#but i am excited to own the physical copy

[restistance]

the more books i read, the more i feel like all these people and beings and thoughts i love (and loathe) get to start populating another world in my mind, in which i can observe and participate through them and my own lens on them, without being under all the pressure i feel in my own world and the places i am supposed to have in it and things to live up to. i love reading. it’s like living without the risk. without having to be perceived.

[danggirlronpa]

I DIDN'T KNOW YOU MADE COUNTERCLAIM THAT'S FANTASTIC ngl one of the main draws of buying a physical copy of the zine was because I literally wanted a physical copy of the game.

Yeah, Counterclaim was something I originally created for my game design course last year! Harp (@cryzono) and I polished it into a finished product, with help playtesting from the other mods/contributors and lots of help in the final product specifically from Magnolia, the formatting mod.

I'm so glad people are excited - I'm really proud of how it turned out!!

[kakusu-shipping]

PLEASE PLAY THE RABBIDS GAME ITS SO GOOOD

I WANT TO I WANT TO I WANT TO SO BADLY

I am however a broke ass bitch all the time and cannot afford two 60 dollar games even at the best of times atm

It looks really cool, the models are surprisingly pretty and the animation looks really good, I'm not sure I'd be good at the gameplay but they look nice and I'd LOVE to try them some time

I don't mind story spoilers (does it have a deep story? dunno) so feel free to come talk at me about it some time!!

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | Two

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART ONE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda oscillates between crying and being overcome with confidence to confess. She barely has time to reflect when the devastating news arrives that you have a date, and Wanda needs to formulate a plan—quickly.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: cue the shenanigans of date stalking and taylor swift. Put your hands together for the real MVP of this chapter: Yelena.

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4.5k

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This week's philosophical question is: Is it gay to think about your best friend?

The short answer is no. The long, complicated answer is that it might be. 

There's logic and reasoning behind this because don't most people think about their best friend? Don't most people plan to have their best friend in the future? If not, then why would they be best friends in the first place?

Sadly, there's a rude awakening in Wanda's wobbly defense. Natasha is the only person to blame for blowing down her defense made of straw when Wanda chats with her on the phone in the evening while you're out for a photoshoot. 

"How's Maria doing?" Wanda asks.

"Good," Natasha answers, and Wanda can hear the tap water running and realizes the redhead is doing the dishes. "She'll be coming to visit during Christmas."

"Oh, you must be very excited!" Wanda beams. If it were her, she'd be ecstatic to be seeing you after so long. 

"Yeah, it'll be good to see her. I think she's bringing her girlfriend, Sharon. They've been seeing each other for a few months, and she doesn't have anyone to spend Christmas with since her grand-aunt passed away.

"Oh," Wanda's voice is low, brows furrowing. "That seems very fast if she's coming to spend a holiday with Maria. How do you feel about it?"

Natasha hums. "Happy, I guess? I haven't met Sharon, but I've been hearing good things about her. She's able to keep up with Maria's busy life as she's got her own, but they make time for each other."

"But what if Sharon's wrong for Maria, or Maria ends up getting hurt."

"Then I'll break Sharon's legs, but Maria's a big girl. I'll be there for her, but she'll be okay," Natasha chuckles.

"But—"

"Wanda, what's with the questions about Maria?" Natasha cuts off. "Is it something with Bug? Are you worried about Raye? She's told me they haven't even gone on a first date yet; why are you so worried?"

"It's not about that!" Wanda said defensively. "I mean—I am worried, but I just don't want her getting hurt. She's my best friend; she deserves someone perfect. Don't you want someone perfect for Maria?"

Even as the words came out of Wanda's mouth, she grimaced because she was nowhere near perfect herself. 

"Of course I do," Natasha sighs. "But unless Maria is hurting, I'm not going to get overly involved with her love life. She'll go at her own pace and update me as she goes."

"But how will you know if Maria is going to continue living away? If she gets serious with Sharon, will Maria still plan to move back here? How will you guys plan on having a wedding at the same time and picking a house in the same neighborhood?" Wanda asks seriously. Her tone is distraught because it feels like Natasha doesn't care about her best friend at all! 

There's a moment of silence on the other line before Natasha says, "We don't plan for that. I mean, I'll be bummed for sure if Maria doesn't move back but we'll always be best friends. We'll visit each other and keep in contact as often as we need, but we don't need to physically be in the same place."

And another realization slides into place. 

"How are you guys best friends?!" Wanda yells into the phone before she hangs up without another word. 

Wanda knows that she'll have to call Natasha later and apologize and say she's on her period or something, but right now, with her eyes hot and wet, she digs her face into her pillow and cries instead.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

"Hey, I need to head out for another shoot today. Do you want me to pick up anything for you?"

Your voice muffles through Wanda's closed door. You've come in a few times, but Wanda had stayed in bed and pretended that she might've been under the weather. 

"No," Wanda says loud enough so you can hear it. "Have fun, though."

"I'll be home soon and make you some paprikash, but there's some chicken soup in the fridge for you if you want some while I'm gone," you reply. Wanda momentarily hears your hand land on the doorknob, but you don't turn it and come in. "Feel better, brat."

You don't wait for Wanda's response even though it is a quiet, "Thanks, stinky."

Alone in the apartment once more, Wanda sighs. She's been all over the place emotionally since she last talked to Natasha on the phone. She later sent a voice memo through text apologizing and said her period just came, which explained all the craziness. Luckily, Natasha was kind enough to leave it be, but they haven't chatted much since then—mostly on Wanda's end. 

Wanda's been caught between wanting to spend more time with you and distancing herself while sorting through her feelings. It was so easy at that moment to leave Vision and feel intense jealousy of Raye, but now in their own little bubble, everything was unraveling like a poorly wrapped present. 

The only saving grace was that you and Raye couldn't align your schedules to go on a date anytime soon. Raye was out of state currently and was supposed to be traveling for work for the next few weeks, and you were confirming projects that were supposed to be for the entire month. 

The extra time was sorely appreciated. 

In short, Wanda has cried 8 times in the last week while equally getting the inspiration almost to confess 7 times. 

There was a nagging fear, though. What if you didn't feel the same? What if Wanda was reading this one gigantic sign wrong, and you simply just liked brunettes with green eyes?

Or, what if you did feel the same and things didn't work out? What if the two of you date, and it goes wonderfully well before it ends? It doesn't matter what causes the end; just what if it did?

In either scenario, things would never be the same, and Wanda would lose her best friend of 10 years. 

Although, Wanda reasons that even if she confessed and you didn't feel the same, she wouldn't actually lose you. Sure, things would never be quite the same, but the friendship would continue. They've endured much worse, and Wanda would probably get over her feelings. 

Probably. 

Because if she didn't, well, Wanda wouldn't know what to do. She's lived too long of her life with you; she can't think of what it'd be like without you. Logically, she knew she'd survive, but there'd always be a part of her missing. 

Sometimes, Wanda thinks there was always a part of her missing until the day she met you. She can still remember 10 years ago like it was yesterday.

"Wanda, it'll be fine," Pietro's accent was thick and heavy, and Wanda refused to say anything out loud to acknowledge it. 

The girls in her class were already making fun of her accent, and her attempts to talk to them were rebuffed with looks as if they couldn't believe she dared to speak to them. 

It was too difficult, Wanda thought. It was too difficult to make friends when she transferred here mid-year, and everyone had already formed their cliques since elementary.

It was hard enough with the growing changes in her 14-year-old body, and she already felt awkward all the time—the giggling behind her back and to her face wasn't helping. 

Wanda wanted to go back home to Sokovia, except there was nothing left to return to. The war had reduced everything to shambles, and everyone else in her family was happy to have been able to seek refuge in America—Rochester, specifically. 

Wanda knew she should be grateful, especially since many of her aunts, uncles, cousins, and other extended family couldn't escape. She never really had too many friends, but the few she did went to Canada, and she knew she'd unlikely ever talk to them again. 

It was a lot of change, and Pietro was the only person who understood her at this new school, but even he couldn't do much since they shared no classes together. Plus, Pietro had still managed to make a friend, and Wanda didn't have the heart to make him sit with her at lunch every day. 

"Do you want me to eat lunch with you? I can ask Sam to sit with us," Pietro offered, but Wanda shook her head. 

"Are you sure?" Pietro asked again, preparing to sit with Wanda anyway, but Wanda shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I'm just going to eat my lunch quick and head to the library to catch up on some assignments," Wanda mumbled quietly, waiting for some girls in her class to pass by before she said it. 

"Okay," Pietro said, sighing since he was conflicted about staying with his sister or heading off to hang out with his friend. But at Wanda's insistence, he merely told her where she could find him if there was anything and took off with one last glance.

When Pietro was fully out of sight, Wanda took a seat alone at an empty table, pulling out her lunch reluctantly. She was quick to notice that the American kids typically brought a plain sandwich or bought food from the cafeteria, which usually consisted of the same foods like pizza or mac and cheese. 

While the comments about the food she brought were also embarrassing, Wanda didn't have it in her to ask her mother to make something else. Money was tight, and asking to add other things to the grocery list just so she could fit in didn't seem worth it when it wouldn't do anything about the fact no one wanted to talk to her. 

So, Wanda pulled out the finomfőzelék with her breaded chicken breast. She still didn't open it and let her containers sit on the table. 

Wanda wasn't quite sure what was causing it. Maybe it was just this specific instance of sitting alone, or maybe it was the last week and a half of enduring this, but Wanda felt her eyes burn and water. She willed it with everything she had inside to not let it fall and took a deep breath. 

"Hi."

The sudden sound made Wanda's head snap up, eyes wide with surprise. You stood there, and Wanda sort of recognized you from her classes. She thought she shared all but one with you. You've never contributed to the bullying but never stopped it or talked to her, either. 

Wanda vaguely recalled you've been sick with a cold the last few days. Her eyes shifted to look behind you, and she could see your friends looking very confused and beckoning you to come back to their lunch table.

"Hi," Wanda quietly greeted you back, wincing at how the accent could even come out with one syllable. 

You sat down suddenly, clearing your throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay," Wanda replied warily. 

"Do you practice witchcraft?"

The question stumped Wanda.

"What?" 

"Do you practice witchcraft?" You repeated, looking serious. 

"No," Wanda frowned, so perplexed that she couldn't even be upset about her accent. "I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Well, Hela has been spreading rumors that you're a witch from Sokovia, and that's why Mr. Coulson passed away suddenly when you came."

Then, it's suddenly so clear why no one has been talking to her. 

"But if you're not a witch cursing people to death, then that's cool," you said, interrupting Wanda's thoughts. "I wanted to ask you that earlier but then I got sick for a few days. So, do you want to hang out with me?"

Wanda just stared at you, her heart racing because finally, finally, she was going to have a friend. "Yes," Wanda replied quickly, smiling. "That'd be...cool," she repeated your slang. 

"Cool," you smiled back before pointing at her food. "Noticed you bring different food every other day. Can I try some? I'll trade you some of my sandwich. Heads up, though, my mom has been experimenting with food. This week was Chinese food, so beef and broccoli might be between the bread."

Wanda smiled at the memory, the ends of it tapering off. You changed her life, and even when Hela made fun of you, you shut her up with a comment about how she stuffed her bra. It was devastating to a 14-year-old. 

After that, the two of you were inseparable. You still occasionally hung out with your group of friends, but you definitely drifted to spend time with Wanda. 

Wanda wonders if it was actually at that moment that she fell in love with you, but at 14, she didn't know how else to interpret it other than friendship. 

You and Wanda didn't meet Nat, Steve, Bucky, and all the others until high school when the other districts were poured into one school. Since then, so much has happened. 

Your parents divorced.

Wanda's mother passed away from cancer. 

You dated Sam very briefly, giving him your first kiss and then shortly breaking up with him after. 

You came out to her, scared, hesitant, and so happy when Wanda didn't care. 

Wanda started to date Vision.

Wanda wanted to go to NYU, and you happily went there with her. 

You confessed you had a crush on Natasha but didn't want to pursue it. 

Wanda's first break-up with Vision. 

You dated Jean Grey and cried when she left you for Scott. 

When you wanted to stay in New York City, Wanda decided to stay here too, rooting her career here with you. 

Wanda wonders if maybe actually she'd fallen in love with you several times over and over but didn't know how to interpret any of her strong feelings for you, categorizing them as friendship just as she did when she was 14.

"I'm home!" 

Wanda hears the apartment door close and the shuffling of you taking off your shoes. She looks at the time and realizes two hours have already passed. Deciding that she's wallowed enough, Wanda decides to get out of bed and leave her room, running her fingers through her hair to tame it.

When she enters the kitchen, Wanda finds you starting the process of making paprikash. It's something you've always done for her when she's sick, feeling down, or homesick. Yet, in this moment, something swells inside Wanda's chest, and she wants to burst out crying again.

"Oh, hey," you turn around and smile as you see her, and Wanda clears her throat and blinks the tears quickly away.

"Hey," Wanda smiles back as she makes her way towards you. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I'm feeling better."

You open your arms for her to dive into a tight hug. You smell like clean laundry and mint, and Wanda wants to bottle your smell. The tension in Wanda lately starts to drain from her body as you rub her back comfortingly. 

"Some paprikash never hurt nobody," you joke. "I'm glad you're feeling better, though, brat. Is it the break-up with Vis?"

"Huh?" Wanda's brows furrow. "No, not really. I haven't really thought about it."

"Homesickness?"

"Er," Wanda fiddles with the back of your shirt. "Kinda, I guess."

"Well, good thing Thanksgiving is in a few months. Your dad and brother are coming here this year, right?"

Wanda nods, brightening at the thought of seeing her family. "Yes, I hope papa and Tony don't get into it again this year."

"I think your dad gets a sick sense of joy of torturing the son of man responsible for all the weapons that destroyed Sokovia," you say dryly. "I think Tony's starting to catch on he's not serious, though."

Wanda chuckles, and you pat her shoulders before you pull away and take out a knife and chopping board. Watch sits on the bar stool, watching you cook, letting things fall into a comfortable silence. 

This was everything, Wanda thought.

Nothing could ruin this moment, and Wanda thought long and hard, building up the courage to say something about her feelings. She wasn't sure what to say, so she might start with something flirtatious, but Wanda would say it more sensually instead of the usual joking tone. 

"Oh!" You say without looking at Wanda, chopping the onion and garlic. "I forgot to tell you. Raye's flying back in a few days before heading out again, and we planned a date this weekend."

Everything is ruined, and Wanda can't tell if the onion or the devastating news is causing her eyes to water.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

"Why did you bring me here?" Yelena hisses.

"Because I can't bring Natasha!" Wanda hisses back. "And be quiet or else they're going to hear us!"

"Why not Natasha? She's your other closest friend," Yelena says, quieter as she grumbles. "You're making me miss movie night with Kate. We're supposed to watch Insidious and you're ruining my chances of making fun of her being scared."

"Because," Wanda exasperatedly says. "I've already had a meltdown with Natasha, and she's going to make all sorts of comments if she knows I'm doing this now. I can't be here alone since this is the type of restaurant only couples go to."

"You think I won't make comments?" Yelena raises her brow at Wanda, looking frighteningly similar to Natasha at that moment. "I thought you grew out of stalking Bug's dates in university."

Wanda doesn't reply, too busy staring at your table. Raye is making some kind of flirty comment, reaching across the table and lacing your fingers through hers. You're laughing—Wanda can tell with how your shoulders shake. 

The restaurant you've chosen to take Raye to is a slightly upscale steak restaurant. You've ordered cocktails, a bottle of wine, and two appetizers to start. 

Raye's biting her bottom lip suggestively before she takes a sip of her wine, her index finger is stroking the back of your hand, and Wanda's wondering if she can bribe a waiter to spill a glass of beer on Raye accidentally. 

"Seriously, I know you're best friends, but this is out of hand. Just confess before Raye steals your girl and they get married."

Wanda whips her head back towards Yelena, eyes filled with indignation. 

"THEY WOULD NEVER—"

"SHHH," Yelena hisses, and they both have to hide behind their menus when you turn around and look. "Jesus Christ, Maximoff."

"They would never get married," Wanda huffs before peeking outside her menu to see that you've returned to your conversation with Raye. But then she turns back to Yelena. "You know about my feelings? Did you always know? Did you—"

"Shut up," Yelena groans. "No, I was just fishing, and you're the sucker I caught. I mean, was there a time I thought you guys were too close? Yes, but it eventually became normal."

The two of them put their menu's down when it's safe, and Yelena seems to be carefully planning how to explain her thoughts. 

"We've all accepted that you guys are very close, but you both kept dating different people—you specifically only dating boys and then Vision. It worked out that we were all going to NYU, but did you know that Bug had an offer to study abroad and do an internship that would've accelerated her graduation and then career?" Yelena carefully looks at Wanda's face.

"What?" Wanda frowns. She vaguely remembers you mentioning the program but recalled you dismissing it. You didn't tell her you were offered a spot in the program. "No, but I mean, she was building her online platform, and it was taking off. She didn't need to do an internship."

"No," Yelena agreed with a shrug, "but it wouldn't have hurt. I suspect she couldn't stand the idea of being away from you for a year. Just like how you turned down the job offer in LA at graduation when you knew she would stay in NYC."

"That wasn't—I just—" Wanda huffs. "I like where I am now. My work is flexible." 

"Yeah, but being in public relations, you could've been making twice the amount you are now," Yelena raises her brow again. "Although, at this point, I suspect you both chose adaptable careers in case one of you wanted to move to another city."

"That's not true," Wanda protests.

"Do you even like being a PR?" Yelena asks. "At least Bug loves photography. You, on the other hand, have a talent for PR, but it'd be just as easy for you to do anything else."

"I do like it," Wanda stresses. "It's easy, and the clients I've got keep me busy enough. Just because I don't spend all my time on it or talk about it doesn't mean I don't like it."

"But—"

"Enough talking, our food is coming, and you better be ready to leave at a moment's notice," Wanda cuts Yelena off as the waiter arrives and sets their food down. 

"Worst. Date. Ever," Yelena deadpans.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

As it turns out, Raye lives relatively close to the restaurant as you walk hand-in-hand back to her place.

And not too far behind, Wanda and a reluctant Yelena trail from a distance. 

"She's not going to Raye's house, is she?" Wanda whispers with a frown.

"Why not?" Yelena grunts, adjusting her leather jacket. "She has casual flings all the time, and by the looks of their date earlier, it went very well."

"Not. Helping," Wanda glares at Yelena. They enter a street filled with apartments, and Wanda is careful about not following too close and walking under the streetlights.

"This is psychotic," Yelena groans. "Can't we go home? I feel like a literal serial killer out here."

Wanda doesn't respond, just staring ahead as they continue to walk. You're swinging your hand back and forth, interlaced with Raye's. There's giggling, and Raye keeps leaning closer to say something to you. 

There's so much sexual tension that it's palpable from here, and Wanda wishes there was a serial killer out here. 

How was Wanda going to stop this? How was Wanda going to prevent you from going home with someone else?

Wanda picks up a small rock and chucks it hard toward your general direction, hoping to spook the two of you apart. Except, her aim is so terrible that it flies completely left and hits the car beside you instead.

The car alarm goes off, setting off flashing lights and a very, very loud beeping noise.

"Wanda, what the fuck—" Yelena is cut off when Wanda suddenly shoves her down into a bush and dives next to her. "Ow, you fucking—" Wanda slaps her hand over Yelena's mouth.

You and Raye look behind, completely perplexed, when no one is there. You try to check out the vehicle, but other than a small dent, nothing is wrong with the car otherwise. Since neither you nor Raye caused it, you continued walking.

It turns out Raye lived in the building just a few steps ahead. You both stand at the door, holding hands before Raye throws her arms around your neck, smirking. 

Wanda's about to pick up another rock when Raye moves in suddenly for a hot, searing kiss.

And when Wanda watches you kiss back, her hand goes slack. Something awful builds in the pit of her stomach, and there's nothing Wanda can do when she watches you go into the apartment. 

Yelena watches Wanda's crestfallen face and sighs. "Wanda—"

"Let's just get back to the car and go home," Wanda mutters as she stands up, not bothering to brush off the dirt, leaves, or twigs from her hair. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

The car ride home is sickeningly pathetic—a new low for Wanda. 

"PLEASE DON'T BE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE. PLEASE DON'T HAVE SOMEBODY WAITING ON YOUUUU—" Wanda hoarsely cries out, tears streaming down her face. She's off-tune, and she's screaming more than she is singing. 

"Oh, god," Yelena sighs, bringing her hand to her face in embarrassment in the passenger seat. They've stopped at a red light, and the car beside them is staring at them strangely. "This is sad for even you, Maximoff."

Wanda doesn't even acknowledge that she heard Yelena, only belting out, "I'LL SPEND FOREVER WONDERING IF YOU KNEW—"

"Just kill me, just kill me, just crash this car and kill us both," Yelena mutters to herself. 

The house is dark when Wanda returns, not that it should be any surprise. Deep down, though, Wanda hoped you'd return home and somehow beat her to it. 

Wanda's eyes feel tired and raw from crying the entire way home. Yelena gave her a reluctant hug, mustering all her kindness into rubbing Wanda's back and kissing the crown of her head when it was buried in her friend's shoulder. 

Pulling out her phone, Wanda looks at her texts. One from work, a couple of Natasha, one from Vis, and one from Pietro. She stares at your name in her messages, but nothing comes even if she wills it. 

Instead, she shoots you a quick "hey :)" and puts her phone away. You'd unlikely answer, but Wanda couldn't help herself. 

Sighing, Wanda gets ready for the night, trying to not let her mind drift on what activities you and Raye could be doing.

Please let it be scrabble, please let it be scrabble, Wanda thinks as she finishes brushing her teeth. 

As she walks towards her room, she pauses. It's unlikely you'd return until tomorrow morning, maybe even noon. Biting her lip, Wanda turns and walks into your room instead, crawling into your bed under the sheets. She pulls the blanket up to her chin, inhaling your scent slowly.

It both comforts her and makes her heart twinge. 

After an hour, sleep falls upon Wanda easily, and she's nearly in a deep sleep when the lights suddenly turn on, and a yelp is heard.

Wanda wakes up suddenly, shooting up with her heart pounding that it's a robber, but it's just you standing at the door with your hand over your heart and chest heaving. 

"Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me!" You scold Wanda. "I totally thought you were my sleep paralysis demon!"

Wanda rolls her eyes at the comment but frowns as you calm yourself and rummage through your closet for sleeping clothes. "What are you doing at home? I thought you were going to sleep over at Raye's."

"She got a call in the middle of everything. It was her sister or something having some kind of meltdown. Raye says her sister can be dramatic, and it happens once a month, but she couldn't really hang up. I got sleepy waiting, but I didn't wanna crash there to just sleep on a first date," you answer. 

"I'm sure you would've gotten some in the morning," Wanda mutters.

"I guess, but feels weird since it'd definitely be rushed," you take off your jacket and socks before heading to the bathroom. "It's fine, we'll probably reschedule for another date." 

"Perfect," Wanda sighs as she starts to get up. 

"Stay there, brat," you tell her as you stand at the door. "If you're gonna sleep in my bed, you better commit to the sleepover."

Wanda sticks her tongue out at you, which you return before you leave.

Tapping her fingers against the sheets, Wanda smiles. Maybe the night wasn't so hopeless after all. 

PART THREE

[shanastoryteller]

Seasons Greasons be upon ye! ❄️⛄️ Can I request a little Sybok and Jim buddy au? Throw Spock in there too he feels lonely without his T’hy’la

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Spock is having a perfectly normal and pleasant conversation with Cadet Uhura when there's a cool hand on the back of his neck and he tenses before being flooded with feelings of affection and amusement.

"Sybok," he says evenly.

Their father had discouraged physical touch between them when Spock was a child. He'd worried that Sybok's unrestrained emotions and blatant disregard for societal customs would rub off on him.

Perhaps the distance would have been easier to do endure if their father had told him that, but he does not know. In any case, he cannot help from finding it comforting now, despite the lack of propriety.

"Spock," Sybok returns, a grin on his face that's most unbecoming.

Cadet Uhura is staring, jaw an inch lower than typical.

Sybok at least offers her the ta'al instead of something mortifying. "Apologies for my younger brother's rudeness. I am Sybok."

He would have introduced them. Sybok merely caught him off guard.

Cadet Uhura seems to shake off her surprise and offers him a beatific smile of her own. She copies his ta'al flawlessly. "Not at all, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. Your writings are most interesting."

She's read his brother's thesis? He had not known that Cadet Uhura was a practitioner of masochism.

Whatever horrible response this would have pulled from his brother is interrupted by an excited shout of, "SYYYYYBOK! BOK BOK BOK!"

Spock is aware that the last syllable of his brother's name is also the sound humanity has associated with chickens.

He'd still never anticipated it being clucked at him in such a manner.

He looks over to see James Kirk sprinting in their direction while Cadet McCoy tries and fails to stop him, shouting and reaching for him but James Kirk is out of his reach.

Cadet Uhura scowls, shoulders going back and her eyes narrowing.

Sybok's face lights up and he looks behind him. "Jimmy!"

James Kirk reaches them, grabs onto his brother's shoulders, and vaults himself up so his legs are wrapped around Sybok's waist and he's draped across his back. "You asshole! Why didn't you tell me you were on world? Fuck you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Sybok asks, seemingly unconcerned with the way James Kirk is draped across him.

Cadet McCoy reaches them then bends over, bracing his hands on his knees and gasping for air, "Jim."

James Kirk raises an eyebrow.

"Stop," he pants, pointing a finger in his direction, "this."

Cadet Uhura slowly moves her gaze across each of them, looking back and forth between Sybok and James Kirk several times. "Do you ... know each other?"

Vulcans have a religion of sorts, although it's more a series of ritual for the dead than anything formal, and there is no worshipping of any sort of deities. That sort of impracticality was purged from the society with Surak's teachings. Should he wish to indulge in such things, which he does not, his mother's family has long been disciples of Judaism.

Despite this, he has the sinking feelings that he's in hell.

[words-4u]

down to their bones

pairing: jordan li x f!reader

wc: 875

warnings: none, a bit angsty, minor jealousy, lots of fluff

a/n: listened to your bones by clesea culter while writing this and kind of used it as an inspo - don't have to listen to it but you should for vibes especially near the end

hero ethics was once a class you were excited for but now that you were a month into the course, you realize it's not at all what you expected.

all you do is watch a shit ton of videos and theorize hypotheticals, there's nothing even remotely physical involved which is what you really wanted the most.

instead here you were with lia, your partner for an upcoming presentation that dean shetty insisted the class do after she took over for brink. 

“you know i still can’t believe shetty wants us to speak for 20 full minutes on ‘aero dynamics of human flight’” you said looking at the late professor brink’s book before tossing it to the side. “i can’t even fly!”

“well, i can and it doesn’t take a rocket science to figure out how,” lia laughed. she was sprawled on your double bed that was littered with two copies of the book, laptops, pens and little stickies. “i’m a hands on learner, i need to be out there in the open skies.”

she fell back on your bed and in to a fake daydream. 

“i think someone needs to get their head out of the clouds and help me with this presentation or else we’ll fail,” you leaned in playfully tapping her forehead with a highlighter. of course this is the exact most your significant other, jordan, walks in to your room.

“uuuh…hello?” jordan said. they walked in clearly having come back from the gym, in their baggy shorts, cropped blue sweater and their short bob in a ponytail.

they were expecting to find you on your own, wanting to spend the rest of the evening with you, not to find you on your bed with another girl.

“hi babe,” you raced to jordan and placed your hands on their shoulders as you kissed them. you knew something was off the second they didn’t kiss back and you were right because as you pulled back, their eyes were glued to your bed. where lia was. 

“i’m sorry, and who are you?” jordan snapped. you were slightly taken aback because this was a side of jordan you haven't seen.

“jordan, that’s lia, my partner for hero ethics and lia this is jordan, my partner outside of hero ethics and everything else,” you smiled between the two people in your room.

“yeah, they are ranked number 5 in the whole school, y/n, i know who they are. i just didn’t know you were dating a star student,” lia said looking impressed. 

“you didn’t know?” jordan parroted. “she didn’t know?”

“we got paired up like 4 hours ago on this project. it wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of things to speak to her about.”  you whispered. 

you turned to lia. “um, i’m just gonna talk to jordan outside for like 5 minutes, you can take a break if you want.”

lia gave two thumps up before pulling out her vphone.

you grabbed jordan by the wrist and dragged them out of your dorm and into the hall way. there were a couple students walking up and down the hall and some more in a corner chatting about the latest viral video from the Seven but overall it was empty enough to have this much needed conversation.

by the time you shut your door, jordan had shifted to their male form.

“what the hell is wrong you?” you asked poking their shoulder. 

jordan clenched their jaw. “what are you talking about?”

“w-what am i talking about?” you asked back. “i’m talking about the fact that lia is lucky you don’t have laser eyes or she’d fucking toast. literally!”

“i walk into your room and you have another girl on your bed, y/n, how am i supposed to feel?”

the look on their face was suddenly transparent and it dawned on you.

“you’re jealous? over a classmate? is that it?” you asked, this time your voice carrying a softer tone. 

jordan didn’t look too pleased with the fact that they let something so trivial get to them.

“j, use your words,”

“you guys just looked so close,” they said looking at you with their big brown eyes.

you sighed. “well, we’re not. but we do need to get along cause this project is worth 30% and you know your girl can’t and won’t fail,” you said which caused them to smile a bit.

“besides,” you continued pushing their back against the wall and wrapping your hands around their neck. “i’m sort of already in love with someone, like right down to their bones, and as long as they are in my life no one else stands a chance.”

jordan leaned their forehead against yours. “i’m sorry for how i reacted. it was shitty.”

“apology accepted,” you whispered. “now give me a kiss. a proper one this time,”

jordan brushed their lips against your before kissing the air out of you. it was getting a little too hot for two people standing in a hallway and you were never one for major pda so you pulled away smiling.

“okay now you're just being a distraction,” you grinned up at them.

“okay, fine i’ll go but just to make sure, it was me who you were talking about, right?”

you chuckled playfully shoving them down the hall. “yes, you big idiot. now go and come back in 2 hours when you can really make it up to me.”

jordan smirked. “i’ll be counting down the seconds."

if you want to request something, there's a link in my bio (the more detailed the better <3)

[projectionistwrites]

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!

← previous part | next part →

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

[bks-writing-adventures]

The Prince and Princess of Death (Aemond X Ghost! Tully! Reader)

Word Count: 6.4 K

Summary: Aemond goes to Harrenhal to learn more of the world, instead, he learns about love, death, and the odd world of ghosts.

Warnings: Mentions of death, drowning, ghosts, light mentions of suicide, blood, it's low key giving Greek Tragedy but with a happy ending!

Everyone was painfully aware that Harrenhall was haunted. The whispers in the walls, the ominous things spoken in the dark, books moved and wailing carried by the winds. But in Aemond’s mind, what could a ghost do to him? There was no physical body, no pain to be caused, perhaps some sadness in seeing corpses walk, but he was confident in his ability to navigate. He simply wished to take some books and learn some new things of the world. The world that he wished to rule one day. And his mother had convinced him that this was an honor, for him to be invited in the first place. He was fantastic in his studies, and his mother was proud of that.

He didn’t have looks that could get him anywhere, so from a young age, when his face was sewn back together, he knew he would have to compensate for it. He read and read and read every book from front to back, had his own personal copies commissioned so he could write in the margins. He learned of the plants and the fish, war strategy, histories and philosophies. Only to find out that most Lords didn’t care to discuss such things. 

It seemed most men were more interested in ladies and whores and wine. That, and the weather. The gods forsaken weather. But the moment he tried to bring up cloud formations, odd looks were shot his way. The one positive, however, was that Grover Tully had heard of his habits and sent an invite for him to come to Harrenhal for some days to study the rich history and plant diversity. There was no question about whether he would go, his grip on his reins tight as Vhagar slid across the rocky ground. The air was wet and smelled of things he could not identify, and yet, he was excited to learn, marching his way up to the castle that was once grand. 

It was still the largest, yes, but there were leaks and cracks and full chunks missing. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sleep inside, to have water trickle into your room and bats tap against your walls. But soon, he wouldn’t have to imagine, going right up to one of the holes and sliding in. It was dark, and the air felt thick and warm with light. He followed the candles, and smiled from the corridor as he saw the Lords and his daughters in the Great Hall, waiting for his arrival. “Ah, I see I used the wrong entrance,” He called out, making them jump. And to his delight, they seemed to find humor in his words. 

“Ah, Prince Aemond! I am glad you could make it,” Lord Tully was kinder than expected. His eye narrowed, and he was hunting for undertones. For violence, or perhaps, teasing. He knew the game of court, and he knew the way of tongues. And he knew that when most people spoke, they did not truly mean the words that escaped them. But this old man, he was all chuckles and drunkenness. A little tipsy as he stumbled to the dining table.

 “Please, join us for our evening meal!” He called out, waving him over. He was hesitant for a moment, and as he walked, he could swear that he felt footsteps beside him, copying him, holding him. He tried not to look, but after a moment, he glanced over. And though he could see nothing- no, this was his brain playing tricks on him. He had read about this, the placebo effect. If he truly believed the place was haunted, he would begin to feel things, to hear things that were not there at all. Clearing his throat, he sat at the first seat available. Lord Tully had three daughters, and they looked similar to him. Slightly masculine in nature, their shoulders wide and their features strong, but there was a sweetness. 

He could believe they were triplets, if he were told. They had curls of ginger that rippled out like waves of the sea, and jewelry on their fingers, all of them matching. As he sat on the chair, they looked at him, a curl in their lips as if contemplating whether or not to speak. “Perhaps the Prince would like a different chair, this one is far more comfortable,” Lord Tully spoke, a bit of tension in his voice. Aemond could tell that he had broken an unknown rule, standing up and relocating. 

“My apologies, I was not made aware of your preference,” He spoke, his hands on the armrests. 

“We should have informed you. That chair belonged to my late daughter, (Y/N). We keep it open for her,” The thought saddened him, but he tried not to show it on his face. He tried to think of what that would be like. Despite living with his family, he felt that he was greatly distanced from them. He and Aegon did not speak often. Sometimes, Aegon would speak to him, but only to taunt and ask for coin when he ran out. He liked Helaena, and sitting with her, but she was not much of a chatterbox. Though they did share a connection, he liked to think, through the trauma they shared. He was pushed away for his looks, whereas she was pushed away for her mind. He was close with his mother and not with his father, and his uncle? Forget about it. But to see this family, leaving a chair open for their dead kin. It touched him, in a way. 

“Of course,” He nodded, looking down at the meal that he was served. Fish, buttery and flaky and smothered in bread crumbs to mask the flavor of the off season. Wine that was more bitter than what he was used to, but he drank it anyway. He knew to respect the space, and to nod as they asked him questions.

 “Do you like being a Prince?” One of the ladies asked, to which he nodded.

 “Sometimes. I am very lucky, I don’t know the feeling of an empty stomach or the pain of not having fine clothes. But the responsibilities are heavy, and the court is boring,” He smiled, trying to coax out some laughter, some approval from this group he would be spending his time with. 

“So, I hear that you read a lot. Have you ever considered writing anything of your own?” Lord Tully asked, his mouth full of potato. Aemond thought about the question for a moment, rolling it around in his head. “Perhaps one day. But I am now too young to be an expert on anything. And I am not much of a storyteller, i’m afraid. I am more fascinated with history and science,” He answered, and as his eyes wandered the table, he could swear that a figure filled the seat of the dead lady. He blinked, and as his brows scrunched together, his eye squinting, she was still there. Her gown soft and white, her eyes matching as they seemed to wander the room, her face warm from the candle light. 

“I’m sorry, do you-” He paused, staring at the table. 

“Yes. She comes and goes as she pleases,” One of the ladies spoke up, and when he looked again, she vanished. His heart thumped in ihs chest, and he squirmed in discomfort. They were so casual about it, and he held his breath in his cheeks.

 “Oh. I- I see.” He mumbled quietly. He tried to ease his mind. Surely this was just a joke they were playing, having one of their maids come and run away. He bent his head to look under the table, to see if a jester was hiding beneath it. But there was nothing, nothing but shoes and the ends of frilly skirts. 

“So, no writing for you, then?” Lord Tully asked, and he quickly shook his head. 

“What do you think happens when we die? Do you believe in the Seven?” One of the ladies asked, resting her face in her palms. They had a breathy way of speaking, as if they had just ran all around. 

“Yes, my lady. I am quite passionate in my faith. I visit the Sept quite frequently with my mother, and I have read the Seven Pointed Star more times than I can count on my fingers,” He responded pridefully. 

“Hm.” She hummed shortly. “It is all nonsense,” She hummed softly, putting her utensils down. “I am retiring for the night, good night, father!” She spoke, and like ducklings, her sisters followed, giving their father a kiss on the forehead before rushing off to their chambers. He sat in awkward silence for a moment before the Lord spoke up.

 “Do not mind them, they are young and questioning things and mourning their sister,” He said gently, pouring himself a new chalice of wine. Aemond nodded, folding his napkin over his plate, rubbing his hands together.

 “I understand. My father is not doing entirely well these days, I feel as though my mother acts as though he is already gone,” He admitted, his face flushing. He did not know why he admitted it, to a stranger, nonetheless. Lord Tully nodded, giving him an understanding smile. 

“That is how it tends to be, is it not? I mourned my (Y/N) long before she was gone,” He said quietly, and Aemond stared at him for a second, trying to pick up more clues. 

“And… how did your daughter die, may I ask?” The words felt unnatural, and his voice came out soft, almost warm. Lord Tully did not seem the slightest bit uncomfortable as he responded. “A drowning incident. But there was so much more than that. I remember, some weeks before her death she began to have a curiosity for the unknown. My daughter always wanted to write an epic story of the sea, and i’ve searched aimlessly for whatever she may have. A page, a sentence, but I come back empty handed. I suppose she was on one of her adventures, the late night or the early morning, we will never know. But she washed up with afternoon tea. My eldest, Mae, went to fetch her for cake and cream. When they could not find her, they went to her favorite spot It was her favorite, because it was where the small stuff would wash up. 

She couldnt be more than a few feet away from the most beautiful shell i’ve ever seen. She was facing the sky, like she was only sunbathing. But to see her, her tongue purple and her eyes open like that.. It is something that I will not live long enough to forget,” He spoke, his voice going melancholic before he suddenly pressed his palms against his table. “But enough about our suffering. How was your meal?” He asked. This family discussed death like the Lords spoke of the weather. 

“Oh! It was, very good. Is that- was that white fish?” he asked, making the Lord chuckle. 

“Cod! The finest of fish. I find it pairs best with orange wine, but alas, we have run out,” He responded. “Now, allow me to show you to the guest chambers. You are lucky, it is right near the library. Feel free to read anything you want, I only ask that you do not read and eat, and do not take the old text outside, the sun will bleach the pages,” He said, and Aemond nodded as he soaked up the information like a sponge. The chambers were.. Well, they left much to be desired. There was a nice big bed, a fire place, a table to put his things, a few bottles of water, a small couch. But the trees screamed outside, and rain drops flew in with the wind. There was an empty wardrobe, dusty from lack of care. 

“Thank you, My Lord.” he spoke, placing his things down. He preferred to travel light. A change of clothes, some night wear, a few extra eyepatches, his own quill and journal to keep track of his studies. He sighed as he changed into his soft, cotton night clothes- and as he looked in the mirror, his heartbeat quickened as a hand touched his torso. He let out a loud sound, whipping around to try and figure out what was there, his hand wrapping around the handle of his dagger. He didn’t call out into the dark, he stayed quiet as he inched toward the wardrobe, pulling the wooden doors open. Nothing. Slowly, he turned. He could feel something touching his hair, his hand moving wildly through the strands, trying to shake something out. 

He could hear a giggle, and when he turned, he could finally see something. The soft silhouette of a woman going out the door, except, of course, she did not open it- she simply went through it, giggling down the hall. He could hear the pitter patter of her feet, his mouth parted as he opened the door, rushing down the hall, trying to figure out where the creature was going. He wasn’t supposed to believe in all this, but it was right before his eye. He could reach out and touch her, if she let him. “Hello?” he called out, trying to keep his voice calm. He slowly approached a door, one that’s knob was becoming worn down from touches, from going in and out. His fingers curved so naturally around it, and he drew in a deep breath as he slowly opened it. It howled with a creak, and he winced at the noise, looking around, as though someone would call him on his trespassing. He slowly made his way inside, and he softened at the sight. It was brighter than the other rooms, the walls splashed with blue and covered in small paintings, lazy swirls and hand prints.

 He lifted his hand to the dark blue paint, biting his lip as he pressed his handprint over the one forever stained into the wall. His hand was much larger, covering up the mark with the width of his palm. His brows scrunched together, and he felt connected to it, her, whatever this entity was. Even if it was just for a moment. The giggle tickled his ears again, and he turned his head to look at the bed. A shadow rested on it, hidden by a sheer canopy, seashells stitched into the fabric. He didn’t know what compelled him to move forward, but before he knew it, he was staring down at her, and she was staring up at him. He pushed the fabric aside, sitting down on the bed. It was soft, squishy. “My Lady?” he whispered softly as the moon dragged across the blankets. The light made her show, the outline of her nose, the fuzzy halo of her hair. He was talking to the air, to the mere idea of something. But he continued. 

“Are you there?” He asked. Slowly, he could see her becoming more solid. Becoming alive as the night aged, as the stars twinkled in the sky, and when the next breeze came, he could feel her hair brushing his nose. He smiled faintly at the feeling, reaching out to touch it. It felt like spun sugar, weightless in his hands. He should be afraid. Of himself, for being insane enough to see this. To believe it.

 “Can you speak?” he asked. There was a soft hum, and it echoed off the walls, crawling into his ear and sliding across his brain.

 “You are warm,” Her voice felt like a song, and he felt heat rising into his cheeks. He had read fables. Every culture seemed to have a different interpretation of the sleeping ladies. Women who killed themselves, who were silenced in their lifetimes, returning to whisper to lost souls and sleeping sailors. The Tully had drowned, and yet, as he looked at her now- she seemed enchanted. Like a mermaid hundreds of feet in the waves, hair flowing around, her skin tinted blue with the ocean. And yet her face remained full, and her skin glowed. She was not frightening at all. And slowly, she leaned closer.

 “I am warm?” He repeated back to her, reaching out his hand. He wanted to touch her, to feel how cold her skin must be. To wonder if she really was as her sisters said, still swimming in the sea. 

“Yes. Like fire.” She whispered back, and when their skin touched, he felt a sting rush up his arm. Like a million needles penetrating his skin. He grunted, yanking his hand back, staring at it with a bewildered expression. Maybe ghosts could hurt. “It is alright,” She whispered, reaching out again. Her hands moved unnaturally, as if they were flowing around like the tentacles of a jellyfish. “Please don’t hide from me,” Her voice was melting him like butter, and much to his displeasure, he gave in. He let her run her cold hands along his nose, over the base of his brows. “You are so beautiful. So alive.” She studied him like she had never seen a human being before, smiling as she touched his hair.

 “I would hope so,” He said hesitantly, getting a bit closer. “Are you the drowned lady?” He asked, brows raised.

 “Is that what they call me now?” She asked. He smiled, she was teasing him. He could see dimples in her cheeks, a slight tilt in his head. His mind wandered as he looked at her. She still came to her room, she still haunted this house. 

“Why are you here?” He asked.

 “This is my room,” She responded matter-of-factly. He smiled at her, licking his lips as his eyes continued to wander. There were shells everywhere, articles of clothing, her wardrobe still parted. It was painted with light blue and pink, and her socks were still on the floor with the muddy imprints of sand and toes. Her family probably hadn’t touched anything since she died. Including jars of water that were beginning to mold. 

“I know that, but.. Here, in this realm. You aren’t in the Heavens or the Hells,” He said softly. She hummed, slowly getting up. Her dress danced in unnatural ways, the fabric flapping and floating all around her, glowing dots across her back in the shape of a fish.

 “There are the Heavens, the Hells, and Harrenhal.” She responds, reaching out her hand to touch her wardrobe, being sure to stay in the light of the moon. Her hand reached out, and she knocked her knuckles against the wood. The sound echoed, and she smiled softly. “I stay here for my sisters. But I can go anywhere in the world,” She spoke fondly, as if death were a vacation. 

“Is this what happens? To everyone who dies here?” he asked. He hadn’t seen any other ghosts, at least, as far as he was aware. She didn’t respond to his question, only continuing to wander in her own little world. 

“You are the boy who reads.” She says, her big eyes looking at him. It was a bit hard to tell where she was focusing, as she no longer had irises. She just looked.. Vacant, in a way. The sight made shivers run up his spine. 

“I am, I read a lot. Does that interest you?” He asked. Never in his life did he think that he would be flirting with a ghost. She rolled her eyes, he could tell in the twitch of her eyelashes. 

“But you do not write,” She spoke. Ah, she had been listening in. Only then, at the dinner table, he hadn’t realized just how real she was.

 “I don’t- well, not publicly, anyways. But I enjoy journaling,” He couldn’t believe that he was saying all of this out loud.

 “When I was alive, I always wanted to write the best of stories. I had so much to say,” She says softly, and he can see her roaming the room to the bookshelves, caressing all the spines. Her words hit his heart, and he slowly rises to join her. “Death is very lonely. Most of my friends have left to the other side, but there is still business for me, here. It is a shame I cannot talk to my sisters,” She says gently, slowly picking up a book. It seems to fight her touch as she pulls the brittle pages open.

 “But I am talking to you right now, My Lady. How is it that I can hear you and they cannot?” He asked, to which she shrugged.

 “Quite the curious thing, isn’t it? If only there were a handbook for the dead. I fear that everything I do is a wildcard. I never know what will come of it. It is only in this room that my touch can travel into the real world,” She said, and as though to prove it, she reached out and pinched his cheek. He thought her touch would be cold and haunting. But it felt warm, and it reached into his heart, squeezing it tight. He had to fight the urge to lean into her. 

“So what happens now?” He asked. He could not tell where this was going, or why he was here in the first place.

 “I suppose I can only beg you to keep me company. What have I missed in the world?” She asked, and they spent hours staring at the ceiling as he told her of war overseas, of family drama, of insecurities that he kept well hidden. 

“LIfe is too short to be insecure, My Prince,” She responded, to which he scoffed. He almost answered with something petty, but he quickly stopped himself. It was hard to remember that she wasn’t truly here, especially when she felt so real. So real that everyone else seemed fake. It was a shame, he could see himself falling in love with her. He had no desire to marry in Riverrun, and in his luck, he had fallen for the one woman he literally could not have. Not in any way. 

“I suppose you’re right. But at least I do not intend to go swimming in the deep sea for shells,” He teased, holding his breath as he hoped for a laugh. Maybe joking about her death was in poor taste, but to his relief, she smiled. 

“No, but you do frequently find yourself in the skies on the back of a scaly beast,” She said in return. He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached to play with her hair.

 “Vhagar is no beast, she is a companion,” He responded, sighing as his touch reached to her nose and cheeks. 

“I still cannot believe that I died in the sea,” She mumbles softly. “How fragile life is. But at the end of the day, we are just a bag of skin and bones. You drop it from high enough, and it will burst,” She mumbled, to which he nodded. He hesitated before he spoke next, licking his lips. 

“I wish that we could have met when you were alive,” He mumbled softly. She gently shook her head, reaching to play with his eyepatch.

 “We wouldn’t have liked eachother then. Death has made me wiser. I fear I would have only annoyed you when I was alive,” She responded, and he nodded quietly. 

“I will probably think the same one day. When I am old and withered.” He responded, and she slowly sat up.

 “Yes, I am sure you will regret this Grim Reaper attire you storm around in,” She commented, making him scoff. 

“Many people enjoy my clothing, actually,” He teased, and she shook her head. 

“It still will not be your proudest moment… but you do look rather handsome,” She spoke, making blood burn in his cheeks. He hadn’t been called handsome, not by a lady of the court, or of course, a ghost. Only his mother when he dressed up for his nameday, or the whores who kept him company and showered him with compliments so long as he showered them with payment. He looked at her quietly, feeling his face going soft. This was so humiliating, and the only thing that would hear of it would be the parchment of his journal and the ink in his quill. “Were you this beautiful when you were alive?” He asked quietly. He was utterly captivated by her, and his brows furrowed as he watched her slowly fade with the sun rise. Like a vampire disappearing into the shadows.

 “I am uncertain. I don’t know what I look like anymore, the mirrors do not cater to souls,” She spoke, looking over at the wall. There was a round, silver backed mirror covered in seashells and little twirls of gold and twine, and inside it, he could only see his own face staring back at them.

 “Are you disappearing?” He asked quietly, reaching to touch her hand, his fingers falling right into the blankets. She smiled at him, and he could see the walls through her face.

 “Why, are you going to miss me?” She asked, brows raised as she backed into the slimming shadows. He wanted to say no, to roll his eye at the idea. But he knew he could be vulnerable with her. He found comfort in her condition, knowing that she could not go talking to people about them, about him, and the way that he was getting so gentle for her. 

“Of course, my Lady,” he responded. 

“Very good. Now, you need to get back to your rooms before my father finds you in here,” She says, moving through the wall. He wanted to respond, but as he stared at the small, bright spot in the wall, it slowly faded like a flame without air. And now his lady was gone. With a sigh, he quietly made his way back to the guest chambers, laying on his back. He hardly got any sleep before the birds were chirping, and he blinked away any sleepiness that remained. He had slept a total of two hours, but he had never felt so, well, awake. (Y/N) he woken something up inside of him, making him smile, making his heart tremor. 

He changed quickly into his day clothes before making his way down to the dining hall, walking slow in the hallways in hopes of catching her whispers. The sounds of her footsteps, a glimpse of her in the shadows. And when there was nothing, he tried to hide his disappointment. “Ah, My Prince, I see that you are awake. Feel free to help yourself to fish and toast,” Lord Tully spoke, and he bit his tongue. These people really did enjoy having fish for every meal, but he could hardly blame them. The water was where most of their wealth and resources came from, down to the clay they used to sculpt their goods. His eye wandered around the table, looking at all the faces of (Y/N)’s sisters. He could see the small resemblances.

 The slightly wild brows, the light glow of their skin. “I thought you may like to go with my daughter, Elaena, into the wetlands today. There are many exquisite creatures there, be sure to bring your books and bottles,” He nodded in response to the invitation, getting a little awkward at the idea of spending a whole day with a lady. He ate his breakfast slowly, his gaze darting to the vacant seat that haunted the table. Nothing. Not even her shadow. He sighed into his cup, stacking his plates when he finished. He took his leather bag on his shoulder, following Lady Elaena outside. 

“You met my sister last night,” She spoke matter-of-factly. He was immediately on edge, looking down at her. She was rather short, especially for a lady in the Riverlands. Her eyes were dark, and she seemed a little out of it, as if she was constantly in her own world. 

“I did. I met all of you,” He responded. He didn’t know why he felt so protective over his talks with (Y/N). They felt especially intimate. 

“Yes. Even my dead one. What did you speak of?” She asked, crouching down as their feet began to sink into the marsh. Her fingernails were stained brown and green from clay and plants. She was far from what the courts would consider feminine, and yet, she had something special about her. Maybe it was because she looked so much like (Y/N), but he felt a smile spreading on his face as he watched her. 

“How do you know of our talk?” he asked quietly. Maybe (Y/N) could actually speak to her sisters, maybe she was playing with him, trying to make him feel like some sort of chosen one.

 “I like to go to her room, when I cannot feel her anymore. She leaves notes sometimes. When I opened her diary, there was something new inside. Talk of a pretty Prince that made her dead heart sing.” She responded, grabbing his hand to make him hold a container for her. She was looking through all types of rocks, hitting some against others to make them crack in two. It was clear that she shared her sisters’ love for the wild. He blushed as she spoke, and he took a deep breath as he tried to collect his thoughts. 

“It is funny, that if I had come only some moons ago, I could speak to her in the flesh,” He said, a bit of sadness covering his face. What a life they could lie together. Spending every day like this, bent at the river, looking at the sea, collecting things and wondering what they could be. They could have even gotten married. He tried not to let his mind go so far. He was just romanticizing her, he hardly knew the girl, the ghost, and yet, she already had him. Had him in her little dead palms. 

“Perhaps. But you couldn’t have prevented her death, none of us could. I am not meant to speak of it, but everyone knows that she loved the arts. Even the ones that she was meant to stay away from. She gave her life for her discoveries, it is only a shame that none of us will ever see them. I wonder how many secrets died with her in the sea,” She mumbled solemnly. Arts that she was not meant to explore, that could only mean one thing. 

“She studied the dark magicks?” He asked, brows raised. He would say that she did not seem like the type, but between the shell-covered mirrors and her soft gaze, he could not deny that there was something magical about her. 

“I do not think that is the word for it. I do not believe any magick is dark. It is only the intensions that matter. She wished to change the world, and she did. She changed all of us the moment that last breath escaped her lungs. There is a hole that must be filled, we just do not know what to do with it. Her soul remains in our home and we have no way of freeing her. It is not a good feeling,” She mumbled softly, reaching into the water and pulling out a small fish, studying its shining scales. “I do not think she was just hunting for any seashell. It was a spell of sorts. She had to perform a ritual beneath the moon, where she had to trade something sacred of hers for a prize of her desires. I do not think she knew that she would be trading her life,” She spoke gently, standing back up. “This is an aclin pod. It creates a complex poison that can boil the skin, when it penetrates the surface. But you can eat it safely, isn’t that odd?” She asked, her eyes bright and curious as if she had not just revealed the darkest of secrets. 

“What was the prize?” He asked quietly. She simply looked at him, let out a soft hum, continuing to walk. “Elaena, what was the prize?” He asked, following behind her as they went through the forest. 

“I do not know. I do not think she knows, either. Maybe the whole thing was a great big trick,” She mumbled, and after that, the Tully did not speak again. The story swam in circles around his mind until dinner, until he was poking at a pile of potatoes, ready to get up and rush to (Y/N)’s room, to talk to her again. When the plates were finally cleared, he made the statement that he was so tired from a long day of research, saying a gentle good night as he quickly made his way up the stairs, and finally, as he was surrounded my the dark corridors, he could hear her giggles.

 “Did you miss me, my little Prince?” Her voice whispered, and he could feel the vibrations against his ears. He smiled, quickly opening the door to her room. He was worried that maybe it wouldn’t be there at all, covered in cob webs and missing all the charms. But to his relief, she was there, kneeling on the bed as she smiled up at him. “Well, did you?” She asked, brows raised. He sighed, finally kneeling in front of the bed so they could be at eye-level. 

“What do you think?” He asked softly, reaching his hands to touch the fabric that rested on her skin. It felt like nothing, like the feeling of seafoam’s caress on a sticky summer day. He played with the light blue material, wondering if there was anything underneath it.

 “I do not want to think, I want to know,” She teased, and he licked his lips. 

“Of course I missed you, My Princess,” He responded. He didn’t know what was coming over him, a mix of desire. Desire to hold her, to touch her, to cling to her, to bond with her. Just to be with her entirely. 

“I am no Princess,” She responded softly, reaching to touch his hands. It felt so good to feel their skin together, to feel her, so alive in his hands. 

“You are to me, my beautiful Princess of death,” He spoke, reaching to touch her chin, to pull her closer. She was a siren, pulling away at all the barriers between them, enchanting him, intoxicating him. Maybe that was the truth. Maybe that’s what she was now, a drowned maiden turned goddess. And he wanted to be her God. “Your sister told me the most fascinating story about you, about magick and a ritual. Is it true?” He asked softly. He was so close that his eyelashes brushed her skin, and if she had a heartbeat, he’d be able to feel it against his skin. She nodded softly, leaning forward until she could feel his breath on her face. It felt so warm. She had missed this.

 “Of course it is,” She responded. He nodded slowly, not backing away from her. In fact, he leaned closer, kissing her cheek, just to see if he could. He was pleasantly surprised to find his skin brushing against hers, to feel the heat of her cheeks. 

“And what was this great prize that you traded your life for?” He asked quietly. She didn’t say anything, leaning toward him again, aiming to kiss his mouth. The thought excited him, but he leaned away. “No, no… give me the answer first,” He spoke, holding her face. He liked the way her skin moved under his thumbs, how he could squish her cheeks like dough.

 “Love.” She responded, making his head tilt. He thought she would want great powers, or status, or to transform into a mermaid or something. But love? He wasn’t sure he saw that coming. And someone so lovely and sweet as her, so beautiful, to have to perform magick for love? It confused him greatly, but he slowly nodded.

 “And did death give you this love…?” He asked, slowly sewing the pieces together like a quilt in his mind. She smiled at him, pulling him closer until their lips could meet in a brief, small kiss. He felt his whole body burn under her, and he closed his eye, licking his lips for all the remnants of her touch.

 “I like to think so,” She mumbled into his mouth, and soon, they were kissing again and again, slipping beneath the untouched blankets of the bed, sending a cloud of dust into the air that made them both laugh. 

“I didn’t think i’d ever fall for a dead girl,” He spoke. It sounded so insane, but then again, it was probably not the oddest thing to happen to him.

 “I did not think i’d ever find my prize,” She responded, her hand landing just over his heart, feeling the foreign thump in her hand. “Aemond,” She said quietly, making his head pick up from the crook of her neck.

 “Will you join me in death?” She asked. He paused, lifting himself up as their eyes met.

 “I-” He paused, trying to figure out what it was that she was asking of him. Was she to wait the years until his body was frail and decaying? Or was she asking for something else? The answers came silently when her hand brushed over his dagger. He gazed down at her, and slowly, he complied with her request.

When the sun rose and the Second Son was stained red on the bed, it did not take a genius to know what happened. He had gone peacefully, with a smile still settled in his porcelain face like a little doll. (Y/N)’s room was tainted with death, and the scent lingered in the air even when the blankets were gone. Elaena stared as they took his body into a carriage, and she smiled to herself as soon as she could. In death, her sweet sister finally got their prize. And for decades to come, with every new guest in Harrenhal, they could hear two laughs bouncing off the dark walls, soft moans singing from the Lady’s old chambers, and every now and then, ink would paint the pages of her aged journal.

‘Let us all find love in the next life,

Sincerely,

The Prince and Princess of Death.’

Thank You to everyone who reads! This was a little different from what I usually write, but I hope its a good different!

-BK ♡

[yorshie]

Hello there! I’ve never done a request before but I’m always so excited to read new stuff from you. I read your rules but I’m still not entirely sure how to do this. Please let me know the proper way to do this in the future.

I was wondering if you’d do a one-shot with BayLeo? Anything is good, maybe include a comfort scenario one on one where he’s having a serious convo and asks for them to look at him, gently grabs their chin to have them face him? If that makes sense. Apologies again!

HI HI!! I'm sorry this took so long, thank you so much for sending in a request! This is a perfectly fine way to ask for a request, don't worry! I am just slower than molasses in January lol.

This ended up a little short, i'm sorry, but i hope you enjoy it! (it's more of a blurb than a one-shot, i just got hit with the feelings and this spewed out of me)

Bay Leonardo x GN reader (reader is an artist) SFW, mushy mushy Leo in love

Leo’s watching you again.

Not subtly at all, clear blue eyes peering over the top of the old, battered copy of a novel whose title is taped over. There’s an indent to one side of his cheek that leads you to believe he’s smiling as well, that little dimple that you love to stroke and kiss over playing peek-a-boo with you around the corner of the worn pages.

You could ask him, you know, could turn your head and catch his stare. Holding it comes easier noq, the feeling of butterflies in your throat something that’s mellowed and warmed with the certainty of acceptance, of devotion.

But instead you keep your eyes down low, to where you’re more aware of his gaze as a physical thing, a pinprick of awareness along the soft hair on the nape of your neck and arms. You aren’t fooling him either, you think, but he lets you keep up the ruse, lets you focus instead on the sweeping arcs and shapes of charcoal on the white paper laid out by your knees.

You feel his gaze move down to your hands, and you wonder what he sees there, beyond just digits dusted in coal black chalk. You know what you see when you look at his hands, the strength, the scars, the lines and scales and the way they curl perfectly around yours. How they soothe, how they heal, how they feel…

You smile, just a little, when you hear the page turn. 

“What are you drawing?” He asks, voice almost a whisper as if he’s afraid of breaking whatever it is between the two of you. It etches the smile a little deeper into your face, thinking how unbelievable it was that anything in this world could turn you from him.

“Just some studies,” you hedge, marking little deviations in the line with a twitch of your fingers, not calling attention to the fact that you could just tell his gaze was fixated on your hands. “pretty things, things that I’ve seen out and about but didn’t have the time to sketch then.” Another moment of silence, before you ask, “what are you reading?”

Leonardo’s breath comes out in a huff through his nostrils, the soft sound of the book falling shut almost masked underneath the noise. “I haven’t been paying attention to it for a while, to be honest.” He sets the book to the side. “Too busy staring at my own pretty thing.”

The confession pulls your gaze a little in his direction, your hand rocking to the side on the surface of the paper like an afterthought to pull the charcoal stick away from where you were carving in lines. Your attention seemed to be what Leo was waiting for, because he eased down from his reading nook to sit next to you on the floor. 

“Pretty thing?” You fished, pulling back from where you’d been pouring over the paper, shoulders curving slowly in his direction, though you managed to keep from raising your eyes to his. You could feel the betrayal of warmth on your cheeks underneath his solemn regard, something that you were sure was responsible for the sweet, boyish smile that pulled at his mouth. 

“Yes.” Leo’s hand reached out, whispering over the paper in a feather light caress, to curl around the hand holding the charcoal stick. “Look at me, please, Blossom.” 

Your gaze flickered up to his, finally, becoming lost in the pretty blue that surrounded the dark pool of his irises.

His other hand came up, the little callus on the inside of his thumb rasping across the swell of your cheek as he cupped your face, pulling you closer, closer, until your nose pressed against the curve of his beak. Close enough that you could see yourself reflected against the curve of his eyes, a loving reflection that you swore cataloged every detail about you, a spell you couldn’t break even if you wanted to.

“You always have a hard time believing this,” he breathed into your face, words quiet and sure, “but you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Leo pulled your captured hand up to his chest, the little sound of the charcoal drawing a line over his plastron lost in the sweet, heavy thunder of your heart. 

When you try to tuck your face into his hand, to lessen the intensity, his thumb pressed against your temple, turning your gaze back to him once more. 

“I mean it.” He doubled down. “I want you to know this, that I think you’re beaut-”

You leaned forward, cutting him off, pressing your mouth to his and not missing the exhale of his breath into your mouth, a herald of his slight annoyance over the redirection.

He allowed it, threading his fingers through the fall of your hair, angling his head to the side so your nose wasn’t mashed against his face. Instead of voicing the words out loud, he switched tactics, pressing them silently over and over against your lips. 

Where the charcoal stick ended up, you never knew, thoughts quickly consumed with the way he pulled you effortlessly into his lap.

[see-arcane]

A message to all the assorted unscrupulous undead: Beware the Ides of March.

To everyone else: Grab your kukri blades, your bowie knives, your stakes, your bone saws, and whatever else you have on hand to appropriately accessorize with your new copy of The Vampyres.

The book is out! Loose! Running rampant and bloodstained through the terrains of eBook and paperback alike!

My beautiful little baby, toddling into the literary world to deliver havoc unto the dastardly bastards of the revenant realm. I’m so proud. (And so happy to feel the stress headache finally start to crack.)

Now that The Vampyres is out in the open, a brief FAQ under the cut:

Where can I get the eBook?

Check out the Universal Book Link (UBL) here:

It’ll show you all the places you can grab a virtual vampyre by the throat.

Where can I get the paperback?

For folks in ‘murrica, I’d say hit up Bookshop.org to go and grab it from your physical store of choice:

You can also just search The Vampyres C.R. Kane and see the waterfall of options. Not sure of the exact timeline, but it should be more widely available in the coming weeks. At least hereabouts:

Pictured: Places to potentially purchase a paperback.

Can I get it at my library?

If you ask for it, yes! You’ll need the ISBNs when filling out your library’s request form, so:

eBook ISBN: 9798218374594

Paperback ISBN: 9798218374587

What’s the status on that paperback cover business?

Current status is still ???

At least in the sense that I’m not sure what version of the book cover you might get at the moment. Original matte? Temporary glossy? Updated matte that’s here to stay? No idea at the moment. My self-publishing page shows the update’s confirmed, but the online stores are still using the first version as the preview image and I’m not sure when that gets swapped out. At least the books are all print-on-demand, so whatever you order, just know it’s not coming from some thrown-away backup heap. It’s fresh from the book oven press.

Anything else I need to know?

First, reviews are extremely welcome! I am running on negative budget when it comes to waving my little flag to announce that I Made a Scary Vampire Book, so I’m really relying on word-of-mouth if I want it to actually get its head above water. Leaving stars and comments wherever you can, be it in the online stores, the Goodreadses or Smashwordses or whatever else, would be a big help.

(Really though, I can and will dissolve into a puddle of relieved ego if I see so much as one (1) Nice Comment on Tumblr, my cesspool of choice.*)

*This is not hyperbole. I can count on one hand how many PROMOTION © ™ posts I’ve made on Twitter and have fingers left over. This novella is tailored to my fellow fiendish bookworms on here.

Second, to those coming by this stuff for the first time and don’t know what all this hoopla is about, a preview of my novella, The Vampyres, is available on my website. Give it a gander if you want to see under-appreciated classic supernatural bogeymen dropped into their own horror story.

Thirdly, lastly, vitally: thank you.

The Vampyres is a beautiful accident that came together out of an itch to rattle something out just for myself; a break from a bloated piece that had turned into a chore which burned me out and threw away the fun of scribbling. A lightweight read that saved me from being crushed by a cinderblock.

By the same token, the people on here have shouldered me up and out of the creative pit of thinking ‘This is all for nothing.’ For all that I talk of how much I’m powered by spite and the desire to Read a Specific Thing only to realize I Have to Write That Thing First, I’d be a liar if I said the kindness and excitement of the folks who’ve been reading my nonsense for (holy hell) TWO YEARS in the wake of the first big Dracula Daily surge didn’t have a major role in getting this thing done.

I did make The Vampyres for me. But it’s for you guys too. For everyone who saw one of my rambles or little fictions and spoke up to say, I love this! I was thinking this! I wanted this! Finally, finally!

When you crack open the cover for the first time, on a screen or in your hands, I want you to know I’m thinking Thank You at you. I hope you enjoy all the horrors inside.

Postscript:

If you want more info on other stuff I'm tinkering with, check out my website here:

[garaksapprentice]

Sewing Zero Waste Culottes from The Craft of Clothes

Zero Waste Culottes From The Craft of Clothes

Behold! Fancy pants!

The pattern for these pants was one of my Christmas gifts. It comes from Liz at The Craft of Clothes, a zero-waste designer. I've really gravitated towards self-drafting and zero-waste sewing in the last couple of years, and this pattern has been on my list for a good six months, so I was excited to get into it.

Drafting

The first step (after reading the pattern through twice) is drafting the pattern pieces.

My biggest starting hurdle was deciphering "the culottes are designed to sit on your waist" when choosing the correct pattern size. Most designers consider "the waist" to be the teapot - that is, the true waist. (It's easiest to find if you bend to the side and stick your hand in the crease - like you're singing "I'm a little teapot".) But some consider belly button height to be "the waist". I generally wear my pants at the latter height, and there's a good 2" circumference difference between those two for me.

I eventually decided to call my belly button my waist, on the grounds that that's where I prefer to wear my pants. It's also easier to take seams in than out, if I guessed wrong.

Decisions over, it was smooth sailing from there. Pattern drafting is not a technically difficult process, as long as you have good instructions, and Liz's patterns definitely fit that bill. But there's a lot of attention to detail required to make sure the end result is good. That sort of thing always makes me nervous. Fortunately there was only two pattern pieces to draft, and they're 98% straight lines and based off rectangles.

Interestingly, this is the first zero-waste pattern I've tried that has you draft pattern pieces to use. The others I've seen (most by the creator of this pattern - our library had a copy of her book, Zero Waste Sewing) have had you draw directly on your piece of fabric to create the layout. (In fairness, I didn't have to draft my own pieces. The pattern came with the option of self-drafting, printing on A4, or printing on A0.)

I much prefer the direct-draw method to faffing about with pattern pieces. But given that this pattern is designed to have the pieces tesselate, having a set of physical pattern pieces does make more sense. It's also got me wondering if I could successfully make a pair out of old jeans legs, using one leg per pattern piece. But then, I'm always looking for ways to use up my denim pile...

Sewing

I prefer structure rather than flow in my butt coverings, so I was somewhat limited in my fabric choices for this first pair. (I know the fabric I really want to use, but I am being a sensible apprentice and trying things out on a nice-but-less-hideously-expensive fabric first.) Most of my stash acquisition has focused on stuff for shirts, since I wear those out faster than pants. I eventually settled on this nice brick red, 100% cotton, table cloth.

The picture is suffering from sun exposure. It's nowhere near this bright in person.

I laid out the pieces and huzzah! The fabric was just big enough! ... But only if I unpicked the hems (they're monsters, a full 3 cm/1.2" each side) and ironed them flat first. Thus, it was time for a marathon unpicking and ironing session.

After that was done, I checked the pattern fit again. Huzzah! I had enough space for all the pattern pieces, and not very much scrap left over once I'd cut them all out. (Of course, it was late and I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been, so I didn't add an extra inch when I was forced to cut the waistband in two pieces. There was enough extra fabric that this was only an annoyance and not a complete disaster.)

The fabric at the top is scrap. All but a few inches of the stuff on the right became waist bands and plackets.

Sewing was a fairly straightforward exercise, though it required enough brainpower that I completely forgot to take any progress shots as I went. Almost every step of the pattern comes with a diagram to show you what to do, which helped me immensely. So did having the seam allowances specified at each point, as there's three different ones used in different places.

That's not to say I didn't screw up, of course. While sewing the crotch seam, I somehow managed to close up the front of the pants entirely and leave a gap for the placket open at the back. (That will teach me not to double check the direction the pockets are facing before I pin and sew that seam. Maybe.) 

I also made a highly decorative and completely awful to sew with choice for topstitching thread, which I quickly became too stubborn to stop using. So the topstitching is, uh, not great. But it is purple and sparkly, and if I'd had any sense at all I would have left it til last (or even done some sort of hand embroidery with it).

I was tricked by the first line of stitching being so easy. LIES. It was all lies.

Why should I have left it til last? Because it turns out that the culottes are, in fact, designed to sit on one's true waist. Which meant I had a two inch difference between what I needed to fit me, and what the waist measurement was. If I hadn't top stitched the panels, I could have simply ran another line of stitching down the seams that didn't have pockets in the way, and taken the waist in without much fuss or bother. Unfortunately, I didn't do that, so I was left with two choices.

Take out the topstitching and take in all the panels, bitching and moaning about the effort I went to and the number of times the topstitch thread broke while I was sewing the stupid sparkly goodness onto things.

Work out how to take the waist in by the necessary two inches, using only the crotch seam and maybe some darts or pleats or something.

Choice #1 would have been the logical, rational decision, so of course I went with option #2.

An hour and change of basting, pinning and unpinning the waistband, and completely forgetting how seam allowances work later, I managed to get a fit I was happy enough with. I ended up grading in a dart-like object at the centre back. (If I decide later that I'm not happy with the fit after all, I'll try out the modification for adding elastic to the back waistband that the pattern also includes. Probably while questioning my life choices and lamenting the amount of time I spend with a seam ripper in hand.)

The original stitching line is in blue, the new one is in black.

After all that fitting woe, I wasn't in the mood to try buttonholes (my good machine, the one with the automatic buttonholer, is currently out of action). Instead I dove into my snap stash to close the placket.

I love using bright, vivid colours for inner details. It's the sewing equivalent of wearing leopard print underwear.

A nice bonus of using the snaps is that I could put them through just the placket, leaving the fly front clean. This did make the placket pull slightly when I'm wearing the pants, exposing a trace of bright red. I fixed that by invisibly whip-stitching through the placket and outer fabric to hold everything in place. Next time I'll also double check the understitching, and topstitch the edge if needed, before installing the snaps.

Field Test and Adjustments

Trying stuff on as you go is all well and good, but nothing tells you what you really need to fix like being out in the field. I quickly discovered several things:

The waistband needs serious help to stay where it's supposed to be. Which, y'know, I did make a size larger than I should have. This was not surprising.

The crotch needs to either drop a wee bit or (preferably) rise a couple of inches. The latter will likely spoil the skirt-effect somewhat, but it will be far more comfortable for my legs.

I need a loop on the waistband to hold my keys.

For the waist woes, I had a few choices - 1) belt loops, 2) suspenders, or 3) add elastic to the back waistband. Belt loops are fiddly to make and sew on, but would solve the key-hanging issue. Suspenders technically wouldn't need any sewing changes, but the clip-on style are notorious for pulling off when you're doing things. And while the pattern includes instructions for adding elastic to the waistband, I wasn't confident it would do the job I wanted (I stick a fair amount of junk in my pockets and elastic can't always cope with the weight).

After some dithering, I went with the suspender option for this pair. I like the look of them, and the "floating" effect they give when they pull the waistband a bit above where gravity wants it to sit is extremely comfortable. But I didn't want to deal with clips always popping off. So I indulged in a quick side-quest of improving my suspenders, then sewed buttons into the waistband of the culottes.

This used to hold the clips, but the wire was easy to bend flat with needle-nose pliers.

Gee, I wonder which buttonhole I did first?

Fashion Show

Overall, I'm quite happy with how it all came together. I'll definitely be making at least two more pairs - the "men's" version (less flare in the hems), likely out of recycled denim, and a pair in heavyweight stash linen.

The back panel adjustment is basically unnoticeable.

They have great range of movement - maybe I need to make a workout pair?

And I even have somewhere to hang my keys.

This post was originally published on my blog, Garak's Apprentice . I currently syndicate my content at Micro.blog, Tumblr, and Ko-Fi.

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[kissingghouls]

I am excited for the movie for sure, but I need them to announce a physical copy sooner rather than later. I need to watch this shit daily. I don’t have time (or spoons, tbh) to go to more than one showing. Tobias, please. Let me get weird about this in my own house soon.

Rite here? Rite now? :3

[melljam]

samuel and gitae parallels - fighting style (examples + analysis)

-> imitating their opponents moves, but in a more vicious and brutal way

its different from the 「copy」 ability since its not an exact copy and they both seem to just do it for fun more than anything else

-> use of weapons, often unnecessary

neither of them need weapons to fight but they use them anyway (for the sake of fun probably) and it also adds to the overall ruthless nature of how they fight

-> no martial art, just unadulterated violence and brute strength

so many fights in lookism are about different fighting styles and techniques, meanwhile these guys dont seem to train and just rely on overpowering physical strength and viciousness

-> unconventional

its a little similar to the previous point about no martial arts and brute strength, but both of the ways they fight are distinctly weird (to their advantage though) and kind of random (namely they just come up with things on the fly)

-> enjoyment and excitement

while a lot of lookism characters (or more generally, characters in action/fighting manhwa) enjoy the action of fighting, especially with a ‘worthy opponent’ , samuel and gitae both express the joy of fighting in their own little insane ways (and i love it)

final thoughts

so many parallels can be drawn between gitae and samuel already (this + angst over gapryong kim) and i am SO excited to see them meet ^_^

theyll likely beat the crap out of each other (w jake :p) but seeing samuel and gitae somehow team up to fight together would be SO cool given how similar their fighting styles are >_<

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 4

Title: Dark Fantasy Meets Reality

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen (The Gray Man) x f!Reader

Kink: CNC

Tags/ Warnings: SMUT, CNC, hair pulling, rough sex, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, sunshine), praise (good girl), man-handling, bondage (zipties), p-in-v (wrap it before you tap it), cream pie, choking/breath play, panties and fingers in mouth, vaginal fingering, Lloyd Hansen (He is most DEFINITELY a warning)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: You find a place on the Web where you can spell out your sexual desires with no judgement and maybe even hire some help... 

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied. My warnings are non-exhaustive (even though I do try to capture everything) but please read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your content consumption.

A/N: Jeez, cutting it close with this one. I had another fic for today but I wanted to change the pacing so I decided this might be a better fit - Love Grem 💜

I hope you enjoy; comments, likes and reblogs are always welcome!

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You half growl to yourself and kick off the covers.

This was getting ridiculous.

You were beyond horny – you were desperate for some relief but everytime you got close to that sweet, sweet edge of ecstasy, you were viciously pulled away. Either there was a delivery, or phone call, something that snapped your mind our of fantasy and back to reality. Sometimes it was your own mind sabotaging you; you forgot the washing again, that very important work thing you had. Things that only added to your stress and frustration. Always  Ruining what would have been a perfect orgasm.

You’d been without a partner for a while now, and at first it was great. You and your fingers or vibrator were happy as a clam. However, the insatiable need of physical touch became overpowering. You didn’t want the torturous, laborious process of getting to know someone before trusting them enough to reveal some of your kinks for them to either break it off or judge you. Although it would be nice to have someone to share your bed with, once in a while.

You huffed, tugging your sweat pants back on, and heading to the bathroom to wash your hands. You needed to do something or someone and soon. You head back to your laptop, your coffee cold and uninviting, grumbling as you answer emails. It’s not long before your mind wanders, taunting you with thoughts and daydreams of utter filth. You glance to your phone.

Surely, there has to be a website for your sort of fantasies right? You see comments on reddit and porn sites so – surely – there’s a site where you could at least talk through your fantasies?

You pick up your phone and begin to type; work abandoned. After forty minutes of searching you find a site, agreeing to terms and conditions and set up a log in; using a faceless image of yourself in your favourite bra. Writing out your biography is a strangely freeing feeling. Openly listing kinks and things you’d like to try; things you’d never, ever tell a random person you’d meet face to face. Its not long before you’re browsing through posts and you can feel the familiar bubble of excitement build. You bite your lip.

It’s a dangerous game but you consider making a post, laying out what you need. You remind yourself of digital footprints but God – you need some form of release that maybe this will help. So you write. It’s not a New York Times Bestseller, but it’ll do. You re-read it, ironing out any spelling mistakes or especially bad grammar and hit the post button. You stare as it publishes your content and sigh softly. You’re not sure how to feel.

“I can always delete it in a few days,” you tell yourself, setting your phone face down and looking back to your laptop. “Yeah. I could always do that.”

You’re running errands a week later when your phone buzzes with a notification. You dismiss it and shrug it off, continuing to walk down the street with your tote over your shoulder. It was a warm day, a deliciously cool breeze in the air and youd taken the time and effort  to make yourself up. A cute summer dress that was almost a little revealing, your favourite strawberry lip gloss and make up to exentuate your favourite and best features and your hair, your hair, was just perfect today.

It still didn't stop the ache from your clit though. That was the only downside.

You reached around the snacks in your tote bag to find the keys to your home but your key wouldn’t turn. You frowned a little and try the handle. The front door swung open to an empty apartment. You shiver slightly.

“Must’ve forgot to lock it. Damn.” You murmur to the hallway as you step inside. You turn to lock the door and when the bolt slides home, a gloved handovers your mouth and you’re yanked backwards into a broad, hard chest. You yelp as you’re pulled, legs wobbling but another large hand appears at your hip, holding you steady against your aggressor.

“Welcome home,” a deep voice rumbles from behind you, breath hot on your neck and wisps of facial hair tickling the shell of your ear. You go to make a noise, but the hand encompassing your jaw squeezes hard.

“Ah – ah – ah,” the voice chides teasingly and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “I don’t want you screaming just yet.”

It was like someone had poured ice down your spine. You were spun around and early marched down the short hallway  and into the kitchen, your tote ripped from your shoulder and tossed somewhere – you didn’t really care, you were to busy thinking about what would happen next. Marched to the countertop, your aggressor pushed your head flat against the surface, nestling a strong leg between your thighs  to stop you trying to make a hasty attempt at escape  while a free hand bound your wrists behind your back with what felt like zipties, biting into your skin agonisingly. He made an approving humming sound, and although you couldn’t quite see him, you could feel his eyes roaming over you. Gloved hands ghosted from your knees, to your thighs and to your ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze as the skirt of your dress was lifted over your hips. You felt yourself flush with a mixture of fear and embarassment, knowing your lace panties were being admired.

“All this for me? You shouldn’t have.”

You wriggled feebly, which earned you a harsh smack to on ass cheek, making you squeak with shock. You kick your legs out, earning another, harder smack to your other cheek. This time you cry out, and you hear the voice chuckle.

“Behave, sweetheart,” you hear a belt buckle clink behind you and freeze up. “Or don’t. I don’t really care.”

You whimper when you feel a finger run down to your clit over your panties and you flush again when you feel your legs practically vibrate at the sensation. Another chuckle from the man behind you.

“Oh, sweetheart. Here, let me help.”  

You feel your panties slowly and tauntingly slide down over your ass cheeks, your voice dying in your throat the hot flesh between your legs met the cool air of your kitchen.  You can feel your panties hang loosely around your ankles and there’s a tap against your leg from a polished shoe. On instinct you raise your foot.

“Good girl,” purrs the voice, tapping your other leg with his foot. You repeat the motion, raising your other leg. There’s a dramatic sigh as the man leans over, swiftly sweeping your panties from the floor. You whimper when he leans over your body, pressing you into the counter. Your bones cry in agony with the pressure and you bite your lip to keep any sort of noise slipping out. Which is futile when a large hand knots in your hair, pulling your hair by the root, forcing you to crane your neck back uncomfortably to look at the man behind you. Tears sting at your eyes but you say nothing, focusing intently as predatory blue eyes bore into you. You can see a playful sneer tugging at his lips beneath a groomed moustache, contorting a handsome face into a dangerously seductive one.

“Hey, pretty girl. Name’s Lloyd. I need you to remember that, got it?”

You don’t think you’d be able to forget it anytime soon but you nod anyway, keeping your teeth firmly pressed against the softness of your lips as you look back at him with glassy wide eyes. His smile widens and he pats your right ass cheek gently.

“Good girl,” He praises, raising your panties to your mouth. “Open wide, pretty girl.”

Your heart beats wildly as you comply, feeling the thick gloved fingers shove the flimsy material into your open mouth. Shame floods you as you feel the dampness of your excitement touch your tounge – this should not turn you on as much as it does. Lloyd takes in your expression, and looks pleased.

“You look good with your mouth full, sunshine.” He teases, squeezing your ass cheek with his free hand before moving to your aching core. Your moan is suppressed by your panties and Lloyd’s fingers in your mouth. Lloyd slips two fingers into your desperate hole with ease, sliding them in and out torturously slow, smirking down at you as your eyes flutter and your legs shift. He teases and flexes his fingers inside of you, spreading and stretching you open with a delicious burn that had you keening around the fingers in your mouth.

“Shit,” He gasps tauntingly. “You’re already soaked. You don’t need the warm-up.”

Your eyes go wide when you feel his cock run over your folds, gathering the slick that had built up between your thighs. You make a muffled sound of protest that evolves into a long moan as Lloyd sheaths his cock into your throbbing cunt. Your eyes roll back and Lloyd’s fingers move from your mouth to wrap around your throat, squeezing your windpipe lightly and pulling you backwards so you’re flush against his chest.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” He coos huskily into your ear, “Take it.”

The hand in your hair moves to your hip, keeping you still as he starts to thrust into you. Lloyd’s moustache tickles at your throat when he trails kisses along the back of your neck, the grip from his hand squeezing so tightly you feel lightheaded. But damn, if it doesn’t feel good. Your pussy grips his cock making Lloyd grunt into your ear, thrusting harder into you. You mewl around your panties, trying to shift your tied hands to no avail.

Lloyd groans as he feels your slick walls flutter around him, milking his cock so well, so quickly. A gloved finger hooks part of your panty and tugs it free from your mouth, throwing to the floor with a wet thud. You take a huge gulp of air before Lloyd’s hand is back around your throat again.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” He growls, tugging your neck back forcefully. You yell out, back arching along with your neck as your hips slam mercilessly against the countertop.

“Y-You!” You cry out, gasping for air when he releases your throat to let you speak. Lloyd clicks his tongue, squeezing your throat again.

“No, no, sweetheart,” he chides, voice low. “Get it wrong again and I’ll have to spank you. Now, let’s try again. Who does this pussy belong to?”

He releases your throat again but this time you almost scream his name. “Lloyd! I-it belongs to yo-“

“That’s right, baby!” Lloyd interrupts you loudly, cutting off your air supply once more. He fucks into you mercilessly, and you’re sure you’ve got Bruises on your hips, but you don’t really care. Lloyd’s sneer against your neck with filthy praises falling from his lips make your head spin and you don’t even notice that you’re cumming over his cock until he releases your neck to let you scream.

“Oh, look at you.” He huffs, continuing the unrelenting pace, loving the feeling of your soaked cunt around him and the way your legs are shaking. “Doin’ so well for me sweetheart. I think I’m gonna have to keep you.”

You whine pitifully, pleasure blurring your brain as you nod along to his words.

“Fuck, you’d like that?” Lloyd groans. His hips stutter for a moment but when he starts to fuck you again, it’s sloppier and less focused. “You’d like to be all mine?”

“Oh – yes!” You half-sob, eyes rolling to look up at the ceiling as you feel your pussy spasm; close to cumming yet again. That spasm is what sends Lloyd over the edge, pinning you in place with his hands on your hips as he coats your walls with his cum. You follow soon after, again, squeezing him for everything he can give.

Your breathing is shallow but you tell when cool metal slips against your wrist, freeing your from the ties. Your hands fly out to grab the counter, steading yourself as you catch your breath.

“Well, sunshine, this was fun.” Lloyd comments nonchalantly as he removes himself from you lazily, prolonging the feeling of his cock slipping from you before giving your ass a pat. “But I’ve got a job nearby – shouldn’t be too long.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows and blink a few times. You glance over your shoulder to see him shoving himself back into his pants quickly. He gives you a wink and a smirk that has a blush creeping up your neck.

“Don’t give me that look,” He says waggling a finger jokingly at you. “I’ll be back later for another round. Or three.”

You nod, still a little shell-shocked and ruminating in post-orgasm bliss. Maybe that website wasn't half bad after all.

[misseviehyde]

BIG CUCK

"OMG - dude, our bully has turned me into a perfect physical copy of your hot girlfriend Jenna. Why the fuck would he do that to me? I'm your best-friend and he does this to me?

He must be up to something evil. That asshole is so manipulative and evil. He loves to play games.

He's been trying to get Jenna to sleep with him for months but she loves you too much. We can both see that she has real chemistry with Aaron and she's come so close to fucking him, but her love and loyalty to you is the only thing stopping her.

Now he's used the magic remote to copy her exactly onto me. I have her tits, her long blonde hair... even her sexy tan. Oooh shit, that's not all I have. This thing has copied her personality and desires onto me - they're starting to catch up with me. I can feel my mind changing.

Dude, I feel so fucking pretty and spoiled. My skin feels like buttermilk and my body is so tiny and perfect. Ooooh, I feel like totally feminine and girly. Jenna's personality fits like soooo nicely over my own.

I can even feel an echo of her love for you growing in my heart. Oh my God, I fucking love you. I love you so damn much.

Oh shit, here comes Aaron. Don't worry baby, I won't let that asshole hurt you.

What the fuck do you want you bastard? Why have you turned me into Jenna?

You're going to make him enjoy being a cuckold so that he'll encourage the real Jenna to fuck you? No... that's evil, and it won't work. Jenna loves him and so do I.

What do you mean you're gonna corrupt me so I love you instead and I become an evil whore? Nooooo, don't ugghhh point that remote at me... ahhhh fuck what are you doing?

Ugggh dude, you have to get out of here... he's melting my brain... making me uuuuuhhhhhh slutty and mean. I... I... I'm trying to fight it, but it feels so good. I can feel Jenna's love for you being, uuuugghhh twisted and corrupted into something wicked.

Ohhhh fuck, yessss, I like boys. Nnnn nooo I like MEN. Alpha Men. N...nooo that isn't right is it? Mmmmh, it feels kinda right though.

Ohhhh no he's making me bad and I can't ughhhh fight it. Twisting my sexuality and my mind. He's making me into evil-Jenna and I like it.

Mmmmh, yessss... only big cock will satisfy me. Only bullies make me WET. I'm a bully too? I am? Oh yeah, of course I am. I love being better than other girls. Yessss, I'm a fucking BITCH. I fucking dominate other girls. I dress like a fucking bitch, I AM a BITCH!

Hahah, ohhhh fuck this feels good. To have this smoking hot body... tight and smooth, feminine and powerful. To know men lust and desire after me. No one can understand why I'm dating such a pathetic loser for a boyfriend. Even I can't unders...

I... oh yeah of course. I date you because you're pathetic and weak. You're SO in love with me and think I'm an angel. I use you to get what I want. You pay for my clothes and my makeup. You give me lifts and cook me dinner. You even do my homework for me. But the truth is I fucking h... hate you.

Ugggh, noooo that isn't mmmmmh right, I lll..lllov... NO. NO, I can't fight it. It feels too good when I say it. I... I HATE you. I fucking hate what a weak pathetic loser you are, but it makes me wet to date you and enslave you and fuck other men. Better men.

Men like Aaron. Yeah, that's right. I like his big fat cock and his bullying attitude. He turns me on... he makes me wanna be a slut for him.

And you like it too don't you loser? You know I'm not the real Jenna, but this is how she really feels. Deep down inside she despises you and uses you to get what she wants. But really she wants to fuck other boys and you want her too.

The thought of being a cuck excites you doesn't it? Of kneeling between my legs and licking Aaron's cum out of my tight pussy. You wanna watch him fuck me. You wanna see me fucking scream and cum all over his cock.

He can pound me in ways you never could. You can only last a few seconds inside me, he can go for hours. HAHA ohhhh fuck yes, it makes me so horny to be evil to you. I love what a bitch I am.

Now then loser are you ready to watch Aaron put his strong hands all over my tight body. He's gonna bend me over, pull my panties to one side and slide that big dick into my tight little pussy.

I'm gonna fucking ride him for hours, pumping my pussy up and down on his cock. I'm gonna suck his balls and swallow his cock deep down my pretty throat. I'm gonna make you watch as he fucks me doggy, then lets me ride cowgirl. Every position, every possible type of sex - he's gonna show you how much better he is than you.

When he's done and I'm dripping with his cum, you'll never forget how hot I look - how happy and satisfied. When you see the real Jenna you'll not be able to stop thinking about her covered in Aaron's spunk. You'll do anything to help her become like me. You want to see the evil-Jenna take control.

This is the beginning of your addiction. Now get ready loser - because it's time for Jenna to get railed.

I can't wait for you to become a big cuck as I take this big cock...

[phntmeii]

♡ Dating Hobie Brown Headcanons

❝ I'm not a role model, I was briefly a runway model. I hate the AM, I hate the PM, I hate labels, I'm not a hero, because calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing narcissistic autocrat.❝

[ SFW + No Gendered Terms]

A/N: I can't believe it took me so long to get around to this man since he's broken me since the movie released. Will be clawing at the doors of the studio for more Hobie screentime. Also, sorry it’s been a bit since the last headcanon list. Classes and shit :(

✖ Off the bat, I'm sorry to say but Hobie would not consider what you two do as "dating". He doesn't like labels and being called someone's partner is too constricting of a box.

✖ Now that doesn't mean he isn't loyal. He's actually extremely loyal. The moment he is attracted to someone, everyone else fades away from his vision and it's just you.

✖ The only time he'd label the two of you as "partners" was if someone else showed interest in you. If someone casually asked, then no, you two are just hanging out. But if that person was interested in you, Hobie is like:

✖ "Actually, bruv, sorry to say but they're already with me. So, unfortunately, your eyes need to look elsewhere, yeah?"

✖ Pavitr is the equivalent of your pseudo-child/third-wheel. You two pay for his food, give him advice on him and Gayatri, and have him backseat on drives.

✖ Hobie is more of a listener than a talker. He likes to hear about your fixations and interests. His eyes stare at you with a small grin when he hears the moment you become totally excited in talking about your interests.

✖ And it doesn't matter what you're interested in, Hobie learns about it in his own time so he knows what you're talking about with more of an understanding.

✖ While Hobie may seem to not be paying attention sometimes, he actually had quite a good memory and simply pretends to forget when it comes to other people or if it's one of Miguel's orders.

✖ But with you, every word is ingrained into his memory and you'd be surprised that things you told him a long time ago are still present in his mind if something reminds him of it.

✖ He’ll be more than happy to lend some of his things to you! So long as he can do the same with you. If it’s clothing or something, he has specific pieces that are dedicated to himself so he won’t let them be taken from him. If you’re insistent though, he’ll simply make another one for you (with some design choices specifically attuned to you)!

✖ Hobie is very chill when it comes to his partner. He’s not an overly jealous type nor an overprotective one. He has full trust in you to make your own decisions.

✖ Absolutely acts as though his interests are commonplace and fakes surprise when you say you haven’t been exposed to that thing before.

✖ “You wot? Whadja mean you ain’t ever heard of (insert obscure indie film with a $1k budget)? It’s a classic, love, trust. You’ll love it.” It was in fact not one you loved and it was in 144p on a pirated site.

✖ Sometimes Hobie will scare the shit out of you by popping up out of nowhere. You’ll just go to the kitchen to get a snack, come back to your bedroom and Hobie is just chilling at your desk even though he wasn’t there two minutes ago.

✖ Because of his calm nature, he’s actually really good at comfort. If you feel overwhelmed or panicked, Hobie sets you down and calmly grounds you back to reality.

✖ He offers his hands, gently rubbing his thumbs on the back of your hands, and speaks in a calm voice. Once you’ve calmed, he’ll have a sweet smile.

✖ “Welcome back, love… C’mere. You’re alright. M’right here, love.”

✖ Hobie's main Love Languages to give are: Gift Giving and Physical Touch.

✖ Hobie loves to make gifts for you especially if you show interest in his style or anything he owns!

✖ He tends to be possessive over his own things so he'll make you a copy or your own version! Even if it's something time-consuming like making your own version of a vest or garbage pants, he loves spending time to do it if he gets to see the look on your face because of it.

✖ Because he has a massive collection of pins, patches, etc. he'll often hand some to you if he thinks you'll like them.

✖ Hobie's one indication of a "public claim" on you would be a gifted necklace that his guitar pick. On the back, he signed it as "H♡ ".

✖ This man is sly with physical touch. It's purposeful in a way to have you blushing and stuttering.

✖ He especially does it if you are in conversation with someone else just to watch you squirm. Something as simple as passing his hand at the small of your back just to see you fight back a blush or smile has him on cloud nine since he's the only one who can do that to you.

✖ Hobie also loves to rest his chin on top of your head. He'll do it anytime you two are standing around and he just wants to be closer to you.

✖ Hobie's favorite Love Languages to receive are: Quality Time and Words of Affirmation.

✖ There's nothing sweeter to Hobie than seeing his SO go out of their way to make time for him. He may tease about it. Something along the lines of: "Couldn't get enough a' me, hm?" but he really is so honored that you'd want to spend time with him.

✖ He can sometimes disappear at random when he’s on his duty. Coming back to see you in his room has him tearing off his suit and just holding onto you. There’s nothing more comforting than a simple relaxing time in bed with you with low lighting and music playing.

✖ Hobie is an intelligent musician. Words mean everything and the way they are strung together mean more.

✖ You can swear that you’ve never seen Hobie get flustered but Hobie knows how his heart melts at your words.

✖ His favorites are when you give him letters or send songs. He’ll read the letters over and over and read into the lyrics of the song continually.

✖He also loves hearing you compliment him as it gives him reason to turn up his own charm in response.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune