#we can totally make it modern too

[instant-angel-chaos]

Plot inspo

Set in: ?? 1700s, 1800s?

Setting: Your muse finds Dakota locked up in an abandoned castle/ruin/tower/cell writhing away from having gone much too long without feeding. How will your muse react upon seeing the demon chained up?

Respond: On discord! (if you don't have mine, you can ask!) This is open for anyone. If smut is desired I'd prefer f or nb.

The sound of metal dragging across cold, damp stone made his ears beg for mercy. Muscles flexing, adjusting beneath the weight of his shackles, Dakota rested his wrists upon his thighs, as if it would somehow make the burden lighter. Stop the heavy, dark metal from relentlessly digging deeper into his flesh. As he leaned his head back against the cool stone wall behind him, the pale and distant hazy glow from the small hole of a window above him made him squint his eyes. Had he been able to see himself reflected upon any surface, he'd have known his normally fiery stare had dulled to a lifeless, dead yellow; so devoid of color it was practically translucent. He closed his eyes and the light made the backside of his eyelids light up like a forest fire. It filled him with comfort, familiarity. Although, the natural instinct to spark flame from his fingertips made his body wail in agony now.

The last living thing he had seen was a lifeless husk laying on the floor not too far from him. It was face down with its throat torn open, devoured of its pathetic soul after getting one step too close to the demon. Dakota did not know why it had come to him, nor had he attempted to ask before using it as his last meal. How long had it been since then? He did not know. Long enough for rats to come feast on its flesh, crows to poke holes into the carcass. Turns out rats or crows didn't have much of a soul to feast on either. Of course the demon had had to try at the very least.

It was torturous to not be able to die from starvation, not of natural causes. Hunger felt like a burning hot coal stuck in his throat, an intruder trying to pound its way out of the confines of his skull. His body ached, no longer having the energy needed to heal itself, to make him strong again. So his back still remained sliced open from the cracks of a whip, dried black rivers of blood staining his porcelain skin and the wall behind him.

Despite his starvation, his senses still remained all the same. So the faint echo of footsteps approaching made the demon's ears perk up. The chains dragged against the stone floor as he shifted to be on his knees, leaning forward as long as the chain around his neck allowed him to. The iron bar dug into his flesh, causing a low grunt to vibrate up his dry throat. He could smell the life approaching. A soul. Something to feed on. His arms, ink black growing from the tips of his claws all the way up to his forearms, flexed forward from the wall and dragged the chain across his thighs until the bars around his wrists restricted their movement any further. The portiong of him that was starved made his body pump with adrenaline, a pulse of fire traveling with a faint glow beneath his skin. His wings twitched, black and stained crimson feathers fluttering around him, white sharp bone exposed from where the wings folded at the top.

His breathing was low, ears intent on the approaching footsteps.

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[fictionadventurer]

Me: Is this Farmer Boy sequel written in 2012 really going to be able to feel like a legitimate follow-up to the style and atmosphere of the original, or is it just another modern cash-grab?

Heather Williams, on page 2: Best of all, he knew that fall meant crispy spareribs and sweet cider and hot roasted potatoes with melting butter and all the pumpkin pie he could eat.

Me: ....it looks like I can trust you. Carry on.

[louderfade]

exene talking about the state of the world. the good stuff starts at eight minutes. or you can just read the transcript complete with the usual errors that accompany robot transcribed speech (the irony of which is not lost on me). maybe it's not about transhumanism and living forever (or maybe it is who knows), but there's definitely an agenda of surveillance and control at work which is designed to keep the powerful in power. cash rules everything around me and you will own nothing etc. the future is worse.

[kateis-cakeis]

You ever just think about how fanon is so firm in the BBC Merlin fandom that people (like I used to) go around believing Cenred's kingdom is called Essetir and that Odin's kingdom is Cornwall.

Or how like the wiki says Alined's kingdom is called Deorham and the Perilous Lands are Elmet. Which I'm pretty sure comes from that fannish map on AO3.

But that doesn't mean it's correct shfjgshdfg. These things are never said in the show

It's just using the wiki as a resource gets tricky when you have to dig through what is canon and fanon. Which is no fault of the wiki, that's completely fine. It's just amusing how much this fandom is built on fanon instead of canon.

Which makes sense for how long it's been around, with long held beliefs that get passed around us all. There's nothing wrong with it, it's just good to remind ourselves what is canon and what is fanon. Because it sure as hell shocks me sometimes :P :)

[miss-m-winks]

it falls under what i consider a type of fourth-wall-breaking in stories.

"therapy speak" where the character talk about their emotions and problems with an uncanny level of precision and professional competence.

moments where the narration or dialogue style suddenly switch to a "modern internet post" sort of vocabulary and cadence just so the story can look you in the eye and say things like "this is about feminism/diversity/civil rights, by the way. did you notice? are you noticing yet? we're using language and phrasing that make you wonder if you read this in a tweet recently, because we just want to make sure, in case it wasn't obvious enough yet, that this story is dealing with Modern Social Issues. you noticed, right?"

or other moments where the writing style seems to break character just to wink and nudge at the reader.

it's not done well, most of the time. it really breaks the immersion and i kind of hate it. yes, i noticed your characters were having internal conflicts, you didn't need to therapy speak it at me. yes, i noticed your themes about feminism, it was very clear, i really did not need the fourth wall break about it. yes, haha, i see you over there making modern references in a presumably more medieval fantasy! no, it's not really that funny. sorry.

if you're gonna break the fourth wall, you really need to be clever about it.

That post that's like "stop writing characters who talk like they're trying to get a good grade in therapy" really blew the door wide open for me about how common it's become for a character's emotional intelligence to not be taken into consideration when writing conflict. I remember the first time I went to therapy I had such a hard time even identifying what I was feeling, let alone had the language to explain it to someone else. Of course there are plenty of people who've never been to therapy a day in their life who are in tune to their emotions. But even they would have some trouble expressing themselves sometimes. You have to take into account there are plenty of people who are uncomfortable expressing themselves and people who think they're not allowed to feel certain ways. It also makes for more interesting conflict to have characters with different levels of understanding.

[pa-pa-plasma]

just finished watching Blue Beetle & the dude who's lines were 90% "my name isn't Sanchez" is listed as "Sanchez" in the credits

[imaginedisish]

Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade. 

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!” 

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines. 

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have. 

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts. 

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you. 

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan. 

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy. 

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously. 

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp. 

 “Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in. 

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted. 

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle. 

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest. 

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun. 

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name. 

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.  

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform. 

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan. 

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open. 

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot. 

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him. 

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes. 

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you. 

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan. 

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist. 

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch. 

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips. 

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh. 

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

[humanpurposes]

Hi hiiii I couldn’t resist to not slide into your inbox and request a Christmas fic based on this prompt with a Aemond who isn’t used to his girl’s flirty behavior and gets flustered soo easily👀 you can totally ignore this if you don’t like it<3333

“Since I can’t ride in Santa’s sleigh, can I ride you instead?” “Sorry, what?”

HI RUE ✨ Kinda put my own spin on this but I'm sure you'll love it <3

Can I Ride You Instead?

modern!Aemond x reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: smut, Aemond being a workaholic while his girl has needs

A/n: It's tiiiiime, happy 1st December!!

Main Masterlist // Christmas Masterlist

One more night in King’s Landing. You look out from the window at the lights in the city; street lamps; lively pubs; offices that have been abandoned until new year; and all the festive lights lining the highstreets. Conquest Street is your favourite place to be this time of year. You love the displays in the shop windows, the market in the square, the little wooden huts selling scarves and handmade jewellery, the smell of mulled wine, sugar and cinnamon, almost tangible in your nose and on your tongue. What you wouldn’t give to be there right now.

Aemond’s apartment is bleak by comparison. He doesn’t see the point in decorations, not when he’ll be spending Christmas at his family’s estate– at Dragonstone, Christmas is Alicent’s territory. Aemond’s place is clean, lit by lowlights with no bursts of colour or fairy lights and no tree.

He’s sitting at the dining table. The cold glare of his laptop shines over his face and reflects in the lenses of his glasses.

This boy never takes a break.

Term technically doesn’t end until tomorrow but everyone you know has already gone home to make the most of the break. Not Aemond. He wants to stay for as long as possible. He doesn’t talk about his family much, but you can put pieces together. You booked your own train ticket home according to his because you could think of nothing worse than leaving him alone on the run up to Christmas.

“Sit down, you’re making me anxious,” Aemond says, not looking up from the screen.

He’s been on the verge of irritation all day. You’re in the kitchen trying to make hot chocolate? Too much noise, he says. You’re at the dining table wrapping presents for your parents? Too distracting.

You take slow steps across the floor, behind his chair, draping yourself over his shoulders. He’s working on some project for an internship and simultaneously trying to get ahead on the research for his dissertation.

You love how he looks when he’s focused, the frown that means he’s utterly absorbed in what he’s doing. It’s not quite so endearing when he could be focusing on you instead.

Your arms wrap around him. He pushes his glasses up and puts a hand over yours, a featherlight touch. You want more.

“It’s getting late you say,” letting your lips ghost over his temple.

“It’s not even six.”

“You should take a break. We could order food?”

“Yeah, when I’m done with this, I just need to–”

“Aemond.”

Your arms fall away from him and he looks up at you with a slow breath. His expression is soft, his eyes slightly hooded, his lips fallen. He knows he's upset you.

“Aemond, it’s our last night together before Christmas.”

He shuts the lid of his laptop and leaves his glasses on the table. As much as you love how he looks with them on, there’s something about the unobstructed view of his face that never fails to take your breath away. Especially his eyes, one blue, one glass and made to imitate a sapphire, framed in a neat scar running down the left side of his face, an injustice of childhood.

He leans forward, snaking his hands to your waist, pulling you in towards him. 

It’s an unfair move really. Suddenly all you want to do is run your fingers through his silver hair, tilt his chin up, hold his face in your hands.

“You’re right, darling,” he says, stroking his thumbs in circles where they fall against your belly. You feel the pressure of it through the knit jumper you wear. “Let’s go out. Pub? Restaurant? What’s the market thing on Conquest Street, didn’t you mention that a while ago?”

“It’s a bit late to go out now, I’d have to get ready.”

“We’ll stay in and watch a Christmas movie then, yeah?”

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood for something festive.”

He makes a quick face. Not that long ago you’d tried to get him to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol, and he was far from impressed. What horrors will you have in store for him next? “Whatever you want. I want whatever you want.”

You coax him to the sofa, big and plush and expensive. Aemond throws a blanket over the two of you and with a few taps of his phone arranges the food. Without much deliberation you put on Love Actually, meeting Aemond’s eye with a wide grin.

He hides his face in his hands but survives the ordeal.

By the time the credits are rolling it’s not particularly late, but you’re dreading the morning. You’ll have to wake up early, pack a bag, then you and Aemond will go to the train station together and go your separate ways until the new year. A whole two weeks apart.

You cozy up to him, breathe in the smell of his aftershave.

“What now, another film?” He asks, trying to find the remote.

Another idea pops into your head. “We could do something else?”

Aemond catches your eye, trying not to smile. “Now let me think, what else could we possibly do, hmm?” He’s awful at playing coy and has been since the moment you met him. He’s too observant, too intent on the details to play dumb.

“Well,” you say, tracing fingertips along the material of his sweats, over his thigh, “since it is the season, and I can’t ride Santa’s sleigh, can I ride you instead?”

His mouth bursts into a messy smile. “Sorry, what?”

You mean to huff out of annoyance but it comes out like a laugh. “I’m trying to be cute!”

Aemond takes your chin in his fingers and your body freezes. “You really don’t need to try,” he says, and leans in to capture your lips with his.

The way Aemond kisses makes you melt every time. He’s slow and commanding, like he’s savouring every precious moment. His hands slide underneath your jumper, dragging along your skin to hold your waist. The promise of what will come next puts you on edge.

Sparse gasps for breath hum in the back of your throat. Aemond smiles against your lips and holds you tighter, dragging you to straddle his lap. He pulls away from your mouth, to your frustration, and places a wide palm at your navel, the waist of your jeans. “Stand up, need to get these off.”

You move off him and go to undo the top button, but Aemond grabs your wrists and pulls you closer. You watch as he smiles slightly, his fingers moving to undo the button and the zip. He’s teasing you, drawing out the anticipation as much as he can. 

You sigh in relief once they’re off, dragging them down your legs, tossing them aside and coming back to straddle Aemond. 

His hands settle at your thighs. “Look at you, so eager, hmm?”

“You can’t blame me, you’ve been ignoring me all day,” you say, grinding your clothed core against the bulge in his sweats. You can be teasing too, with drawn out movements of your hips.

Aemond’s jaw tightens. You can see he’s trying to stay smug. “Well, we’re fixing that now.”

You press a kiss to his cheek while your fingertips curl at the top of his sweats, dragging them down enough to free his cock. He’s taught you what he likes and if you were feeling patient you might have come to your knees before him, but at the slightest touch of Aemond’s fingertips against the fabric over your clit, you know what you need.

He pulls your panties to the side, dragging you along his leaking cock with a hand at your lower back. He’s hard and you’re achingly wet. He holds you where he wants you, lining himself up to pull you down onto his length. The stretch is sharp and sweet, hollowing you out and filling you perfectly. 

Aemond’s head falls against the back of the sofa as you sink down.

“Does it feel good?” you tease him.

He’s breathless, helplessly watching the space where your bodies meet. “Fuck, perfect little pussy– feels so good,”

You cradle your arms around his head as you ride him, unhurried, hands restless as you feel his hair and the sides of his face, along his jaw.

Aemond hardly has to do anything, as soon as his fingertips are on your clit you feel your spine straighten and something inside you tighten. He circles over you lazily, watching your face with a soft, admiring kind of amusement. 

“Right there,” you whisper, “don’t fucking stop.”

“Are you gonna come for me, darling?”

Your thighs are burning at the effort but you don’t care. You’re so close, so close.

“Beg me,” Aemond murmurs.

A slew of slurred and breathless pleas fall from your lips. You can feel the slickness between your legs, how easily he glides over you, how deep his cock reaches inside of you, pushing against the right spot.

Aemond hums as he grabs your hips with his free hand, fucking you faster and harder until you’re falling apart, convulsing, melting. 

You fall against Aemond, holding each other closer as you wait for the deliriousness to fade away. Suddenly the air is unbearably cold. You cling to Aemond, to his warmth, content in his arms.

“Happy with your ride?” Aemond asks. You can hear him grinning.

You lift your head and rest it against his shoulder. The light of the TV catches in his features, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, the details of grey in his right eye and the unnatural bright blue of his left.

“Can I go again?”

Aemond leans into you, pressing his nose against yours. “You can ride me as many times as you want, darling.”

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[ghelgheli]

Historians are rarely challenged just for applying words like ‘woman’ and ‘man’ to the past; it would not inevitably cause a backlash to say that a historical figure wanted power, or grieved, or felt anger. A trans historian, though, is caught in the double-bind of the DSM-5. Our experiences and our desires are quite literally mad. We do not have the social license to see ourselves fractured and reflected in historical figures; we are standing in the wrong place to write. Put simply, if you foreclose trans readings, you foreclose trans writing. When we reflect on the similarities between our lives and those of historical figures, we are accused of spreading our social contagion to the dead. To read our own anamorphoses in a text, to communicate that to a cis academic establishment who have rendered our unqualified subjectivities unimaginable, we are forced to accuse historical figures of transness. And then, of course, we are chastised for pathologising them. For a trans historian, it is not viable to simply universalise our experiences of gender. In order to relate to historical figures’ gendered experiences in our writing in a way that is legible to cis readers, we have to assert that those figures were trans. There is a gap to be bridged, and the onus to bridge it falls on us… Transmisogyny and anti-effeminacy were and are integral to the structure of patriarchy and therefore to cisness (or vice-versa). In ‘Monster Culture (Seven Theses)’, Jeffrey Jerome Cohen proposed a methodology for reading cultures: ‘from the monsters they engender’. In concluding this sketch of Byzantine cisness, I would like to attempt to apply this method. To monster a group or an individual is a violent act, and through examining the way transfemininity was monstered in Byzantium, we can begin to understand the shape of the violent regulation of gendered possibilities that constituted Byzantine cisness… Synesius [of Cyrene] did not simply compare the image of the elegantly coiffed effeminate with the shiny dome of the soldier’s helmet; he went one step further, proclaiming that pretty hair was the give-away for hidden effeminacy. He rails against ‘effeminate wretches’ who ‘make a cult of their hair’, who he suggests engage in sex work not out of economic necessity but as an act of sex and gender exhibitionism, to ‘display fully the effeminacy of their character’. Then, he goes on to say:

And whoever is secretly perverted, even if he should swear the contrary in the marketplace, and should present no other proof of being an acolyte of Cotys save only in a great care of his hair, anointing it and arranging it in ringlets, he might well be denounced to all as one who has celebrated orgies to the Chian goddess and the Ithyphalli.

The implication is clear: long, well kempt, perfumed and curled hair is not just hair, it is a signifier, one that signals total abnegation of manhood, and therefore of cisness. This demonstrates one of the mechanisms by which cisness was maintained and enforced in the Byzantine world. Relatively minor embodied gender transgressions, like too-long or too-pretty hair, could be linked to transfemininity and to sexual receptivity, the two farthest points from patriarchal manhood. That is not to say that this prevented people from committing such gender transgressions; rather that it made them risky, a weapon that could be used against you by anyone who wanted to do you harm. The other thing demonstrated by Synesius’ invective is the relationship between effeminacy, unmasculine vanity and presumed sexual receptivity. It would be tempting, based on the relationship Synesius draws between long beautiful hair and receptive anal sex, to suggest that the animating force of this antipathy is, if not homophobia, a narrower pre-modern equivalent. There is, however, a fantastically complicating detail in Synesius’ remark on the reasons such ‘effeminates’ engage in sex work: being sexually available is presented as an instrumental, rather than terminal value. In Synesius’ imagination, sex work is the means, but social recognition of the feminine gender of the sex worker is the end: to ‘display fully the effeminacy of their character’. The monster Synesius invokes to shore-up his own gender position, to guard his own cisness and his access to hegemonic masculinity, is an unambiguously transmisogynist fantasy. It is here that Byzantine cisness most sharply converges with twenty-first-century cisness.

‘Selective Historians’: The Construction of Cisness in Byzantine and Byzantinist Texts, Ilya Maude [DOI]

[communistkenobi]

I was looking for a book recently on an online storefront and was recommended a book written by a physicist about the history of humanity. this was a popular press book that was not intended to be read by other academics, but it reminded me of this niche genre of books, with experts from the physical sciences writing about human behaviour or history or what have you. Could you imagine coming across the inverse? A popular press book that purported to explain physics written by a historian?

There is some deep imbalance in how public perceptions of “general intelligence” seem to work - those in STEM are generally recognised for their competence, expertise, and intellectual acumen, and this recognition can be generalised, that at some level a demonstration of your expertise of eg astrophysics is a demonstration of your abilities of investigation writ large, that you have figured out some central underlying element of science that allows for basically limitless intellectual extension to any field or subject. A physicist can write a book about human history and be taken seriously by the general public on the assumption that physics is more difficult to understand than history, so any lower domain of investigation is open to them. The reverse is often not extended to a lot of the social sciences, particularly the theoretically-heavy social sciences; theory is just making bullshit up at the end of the day, it has no real practical application because any questions about the philosophy of thought or knowledge - how did we come to know what we know and under what conditions do we know these things - is just the indulgent wankery of people who can’t find a real job.

And of course it would be silly to insist that because you have read Hegel, an infamously difficult thinker, you know how to interpret the lab print-outs of electrochemists - I don’t want this goofy concept of general intelligence to be applied everywhere, I want it to go away entirely, but its current uneven applications across scientific fields indicates a broader problem with public conceptions of expertise and knowledge.

This probably has something to do with anti-communism on some level - social science is not generally regarded as “real science” (in no small part because social science is often the field of bureaucrats, and while animosity towards bureaucrats is deeply sympathetic, I suspect the reasons for this animosity are not themselves scientifically grounded), that while there is a public understanding of “objective facts” that exist prior and external to human interpretation, the politics of knowledge are hegemonically oriented around liberalism, to such an extent that any critique of the assumptions of knowledge are viewed as a dogmatic denial of reality done for the purposes of political infiltration and brainwashing. And I don’t feel totally unqualified to say this, given that this is basically the de facto response from students encountering Marxism for the first time in university. “Marx is too dogmatic” may as well be inscribed above the doors to lecture halls. Hell, Jordan Peterson made a nice little public career for himself railing against “post-modern neo-Marxism,” a phrase so nonsensical that the fact he was not immediately and permanently laughed out of the public arena for saying it is an indictment of how politically illiterate we are as a society!

And the infuriating thing is that a lot of social science scholarship (not just from the US but especially from the US) is complete horseshit, just pure evil garbage motivated solely by a desire to justify the fact that we do really need to keep killing tens of thousands of people a year to keep this whole party going. Every sociologist who calls themselves a “methodological individualist” is contributing to the long-standing tradition of eugenics scholarship but is too craven and vain to admit to this. If you had to describe the sum-total of the social scientific scholarly output of the west in a word, it would be ‘mysticism.’ Because it is the case that anti-colonial, anti-imperial, and anti-capitalist investigations of the political-economic conditions of the world have produced social scientific knowledge on par with the discovery of the atom, but it is not treated as such. “It is right to rebel” is not just a moral claim about violence but a scientific summary of human history.

But I think it is precisely this reactionary state of affairs that makes people devalue the social sciences as an actual site of legitimate investigation, that understanding the historical trajectory of ideas or the political conditions of life are valuable pursuits for any just society. Because social science deals with the social world, the political conditions under which the social world is investigated and understood are themselves bound up in questions of political and economic power. But this equally extends to the physical sciences - I know at least in environmental sciences, there is an ever-growing reckoning with climate change as an imminent threat to all life on earth, and environmental scientists cannot avoid talking about the political conditions of our planet even if all they want to do is study a river. Genocide is measurable in soil samples taken in the American continent. The separation of the environmental from the social is itself a historically contingent arrangement of knowledge.

But this is infuriating to even complain about because I don’t want to sound like an entitled academic or ego-bruised professional. I have no desire to start a faculty war with the STEM fields. I feel secure in my own expertise. I do not want anyone to “recognise my greatness” I am just profoundly lonely in this whole affair. and it just so happens that we exist in terribly anti-intellectual conditions for the most cruel and ugly reasons possible, and so we (me, I) have to suffer seeing books on sale claiming to give a general account of human history written by a physicist

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii I’m loving Thawing out so far and this is kind of a bland request but I feel like it would be cute if Remus shows up to practice late one time and when he gets there reader and Sirius are working on like footwork or anything else really but they’re just so much isync together and he’s just staring at them in awe. Anyways it’s totally up to you if you want to use that and where you want to put it but yeah :)

Thank you lovely!! And everyone say thank you to Elle for her genius "Pads" idea ;)

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, implicit mention of traumatic injury, blasphemous and untrue comments about Sirius' butt

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Sirius is a few minutes late to pick you up the next morning. A few more and you would’ve assumed he overslept, texted him to meet you at the rink, but Remus doesn’t make one comment about it. It seems that, like you, he finds that quips at Sirius’ expense aren’t as much fun when he’s not around to gripe at you for them. 

When Sirius does come it’s with drinks, one in each hand and a third nestled in between his elbow and his side. He had to have gotten to the coffee shop only about the same time as the baristas if he’s getting them to you this early. You plant a kiss on his cheek, reading the meaning behind the gift, the apology he won’t say aloud. It’s quite the sacrifice for him to wake up that extra bit earlier. By the way Remus’ eyes soften as he takes his drink, he reads it, too.

Of course, once you set off the teasing commences. 

“Do you not own a scarf?” Remus asks, eyeing Sirius’ wind-flushed cheeks. “Or a proper coat?”

“Oh, don’t come for his jacket.” You grin at him. “He’ll lose all his cool points if he trades that in.” 

“I can either look good, or I can be warm,” Sirius says stiffly, though you can tell by his expression he isn’t truly offended. “You can’t have both.” 

Remus doesn’t hesitate. “I’d rather be warm. You look like you have ice crystals forming on your nose.” 

Sirius huffs. “Can I smoke now?” 

“No,” you say primly. Remus appears to be hiding a grin. 

Sirius rubs the bottom of his nose and lets the two of you rag on him all the way to the rink. 

Practice is the same steady improvement, except for the death spiral. Remus is letting you grasp Sirius’ hands with both of yours for now, but you’re not bending your knee enough and Sirius’ leg is too far back. You haven’t even begun to tackle the jump you’re supposed to be launched into afterwards yet. But Remus is patient with you, and Sirius is more receptive to feedback than he has been since Peter. With the rest of your routine going so well, you’ve got time to perfect this one thing.

You’re whipping out of one of your other turns when a particular sort of smile breaks out over Sirius’ face. It’s one you know well, reserved only for one person. You don’t even need to look as he starts skating towards the edge of the rink. 

“James,” you say, following him, “what’re you doing here so early?” 

“I was given very strict instructions to make up for what happened yesterday.” James holds out a paper bag to Sirius, wrestling him into a hug. “It seemed best to comply.” 

“I hope your gift comes with an excuse,” you tease, though when it’s your turn you hug him too. You love having James around. He brightens everything he looks at, especially Sirius. 

“Well, it was Cam’s birthday,” James says as he squishes you to his front, “and he had to pick his mum up from the airport during our usual practice time. But my main excuse is that I didn’t realize it was yours we were stealing.” 

Trust James to disrupt his entire team’s practice—and yours—for one guy’s birthday.

“You’re not forgiven,” says Sirius, popping a doughnut hole into his mouth. He sounds too pleased for his grudge to be even a little believable. “We couldn’t practice at all yesterday because of you.” 

“Alright, then I’ll just have those back.”

Sirius moves quick to keep the doughnuts away from James, though he does hold one out to you.

“Mm, as I suspected,” James hums. “Anyway, I have to arrange practice for twenty three guys. You only have two, and from what I just saw you hardly need it.” 

“Three,” you correct him. “But you haven’t met our new coach. This is—”

“Remus!” 

James is looking over your shoulder, where Remus has come over from his spot at the bleachers to join you. You blink in surprise, but Sirius does a full double-take. 

“Do you know each other?” 

“Yeah.” Both boys are smiling, Remus faintly and James with his whole face, as usual. “Rem and I used to practice at the same time. Back when I would come out before the team to run drills.” 

“A long time ago,” Remus agrees. A sympathetic bit of worry starts up in your chest, but he doesn’t have that same melancholic hue to his voice that he usually gets on the rare occasions someone gets him to talk about his skating career. He sounds almost nostalgic. 

“Surprised I never ran into you,” Sirius says. He’s eyeing Remus, a familiar sort of possessiveness in his stance. You see Remus’ eyebrow lift like he notices it too. 

“Wow.” James is still beaming. You’re beginning to feel inclined to follow suit. You already like Remus, but James’ stamp of approval means everything to Sirius. You’d like to see him try to hate your coach now. “When you said you got the best of the best, you really weren’t kidding, were you?” 

You nod. “I told you.” 

Remus’ cheeks start to pinken, and your smile becomes irrepressible. 

“Right,” Remus mutters. “We’re losing practice time here. The doughnuts will be there when you get off the ice.” 

“Well, they might.” James finally succeeds in stealing the bag away from Sirius, popping a squat on the bench. “I may feel inclined to snack while I watch. You don’t mind if I sit in on practice, do you?” 

“No, of course not,” you say.

It wouldn’t make any sense for him to leave only to come back in half an hour when his practice begins. Plus, you know that no matter how many times Sirius skates in front of him, neither James’ wonderment nor the gratification Sirius gets from it ever wear off. 

James whoops and hollers when either of you land even the simplest of jumps, and you see the two boys chatting behind the plexiglass. You see Sirius seeing them, too, his expression conflicted as he watches how well they get along. 

Unbeknownst to either of you, Remus and James are watching you both with nearly equal amounts of awe, despite the fact that one of them has won heaps of gold medals in figure skating and the other couldn’t do an arabesque without falling on his face. 

“God,” says James, watching you and Sirius go through the simple footwork leading up to your spin sequence, “they are good.” 

“They are,” Remus agrees in a soft voice. His eyes are pinned to each of you, not analytical for once but simply appreciative. You and Sirius are art in motion. “They’re so in sync with each other, it’s incredible. I could have never done that with someone.” 

He feels the weight of James’ gaze when the other boy looks at him sideways. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to hear from me after you left, but I wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened.” 

“It’s fine, it’s hardly your fault.” The response comes easily to Remus’ tongue, a particular sort of muscle memory, well practiced during the months of grief following his injury. “Thank you, though.”

“Is it nice to be back?”

“Yeah, actually. I didn’t think it would be, but they’ve been good to work with.” Remus doesn’t know precisely what lulls the honesty out of him, but James has always had this effect. Even when they were little more than acquaintances, he felt like he could tell him anything. “They’re amazing to watch, and they…well they keep me on my toes.” 

James laughs. “I bet they do.” 

A comfortable silence descends over the two boys. They only watch you, your jumps and spins and the natural, effortless way you flow around each other on the ice. That is, until Sirius falls on his ass. 

He hits the ice hard enough that you can hear the oof he makes upon contact. You skid to a halt immediately, sliding onto your knees beside him. 

“Did you hit your head?” you ask him, slipping your palm beneath his skull to feel around. 

Sirius only groans an elongated, passionate, “Fuck,” and rolls onto his side. 

“Sirius,” you say more urgently. “What did you hurt?” 

“Did he hit his head?” You look over to see Remus standing in the entryway to the rink. He looks like he’s contemplating coming out on the ice. 

“No,” Sirius finally answers you both, loud enough that Remus and James can hear. “Just my ass.” 

“That’s alright then,” James calls back. “It was flat to begin with.” 

Sirius sits up to glare at him, a smile tugging at his lips. He rubs his tailbone. 

“Asshole,” you mumble, nudging his shoulder gently. “You scared me.” 

“I fucking scared me, I thought I broke something. That hurt.” 

“Am I going to have to get you pads like an amateur?” Remus asks as he steps out of the entryway, silently encouraging you both off the ice. James lets out a riotous bark of laughter. 

“Oh my god, please do,” he begs Remus as you both skate over to them. “It would be so fun to watch him compete at the Olympics in those.”

“Who invited you anyway?” Sirius gripes. The effect is lessened when he winces upon sitting down. 

Remus rolls his eyes and passes him the bag of doughnuts. “Make sure to ice it, Pads.” 

You turn your face towards the skates you’re unlacing to hide your smile, but James makes no such effort. His booming laughter will probably echo through the rink for years to come. 

Sirius makes sure you get your fair share of the doughnuts. They don’t even make it out of the rink with you. 

“That was interesting,” you say, tossing the empty bag into the trash as Sirius holds the door open for you. “Funny that they already knew each other. James seems to really like him.” 

Sirius frowns. “Apparently.” 

“Probably makes you think, huh?” 

“Shut up.”

[kikyoupdates]

Girlfriend-For-Hire ⭑˚🦋⭑ 𝟶𝟷

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Hoping to try something new and earn a bit of money on the side, you join an app that lets people hire you for your dating services. The idea is pretty straightforward — you pose as the client's girlfriend for a brief period of time, and in turn, you receive payment. But you didn't foresee everyone getting so attached to you, and suddenly, they're no longer satisfied with a fabricated relationship.

story masterlist | next

“...you can do what now?”

“Hire someone to date you,” your friend, Ava, repeats. She chuckles and waves you off dismissively. “Come on, [Name]. It’s the modern age. People are always coming up with new things these days. I’m willing to bet there’s an app or website out there for practically anything.”

You blink in disbelief. Granted, there is all kinds of crazy shit going on in the world, and you’ve heard of companionship services before—like escorts or sugar baby arrangements—but to hear that something like this is trending nowadays is still undeniably a shock. 

“Here, look,” Ava gestures, pulling out her phone. “I was curious, so I downloaded the app the other day just to check out.” 

“Uh, don’t you already have a boyfriend?”

“He knows I was just browsing. I showed him too, and we scrolled through some stuff together. A lot of the profiles on here are wild,” she laughs. “It’s crazy what people advertise they’re willing to do. Get a load of this guy. He says he’s down to meet your family and make a total ass out of himself just so that he lowers your parents’ standards and the next real boyfriend you get will look way better by comparison.”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. “I can’t tell if this is actually real, or just some new meme template.” 

“Of course it’s real! I think you’re underestimating how lonely people these days are. There’s definitely a lot of money to be made in this industry. Just look at how much people are willing to blow on their favorite streamer, even though they’ve never met them a day in their life. Dating’s gotten a lot more complicated lately, so I guess some people just want to skip past the troublesome parts and experience what it’s like to be with someone.” 

You furrow your brows. The whole thing sounds incredibly sad when you think of it that way. People would rather pay for a fabricated relationship than put in the time and effort towards building something real? Loneliness is starting to sound like an actual epidemic nowadays. 

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t judge people without understanding where they’re coming from,” you acknowledge. “It’s not like I know what they’ve been through. Times are changing and all. It sounds like this is actually starting to become pretty mainstream.” 

Ava nods chipperly. “Yep! I mean, I love my boyfriend, so I’m definitely not the target audience, but maybe it’s what some people need to gain a little boost of confidence and get back into the dating scene. I doubt everyone uses it in a romantic sense too. There are people out there that just want a bit of company every now and then. Isn’t it nice that they have someone to spend time with this way?” 

“Yeah… I guess that’s true.” 

Honestly, you’re still struggling to fully wrap your head around this. You understand the premise well enough, but you can’t really get past the part about accepting payment just to provide someone with a fabricated experience. Then again, you suppose that’s the case for most things nowadays. People are willing to spend the brunt of their earnings on in-game purchases for video games and other things that aren’t tangible in the real world, because even though they aren’t necessarily organic, it still provides them with some satisfaction. 

Long story short, it’s not up to you to decide what does or doesn’t make someone else happy, and you suppose as long as it’s executed in a professional manner, there’s nothing wrong with meeting new people this way. 

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” Ava suddenly perks up. “You should join this app! You’re super pretty, smart, and nice. I bet you’d have loads of guys lining up to hire you as their girlfriend!”

“Me?” You blink repeatedly, shuffling backwards the closer she leans in. “I mean, I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job. If it makes people happy, then I support it, but deep down, I worry I’d feel like I’m exploiting someone’s feelings just for a few extra bucks. Morally speaking, I’m not so sure I like the idea…” 

“It’s not exploitation,” she insists. “People know what they’re signing up for. At the end of the day, it’s a buyer-seller relationship. Someone pays for the service being advertised, and they receive it. As long as you’re not ambiguous about what you’re willing to do for the amount that you’re charging, people know what to expect. Of course, I’m sure there might be the occasional asshole here and there, but if they do anything inappropriate or violate the terms, you can report them through the app and they’ll be banned from using it.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that. Some extra money would be nice. You’re a university student with all sorts of loans, so it’s not like you’ve got excess cash lying around. And it’s also true that you’ve been looking to apply for a new job lately, since your old manager was a total ass and you ended up quitting. 

Still. A girlfriend-for-hire? Someone like you? It’s just really difficult to imagine. 

“I actually think it’d be a good experience,” Ava goes on. “You’ve never really put yourself out there before. I know everyone dates at their own pace and stuff, but you shouldn’t have to be afraid. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet some cool people and want to date them for real. And even if you don’t end up going for them, you still make some money, so either way, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

You chuckle weakly. “Yeah, I just don’t know. I feel like I’m better suited for traditional jobs. But thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m glad you think people would actually be willing to pay to date me.” 

“Girl, you seriously need to believe in yourself more,” Ava sighs. “I’m telling you, you’re a catch. But at the end of the day, it’s your call. You shouldn’t force yourself into anything if you feel uncomfortable.”

You smile and nod in agreement, and sensing your discomfort, Ava decides to change the topic.

But for some reason, you feel a twinge in your chest, and it’s hard to keep your mind from wandering.

Later that same day, you’re lounging on the couch, mouth agape, having just downloaded the app on your own phone. 

“What the hell am I doing…?” 

You tell yourself that it’s just simple curiosity. Yeah. That’s all it is. Ava piqued your interest earlier, and now you just want to scroll through in more detail to get a better sense of what kind of people use this platform. 

The app is called ‘Partner For Hire’. The name isn’t particularly inspired, you have to admit, but you suppose it communicates its point rather effectively and leaves no room for ambiguity. Ultimately, this is a transactional relationship, and it’s probably for the best that clients know what to expect. 

You can use the app as either a buyer or seller. Meaning that you can create your profile and advertise your services, or simply list yourself as a prospective client and what your hobbies and interests are. In that sense, it’s kind of similar to most dating apps, since you have to take a flattering photo to go along with whatever blurb you’re providing. Of course, just because you try to solicit someone’s services doesn’t mean there’s any guarantee they’ll accept. This is an app where you can run everything yourself, and of course the company takes a cut of your profits, rather than an agency that matches you with a client regardless of whether you want to accept the job or not. 

There’s definitely a lot of flexibility, and you can easily choose who you want to pretend to date. If someone is interested in hiring you, they submit a request to be able to contact you, and once you accept, you can message them directly and establish the terms of the dating contract, such as the length and what particular services will be provided. 

You scroll through the list of boyfriends/girlfriends being advertised on the app, and honestly, it seems like there’s a decent amount of money to be made. Of course, a lot of that comes with building a good reputation and improving your ratings and visibility so more people will want to hire you, but it actually seems like a decent amount of people are able to make a living off this sort of thing. 

You bite down on your lower lip. Should you really go ahead and just do it? Like Ava said, there’s probably not much to lose. All the transactions are managed on the app, so you can easily report people who try to skip out on paying. Clients have to link their banking and personal info, so they’d be taking on a big risk by trying to scam people. You’re sure it might happen from time to time, but based on the reviews you’ve read, the company is really good at enforcing their policies and making sure everyone gets paid.

The money seems good, and it would definitely help take some pressure off your student loans, but ultimately, the biggest thing you’re struggling with is your moral compass.

People are willing to spend money for this kind of thing, and that’s entirely their choice to make, so it’s not like you’re extorting them or anything. Still… you wonder if it’s actually okay to profit off of someone else’s loneliness. You’ve never worked the kind of job that requires you to cater directly to another person’s emotions, and it kind of freaks you out.

But maybe Ava is right. There are all sorts of people in this world. Maybe some of them are just curious to try the app out. Maybe others just want to get their families off their back by pretending like they’re dating someone for a little while. There’s no way to discern everyone’s motivations, so perhaps there’s really no point in thinking about it at all. 

Most importantly, this could be a good thing for you. Life has been stagnant recently, and it’s true that you usually hesitate to put yourself out there. You’ll never learn what you do or don’t like if you keep on avoiding everything. This could be a chance to learn a lot about other people, but also, to learn more about yourself. 

Yeah. It’s time to stop overthinking for a change and just try something new. 

Thus, feeling unusually determined, you spend the rest of the day setting up your profile (finding nice selfies was the longest part of the whole ordeal), and with a resolved huff, you post it and officially go live on the app. 

You’re not really sure what you were expecting, but needless to say, there isn’t any immediate feedback. It probably takes a while for people to stumble across your profile, and even then, there’s no guarantee they’ll want to go out with you. 

I guess I was getting worked up for no reason. Certain people might find success with this kind of thing, but it’s probably not as easy as it looks. 

You scratch your cheek, suddenly sheepish over how needlessly excited you got earlier. You’re not used to stepping out of your comfort zone, so you must have gotten a bit carried away. 

For the rest of the evening, you set your phone aside and come back to reality. You get some homework done, make dinner, and by the time you’re ready for bed, you’ve pretty much forgotten about the whole thing altogether. 

That is, until you check and see that you’ve missed a notification.

“Huh? Someone viewed my profile and wants to message me?”

You’re undeniably taken aback. Not just because it’s happening a lot sooner than you expected, but also because it means that contrary to what you first thought, people are interested in you. 

Having minimal experience when it comes to dating and romance in general, you have to admit, the thought of being viewed as desirable is immensely flattering. 

Curious to see who wants to hire your services, you click on the user’s profile.

His name is Isaac, and he’s twenty-one years old, set to complete his undergraduate studies at the end of the year. He goes to a different university than yours, thankfully, because you can’t help but feel like it would be incredibly awkward to bump into him on campus after pretending to be his girlfriend. He’s studying to become a doctor, which means he’s still got a lot of school ahead of him, but you’ve always had a lot of admiration for people who are willing to commit to their goals and work hard. 

Also, even though you don’t want to sound shallow or anything… he’s really, really attractive. 

You frown. Granted, there’s more to a person than their appearance, but based on how he comes across in his profile and what his future career is, he doesn’t strike you as the type of person who would struggle to date someone.

But again, you can never know what’s going on in a stranger’s life. And there’s no real way to find out why he decided to join the app.

Apart from speaking to him directly, of course. 

[𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

After a momentary delay, the screen loads into a messaging interface, allowing you to see what Isaac sent you and respond to him directly.  

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times.

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling. 

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now. 

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times. 

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling. 

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now. 

[𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞]:

You’re admittedly a bit nervous, especially since you want to do a good job and avoid letting him down, but mostly, you’re feeling excited. All of this is uncharted territory for you, after all. Never in a million years would you have imagined taking on a job like this. 

And you really shouldn’t have.

You don’t know it yet, but this will be the cause of many, many regrets. 

Shit. I’m starting to have second thoughts. 

Even now, you still can’t believe you’re really going through with this. After talking to Isaac and ironing out the finer details, you agreed to join him for a family gathering and pose as his girlfriend. You expected for him to have quite a few requests, but luckily, he seems pretty laid back about the whole thing. The better portion of your conversation was spent on getting your stories straight so as not to incur any suspicion, and since you’ve always been a good student and a hard worker, you promptly memorized everything there was to know. 

And now, it’s finally time to put this plan in motion. 

“Hey,” Isaac greets. “[Name], right?”

It’s the evening, since his parents are hosting a dinner party. The event is supposed to be pretty casual, but you still dressed up semi-formal in the hopes of making a good impression. He never explicitly mentioned how strict his parents are, but since they’ve been on his case about getting a girlfriend, it never hurts to go the extra mile. 

"Hi, Isaac,” you smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“You, too,” he nods. He’s considerably taller than you, and every bit as handsome as his picture suggested. Unless his personality is god-awful (which you probably would’ve picked up on after messaging him for so long), you’ve got a good feeling that most girls would be interested in him.

Still, everyone is different. He might have really high standards, or maybe he wants to focus on his studies, or perhaps it’s just a case of having never met the right person. Whatever the reason may be, his parents shouldn’t be pressuring him to date someone, and if you have the means to help him out, you’ll happily do it. 

“You look really nice,” Isaac says. He tilts his head to the side. “I hope you didn’t feel like you had to dress up to impress anyone. The most important part is that they believe I’m seeing someone so that they finally ease up a bit.” 

“Oh, I just did this for my own peace of mind,” you reassure. “I made sure to memorize everything you told me in advance, so I’m confident I can convince them that we’re the real deal. Even though this is technically my first day on the job… I promise not to let you down.” 

You blush, feeling rather flustered. The idea of being someone’s hired girlfriend is still a lot to wrap your head around, and you certainly don’t want to make empty promises, but you have every intention of giving it your best shot. Isaac is in a stressful situation, and you’re resolved to do whatever you can to fix it. 

“Can’t wait to get this over with,” Isaac sighs. He opens the passenger door and gestures for you to step inside the car. “Don’t worry. I know you might be feeling a bit uneasy, but I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that. I won’t hold it against you if you have 911 ready on speed dial until we get to my parents’ house.” 

“I trust you,” you insist. “I’ve heard good things about this app, and it sounds like they take safety seriously. They’ve got your information in their system, after all. Plus, I can tell that you’re a nice guy. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“I appreciate it,” he smiles. “Anyways… I guess I’ve stalled for long enough. You can probably tell that I really don’t feel like going. But the sooner I get them off my back, the better.” 

“I’ll be the best girlfriend you can ask for,” you beam. 

It’s a promise to him, but also to yourself. You are committed to taking this new job seriously, and for the rest of the evening, you will do whatever it takes to blend into the role that’s been thrust upon you. There’s no reason to get worked up. At the end of the day, all of this is pretend. It won’t be anywhere near as complicated as a real relationship.

Right?

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🦋 main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[419jhat]

Eddie's lagging behind his friends at comicon, lazily taking in a particularly cool d20 being sold in the artist alley when he spots her. Seated in a chair, looking bored as fuck while she scrolls on her phone, was the most beautiful Blossom he's ever laid his eyes on. She wasn't wearing the usual outfit. She'd switched it out for something preppy and modern- a pleated pink skirt swishing around her thighs, cute white socks, and a sweater vest that shows off how much she goes to the gym. She looks like she would've called him a freak in high school, but in a sexy way, which is a thought that he doesn't want to reflect on without his therapist present.

"You gonna shoot your shot?" Gareth asks.

Eddie feels like he's been caught.

"I don't know, maybe I will," he says with a shrug.

"She's out of your league, friend. She looks like she'd step on you."

"I know," Eddie sighs.

Gareth looks incredibly unimpressed . "Ugh. Go. Before I leave you standing here like an idiot and she notices you staring. Which you're doing a lot, by the way."

He finishes with a shove right between Eddie's shoulder blades, forcing him to stumble toward Ms. Blossom in a way that catches her attention. And then he has to walk up to her, because he's looking at her and she's looking at him, and neither of them are looking away and it's becoming a whole thing. He walks toward her slowly, because he can't think of what to say, and the way she's playing with her wig is really distracting and cute.

"Uh. Waiting for a Rowdy Ruff Boy?" he jokes awkwardly. Blossom's face morph into pure disgust and Eddie wants to melt into the floor.

"Seriously bro?" she asks with a shockingly deep voice.

Before Eddie can make his brain snap together a response, the other Power Puff Girls are running up to them.

"Steve! I hope you didn't wait long, Chris wanted to get one of those- oh. Hello," Buttercup says, when she notices him. Bubbles' blonde hair is very real, and very cute pulled into pigtails. Buttercup seems to have just dyed hers black for the occasion.

"Hi," Eddie says lamely. He waves at them, for some reason.

Buttercup gasps. "Are you hitting on him? We can leave and come back. Come on, babe," she says, grabbing Buttercup's hand.

"Don't fuck this up!" Bubbles says as she's pulled away.

"Oh my god, ignore them. What did you say?" Steve, apparently, asks. Eddie wants to crawl in a hole and die. He can just feel Gareth laughing behind him.

"It's was a joke. You know, the Rowdy Rough Boys?" Steve doesn't seem to know, so he adds, "the evil boy version of the Power Puff Girls?"

Steve looks down at his clothes as some kind of recognition dawns on his face. "Oh! Shit dude, I haven't seen the show. Rob and her girlfriend just really needed a Blossom."

This is usually the point Eddie would tease Steve about being a poser, but he looks so sincere (and his biceps are so distracting) that his game is totally out of shape. A guy who would don a skirt for his friends? A man after his own heart! He half wants to make up an excuse and leave to save himself from further shame, but he's too enticed by the cute moles on Steve's jaw that he lets himself suffer a little longer.

Steve looks him up and down and asks, "so what are you supposed to be?"

Eddie looks down at his ripped jeans and says, "...me."

He's internally kicking himself for leaving his own outfit in the hotel room.

Steve smiles up at him in a way that shows off his makeup. "Well it's working for you. You know when you first came up to me I thought you were asking me if I wanted to get rough with you."

Eddie laughs awkwardly, cheeks burning, because bombing an interaction this badly is exactly the kind of thing the universe would demand of him. Steve just stares at him. Eddie stares back awkwardly, wondering what he's supposed to even say. He can see Buttercup and Bubbles a few feet away, mouthing something at him combined with a collection of hand gestures he doesn't really understand. Steve sighs. Then he flicks the wig in a way that's kind of flirty and says, "that was an invitation, dude. You gonna take it or sit there and keep staring at my tits?"

And Eddie does take the invitation, thank you very much.

[logansdoll]

pep talk

part two of "contingency"

CW: fluffy fluff, suggestive, profanity, takes place after X2 (Jean survives), the girls are so kind to you, you have to adjust to modern life, angst if you squint, etc.

"No way!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you grabbed the remote, completely taken aback as you flicked through station after station.

Rogue nodded, grabbing another wildflower growing out your palm and tucking it in your hair, slightly amused by your surprise.

"You guys have so many channels! How is that possible?"

"Science," Kitty shrugged. "We have a whole bunch of new technology now."

"Wait 'til we show you what a flip-phone is..." Jubilee smirked, tossing some popcorn into her mouth.

"A flip-phone?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"That's somethin' we can tackle t'morrow," Rogue assured, carefully placing another peony in another section.

After being rescued from Alkali Lake, and getting a quick check-up from Jean, the students were more than eager to welcome you into the mansion.

And because of your obvious gap in knowledge in anything after 1988, the older girls took it upon themselves to educate you.

Of course, Ororo made sure you had at least a week to get your bearings about yourself before releasing the hounds.

"Wait, so Tom Selleck doesn't count as hot now? And Stallone isn't in all the action movies anymore?" you asked, skimming through some of the magazines Jubilee managed to grab out her closet.

"Who?" Kitty raised a brow.

"Eighties hunks," Jubilee clarified before turning to you. "And they've moved aside to make way for the hotties of the 21st century. Like Johnny Depp."

"Please," Rogue scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Johnny Depp is not hot."

"Tell that to People," Kitty grinned, holding up a tabloid that read SEXIEST MAN ALIVE in bold letters right above Depp's head-shot.

"He's not too bad," you nodded, getting a good look at his face.

'He's got nothing on Jimmy...'

"See," Jubilee smirked, crossing her arms in triumph. "If he's not a modern-day knock-out then who is?"

"Brad Pitt," Rogue answered, matter-of-factly.

"I knew you were gonna say that!"

"You watched Fight Club with Bobby, didn't you?" Kitty teased.

"Shut up!"

"Fight Club?" you turned to Kitty for explanation.

"It's a movie about guys fighting each other and trying to bring down capitalist society."

"And Brad Pitt getting all shirtless and sweaty," Jubilee cheekily whispered, earning a pillow to the face. "Hey!"

"There," Rogue smiled, placing the finishing touch before giving your shoulder a soft pat. "All done."

Carefully, you stood up, walking over to the full length mirror near the closet and smiling brightly at what you saw.

Your hair was adorned with all different flavors of bloom, the vibrant colors only enhancing your natural beauty.

"I love it," you smiled, marveling her even placement.

"Ugh. I'd kill Kitty to look like that," Jubilee slumped, resting her cheek in her palm.

"Sitting right here, dude," Kitty sighed.

"I can do you next, if you like," Rogue offered.

"Here," you nodded, sprouting a bouquet of wildflowers out one of their potted plants before sliding on your slippers. "You girls can keep going. I think I'm gonna go on a walk."

"Cool," Jubilee nodded, watching you make your way to the door. "If we don't see you again then good night~"

You paid the odd inflection no mind, waving goodbye before taking your leave, shutting the door behind yourself.

And once the coast was clear, Jubilee smirked, turning to the others with a knowing look.

"I think we all know who she's going to go see, right?"

"Oh, totally."

"Absolutely."

So preoccupied with Jubilee, you failed to remember just how drafty the mansion got at night, cursing yourself for forgetting your sweater in the room.

"I hate the cold..." you grumbled, hugging yourself tight.

Walking through the hall, you could hear the rustling of students on the other sides of the doors.

Some were debriefing about the events of the day, some were sleeping.

Others talking about the Alkali Lake incident.

Your face fell at the reminder.

James had told you countless times that what happened wasn't your fault, but you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt.

When you were cornered by Stryker's mutant-hunting task force, you thought you could fight them back, but you couldn't even take down one.

Granted, they were highly trained professionals, and you'd never used your mutation to fight before...

But that was no excuse.

What did that leave you as?

A) A helpless damsel, who needed her prince to bail her out of a pinch?

Or B) A stupid girl who let herself get put on ice because she wasn't strong enough to fight back?

C) All of the above.

"Whoa. You think any harder and you'll have steam comin' outta your ears," Logan noted, somehow in front of you.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you instinct took over, punching something that felt like a brick wall.

'Where did he come from?!'

He grunted, holding his side, "You hit... hard."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," you winced, guiltily, as you moved closer to inspect it, carefully moving his hand. "It was just so dark and you scared the hell outta me."

You lifted his tank top, trying your best to check for a forming bruise in the dim light.

But there was nothing there, his healing factor kicking in much faster than you expected.

"Was thinking of about telling you a joke about how much you take my breath away, but I think you're a little preoccupied at the moment," he looked down at you, a grin spreading across his lips at your staring.

You scoffed, cheeks burning as you pulled his shirt down.

"Couldn't sleep?" you asked, quickly switching the subject, tightening your arms around yourself.

Logan smiled, your words fading into the background as he took the time to get a good look at you.

And fuck... a look you where.

You exchanged your low-rise jeans and long-sleeve (courtesy of Ororo) for a tank top and shorts, your curves now on display quite nicely.

"Nope," he shook his head, somehow making the motion sexy. "You?"

You sighed, commending yourself for making it this far—you were this close to pouncing on him.

"I just need some air, so I'm going on a walk. And speaking of..." you continued on, stepping around the large man to continue your stroll.

It caught him by surprise, but he quickly turned around, catching up to and getting in front of you.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey," he halted, brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," you assured, poorly. "Just trying to get past."

"Nuh uh. Don't do that," he shook his head. "Don't downplay this. Somethin's wrong. I can see it all over your face."

'Shit.'

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping at being caught.

"I can't stand you, y'know that?"

"Start talking."

"Have I ever told you how good you look in blue jeans?"

"(y/n)."

"Alright."

You exhaled, steeling your nerves in case things went awry.

"Look... Jimmy..." you started, choppily, taking his hand in yours. "Fifteen years is a long time... too long for some people."

You cursed yourself as you could already feel a lump forming in your throat.

You hadn't even started yet.

"To me, it feels like yesterday we were at our place in the Rockies, making dinner together and talking about our day, renting shitty movies and falling asleep on the couch together."

The memories flowed over you like a calm tide, a smile stretching onto your lips as you recalled pretending to fall asleep so he'd carry you to bed.

But it wasn't long before those waters dried up, leaving nothing but cracked, jagged sand underneath.

"But to you, it was a lifetime ago. And a person can... move on... given the right conditions."

"What're you saying?" he asked, firmly.

"I'm saying that it's okay if you've moved on from me, James," you blurted, your voice having a slight crack.

It hurt even more to say it out loud.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, even more confused, as his hands came around to hold you.

"You've spent the better half of fifteen years unaware that I even existed. And now that I've popped back into your life, I don't want you to feel obligated to love me because of something that happened in the past... I couldn't do that to you. Especially if you have feelings for someone else."

"And who else could I possibly I have feelings for?" he asked, sarastically.

"Jean," you stated, flatly. "I see the way she looks at you. She may be with Scott, but that's the look of a woman who's willing to test the waters. And I don't want to get in the way if that's something you want to pursue."

Amused, and honestly speechless, Logan could do nothing but laugh, slightly offended that you thought of him as that type of man.

"What's so funny?" you asked softly, eyes saddening as you watched him, quite hurt that he was laughing.

He cracked a grin, cupping your cheek in his hand.

"Baby, you're talkin' about me gettin' with another woman as you stand here, wrapped in my arms, and about to come back to bed with me."

Huh?

His thumb caressed your cheek as he pulled you in closer, resting his forehead against yours.

"(y/n), you are my wife, you hear me? My wife," he spoke sincerely, eyes never leaving you for a moment. "My memories might've been taken before, but they're all back now. And I remember every goddamn detail about you, about us, and about our life before all this bullshit."

You were too stunned to speak.

You knew James could get serious, but you never knew he could get serious.

It was doing some things to you.

"I don't want no one else because, to me, there is no one else. And the quicker you get that through your head, the quicker we can get back to bed 'cause it is fuckin' freezin' out here."

You snickered, both tickled and appalled by his horribly blunt speech.

"That was the worst pep talk I've ever had," you chuckled, shaking your head as you cupped his cheek in your hand.

"Not my strong suit," he finished with a smirk.

But that was all he needed before he roughly kissed you, pulling you in by the nape of your neck.

You kissed back just as passionate, sliding your hands down to his chest as he leaned in, getting the better angle on you.

One of his hands dropped to grab your thigh, hiking it up and pulling you flush against him in an attempt to keep you as close as possible.

But, quickly, you both separated, panting, abuzz with excitement as you rested against each other.

"Bed. Now," he growled in your ear, suddenly hoisting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

"Jimmy!" you quietly squealed, your face burning with embarrassment as he landed a loud slap on your ass.

'God, I hope the kids are asleep...'

taglist !!

@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce @shakysif @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate

[lionneee]

Happy Halloween

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: ghostface mask, smut, piv, knife play, orgasm denial, fingering, oral sex (male).•

Modern!Ghostface!Aemond x Girlfriend!Reader

In the real world, Halloween is when kids dress up in costumes and beg for candy. In Girl World, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it.

That was a philosophy your boyfriend, Aemond, never shared with you. 

So that’s why you never shared your Halloween costume to him until the horror night came.

“So how are you going to be dressed this year?” He asked as he laid down on the couch, his head resting on your thighs as you held your phone in your hands, searching for inspos for your costume on Pinterest. You made sure to hold it high over his head, so he couldn't see anything.

“I’m not telling you baby, you know it.” You smirked as you closed your phone and threw it somewhere on the couch, smiling down at him.

“Come on, it’s not fair.” He whined, making you smile even more. “We could dress matched, you know? You just have to tell me how you’ll be dressed.” He tried again, but you weren’t going to fall in his trap, despite how much the idea of matched costumes sounded good.

“Nope.” You chuckled, making him whine even more.

“FIne.” He scoffed. “Keep the secret for yourself.”

«So you’re coming to Aegon’s Hallowen party? See you at my house?»

You smiled at your boyfriend’s message and quickly typed him back:

«Yes, baby. See you there»

You looked back at yourself in the mirror.

Fishnet stockings, short, fake blood stained white dress, a black corset, a brown bandana, and of course, boots.

The perfect bloody, sexy pirate.

Aemond was not one to enjoy costumes, he didn’t like to think about it and he didn’t care about making the effort, still, he had always managed to make you happy with his lame costumes.

And when you walked into the Targaryen house, you had to say you were very pleased with his costume choice this year.

You recognised him immediately only because his white hair was visible from under the mask.

The ghostface mask.

He was also wearing some baggy jeans, and a tight black shirt, that showed off his perfect biceps and his sculpted abs.

Aemond approached you and quickly backed you up against the wall beside the door, raising a knife to your throat.

You bit your lip as the mere sight of your boyfriend was getting you shamefully wet.

“No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!” You chuckled as Aemond pressed the knife to your neck.

“Hi baby…” His voice sounded way lower and rougher from beneath the mask.

“Fuck, baby… You really want me to miss the party and spend the night in your room?” You moved your hand on his abs, feeling the muscles hot and hard under your hand. “Why ghostface?” You smirked up at him, curious.

“Because it represents me.” He said from under the mask. You chuckled and pulled him closer, so his body was pressed against yours.

“Yeah? You’re a serial killer, baby?” You joked. Not like you could see it, but you knew he was smirking from under the mask.

“I’d kill anyone for you.” He said before raising the mask, confirming your thoughts about his smirk. You had to bite back a moan at his words.

As a fan of horror movies, and Halloween night, you couldn’t deny how those words were extremely sexy.

“Fuck the party, baby.” You breathed out. “Let’s go to your room.”

Aemond quickly grabbed your hand and started to drag you towards the stairs.

He had to keep pushing people away to make space for himself, and he was hating it every time more. He also hated how every guy seemed to be looking at your cleavage.

“The corset, baby?” He pulled you in front of him, then he wrapped his arm around your waist as he kept walking, keeping your back pressed against his chest.

“I like it, it makes me feel sexy.”

“Oh, but you are. You are too much.” He grunted in your ear. He finally reached his room and opened the door, thanking that no one had entered yet. 

He quickly locked the door and pushed you against the wall, the ghostface mask looking down at you as he raised his knife back to your throat.

You smiled as you stepped back until your back hit the wall.

“I thought you said you’d kill anyone for me.” You smirked.

“I did.” He pressed the knife harder against your neck. “But now, you’re the one who’s misbehaving.” He said as he put a hand on your shoulder. “And you’re the one who needs to be disciplined.” He pressed his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to kneel down on the floor, discarding the knife on the floor,

You smiled as you were faced with the crotch of his pants, already tight, the shape of his cock straining against the material.

“You see what your stupid corset does to men?” He growled as he started to unbuckle his belt, then unbutton his pants, letting out a sigh when he finally freed himself from them.

His cock jumped out in front of your face, the sight breathtaking as always. It was half hard, but it still was beautiful, long, pale and veiny.

You immediately leaned forward and licked his tip, taking it for a moment in your mouth, sucking it like a lollipop before pulling back. You placed a hand on his thigh, the other wrapped around his length, pumping it fast as you pressed your tongue against the tip, looking up at him.

Aemond moaned, his hips bucked forward as he leaned his head against the wall, open hand tangling in your hair from above.

“Hands off.” He growled, his voice low and authoritative, making you immediately pull your hands off of him, and moving them behind your back. “Mouth open.” He ordered then, his breath deep and heavy, his eye fixed on you.

From his angle he could see your perfect tits squeezed in the corset, he could see your mouth open, ready to take his cock as you looked at him with those pleading eyes of yours, he could see the shape of your ass, round and soft. 

You could see how he was losing control. You could hear his breath, the mask making it louder, the sound sending a shiver down your body. You could feel his body tense, hard, and restrained, but you knew that eventually, he was going to snap.

And you couldn’t wait for it.

“Happy Halloween, baby.” He growled, then, with a determined, firm move, he trusted his hips forward, pushing his cock in your mouth.

You moaned as the tip of his cock almost made you gag, the salty taste of his skiing mixed with his precum invading your mouth.

You tried to relax your gag reflex immediately, well aware of what was about to come.

Aemond pushed your head back against the wall, he moved forward and placed both his hands on your cheeks as he started to thrust in your mouth with abandon, listening to the sound your mouth did everytime he pushed too far, the gag or the slight choked moan, the squelching sound or your little whines.

“Take my cock, baby –” He moaned as he panted, he was trying to restrain himself, he was trying to no push so far, but when you looked up at him, with tears streaming down your face, your eyes full of lust, his cock pushed inside your mouth, it was too much.

He growled as he put his hand on top of your head, securing your head back against the wall, and he pushed his cock inside your mouth, to the end.

You widened your eyes and looked up at him, trying to resist every urge, to pull back, cough, gag.

“Jesus Christ –” He panted, his head falling back, his eyes closed as he moaned loudly. “Fuck, yes!” He pulled back, but he didn’t give you much time to take your breath, he immediately started thrusting his cock in and out your mouth.

Droplets of saliva were dripping down your chin, your cheeks were wet from tears of effort, your nails were digging in your palms to resist the urge to touch him.

“Give me your hands – “ He panted, and you immediately lifted your hands, letting him wrap his hand around his wrist and pin your hands on the wall above you. “Just one more time, mh? You’re taking it so well.” Without waiting for a confirmation, he pushed his length inside your mouth again, the tip slipping down your throat until his entire cock was buried in your mouth, again.

You writhed, despite your effort to stay still, but he had mercy, and pulled out almost immediately.

He pulled you up, and pushed you towards the bed, pushing you down on it so you were laying on your back. 

He quickly pushed your legs apart, spreading you open in front of him and pulled down your panties, looking at how a string of wetness connected your core to the material, letting out a moan at the sight.

“Sucking my cock made you so wet, mh?” He growled as he passed his fingers against your core, making you arch your back.

“Y.yes, Aem -” You moaned as you tried to grind your hips against his hand. He slapped your core, making your writhe on the bed.

“Stay still.” He ordered with a grunt, slipping two fingers inside you with ease. “Fuck –” He breathed out as he started thrusting his fingers with force, making you grip the blacket tightly in your hands. You moaned loudly as his fingers rubbed repeatedly against that sweet spot inside you, the fastness and roughness of his movements bringing you close to the edge in a time record.

The mask did its job too.

“Fuck, em, I’m –” You whined as you looked down at his hand, your eyes taking the sight of his veiny hand, his fingers disappearing inside you tight heat repeatedly.

You arched your back, ready to feel the waves of pleasure run through you after your orgasm, but they never came.

Aemond slipped out his fingers right before you could reach your climax and slapped you core a couple of times, the impact between his hand and your clit making you cry out and close your legs.

“Dont’.” He snarled as he pushed your legs open again, not so gently, and slipped two fingers back inside, you back arching violently. “I’m not done with you.” He growled as he resumed the same movements with his fingers, hard and fast, touching all the right places.

You moaned loudly, looking down again, but Aemond wrapped his hand around your throat, pushing your head back against the bed, his face leaning down close to yours, the mask straight right back at you.

“You make me want to kill everyone that looks at you –” He snarled as his fingers kept moving, thrusting inside you, rubbing your walls. You moaned as you felt your stomach clench at his words, the pleasure building fast, and harder than before.

“F-fuck, Aem – I-I -” You let out a loud whine when he straightened up and slipped his fingers out before you could find your release.

You cried out and closed your legs, curling on the bed, your whole body shaking from your second denial. “Please, make me come!” You sobbed.

Aemond moved to grab the knife from the floor, and got back to you, pushing you face up on the bed by your shoulders so he could get over you.

He pushed the knife against your throat, to keep your head safely down.

You knew you had every right to be pissed with him after two denials, but it was nearly impossible with how hot he looked with that mask on his face.

You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter every second you passed by looking at him.

“You’re mine.” He said, his voice low because of the mask. He didn’t give any more warnings, he just pushed his cock past your folds, all his glorious length spreading your walls apart with ease due to how wet you already were.

You moaned and arched your back with a long moan as he started with a hard, slow pace, taking his time to pull out, and slipped back in with all his strength, almost sending you up the bed.

He kept the knife against your throat and the other went to your dress, he pulled it out, tugged down the corset until your breasts would be both free, and naked to his eye.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby -” He moaned as he picked up the pace, his head hanging down as he moaned.

“A-Aem, you feel so good –” You moaned back, holding on his wrists as his cock spread roughly your walls, hitting you deeper at every thrust.

You reached up to his face with one of your hands, and pulled his mask off, revealing his face, his forehead covered in a veil of sweat, his hair a bit messy, half tied back, some strings sticking to his forehead.

His fake, blue eye uncovered, and a splash of fake blood painting his face red.

You smiled at his effort to come out with a fairly good costume.

“God, baby -” You moaned as your back arched again, the denial of the last two orgasm making you sensitive, but even making the pleasure that was currently building stronger.

“Aem -” You panted. “I swear, if you don’t let me come -” You tried to threaten, but he smirked and pressed the knife harder against the skin of your neck.

“You’ll what, uh?” He chuckled, giving you a few harder thrusts, as if to remind you hou you were not in control at the moment.

“Aem –” You whined. “Come on, please –” You cried out. “I want to come.” “Yeah?” He asked. “You want to wet my cock even more?” He smirked. “You want to come on this cock?”

“Yes! Aem, I’ll make you feel so good -” You moaned, your voice was strained as the pleasure threatened to wash over you. You arched your back violently, and you spread your legs even more, trying to get him deeper inside you. 

He growled as he started thrusting harder, speeding up so suddenly, making you almost scream.

“Then do it. I want to see my cock leaking because of you, baby.” He growled. “Come.” 

“G-God, Aem!” You moaned loudly as you finally came, your orgasm hitting hard on you, harder than usual, your hands were trembling as you reached for his neck, pulling him down close to you as you held onto him.

“Fuck – You’re squeezing me so tight, baby – “ He grunted, his voices strained as well, his body tense, on the edge. He threw the knife away and hugged you back, thrusting one last time, burying his cock inside you as he spilled himself in your heat.

You both panted as you simply hugged each other on the bed, trying to calm from the pleasure.

“I love you too.” He whispered in your ear, leaning his head back enough to look down at you.

You smiled back at him.

“You know, I think your costume is better than mine this year.” You smirked. Aemond chuckled and kissed you softly.

“I’ll keep it in mind for next year.” He rolled on his side, bringing you with him.

“Why wait a whole year? And why use only one mask.” You smiled as you mentally started listing all the masks you’d love him to wear.

“Oh, really?” He raised his eyebrow as he looked at you with a smile. 

“Really.”

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