetly. “Yeah, somewhat...”

You chuckle with him, subconsciously glad that you can recall the events of the wormhole without your mind twisting it maliciously.

“I kind of remember when I hoped that you'd stop me,” he admits, voice soft as he recalls the time. “I don't think I was consciously hoping, though... but that Warp Crystal always found you, didn't it?”

What he just said makes you think.

For every loop reset, you come back to a sabotaged ship. You recall when you do reach the door to the Warp Core Chamber and how the Warp Core was looking for a suitable host and how it always said suitable host located when it scans you.

“With that said, Captain,” Mark begins, taking you out of your reverie. “You're not as horrible as you think. In fact, I believe you really are the best of us, because you never gave up on your crew — you never gave up on me.”

Your Head Engineer gently takes your face by the chin, making you look him in the eyes as you sniff. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying, cheeks stained with all the tears that have been flowing. You're evidently vulnerable, and Mark takes it upon himself to take care of you for the time being.

“You never gave up on us, so don't give up on yourself, Cap,” he softly states, “because I believe in you just as much as you believed in me.”

You feel your heart ache and you cry even more — but now you gratefully smile.

“Mark, thank you,” you say, voice weak and cracked. “Really, thank you.”

He reflects your smile sincerely as he chuckles. “I should be thanking you, Captain. But yeah... you're welcome.”

The both of you stay there, cuddled up together on the floor as you steady yourself and your breaths. You lean onto your Head Engineer's shoulder as he cradles you, hugging you and holding your head. Your intrusive thoughts have all died down now, and all that's left in your headspace is a sense of comfort and contentment. You finally feel at peace with yourself.

Whatever had happened is all in the past now, and you've never been more glad that you experienced it all with him.

P.S. I really meant to utilize the colored text more specially to simulate the Captain's headspace post-ISWM. I like to think that post-ISWM, they build their new colony, they start having doubts about themself, which slowly and eventually leads to nightmarish distortions of their memories. It then develops into a horrible state of mind — hence the red and blue. You can say they're like… glitches. Errors, if you will. Oh, and you know how, in a distant place in the multiverse, we are part of an amalgamated being that glitches red and blue? How their red is often passionate rage, and their blue is often a calculated calm? Yeah.

Anyway, writing this helped me feel better, even if for a little bit. I've been feeling horrible about myself lately (hence this entire fic lmao) so it's nice to let it out somehow. This was cathartic. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed reading this.

The divider used in this is a cropped photo of steil egil liland's Blac Blue and Green.

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