#vitriol halls

[ode-2-joy]

my original character designs are getting steadily more elaborate and harder to draw.

[vulturenest]

CHARACTER INTRODUCTION: SHANK

shank was, is, and will always be a corpse. after nearly dying in a childhood accident, they believed themself to be dead, a ghost or a walking corpse. over time, this belief manifested into reality. they passed away, but their body kept walking. they stopped aging, eating, drinking or sleeping, and eventually, breathing. finally, the universe caught up to it's mistake, sending them to the Halls.

[hollowflay]

honestly i think it's VERY funny that heather's immediate reaction to being sexually attracted to a man is the visceral urge to brutally murder him

[utsugi-ren]

Honestly don't understand the cavetown hate, just admit they're trans in a way you think is cringe

[outer-edges]

OH HALLE BAILEY AND RACHEL ZEGLER ACTORS ON ACTORS VARIETY YOU PERHAPS ATE WITH THIS ONE

[rukunas]

angsty?? deku sucks here (sorry don’t kill me)

“So?” His hands clasp together, steepled in anticipation. “What did that extra get you? Flowers? Chocolates?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.” Dynamight smirks. “I need to know so I can get my girl something better.”

You scoff as you place the bouquet of fresh red roses in a vase on his desk, courtesy of his new model girlfriend. The note, marked with a perfect lipstick stain, taunts you. “Is it a competition?”

“When it’s with Deku?” Dynamight flashes his canines. “Yes.”

“You’ll win either way. I wasn’t lying. He didn’t get me anything.” You do your best to keep the vitriol out of your voice, but there’s still a sharpness hidden in your tone.

Bakugo catches it, smile disappearing and his brows pinching together in an uncharacteristic concerned frown. “Oh… That case from the Commission is probably kicking his ass right now.”

“Yeah.” You shrug stiffly. “Enjoy the flowers.”

You feel like a bitch. Dynamight is right— you’ve seen how much Izuku has been working, spending late nights at his office, traveling abroad, meeting with some big officials in the government. You even told him to not worry for Valentine’s Day.

So, why were you mad? You had no right. And yet, you thought…

Buzz.

Your phone: Sorry baby, will make it back late 2nite :(( Don’t wait up on me

Well. It didn’t matter what you thought.

The day seems everlasting, annoyingly so. You would know— having to watch each of your coworkers get their own little presents and cards throughout the day. It would be just as bad if you went home and swiped through your phone all day, watching couple after couple post about their date plans. Fuck it, you’ll just stay back in the office and work ahead, it’s not like you have anything else to do.

“The fuck are you still doing here?” A gruff voice echoes from the hall.

“Why are you here?” You shot back, eyeing the hero who leans against your door frame. You recall when you first started working for Bakugo as his assistant, nervous to even look at him in the eye. Now, you openly glare at him. “Your date is at 8. It was hard as hell to get that reservation, you better not waste it.”

“She’s busy, said it in the note. Where’s your date?”

“He’s busy.”

He hums lowly before looking away, staring at the clutter on your desk. Precious hero figurines that you’ve been collecting for years are propped up in poses, along with a picture of you and Izuku. It was from so long ago, you barely remember the memory.

“Would you—” He starts.

“Can I—”

Silence takes over as the two of you interrupt one another.

“Sorry. You go.” You gesture at him to continue.

“Come with me. For dinner.”

“Me?”

Maybe it’s an illusion, but you swear the tips of his ear go pink. “You said it yourself. I can’t miss that reservation. And you said you don’t have plans…”

“Okay.”

“Seriously?” He sounds surprised. It makes your lips curl upward, followed by a breathless laugh.

“Why would I say no to free dinner?”

“I never said I was paying.”

“Oh, shut up, Katsuki.” It was not an illusion, you conclude, watching as his cheeks turn the same color pink as his ears. It takes you a moment to realize you said his given name.

“Alright. I’ll start the car.” He turns to walk out. “Check your desk before you go.”

“Huh?” Too late— he’s disappeared around the corridor.

Suspiciously, you scan your desk. Maybe he left some form that needed your signature? A PR proposal? But nothing seems to be out of order…

Wait. You pause, breath catching as you find the one thing that definitely was not there before. The Limited Edition All-Might Golden Figurine—the figure that was one of the ten ever made, and one that you’ve always dreamt of getting your hands on— stands boldly at your desk. You don’t know how you missed it, not knowing when it was placed there. You feel warmth bloom at your chest, knowing the one person who’d given it to you.

With hands still shaking in excitement and awe, you send out a text: I love you and I love the gift! Thanks baby!!

You find yourself grinning from ear to ear as you pack your things into your bag and put on your jacket. As you do so, your phone buzzes. A happy sigh flutters from your lips as you rummage through your purse to grab it. You knew he’d get you something! He wouldn’t have forgotten Valentine’s Day! And he’s gotten you the best gift you have ever gotten—

?? What gift?

You roll your eyes at his faux cluelessness, moving to take a picture of the figurine. But, as you do, you catch the note stuck to the bottom of it.

The handwriting isn’t Izuku’s. Though, you recognize it immediately.

Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope I won.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - modern!au, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, nonconsensual touching, and stalking. written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

“I’ve been thinking about us, again.”

He was barely trying to whisper, his voice loud enough to earn several pointed looks from the people around you. You’d tried to put yourself at a distance from the rest of the class, to sit in a deserted corner of the near-empty lecture hall, but he wouldn’t have cared if you were in the first row. That was something you’d had to learn quickly about him – Kunikuzushi was shameless at the best of times, actively vitriolic at the worst. Your public humiliation wasn’t just a pleasant side-effect of his company, but an active goal he was striving towards during every minute you spent together.

“You don’t have to look so worried – if I was going to break up with you, you’d know.” You kept your eyes trained on the lecturer, your expression schooled to practiced disinterest, but his voice lulled like you’d broken into tears. You felt him shift that much closer to you – his thigh pressing into yours. “I just don’t think we spend enough time together. I know, I know, we’re both busy, but still. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

You were. Just last week, you’d spent two hours locked in your bedroom closet – lights off and knees pulled into your chest – because Kuni had somehow gotten your address and decided it would be a good use of his time to loiter on your doorstep and refuse to leave until you came out. You planned your day-to-day schedule meticulously to make sure it would never bleed into his, went out of your way not to have to go where you knew he would be, but there was only so much you could do to get away from someone willing to blow off his classes and skip work just to spend the better part of a day sending you candid pictures from one of his countless burner phones. You could only be thankful he was too caught up in his own delusions to ever let his obsession turn violent. Lashing out at you for never acknowledging whatever relationship he thought you were in would be akin to admitting you didn’t have a relationship at all, he would never do that.

He took up your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You tried, weakly, to pull away from him, but he only let out a breathy chuckle, his head soon resting on your shoulder. Compared to how he’d acted when you first met – standoffish, bristly, constantly on the verge of losing his temper – he was practically a touch-starved puppy, happy so long as he could sit in your lap and bask in your attention, positive or negative.

If only you’d ever wanted a pet.

“I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say it.” Another laugh, a playful squeeze to your hand. “I think we should move in together.”

You snapped in his direction, your knees jolting against the bottom of your desk and earning a few pointed glares. After mouthing a sheepish apology, you dug your nails into the back of his hand, keeping your voice as low as possible. “Kuni, I— I don’t think that’s—”

“Don’t think it’s practical?” Predictably, he cut you off. “I knew you’d say that. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be able to find the nerve to leave your apartment.” You felt his smile against the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “I’ve already handled it. By the time that moron—“ He rolled his eyes towards your professor. “—shuts up, everything should be taken care of.”

You felt something heavy and sharp drop into the pit of your stomach. “But, you don’t have a key—”

“I made myself a key a couple weeks ago – got tired of waiting for you to offer. I love you, babe, but you’re too timid for your own good.” His grin, pressed the curve of your throat. “You can thank me later on, after I’ve shown you our new place.”

His hand fell to your thigh, just a touch too high not to trigger some buried, primal instinct inside of you. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate – bolting upward and tearing yourself away from him. Your chair scaped against the tile floor, your palms slamming against the desk, and in an instant, every pair of eyes in the lecture hall were on you. The professor scowled in your direction, his ire tangible. “Do you have something to say, (L/n)?”

You opened your mouth, but your mouth was dry, your throat suddenly swollen shut. Your gaze fell back to Kuni – his smile still wide and his eyes still so, so dark.

Wordlessly, you shook your head and collapsed back into your seat. As the lecture picked back up and all concentration was returned to the front of the rom, Kuni latched onto you once again, his hold twice as strong and twice as suffocating as it had been.

It was almost a comfort to know that, this time, there wasn’t anything you could do to get away from him.

[marichild]

satosugu fics i entreat everyone to read

these are just some of the amazing fics I’ve read! I highly recommend every single one to my fellow satosugu lovers. you won’t regret it, I promise.

Carry Me Home by @valleykey [58.4k, completed, T]

The boy shifts on his feet. “The year is two thousand and eighteen? Common Era?” Slowly, smile still plastic on his face, Suguru faces Satoru. This fucking dumbass. “Satoru,” he says, dangerous edge to his voice, “what did you do?” Satoru makes some bastardization of a sound, half between a laugh and a cough.  “...Whoops?”  “I,” Suguru grits, pinching two fingers together, “am this close to mass murder.” He’s joking.  Probably.  ///OR: Shortly before Geto would have massacred a village, he and Gojo are thrust eleven years forward into a would-have-been future that Geto is conspicuously absent from.

愛のある場所; river of light (that brings me to you) by @yuzudetergent [66.8k, completed, T]

A lesson in love is a lesson in swimming. Except for Suguru, it's getting dropped into the deep end with the tide licking at his neck, no kickboard or life preserver keeping him afloat. (Or: This is how Satoru finds the ocean.)

achilles, only the dead stay seventeen forever by getou_suguru (dheiress) [7.9k, ongoing, T]

He looks like a little kid, insouciant and irreverent, smiling at you like that. This is how you want to remember him. “Winter snow melts into Spring, of course!” You open your mouth to laugh and laugh and laugh and— His breath tastes, inexplicably, like spun sugar and honey on your tongue.  (Gojou Satoru is not a God, not yet. But He will be and you think (you know) that you will be  the first to kneel in worship and offer Him your blood, your flesh. Build Him a temple inside the circle of your arms until He sinks inside your ribcage, there to dwell safe and sound and beating just for you.)  ((Pay attention, now. This is a story about how a boy—the Hallowed one, the enlightenment of all, the one who rose high above others, the one and only—fell.))

Always an Angel (Never a God) by 0atmlk [44.6k, ongoing, M]

"The first time I saw the sunset here, I wanted to send you a picture."  Suguru looked at him, surprised. "Why didn't you?"  "Because I knew you’d been here before on your own, it was probably something you'd seen plenty of times." Satoru paused. "But I almost did. Opened it and everything to send to you. Then I saw the date of the last message you sent. We were pushing year three. So I didn't." . . .  Suguru finds Satoru at fifteen. Satoru finds him at twenty-eight.

I’m Sorry: In Various Translations by @koifishscribbles [45.9k, ongoing, M]

The coffee in Satoru’s stomach curdles. He feels the weight of every one if those eight years roll through his entire body like an earthquake. All the missed sleep clings to his eyes, and the unsent texts threaten to erupt from his mouth. Getou Suguru. It is not that his stitches unravel. Those took years to craft, cinched with vitriol, and won’t be undone in a single moment. It’s his very being that unspools onto the dirty linoleum floor. He wants Suguru to pick him up and untangle the length of him. His fingers once again becoming familiar as they expertly craft him into something new, better.  —— Gojo Satoru has not seen his ex, Getou Suguru, since college. Until he shows up one day teaching in the classroom across the hall from him.

an anthology of bad ideas by ilovegetosuguru [9.5k, completed, gen]

Gojo panics and asks a very attractive stranger to be his fake boyfriend for a wedding.  Here’s the problem — there’s no wedding.  (Fake Dating AU)

april pink by @valleykey [3k, completed, gen]

“Dude,” Satoru says, first thing off the train, glasses sliding down, wide eyes peering over the rim, “you have, like, flowers. In your lungs.” “Oh really,” Suguru says, dry, “I hadn't noticed.”

Puppet On A String by @killjoyproductions [6.8k, completed, E]

“Huh,” he muses. “Are you… saving yourself for marriage?”  “Nope.”  “Are you asexual?”  Satoru shakes his head. “I’m not asexual, just a virgin.”

Autonomic Breath by finalproject [10.9k, completed, E]

She turns to Satoru and asks, "When did you know?"

Lies That Bind by Anonymous [48.1k, ongoing, E]

“Really now,” Gakuganji snorted, doubtful. “How convenient. Who is this alpha, then?” And of course, Satoru had seen that question coming as soon as his claim of having a mate was halfway out of his mouth, but by that point he was already talking and it was too late to stop. “So nosy.” He wagged his finger in a tut-tut motion in the geezer’s face, watching him turn a horrible shade of angry red. “It’s Geto Suguru, of course.” Satoru's sick and tired of all the higher-ups insisting he needs to find an alpha and settle down just because he's an omega, and the simple lie that Suguru is his mate seems like the easiest way to get some peace and quiet. What could go wrong?

like the tides, never standing still. by antepuer [1.1k, completed, T]

“I fucking hate it sometimes.” Suguru taps the ash off and looks at him. Puppy-dog eyes, has no idea what Satoru refers to, but it would be far from the first time. “What do you mean?” “Being queer.” He finally admits. “It fucking sucks.”

once we have sufficiently tortured one another by irrevenance [4.6k, completed, E]

Suguru’s throat goes dry. “You’re no longer a sorcerer,” he realizes, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat in response to the sick joke that has laid itself before him. “And you came to me?” “Yes,” Satoru says pleasantly. “What will you do about it,” and here he lowers both his eyelashes and his tone, a mockery of seduction, “Getou-sama?”

the dream house by irrevenance [6.1k, completed, E]

Suguru adopts two little girls, marries Satoru, and becomes a teacher. It’s not enough.

where shall we go tomorrow? by elivellichor [15k, ongoing, T]

“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you want from me?” a raspy voice hisses, breath on the shell of his ear, knocking Suguru out of his daze. Suguru tilts his chin up to better meet his pursuit face to face and goes breathless. Enraged and fiery cerulean eyes stare down at him with a twisted expression. This child is undeniably Gojo Satoru. He can’t imagine any other with a disposition so fiery and confrontational.  Or: an indulgent age-regression fic featuring One (1) Baby Gojo Satoru and One (1) Very Tired Geto Suguru feat. healing <3

Caesura by @cielelyse [85.5k, completed, M]

The first time they meet, Suguru and Satoru do not like each other. Arrogant, cocky, insufferable, they think. Despite the smirks Shoko gives Suguru, or the sighs Yaga gives Satoru, they do not like each other. Until a mission changes that.

it's not gay unless the domains touch by @hollow-lime-green [40.2k, completed, E]

Funny thing is, when you put up walls made of infinity, you don’t expect people to start slipping in. And you certainly don’t expect to start wanting them to. Gojo Satoru never had a chance to get used to people touching him. Suguru gets that, and he’s happy to help. That’s what good friends do, right? Alternatively: Geto Suguru is the most oblivious man alive.

two sorcerers chillin' in a hot tub (five feet apart cause they’re not gay) by @hollow-lime-green

Geto Suguru has almost two decades of practice pretending not to see things that are clearly there, and Gojo Satoru has a well-documented history of being the most socially-stunted motherfucker alive. That’s how they got here. That’s also why neither of them know where the hell they’re going with this.

BONUS! Baby Mine by @seaemberthesecond

There was something just slightly off in every interaction between Gojo-sensei and Fushiguro and once Yuji’d begun to notice it, he couldn’t unsee it. It wasn’t a bad kind of off – at least he didn’t think so – but it was just different from the way either of them acted around everyone else. * Or, Yuji's journey to discovering that Megumi is Gojo's baby boy, featuring: an insane amount of simping, the mundane indignities of being a parent, and a lot of Yuji snooping in places he really shouldn't be.

(aka, that fic I go back to all the time. gojo being megumi’s dad will never not be one of my favorite things ever.) (clearly)

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 4

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Mentions of Cannibalism, Choking

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Ok, so clearly I'm a big fat liar. I'm sorry this chapter also took ages. I think I'm just a slow writer lmao. Anyway, it was fun writing this so I hope you guys enjoy it. As always, thanks for all the lovely comments I appreciate them a lot. Take care and have a good one!

"Where is he?" you snarl as you march through the halls gripping Iassa's choker. "Where is the na-Baron?" Your voice a threat.

"He is doing his morning drills, my lady," Zora, your new servant chases after you, growing increasingly panicked, "he trains with the Warmaster."

You pick up your pace, "Take me to him." When Zora hesitates, you yell, "Now!"

When you arrive, Feyd-Rautha is sparring with who you assume to be the Harkonnen Warmaster in a shallow recessed pit in the center of the training room.

"Where is she?" you call from the doorway, your voice filled with vitriol.

Your unexpected presence catches Feyd-Rautha off-guard and his sparring partner manages to cut his right abdomen through his shield. He growls at the Warmaster and snaps his head to you, "I am preoccupied at the moment, my lady."

"Where is Iassa?" your glare pierces through him.

"Who?" he asks genuinely confused.

Your grip on the choker tightens, "Don't pretend. The servant girl assigned to me. You left this in my room, didn't you?" The realization he had snuck into your quarters while you were asleep quietly creeps on you. "What have you done with her."

"Ah," he tilts his head, ignoring his bleeding wound, "I thought about just cutting her tongue out." A smirk grows on his lips, "but my darlings were hungry."

It was only then you noticed his concubines in the room, lounging in a corner of pillows. Their sharp-toothed grins only stoked your fury.

You scoff in anger, "because she revealed your farce? Are you so insecure?"

Is cocky expression evolves into a glare. "Leave us," he orders, eyes staying on yours. Servants flood out of the room asking with the Warmaster but it seems his pets were exempt from this command. "Why do you cry for a girl you knew less than two days?"

He was right. Why do you care so much? You were hardly 'close' with Iassa. You've had servants on Caladan and you were never particular with any of them. Would you anger for them the same way? Why must you suddenly be a paragon of justice? And at the risk of the Harkonnens' contempt?

When you remain speechless, the na-Baron continues, "You may not be familiar with slaves but here, their death is inconsequential—save for the economics of it all."

"Is that so?" You look at his pets then back at him. Your breath is dragon-like and your tone hardens, "then relieve your concubines."

"What?" Feyd-Rautha's low voice echoes through the room. His concubines hiss at you from their raised platform.

You stand taller, shoulders back, still clutching Iassa's choker in your hand, "If I am to be your wife, I demand you take no other women."

He takes a moment to determine how serious you are being, then decides it doesn't matter. He walks up the steps surrounding the pit and you aren't given time to react before he has your neck in his grip. "You are in no place to demand such things, Atreides." His black gritted teeth at the last word match the darkness of his voice.

Your hands fly to claw at his wrist, "How dare you lay a hand on me." You struggle against his unrelenting grip, "Let go of me!"

He leans down to your ear, "You're a feisty one, aren't you, little hawk?" You feel his hold continue to tighten and panic rises in your chest. Before you can be rendered speechless, you make a decision.

"UNHAND ME."

The Voice echos from your mouth seizing Feyd-Rautha's mind and his hand releases your throat. As you gasp desperately for air, he attempts to recover from the haze of the mental intrusion. When he finds his bearings, you see the thrill in his dark eyes. Witch, you can almost hear him say.

"Aren't you just full of surprises," he smirks.

"And I will have many more," you say bitterly. Straightening your dress, you regain your self-assured stance and meet his eyes with a cold stare, "Be rid of your harpies before we are wed or I will kill them myself."

You don't spare his concubines a glance as you turn to leave. You don't see the way Feyd-Rautha looks at you, head tilted, as you storm off.

You dismiss Zora and lock yourself in your chambers. Sprawled out on your bed, you stare up at the dark gray ceiling and question what could have possibly possessed you to challenge Feyd-Rautha the way you did. You go back and forth on whether or not it was an overreaction but eventually chalk it up to the Atreides' fiery defiance. Certainly, it wasn't the brightest decision but you sense that your father and brother would not have condemned it. Your heart is still pounding from the encounter. And the flicker in Fey-Rautha's eyes—you dismiss the idea that he might have enjoyed it.

You had hoped to hide your mother's training for longer. She had trained you and Paul in The Voice and Prana-Bindu. As a high-born lady, you could have been sent to a Bene Gesserit School in your formative years, but it was decided against due to Baron Vladimir's thinly veiled aversion to The Sisterhood. So, Lady Jessica resolved to teach you in secret. You were grateful for it anyway as you didn't have to be separated from your family. You think about how your mother would be able to continue to train Paul without you. You had always been more adept at The Voice than him. Now, he has the opportunity to surpass you. The thought triggers your competitiveness against your sibling but the feeling quickly melts into melancholy. You miss him. You miss all of them.

Is this to be your life? Married to a twisted psycho who feeds his concubines human flesh and kills people you care about? You sit up and place Iassa's choker carefully in the drawer of your nightstand. You hoped she didn't fear you as she did the Harkonnens.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. You had really hoped no one would bother you for the rest of the day but then you feel the emptiness in your stomach. You had skipped breakfast that day to confront the na-Baron. When you open the door, Zora is holding a covered tray which you assumed, and hoped, to be lunch.

"Would my lady like to eat in solitude?" she asks after she sets your meal at the small table in your quarters. Your heart sinks. She is so young.

"Ah no, I would like you to stay if that's alright." You sit at your table and cut into your food while Zora stands politely to the side. "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. The na-Baron—my fiancé—he has caused me some aggravation."

"It is quite alright, my lady," she says, her head bowed low.

After your meal, you ask Zora to fetch you various projections on the planet of Giedi Prime from the Harkonnen archives. You were hesitant to make the request considering the fate of your last servant but you hoped you managed to convince Feyd-Rautha you were not to be trifled with. Besides, what harm could you do by learning about flora and fauna.

You spent the rest of the day watching informative holograms about your new home's ecology and biodiversity. Apparently, one of the planet's greatest exports is wood from the Pilingitam tree which is prized for its pliability when freshly cut but sturdy hardness once aged and dried. It was also anti-fungal and naturally fire-resistant. It was a surprise you didn't see much of it. Everything in the fortress was cold stone and concrete. You wonder how beautiful furniture made out of Pilingitam must be when carved by a skilled artist.

That night, you make sure to lock your door and fall asleep to images of sprawling landscapes.

The following day was similarly spent, watching projections about Giedi Prime's geographical features. You were left undisturbed save for Zora's quiet knocks on your door to serve your meals. Your life as a baroness is days away so you might as well educate yourself. Although, you suppose you should probably focus on politics and history more than the planet's Obsidian Planes but you weren't really in the mood to learn of the Harkonnens' gruesome past right now. You would cross that bridge when you got there.

Come evening, you hear an unfamiliar knock at your door. Zora had already brought you dinner earlier so you are wary as you crack open the door.

"Hello, little hawk." Feyd-Rautha's tall figure looms past the doorway.

You stare him down, making no move to let him in.

He tilts his head slightly, "Would you really kill my darlings?"

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove

[leftistfeminista]

Trolls Used Her Face to Make Fake Porn. There Was Nothing She Could Do.

Sabrina Javellana was a rising star in local politics — until deepfakes derailed her life.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/31/magazine/sabrina-javellana-florida-politics-ai-porn.html

Most mornings, before walking into City Hall in Hallandale Beach, Fla., a small city north of Miami, Sabrina Javellana would sit in the parking lot and monitor her Twitter and Instagram accounts. After winning a seat on the Hallandale Beach city commission in 2018, at age 21, she became one of the youngest elected officials in Florida’s history. Her progressive political positions had sometimes earned her enemies: After proposing a name change for a state thoroughfare called Dixie Highway in late 2019, she regularly received vitriolic and violent threats on social media; her condemnation of police brutality and calls for criminal-justice reform prompted aggressive rhetoric from members of local law enforcement. Disturbing messages were nothing new to her.

The morning of Feb. 5, 2021, though, she noticed an unusual one. “Hi, just wanted to let you know that somebody is sharing pictures of you online and discussing you in quite a grotesque manner,” it began. “He claims that he’s one of your ‘guy friends.’”

Javellana froze. Who could have sent this message? She asked for evidence, and the sender responded with pixelated screenshots of a forum thread that included photos of her. There were comments that mentioned her political career. Had her work drawn these people’s ire? Eventually, with a friend’s help, she found a set of archived pages from the notorious forum site 4chan. Most of the images were pulled from her social media and annotated with obscene, misogynistic remarks: “not thicc enough”; “I would breed her”; “no sane person would date such a stupid creature.” But one image further down the thread stopped her short. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror with her head tilted to the side, smiling playfully. She had posted an almost identical selfie, in which she wore a brown crew-neck top and matching skirt, to her Instagram account back in 2015. “It was the exact same picture,” Javellana said of the doctored image. “But I wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

There were several more. These were deepfakes: A.I.-generated images that manipulate a person’s likeness, fusing it with others to create a false picture or video, sometimes pornographic, in a way that looks authentic. Although fake explicit material has existed for decades thanks to image-editing software, deepfakes stand out for their striking believability. Even Javellana was shaken by their apparent authenticity.

“I didn’t know that this was something that happened to everyday people,” Javellana told me when I visited her earlier this year in Florida. She wondered if anyone else had seen the photos or the abusive comments online. Several of the threads even implied that people on the forum knew her. “I live in Broward County,” one comment read. “She just graduated from FIU.” Other users threatened sexual violence. In the days that followed, Javellana became increasingly fearful and paranoid. She stopped walking alone at night and started triple-checking that her doors and windows were locked before she slept. In an effort to protect her personal life, she made her Instagram private and removed photographs of herself in a bathing suit.

Discovering the images changed how Javellana operated professionally. Attending press events was part of her job, but now she felt anxious every time someone lifted their camera. She worried that public images of her would be turned into pornography, so she covered as much of her body as she could, favoring high-cut blouses and blazers. She knew she wasn’t acting rationally — people could create new deepfakes regardless of how much skin she showed in the real world — but changing her style made her feel a sense of control. If the deepfakes went viral, no one could look at how she dressed and think that she had invited this harassment.

[ode-2-joy]

vitriol halls: 1

Four days.

It's been four days since you woke up here with four strangers.

You still don't know much about them, really.

You know their first names but not their last, or even if they have any. You know you're the youngest, but not by how much. You don't even know where they're from, other than the fact that they're clearly not from where you're from.

From what you can gather, Emily is the closest. Sure, she's seventy years or so in the past, fashion wise, but vintage clothes aren't the strangest thing you've seen. Not when Delmonico is wearing a cloak of red fur and raven feathers. Not when Anya is married to a half orc. Not when Scratch… well, everything about Scratch is more than enough to understand she's not like you.

You're tired. You've been tired for four days, since you first opened your eyes to the dark, damp hallways of this nightmarish place.

They never seemed to end, bending back on each other in impossible ways at impossible angles, tangling together and practically devouring themselves, devouring you, eating you and your companions alive. Well, companions was a strong term. Fellow mice in the maze, fellow bites in the gullet, fellow shits in the sewer drain.

"Caspian," Someone murmurs, forcing you to finally admit you're awake, cracking open one eye to squint up at the face leaning over you. "Come on, food's ready."

You exhale, sitting up slowly. Your back hurts.

"How'd you sleep?" Emily asks.

"I want to kill myself, for one thing," You respond, calmly. "Or Delmonico."

Delmonico chuckles from where he's hunched over the fire. "Sorry sweetcheeks."

You don't respond to that, hauling yourself to your feet. Emily helps steady you, and you sigh, cracking each of your joints as loudly as you can, glancing around the fire, taking in everyone's state.

Emily looks about as exhausted as you feel. Her wig sits carefully on her head as always, but her dress is wrinkled, and her makeup is smeared. Her housewife display is faultering, but as she catches your eye, she pushes her shoulders back and pushes her jaw out.

Anya looks fine, about as fine as she did when you all first woke up, at least. She's brushing her hair, the soft waves no longer braided with beads and jewelry, but still soft looking. You don't like Anya much, but you have to admit her vanity has a basis in reality. She is unfortunately, once you get past the beard and the fact she's no more than three feet tall, very pretty.

Scratch is chewing on a cigarette you'd given her a couple days before. She doesn't smoke it- she knows you only have a couple left, just gnaws on it. Her short white hair sticks straight up, and she isn't wearing her sunglasses, making her look so much more deranged and less intimidating than usual, her Terminator-like build shrunken in on itself as she stokes the fire.

Delmonico, on the other hand, seems to take up the whole hall, his massive figure casting shadows that swallow everything. His wild mane of dark hair falls down his back, and his open shirt is rolled up to reveal the methodical, parallel scars on his forearms. He catches you looking and winks, giving you a smile that seems almost taunting.

You ignore him.

A few hours later, you've all packed up and begun walking, in the same direction you'd been travelling in the night before. You're not sure it was night, really. You're not sure of much.

The walls all look the same, crumbling stone brick with an occasional torch. You're not sure how the torches are burning still, but you assume it's whatever bullshit magic brought you here in the first place.

After an hour or so, Delmonico stretches dramatically, reaching his arms over his head, and opens his mouth to speak.

Scratch cuts him off with a raised hand.

"Did you guys hear that?" She hisses, and you feel your stomach plunge. The monsters in this hellscape are fast, and you don't know if you're ready to run right now.

"Hear what?" Anya asks, a little too loud, and Emily thumps her on the shoulder with the back of her hand.

"I heard something… footsteps?"

You wrap your hands around the pocket knife you carry with you. It won't do much, you know, but as you hear the gentle tapping finally come into earshot, you decide to go out swinging.

And then the footsteps pause, just around the corner up ahead, and there's a complete, total silence, broken only by the hiss of Delmonico drawing his knife.

"Oh, if I come out, you mustn't attack!"

You all freeze, staring at the darkness. You almost expect a gnome to pop out, but there's nothing.

"Who's there?" Anya asks, again, a little too loudly. "Come out with your hands up!"

Around the corner creeps two pale hands, followed by the sleeves of a heavy grey overcoat, and then…

"Rat man." Delmonico says simply, sheathing his knife again.

"Ah! I am a goblin, actually-" The rat headed… thing says in a very helpful tone. "-There's quite a difference!"

Delmonico hums, a crooked grin resting on his lips as he clearly thinks something very mean.

"Hi," Emily starts. "I'm Emily, this is Caspian-"

"And Anya and Delmonico and Scratch!" The goblin says jovially. "My name is The One Who Hides! You may call me Hide!"

You all sit in silence for a moment, just staring at it in befuddelment. It seems utterly unbothered.

"How do you… how do you know our names?" You ask, when it seems abundantly clear no one else will.

"Oh, I know lots about you five, don't you worry!" It wiggles its very humanlike fingers playfully.

"That's… what?"

"What?"

You glance at the others, who seem as baffled and concerned as you, with the exception of Delmonico, who looks just as cruelly amused as he always does.

You don't like Delmonico very much.

[vulturenest]

CHARACTER INTRODUCTION: DELMONICO MONTEZ

after a very neglectful and abusive early childhood, delmonico attempted to kill his spoiled younger sister, which only resulted in him being thrown away to a monastery, where his life only got worse. eventually, he joined the criminal underground, joining the crew along with sandra, john doe, copernicus, and greidon. after he got sandra arrested to save his own hide, he decided to flee the area, trying to hunt down a manticore to prove his worth. he failed, died, and was sent to the Halls.

[joffyworld]

Shamura -

They of Knowledge and War

It's hard to remember much these days.

Often it's impossible to remember anything at all,

To recall the finer details and find my way;

It's as if I've been entangled in a darkened red shawl:

I can see beyond the darkness in glimpses of authenticity,

I can reach past the madness and almost touch what has now been repealed.

But there remains a thin veil between myself and the truth;

It feels insurmountable as I fall into my minds' obscurity.

Godly ichor seeps out of the wound naught can yet heal,

I sit there and watch it drip down till they come with more news

Were my past machinations truly mine or those of fate?

It's increasingly difficult to make it back from the fall.

Do I deserve these conditions for living a life full of hate?

I know those who claim to be my siblings don't deserve a life that's so cruel.

Even if I recover what awaits? A world of stability?

Can such a world, with us in it, even be real?

Every day I awake is a veritable who's who.

Did the past-me ever imagine a life of such vulnerability?

Are these the consequences of taking actions guided with zeal?

I see strange faces come and go, they mutter "we love you"

When I gave the order, was I at all even phased?

It seems so out of character, so unusual.

They tell me it was desperation that changed how I behaved;

But would a God of Knowledge really resort to adding to the fire more fuel?

Was it just of us to punish curiosity?

Was it righteous of us to tell our brother to kneel?

It didn't feel correct to leave a sibling askew.

When we plunged the chains through his limbs in this violent atrocity,

Did any of us leave room to heal?

Or had we already broken through the time to heal and break through to you?

Now when I close my eyes I see a void-white gate,

Standing at the end of a long, dark hall.

Traversing the barrier I spy a long-hewn lake,

I bellow loudly to its occupant, but they never hear my call.

I see my voice extend, almost physically, with such velocity.

But it quickly recoils, and is brought to its heel.

It was you whom I had called to,

You, my brother the Lord of Death and magnanimity.

I remember once you heard my voice, I watched it make you reel,

I suppose the voice you least expect is that which has betrayed you.

As I heal slowly all that's left is to ruminate,

Reflect on the ways in which I failed my thrall.

It drives me ever closer to the madness that consumes and degenerates:

Across my mind does it sprawl, a slaughter-hall of the attentive and philosophical.

That which once saw every angle and possibility has ultimately been replaced by this vacant unpredictability.

The madness has caused my brain to slowly allow the crown to congeal.

The crown's influence spreads with its purple-hazed hue,

The cue to allow the crown to finally take responsibility, to be rid of the me that was me and become without humility,

I can feel myself slipping away, until all I can recall is the ordeal;

The ordeal that took you.

I remember walking up to those ivory arches and the cacophony of silence that followed. The wave of the trees from the wind, the exposed roots struggling against the combatant wind at every turn of their opponent.

I remember the darkness filling the air where once there stood nothing, blackened tar swirling with vitriol at every second it hung so loosely in our world. The almost viscous substance that materialised in an instant, and seemed so eager to disappear as quickly as it had come.

I remember the eyes that peered down and gazed upon the windows of my soul with unknowable intent. How they scanned every detail of my form, how they analyzed without repent every single finite piece of me as though I were a piece of discarded art, thrown away by its creator, then remembered and gazed upon once more for its flaws, not its graces.

For long there was silence, glares exchanged and stances readied. Longer still was the time that passed, every second felt an hour, every minute felt a day, yet little passed at all but a matter of minutes in the days stead.

Then it spoke, measured, calm, poised:

"Son of Sun, God of War, God of Knowledge that you are. We beseech you listen closely, for your foes they closely are. They tread and thread within your web so take caution when you spin. The conspiracy lies deep inside, and you are deep within. Illusions of your safety work vice versa with yourself. Take heart in what companions you trust deeply with your wealth. There lies only one within the five that you should dare to question. You mistrust and pray that that's enough but irony's your predilection. There will come a day where you will say, that you had known for better. You will dull the pain with maddened songs that tell of your grief's measure.

Make your choice, They of War, but pray caution when you move. It is time to right your wrongs,

Just make sure your wrongs don't right you."

[foxconfessorandthewolf]

Okay, so I’m a bit wine drunk but I don’t think I’ve ever really articulated why I love Snarry together and I’m currently trying to finish a fic after taking a three-year-hiatus from writing these two, so this is probably a good exercise!

I’m a bit on the older side of fandom, having been a fanartist and fervent reader since 2003, so my connection was really sparked during that time between OOTP and HBP when Snape and Harry were at some of their most clashing and deeply vitriolic, forced together into hateful vulnerability by Occulmency lessons. Every scene between them was electric, laced with tension as we truly did not know how things would go, or even where Snape’s true loyalties lay. He was an unknown, tied up with Harry’s own family’s mysterious past, connected to Harry in a myriad of odd ways that few other characters were, and - as a rivals-to-lovers lover - I was fascinated by him. From that first moment when they lock eyes in the Great Hall and that frisson of pain shoots through Harry’s scar, I desperately wanted to know who the hell this man was and his story. I think a lot of Snarry shippers come to the ship with a special appreciation for Severus Snape’s character himself. He’s such an incredibly drawn character, rich with complexity, complicated and pretty fucked up, with clearly-held passions, hatreds, weaknesses, and motivations. He’s emotional in a way a lot of other characters aren’t, though I think he’d loathe to hear that. And his character voice! It’s unique and pitch-perfect. You always know exactly who is speaking with his lines. Honestly, the way he evolved from a spy/traitor stock character to become so multifaceted and enigmatic is a masterpiece of characterization, and it’s an aspect of why I’m drawn to him - there’s still so much about his origins and well, what his damage was, that we don’t know. Because of this, I especially love Snarry fics that delve into character studies of him, trying to explore all the shadows left behind. I also admit I have a preference for interpreting Snape as morally grey. I like him petty, sharp-tongued, ambitious, with an incredibly liquid definition of what is right and wrong. He’s self-interested, dripping with disdain, and really doesn’t see that as a problem. What happens to him when he deeply falls in love?

I love a ship that makes me work for it. There’s no obvious line of how Snape and Harry might wind up together, so each fic is a wealth of possibilities of bringing these two together despite their roadblocks. As I mentioned, I’m big fan of animosity in a ship. Give me rivals, give me enemies, give me the sparking passions, the sharp fury, the way they stoke each others’ emotions and seek to hurt, the racing hearts, the raised hackles, the intense emotional reaction to another person. Just throw it at me. I devour that shit. I love the messy and taboo nature of their relationship, the complications raising from their age difference, temperaments, and largely similar and shared traumas. There’s an interesting element of Snape being a foil to James Potter, and how that relates to Harry and their past. Basically, this shit is really good potting soil for incredible fucking fics, packed with nutrients.

The shared natures of their traumas, like Voldemort and each being forgotten and abused as children and how they might be able to understand each other and bond from it is also something that’s fascinating to explore. I love when a writer pushes on Snape’s bruises, looking to make them hurt, cracking his sardonic brain open and rooting around in there, and I love when they compare and contrast to Harry’s. There’s a seductiveness to how Snape is so obsessed with Harry, fixated on his Boy Who Lived heroic reputation, clearly dripping with envy. What, beyond jealousy, might draw Snape to Harry and what, other than hatred, might draw Harry to Snape?

It’s all this, the passionate, electric, dangerous nature of their relationship; the way their characters contrast each other yet have surprising connections; and the question of finding solace that keeps me here, 21 years later. I’ve had wines less complex than this ship. They’re fascinating. They’re messy. They’re everything.

[crossposted from a reddit comment I just left, and wanted to share with y��all]

[thedeathdoctor]

Safe House of Horrors

Pairing: Symbiote Ghost x Eldritch Horror König x AFAB! Reader

Summary:

Warnings: smut -> monsterfucking, mind reading, tentacles, anal, voyeurism, masturbation

A/N: I hope this doesn't get too confusing, but I'll be using Ghost in bold like this to refer to the symbiote. If the word is unbolded it refers to Simon Riley himself.

based on this post by @tacticalanklebiter3000 and this post by @devilanon

Ghost scanned the new additions from KorTac as they chatted in the mess hall. His eyes settled on the big one in the sniper hood and the small one sitting opposite.

König, they called the large man. "King. Who names themself -King-?" Gaz had whispered to him earlier. You, the tiny one, carried the name Medusa, and was rarely seen away from his side. They were partners, but Simon couldn't help his thoughts of them together. Displays of affection between them weren't kept with the strictest of secrecy, and he couldn't help the mix of jealousy and desire that bubbled up in his chest at the sight. He hadn't realized how long he had been comfortable in his role as the biggest guy in 141, but König was bigger still - how did you manage to take him?

At times, the sounds of you and König in the midst of passionate lovemaking drifted through mercilessly thin walls and into Simon's quarters. All too often, your lewd vocalizations were punctuated by the undeniable rhythmic slap of his hips on your ass and the creaking protests of the cot underneath. Simon would let his eyes close and take himself in hand, imagining himself delivering punishing backshots, hands wrapped around your squishy waist as he fucked delicious moans out of you.

"You're thinking about them again, aren't you, Simon?"

The voice, an oily purr, snaked forward from the depths of his mind.

"Not you agai-"

"Not you thinking about him splitting her open again, Simon. Pretending you aren't thinking about how tight her little pussy is before he works her open enough to take his cock so nicely. You're pathetic, you know?"

Simon set his jaw and fixed his eyes directly on the tray in front of him.

"Look at you, pretending to be the ever stoic Lieutenant when both you and I know about how you really feel about them. The way you think of them as you rut into your pitiful hand at night, wishing that it was her touch you felt instead."

It hisses the words with such vitriol that has Simon replacing the mask over his face, cheeks burning with humiliation. He picks up his tray from the table, placing it in the proper receptacle, and leaving the canteen without a second glance towards the recruits.

Embroiled in silent back and forth with the voice, he did not notice the pair of eyes that followed him until he disappeared past the doorway.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite the depths of Simon Riley's depraved imagination, he'd never once wondered about what lay beneath the dark veil of the operator known as König.

But you knew.

Oh, God, you knew.

König had you spread out on his bed, lazily pulsing a tentacle in and out of your ass when he brought up an Idea.

"Liebling, what do you think of the one they call Ghost?"

"Ghost?" You cocked your head quizzically.

"The Brit who wears the skull mask. Lieutenant. Don't play coy with me, Schatz, he's talked to you once or twice."

Of course you knew who he was referring to. The other massive beast of a man on base. Delicious, gravelly British accent and intense eyes behind his mask. The strong, silent type who observed from afar and noticed every detail. Massive thighs with vascular forearms to match.

König, of course, already knew many of your shameless thoughts about the man when he'd probed your mind on more than one occasion. You had a type. He just wanted you to admit it out loud and see you so beautifully flustered.

"Yeah, but not many times. He doesn't really talk to anyone, to be honest. Not much to say about him."

"So you haven't been thinking about how ride-able his thighs look in his drop leg bag harness or the feeling of your neck in the crook of his arm as he fucks you deep into a chokehold, mein Hase?"

As he'd predicted, your face flushed as you attempted to deny the fantasies he'd pulled from your very thoughts.

"So...maybe...I've thought about him a little...! What about it, König?"

"He's an interesting one... Tell me, how would you like it if he were to join us in the bedroom... just as an idea..."

"You think he's the kind that wants to watch...?"

"Is that all you'd really want him to do? Just watch?"

"I mean... I wouldn't mind more... if that's what he wants..."

"But what do you want, Schatz?"

"You know what I want, Koni..."

A second tentacle slithered up your thighs and began rubbing circles around your clit.

"I want to hear you say it out loud to me. What do you want from both Ghost and I?"

Your breath hitched as heat began to pool in your core.

"I want Ghost and you to fuck me... wanna be shared... and ruined..." you whispered.

"Good girl."

König gave you a hum of approval and began to pulse the tentacle in your ass against your sweet spot, rewarding you for the response. He admired the way your slick dripped from your neglected pussy, adding more lubrication to the tight ring of muscle around him.

"Now, come for me. I want to hear how good I make you feel, Liebling."

Letting your eyes close, you imagined the pleasure coming from Ghost this time. König hardly needed to probe your mind to know this for himself.

On the other side of the wall, your moans grew more audible to the man stroking his cock. As he listened to your whines, he thought of how he'd love to eclipse your tiny body just like König, massive hands wrapping around your wrists and pinning you to the bed as he ruts deep into you. He wanted to earn every one of those delicious moans for himself, feeling you writhe with pleasure under him.

His motions intensified with your moans, seeking to release the moment you did, yearning to feel the same pleasure as you. Right as he felt himself on the precipice, he heard you whimper out a word he hadn't expected.

"G-Ghost!"

It sent him over the edge immediately, sinking to his knees and desperately trying to stifle his full-bodied groan. Trembling hands attempted to cup the tip of his penis as he struggled to keep each spurt of cum from making a mess of his quarters. Hot, milky fluid leaked between his fingers and dripped from his knuckles as he lunged for something to clean himself off with. The shirt from his earlier workout would have to do, and as he began to wipe himself down, a familiar voice spoke up to him.

"God, you're pathetic Simon."

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka // Female Reader

Summary: It's your job to translate. But when Jake asks for private Spanish lessons, it complicates things. You try to fight it, but one night the fight gets all too real. And you realise you need him more than you ever thought you could.

Trigger Warnings: Mild S/H. Physical Violence. Full penetrative sex. Foreplay including oral. All the usual smut warnings.

"En español, Jake!" You admonished, tapping your finger down onto the page with vitriol.

He looked up at you with a frustrated sigh. As if the words were swimming around in his head but simply refused to spill out of his poised mouth.

"I'm so sorry." He apologised, slamming the book closed. "I just can't imagine why you haven't punched me in the face yet."

You had a little sympathy for him. Learning a new language in adulthood was fastidiously hard. You'd watched him for hours trying to curl his tongue around the way things were spoken in conjunction to how they were written down.

"The thought may have crossed my mind." You replied playfully, stashing the book back in your bag.

He watched you gathering your things together. Leaning back in his chair, arm draped casually down the back as you tried to pretend that you weren't aware.

"Why won't you let me take you out for a drink?" He asked, again, leaning forward onto the table. "It's just one drink, where's the harm?"

You slipped your bag over your shoulder and gave him the same balanced look you had given him all the other times he had tried to convince you to go out with him for a harmless drink.

"Jake, I can't keep doing this with you."

His arms were crossed as he leaned on the table. Long, lithe fingers locked together as he tried to downplay the disappointment. There was a sadness there in his eyes as he tried to smile.

"I know. I'm sorry, I just lose my head around you sometimes." He uttered, cracking his knuckles as he got up to walk you to the door.

You stopped in the hall to slip your shoes back on. Conscious of his eyes burning into the back of you. It would have made you uncomfortable were it not for the fact that every single time you had told him no a small part of you had died inside. These stolen moments where you knew he was studying your body were all you could enjoy.

When you turned around he was holding the door open for you. A thousand things on his mind that he ached to say, but couldn't.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this anymore." You suggested, "I mean, it was a crazy idea to begin with. I'm not a Spanish tutor, I'm your fucking translator. I'm already on the payroll. It'd be like dating my boss. You know that's why I have to say no, right?"

It was a downright lie.

He raised a hopeful eyebrow. "And not because you don't think I'm sexy?"

He was insufferable in the way you couldn't stand the fact he made you laugh. That had been the reason you had agreed to give him Spanish lessons in the first place. Because he had made you laugh with his goofy silliness. His self deprecating manner was endearing. And you hated him for that.

"Comportate, por favor." You told him, slipping out of the door before you changed your mind.

You weren't averse to dating rock stars. There had been times, in the past, where you had been hired to go on tour with artists who didn't speak the language of the countries they were moving through. It had been your job to liaise with concert venues, hotels and media outlets. Sometimes allowing yourself to be courted by these melodic creatures. There was something about musicians that drew you in.

Perhaps it was because they were poets. They valued art over everything else. To you, language was the most powerful art of all. To have the knowledge of words that could be understood the world over was truly a gift. And you could speak eight of them.

When Jake had asked you to teach him one of your gifts, initially you had balked at the idea. There was something about Jake that made you nervous. He made you feel like a song with just a fleeting glance. You weren't sure of yourself around him. It felt as if at any given moment something beautiful might happen. He wasn't a temporary fuck on a job you knew would only last a few weeks before moving on to the next. You knew, intrinsically, that if you allowed him to touch you there was no moving on from it.

He was peering at you from his porch steps as you got into your car. Patiently waiting until your seatbelt was on before waving sweetly. Like a Grandma would. Only stopping when you were out of sight.

"Damn you, Jake..." You whispered to yourself as you turned the corner, wishing you could rescind the past seven days.

~

You slammed the overhead locker shut and slumped into your seat below. Eye mask lingering on your forehead, ready to be pulled down so that the fluorescent lights on the plane didn't give you a migraine. Your skin was moisturised, your hair coiled in loose braids down each shoulder. Ready to sleep for the next eleven hours.

You watched the rest of the crew and management team take their seats. The unspoken rule of long haul flights being that nobody conversed. Nobody disturbed the other. It was a time to rest and reflect before chaos ensued.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked, swinging himself into the seat beside you before you could protest.

Your mouth agape, you watched him get comfortable in the space where you had planned to put your feet.

"Jake?" You sighed. "I thought you were sitting with your brothers up front?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I wanted to sit here, with you."

You were still waiting for him to embellish as he pushed his shoes off and stretched his feet out. He was wearing those blue jeans with the cut in the knee he had worn every day the previous week, with a ripped hem shirt that was only buttoned half way. His chains hanging against his flesh between the opening.

You wondered how a person could endure eleven hours in clothes like that, but Jake always seemed to put style over comfort. It was one of the first things you'd taken in about him. Every single facet of his being was a token of his personality. He was his own canvas.

You couldn't help but smile.

"Ok, fine." You allowed, "But we're not having an impromptu lesson or anything, I plan to sleep."

You slipped down your eye mask and tried to hide the fact you were terrified of flying as the plane took off. The rumble and strange loss of gravity churning your stomach as you gripped the arm rest. Only settling once you were in the air and the subtle sounds of people sleeping and turning the pages of books was all you could hear.

He kept silent while you slept. And when you awoke to find your legs splayed across his lap, you flinched involuntarily. His head snapped up from the back of his seat. Eyes wide and for a moment neither of you could remember where you were.

You weren't sure how you'd ended up in the position you found yourself in. If he had placed your legs there himself, in some act of kindness you'd not asked for. Or if you had done it yourself in your sleep, and he had simply allowed it.

"Sorry." You grumbled, taking back your feet and slipping the eye mask around your frazzled braids.

"You don't like flying, huh?" He asked, running a hand through his knotted locks.

You were quick to defend yourself. "What makes you say that?"

The most heart breaking memory seemed to come to him. Smiling as if he may never have that time back. You felt the blood rush to your head as he looked at you. His deep brown eyes catching yours for the briefest of moments.

"You reached out for me in your sleep." He replied, almost in sadness.

You blushed. Turning away from him hastily, busying yourself with the book on the small table in front of you. Feeling foolish. As if you had spoiled something already.

"I didn't mean to." You said quietly, fixating on the page without being able to focus on any of the words.

"You worry too much." He commented, straightening up in his seat to reveal that all of his buttons were now undone.

As he stretched, he revealed a smooth chest and small ripples of flesh around his stomach. The muscles above taut and lean from years of grinding into his guitar.

You excused yourself to the bathroom. Brushing past him as you climbed out of your seat. Feeling dizzy as you walked down the aisle towards the illuminated rest room sign.

Splashing your face with cold water did little to dispel your nerves. Staring at yourself in the mirror, telling yourself to hold your reserve. He didn't deserve to hold your attention like this. How had he crawled beneath your skin so easily?

It wasn't exactly love at first sight. But it was something akin. The first time you had spoken. You felt it. The ache. Like a little electric burn. Because of him.

You sucked in your breath and uncoiled your braids. Ran careful fingers through your hair until the waves were smooth. Reminded yourself that it was just another job. And walked back to your seat with irrational confidence that you could endure the rest of the flight by his side.

Confidence which ebbed as you noted the glasses of rum and coke sitting on the tray tables. The froth still fizzing on the surface of the ice. He was chewing on his bottom lip absently until he noticed you. Immediately stiffening as you breezed back into your seat. Looking slightly different than when you had left.

"You've hijacked me, you do realise that, don't you?"

He picked up his glass and raised it as if to make a toast.

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about." He feigned. "I just thought you might be thirsty."

There was a devious glint in his eye. One which made you bend to his will. You picked up your glass and didn't really feel in the mood for rum so soon after waking up, but up in the air it didn't really feel like morning or evening. You were in limbo. The only place where you would ever agree to have a drink with him.

"This isn't a date." You confirmed. "This is not me agreeing to go for a drink with you. This is two colleagues having a drink on the same flight together."

It was precisely what he had wanted, packaged in another name. He knew it and so did you.

"Cheers." He said brazenly, tapping the rim of his glass against yours. "Here's to colleagues having a drink together."

You rolled your eyes. "We'll only ever be friends, Jake."

~

There was something oddly beautiful about silence. Music was the beating heart of the world. There was a song for every emotion ever felt by anyone anywhere. But when the music stopped, it was like the echo was felt universally. Bones and blood coming down from the euphoria. There was something about Jake that made it so hard to come down from.

You were standing behind the stage. The tones of the final note still playing out. Your eyes closed and your hands clutching a crisp white envelope tightly. The silence was deafening.

And then he was there. Peeling off his jacket. The sweat glistening in the stage lights. He handed his guitar to one of the stage technicians and noticed you waiting by the door. Not where you usually could be found.

"Buenas noches." You said, tilting your head as he approached.

"Evening." He replied, in English. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

You hadn't seen him all day. You'd been endlessly scrolling through potential activities for a day away from the stage. So rarely did these days come about, it had felt as if you had to find the most perfect venue. The tour manager had given you only three proviso's. Somewhere beautiful to film social media content. Somewhere all four of the band members could enjoy. Somewhere quintessentially Spanish.

"I think I've found the ideal place for your day off." You said, handing him the Vineyard confirmation.

He unfolded the paper and scanned the document. Looking up at you as if you were the most perfect creature to ever walk the earth. It dawned on you that you didn't have to be stood there in that moment, but you'd been so excited to tell him. Aching for a glimpse of him. Afraid that you wouldn't get one.

"A real Spanish Vineyard?"

You nodded. "And a tour of the distillery where they make brandy, too."

"This is perfect." He replied, eager to hug you but consciously aware that he was dripping in stage sweat. "And you'll be there, won't you?"

"Hardly be doing my job if I wasn't."

He lingered there with you. In the silence. The subtle reminder that you worked for him completely disregarded as he took the liberty of waiting until his brothers had walked past before shakily trailing his fingertips down the side of your cheek.

"Bello..." You heard him say, before he dropped his hand and you felt the absence of it so deeply you weren't certain how you could walk away from him and feel whole ever again.

You barely slept. Questioning yourself as you tossed and turned in the darkness. Irritated by the inner monologue that told you to re-think your outfit choice. It had to be light and airy for the warm sunshine. But not too revealing for the classy Vineyard aesthetic. You wanted Jake to look at you and think you pretty. But it couldn't be too obvious that you'd chosen the outfit just for him. Because you didn't want to choose the outfit just for him. You were consumed by the need for his attention. And hating yourself for it wasn't getting any easier.

The sleep deprivation hit you as you stepped out into the heat. Not yet noon and it was scorching down on your shoulders. The yellow sun dress which had been your fourth and final choice had tiny spaghetti straps that did little to protect your skin. Your white wide rimmed hat provided a little shade, but in the end you knew you'd walk away from the day with pink and red stripes.

You were already at the Vineyard when he arrived. Awaiting his arrival with the tour manager and social media assistant. Spilling out of the mini van, it appeared the sleepless night had been a friend to them all. Four sets of shades hid the dark circles. You couldn't help but smile ironically.

But they were like curious children as soon as the first taste hit. Jake, listening to the tour guide speaking a mixture of English and Spanish, turning to you for confirmation on anything he didn't understand. Swilling the wine in his taster glass, as he'd been instructed, endearingly involving himself even though you could sense that he was so tired.

You found some shade as the tour came to an end. Beneath a eucalyptus tree. Fanning your dress out as you sat on the little wooden bench under the arching branches. Watching Jake filming content with his brothers, happy to just be there. Relieved that your skin was not too sun kissed. The joviality of Jake and his brothers was a joy to behold. Their subtle differences in the way they reacted to each wine was comical and you found yourself drifting into a state of bliss you'd never found whilst on a tour job before.

He was wearing his shirt open at the chest again. Chains glistening in the afternoon sun as he came to sit with you. The entire group dispersing into their own little activities. He handed you a glass of red, noticing that it was the one you'd liked the most whilst on the tour.

"I feel as if I haven't seen you all day." He said, shuffling up the bench so that he was closer to you.

"I've been by your side the whole time." You replied bashfully.

He didn't seem to care, though. "I felt it yesterday too, when I actually didn't see you all day."

You took a languid sip, feeling the wine go down past the lump in your throat. His knee conspicuously close to yours. The fabric of your dress billowing in the breeze, threatening to lift and reveal your flesh. He noticed and pressed his leg against yours, the motion driving you irrevocably insane.

"What are you doing, Jake?" You asked, keeping your voice low.

You could smell the wine on his breath as he leaned in.

"How do you say... I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you until you can't stand up straight...in Spanish?"

The glass felt loose in your hand. As if his words had shaken your core and you couldn't ground yourself.

"Do you enjoy this?" You asked, more curtly than you'd anticipated. "Like it's not hard enough already?"

You'd hurt his feelings. All the happiness of the day seemed to drain from him as he moved his leg away. Another absence of his touch you felt so completely, it was as if you'd fade away entirely if he ever touched you again.

"Why do you constantly deny me?!"

He was livid. You could feel the bench move as he trembled.

"I could understand it if the feelings weren't reciprocated. I'd have asked you out, you'd have said no. Told me that you're not interested and yeah, it would have sucked and I'd have taken it on the chin. But I'm not stupid, I know you want me. And no amount of telling me that we're just friends is going to change that."

He downed his wine. You waited for him to get up and leave, but he remained at your side. A trembling mess as he waited for you to say something that might give him hope.

"You have no right to say that to me...no right!" You almost bellowed, feeling the rage prick at your fingertips. "When all I have done has been to preserve myself. And you. From hurt. And confusion."

"I'm not confused." He was quick to say, gripping the neck of his wine glass so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I know what I want."

"You think this is easy for me?"

You glanced across the courtyard towards the distillery where Jake's brother, Josh, was chatting with some of the staff. His eyes wandering back to you and Jake. His interest piqued as your voices began to rise above the din.

Jake's shoulders slumped. "It doesn't have to be this hard!"

You tried to smile reassuringly as you caught Josh's eye. He smiled back, returning reluctantly to his conversation. Suddenly everything began to turn into a surreal dream. Everything was perfect save for this one moment. You wanted nothing more than to turn back time, just by five minutes, and say or do something differently.

"I'm not about to complicate things for a quick fuck, Jake. I still have a job to do." You whispered, "I don't want to spend the next two weeks feeling like this..."

"Oh, what?" He replied, all the hurt you had caused him spilling out in his tone. "Like you've never fucked somebody on tour before?!"

There it was. All his hurt laid bare and all the hurt you had feared manifesting itself in the instant regret he felt as you turned to face him. All the times you'd rejected him kept in a little bottle in his heart, smashing there on the ground at your feet.

His head began to shake, his mouth open against apologies that wouldn't come out. His arms up in defence as if you were about to strike him. And all you could do was stare at him in disbelief.

"That's real nice, Jake." You managed, "Yeah. Ok, you want to play it that way? You're not wrong. I fucked a few guys on jobs in the past. Sure. They didn't care and neither did I. Why would it be awkward if you know you're never going to see them again? It meant nothing. What do you want me to say? That I'm terrified that this time it's different? That fucking you will never just be casual? That I know I'll fall in love with you the minute you kiss me? Huh? Is that what you want to hear? Stay the fuck away from me!"

~

You were still reeling as you stepped into the cool night air. Cardigan wrapped around you as the wind picked up. It was late but the hotel was situated in a sleepy little town ten minutes outside Barcelona. Lights were still twinkling in the distance. The faint sounds of people sitting outside bars and cafes sounding on the breeze. The gentle waves lapping at the shore in the pitch black.

You couldn't sleep again. Not plagued by irrelevant outfit choices this time, but instead you were horrified by yourself. By the way you had left things at the Vineyard. By how you had made your way back to the hotel without him. Not even looking at him when you'd seen him at dinner. You had felt his eyes burning into you, though. Losing your appetite entirely.

It felt as if a walk would clear your head. Bring you to some conclusion that would give you a reason to carry on. You'd been on the cusp of quitting and taking the next flight back to Nash before slipping on your sandals and cardigan and heading for the empty beach.

The sand was cool to the touch as you slinked down into it. The moon illuminating the curl of each small wave as it encroached onto the flat shoreline. The ever twinkling lights of the buildings which stretched across the coast were like stars upon the land. And you were lost in thought about Jake. About how you were going to make everything right.

So lost were you that you hadn't noticed that you were no longer alone. Catching them in the corner of your eye as they approached, as if they'd walked directly out of the black sea. A man, wearing nothing but a tattered white t-shirt and blue board shorts, waved to you inconsequentially.

You made the mistake of waving back. An impulse. Not an invitation to be disturbed. Your heart sank as they changed their direction, instead of carrying on across the shoreline, they diverted up the beach towards you. An errant smile on a bearded face greeted you as you tried to stand up.

"Oh, no. Please...stay where you are." He insisted, and you smiled because you thought he merely meant to pass you by.

When he didn't you felt yourself rooted to the spot. The darkness somehow darker than it had felt a moment ago.

"I was just leaving." You said as politely as you could.

He smelled like tobacco and body odour. The state of his feet alarmed you, as if he hadn't worn shoes for a very long time. He was sitting opposite you, as if you were friends enjoying an evening under the stars. But the hair on the back of your neck was poised. Your blood began to run cold.

"Oh, come on now." He replied, playfully with a hint of malice. "You're American, yes? I love America."

You had no desire to stay in his company. But something told you not to move. A primal instinct maybe?

"Uh, yeah." You replied, trying to keep your responses civil but brief.

He moved closer. His scent drifting in on the sea breeze. You recoiled. Feeling entirely foolish for stepping out of the hotel thinking you'd be safe.

"What's the matter?" He asked then, his voice low and gruff from years of smoking. "I just want to sit with you, alright?"

You uncrossed your legs. "I really...I was honestly just about to leave..."

He placed a dirty hand on your knee to prevent you from standing. You felt the fear grip you and choke you. Tears forming in your eyes as your lip began to tremble.

"Be a friendly girl and sit with me a while." He insisted. "I just want to talk to you."

He could see that you were afraid. Almost aroused by it. He moved to sit by you. Rubbing a calloused hand up your shin towards your knee. A broken scream was stuck in your throat. Warm tears streaming down your face.

"I have a boyfriend." You choked out, frozen into the sand as you willed it to swallow you.

"No boyfriend that I can see right now."

Something inside you snapped. The thought of Jake. Calling him your boyfriend. You didn't care about anything beyond him. Not your job nor the fears which you'd been running from. None of it made sense anymore. You could feel yourself begin to panic. Your chest moving against deep breaths. Your heart beating erratically.

You dared to push his hand away from you.

"I thought I told you to be friendly..." He hissed.

There wasn't a part of you that had any thoughts running through your mind as you heard the switch in his voice from playful malice to direct evil. You gathered the sand in your fist and threw it into his face, hearing him reel back and grunt in anger as you tried to run away.

Your sandals filled with sand though, preventing you from gaining any real speed. The scream which left you came from somewhere deep within, so blood curdling you weren't even sure it was you making the sound. It felt as if you dared not look back in case he was right behind you.

Three things seemed to happen all at once. The first was your body crushed to the ground. Sand in your mouth. The sensation that you were about to be buried alive. The second was the almost immediate release. Air rushing to your lungs as you swallowed the grit. And the third was Jake.

You stumbled onto your feet. Tears streaming down your face, spitting sand out as you felt yourself on the verge of vomiting. You blinked a few times, using your sleeve to wipe away the blurring tears.

All you could see was Jake. A pair of blue board shorts beneath him. His arm reeling back again and again and again as he rained down blow after blow.

"What the fuck did you do to her?!" He cried, cracking his fist against the bloodied face below him. "I will fucking kill you... I swear to god..."

You hadn't known Jake that long. But long enough to know he was loving and kind. That he chose to sit in corners and watch over being the centre of attention. He was funny and unserious in private with those he trusted best and stoic around people he didn't know. You'd never imagined he could be capable of such violence. When pushed, he was an animal.

"Jake!" You screamed. "Please, stop it!!!"

He didn't hear you at first. Picking up the guy by the scruff of his shirt, rattling his head before shoving it back into the sand. Landing a final, brutal kick to the stomach.

When Jake looked over at you, it was like he was seeing you for the first time. His chest heaving against catching his breath. His knuckles red and covered in blood. Not certain if it was Jake's blood, or the guy who was writhing around on the sand's. You reached for him.

But Jake didn't move. "Did he hurt you?"

You shook your head, feeling vulnerable in a way you'd never felt before.

"He started to but I ran. I'm so sorry, I was so stupid. I should have stayed in my room. I just needed to get some air...I can't believe this is happening...oh god, look at you..."

Jake noticed his hand. He shook off the blood and looked down at what he had done. The nose was broken and the eye sockets already swelling. Blood streaming from the guy's mouth. He spat a few teeth out and groaned in pain, clutching at his stomach as his white t-shirt turned red.

"No. You shouldn't have to stay in your room. You should be able to walk outside if you want to walk outside. It's fuckers like this who need to stay the fuck inside." He shoved his foot into the place where he had kicked, making sure to cause more pain. "Call the police."

"I can't." You sobbed. "They'll take you away, too."

He knew it as well as you did. They'd take him in. Question him. Stick an assault charge on him. You'd need a lawyer. You'd have to tell them what that disgusting guy had tried to do to you. You didn't want any of it. You just wanted to translate Vineyard tours, not police interrogations.

Jake leaned down and pressed his foot into the bloodied cheek.

"You better get the fuck out of here. I've got an entire security team in that hotel and they aren't little guys like me. They'll take you to fucking hell."

The adrenaline was still pumping as Jake stood back. Raking his bloody fist through his hair. Letting the guy stumble away, clutching his stomach as he spat blood onto the white sand. It wasn't until he was half way down the beach that Jake finally breathed. Letting out the most painful groan you'd ever heard. Your instincts telling you to protect him at all costs.

~

"What the fuck were doing out there?" You asked, cracking open the first aid kit in your hotel room. "Were you following me?"

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Wincing as you knelt at his feet to wipe his hand with antiseptic. You held it within yours gently. Blowing cool air onto his grazed knuckles as you tried not to hurt him. You were still fighting back tears as you looked him in the eye.

"I didn't know you were out there." He said solemnly, tears of his own forming on the rim of his eye lashes. "I guess I had the same idea as you did. And then I heard you scream."

"What if you hadn't been there..."

You fell into his arms. Your entire body shaking as you sobbed. If you'd been afraid of loving him it felt so foolish now. You were consumed by love.

"I knew..." You tried to say, breathing hard against his bare chest.

You felt him cup your chin in his unspoiled hand. Forcing you to look at him.

"I knew from the start." You swallowed. "From the moment I saw you that I'd be fucked up forever. One look and I was gone. Washed away...in a landslide...because of your perfect face."

He fought against a smile.

"I knew you'd ruin me for anyone else." You said, "That's why I said no. All those times...no. How could I say yes to you? When saying yes meant I had to love you without fear."

He returned his fingertips to your cheek and you knew his touch was meant to heal you.

"Are you afraid now?" He asked quietly.

He was the kind of person that you knew you would end up falling in love with. You had perhaps always known it from the moment he was introduced to you. . There was a feeling which sat exactly right in your chest. You didn't want to ever say that you loved him for fear that he would leave. But you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you didn't want to spend your time with anyone else.

"I was afraid that you'd break my heart." You sighed, the shadow of that fear dissipating. "But not anymore."

"I shouldn't have said what I said earlier at the Vineyard. I was wrong to call you out like that. It's none of my business who you've fucked in the past."

You appreciated his apology, but it had little place in the moment. You would never truly understand what he had sacrificed that night. He'd never lost his cool like that, ever. He was sorry for the things which he had said, but there was no apology needed. Not after what he had done for you.

"It doesn't matter." You shrugged, pressed an ice pack against his hand as you flipped the first aid kit shut. "All that matters now, is us."

He took that as his permission to kiss you. Leaning in to it slowly. Keeping your eyes focused on his. Feeling the heat of his breath before his lips reached you. And when they did, your eyes were closed and his lips were soft against yours. They parted slightly, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth.

You knelt up to lock your arms around his neck. Bodies pressed together heatedly against each other. You could taste the shared breath. Feel the thud of your combined hearts. Fumbling to be free of your cardigan.

Heat blossomed in your chest. Sparks igniting as Jake pulled you closer against his open shirt. Tentatively, for the first time, he uttered your name as his mouth momentarily parted from yours before returning to you as if he hadn't whispered it at all.

"Jake..." You responded, breathy and almost too shrouded in whisper to hear.

But he did hear you. Gripping your hips tighter as he deepened the kiss. Pulling you up onto his body as he leaned back onto the bed, your legs parted on either side of his waist. Weeks of tension flowing out of both of you.

But nothing happened that night. The evening had caused an exhaustion which both of you shared as you slipped into the curve of his arm. Kissing him in small increments, stopping only to appreciate his face in the moon light which flooded in from the window. Caressing his bare chest, playing with his chains as he pressed his lips against your forehead. Your leg draped casually over his, tangled in each other for the first time.

There was no need for anything else. Loving him with abandon for all the accompanying things you'd told yourself. All the reasons you'd given yourself not to enter into this with him. Wishing that he had been your first love. So that you could have loved him sooner, instead of looking for malice in his pure intentions. Looking for ways to never have to give yourself to him. With Jake as your first love, you would have only known love to be like velvet.

But he wasn't. He was going to be your last love, you knew you would die to make that happen.

~

Jake kept his busted hand bandaged up the next day. Telling anyone who cared to ask that he had dropped his guitar case and fucked up his knuckles trying to save it. It was an unlikely story, but nobody dared to question it. Least of all the security team that would have been heavily judged for not being there to break up a fight.

You were relieved to move on. Telling yourself that it wasn't your fault, that you'd done nothing wrong. And yet, a voice echoed in the back of your mind screaming blame for what Jake had been forced to do.

Even as you boarded the plane to leave the country, it was still playing on a loop in the back of your mind. That rough, dirty hand moving up your leg. The blood. The sand in your mouth. The way he had kissed you that night afterwards...

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked, looking down at you with a wicked grin.

The flight from Spain to England was only a few short hours. Nothing which required sleep or tentative dream induced embraces. You felt yourself blush as he slipped into the seat beside you. Feeling entirely different. Grateful for the distraction from your thoughts.

"Maybe we should have an impromptu lesson this time." You suggested, "I haven't heard you use your words at all this week."

Jake pulled off his shades, slipping them into his breast pocket as he kicked off his shoes and offered you his hand to hold as the plane took off.

"If I tell you that asking for lessons was a ploy to get closer to you and nothing else, would you be mad?" He asked, deadly serious, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

Everything he had done before the previous night meant little. You didn't care.

"Crees que eres tan listo." You replied, "But truthfully, I knew you had no intention of ever learning any of it."

He would have pulled you into one of those kisses. The urge was there on his lips as he licked them, eyes focusing in on yours.

"Besides, we're in England for the next three days. You're going to have a lot of free time." He joked, knowing that you'd have to be preparing to liaise with the concert venue and hotel in Germany for the week ahead. "What's the plan to fill it all?"

It felt like the entire time you'd known him had been foreplay. Leading up to this. A game of cat and mouse that you'd secretly wanted to end with all the sex you'd imagined having with him. Because you had imagined having sex with him.

"Maybe you could help me with that." You giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He stared at you for a moment. Trying to comprehend the words he thought he'd heard you say. He wasn't used to it. He expected you to rebuff him again. Even after spending the night wrapped in his arms, listening to his chest rise and fall against your cheek.

"Are you fucking serious?" He asked, gripping your hand more tightly.

You leaned in and placed your lips flush to his ear.

"Quiero arrancarte la ropa y follarte hasta que no puedas pararte derecho..." You whispered.

You felt his body close, his hand travel up your arm. Pulling you in. You let him. His brothers, Josh and Sam were sitting in the seats in front. And behind there was Danny, surrounded by people who would never know the secret you shared. Their eyes busy with anything but what the two of you were doing.

"I beg you, tell me what you just said."

You kissed him. Without shame. Without care if anyone noticed.

"I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you until you can't stand up straight..."

~

Throwing your luggage down, you tumbled into the bathroom. The anticipation was overwhelming. He'd been whispering in your ear the entire flight. All the things he was going to do to you. All the things he had imagined every single time you'd rejected him. The last thing he had said to you as you pulled up outside the hotel, weary and travel worn was a twenty minute warning that once you'd checked in and got to your room he was coming after you.

You grabbed your toiletries and began pulling your brush through your hair. Running the faucet until the water ran warm, rinsing the airport smell off your face. Shedding your clothes until you were down to your underwear, furiously brushing your teeth as you ran an electric razor up your leg.

Pulling open the elastic waist band of your panties, you peered down into the pubic hair you hadn't bothered to tidy up. Sighing at your own lack of foresight. Pushing your panties down to your ankles as you ran the shaver across your mound, wondering if he would care or even notice.

You slipped on your little white night robe over your underwear. Certain he would want you in a state of undress as he arrived. Perhaps expecting it. You regarded yourself in the mirror as you recalled his words.

"I'm going to taste that sweet pussy...You don't know how many times I've imagined what you taste like..."

You tightened the belt of your robe, feeling the length of silk material between your fingers as you pulled on it.

"You've pissed me off so much lately, I'm going to fuck that right out of you..."

Catching yourself breathing heavily, you placed the flat of your hand to the centre of your cleavage. Pressing down to feel your own heart beat.

"You know I would beat any man who tried to hurt you...you know that, don't you? Nobody's ever going to touch you again. Only me..."

Something stirred in that space between your chest and stomach. Something you had no name for. You weren't afraid when you remembered how he had lost his mind over the thought of you getting hurt. You were turned on.

"I'm getting hard right now thinking about getting to the hotel... You've got twenty minutes until I knock on your door..."

When you'd thought of the kind of lover he might be, you'd been inclined to imagine him soft and thoughtful. But there was something in those words that had been savage and downright filthy. He'd taken delight in watching you squirm in your seat, looking around to make sure nobody was listening.

Kissing you until you giggled. His lips making moist trails down your neck. Not leaving you alone for a moment, not even when people walked past your seats and witnessed exactly what he was doing to you. You'd be the talk of the tour, now.

The soft knock broke your reverie. You flinched, realising you'd been standing in front of the mirror lost in thought. Feeling as if your life was going to change the moment you opened the door. You sprayed some perfume into the air and walked through it as you headed out of the bathroom.

You only opened the door a notch before he slipped through the gap. Hands creeping down your back, gripping your ass cheeks tightly as he pulled them apart and pressed you against the hotel room wall. His mouth was on yours before speaking. Lapping his tongue into your mouth, feeling it brush against yours in a kiss that was the most desperate you'd ever felt him be.

"Fuck!" He groaned, "I can't believe I finally get to do this with you."

He put you down on the bed. Releasing you so that you fell onto the sheets and pillows, the sweetest laughter sounding out from the pit of your stomach.

Ripping open his shirt, he slipped it off his shoulders and began fighting to ease his belt. You watched curiously. Opening your robe to reveal the white bra and panties beneath.

All the laughter gone as you eyed his hard cock. Sitting there beneath his boxers, large and imposing. He gripped it in his hand. moving the erection up a little so that the tip peeked out from his waist band.

"How bad do you want it?" He asked, taking one of your ankles in his free hand and pulling you effortlessly down the bed.

You were under some sort of spell. There was no other explanation for how you found the confidence to respond. You would have fallen into embarrassment otherwise. Afraid to be vocal about what you wanted. Jake liked to talk, and talking was your gift. It made sense to you, more than ever, to use your words.

"I want you so bad, Jake. I can't stand it..."

He nodded, casting his gaze down the length of your body.

"Fuck, you're sweet. You're so god damn sweet, I just want to sink my teeth into every inch of you."

You pointed your toes, lifting your leg up to run the length of his torso. When you ran it back down, you lingered at his waist band. Hooking your toe beneath it, pulling it down just a little further so that his cock sprang free.

"Pain..." You gasped under your breath.

His hand curled around the hard base. "I won't fuck you sore, I'll make sure you're wet enough first."

You could feel the pressure building in your centre. You slipped your hand down beneath your panties and felt the wetness increase. You were already enough for him to slip inside of.

You were about to pull your hand out when he shook his head.

"No. Keep it there." He instructed, making shallow breaths as he began to move his hand up and down his own cock. "Slip your panties to the side, just a little bit. I want to see your lips down there..."

Yours were like little pink ribbons. Your clit was swollen and ready at the peak, the tiny head budding out from beneath the hood as you pulled it back with the flat of your fingers. Keeping your eyes on him the entire time. Allowing the sight of him at the foot of the bed to spur you on.

His head was flushed pink. White beads of pre-cum leaking out onto his fingers as he squeezed at the end. A throbbing vein pulsated down the centre of the shaft, his eyes half closed as he watched you plane your fingers down the slit, opening up your entrance for him to see.

"Take everything off." He ordered, the faded tan lines on his chest from the Vineyard making you smile as he kicked off his boxers.

Jake knelt onto the edge of the bed as you unhooked your bra. Your breasts spilling out of the white lace, round and firm with two hard buds in the centre of rippled goose flesh as you felt a cold shiver down your spine. Everything felt as if it were happening in a dream.

"These eyes stay on me while I'm inside you." He said, a hand suddenly reaching up for your jaw, tilting your face upward as he drank you in. "You understand me?"

You nod pitifully. Knowing his strength. Knowing there was aggression simmering beneath his cool exterior. Knowing you would do anything to placate him. Even though it made your pussy throb to think of how masterful he could be when cornered.

He inched two fingers into his mouth. A trail of saliva hanging down from his lip as he brought them to your needy cunt. You were a trembling mess as he hooked them inside you, watching your face for that blissful relief.

"Tell me how that feels."

You couldn't speak for a moment. Taking in the sensation of him driving into you past his knuckles. His grazed hand came to rest on the bed beside your head, his hair and the chains around his neck reaching down into the space where he hovered above.

"So fucking good." You tried to say, your entire body shaking as he began to pound into you harder.

He grinned that confidence, the one he liked to smirk when he knew that he was doing something right. You'd seen it on his lips before. His pressure was delicious. Using hot force and a curl of his fingers to press down on that sweet spot inside.

You almost felt bereft when he pulled his fingers out completely, returning them to his mouth where he padded them across his tongue. Tasting you. Just the way he had said he would.

"Put your mouth on it." You told him, wondering if you were a part of this dominance play or if you'd stepped out of line.

"You really are a filthy little thing, aren't you?" His head bowed, he slid down your torso and down through the valley of your navel. "Fuck...if this isn't so worth the wait..."

You looked down past the curve of your breasts. To where his wild hair was splayed across your open thighs. His back arched as he opened his mouth. Taking in a full slick lick of your pussy lips that made you moan so loud you couldn't hold back. His lips pursed around your clit, sucking on it and lapping his tongue against the swollen bud.

"Se siente tan jodidamente bien..." You hissed through gritted teeth, trying to keep a grip on the bed sheets.

You felt the vibration of his moan against your clit. Listening to you speak like that, it made him drive his tongue further into your entrance. You felt the softness of it at the opening of your walls. Hearing him swallow your wetness, you tangled your hands into his hair and swept it into your fist.

You took a deep breath and pushed him deeper into your cunt. Hips bucking, pressure mounting in your core. You almost fucked his mouth yourself until he gripped your hips steady and reminded you who was in control.

"Hold still!" He called up, raising his head with your juice dripping from his bottom lip.

You were brought to stillness by his firm grip. His eyes locked on yours as he returned his mouth to you. His nose pressed flush against your clit as he buried his head. You ached to move. Arch your back. Grind your hips. Anything to release the mounting tension.

"I mean it Jake, I'm so fucking close..." You warned him.

You trembled and twitched against his tongue as he slowly brought it to rest at your mound. The sound of his name falling like gentle rain was like music to his ears. Your orgasm belonged to him. He looked up at you and viciously slammed his fingers back inside.

"Well, come on then." He urged. "Give it to me if you want to so badly."

You tossed your head back. He ravaged and ruined you. Pounding his fingers into your cunt violently as he returned to sucking on your clit, harder. The sound was like a wet popping as his fist pressed against your slipper lips. The moans you couldn't hold back shrieking out of you as he deviously refused to stop.

"That's it, baby." You heard him say below the wet pounding and your own vocals, "Show me what that pussy can do."

He watched you. Every breath. Ever shudder. He absorbed it all. Appreciating each and revelling in it all. You were his muse, his morning song. And as you came undone at the tip of his fingers and tongue, he felt your orgasm bloom into his mouth.

"Oh god..." He swallowed hard. "I fucking need it...."

You were still on the fringes of your climax as he pulled you up. Every point in your body a mess of tingles. You met his mouth again and tasted yourself there on his lips.

"Fuck me, Jake."

Positioning you on the pillows, he made you lean back against the head board. Crawling up to meet you, ensuring your eyes never left his.

"Ask me again."

You feel his hard erection pressed against your pussy lips and inner thigh.

"I want you to fuck me so good, Jake."

He lowered his head, coming to rest at your breasts. Scanning them with his tongue, sucking on your nipple as you try to keep yourself from melting into the bed sheets.

"Beg me." He said finally, sinking his teeth into your flesh.

All the words you could think of in any language you had ever known seemed to flee from you. There was only one that remained.

"Please..."

It wasn't enough. "Beg harder."

You sank your fingernails into his back. "Fuck me! Please, I want you to... punish me...for all the times I told you no... make me repent for it... I beg you."

He moved to bring himself into you. Slapping his thick, girthy cock against your still sensitive slit. Before you could scream, he had you pressed against the head board and his cock was buried so deeply inside you it took your breath away.

God, he felt so good. Like your walls had never welcomed such a perfect feeling. He filled you so good, just on the cusp of pain but you were wet enough to handle it. He'd promised you wouldn't be sore afterwards, and you believed him.

"Shit, you feel so..." He faltered, "Fuck, I can't explain it."

His mouth was at your throat. Sticky fingers rested against your wind pipe, not squeezing but simply holding you in place as he rocked into you.

It had all been too much. Too much waiting, too much anticipation.

"Use your words, Jakey, come on..." You closed your legs around his waist and felt him shudder as he thrusted.

He wants as much contact with you as possible. To keep your eyes locked with his. But to also feel your breasts bouncing against his bare chest. He wants to rub your clit as he shoves his cock into you so deep he wants to watch your pussy eat it up until it disappears inside you. He wants all of it whilst listening to you speak.

"Shut up." He managed, sweat dripping off his brow. "Just let me come inside you..."

You might have been offended, but you could tell the hold you had on him had him all speechless. You making him talk was taking him away from all his other senses. Which made you smile because Jake loved nothing more than being vocal.

"Why don't you make me?" You teased. "Fucking me with your big cock like that? You want me to shut up? Fucking come in me..."

As if he could read your mind, he abruptly picked up speed and grunted vividly into the curve of your neck. Slamming into you with his entire body. The sound of his skin slapping against yours is all that echoes in your ears. Muffling out the sound of Jake's tension, his panting as he let's go into your waiting pussy. Convulsing on top of you as you grip him tightly.

His hands come underneath you, kneading your ass cheeks as he slows down. Breathing hard against your chest.

"I had no idea you could fuck like that." You breathed, "You're a dark horse, Jake Kiszka."

He laughed and returned to you for gentle kisses that reminded you he was still the sweet one who had sat with you as you reached out for him in your sleep.

"I protect my woman and I fuck her good." He replied, with a hint of playfulness as he moved apart from you to slump at your side.

You watched his cock soften as he laid there. His seed still sitting at your entrance.

"Oh I'm your woman, am I?" You jested back.

He nodded, but didn't say anything. Before too long he was snoring quietly. Beautifully naked as he was sprawled out on your hotel room bed.

You slowly inched away, heading to the bathroom to clean yourself up while he slept. Feeling a little sore, after all.

.

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