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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 3

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

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

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

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CASE STUDY: JAKE LOCKLEY

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Protector

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Dismissive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Jake?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why—Why didn’t you answer the door?”

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

“Because...I was in the shower.”

Oh. Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But fuck, you really liked it.

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

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

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

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

“Get on your knees.”

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

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

“Stick out your tongue for me, bebita.”

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

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

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

“Go on, then, bebita.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, papi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, papi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready, mi vida?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes! Okay, papi, okay. Just—please.”

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

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

“Stay still, bebita. Stop squirming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! No, m’sorry, papi, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, papi.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Th—thank you, papi.”

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

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

“You want my cock, mi vida?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How long had you been asleep?

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

“Jake?”

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

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

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

JAKE

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

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

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

made it back safely x

A response came in barely thirty seconds later.

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

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

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

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

Your phone buzzed with a final message.

Sleep well baby Hope you give him hell tomorrow M

POINTS OF CONTENTION:

- slowing down

- embracing vulnerability and confiding in others

- accepting intimacy and allowing raw emotion

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

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

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

“Hi, Jake.”

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

“Can I—uh, can I come in?”

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

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

“What time did you get home last night?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No pasa nada. I’m used to it.”

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

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

You shook your head derisively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did kiss you. A lot.”

He insisted softly. You shook your head.

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

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

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

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

“Can I kiss you, Jake?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Slow down, Jake, take it easy.”

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

“Oh, hermosa.”

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

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

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

“Come on, handsome.”

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

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

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

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

“No, Jake. Nothing like that.”

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

“Hey, tough guy. What’s your rush?”

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

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

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

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

“Hey. Slow.”

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

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

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

“Jake.”

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

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

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

“No, honey. None of that, okay?”

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

“It’s just you and me. Jake and Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“You just—have to be patient.”

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

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

“Fuck, Jake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mierda. Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Jake, just—hang on, that’s not—”

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

“I want to make love with you, Jake.”

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

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

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

“That’s...a new one for me.”

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, mi vida, but I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I—Can I keep going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Jake, did so well.”

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

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

“Go ahead, honey, I’m ready for you.”

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

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

“Wanna do this right, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Jake, oh God—”

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

“So close, Jake, yes, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Carajo.”

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

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

“God, Jake.”

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

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

“So good, mi vida.”

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

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

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

“Me vas a matar.”

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

God, he was close already.

“Fuck, hermosa, me arruinas.”

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

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

“Wan’ you to cum with me, Jake.”

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

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

“Cum inside me, Jake.”

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

“Y/N, shit, don’t—I’ve never—”

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

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

His balls drew up tight as his climax exploded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Jake, that’s perfect.”

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

“Sorry, s’just—sensitive.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No sé lo que estoy haciendo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean, not your job?”

His lips pursed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I care about you, a lot—”

“You don’t know me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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spicyllewyn · 1 year

Text

Roleplaying with them.

(NSFW) Headcanons. - Moon system x reader. (+18)

Marc.

You had been feeling observed for about 15 minutes during your walk.

You were heading back home, as usual, too late for your own safety.

Nothing had happened to you so far, so what could you lose?

It wasn't until the whitish glow behind you appeared, combined with the shadow from the ground, that your attention finally turned to your back.

A few days ago, you had seen more than one moon painted on the streets.

You weren't surprised to come across him.

"How long have you been there?" He didn't speak, just shrugged.

"I can see my house from here, your job is done."

When you turned around, you heard him clear his throat. "Don't people thank superheroes more?"

He was no longer wearing the mask. His tousled curls fell over his forehead, and the tight ceremonial suit of Khonshu allowed you to see every detail on his body.

"I thought they did it only out of love for their fellow beings."

Another step, and you felt your breath catch in your chest.

"Does anyone do things for free nowadays?"

He was right. And by the way his eyes wandered over your body, you didn't need to think much to guess what he was referring to.

His gaze was scorching you and you wanted to kiss his jaw until your lips hurt.

And you gave in, because who else was there to thank the masked vigilante who protected the nighttime travelers?

One step closer.

You were still in the middle of the deserted street, in plain sight of anyone who decided to take a nighttime stroll.

You didn't care much, not even when the cold concrete of the sidewalk made your knees ache.

His suit vanished in front of you, your eyes locked onto the pair of dark jeans that now filled your entire field of vision.

You licked on the fabric when you realized that he was already hard under his clothing.

And although the cold did not cause anything in him, your tongue did make him tremble.

A little more of force and you would have yanked the button off his jeans.

You were both clumsy, desperate.

Before you could object, the tip of his cock was pushing against your throat.

"Just like that, sweetie." And just when you thought her voice couldn't get any deeper.

Turns out, the terrifying Moon Knight was also a fan of encouraging his partners during sex.

He kept complimenting you, reminding you how well you were doing.

Although his moans spoke for him.

He had no compassion for you, when his hands were placed in your hair you knew you were no longer in control.

He rammed into your mouth with the brutality with which you had saw him punch people before.

You could only hear the gurgling of your saliva every time it slid down your tongue.

And your eyes filled up with tears as your nose bumped against the veil of his abdomen, you could feel him push you further.

Until you ran out of oxygen.

With two touches on his thigh he understood what you needed, finally letting go.

Your hand had to take care of the job, your saliva made it easier to stroke his already sensitive cock.

He looked at you, and you looked back at him.

"Thanks for taking care of me." Your smile was mocking, and Marc could only think about how cute your little face looked destroyed by him.

A chill ran through him from head to toe as the heat in his abdomen began to rise.

He was so close. "Just like that. Don't stop, -ah, fuck, please." His pleas confirmed the obvious to you.

You stuck out your tongue for him, and the mere image was too much for him.

It was obscene, he could see in you how much you wanted to swallow every drop he had to give you.

He came on your tongue. Actually, he came on your whole face.

And you squeezed anything that was left on him with your hand.

“Shit, I love you.” He said with a breathy, broken voice.

“Marc, don't get out of character!”

Steven.

"Sorry for the hour! Are there still tours available?" "Oh, Gods. You are just in time for the last one! But I'm afraid it will be just you and me, we're about to close."

At least this way you could ask anything that crossed your mind.

Steven was… dreamy.

You weren't the biggest fan of museums, but the guy was really doing his job for society.

You probably learned more there than in months of history classes.

And he made it so… enjoyable. So easy to understand, so much fun.

His eyes were shining as he spoke, and the 2-hour tour felt like 15 minutes.

"This is the least visited part of the museum." "Why?" "Many people are afraid of the ocean."

Both of you whispered, squinting your eyes to gaze at each other in the middle of the dark room.

A soft blue light gave the perfect tone to Steven's face as he looked at the exhibits as if it were the first time.

You leaned in to read the plaque in front of a representation of a shark skeleton.

And within seconds, a body positioned itself behind you. His chest against your back, one of his arms slid under yours, and he made you raise your hand.

His fingers guided yours to touch the fake skeleton.

"They don't have bones, you know?" A breathy moan escaped from his mouth when you pushed yourself towards him. "Oh no?" You played dumb. "It's, ah… gristle."

You tortured him by continuing to see the figure for extra seconds.

And when you turned around, Steven was on his knees

You smiled.

“I think it's my favorite room.” And in one jump you climbed onto a kind of high step that supported some other figures.

As if his lips had a magnet towards you, he began to kiss between your thighs.

Because of course, the first thing you did was spread your legs for him.

He kissed on top of the fabric until he got desperate.

You never thought that the shy museum guide in the baggy clothes would have the strength to pull your skinny jeans down in one fell swoop.

You've been wanting to mess up those soft curls ever since you laid eyes on him.

Right now, with his tongue working on you, it was the perfect opportunity.

"Oh shit." Your voice echoed through the empty room as you pushed him harder between your legs.

Steven refused to pull away for air, and you happily kept him between your legs.

He looked like a hungry man, you could feel his saliva running between your legs.

"Y-You do an amazing job." “Well, I always wanted to be a museum guide.” oh so innocent

"Steven!" It resounded so loudly in the room that you feared someone would discover you.

But not enough to shut you up.

It goes without saying that you finished sooner than expected, the adrenaline rush of being caught was always a fetish for you.

And when you looked down, you almost fainted.

His huge chocolate brown eyes were staring at you, barely parted enough for you to see his glossy lips full of you.

He had the expression of someone about to get into some mischief.

"No." "Yeah." "Steven, no." “How are you going to rate my good work in the suggestion and complaint box if I don't please you?”

Before you protested, his mouth was on you again.

2 orgasms were not enough for him.

Not even with 3, you lost count after 4, and he only stopped when your legs threatened to no longer support your weight.

You trembled, your vision was blurred and you couldn't bear the suffocating heat that you were feeling on your face.

“Did you like the tour?” He asked innocently as he adjusted your pants and finally faced you.

His face full of saliva and your fluids.

"You're awful at roleplay." "I know." He kissed you and you cleaned his mouth area with your tongue.

He looked at you with more wonder than at his favorite pieces in the museum.

"Let me take you to dinner, okay?"

Jake.

The honking of a car made you rush out of your house.

Your furrowed brow and your lips forming a pout gave you away as you got into the taxi.

Apparently, you were having a terrible day. You didn't even greet the driver as you got in.

"Bad day?" His accent did catch your attention. "Bad life." You replied with a nostalgic smile.

You could feel him looking at you constantly in the rearview mirror.

"Who would allow a beauty like you to get into a stranger's car at this hour?" "My fiancé is an idiot."

You made him scoff.

"I bet I can make you forget about him in seconds." "Seconds is quite ambitious."

He winked at you.

And you felt butterflies in your stomach.

The teasing way you turned your back on him made Jake accept the challenge.

Only God knows where he parked the car; you had never been in this part of the city before.

Him talking about seconds wasn't him being ambitious.

It was him being realistic.

Because before you could react you had the words stuck in your throat because his cock was deeply buried in you.

You were turning your back on him once again, this time by his choice.

You swore you could hear the screeching of the car with every movement of his hip.

"Does he fuck you like this, cariño?" He growled in your ear.

His questions made you dizzy, his thick accent and his hot breath hitting your ear.

"I bet he's never made you moan like that before." “Aw, look at you, honey. All cock-drunk and whiney.” "Pídeme más, amor, pídeme que te destroce."

You were staining the leather seat with saliva.

And Jake would pull on your hair to try and lift your face up a bit.

He didn't want you to keep quieting your whining like that, you knew it.

"More." It came out broken from your lips.

And he complied.

You could never think of another man like that, although to be fair, you didn't mean to.

“That fucking death-grip.” And while Jake seemed in control, he wasn't immune to your tricks, your way of taking the bull by the horns. “Amor, no, please, no… You are going to…”

He came inside of you.

And you shivered, keeping him inside.

"Look at that, cielo." After a few seconds, he pulled out, staring. “Do you think he will take you back now that I marked you as mine like this?”

And you made him laugh by cursing him out loud.

"Amor?" "Uh?" "You're going to clean that up." He poked you on the nose. Your cheek felt wet against the seat, your saliva making you groan.

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 year

Text

Nectar

Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader!

TW/CW: NSFW, Fingering, Voyeurism (sorta), exhibitionism, dirty talk, grinding, biting, smut, Jake is a cheeky little slut we all know this

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is self-indulgent as fuck, to help get me out of the funk I've been in. This is also because I actually grow these flowers and some interesting things happen when you milk them. That and I love to tell people I milk flowers for shampoo, the confusion is great.

(Any Spanish in this fic is written in italics and largely translated by Google, since I still know only a tiny bit and don't know any Spanish speakers personally)

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Jake dropped his duffel bag next to the front door, sighing as he tugged off his jacket.

It was a quiet day, thankfully, because Steven and Marc left him to control the body today, to allow him to front by himself without their "chattering" in his ear...

"Muñeca?" He called out.

When there was no answer, he tried for you again.

"Alguien en casa?"

His brow furrowed when he was met with silence. You were home, he was sure of it. Your car was out front, the front door was unlocked...

That's when he noticed it, the sliding glass doors were open.

Hairs rose on the back of his neck and he automatically suspected the worst. He pulled his gun out of his chest harness, turning the safety off and he slowly crept to the open doors, finger off the trigger.

Just in case.

He inched his head out just enough so he could sweep the corners of the back yard, surrounded with thick shrubbery and trees, and flowers of various sorts.

Until finally, he looked at the farthest and most shaded part of the yard.

There, hunched over, you were. Your hair damp and hanging in clumped strands around your face, what appeared to be sweat soaking your face, dripping down your neck, and into the valley between your breasts.

Your whole look was alluring, really. You were wearing your biker shorts, your boots loosely tied, your tank top rolled up to reveal just enough of the tantalizing skin he adored to touch so much.

Jake tilted his head, running his tongue along his teeth as he leered at you a moment longer, a familiar hot feeling settling in the pool of his belly.

Well, it had been a few days... too long for his tastes.

He then noticed something odd, next to you was a small pail, the kind you'd see a child using at the beach. The particular patch of flowers were probably the ugliest ones in his opinion. He made sure you knew it, too. They looked like pinecones without the prickly bits, conical in shape (obviously) with small blossoms poking out here and there as green faded into a bright red-pink.

When he asked you why the fuck you wanted those ugly ass things, you giggled and said "You'll see".

Jake grunted and put the safety on his gun off, holstering it and hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

He put his gloved hands in his pockets and walked into the patio, and over to you.

"I was wondering where you were." Jake hummed when he was close enough, tilting his head.

You looked up at him, and instantly you knew.

"Jake!" You said, breaking out in a grin as you stood, knees dirty. You slipped your arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek; but of course, Jake being Jake, he turned his head and caught your mouth, shoving his tongue between your teeth to slide against yours with a soft groan; one of his hands cupping the back of your neck and the other going to grip at your waist, slipping beneath your tank top, the soft worn leather sliding up your back.

The smell coming from you was almost heavenly. Sweet, a little earthy, but almost like a cologne he wore, ages ago. It was a good smell for you.

"Jake." You breathed, separating from him, pouting up at him. "Can't wait, can you?"

"Mmm." Was all he said, his hand at the back of your neck moving to tip your chin upwards, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.

"Well too bad, you horndog." You giggle, pulling away from him, to kneel back in the grass.

"What are you doing?" He sighed, pouting like a child as he crossed his arms.

"Milking the flowers, duh." You grin up at him.

"Qué? How the... how the fuck do you milk a flower?" Jake asked, his brow furrowing as he kneels next to you.

"Here, watch." You grab a hold of one of the heavy flower heads, gesturing for him to lean in as you put your tiny pail beneath the flower.

When Jake leaned in, you gave a sudden squeeze to the flower, and some kind of clear gunk shot out and splattered on Jake's face, right above his eye and dripping down his cheek.

You broke out in a fit of giggles when he fell back on his ass, furiously wiping at his face and spewing curses.

"You're jerking off flowers!" He hissed at you.

You cackle some more and gently squeeze the flower, ignoring his comment.

Jake hesitantly sniffed his hand and realized...

"Did you put this in your hair?"

"Mhmm." You hummed. "It's a natural shampoo and conditioner. It keeps your hair shiny and fluffy... helps with bug bites and it can apparently be used as a massage lotion."

"....Where the hell did you learn that?" He squinted.

"YouTube. I got bored one day. It smells good, though, doesn't it?" You smirk at him as he rights his position now, making direct eye contact as you ever so slowly work your hand up the flower, the clear nectar dripping down the soft skin of your hands, into the waiting pail below.

He felt his cock stir in his pants as you turned from him and moved back down the flower, and back up again, squeezing out every drop you could.

You grab the handle of the pail and lift it, revealing it had been tucked inside of another bucket the whole time.

"It does smell... okay." Jake conceded.

"Just okay? Jerk." You snort, as you reach for another flower to start draining it into the pail.

"Mmmmh." Jake hummed, watching your slick fingers grip the flower head.

"You can go inside, y'know?" You sigh as his fingers reach out and grip your damp hair softly, the nectar from the flowers soaking your hair, the shiny fluid clinging to his glove.

"Don't want to." He murmurs, standing on his feet, looking down at you.

You don't have to look at him to know that he's smirking.

"Seeing as how you won't go inside and leave me alone, here." You hand him the pail full of the clear liquid.

"Set this on the counter in the kitchen for me?" You bat your eyelashes for extra effect.

Jake rolls his eyes, still smiling and does as you ask.

As he set the pail down, he leaned his hip on the counter.

He had a rather painful hard-on now. Watching your dainty fingers work at the flowers, all he could see was your hands wrapped firmly around his cock slowly stroking up, your fingers playing expertly over the tip, just the way he liked it...

Jake sighed and walked back out, and seeing you bent over as you milked more flowers sent a thought through his mind.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

When you stood up, you were suddenly grabbed from behind, strong arms wrapped around your waist as lips sought the pulse in your neck.

"Jake." You sighed, your hand going up to gently grip his dark curls.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

It would have been innocent, a little cuddle and love nip.

If he wasn't grinding his hard cock into the curve of your ass.

"Jake!" You gasped when you felt one of his hands slide down the front of your shorts.

"No panties? Naughty girl." He grinned as he bit down at the soft spot in your neck, earning a moan that you had to swallow back down before it got too loud.

"Fff..." You hiss, looking around frantically as his fingers swipe over your clit, toying with the wetness in your folds.

"So wet for me. You're having more fun than you're admitting to me, muñeca." Jake growled, biting harder on your skin as he curls a finger into your waiting cunt.

"Jake! S-someone might see us!"

"Let em see."

Jake chuckled cruelly, shoving you forward into the large oak tree your flowers were planted around.

He turned your body until you were facing him, and he claimed your mouth, biting you lips and shoving his tongue into your mouth before you can protest, he pulls his mouth away from you, tugging the glove off his hand with his teeth, and shoved his hand down your shorts again and quickly pushed his fingers back inside of you.

He pressed the heel of his hand into your swollen clit and ground on it as he thrust and curled his fingers, making sure you writhed and squirmed; relishing in each contraction of your muscles as you gripped at the meat of his arm with your hands, biting your lip hard to stifle the moans.

You tried to focus on something, anything that wasn't your boyfriend's hand buried knuckle deep in your cunt.

You squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your head back, choking back your whimper.

You tried to focus on the bark of the tree digging into your skin, the pebble in your boot you kept forgetting to take out.

But all thoughts were brushed aside as you felt your orgasm being pushed, and pushed hard.

Jake was never the kind of man to half-ass anything. Especially when it came to fucking you. Normally he liked to work you up slowly, teasing you and eating you out until your legs turned to jelly, before fucking you on the nearest available surface.

Right now he was needy, desperate. You weren't sure what got him so worked up.

You gasped, and when you opened your mouth, Jake shoved his tongue back inside it, swallowing your voice in a hungry kiss as your muscles clamped down, spasming around his fingers as he thrust them in and out, fresh slick gushing around his digits as he fucked you through your orgasm, leaving you breathless and jelly-legged.

Jake pulled away from you, grinning like a shark.

You panted heavily. "You... you fucking shit--"

Your voice went dead when you heard your neighbor call out your name.

You yank Jake's hand out of your shorts and shove him away from you, fixing yourself as best you could when she walked through the gates connecting your yards.

"Oh! Hey, Joyce!" You say awkwardly.

"I was wondering if you finished getting that nectar?" The older woman asked sweetly, completely oblivious to what she just walked into.

"I... ah. Yeah. I kind of knocked over the second batch but I have some inside I can filter for you?" You cough awkwardly.

"Oh! That would be so nice thank you, sweetheart." She tilted her head, looking at Jake. "Oh! I take it your boyfriend has been helping?"

Your eyes widened in mortification, and you looked at Jake's hand, shiny and still wet.

The bastard didn't even try to wipe it off!

Jake gave you an impish grin and looked at his hand, playing with the lingering stickiness as he looked at Joyce.

"Sí, ma'am. But I was being a little careless and cost her the second batch." He replied politely.

"Oh, well, I'll be waiting! Take your time, sweetheart, no rush!" She hummed, turning to walk back into her own yard.

Jake waved the hand that still had your fresh slick clinging to it.

You grab his hand and yank it down, hissing.

"We're going inside. Now."

#my writing #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight smut

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odinsblog · 1 year

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“I think I can do this just as safely by breaking the rules.” —Famous last words and a fitting epitaph, by OceanGate’s CEO, Stockton Rush

Titanic Director, James Cameron, who visited the Titanic 33 times onboard a submersible and also holds a world record for the deepest dive ever at 35,787 ft in the Mariana Trench, has weighed in on the Titan disaster, saying, “I knew Titanic submarine imploded on Monday and rescue was a charade.”

👉🏿 https://metro.co.uk/2023/06/20/titanic-sub-ceo-was-worried-about-resurfacing-18980155/amp/

👉🏿 https://techcrunch.com/2023/06/20/a-whistleblower-raised-safety-concerns-about-oceangates-submersible-in-2018-then-he-was-fired/amp/

👉🏿 https://www.thedailybeast.com/missing-sub-boss-oceangate-ceo-stockton-rush-was-sued-for-fraud-in-florida-by-marc-and-sharon-hagle

#titanic #stockton rush #james cameron #oceangate #safety #safety regulations #stockton rush and oceangate was the elon musk of underwater teslas

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guardianspirits13 · 1 month

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So. Moon Knight has been on my mind recently, in the midst of my woeful Dead Boy Detectives hyperfixation. And of COURSE it got me thinking as things always do, and it crossed my mind how similar Charles’ and Marc’s home lives were as kids. Like one parent who actively hated them and that they could never do any good by (who beat them regularly), and the other parent simply passive, sympathetic but demure.

Hear me out- Charles and Edwin as a DID system. Two souls one body, the same as it is in Moon Knight. As ghosts they are two separate apparitions (for the most part) but they firmly believe that they lived separate lives, and it takes a psychic and a long-winded investigation to realize that perhaps the reason they are so inseparable is because they lived the same life.

Charles is the protector, at least physically, but Edwin takes on the emotional trauma and serves to compartmentalize and do homework and keep up appearances when Charles does not have the capacity to do so. But, as the bearer of emotional trauma, Edwin is also attune to their attraction to the same sex, which Charles must not know about for his own physical safety.

Charles thinks back on his life and remembers mostly his parents and his childhood. He knows he played cricket in highschool and had a couple flings with girls, but he’ll tell you it’s a miracle he didn’t flunk out given how little he remembers doing schoolwork.

Edwin vividly recalls his school life and although he was tormented by his peers, his teachers are fond of him and he’s incredibly intelligent and hard-working, even if a couple of assignments fall through the cracks. However, he couldn’t tell you what his parents looked like. He has a vague recollection of a distant, vaguely considerate relationship with them, but nothing too vivid.

Also, whenever Charles is fronting, Edwin feels trapped in a liminal space that he can’t ever seem to break free from. He has terrible nightmares of pain and torture but no idea what causes it, as he remains unaware of Charles’ physical trauma.

Just… augh. The more I write the more I realize how unexpectedly well this concept works for them. I already have three fanfics and an animatic on my plate but PLEASE if anyone wants to this concept is entirely up for grabs.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #payneland #dbda fic #dbda meta #moon knight #marc spector #crossover #au #dead boy detectives au #did #dissociative identity disorder #did community

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 5 months

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Bloody Beetle | Part Ten

Summary: buckle up folks, it's the final showdown

Pairing: Steven x reader, Marc x reader, Harrow x reader, Layla x reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: fighting, deaths...

A/N: as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

Part Nine | Series Masterlist

- - - - -

Layla’s POV

She wants to stop you from surrendering yourself, she knows it’s dangerous.

But she also knows neither of you have time to think of another plan.

As soon as you step out from behind the wall she wastes no time in sneaking over to where Osiris’ avatar is and pulls him to safety.

“Hey! hey, hey…” She says as she tries to keep him upright and conscious. “How do we stop Ammit?!”

“This chamber is our most powerful place.” He wheezes. “From here we need to imprision Ammit in a mortal form.”

“A body instead of a statue. She’d be vulnerable… okay, how do we do it?”

“We need more avatars than we have left…” he says before collapsing to the ground.

“No, no no!” Layla tries to wake him, but when she checks his pulse she realises he’s gone. She thinks for a moment, pondering her options. Reluctantly she summons Taweret and agrees to be her temporary avatar.

“I am so thrilled! We are gonna have so much fun together.” Taweret says excitedly. “I have a fabulous costume in mind.”

The sound of Harrow’s shout bounces off the walls, getting Layla’s attention. She peers around to watch.

Harrow is stood in front of you protectively, talking to Ammit. Almost pleading with her.

“What could she possibly do in the future that is so bad that she deserves this?”

“She will be the one to kill you.”

Ammit’s reply sends the room silent. A few disciples spare glances at each other but no one dares make a sound. Layla notices the heartbreak on Harrow’s face.

She watches as you try to stand, try to reason with Harrow, convince him Ammit is lying.

She watches as Harrow turns to you, and reaches out to help you up from the floor.

She watches as he drives a dagger deep into your stomach and she has to fight with herself not to run over and kill Harrow herself. She knows with Ammit behind him he is too powerful for her to fight alone.

She watches as everyone just steps over you, leaving you to die. Not a single one of them even pausing for a moment to consider helping you.

As soon as they’re out she runs to you, calling your name. You manage to roll over and look at her and she sees the moment the last bit of life leaves you. Your body going still, eyes glassing over as you lay limp on the ground. She crouches next to you, checking and double checking for a pulse. Begging you to wake up, to not leave her alone.

But that’s what she is now… Alone…

Marc is dead. You are dead. Without anyone to help her, she’s sure she will be next.

— — — —

Y/N’s POV

“Where am I?” You ask aloud, glancing at the bright white nothingness around you. “Steven? Marc? Anyone?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” A voice calls from everywhere at once.

“Hello?” You respond.

“I am Osiris, god of the underworld.”

“…okay…”

“I have granted you resurrection but I ask something of you in return… Become my avatar.”

“Uh, look I don't think I'm really the person to be asking. I don't know how to be an avatar, I don't even really know what it means… I just know that Marc said it’s bad. Like being a slave? And I really don't want that-”

“You won’t be a slave, you will be powerful.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is no. And if that means you have to send me back to the Duat then… I accept my fate.”

“I admire your honesty and bravery Y/N. But we need more avatars than we have left if we are to defeat Ammit.” Osiris speaks calm but firm. “Take the powers that come with being my avatar, use them to defeat Ammit and when the job is done I will take them back from you. I will expect nothing more from you. You may continue to live your life free from any burden.”

“So just like, a temporary deal? Right?”

“Yes.”

“And once Ammit is dealt with, I can just be normal again?”

“Yes.” Osiris pauses. “Do you accept?”

“I do.”

— — — —

You gasp as you sit bolt upright on the cold stone floor of the pyramid, making Layla jump.

“Y/N?!” She says, grabbing your arms to ground you as you flail around in a panic. “I got, I got you.”

You take deep breaths, clutching your hands to your stomach. You lift your shirt and watch in shock as the wound from the dagger closes itself, leaving you fully healed. Any weakness left from Harrow’s staff is gone too. You feel amazing.

“What… what just happened?” Layla says, wiping tears from her face and staring at your stomach. She helps you up off the floor. “You were dead!”

“Osiris healed me.” You say, in shock yourself. Then you notice Layla’s outfit. Her mundane clothes from before gone, replaced with a gold and white Egyptian armour. “What are you wearing?”

“Taweret chose it.” She says before explaining how she agreed to be her temporary avatar. You in turn explained the deal Osiris offered you.

“Well, you look badass.” You say and she laughs. “Wait, if I’m an avatar too now, does that mean I get a costume too?”

A bright light swirls around you and when it disappears you’ve changed. No more blood soaked clothes. Instead you're wearing green armour, similar to Layla’s, with white and gold fabric wrapped around your body. Attached to your back is a long golden staff with a hooked end.

You look down at your clothes in amazement, then up at Layla. The two of you look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. You don't really know why you're laughing, but after the stress of the last few days it feels like a welcome break.

“So, what do we do now?” You says once you composed yourself. Layla sighs, shaking her head.

“I guess, we try to save the world.”

— — — —

The two of you head outside. To your surprise the sky is as dark as night, even though you're pretty sure it’s still daytime. The sky is filled with purple lights, flying up from across the city and towards the other side of the pyramid where Ammit is.

“She’s consuming souls.” Layla says as you watch horrified. The more lights she swallows the bigger she grows. She’s already almost the same size as the pyramid.

“How are we supposed to stop her?!” You ask, looking around frantically. You look up at the top of the pyramid. Harrow is up there, a purple glowing light surrounds him as he chants in a language you don't recognise.

Before you can say anything, someone flies up to the pyramid and begins to fight Harrow. You recognise the person to be the same as the action figure you found in the museum, dressed head toe in white.

“Who is that?” You ask Layla, turning her attention to the scene on the pyramid.

“Marc?” She gasps before turning to you. “Did Osiris resurrect him too?”

“I- I don't know. Maybe? I didn’t see him after we made it through the gates-”

You stop talking suddenly when you notice Khonshu appear next to Ammit. He goes to hit her with his staff but she reaches out a scaly hand and stops him. They begin to fight as Harrow and Marc fly though the air toward the town, still fighting each other. Khonshu manages to knock Ammit over and she comes crashing down near near you. The force of her slamming into the pyramid sends a cloud of dust and sand over you and Layla.

“Little bugs.” Khonshu says when he notices he almost flattened the two of you. “Go! Help Marc.”

Layla rolls her eyes at him as she wipes dust from her clothes before turning to you and nodding. You run away from the pyramid in the direction that Marc and Harrow had gone.

The streets are chaos. Everywhere you look Ammit’s disciples are grabbing people, judging their scales. You watch as Bobbi grabs someone. They begin to shake then fall to the floor as a purple light emerges from them and flies up into the sky. Those who aren’t distracted staring at the dark sky are running, screaming, from the disciples. As you begin fighting off disciples you notice Marc laying on the ground on the other side of the town square, Harrow stood over him with his cane pointed down at him. It starts to glow purple.

Layla swoops in just in time and knocks Harrow away. He fires purple light from his cane at Layla, but she reflects it with the golden armoured wings attached to her arms and it bounces back at Harrow. It sends him flying backwards into a crowd of people.

You knock out the guy you're fighting and run over to Marc. His face now uncovered and he spots you over Layla’s shoulder as he’s hugging her. As you get closer his clothes change to a white three piece suit.

“Y/N!” Steven’s voice calls happily as he hugs you tightly. His hand finds the crook attached to your back. “Oh my God, that- that’s Osiris’ crook! Oh that’s bloody brilliant that! Wow!”

“Steven I know this is a massive deal for you but we have to stop Harrow.” You say, smiling at him.

“Right yeah, sorry you just- you look amazing!” He smiles, turning to Layla. “You both do.”

You hear a scream and turn to see a woman with two young children being cornered by a group of disciples.

“I’ll go. You two get Harrow.” You say and Steven places a kiss on your cheek before he and Layla run into the crowd and begin fighting.

You run the other way, grabbing the crook and using it to pull the first bad guy away. You swing him round and send him crashing into the side of a nearby building. The others turn on you, but you effortlessly manage to dodge their attacks and one by one knock them all out. You help the mother and her children find somewhere safe to hide before turning your attention back to the others just in time to see Harrow fighting Marc.

“You need only remove one weed from the garden. You!” He says, purple light blasting from his cane at Marc.

Marc grabs one of his crescent moon shaped blades but Harrow uses the power from his cane to control Marc’s hand. Layla runs toward them but Harrow sends the blade flying at her and it pins her arm to the side of the truck, before sending a huge blast of power at Marc, forcing him down on his back. On a building above them you see Ammit has also overpowered Khonshu, pinning him down with his own staff.

Harrow advances towards Marc and you run, throwing yourself in between them.

“STOP!” You shout and Harrow looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Y/N..?” He says breathlessly. “You’re-”

“Alive? Yeah, I was surprised too.” You say sarcastically. “Why are you doing this? You told me you wanted to stop her!”

“That was before…”

“Before what?”

“Before I knew you would betray me!” He shouts, hitting you with a flash of power from his cane. It knocks you flying out of the way, rolling across the dusty ground. You feel like the wind has been knocked from you as you lay on the ground trying to get your breath back. Harrow advances on Marc again, raising his cane and slamming it into his chest. Purple light streams up through the cane, killing him slowly.

“NO!” You scream, scrambling to try to get up but a heavy boot comes down on your back. Bobbi stands over you, keeping you down, forcing you to watch. You look over at Layla, she’s surrounded by disciples, using her golden armoured wings to deflect the bullets being fired at her.

Marc turns his head to look at you before his eyes turn white.

You can’t really describe what happened next. Something takes over Marc and sends him into a killing frenzy. He’s unstoppable as he takes on multiple disciples at once, slaughtering each one without breaking a sweat. He turns to you and you feel Bobbi remove her foot from your back. She backs away but Marc throws a blade at her and it lodges itself in her forehead, killing her instantly. He locks eyes with you and you don't recognise him at all. That’s not Marc anymore, and it definitely isn’t Steven. He winks at you before taking on Harrow. It doesn’t take long for him to overpower him. Its only as he’s about to kill him that he freezes, his posture changing. He drops Harrow’s unconscious body and looks around in horror at the war zone around him.

“That wasn’t you, was it Steven?” He says and his suit changes. “Not a chance mate.”

He looks at you and you get up, dusting yourself down as you make your way over to him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, placing his hands on your face and checking you over.

“I’m fine, I’m more worried about you.” You reply.

“Marc?” Layla calls, freeing herself from where Harrow had trapped her. Steven changes back to Marc. “What the hell was that?”

“I blacked out.” He says. He looks genuinely worried.

A rumbling from the building next to you draws your attention to Ammit dragging Khonshu away.

“Get Harrow!” Layla says “I know how to stop Ammit.”

— — — —

Marc carries Harrow and you both follow Layla back to the tomb in the pyramid. Once inside Marc throws Harrow down on one of the stones.

“The power of the room will help us bind Ammit to Harrow’s body.” Layla explains. “Quick grab my hand so we can start the spell.”

Marc takes Layla’s hand and you take Marc’s. The three of you start chanting the spell in an ancient language, the words must be given to you by the gods because you have no idea what you're actually saying. A circle of light fills the tomb, surrounding the three of you and Harrow. Purple light descends down into Harrow’s body as the spell works. Harrow gasps awake, his wild eyes looking at the three of you.

“You can never contain me!” Ammit speaks through him. “I’ll never stop!”

“Do the honours, little bug.” Khonshu appears next to you and hands you the same dagger Harrow had earlier used to kill you. “Finish it! Leave neither of them alive.”

You look at the dagger, still stained with your own blood and feel anger boil inside you. You step up to Harrow, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him up to face you. His bright blue eyes stare into your own.

“Do it.” He croaks. He looks utterly defeated, ready to accept his fate.

You lift the dagger high, ready to plunge. Then you hear Ammit’s words from earlier.

‘She will be the one to kill you.’

You hesitate, thinking over those words. If you kill him now that means she was right about you.

“While he lives, so does she.” Khonshu’s words ring in your ears.

While Harrow lives, so does Ammit. Trapped in a mortal body.

“I said I wouldn’t kill you and I meant it.” You drop Harrow back down on the stone and throw the dagger to the floor. “There are worse fates than death.”

You turn your back and walk away.

“Weak little bug.” Khonshu mocks but you ignore him.

Layla takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I have to finish this.” Marc says suddenly, taking one of his blades and readying himself to stab Harrow. “If not I’ll never be free.”

“Marc!” Layla shouts. “You have a choice. You are free!”

“The choice is vengeance! We cannot take the chance that Ammit finds a way out. She will kill again.”

“Now you sound just like her.” Marc says, throwing his blade away. “You want them dead, do it yourself. Now release us!”

“As you wish.” Khonshu says before disappearing.

Marc’s suit starts to disappear, a bright white light shines out of his chest and fills the room. For a moment you’re blinded, and when the light fades you find Marc on his knees. His normal clothes have returned. You and Layla go to him, crouching beside him.

“Marc? Are you okay?” Layla asks, full of concern. He looks at her and nods.

“He’s gone.” He smiles. “Thank you for stopping me.”

“What do we with him?” You ask, looking over at Harrow still laying on the stone.

“Lock him up.” Marc replies. “He’s killed so many people there’s no chance he’ll never ever be released. He’ll be locked away until the day he dies. And then Ammit will be gone too.”

You can hear Harrow incoherently babbling away to himself, and you feel a sort of sadness creep in.

“You did the right thing Y/N.” Layla says, noticing the frown on your face.

“Then why do I feel so… weird?”

“Love…” Steven’s voice instantly makes you feel a bit calmer and he places his hands gently on your face, forcing you to look away from Harrow. “Hey, look at me… You died today. And then you came back. And then you helped save the world from a giant crocodile lady.” He says making you laugh. “That’s a lot to take in. You're allowed to feel weird. In fact I’d be worried if you felt normal after all that.”

“I know he did some really awful things but I- I almost kind of feel sorry for him. Is that wrong?” You admit and Steven smiles lovingly.

“That just proves even more that Ammit’s scales were wrong about you. You are a good person with a kind heart. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

He moves his hands to hold yours and you give him a small smile.

“Thank you.” You share a kiss, before remembering Layla is currently watching you kiss her ex husband. You pull away, giving her an awkward smile. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah…” Steven laughs, picking up on the awkwardness of the situation. “Back to good old London town. Get this guy put away… behind bars… where he belongs…”

“Guys it’s fine.” Layla says, laughing at Steven’s awkward rambling. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Are you sure?” Marc’s voice again. He walks closer to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I know I wasn’t the best husband. You deserved so much more.”

“It’s okay Marc, honestly. We’re better as friends.” She smiles a genuine smile at him. “Besides, I’ve decided I’m staying here in Egypt.”

“What?” You say, moving to join them. “You’re not coming with us?”

“While we were fighting out there, a young girl asked me if I was an Egyptian superhero and it made me realise, we didn’t have anything like that. But now we do. I’m going to stay here and work with Taweret to give more young Egyptian girls someone to look up to.” She smiles. “Plus, England is too cold anyway.”

“You got that right.” You laugh as you give her a tight hug. “you are gonna be the most badass superhero ever. But I’m gonna miss you.”

“You too.” She says and turns to Marc. “Look after her, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

“Yes ma’am.”

— — — —

Some Time Later

You headed back to England with Marc and Steven taking turns to take the body. Though you knew Steven best, the more time you spent with Marc the more you enjoyed his company too.

Ammit’s presence in Harrow’s body meant he became more and more mentally unstable. He spent a lot of time rambling incoherently and occasionally Ammit would takeover, shouting about how she would escape and make everyone pay. Because of this, Harrow was admitted to Sienkiewicz Psychiatric Hospital in London.

A few days after Harrow was committed, you went to visit him. You don't know why, you just felt like you needed to be sure he was safely locked away. When the nurses first brought you to him, you almost didn’t recognise him. He was sat in a wheelchair, his ankles restrained to it. He looked lost, vulnerable. It made a part of you feel quite sad.

“Hi Arthur.” You say quietly. He looks up at you blankly.

“He’s on quite strong medication, so he may not talk very much.” The nurse explains and you nod. “I’ll just be on the other side of the room, shout if you need me.”

“Thanks.” You reply, watching her as she goes to sit with another patient on the far side of the room. You sit down at the table opposite Arthur. “How are you doing? Have you settled in here?” You ask but get no response. You start to feel awkward. You look around the room, trying to think of something to say. You glance down at the table and see paper with some lines painted randomly on it. “Did you paint that?” Harrow looks down at it and nods. “You enjoy painting?” He nods again. “How about we do some together.”

You grab two more pieces of paper, putting one in front go Harrow and the other in front of yourself, and you start to paint. Harrow joins in and the two of you sit quietly together making your own little pictures.

When your picture is done you show Harrow and he smiles at the simple flower you have painted. He shows you his, just a triangle.

“It’s good.” You smile.

“It’s a pyramid. Like the ones they have in Egypt.” He says, slowly sounding more like himself. “Have you ever been?”

“To Egypt?” You ask and he nods. “Yeah I’ve been, with you. You took me there, remember?”

He stares at you for a long moment, a flicker of something like hurt flashes on his face, and then he goes blank again. You try to make more conversation, but he doesn’t say much after that.

Not long after the nurse comes back and tells you visiting time is over. You slide your flower painting across the table to Harrow.

“You can keep this.” You say smiling. “Goodbye Arthur.”

You get up and start to walk away.

“Y/N!” He calls, making you stop and turn back. “I’m really sorry I killed you.”

You didn’t say anything back, you just nod at him as the nurse leads you out.

As you sign yourself out the nurse speaks to you.

“That is the most alert and talkative we’ve seen him since he arrived. You must be someone important to him.”

Her words replayed through your head for the rest of the day and that night as you sat down to eat dinner with Steven you told him about it.

“I’ve been thinking, I might go back and see him again.”

“Really?” Steven asks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“You didn’t see him today Steven, he’s different. The dangerous man that we knew is gone. Now he just seems so… lost. I guess a part of me feels responsible for that.”

“Love…” Steven sighs, putting down his food to fully concentrate on you. “Harrow is where he is now because of the things HE did. The choices HE made. You gave him plenty of chances, even after he murdered you!” He reaches across the table to hold your hands. “Listen, Marc wants me to tell you not to go but I know that will make you want to do it even more.” He says and you laugh, nodding. “If this is something you really want to do, if it makes you feel better, then I think you should do it. Just, please be careful.”

“I will.”

The following week you head back to the hospital and do some more painting with Arthur. It soon became a regular thing. The more you visited the more chatty he became. He started to tell you about life in hospital, sharing stories about the other patients and in turn you told him about your life. Although he initially looked hurt to find out you and Steven were now dating, ultimately he said he was happy to see you happy.

If you hadn’t known him before, you wouldn’t guess this was once the leader of a cult intent on releasing a dangerous Egyptian goddess into the world. You’d never guess how much damage he had caused just weeks ago. And you’d certainly never guess that dangerous Egyptian goddess was now trapped inside him. There were hints occasionally that Ammit was trying to take over, to shout abuse at you, but Harrow always made sure she couldn’t hurt you.

You didn’t talk about what happened in Egypt, you didn’t want to drag it all up again. He wasn’t the same person now anyway. And at least he’d apologised to you. Instead you chose to give him a fresh start, and just enjoy your weekly visits talking and painting with Arthur Harrow.

—

Epilogue

One morning you woke up to a voice in your head.

Osiris’ voice.

“The deal is done. I release you from your duty.”

“What?”

“Ammit had been defeated.”

“Yeah, but that was weeks ago.” You say, not understanding why he’s waited till now to talk to you. “We imprisoned her in Arthur Harrow’s body and they’re both locked up.”

“I release you from your duty.” He repeats and you feel a strange sensation move through your body. Then nothing.

“Osiris?” You call out, but no reply. “Well that was weird…”

“You alright love?” Steven asks as he comes into the bedroom and hands you a cup of coffee.

“Osiris just released me.” You say confused as Steven sits on the bed next to you.

“Well that’s a good thing innit?” He replies with a smile.

“Yeah, definitely. It’s just… why now? Why this exact moment instead of when we bound Ammit or when her and Harrow were first locked away? What’s so special about this morning?”

“Osiris is a busy guy, maybe he didn’t have time until now. Or maybe you're just thinking into it too much…”

“I just think it’s a bit odd that’s all.”

“That’s the gods for ya, all a bit odd. I don't think us humans are supposed to understand ‘em.”

“You’re probably right.” You say before taking a sip of your coffee. “Anyway, where did you disappear to this morning?”

“What do you mean?” Steven asks blankly.

“I woke up in the early hours and you were gone.”

“I don't remember going anywhere… Marc?” He shifts and Marc speaks “Don't look at me. I thought we were sleeping all night.”

“Do you need the restraints back on the bed?”

“Only if you want them back” Marc says flirtatiously, flashing you a mischievous grin. He shifts again and Steven comes back. “Oy, back off you.” He says to Marc before focusing on you. "I probably just went to get water and don't remember. Don't worry about it.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Right, I’ve gotta get to work, laters gators.”

“Laters.” You laugh, and blow him a kiss. He mimes catching it and putting it in his pocket before leaving.

You decide to put the Osiris thing out of your head. Steven’s right, there’s no point trying to understand the mind of a god. You finish your coffee before you get out of bed and get ready for the day.

In the afternoon you head to the hospital as usual, and are surprised to see police cars parked outside the building. As soon as you step inside the nurse you’ve become used to seeing comes over to you.

“Y/N, please come with me.” She says, leading you into a small side room with a police officer inside.

“Is everything alright?”

“Please take a seat.” The officer says and gestures to the chairs. You sit down in one, the nurse sits next to you.

“What’s going on?” You ask, getting nervous.

“Miss Y/L/N, earlier this morning someone came into the hospital, murdered three members of staff and left with Arthur Harrow.”

“What?! Who?”

“We don't know yet. The CCTV cameras were damaged. All we have is a few eye witnesses who say they saw a smartly dressed man wearing a flat cap wheeling Harrow out of the building.” The officer explains, and you feel your heart start to race. If Harrow is out then Ammit could escape. The nurse notices your breathing has picked up and reached over to hold your hand. “I’m sorry, I understand this must be distressing. Harrow is your friend, correct?”

“Uh… yeah…” you reply, trying to focus on what the officer is saying and not the panic running around your head.

“According to the sign in sheets you’re the only regular visitor he has. Do you have any idea of who could have done this? Or why they would have done this?”

You search your brain for any options. The only people who really know who he is are yourself, Marc, Steven and Layla. You definitely didn’t do it. Marc and Steven wouldn’t have done it, and you can’t imagine Layla would have. You realise the officer is still looking at you for an answer.

“No, no sorry. I- I don't think he has anyone else.”

“Here, take my card. If you think of anything give me a call.” The officer hands you a small business card and the nurse leads you back out the room.

“Are you going to be okay? I know you’re quite close to him.” She asks, noticing how shook up you are she places a gentle hand on your arm. “Do you want me to call someone to pick you up?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you though.” You smile at her as you reach the door out the building. “You have my number, will you please let me know if there’s any news?”

“Of course. Take care Y/N.”

You head outside, and cross the street to where there’s a small park. You find an empty bench and sit for a moment to process the news and what that could mean. Who could have known Harrow was there? Who could have wanted him out? Maybe there’s another Ammit fanatic out there who wants her released?

A shudder goes down your spine at the thought of her getting out.

You take your phone from your pocket and phone Steven. It rings out. You roll your eyes and try Marc’s number instead, incase he’s got the body right now. They have separate phones and refuse to answer each other’s if it rings. His goes straight to voicemail. That’s unusual. You check the time, 4pm. Steven will probably be getting ready to leave work.

Needing to talk to someone you FaceTime Layla, she picks up almost straight away.

“Y/N! Hey!” She says happily, her smile drops when she see’s your face. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, uh… sorry to call I just, I need to talk to someone and Steven and Marc aren’t answering and no one else will understand-”

“Y/N, you don't need to apologise. What’s happened?”

“Harrow’s gone.” You blurt out and she stares through the phone at you. “Someone took him from the hospital this morning, they don't know who did it and they have no idea where he is. I’m scared, Layla.”

“Hey, alright, it’s going to be alright.” She says, though her voice has a hint of panic. “And you can’t get through to Marc?”

“His phone is off. I think Steven will be leaving work soon.”

“Okay, you head over to find him. I’ll keep trying his phone.” She says and you nod. “Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” She says and you get the feeling she’s trying reassure herself as much as she is you. You nod and she hangs up the phone before you start walking toward the road, looking for a taxi.

In the distance you see a white limo heading towards you. Usually you’d think nothing of it. You see a lot of different vehicles in London. But something about this one got your attention. The personalised number plate.

‘SPKTR’

You can’t help but stare at it as it gets closer to you. Something in your gut telling you to run.

The car slows down as it gets closer to you and you can just about make out though the windows that the driver is wearing a flat cap. The limo pulls over and stops next to you. The driver gets out and you stare at him confused.

“Marc…?” It’s definitely Marc’s body, but the expression isn’t Marc or Steven. It’s the same one you recognise from Egypt. The one who so easily fought and killed all Harrow’s disciples. Another alter?

“Hola, mi amor.”

He winks at you as he walks around the front of the car, past you and opens the door at the back of the limo for you. He gestures for you to get in. You hesitantly walk to where the door is and peer in. You have to slam your hand over your mouth to stop a scream from escaping.

There on the back seat is Harrow, a bullet hole in his forehead.

You back away but the driver pushes you inside and slams the door closed. You scramble to get out, to get away from the corpse, but the door is locked. You bang against the door, screaming for someone to let you out and then you hear a voice from inside the limo.

“Hello little bug.”

A/N: Thank you so so so much for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed this series as much as I loved writing it. please feel free to comment or send me an ask, I would love to hear your thoughts :)

Taglist : @sleepylunarwolf / @ahookedheroespureheart / @sleepyamaya / @spicydonut25 / @kult6 / @uncle-eggy / @malaanii/ @toracainz / @pinkiestwinkie / @galacticstxrdust / @mateihavenoidea / @xmariakx / @oscarissac2099 / @whycantwebefriendz / @parkeepingparker / @scoliobean

#moon knight #Steven Grant x reader #Marc Spector x reader #moon knight x reader #layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly #Steven grant #marc spector #khonshu x reader #osiris #Arthur Harrow #arthur harrow x reader #ammit

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variety-fangirl · 2 years

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3 Days Away / Jake Lockley x fem!reader

Summary: you and Jake end up arguing about his safety, especially when he comes home worse than ever. After days of silent treatment from him and him refusing to let the others front, you decide a few days away for him to calm down is best.

Warnings: angst, Jake not knowing how to express his feelings until the end, reader feeling hurt and upset, fluff ending.

Authors note: I have a few Moon Knight fics in mind to write, so I hope you guys enjoy them but feel free to send me requests also. Angsty!Jake to soft!Jake, super soft emotional Jake (I know he isn't typically like this but I just loved the idea) This is majorly a Jake fic with bits of Marc and Steven. Liking, reblogging, and commenting really help me out. Thank you my loves! :)

Word count: 2.5k

You hated arguments more than anything, especially with those that you loved and cared about. You hadn't even intended for this to cause a fight, you simply just wanted him to know how scared you were for their safety. It's not like what they did was a typical everyday job where they wouldn't be harmed by dangerous people or killed. Seeing Jake come home with blood covering him, bruises all over his torso and back, and cuts on his face was enough to scare you. You were terrified of losing them, the three most important people in your life that couldn't live without.

And so a few days later you set to have a conversation about it with whoever was fronting at the time, which happened to be Jake. You stayed calm and tried to say your piece without tears, but it had proved futile. Jake had taken your concern as an attack, thinking he couldn't handle himself. The yelling, on his part, had started and your tears had a mind of their own, flowing freely. You silently cried as Jake stood in front of you with a booming voice and red face, you just allowed him to get his anger out, knowing there was no reasoning with him at that moment.

"I'm going to take a walk and let you cool off, okay?" you managed to get out through tears when he stopped, wiping your face as best you could as you stood. You hoped some time to himself would allow him to calm down enough to talk to you calmly when you returned. His silence was enough of an answer to let you know you needed to leave for a bit. His back was to you as you stepped toward him, breathing heavily. Placing your hands gently on his back as you lay a kiss on the clothed area, a small sob choking out in the process. "I love you," you whisper as you reluctantly let him go and walk towards the door, grabbing your jacket in the process.

You look back at him for a moment, not fully wanting to leave so you could sort this out, but you knew he needed space. You watch as Jake leans over and holds onto the wall as he breathes heavily, looking at his reflection in the mirror. They're talking, so you took that as your cue to leave, closing the door behind yourself.

It luckily wasn't too cold out, the breeze only just slightly nipping at your skin. You sighed when the tears refused to stop, a headache already starting to form because of it. Your chest felt heavy with an ache, sadness overwhelming your senses. Your legs absentmindedly took you where they pleased as your brain ran a million miles an hour, worried and hurt-filled thoughts filling it. You knew Jake was hard to reason with when he was angry or upset, but you weren't expecting him to be that angry with you for being worried about his and the boy's safety. You loved them and didn't want to lose them, you wouldn't know what to do if you did. You didn't even want to think about it.

An hour later, you ended up at a small food stall that sold hot food and beverages. You had been planning to cook for you both before the argument broke out, that plan is out the window now. You grabbed yourself something to eat and drink, luckily having found some money in your jean pocket. You found a small park nearby that was mostly empty, it seemed peaceful and a good place to be for a while to clear your head and give Jake the time to calm down. Walking through the trees and pathway led you to a small lonely wooden bench, and you took a thankful seat on it. Your feet ached from walking a long period of time without stopping, the pressure relieving the second you took a seat.

You stared forward at passing byers, eating and drinking without thought. The jacket hugged your body and neck as you wrapped it around yourself tighter, not particularly cold, just needing extra comfort. The added warmth from your hot beverage helped make you feel slightly better, helping to relieve the coldness of your hands and the dull ache in your head. You weren't sure how long had passed with you sitting on that little bench, it was a while but you weren't sure of the exact amount. Having accidentally left your phone at the flat in the rush to leave without thought of necessities, like your phone and purse.

By the time you had started to make your way back, it was beginning to get dark. The walk took a while, but luckily you memorised the way home. When you reached home, you realised that you'd left your keys there. Having to begrudgingly knock and disturb him, the slow shuffling of feet letting you know he didn't want to move. It took Jake a while to answer the door, his red unimpressed eyes staring at you without a word. Still angry it seemed. He simply walked back towards the couch, leaving the door open for you to enter.

You sigh, closing the door and locking it, as he gets back on the couch and wraps his blanket around him. Realising he wasn't intending to come to bed with you, you walk toward him. "I love you and I'm sorry. We'll talk tomorrow," you whisper shakily, tears forming once again. Bending down over the back of the couch, you stroke the mop of black curly hair and place a gentle kiss on the back of his head. You linger for a few seconds, tears falling down your cheeks. Begrudgingly, you walk away from him to your shared bed. You change into one of Steven's shirts and get into the cold bed alone, silent tears falling. You fall asleep with an aching heart.

Two days of silent treatment had been driving you insane, you had expected to talk about it by now but Jake wasn't budging. He wasn't letting the others front either, which made the situation worse. You were sure something else was going on that had contributed to his mood, and you were trying to be patient but it was driving you up the wall not being able to speak. So, in the middle of the night, you decided to go stay with your friend, having checked with them beforehand for the ok. You packed a small bag with your necessities and leave a note for the boys to read when one of them wakes.

'Don't freak. Went to a friend's house for a few days or so to let Jake cool off until he's ready to speak. Can't cope with the silent treatment, I'm sorry.'

You loved them all more than anything, even their flaws but that didn't mean that you could always handle it all the time. Sometimes you needed a small break when one of them was in a mood, to give yourself some time to de-stress. As you walked through the door of your friend's apartment, you set your bag down and turned to face her, she was patiently waiting for an answer to her question. As soon as you saw the look of concern and love on her face, your bottom lip began to tremble and tears clouded your vision. "Oh honey, come here." She gently replied with open arms, her heart breaking to see you like this.

It had been late by the time you'd arrived at your friend's home, around midnight, you knew she'd be exhausted from a long day at work and yet, she refused to go to bed until you were laughing and smiling. Which she exceeded, as she always does. She grabbed a shit ton of ice cream, two bottles of both your favourite wine and fluffy blankets, while you explained to her what had happened (not completely delving into the full truth about your boyfriends and their line of work). She listened intently while you cried and explained what had led you to leave in the middle of the night and go to hers, and she was ever as understanding about it all. At that moment, you were so grateful to have a friend that truly cared about you and your happiness, not wanting to just leave you there crying while she went to bed.

That had been two days ago, and your phone had been blowing up non-stop since. Your friend insisted that it seemed he was ready to talk and going home was probably the best idea, and so you agreed. You didn't really know what to expect when you arrived home, unsure of who would be fronting and how they would react to the whole situation. Would Marc or Steven be angry with you also? You hoped not, you could barely cope with one angry boyfriend, but three? it would just completely swallow you whole. Packing up the little belongings you'd brought with you and making your way back without a word to the boys. You flicked through the messages on the way, the majority were from Marc and Steven, but a few from Jake stuck out. You had expected the other to reach out but not Jake, deeming him to still be angry for a couple of days more.

'Please come home.'

'I'm sorry..'

'Please..'

Your heart clenched and you felt the tears prick at your vision once more, you were fed up with crying. Jake never begged, said please or apologised, so for him, this was rare and he must truly mean it. Those words didn't come from him lightly, and you were thankful. It meant he would be in a much better mood than a few days prior, you didn't know if you could cope with a replay of how you ended up here. The silent treatment was worse than anything, it killed you to see him walk straight past you with a dead expression and not a single word uttered. That was a part of Jake you weren't the fondest of, the fact that he could hide his emotions so well and appear that the situation wasn't bothering him.

What you didn't know was that Jake (Marc and Steven also) had been freaking out the whole duration since you left, not knowing what to do. Marc and Steven had been trying to get through to him, pushing for him to call you and apologise, beg for you to return if he had to, but to get you to come back to them. To him. Jake knew he was terrible at expressing his emotions and they often came out.. wrong, often acting angry or upset when he actually wasn't. He wasn't used to someone caring about his well-being or loving him as deeply as you did, his actions tending to be harsh and not coming across in the way he wanted them to. And yet, you still chose to stay with him and love him unconditionally, accepting every part of him, good and bad.

Jake had been pacing bak and forth for what felt like hours, panicking at your lack of response, worrying implicitly that he'd done it this time and scared you off. Marc began yelling at Jake through the reflection, blaming him for potentially losing you. He didn't know if he could handle losing another important person in his life, 'I swear to god Jake if you've chased away our girl, I'll never speak to you again.' Marc spat menacingly as he pointed at Jake, turning away to calm himself. Steven just looked lost, not quite knowing what to do with himself at the thought of you leaving them. 'Please mate, call her, text her, I don't care what you have to do, just get her back here!'

You were their light, life, and love. Their everything and more, what would they do without you? How would they cope without you? Everything in their life reminded them of you, you did everything together. The route Steven took to work every day as he passed your favourite tea shops, the little corner shop that Marc passes on the way home that you had introduced him to, the little bakery that not many people knew about that made mouth-watering pastry that had converted Jake. Everything was a perfect reminder of you. Even the simple things like letting someone in, trusting someone to know about all of them and their secret, the way you could perfectly tell them all apart from the other. Everything you did was done with love and care. They couldn't bare losing that.

So, when you walked through the door timidly, looking around to see where your boyfriends were, you weren't expecting what happened. Jake stared in shock at you, not fully expecting you to even return home. He breathed deeply, emotions overwhelming him as he'd never felt before, pushing him over the edge. Jake walked quickly toward you and cupped your face in his trembling hands, his eyes filled with tears. You were sure it was Steven or maybe Marc, you definitely didn't expect Jake to currently be fronting with the amount of vulnerable emotions that were showing right now. 'Oh thank god.' Marc whispered, a shaky breath leaving him. Steven stared with wide eyes, silent tears leaving him. If only you could see how grateful they were to see you.

"Mi vida." you stare at him in shock, realising it is Jake when you hear the nickname. You were surprised, he was never this emotional or vulnerable with you. He was usually hard to read and kept his emotions hidden, so seeing him visibly upset made you want to cry with happiness and heartache. Jake pulls your body into him, his trembling lips placing a gentle kiss on your head as he holds you as close as possible. You sigh as tears begin to form, stuffing your face into his warm chest and wrapping your arms as tightly around his waist as possible. You were so thankful that he wasn't angry with you anymore, seeming happy to see you back home. You knew they probably worried when you didn't reply but you wanted to come over as soon as you could.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't angry with you, I'm just not used to someone caring about mine and the boy's safety. Other than us. I didn't know how to handle it and reacted how I usually would, it won't happen again. Just don't leave again, please." Jake whispered into your hair, tears flowing freely. He was so afraid that he'd lost you, he could care less about how he looked right now, he was just thankful you were home. Your cheeks were now soaked, the feeling of relief and love overwhelming you as you both held each other tightly, you made a mental note to spend time with Marc and Steven shortly, also.

"I'm not going anywhere, can't get rid of me that easily. Those three days were difficult with you three." you giggled, looking over to the reflection of the fish tank next to you both, hoping your boys were watching and listening. Luckily, they were with smiles and tears in their eyes. You loved them all more than anything and one argument wasn't going to scare you away.

#moon knight #fluff #y/n #angst #moon knight x reader #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #female reader

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moonshynecybin · 4 months

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i mean this with the utmost respect for everyone involved and for sure without the rpf implications but having recently watched hitting the apex and doing a bit of a dive into vale and sic’s relationship, it really is so hard to ignore his role in how vale approaches marc and racing… the danger the risk his feelings on injuries and accidents and marc’s riding style… aversion of him fear for him i don’t know. there is just so much there. of course goes without saying that you don’t have to post this but if you have any thoughts at all i would love to hear them

i DONT super like to get into the sic of it all for quite obvious reasons but i do literally think thats a humongous part of the tension in their relationship forever. outside of rpf even. especially as vale's academy riders came up in a sport where success was increasingly defined by the specific, crazy ass way marc marquez rides a motorcycle. but i alsoooo think vale um. kind of VERBALLY (internally. another story mayhaps) finds that truth (marc being dangerous/reckless) when it is convenient to him. of course losing friends in extreme sports as he got older was a very formative and traumatic experience, but vale almost never had a problem with marc's riding until he had a chance to fight him. actually he never had a big problem with the DANGER of marc's riding until post-divorce....

#most of his stuff about marc in the junior classes (even when hes doing CRAZY shit) is. overwhelmingly positive even post 2011 #and then it doesnt change when he gets to know him until he thinks its fucking with his title chances #and its a useful little lever to pull in front of the press...#also makes me think about him avoiding safety briefings for like a year post sepang until luis slalom died.#motogp #callie speaks #asks #rosquez #he definitely has CLEARRR neuroses and concerns regardign safety that play into the way he treats marc specifically. that is undeniable #and if i think about those in our fun little rpf world they become. SO narratively rich good lord...#he also like. does not valorize pain so much which i think is interesting bc most others (marc dani yorg) DO.

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ltwilliammowett · 10 months

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She is a bit shy in door 8 today, but a very pretty French girl - L'Hermione

Départ de La frégate Hermione Lafayette du port de Brest, Fort du Dellec, 2019

More about her here:

Hermione is the name of the French frigate with which the Marquis de La Fayette returned to Boston in 1780 to support the American colonists in their fight for independence. The ship was completed in 1779 in the naval arsenal of Rochefort in a construction period of just eleven months, based on plans by Henri Chevillard and identical in construction to three other ships (la Courageuse, la Concorde, la Fée). These new light frigates were characterised by their manoeuvrability and speed. The Hermione was equipped with 26 cannons that could fire projectiles weighing 12 French pounds "poid de marc" (489.5 g). This is where the name "twelve-gun frigate" comes from. She also carried six or eight six-pounder guns. The empty weight was 1166 tonnes, the hull length 44.2 m, the overall length 65 m, the width 11.55 m and the depth 5.78 m. A sail area of more than 1500 m² was spread over three masts.

She experienced several battles and when the First Coalition War broke out on 20 April 1792, the Hermione returned to active service under Captain Martin. From 7 May 1793, she escorted convoys between Bayonne and Brest. In September 1793, she was tasked with escorting a convoy between the Loire estuary and the streets of Brest. On 20 September 1793, she ran aground off Le Croisic. The Hermione had a serious leak in the hull and could not be refloated in the receding tide. The crew threw 12 cannons and anchors overboard to stabilise the ship. The rising sea lifted the Hermione for a while, but she was so damaged that she could no longer pump water and sank to the bottom, where her hull began to disintegrate. At 1000 hours the next morning, Martin evacuated his crew in several fishing boats that had come to the rescue, salvaging as much equipment as possible, and was the last to leave the frigate.

The court martial that followed the wreck found the frigate's pilot, Guillaume Guillemin du Conquet, responsible for the frigate's loss; its commander, Captain Martin, was honourably acquitted.

A replica of the frigate has been under construction in a dry dock at the former Rochefort naval arsenal since 1997. As the original construction plans had been burnt for safety reasons, new plans had to be drawn up. The plans of a sister ship from the British Naval Museum, the Concorde, served as a model. The reconstruction of the Hermione was financed in part by the proceeds from the survey, grants from the French government and the EU as well as donations.

After its completion, the Hermione was launched in 2014. She left her building dock in early September 2014 for initial sea trials off the French Atlantic coast and sailed to North America in 2015, where she stayed for four months before sailing back. From 2 February 2018, the Hermione undertook a second major sea voyage from Rochefort to the Mediterranean via Tangier, Sète, Marseille and Toulon.

#naval history #tall ship #l'hermione #18th century #age of sail #replica #french #advent calendar #day 8

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agirlwithachakram · 6 months

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Marc spent a solid thirty years keeping Steven safe, but also keeping him hidden as best he could to the point that his own wife did not know he had DID so he must have had a pretty solid grasp on his triggers.

and yet he went back to Chicago. he went all the way there. he hadn't been home in two decades and he had to have known it would be a trigger so bad he would probably disappear on Layla for days if not weeks. but he went.

and I don't think it was for tradition's sake. he had to have wanted something. I don't know what. I don't mean this selfishly. he might have wanted to support his father, or get some kind of closure, or, from the relative safety of the other side of the Atlantic, he thought, she's dead, she can't hurt him. she can't answer for anything either.

he gets there and realizes there are people there who don't know what kind of person she became, that if he goes inside everyone is going to say things to him that will make him spin out, that he's going to have to shut himself in his old room, that he absolutely cannot go inside that house. all things that seem kind of obvious from the street, but that he didn't think too hard about before, because he booked plane tickets and flew thousands of miles only to have a breakdown before he could even approach the door. so what did he want?

#moon knight #marc spector

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 16 days

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Marc Spector: based on a real guy?

I would like to propose Barney "Beryl" Ross (born Dov-Ber Rasofsky) (1909-1967) as a stand-in for possible Marc Spector inspiration or at least a REALLY odd coincidence. The parallels are outstanding.

Born to Eastern European Immigrant parents (From Belarus), he grew up in a tough Chicago neighborhood.

His father was a Rabbi who looked down on fighting like Boxing and Wrestling.

When Barney expressed interest and talent in boxing, his father told him to "Let the goyim be the fighters" and that "The trombeniks (yiddish for phony and self aggrandizer), the murderers--We are the scholars."

Barney studied the Talmud as well and expressed interest in becoming a teacher.

His father was murdered when someone robbed their family vegetable shop. His mother suffered a mental breakdown and his three younger siblings were sent to an orphanage when Barney was just 14.

Barney became a thief, a gambler, and worked for Al Capone. He eventually found his money in boxing where it is speculated that Al Copone himself often promoted his shows and bought up the tickets to help him make money.

He used the money to reunite his family.

His career took off during the rise of Antisemitism and while Barney rejected his father's teachings and religion, he understood that he was seen as a "scrappy Jew Kid" and he needed to become a representative for his people.

His walk into the ring song was "My Yiddishe Momma" and he often wore blue and white with the Magen David on his clothes.

In the ring himself, he became a world champion in three weight divisions. He was never knocked out.

His last match before he retired he went 15 rounds where he took a severe beating. His couch begged him to call it, but he refused to go down. He was determined to leave the ring on his own feet". He had 72 wins in his career, 22 of which were by K.O.

When WWII broke out, he joined the Marines. Because of his stardome, they tried to keep him as just a pretty poster face recruit, but he insisted on fighting.

He was almost court-martialed when his commanding officer called him a Jewish Slur and he punched him out. He was spared because the judge was also jewish.

Barney was sent to the Pacific Theater and fought at Guadalcanal where he single handedly fought off no less than five armed Japanese soldiers after being shot. He then rescued his fellow soldier by carrying them to safety. He was awarded the Silver Star.

Despite his complicated relationship with his religion, he was known for bringing his father's religious study books with him to training camp.

In the war, he made friends with a catholic priest who invited him to Christmas Dinner. Barney could play the pipe organ and he provided music for the soldiers. When asked to play something Jewish, he played "My Yiddishe Momma" that left everyone in tears.

After his wounds healed, he developed a morphine addiction that he went to rehab for and eventually recovered. He went to schools and campaigned about the dangers of drug abuse.

He worked hard for the creation of a Jewish State and offered to lead a brigade of Jewish American Veterans.

The Jewish Community saw him as a hero and with his back story, he fit the bill of superhero status.

A tragic backstory, rejection of his father's life and teachings, rising up out of the rough streets, becoming a fighter, and eventually a real life war hero and fighter for Jewish Rights.

(Check out his biography- Barney Ross: The Life of a Jewish Fighter, by Douglas Century and his autobiography No Man Stands Alone.)

Moench most certainly did not base Marc Spector off of Barney Ross. He didn't set about making the character obviously Jewish at first. It happened naturally for various other reasons.

But Moench also didn't give Marc his back story.

That would be Zelenetz.

Moon Knight Vol 1. Issue #37. Published 1984

Writer: Alan Zelenetz

Artist: Bo Hampton

Cover Artist: Michael Kaluta

Now, I've broken this comic down before. HERE. But let's talk about the importance of THIS story.

You see, after the war, no one wanted to talk about the Holocaust. Most survivors didn't want to talk about what they had been through and most others liked to pretend that nothing happened.

It wasn't until the 90s that they came up with an actual mandate that it be taught in schools!

It wasn't until then that it suddenly became apparent that we needed to hear from the survivors and we needed to record the history before the first hand accounts were lost.

Until this time, the only stories being told were done in comics.

Early comics used it as a grotesque way to add in horror and action and violence. When the Comic book code of ethics stepped in (big shot guys that put down the law for swears being &#^$% and no sex and violence rating systems), then comic writers found 'creative' ways to use Nazi as the villain and ambiguously talk about their targets without mentioning their actual crimes or the people they targeted.

THAT would change when Spiegelman's Maus was published in 1980.

A keen observer will note the date Moon Knight Vol 1 came out. November 1980!

Now, Marc has fought Neo Nazi before and has even faced antisemitism. He's even gone to Jerusalem. But we have never had Marc connected to the Holocaust or explored his Jewish past before Zelenetz told this story.

“I grew up on the poor side of Chicago. My father was unconcerned with material things. ‘God loves a poor man.’ He’d say. ‘Poor in goods, rich in spirit.’”

Sounds familiar, right?

And while Marc is an extreme example, we see the conflict with the Rabbi father and the son who wants to fight.

In this same issue we see Moon Knight rescue a Rabbi and Torah from a burning synagogue that has a Swastika painted on the door.

Moon Knight hunts down the Nazi punks and makes them hurt.

In this issue and the next, we see Marc deal with his conflicted past regarding religion, his Rabbi father, and his choice to fight vs his father’s choice to ‘leave it to god’.

We also find out in this issue that the reason Marc joined the Marines is because of his father’s rejection.

"To become Moon Knight--A social conscience and moral force. Just, severe, unknowable."

I won't replay the comic for you guys, as I've already reviewed it (though I've learned a LOT since then and I'm sure I could bring more things to light at this point... Like the fact that to bring Elias back from the dead they write the Hebrew word Emet 'truth' on his forehead. Marlene erases part of the word, leaving behind Met, which is Hebrew for 'To Die' and this sends him back to his death).

In the ending issue, and last issue of Moon Knight’s first run, we are left with:

"I may have misjudged my father's saintliness for cowardice and his genius and moral zeal for fanaticism. [...] And isn't moon knight in his own way a moral zealot fighting perhaps for the very same values Marc Spector once rejected?"

Back to Alan Zelentez.

Alan only had Moon Knight for a few issues, but he was the first and as far as my limited research has shown me, the only actually Jewish writer to get to work with Moon Knight (I hope I am pleasantly surprised as I get further into things...but I'm not holding my breath).

Zelenetz fit a LOT of Jewish lore and fun snippets into this comic that only those that have studied Jewish folklore and the culture would easily pick out.

He was a Junior High School and High school principal at an Orthodox Jewish school in Brooklyn.

He worked as an editor, script writer, Judica advisor for film and helped get a few other comics started and established.

Now, is it likely that a Jewish man in Brooklyn heard about the son of a Rabbi from Eastern Europe in Chicago who turned into an amazing boxer and later a Marine war hero? Only Zelenetz knows for sure.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comic #Zelenetz #History of comics #History of Moon Knight #Comic history is Jewish history #Guess who is doing a lot of research lately into comic history!#Another reason Moon Knight is such an amazing comic for its early time #I wish we had more of Zelenetz #I'm still here people!#I've been so busy

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nesiacha · 6 months

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The difference in treatment between the Indulgents and the Cordeliers or Hébertistes

I have an opinion that will seem unpopular, no worries I am open to any criticism or to being corrected in the event of an error so do not hesitate to correct me. I have much more sympathy for the Hébertist faction, the exaggerators or the Cordeliers than that of Danton's Indulgents. Indeed if we exclude the Hebert case who is an indefensible man, mediocre in my eyes (I don't think I need to explain why) this is not the case for so many others. I mean Ronsin was a competent and honest administrator. Despite his mysoginism (horribly reprehensible, just look at the speech he gave concerning the execution of Gouges and Manon Roland) Chaumette could be as competent as procureur syndicale de Paris and had also generous ideas (such as banning whipping in schools, equalization of funeral rites for all, protective measures for the elderly and hospitalized). One of the most impressive cases is Momoro. Even the historian Mathiez, who nevertheless has little sympathy for the revolutionaries who were against the Committee of Public Safety in the spring of 1794, had practically nothing but praise for Momoro. He voluntarily lived in poverty and when he was tried he said he had given everything for the revolution. It was true in my eyes. Of course I understand in a certain way the repression exercised by the Committee of Public Safety (more precisely the Convention since an arrest cannot be made without its agreement, it is not a dictatorship either) when Cordeliers wanted to launch a new insurrection against the Convention ( like Momoro for example). The fact of wanting to persecute the priests did not help, not to mention the fact that they wanted stronger repression of the enemies at the risk of making the Revolution even harsher. But when we analyze, I can understand where come frome their anger. Their hatred about religion was due to the fact that not long ago, a lot of religious fanatics infantilized the people, constantly made prohibitions against them (we must NEVER accept infantilization or loss of free will for religious reasons) and atrocious repressions without counting the their wealth that they monopolized (in terms of absurd repression there is nothing but to see the Calas affair, or that of the case of Chevalier de la Barre etc…), even if there were a lot of priest and believers weren't like that . Although the Cordeliers were wrong to respond to religious intolerance by intolerance, I can agree. The same goes for the Terror. At that time France was threatened by enemies from within and without and quite a few of their enemies carried out atrocious tortures (although rotten people like Fouché, Carrier, were not to be outdone in atrocities to the point that the Committee of Public Safety recalled them immediately). Prices were increasing because of the war, so without excusing them once again I can understand their minds when they demanded ever greater repression of the Terror (even if once again it was a serious error ,a mistake and even a fault).

Let's compare to the indulgent (or Dantonists) who are caught up in financial scandals (according to for a lot of historians like Jean Marc Schiappa). Danton moved only because of the financial scandals which were beginning to erupt and did not dare to attack head-on in this period of factional clashes, he let his friends do so. Moreover, according to certain historians like Decaux if I am not mistaken, he only came back against the Hebertists because they attacked them (and they did not only have them as enemies). He is not a clean character. Let's not talk about Fabre d'Eglantine. For Desmoulins I have an unpopular opinion of him. I find him very overrated and no matter how much I tried to appreciate his historical figure (by reading the very good biography of Leuwers or the book by Joseph Andras) I cannot. I don't think that despite the fact that he is very cultured, a man who rightly think that women must have the right of vote and even a republican before his time, he is not capable of assuming an important position unlike Saint Just or Ronsin who he made fun of. And worst of all I find him hypocritical, he who demanded clemency applauded the execution of the Hebertists following a parody of justice (yes I like the Montagnards of this period but this kind of thing should never be tolerated) . He didn't say anything when the wives of Momoro and Hebert were arrested which was very serious (afterwards I don't know well if they were arrested at the same time as Lucile Desmoulins), but he didn't realize that it was going well back in his face.

The Dantonists were irresponsible in my eyes. I completely agree that it was necessary to examine each prisoner on a case-by-case basis because there were surely a large number who had nothing to do there by creating as many commissions as possible as quickly as possible and getting down to business. job right away because prison is a horrible place, even more so for innocent people. But releasing everyone without distinction immediately would have been dangerous because there were also dangerous counter-revolutionaries or spies. I mean have they forgotten that the fall of Toulon to the English was due to betrayal? The betrayal of Dumouriez, the assassinations of some deputies, etc… Where did this idea of making peace with foreign armies still occupying France come from when the French army was beginning to be victorious? Opposing a war of conquest I completely agree, but allowing one's own territory to be annexed is something else. And how dangerous would it be to leave corrupt people like Danton in power. Sooner or later, he could perhaps have given in to blackmail in view of the evidence of corruption that contemporaries have today, which would have been very dangerous for France. As a result, I never understood why the “good” indulgent ones were portrayed against the “bad” Cordeliers and Hébertists. Whatever happens for all these factions, no matter my great admiration for revolutionaries like Le Bas, Saint Just, Couthon, the fact that I am sorry like many people that Robespierre is demonized, the fact that they allowed a parody of justice against these factions is an unforgivable fault and to have allowed the execution of Marie Françoise Goupil and Lucile Desmoulins among others to consolidate this parody of justice is unacceptable. Even if I understand their states of mind because they could not afford to lose especially in this period against these different factions and contrary to what the Thermidorians put forward, the majority of the Convention was just as guilty as them, there is no excuse for this kind of behavior. Did Saint Just realize this when he said that the Revolution was frozen (even he spoke more about the consequences of this repression and that the revolution is weakened on this point) ? It would later fall on them and Elisabeth Le Bas was threatened with being guillotined for having been Le Bas' wife (some wanted to force her into a marriage with one of the Termidorians). If they had not allowed the fate of Goupil or Lucile Desmoulins earlier perhaps it would have been more difficult for the Thermidorians to threaten her. For more information in the form of a movie , I invite you to see" Saint Just ou la Force des Choses" and " la Camera explore le temps Danton, la terreur et la vertue" in English sub. These are good movies about this period.

And you what do you think ?

#french revolution #Terror #georges danton #Camille Desmoulins #Ronsin #Momoro #Cordeliers #Indulgents #History #saint just #couthon #robespierre #lucile desmoulins #Hebert #Chaumette #joseph fouché #Carrier

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littlespacereader · 11 months

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Hello!! Really liked your Layla caregiver fic, can I get one with Jake Lockley please? :)

You absolutely can! Jake always gives overprotective Caregiver vibes to me, I don’t know if anyone else agrees. But I love me an overprotective tough Caregiver who has a soft side for their Little🥰 To my Werewolf By Night fans I hope you enjoy the little cameo in this as well. So with that in mind, here’s this adorable little fic! I hope you enjoy!💞💞 (Also the gif is not Jake Lockley but it DEFINITELY gives Jake Lockley energy)

The Protector of the Playground 🌙

Caregiver! Jake Lockley & Fem Little!Reader (SFW)

Tags - picnic at the park, Littles are known AU, stuffie gets taken by bully, you get the stuffie back!, playground, slides, hand holding.

Nicknames - Princesa (Spanish for princess), pequeño (Spanish for little one), and sweetheart.

Y/N has the luxury of having 3 Caregivers wrapped into one person. Only thing is, she rarely only got to see one of them.

Okay, okay, say what you will but Marc and Steven are a little possessive over their Little one when it comes to Jake. Not that they don’t trust him…yet…but they would rather take control of the body and spend time with Y/N themselves.

But one night while having dinner with Steven, Y/N brought up the idea of having a day with Jake. Steven almost choked on his food.

“Well, um, why not a day out with Marc or me instead sweetheart?” Steven tried to suggest but Y/N shook her head.

“No! I always hang out with you and Marc. Not that I don’t love the both of you but I want to get to know Jake more. He told you he wants to be my Caregiver too so l want to see him as one.”

Steven sighed, knowing Y/N was right. It was unfair to her not to have time shared with Jake.

“I’ll ask him. How about that?” Steve added getting a big smile from Y/N.

He closed his eyes for a moment to focus on the other two talking in his head. After a moment he opened his eyes again.

“How about tomorrow? Jake said he’d love to hang out tomorrow.” Steven said a bit concerned.

“That’s perfect! We’ll go to the park! I heard there’s a new playground there.” Y/N smiled.

“But you’re sure you want to hang out with Jake? Marc or I would be more than happy to take you there.” Steven tried to offer but he only received a stern look from Y/N.

He laughed and put his hands up as if to surrender. “Alright, alright, it will be Jake tomorrow.”

~~~

I woke up to an empty bed this morning. Strange…usually Steven or Marc would sleep in with me on our day off. But that’s when it hit me! Today is my day with Jake!!

Jake was a like a whole new Caregiver to get to know! What would he be like? Would he be a pushover like Steven? Would he be playful like Marc? What would his nickname be? Steven’s is Dada, Marc is Dad, and Jake’s would be….

I could hear someone messing around in the kitchen and knew it must’ve been him. I literally couldn’t wait to spend the day with him.

I didn’t know much about him. Marc and Steven didn’t mention him much and the only time I saw him was when there was a dangerous situation he would swap into the body and take me to safety. But those moments weren’t enough to really get to know him.

But here I was, eager for the opportunity to meet the third personality.

I jumped out of bed and made my way towards the apartment’s small kitchen. It smelled amazing whatever he was cooking. I turned the corner and just stared at him in awe.

It’s funny how three people could be in charge of the same body yet look so different when they were in control.

Jake was no different. He looked tough and stern, almost like a rock. He wore a totally different outfit than Steven and Marc normally would. He wore fancy shoes, fancy pants and a button up shirt complete with a tie. On his head sat a newboy cap, one I didn’t know Steven and Marc even owned.

His icy exterior melted the moment he noticed me in the entrance of the kitchen. He pulled the kitchen towel down from his shoulder, wiped his hands, and made his way over to me.

“Good morning Princesa! How did you sleep?” He asked.

I could see the hesitation in his body as he stopped infront of me, almost afraid he was about to do something wrong.

I closed the distance between us and gave him a hug. “I slept good. It’s finally nice to hang out with you Jake.”

Jake immediately reciprocated the hug, wrapping his arms around me to holding me tightly. “I am honored to have the opportunity to spent the day with you.”

Once we broke apart I held onto his hand, still wanting to show him it’s okay to be close with me. He seemed happy to he holding my hand, smiling down at our two hands and squeezing mine once as a little thank you.

“What are you cooking? It smells amazing!”

Truth be told Marc and Steven weren’t the best cooks. Steven tried to cook but would end up burning whatever it was. He was better at desserts. Marc didn’t know many recipes so he just made a mean sandwich but that was about it. It seems the cooking skills went to Jake.

He lead me over to the stove and showed me what he was cooking. “This is called Pincho De Tortilla. It’s a potato omelette. And for a little breakfast dessert I made mini churros with chocolate.”

My eyes lit up seeing the amazing breakfast. “I can’t wait to try it!”

He then gestured to the picnic basket on the counter. “I’m also filling our basket for the park. That way we can stay later and have a nice lunch together.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Jake seemed just as excited as I was for our day out.

The two of enjoyed the breakfast together. The Pincho De Tortilla was soooooo good! And the churros with the chocolate were the best churros I’ve ever had. All I kept doing was complimenting Jake’s cooking.

Then after an amazing breakfast we started to get ready for the park. I quickly got changed into a nice fall outfit. The weather in London was start to get a little chillier with the leaves starting to change colors.

Once changed into a long sleeve and jeans I ran over to the door and grabbed my shoes. That when I heard Jake clear his throat behind me to get my attention.

I turned around to see him holding my jacket in his hand. “You need your jacket today, it’s windy so it’s a little colder than usual.”

“I’m sure it isn’t that cold. I’ll be fine without it.”

Now normally if this was Steven or Marc they would be telling me how I have to wear it so I don’t catch a cold or that something along those lines.

But Jake just stared me down with that stern look he had earlier. But I’m nothing if not stubborn. So we stayed like that, in a stare off.

Eventually he raised an eye brow to me and held my jacket out for me to take. His look wore me down so I grabbed the coat seeing that there was no way of avoiding it.

“Gracias Princesa.” He winked, going over to grabbed his own coat. He grabbed a long tan coat I’ve never seen Steven or Marc wear.

After he put it on, he grabbed the picnic basket with one hand and took mine in the other. “Ready for the park?” He asked.

“I think I am…wait!” I let go of his hand and ran back to the bedroom. I fished out my hippo Taweret from the blankets. I ran back over to Jake and took his hand again.

He couldn’t help but smile at the sight, “We couldn’t leave without your hippo. What is their name?” He asked as we left the apartment.

“Her name is Taweret like the goddess! Steven got me her from the museum.” I explained, holding her up for Jake to see.

He shook her hand, “It’s an honor to meet you señorita.” I couldn’t help but giggle at the cute interaction.

~~~

We walked across the town to the new park. I held Jake’s hand tightly in my own as we walked down the street.

I couldn’t help but watch Jake as we walked, he was like a statue, stern and stiff. He took in every person who walked by and every car that passed as if something was going to happen at any moment.

But when he turned his gaze to me his features softened. He smiled and held my tightly. It seemed I was the one thing that broke his tough exterior.

Finally we arrived at the new park!! And it looked awesome! Big slides, tons of swings, and a huge play area complete with bridges! It really was as cool as they were saying it was going to be.

There were a couple of Littles like myself playing around on the playset while their Caregivers sat on benches near by.

I couldn’t wait to go already! I kept pulling Jake along! Why was he so slow? He kept laughing saying we will get there soon enough. And soon enough we were! Jake opened the gate and I ran to the playground.

I was halted in my tracks to a sharp whistle. I turned to see Jake was the one to whistle with his mouth, something I didn’t know Steven or Marc could ever do.

I walked back over to Jake as he took a seat on one of the benches near the playground. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before you ran off.”

I looked down a bit embarrassed, “Sorry, I got excited.”

Jake smiled, “It is okay pequeño. I just wanted to tell you I will be here if you need anything. I’ll call you in a couple of minutes for lunch. Sound good Princesa?”

I nodded my head and smiled back. Jake pointed to Taweret in my arms, “Are you taking Taweret on your adventures or would you like her to stay with me?”

“She’s going to explore the new playground with me!” After all she was my sidekick!

“Then I shall not hold you back from you adventures any longer. If you need anything I’ll be right here.”

I quickly gave a quickly little hug to Jake before I took off to the playground with Taweret.

I quickly ran up the steps of the main playset and headed for the top slide! Yes, the best way to kickstart this day was to go on the highest slide! I ran across the bridge and climbed the steps to the first level.

There was a second set of steps to the tallest slide but…well…it’s higher than I thought it was going to be. Maybe the first level slide was a good starting point!

So with Taweret in hand, I made my way over to the slide. It’s a green slide with a cover over the top. I sat down with Taweret tightly in my arms and slid down.

The slide was super fun! It twisted the whole way down and had some major speed it it! I’m definitely going to need to try that one again!! And so I did, I ran back up and went back onto the slide for a second and then a third time.

The third time I did there was a line for the slide. The guy in front of me had a stuffie just like me. It looked cool! Like some sort of wolf.

“I like your wolf stuffie.” I managed to say when I worked up the courage to talk to him.

He turned around and smiled, “Thank you! It’s a werewolf!” He told me proudly. “I like your hippo.”

“Thank you! She’s a goddess.” I told him just as proud, holding Taweret up.

“Wow! That’s so cool!” He smiled. “I’m Jack Russel.” He held his hand out to me.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you Jack.” I shook his hand.

Then it was Jack’s turn for the slide. He looked at me nervous, “Is this slide scary?”

I shook my head, “Not at all, a little fast but it’s very fun. Trust me.”

Jack nodded and held his werewolf tight to his chest. Then with a deep breath he went down the slide. After I knew it was safe to slide myself I went down and found Jack laughing.

“You’re right! That was fun!” Jack smiled.

Before I got the chance to reply, someone started calling for Jack. He looked over to see his Caregiver calling him over.

“I guess I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you around here next time! It was nice meeting you Y/N.”

“It was nice meeting you too!”

Jack ran off to his Caregiver and I walked back to the stairs of the playground. I looked over to see Jake still sitting on his bench. He noticed me look over and waved. I smiled and waved back.

Now that I’ve experienced the small slide I think I’ve got the big slide now! So I climbed and climbed to the tallest level of the playground to the tall slide.

Up there was another Little, he seemed a bit older than me. And immediately when I stepped up he seemed to have a problem with me being up there.

“You’re too little for this slide.” He told me.

“No I’m not!” I argued. Who was he to tell me?

“Yes you are! No babies can go on this slide.”

“I can go on this slide, baby or not.” I wasn’t about to have him telling me I couldn’t just because my headspace was younger than his.

“You can’t go on when you have a stupid stuffed animal with you.” And with that he grabbed Taweret from my arms.

Immediately all my confidence left me as he held my stuffed animal in his hand. “Give her back!!” I yelled.

He shook his head, “No I don’t think I will.” He held Taweret above my head as he started to go back down the stairs to the first level of the playset.

I went after him, trying to get Taweret back. “GIVE HER BACK!!” I yelled but he wouldn’t.

He took off to the opposite side of the playset. I ran after him but tripped, falling down hard. He started to get away Taweret in hand.

I started to cry there on the floor. “Papa!!” I yelled out for Jake. I guess subconsciously I already had a nickname for him.

I didn’t see him get up from the bench, but the next thing I knew he was at the other end of the playground. He didn’t even say a word to the other Little, he just stood over him with that stern expression. It looks could kill, this Little would be dead.

He turned white as a ghost as he handed Taweret back over to Jake. Jake continue to glare at him and mutter some choice words in Spanish under his breath, before he made his way over to me.

I stood up and ran over to Jake, grabbing Taweret and hugging him tightly. Tears fell from my eyes as I hid my face against his shoulder.

He held me close and muttered reassurances to me. “You’re okay pequeño. Taweret is safe. You do not have to worry about that mean little mocoso again. He will not bother you again. I’m here, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

After a moment I broke apart. “I don’t want to play anymore. Can we have lunch?” I asked.

Jake pointed to the big slide, “Weren’t you about to go down the slide before this happened?”

I nodded my head, “I was but I don’t want to anymore, I just wanna have lunch.”

Jake shook his head, “Nonsense! You wanted to go down that slide. Don’t let a bully like him stop you from enjoying it.”

I think Jake could see the conflict still within me so he added, “I’ll go to the bottom and wait for you. I’ll catch you on the way out.” He added with a wink.

I could help but smile, “Okay, I will.” I said proudly. He’s right! I’m not going to let that guy stop me from going down that slide!

Jake smiled back, “I will see you on the way down then.” And with that he left me to go climb to the tippy top.

I climbed and climbed till I was at the very top. I looked down to see Jake waiting for me at the bottom of the slide. So with a deep breath, I take my seat, put Taweret on my lap and push myself off. This slide was long and fast!

Just as I reached the end Jack grabbed hold of me and lifted me into his arms. “There you are my pequeño! You are so brave for going down the big slide! I am so proud of you.”

I giggled and held onto him. “It was fun! Again! Again!”

“Maybe after lunch pequeño, we need to get some food into that tummy of yours.” He said poking my stomach causing me to giggle.

He walked over to the park bench and grabbed the picnic basket before walking toward the greenery and finding a nice spot for us to sit, under the shade of a tree.

I helped him lay out the picnic blanket before we started to dig into our food. Of course Jake made it and of course it tasted amazing. Jake wrapped an arm around me and I leaned against him, just the two of us, enjoying a day out together at the park.

“Thank you for protecting me.” I said after a moment.

“You don’t need to thank me Y/N. It is my honor to be your Caregiver, an honor I do not take lightly. No one and I mean no one will ever harm you while I am around.”

I felt every word so deeply as he told it. He meant it, every word of it. Between him, Steven and Marc I knew it to true.

“You’re an amazing Caregiver Jake. I can’t wait to spend more time with you.” I said causing Jake to really smile. He seemed so honored by the comment.

“We should do this every week! Every Wednesday you and me go to the park together! Would that be okay with Steven and Marc?”

After a slight pause Jake nodded his head. “It’s a plan.” He smiled.

“I’m so happy to have you as my Caregiver Jake.”

“Pequeño, the honor is all mine.” He pulled me tighter to his side.

The two of us just stayed there, sharing our lunch together in an embrace. His arm wrapped around me and my head resting against his shoulder.

The trip to the park was a major success!

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batsplat · 3 months

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hello, i have a question. what is the difference betwwen a hard and a dangerous racer? is there some sort of characteristics like how succesful a racer is or is more of a "a dangerous racer races on the limit and that's dangerous. a hard racer races on the limit but. its just a hard racer". thank you for answering!

completely in the eye of the beholder, I'm afraid. it's a perpetual debate, and one where everyone draws the line differently... very much a case of one man's dangerous manoeuvre is another one's hard but fair overtake... that being said! I'll have a go at coming up with a general framework with which people assess this stuff

let's bring in two strawmen, which feels like the most direct way to illustrate the possible stances you can take on this debate. to be clear, nobody really fits neatly in either ideological category - but, well, these are pretty much the two most extreme positions anyone could have:

when people are describing something as 'hard racing' (as opposed to... idk, 'clean' racing), they are usually talking about a) contact between the two bikes, and/or b) an action that forces the other bike to take evasive action. what constitutes forcing evasive action? well, this is all very nebulous and hard to define - there's crossing another rider's racing line, making them pick up the bike mid-corner, forcing them wide/off-track, not yielding in situations where one of you will have to yield to avoid a crash... but this is always an assessment that will depend on the specific circumstances. not every block pass is considered hard racing, for instance, even though you are quite literally 'blocking' the other bike. contact is the more straightforward one... if you initiate a move that leads to contact, then most people would agree this is 'hard' racing

so say you are in the 'A' camp. according to this line of thinking, pretty much every contact is 'dangerous' riding and should not be allowed. here's what gibernau said about jerez 2005, included in the sete post:

let's not discuss the merits of the jerez 2005 move specifically here - this is an expression of a broader ideological position. "this is not a contact sport" "it's not about hitting another guy"... so, according to this stance, actions that knowingly result in contact should not be acceptable and as a result need to be penalised. taken to the logical extreme, any and all 'hard racing' is dangerous

let's go to the other extreme, 'B'. let's say you're very pro-hard racing, to the point where you think that contact is more than fine and that it is unreasonable to call it 'dangerous'. sure, of course it is dangerous, but inherently all motorcycle racing has a lot of risk attached. racing that involves contact is basically acceptable. even within this extreme, my lovely venn diagram allows for some actual 'dangerous' riding - either behaviour that is wholly irresponsible during races... or stuff that doesn't count as hard racing because it's not 'racing'. here are some examples:

stuff that happens during races but is like... egregious misbehaviour. cf romano fenati pulling a rival's brake lever during a race - obviously dangerous and no longer really exists within the confines of actual racing

in either races or non-race sessions - not following proper safety procedures like for instance ignoring yellow flags. again, should be pretty obvious why that's dangerous

poor behaviour in non-race sessions,the general tag for not exhibiting appropriate care, awareness for your environment, all that stuff... the extreme example is marc barrelling into the back of another rider after the chequered flag had been waved in friday practise at phillip island 2011 (more on that here). it's also things like faffing about on the racing line, see the pecco mugello dramatics

so, yes, everyone will agree that there's some stuff that counts as 'dangerous riding' that's distinct from 'hard racing' just because it's not actual racing. that's the most straightforward stuff... but yeah, anyway, those are basically the two extreme positions you can take. you can say that all contact is bad and dangerous, that any time you're forcing another rider to take evasive action and are making a pass that isn't 1000% clean, you are putting others at unnecessary risk. or, you can say, hey, everything goes, rubbing is racing on steroids - sure, there's a small category of things that aren't acceptable, mainly stuff that isn't actually racing, but otherwise you should be allowed to brute force yourself past riders whenever you please

obviously, they're strawmen for a reason. basically nobody holds either of these positions in their entirety - and in race situations, there's always going to be actions that are seen as hard racing by some and as dangerous by others. so, unfortunately, we're going to have to dig a little deeper here, and figure out by what metrics people draw the line between hard and dangerous. let's... hey, how about we bring in casey stoner, just this once. as a treat. here's what he said after laguna '08:

“I’ve been in hard racing all my life, some very aggressive racing, but today was a little bit too much. I nearly went in the gravel so many times and I don’t think it was necessary.”

hard racing? casey's done that before. some very aggressive racing? no issue. but what valentino did at laguna was "a little bit too much" and not "necessary". the specific thing casey cites is nearly going into the gravel - and indeed, forcing other riders wide/off-track is one of the types of racing behaviour that most finely straddles the line between 'hard' and 'dangerous'. for other examples, see suzuka 2001 in which biaggi forced valentino off-track and valentino flipped him off when he eventually got past (a few more details here), qatar 2012 where marc forced luthi off-track and got slapped after the race (here) and sepang 2015, where... uh. you know. or how about argentina 2018 where... look, I think you get the point - plenty of controversy comes from forcing your opponent's bike into places where it's simply not supposed to be

while we're at it, let's throw in a little excerpt from casey's autobiography about the race:

A lot of it was fair racing, he was out-braking me on the inside and riding better than me around a lot of the track. If it had all been like that I would cop it sweet. But a couple of moves off camera added to my frustration. I risked running off the track, and racing at the limits like that as we were I even became worried about my safety.

(does have to be said that the pair of them spend... relatively little time off-camera, never when the bikes seem to be particularly close - but of course the problem this statement creates is that by definition you can't judge any footage you don't have access to)

so, let's strip away the details and think about what casey is actually talking about here. it's a risk/reward calculation. this is what's at the heart of this riding standards debate: what level of risk is acceptable for what level of reward? there are situations in which there is inherently a higher level of risk in a way that isn't caused by either party - influenced by the circuit layout, what the weather is like, how hard you're both pushing aka how much on the 'limit' you are, and so on. but even if that risk isn't your 'fault', if you are riding at very high speeds on a dangerous track, you can still be considered a dangerous rider if you're not exercising appropriate levels of caution

so, let's break it down even further and try and come up with some basic criteria by which people judge whether a specific move is 'hard' or 'dangerous'. how about this: (1) does the action have a reasonable chance of coming off, (2) is the risk you're taking proportionate to the reward, and (3) is the move likely to cause serious harm to you or the other rider. let's take them one by one

listen, it needs to be plausible that you're going to be able to pull this move off. if you're firing the bike from fifty miles back into a gap that doesn't exist, then this is by definition an unnecessary risk. you are not going to do yourself any good and you are also not going to do the other rider any good. (sometimes it might be in your interest to crash the other rider out so you might as well, but unsurprisingly this is frowned upon. see the 1998 250cc title decider.) obviously, this is going to be affected by your skill level - if you're a mid rider, there will be fewer moves that are 'plausible' for you than for the best riders

this is basically the common sense metric. if you are riding in a pack, make sure to keep in mind that crashing in this situation could get ugly. if you are fighting for p5, maybe a different approach is fitting than fighting for p1. if you can make an overtake a lap later as long as you're patient, in a way that's a lot safer than doing it now, perhaps just do that instead. don't be silly in the wet! this comes down to stakes, whether it's worth it, how likely the move is to succeed... and also what the consequences would be if you got it wrong, for both yourself and other riders. you're making an overall judgement based on all of those factors... sometimes you need to take risk, but it's better to make sure that risk is reasonably sensible

however high the potential rewards are, there's a certain level of risk that is no longer acceptable, where the 'risk/reward calculation' stuff has to be thrown out of the window because the reward no longer matters. this is basically the catch-all for 'wholly irresponsible riding' - anything that's just going too far

so, uh. obviously everything described above is super subjective... but that's what people are judging in my opinion, this is the standards they are using in their head to determine where they draw the line. so, as an example, to bring back the stuff from this post about the inter-alien ideological differences:

and again, this is also what the debate after aragon 2013 was about:

if you think aragon 2013 is unacceptable to the point of being dangerous, then you probably take quite a hard line view and think pretty much any action that could lead to contact needs to be stamped down on. while that contact did have unpleasant consequences for the other party (dani wasn't able to walk for several days and his title bid was basically over), it is perhaps a little worse than could have been reasonably expected in that situation. in that sense, there's a bit of surface level similarity with jerez 2005... there, valentino made the pass for the win at the last corner, knowing he would probably bump into sete while doing so. neither rider is knocked off their bike (though sete has to leave the track) and it is at a slow corner, with relatively 'light' contact. unfortunately, as a result of where valentino's bike impacted sete's body and sete's preexisting shoulder issues, it ended up injuring sete (see here for valentino learning of this perhaps a little later than was ideal and only after he'd taken the piss out of sete for dramatically clutching his arm). at aragon 2013, marc was harrying dani and sticking very close to his rear tyre as he applied pressure to his teammate before he made a small misjudgement, getting his braking a little wrong and clipping the back of dani's bike. he happened to cut a crucial wire in the process, causing dani to highside a few moments later

these aren't equivalent situations and each have their own risk/reward profile. but the basic point is this: inviting contact with another rider will always generate more risk, and can always have unintended consequences... even when the action is relatively innocuous and the rider would not have expected this outcome. if you are in the 'all passes should be clean passes' school, this risk is fundamentally unacceptable. even trickier - what if contact is made as a result of a move you initiated but the other rider could have avoided? of course, you started it, but they could have yielded... and maybe they should have, maybe that would have been the wise, the sensible thing to do in that situation. it's always important to remember that at least two riders are involved in all these situations - and there are many cases where contact and/or crashing is not 100% the fault of any one party. so, for instance, there are several moments in laguna 2008 that are so risky in part because casey is also refusing to yield. that's not to necessarily imply any blame or fault! of course, it might not be ideal for the most aggressive riders being able to bully everyone else as they please because they know they can generally rely on everyone else being more sensible and yielding. but the differing outcomes resulting from the choices made by the 'other' rider will always help influence perception of any race situation - a move that is seen as 'hard but fair' might have been seen as considerably more dangerous if the other party hadn't yielded

and yes... yes, there is absolutely a question of your success rate. this links back to point (1) - is the move plausible? there are moves that aren't really considered examples of 'hard racing' and certainly not dangerous... because they worked. take valentino's last corner move at catalunya 2009, at a corner where you don't traditionally overtake (remember, before the race jorge was going around tempting fate by saying that if you're ahead by that point you're sorted). sure, he goes for a gap that exists, but it could easily have gone wrong - and if a lot of other riders had tried that, then it would have. how do you think yamaha would have felt if valentino had taken both yamaha riders out at the very end of the race to allow ducati to claim an unlikely victory and an increased championship lead? here's another one: misano 2017 and marc making a last lap move in treacherous conditions to snatch the win. no contact required to make that risky as shit - and if stuff like that goes wrong too often they call you an idiot at best and dangerous at worst. of course, both valentino and marc have had moments where they very much did not pull off moves they were intending, which is how we get ambition outweighing talent and 'I hope he can learn from this one and improve for the future', among other hits. but, relative to the amount of risk they're regularly taking in their racing, they get a lot of reward for their troubles... because they're very good at what they do. the risk/reward calculation is one that they... uh, can both be very adept at, but it's also one that's fundamentally easier when you're skilled enough to pull off a lot of moves that would be beyond the capabilities of other riders. it's when you don't know how to judge your moments, when you keep trying moves that you can't pull off - that's where other riders will start having a problem with you

which is where we get to reputation! how different incidents are judged will also depend on the existing reputations of the riders involved and whether they are seen as 'fair' racers or not (an even more nebulous term, if possible), versus hard racers, dangerous racers... often, this is a question of quantity too - with certain riders on the grid, you will notice they're involved in controversial incidents disproportionately often. how likely people are to pay you the benefit of the doubt... how likely they are to believe you as to what your intent was in a certain situation, perhaps the most nebulous concept of them all. 'hard' and 'dangerous' aren't assessments that are made in isolation, and how severely riders are judged will often depend on their pasts and how those pasts are perceived by others

where you get into really sticky territory is... okay, both valentino and marc have more often than not (arguably) been able to stay on the right side of 'the line', where their moves might be hard but aren't putting anyone else in active danger - but that's because they are at least theoretically capable of exhibiting a good sense of judgement and are also good at what they're doing, as covered above. here's a question: do they bear any responsibility for when younger and/or worse riders copy their moves and/or general approach to racing, with worse consequences? when they have been criticised, when they are called dangerous, at times it's not just what they're doing in the moment... it's what they're inspiring. so you've got stuff like this from sete:

even more drastically than that, after the death of a fifteen year old rider in supersport in 2021, one of his fellow rider said this about marc (which marc unsurprisingly strongly pushed back on):

(just worth remembering, this is a rider who did walk away from the sport as a result and was clearly deeply affected by what happened - the marc comments were part of a longer statement that got overshadowed by this part and the resulting controversy)

setting aside the merits or lack thereof of these specific assertions, what of the general questions they raise... can you be a dangerous rider in an indirect fashion like this, by the very nature of your legacy? are riders who helped bring about a more aggressive baseline standard of racing in any way responsible for anything that happens as a result of this standard? (even worse, there's a line of succession here - after all, who was marc's biggest inspiration?) or does individual responsibility reign supreme here? athletes are by design only interested in their own successes, aren't they - and 'legacy' is so abstract, how can anyone know how others will be influenced by what they do? how can we even begin to assess how big an influence individual riders really are? let's not forget that there will be other factors - riders in the past have discussed how particular characteristics of the moto2 class have bred more aggressive racing, or the influence of the size of motogp bikes, or how difficult it is these days to overtake in a completely 'clean' manner, or the rules themselves and to what extent they have actually been enforced etc etc... maybe there's also an element of people focusing on the easiest, most visible explanation in the form of star riders, without giving proper consideration to the underlying factors that will influence an era's style of riding. again, how you feel about all of this will vary from person to person - but part of the hard vs dangerous debate is inherently forward-looking. and it's hardly just legacy... your hard/dangerous moves may also be setting a precedent in the present. to what extent is it the duty of riders to worry about that?

so then, that's what I've got. how you draw the distinction between hard racing and dangerous riding will come down to your individual ideological position and what you think racing even entails. do you think all contact is objectionable? do you think only the most extreme of transgressions - most of which don't qualify as 'racing' per se - should be labelled dangerous? somewhere in between? everyone will draw the line in a different place, according to the situation and their individual biases and understanding of events. it comes down, generally speaking, to how you judge the risks and rewards of a certain move, whether you think what a rider attempted was 'worth' it. all of which depends on whether the rider could realistically have managed whatever action they were attempting, whether the potential rewards were proportionate to the risks, or whether the whole thing was just too flat out dangerous to ever be worth it... of course, none of these are objective standards by which you can assess the racing, but they should give you a rough indication of what people are even talking about when they're distinguishing between hard and dangerous racing. riders as individuals are also far from consistent in their stances (surely not!) so you do have to play it by ear a lot of the times... and while there are plenty incidents where the majority can agree whether it is 'hard' or 'dangerous', there are plenty more where you're going to get a lot of contradictory opinions. no definitive answers here - unfortunately a lot of the time you'll just have to make your own mind up

#is this actually coherent? please write in if it's not coherent #tried to mostly stick to examples I've discussed elsewhere but still feels a bit short on details in places... kinda wishy washy... eh. idk #this is SUCH a vibes thing I cannot stress enough what a vibes thing this is #please don't judge the venn diagrams they were made in two minutes in google slides... not my best work but it'll have to do #smolnerdz #motogp #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #I do find this stuff really tricky myself because. okay so you might not have noticed this but I'm rather fond of both marc and valentino #and I clearly do derive quite a lot of enjoyment from their racing not *in spite* but *because* of their aggression #which is all well and good but it's healthy to always just... engage with the other side of things. ruminate on it a bit #a morally tricky sport to engage with in lots of ways - doesn't mean it all has to be done in only the most self-flagellating of ways #but personally I do feel like you shouldn't just. shut yourself off from the critiques. idk it IS a dangerous sport with real victims #and yet several of the races I've mentioned here made it to a list of my all time favourite races I posted *yesterday*. so now what hm #anyways

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