#solely for the purpose of having something in common to talk with him about

[beargregor]

Chef greg delivery just for you. it's a wonder I hadn't bearified him yet, he's my fave greg too 🔪

gays literally only want one thing (to be chopped up and eaten by a depressed man) and it's fucking disgusting

[seresinhangmanjake]

He Will Hope

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd is obsessed with his bride from the moment he sees her, but on their wedding night he finds out she might not feel the same. (Angst, but hopeful ending)

Warnings/Notes: Feyd POV, pre-smut and smutty-ish intentions (if that makes sense? idk, ignore me), instantly-in-love Feyd, unwanted marriage, baby(heir) talk, typos. Can absolutely be read alone, but also serves as something of a prequel to Do You Love? (same world, but big time skip), so I tried to kind of echo that with specific lines.

Words: 1500

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re so…beautiful. He didn’t expect a peace offering to be this perfect. Yes, he knew his bride would be a daughter of a Great House, but you are one of many sisters and Feyd did not imagine your father would send him the loveliest of his bunch. 

It’s a loveliness that has you sticking out like a sore thumb on Giedi Prime. Hair and makeup and wedding dress styled in the traditions of your home world glue all eyes to you as you walk down the aisle, and he likes that there is so much attention on you. It makes his inability to cease staring more acceptable. 

Harkonnens are not meant to be enthralled by their brides at first glance. Discouraged, even, from caring about their appearance at all. ‘Brides are meant for breeding,’ his uncle told him as a child, ‘It does not matter what they look like.’ But he was not told what to do or how to act in the event the bride makes his heart involuntarily skip a beat. 

Maybe if your heart was reacting in the same manner navigating this new feeling would be less intimidating, but the tears streaming down your cheeks suggest that's far from the case. You can barely look at him and he’s not sure you would be able to speak if it was required of you, but thankfully, verbal agreements are not part of marriage ceremonies on Giedi Prime. 

When he takes hold of your hand and slices your palm with his knife, you give no indication of pain. You are supposed to do the same to him but you seem nervous enough as it is, so he makes the three-inch long slash in his skin for you before pressing his palm against yours. The mixing of blood is a swearing of fidelity from husband to wife and wife to husband; a tradition and promise that wore down with time as concubines became more common. But he will not do that to you. You will be his one, his only, and if he can help it, he will be yours. 

He barely detects the words declaring you married. They're dull and bubbly in his ears as if he's sunk under the surface of his bath water because he's too focused on your mouth. Your plush lips are pink and plump and glistening, and he wants them. So he takes them before he's told to do so.

You taste different than the Harkonnen women he’s had. There is salt from tears, but something distinctly you seeps through. It's sweeter. A bit intoxicating. The kind of taste that collars and leashes the unruliest of men, and he wants more. Much more. But there are too many eyes, some of which are full of relief at the match finally solidified while others are prying and suspicious. If he keeps his lips on yours too long, questions will begin to form from certain witnesses—Does he like her? Does he want her? Can she be used? Can she control him?—and the answer will be plainly obvious.

When he breaks the kiss, your eyelashes flutter with the gentle opening of your eyes and he knows then that nothing—no convincing from advisors, no threats from his uncle, no hatred on your end—could ever have him willing to detach himself and use you for the sake of an heir only to discard you later. You are his wife now, you will be the Baroness upon his uncle’s death, and he will protect you from anyone who values you for the sole purpose of providing a child. 

—

He sees that your assigned servants have quickly learned to manage your hair and clothing. By the time they deliver you to him, the pins have been removed from the twist on your head, letting the strands hang loose to frame your face, and you’ve been unstitched from that heavy gown to be dressed in night clothes from your home. He provided you with a nightgown, so he wonders if wearing the thin dress was your choice or your parents' idea to make you undeniably enticing, but either way, it’s effective. 

What drapes over your body is nothing like the opaque blacks and straight lines of Harkonnen attire. It's intricate both in color and design; flowing fabric that shimmers when you make the slightest movements and, at the moment, does little to hide your shape and curves. 

As you stand in front of him, patiently awaiting instructions, he can only stare at what’s on display. Pebbled nipples, a plane of smooth skin down to your navel, your slit and the folds between your legs—he wants it all. All of you. Now. Here. Wherever he can have you. 

Rising from the chair where he’d been waiting, he dissolves the space between you. His arm snakes around your waist. His hand slides across your cheek to the back of your head. Lips slam into yours, chests meeting despite that sliver of fabric, and he tastes that taste again, instinctually feeling a need to lift his chin, bare his neck, and let you tighten that collar.

It takes you a few seconds but when your lips start to move, he kisses you harder, pulls you closer, weaves his fingers through your hair and lightly tugs. He guides you backward toward the bed, skin warming at the image of sliding the nightgown down your body. That warmth fans into pure fire and he can’t stop kissing you, can’t stop taking from you, collecting what little you’re willing to give him. Two of his fingers tuck themselves under one strap of the nightgown and begin to slip it down your shoulder. 

But then he stops. 

He stops because your lips freeze.

He stops because you're starting to shake under his fingertips.

He pulls back to look at you and it’s undeniable, so terribly undeniable, and he feels a bit ill. “You don’t want this,” he states. 

You don’t answer; you just stare up at him with those doe eyes that he can now see are full of fear, and his heart squeezes. His gut tightens. He suddenly has the urge to throw things, break things, watch things shatter to pieces because you don’t want him. His own wife doesn’t want his touch and he does not like this—not at all—but you’re scared, and he doesn’t like that even more. 

Sighing, he resets the strap on your shoulder, drops his hands from your body, and steps away. 

“I'll leave you alone,” he says. But as he passes by you, you grab onto his wrist. 

“We have to,” you rush out. “They'll know if we don't.”

He shakes his head. “They won't know anything that happens between us unless I allow it,” he tells you.

“B–But they expect an heir.”

“Yes. And eventually, we will have to produce one. That does not mean we have to share a bed tonight if that is not what you want, and it's clear that is not what you want,” he says a little too harshly. He isn’t trying to be snippy, none of this is your fault, but it hurts, and not in the way he enjoys.

You suck in a sharp breath as if preparing to argue, but then something shifts in your eyes. Instead, you say, “Where will you go?”

“The adjoining room,” he answers, nudging his head to the door on the opposite wall: the room for the concubines that he will never take. You turn to get a look.

“Oh,” you swallow. “O-Ok.” 

He grants himself a few more moments to study you, to soak in your soft and delicate features and the swollen lips he cannot have before he walks away, leaving you behind for the bed he had no intention of ever sleeping in. 

When he reaches the door, he glances over his shoulder to get one last look. You’re facing away from him, sitting on the mattress with your head low, your back arched forward and arms wrapped around your middle. You look small like that, slowly huddling into a ball, and he’d do anything to make it stop. Because you are his. His wife. His na-Baroness. He’s well aware he’ll fall for you in no time—it’s already begun—and he wants you to be happy with him. 

But you're not. And that already threatens the predictability of your future together. These foreign feelings he has for you are not guaranteed to be requited; something he isn't sure how to accept, and yet he may not have a choice. He cannot force your affection. He cannot demand you grow to love him. All he can do is try and hope that one day, he will win you over.

So that is what he does.

---

@avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act I, Scene I: The Silent Agreement)

Ever since that night, you and Spencer have always been at odds, but there is one thing you both agree on.

Part warning: just two idiots bickering nonstop Words: 1,6k A/n: so nervous about starting this but welcome to the first part! It's a short introduction though I'm trying to make longer chapters in the future

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Hate was too strong of a word, too intense and dramatic for the subtler, more nuanced disdain you felt toward him. It was more like a persistent itch you couldn’t scratch, a pebble in your shoe, or a fly that wouldn’t leave you alone.

You didn’t hate him. You didn’t even dislike him all the time. But there were moments when you wanted to shake him, or yank his tie hard enough to shut his smart mouth. Because every time he started throwing around statistics and facts, he made it sound like you couldn’t possibly understand, as if you weren’t on the same intellectual level as him.

And right now was one of those times you wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.

“You’re wrong,” you argued, not breaking eye contact as you leaned across the cluttered map with pins and photos of various crime scenes. “The Unsub doesn’t fit the profile of someone who strikes randomly. Look at the pattern, the meticulous planning in each location—it’s obvious they selected victims based on specific criteria, not opportunity.”

Spencer scoffed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The victims have nothing in common. Different ages, different backgrounds, different cities. How do you explain the randomness of the victims if it was planned?”

“It’s the chaos that’s planned, the seeming randomness, each victim is at a pivotal point. The Unsub is not just killing; they’re sending a message through the timing.”

“A message? Or is that just what you want to see?”

You frowned, not liking the condescending tone in his voice. “Reid, not everything has to fit into your neat little boxes of logic. Sometimes, you have to look beyond the obvious.”

“You mean baseless assumptions?”

“How about intuition?” you snapped back. “How about pattern recognition that isn’t immediately visible but becomes clear when you consider the psychological aspects?”

“You mean your hunches?

You gritted your teeth. “It’s not about my hunches. It’s about understanding the Unsub’s mind. They’re choosing victims who are at turning points in their lives for a reason. Maybe it’s symbolic, maybe it’s personal."

“Or maybe you’re just reading too much into this.”

Your frustration bubbled over. You knew if he weren’t talking to you, he might actually agree—No, he would definitely agree. You had enough experience working with him to understand his analytical style and to know that he valued well-reasoned arguments. Yet now it felt like he was purposely dismissing your perspective.

He wasn’t being fair.

“You know what? Sometimes I think you’d argue with a freaking wall if it meant you could prove a point.” To me at least. "Not everything is a textbook case, and not every answer is in your precious statistics.”

You saw him raise an eyebrow. “And you’d dismiss all logical analysis if it meant you could rely solely on intuition. How is that any more valid?”

“It’s not about relying solely on intuition,” you defended. “It’s about seeing the connections, the human behavior that your statistics can’t always explain.”

“But you’re assigning meaning where there might be none.” He gave you a pointed look. “Not only is that dangerous, you’re being reckless.”

Red. You were seeing red. Your retort was on the tip of your tongue when a sharp clearing of a throat suddenly interrupted. You both turned to see Hotch standing at the corner of the room.

"Let's redirect this energy towards something productive," Hotch interrupted, you could almost feel the weight of his stare. "Both of your insights are pointless if you keep arguing like this.”

“I wasn’t arguing.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, you weren’t.”

Your boss sighed, the kind of deep, exasperated sigh that seemed to pull the oxygen out of the room. “Just... work together. Please.”

The plea was simple, filled with the tiredness of having had this conversation more times than anyone cared to count. He then turned to leave and the room suddenly felt too big, the silence too loud.

You glanced over at Spencer the same time his eyes fell on you. But before either of you could say anthing, the door jerked open, and you watched as Derek sauntered into the room.

“Did you two fight again? Because Hotch asked me to babysit you.”

You scoffed. “Really? Those were his exact words?”

“Of course not, he asked me you needed supervision because you can’t stop sniping at each other.”

“Supervision,” you muttered under your breath, the word sounding ridiculous because it was the last thing you needed. “We don’t need supervision.”

“Exactly. What you both need is a babysitter.”

“We’re also not kids.”

Derek chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Could’ve fooled me. Given how loud you were, I half-expected someone to start throwing toys.”

Spencer was quick to defend himself. “We were having a professional disagreement.”

“A professional disagreement?” Derek mocked, pretending to be deep in thought. “That’s what they’re calling it these days?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Yes, Morgan, some of us prefer to call it that instead of ‘arguing like toddlers’.”

The grin spreading across his face was so annoying that you wondered whether you should’ve put your frustration on him instead. Derek pushed himself off the doorframe and walkes over to Spencer, casually draping an arm around his shoulders.

“Alright, Pretty Boy, let’s hear your side of this professional disagreement.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably under his arm but managed to maintain his composure. “We were discussing the Unsub’s choice of victims. I believe the randomness is genuine, while someone,” he glanced pointedly at you, “Thinks there’s a pattern.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What pattern?”

You stepped forward, determined to explain. “Look at the victims’ timelines. They were all at critical junctures—new jobs, big moves, major life changes. The Unsub isn’t picking them randomly; they’re choosing people going through something significant.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully, removing his arm from Spencer’s shoulders. “Alright, I see where you’re coming from. And you, Reid, think it’s just a coincidence?”

“I think the Unsub might be targeting randomly to avoid detection. Patterns can be dangerous for them.”

You sighed. “Can we at least agree to look at both possibilities? If we cross-reference the victims’ life changes with significant dates in the Unsub’s background, we might find a connection.”

You held his gaze as he studied you. You were right, you both knew you were, but you could tell admitting he was wrong was the last thing he wanted to do. There was a tense silence as he considered your suggestion, his eyes flicking between the evidence board and you.

Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. We can analyze both angles and see if there’s any overlap.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Derek chimed in with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. “You know, you could’ve gotten more work done if you two still got along.”

Derek’s words hit harder than you expected, a bittersweet reminder of a time when things were simpler. He was right, of course. There was a time when you and Spencer were more than just colleagues locked in constant debate. You were friends—good friends, even. You could almost hear the echoes of shared laughter that had once come so easily.

You remembered late nights at the office, the two of you working over case files and tossing ideas back and forth. Back then, your debates had been lively, yes, but never tinged with the frustration and competition that seemed to color your interactions now.

And to make matters worse, Derek suddenly voiced out the question neither of you dared to ask out loud.

“You guys used to be inseparable,” he mused, glancing at the two of you with an amused smile. “Wonder where it went wrong.”

You knew he was joking, but his words carried an uncomfortable truth that you couldn’t ignore. You could also tell it affected Spencer because his eyes met yours silently.

You both were thinking the same thing. You were sure of it, because everything had changed after that night, that one night you wished to forget. That one night when you thought your friendship would change for the better, but instead, it turned into a moment of clarity, a freaking slap to the face.

The change was immediate, like the abrupt silence that follows a sudden, jarring noise. What had once been effortless and natural now felt forced and awkward. The distance between you grew. The ease with which you once communicated had been replaced by a strained formality, as if both of you were trying too hard to pretend that nothing had changed.

It was as if you had made a silent pact to never speak of that night, an unspoken agreement to bury it deep and carry on as best you could. Both of you were too proud, too scared to address the elephant in the room.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The weight of the unspoken words pressed heavily on your chest, and sure, it seemed childish to harbor such disdain at your big age, but you couldn’t help it. It wasn't just the loss of a friendship that stung; it was the betrayal of knowing someone so close could cause you such pain.

Because Spencer Reid had hurt you deeply that night, so much so that a small, spiteful part of you wanted to hurt him too.

[motherlvr]

hi:D can you do miles!42 with a reader who doesn't really like getting told "watch who ur talking to" or smth bc most fics abt miles!42 is like that and nooo i won't ever let a man say that to me😭 and they like, know how to defend themself so they're pretty independent if thats alr ofc!

ngl i loved writing this, tysm for the req!

wc: 2.1k

pairing: E-42 Miles Morales x Strong, Independent! f! reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, kind of rivalry tbh, cursing, Miles is mean in this one, but gets character development, reader knows how to fight, baddie ong, reader doesn't take miles' bs

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"You gotta be shitting me." Mumbling under your breath, your eye involuntarily twitched. You glared at Miles like it was his fault for putting you in this situation.

Your glare was reciprocated as he said, "I ain't happy about it either, princesa." You hated when he called you that. It rolled off his tongue with such distaste. "Yeah? Glad we got that in common then." You snipped, irritated.

Miles Gonzalo Morales was a dick. To put it kindly.

He was a stuck-up, close-minded dick. It's like his sole purpose in life was to irk you. The two of you have never been on good terms. He tested your patience every waking moment.

But unfortunately for both of you, your Spanish teacher paired you up as partners for a major project. It would count for a good portion of your grade, so not doing it wasn't an option for you. You had less than two weeks to finish the project, and you weren't going to waste it.

You'd much prefer to do the project alone. One thing you've learned is: if you want something done correctly, do it yourself. And to never put it solely in the hands of a man. But the project was a requirement for the class, so you had no place to argue about it.

Thankfully, today was just a planning day. So it wouldn't be as painful, you hoped.

You showed him a plan you had thought about within only a few minutes and asked, "Thoughts?" He took a short glance at it and told you, "That's trash." A vein almost popped out of your head. You snapped, "You got any better ideas then?"

"Yea, anythin' other than that." He told you mindlessly. You had half a mind to make his braided head become real familiar with the cold surface of his desk. Around ten minutes later, he had finally come up with something. It wasn't that great, but at least he was semi-cooperative. You took one look at his plan and decided to turn the tables on him. You said, "You couldn't have come up with anything better? Shit's worse than my idea."

You could see him grip his pencil just a bit tighter, no doubt irritated by now. "Nah, watch your mouth." He told you, and you were unsure of how serious he was being. "Watch my mouth? You needa watch how when you turn around, one of your precious braids will be gone." You said as you made a snipping motion with your fingers. He protectively grabbed onto his braids, "Yo chill, ma."

As Spanish class progressed, everything only went downhill from there. He always seemed to hate every idea you had or had something to say. He groaned, "Woman, I swear. Your ideas are shit." Your former hopes of a peaceful partnership were long gone.

His choice of words alone irked you as you replied, "See, that's what you're not gonna call me. And if we're gonna be partners, you need to act decent for once. Get it together, Morales." You set clear boundaries as you pointed a finger at him. Surprisingly, he obliged. He looked like he made a revelation as he shook his head. "Nah, you right. That was outta line." The moment was oddly tranquil until he opened his mouth again. "I meant: I swear, your ideas are fucking terrible."

From that point further, the hopes of having a normal, mature, conversation were fleeting. The majority of the class was spent bickering rather than working on the task at hand.

You were one of the very few people that tested him. You gave him a challenge, while most people wouldn't utter a single complaint.

Eventually, at the end of the class, the two of you finally landed on an idea to carry out. A true miracle.

The next week in Spanish class passed and the days were cutting it closer and closer to the deadline. But there was still much work to be done. So, begrudgingly, you both had to work on it out of school. After Spanish, you were packing up your things when you asked him, "My place or yours?" His response was immediate. "My place. I'll give you my address. Come over after school, 'ight?" He said, writing down his address and handing it to you.

You accepted it and said, "Alright. Are your parents good with me coming over?" You questioned if he even had the decency to check first. Although you couldn't stand him most of the time, you didn't want to intrude on his family. He shrugged it off, "Yeah my ma's good with it. Already told her."

He wasn't about to tell you that his mother demanded the project was done at his house so she could keep a keen eye on the both of you.

You were dreading the final bell of the day. Spending more time than legally required with Miles wasn't your ideal image of fun. As the school day ended, you walked over to Miles' house.

Knocking on the door, it was soon opened by no one other than Miles' mother. She was expecting you, as a smile adorned her face. You greeted her, "¡Hola, Señora Morales! Gracias por invitarme a tu casa." (Hi, Mrs. Morales! Thank you for inviting me to your house.)

She widened her eyes at you, "¡Claro! ¿Cómo estás?" (of course, how are you?) She asked you with a sweet smile. You replied and reciprocated a smile, "Bien, ¿usted?" (good, you?) To which she responded, "Muy bien, gracias." (very good, thank you) As you put down your things, you noticed Miles was standing only a few feet away. His mother pulled Miles to the side and whispered, "She speaks Spanish, I like her." Not wanting to give away that she was a loud whisperer, you concealed a small laugh. It's a wonder how Miles turned out like that. His mother's wonderful. You knew she raised him better.

After his mother was done speaking to him, Miles led you to his room. His mother called out, "¡Deja la puerta abierta!" (leave the door open!) "Si, mami." He said back in an unusually nice tone.

You previously believed Miles Morales was a universal dick. But you soon realized you were somewhat wrong. He was a dick. To everyone except his mother, it seemed.

As you both settled down to start working on the project, you grinned at him like you had just found out a Federal-level secret. "You're such a momma's boy." You said.

His head whipped to you like you knew something you shouldn't. "No one would believe you." He said. You teased, "Oh, everyone would. Trust."

This was the most civil conversation the both of you have ever held within your whole history of knowing Miles. The afternoon was sprinkled with light-hearted jokes here and there, and it wasn't as painful as you initially believed. Needless to say, being forcibly confined in a space with Miles went much smoother than you could've ever anticipated. The project was progressing for once. And so was your relationship with Miles.

A few days later, you were in a better mood than regular. Within the past few days, Miles has been more tolerable. Maybe even likable. Apparently, you were in too good of a mood. You must've appeared too approachable today.

As you were walking in the hallways of school to your next class, a guy you didn't recognize slung an arm around your shoulders and said, "Hey, what's good jit?" You immediately pushed his arm off. He reeked of an excessive usage of cologne. You winced at his stench. "Don't call me that." You assertively said. But he only took it as a challenge. He said with a wink, "You tryna play hard to get? Alright, I'll play along."

"I'm not 'playing hard to get'," You mocked with air quotations. Dumbing it down, you continued, "I don't want you." Could a girl make it any more obvious?

Your words went straight over his oversized head. He said with a disgusting smirk, "I can change your mind." Your face visibly grimaced at his desperate attempt, "Not even baby Jesus could change my mind."

He was starting to get agitated at this point, "Nah, why you trippin', girl?" he said. You immediately retorted, "Why can't you take a damn hint?"

"C'mon, I know you want me. Gimme a chance." He said. You were sick and tired of this interaction, so you just decided to walk away. Turning your back, you tried to escape this conversation. But he grabbed your hand to prevent you from leaving. "Aye, where you goin'?"

You tried to be patient. And where did patience get you? Nowhere. In your mind, this guy was way too testosterone-deficient to be talking tough to you. There was nothing worse than a teenage boy. More importantly, a boy that didn't know what 'no' means.

And in an instant, the sound of a slap resounded throughout the hallway.

He looked like he was about to start crying. Holding his cheek in pain, he sneered, "Fuck you, bitch. You ain't shit anyway. I ain't even want you." But as you tried to walk away once again, he placed a tight grip on your shoulder to prevent you from escaping.

Miles was skipping class and wandering in the hallways when he saw you. From your body language, he could tell you were uncomfortable. His eyes glanced toward the guy's grip on your shoulder, and Miles suddenly understood the situation. He could see where this was heading. Or at least, he believed he did. Miles was about to intervene when within the blink of an eye, you had flipped the guy on his back and onto the floor.

You told the boy on the floor, "Don't try that shit again. With me or any other woman, got it?" Groaning in agony, the guy whimpered in response, and you took it as a 'yes'.

The guy was no André the Giant, but it impressed the hell out of Miles nonetheless. Since when could you do that? He questioned himself. Miles had to prevent his jaw from dropping. He was suddenly glad he never pushed you that far. You walked away unbothered as if nothing had happened. He gained a newfound respect for you. But that would have to stay unspoken.

Once Spanish class rolled around, you realized it was the second to last day you had to finish the project, so you were working extra diligently in Spanish class. You told Miles, "Alright, I finished decorating it. What do you think?" showing him the project. Not that you cared what he thought, but it would make this whole process much easier if he wouldn't shit on your every move. You've had your daily dose of asshole for the day. Almost an overdose, really.

A few moments passed by where he stared at the project, and then back to you. Fully expecting Miles to be his usual asshole self, you said, "Spit it out. What is it?" You waved your hand in front of his face. He swatted your hand away and replied, "I ain't gonna hold you, it's a pretty solid project so far."

You raised a brow at him, and suspiciously asked, "Really?" This was the first time he didn't have any retort to say. "Yeah, I think you're great, ma." He said. You cheekily grinned at him as he tried to correct himself, "I meant, great at the project. Yeah. The project." He almost stumbled on his words. He never did that. He was always collected. What was up with him? It was definitely a sudden change, but you weren't complaining.

There was only a small portion of the project left to do by the end of the class, so Miles suggested finishing it at his house.

This time after school, the both of you walked together to his house. As you worked on the project in his room, you noticed he wasn't getting much done. It seemed like he was in his head, whatever goes on in there. As you glanced up, he locked eyes with you. You hadn't a clue what he was thinking.

You originally would've preferred to do the project yourself, but if you had to have a partner, you believed the work should be divided equally. You weren't going to carry the whole project on your back.

"Why're you slacking, Miles? Our time is limited, y'know." "Ion know. Mind's elsewhere." He shrugged. It was subtle, but you noticed his glance travel to your lips. You grinned and took the opportunity to tease, "What, you want a kiss or somethin'?" You said it mainly as a joke. Sure, maybe you liked the way he gave you a challenge everyday. You wouldn't blatantly admit it, but it was refreshing to be with someone that actually cared about their work. But much to your surprise, he ran his hand over the back of his braids and said. "Shi, maybe it would motivate me. You feel me?"

Not expecting him to agree, you said, "I mean, alright. If you get off your ass, maybe I'll give you one." You tried to say as casually as you could. But you couldn't deny the fact that you were growing fond of him. You were internally conflicted as you wanted to hate him, but couldn't. In reality, it was far from hate.

Miles couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment his detest for you faded away and was replaced with something different. An emotion he rarely felt. Seeing you singlehandedly take on a guy was only fueling it for him. He quickly started working harder on his part. You mentally praised yourself. After a few silent moments, he spoke up, "Yo, I'm basically finished."

He was bullshitting, and you knew it. As you looked at his part of the project, he still had a good chunk to finish. But you caved and moved closer to him. Holding a hand to his face, you peppered a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely avoiding his mouth.

As usual, he had something to say, "Don't play, mami." He resisted the urge to press his lips to yours until they were numb. You simply smiled at him and replied, "Yeah? Keep workin' and you'll earn a real one."

Immediately, Miles got right back to working on his part of the project without another complaint. You've never seen him work so studiously.

Pleased to say, with your motivation, Miles was more productive that day than all the other days combined.

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

taglist! please lmk if u want to be added 🫶

@l5byrinth @iamspooderman

[foldingfittedsheets]

One of my earlier jobs in life was at a little pizza place. I worked there when it was first starting up. It’s the only job I’ve ever been fired from.

Anyway! For this story to make sense I’ve first got to set the stage. This pizza place started out as the Wild West of management but one of the original investors was super committed to work programs through the prison. We hired a ton of ex convicts and they were all, to a one, super hyped on Christianity. Like born again for the sole purpose of lauding Christ with their every breath.

I was raised without any religion which I liked very well. Throughout my life people have tried to inform me about their religion and I end up deeply resenting it. I’m good. I’m vibing. I’m staying in my lane. I’ve also had more than enough microaggressions for being queer that I get skittish around people who are especially devout.

I hadn’t been working there long but I’d definitely noticed the Jesus bug had gone around, I tried to steer clear of the topic for my own safety as much as possible.

The day our story takes place, I was folding boxes. Anyone whose ever worked pizza can attest, there’s so much box folding. It’s something that happens at every lull, the pizza machine demands box folding on a grand and epic scale.

On my right folding his stack of boxes was a guy wider than he was tall, made of pure muscle, Corey. He was newer on staff, and due to a stutter he didn’t talk much. All I knew about him was that he got hired through the rehabilitation program and had done time.

On my left folding was a tall middle-aged woman who loved to yell at me, Cindy. She and I rubbed each other the wrong way and had nothing in common, leading to a tense working relationship.

We folded boxes in silence. This was really my best case scenario as a quiet Cindy was a Cindy not riding my ass, and Corey intimidated me.

But the weight of the silence grew too much for Cindy, who finally said, “I really want to go to bible school.”

I folded a box. I had less than no idea what bible school even was and I didn’t want to get sucked into a religious topic.

On my right Corey said, “W-why, Cindy?”

“Well, cause I believe what’s in the Bible, but I just don’t know it all.”

He nodded sagely to this.

Cindy continued, “And every time I sit down to read the Bible I get real sleepy. And I know it’s the devil.”

It’s so hard to convey her tone in written format. It was delivered with the emphasis and exasperation of an inevitable inconvenience. Like, I just know it’s the squirrels eating the bird seed.

I froze in place at this pronouncement. My only exposure to Lucifer was Neil Gaiman’s Sandman comics and I was trying to mentally twist into a frame of mind where The Morningstar cared enough about this one middle aged lady expanding her knowledge of the Bible that he followed her around cursing her with sleepiness when she picked it up.

I think I expected Corey to say, “Well that’s silly,” or something to acknowledge what a bizarre thing Cindy had just said.

Instead he said, “Yeah!” In a tone of complete agreement.

I didn’t look up. I tried to keep my face neutral at this development.

But something must have shown. Corey said, “You don’t believe in God?”

I shrugged casually and said, “If I did I wouldn’t talk about it at work.”

“C-cause it’s t-true. If y-you t-ry to r-read the B-bible on unsanctif-fied gr-round the d-devil m-makes you s-sleepy!”

I made a noncommittal sound and fled into the back room.

Over the next week it drove me crazy though. The logic of it wouldn’t leave me alone so finally one day when it was just Corey and I in front, and the restaurant was empty, I said, “Hey man, I have a question.”

He shrugged and listened.

“I really don’t mean this with any disrespect, I just genuinely want to know about the logistics-“

“J-ust ask.”

“Okay, so if Cindy gets tired when she reads any book, is it only the devil making her tired when it’s the Bible?”

His face went purple with fury and he yelled, “F-fuck you!” at my retreating back as I fled once more into the back room.

It will forever remain a mystery.

[iid-smile]

difficult things

sakura, nirei, suo, sugishita, kaji

if you were dating them series

sakura hakura | feeling comfortable around you

it's extremely frustrating trying to get him to open up to you more. he feels the need to look tougher, to protect you more while telling others to back off, but he misses the sole purpose of the relationship; love. sakura avoids you more when you're dating, more than when the two of you were in the talking phase. might be from embarrassment, might be from hesitance. he doesn't say that you're his partner, but something along the lines of "i find them nice...", which makes no sense at all. everyone that sakura knows is nice to him (a few exceptions here and there), so does he really bunch you up with the rest of them?

nirei akihiko | getting over his insecurities

whenever he talks about himself, most times out of ten it's something negative. it doesn't matter how many times you reassure, comfort or encourage him, because nirei doesn't feel like he's good enough for you. it's not that he avoids you per se, but he hides, he puts you in the spotlight, but doesn't join alongside you, so you feel more lonely than anything. he can be early to dates, but he also skips them without telling you or with a poor excuse. it's genuinely off-putting how much he degrades and insults himself, to the point where you don't even know what to say to make him feel better.

suo hayato | saying the truth

suo is a natural pathological liar, as well as lying just to save face. you would never genuinely know if he's covering something behind his eyepatch or not, because he just doesn't want to tell you, injury or not. he'll joke, tease, do everything but tell you that perhaps he's just not comfortable with showing you. and if he did, you'd be totally okay with that. the way he thinks contradicts how he acts, and he picks out all of the things he doesn't like about you and can be so judgmental about it. if you ask, he won't say. one of his values is to keep up his facade, no matter how free or secure he feels around you. nobody knows the real him, except himself. he's loyal, but not honest.

sugishita kyotaro | admitting his mistakes

he loves and admires you to bits, but to be 'sorry' is a way of saying that he has done wrong to you, and he doesn't like that. not because he's narcissistic and petty, but because he doesn't want to believe that he's hurt you in some way. his way of an apology is silently lingering around you or staring at you until you eventually forgive him. at first, it's cute, but when this happens every time, even when it's a major issue, it makes you frustrated. sugishita finds it hard to talk, and communication isn't his strong point. the two of you could go for months in radio silence, and he won't explain anything to you soley because he doesn't know what to say. he doesn't like to be guilty around those he thinks highly of.

kaji ren | ignorance and bluntness

kaji hasn't yet realised that you think and function completely in a different way to him. he's not used to having to soften up, lighten up his tone and be more gentle. in fact, he doesn't realise that somebody loves should be somebody he treats in a special way and not like the rest. kaji should be adjusting to you, just how you adjusted for him. he talks to you as if you're stupid or as if you lack common sense, and he unknowingly belittles you for every mistake you make, more when you hurt or injure yourself in some way. his affection shows through actions, but still it's not anything sweet, not anything you'd expect from a boyfriend. a lot of the time, he manages to look over you and your needs, and needs a reminder from someone else to check up on you.

[djarrex]

beneath the surface

Steb x f!reader

read on ao3 (more warnings and notes here too) | masterlist

Steb felt so much for you, too much to put into words – but actions would suffice. 

18+ only. groping, biting, marking, filling, smut with feelings. love a reserved on the outside but animal on the inside king. written in Steb’s pov. about 5.8k words. maybe a to-be-continued in the future.

It was late, and Steb needed to get home. 

That sparring session hadn’t been something he’d needed after such a draining day, but who would he have been to deny your sweet request for him to join you? After all, Steb very much liked spending time with you, and at the end of the day, he’d be damned if he didn’t try to find any little way to see you a final time before turning in. You’d left just a little bit ago, leaving Steb alone in the gym – exhausted and extremely pent up. 

Working alongside you always had him slightly distracted, though it was only a mild inebriation that he could still operate under – until this evening when his well-hidden feelings for you had threatened to seep through the cracks. Contradictory to what his heart felt, Steb was glad you’d finally decided to leave; it had been only a matter of time until his body would have begun to betray the practiced strength of his composure. Alone, he’d tried throwing how he felt into the way he’d sparred with the rotating dummy, hooking left and right at the extended arms and parrying each counterstrike it’d volleyed back with. Even though only a handful of minutes had gone by, he’d lost track of time, but the tension hadn’t ebbed any.

Steb walked through the dimly-lit hallway toward the locker room, his duffle bag strap slung on his shoulder. Sweat felt thick on his teal skin. Clung heavily to the natural, thin layer of secreted sheen. His hair was more unkempt than he’d care for it to be in public, no matter how empty this area of the station was. Before heading home, he would quickly change into his civvies that were stored neatly in his locker. Grab the spare that needed to be patched where it had been torn in several inconspicuous places, noticeable enough for Steb to be bothered by it.

Approaching the locker room, the door before him was cracked; it never did seal all the way, he’d noticed. His hand made contact with the metal-framed door, but something caused his ears to jerk with interest.

Something seemed off.

It was rare that other officers came to this area at this time of night. Most night shift officers who were at the station mostly hung around the mess, or the common area razzing each other up. Not much of Steb’s style. What he was hearing behind the door sounded like someone, whoever it was, was trying not to get caught. Street folk had snuck in before, for the sole purpose of using the facilities, but that had ended a long while back. Or so he thought.

Knelt down, Steb set down the duffle bag, slowly pulling the zipper open. Sat atop his folded uniform was his baton, much smaller when retracted. Less intimidating. Meant for doing a quick search or having a brief chat – though Steb didn’t do much if any of the talking. It was all for show, until it wouldn't be.

He went to grab it, but something caused him to pause. Another twitch of his ears and Steb could make out something new. Water – the crackle of it as it had just been released from the pipes.

The showers.

His suspicions were close to being confirmed. 

The showers were quite deep into the locker rooms, and if only one were to be running, it would not be audible to human ears from outside this door. Baton in hand and duffle bag resecured, Steb cautiously entered and made his way toward his locker, passing through the columns that lined the center of the large labyrinth of a room. When he got to his own locker, Steb quietly opened it then shut his inner eyelids, briefly sacrificing his sight for the sake of amplified hearing. 

Still pent up. 

The tension had only been on the back burner, simmering quietly but there all the same. The stream of water made his mind swim with a fantasy in his slightly distracted state. Invited him into it like an old friend. A tapestry appeared in his mind, one painted of crystal blue waters bordered in by mossy banks, smooth stones scattered in the depths. It was homey and serene, and Steb figured it was his body’s way to tell him to get home so he could relax, work one out, and sleep it all off. 

Then you appeared. He must have thought of you then, recalled the salty scent of your skin as it beaded with sweat earlier. Pheromones still lingered in his nostrils. Danced along the roof of his mouth. Now, you were there in his mental image, propped up at the edge of the bank with your toes dipped into the water. You didn’t notice Steb yet, not looking in his direction. 

He shook his head.

Get a hold of yourself.

His ears twitched again – and just as quickly angled downward in shock. An unmistakable sound hit Steb like a ton of bricks. His eyes flew open. The metal scenario he’d previously concocted was torn away by a rip current.  

You.

Steb heard you, your soft sounds. Coming from the shower, they were undeniably yours –  only breathier than the intoxicating grunts of exertion you’d emitted when sparring with him, gentler than the huffs of breaths you’d take when sprinting beside him on the training track. These sounds were completely different. Angelic, whispers of magic. The sounds of the shower stream faded back into the air and coincided beautifully with your quiet moans, an orchestral masterpiece. 

Steb took a centering breath. Stared hard at where his boots were planted firmly to the ground. He should have every intention of leaving the area – but…

What was that saying, again? Curiosity killed the… who?

Me. 

It’ll be the death of me, for sure. 

He was arrested in place. Molten shame flooded to the pointed tips of his ears and they were pinned to his head once again. You were… pleasuring yourself. Here, of all places, in the station’s locker room, and not at your home in your bed – not that Steb would ever admit that he’d imagined you in your bed.

How many times have you done this here before now?

Did you not think I would be able to hear you?

Maybe you wanted him to.

Confident that you would be none the wiser to his presence, Steb allowed himself to groan in frustration. That little verbal release was supposed to help some, and maybe it had, but it sure as hell was not enough. He rubbed his temples with the balls of his palms. You were still moaning, bordering on whimpering. 

And he thought he’d already had it bad. Never would he ever get your sounds out of his head. 

Steb’s track pants started to feel tighter. 

Shit. This? Now?

And if it couldn't get any worse, he started to actually make out the sounds of you touching yourself. You were so wet, a soft squelch that differed heavily from a steady shower stream. Steb sighed. Defeated. If he truly intended to leave, he’d already be gone. Besides, he couldn't make it all the way home with this imposing erection.

A metal battle ensued, all while being swayed too heavily with the symphony of your intoxicating noises filling the air and rattling around in his head. 

Bold of you, he thought. 

Maybe I could be bold, too. 

That too-familiar heat of shame once again set deep in his features. The scales on his face fluttered with it.

That isn’t right – that wouldn't feel right.

Clinging to a semblance of his well-defined morals, Steb had decided to retreat back to the gym. He’d figure out a way to spar with the dummy despite the painful erection, until his arousal would eventually, inevitably fade, then he’d go home. 

That had been his plan, anyway. Once he’d heard a name–his name–fall from your lips among the sea of tantalizing sounds, things took a turn. To add fuel to the fire, you were pleasuring yourself to the thought of him.  

He couldn’t stop himself. His legs seemed to move on their own accord, stepping toward the line of shower stalls, closer to your beckoning call. The source of all of the steam led him to the stall you were in. Your workout clothes from earlier were in a pile on the bench just outside the stall. He remembered the way you’d looked in those leggings – in that form-fitting tank top. Leaving just enough to the imagination. You were incredible in every way, from your skin down to the marrow. 

Your voice chirped from inside the stall. Steb’s ears continued to jerk, cataloging every word.

“Shit – Steb – yes– ” You whispered in breathy gasps, and the audible sound of your fingers working inside of you filled his ears. Steb felt like he was shaking in his spot, body thrumming with tension. He was one elongated frayed wire, and he was ready to snap at any moment.

“Pin me down– please – yes– ” 

His jaw dropped. You were recalling the recent sparring session, specifically when he’d gotten the better of you and had you pinned in just seconds after evading your parry. You’d looked like a dream beneath him, dewy skin and lips parted as you panted, trying to catch your breath. Really thinking back to that exact moment, Steb had, admittedly, imagined the two of you in the same position – but in a much, much different setting. 

His cock jumped at the memory, the same one you’re seemingly getting off to. He couldn't help it, but he palmed himself over his pants. That simple motion only made it worse. The shower curtain was an arm’s length away. He could reach out, rip it open, and take you the way his body is screaming for him to. He could pin you down on those slippery, wet tiles and spread you open to his liking. Nobody was around so he could make you scream his name, forcing you to leave those soft whimpers behind.

The sudden switch in his demeanor to the more deeply-rooted could scare you off, though. That was the last thing he’d want to do. 

Steb palmed at himself again. It wasn’t enough, not after he’d heard how wet your pussy sounded with your fingers thrusting inside. You were probably so soft, so warm. You’d probably taste like heaven, too. Everything about you was so sweet, your sex would be no different.

Shit. I want this. I want her.

But what if it’s not right?

She wants me. 

At this rate, by the time Steb would come to a decision you would have already finished, and he’d still be hard and flustered and left feeling completely deviant. He wanted to get you there. You’d finish–fall apart–because of him. This may not have been his ideal way of your first time together, but–

Enough thinking.

Steb knocked against the outer shower wall, hitting his knuckles against the surface in a familiar rhythm, one you’d surely recognize. It’s the same way he’d knock when he’d visit you at your desk, or when he’d come up behind you so as not to startle you. You’d started to knock back too, saving your words of greeting by reason of something akin to solidarity. Connected – that’s how Steb felt with you. 

He heard how you very abruptly paused what you were doing, and you were dead silent. Breath held in your chest. He felt his heartbeat thick in his temples. His ears twitched in an attempt to pick up any sort of sound you could manage. Time stood still until finally, you knocked back. Relief flooded him, a sense of belonging. There was no turning back now, now that you knew he was there. Listening. His heart thundered in his chest. 

“Steb...”

There was his name again. Louder than when you’d gasped it before, cadenced now as an invitation. He never could say no to you. Quickly, and sloppier than he’d normally undress, Steb began to peel off his gym clothes. Everything was tossed in a haphazard pile beside yours on the bench, which was only given a spare glance one, maybe two times. He had more important things happening than to worry about himself being abnormally untidy, and it was all going to unfold behind the very curtain that separated the two of you now. With one final act of equanimity, Steb lifted a tentative hand to grasp the edge of the curtain, and slowly slid it open.

With your back to him, you stood under the stream of water, slightly hunched forward as your hand pressed itself firmly against the tiled wall. Steb watched how the water rolled off your shoulders and down your body. He gulped, and cleared his throat. Your head picked itself up and you slowly turned to face him, your eyes visibly lighting up and a breath catching in your throat when you saw him.

Just as sure as Steb was that you were taking a moment to check him out, he was doing the very same with you – and you were even more perfect than anything he could have ever imagined. Your cheeks were very evidently darkened with arousal, flush with the remnants of an ebbing climax that’d been forced away by interruption. The stream of water now cascaded down your breasts and abdomen, your hair damp and formed to your neck. A bashful smile etched its way on your lips when you caught him looking. You really would be the death of him. Maybe he’d already died and this was his purgatory. A test. 

Your voice brought him back to the moment, and if this were a test, Steb would have already failed long before now. 

“You’re here.”

Was that excitement in your voice – relief? Maybe you were incredulous, your cool tone slightly tinted with shock. Whatever it was, your expression was what Steb was studying. He took a deep, centering breath and slowly nodded his head. Beyond his control his cock jumped when you approached him and his facial scales fluttered. Blinking at him, your palm met the center of his chest, your gorgeous eyes staying on his. A heavy layer of tension settled among the steam. Now that you were in front of him, bare and willing, he was growing more anxious in contrast to the intrepid man he’d made himself out to be just moments ago. 

Sobered was how he started to feel upon feeling the heat of your hand on his bare chest, his thumping heart beating beneath it. He felt shameful for wanting to come right out and wallow in his fantasies, now reasoning with himself that you were worth far more to him than a quick, rough fuck. Steb really admired you, cared for you in a way that was far beyond lust. 

Extinguished was the fire in your eyes, instead widening with concern as Steb averted his gaze and pinned his ears to his head. He couldn't help those telltale signs of his that you’d surely notice; you'd gotten to know each other quite well over time, and understanding just how expressive Steb could be without uttering so much as a word was a huge part of that. It was silent, save for the spray of water pouring from the shower head and the smacking of the water meeting the floor tiles. He couldn’t keep his gaze from you for long, and when he met your eyes again, they were desperately trying to decipher his.

He parted his lips, trying to find the words. “I…”

I want you–

I don’t want to scare you away–

I want this–

I don’t want to ruin this–

I– 

“Hey, hey.” You cupped his jaw in your hands, just barely brushing against the gills there. Your palms were soft against them. Reassuring. “It’s okay,” you told him. He straightened up a little – hadn’t even realized he’d been slightly slumped forward. Out of character. You offered a sincere smile upon noticing his self-correction. “We don't need to do anything.”

You were so kind, so considerate; it made his heart throb for you – but you were misinterpreting Steb’s hesitance. His lips twisted. You caught his expression–of course you did–and quickly went to amend. Your hands left his face and instead grabbed at his hands. His eyes followed where your fingers were entangled with his. The realization that this was the first time you’d held his hand hit him with a turbulent force, as if the very presence of your naked body before him wasn’t enough to make him want to fall to his knees. 

“I never intended to pressure you,” you said quietly. Sheepish. It was your turn to avert your gaze. 

Registering that he’d given you no other cues to go off of, Steb released his hand from yours and gently pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger. When he got you to meet his eyes again, he heard the faintest whimper in your throat. The moment froze in time, something so incredibly soft and tentative in comparison to how he’d imagined this would go, before he’d stepped into the shower with you and doused by the gravity of it all. 

“We can just… be like this. Take it slow,” you suggested. It was unmistakable the way you were angling your face even the slightest bit closer to his. “I like you, Steb… and I care about you.”

If only you knew…

Steb really didn’t think he could take it any slower than this, but it was savory – something to luxuriate in. He could tell you how strongly he felt the same for you, but Steb always did believe that actions spoke louder than words – so he leaned in and kissed you. You accepted him right away, eager and excited at the newness of it all. Wall-crumbling. Your lips were incredibly plush compared to how he knew his felt, and if the grippier feeling of his own bothered you even in the slightest, you definitely didn’t make it known. Stepping forward, he followed you back under the main spray of water. It splashed atop his head, soaking his hair and running down his face to where his lips met yours, seeping into his mouth.

You leaned even further into Steb, pressing yourself into his erection that never had fully gone away, hardening now in response to the taste of you. The pressure made him groan against your lips, and with a bit of surprise, you broke yourself away. A glance down at Steb’s cock made heat flood to his cheeks and to the pointed tips of his ears. You bit your lip, thoughts visibly filtering their way through your head until you seemingly landed on one; you first asked him permission with a look, the subtle tilt of your head. 

Steb took your hand in his. Nodded. A strong hint of desperation. 

“Show me,” you offered, more than willing to indulge him. Gently, and with a thick swallow of air, Steb guided your hand down his body with the cascading water until he felt your fingers brush against his cock, throbbing in time with the beat of his heart. The very sensation of you fondling him was enough to make him want to come, but he staved it off, instead letting himself get lost in the way your eyes continued to search his with every brush of your fingers and stroke of your palm. It wasn’t until your fingers finally made contact with the short frills lining the underside of his cock when Steb allowed himself to groan a little louder, letting his eyelids shut to bask in the sensation. 

He heard you giggle, a soft sound that came from a devious little smile of satisfaction. You were a fast learner, Steb had already known that, but a whole new meaning shone upon that trait of yours when you started pumping his cock in a way that had him struggling to keep his self-control. Even with the water pouring over top, your hand was so soft, so adamant on working out all of the tension you’d inferred he’d been carrying. He didn’t want to finish like this – didn’t want to come in your hand only for this all to come to an end so soon – so he chewed his bottom lip and grabbed your wrist, effectively stopping you. The gesture didn’t faze you though, and you only grew more determined.

“Let me do this for you,” you proposed. “Please, Steb… I want to do this for you.”

You must have really picked up on how much Steb needed this. 

Again, he was not one to deny you in any capacity, certainly not now as your fingers were wrapped around his cock. He’d come, but Steb had quickly decided that it would not be the end; there was so much he wanted with you, and he wouldn't wait another day. He nodded another go-ahead and removed his fingers from around your wrist, allowing you to pick up where you’d left off. You resumed with a crawl at first, teasingly almost. Steb let you do with him what you pleased, knowing full-well he was going to come any moment. Your palm slid so smoothly along his cock, your hand twisting and tugging. 

Water dripped off your pebbled nipples, enticing enough for Steb to pinch one between his fingers. You gasped, doubling your efforts as he pinched and tugged a little rougher, then switched to palm at your breast, kneaded under his large hand. He leaned forward to kiss you again, this time messier and more consuming. A dizziness settled upon him, just as a swell did at the base of his cock. Ears flattened against his head, Steb came with a drawn-out groan, one that was sure to have tumbled down your throat. The mess he’d made rinsed easily from your hand. Swirled down the small, grated drain. 

Legs a little shaky and breathing ragged, Steb broke away from your lips, drunkenly admiring how yours were parted and kiss-swelled, a tad raw from mingling with his rougher ones. His body felt more relaxed than before, but he was still half-hard, only confirming his predetermined mission to have this continue here and now. Steb tilted his forehead to meet yours. Resolute, he took a deep breath and released it with a low growl, nearly imperceivable. He flashed his teeth as his tongue licked along his bottom lip. 

“I… want you.” 

“I want you, too,” you admitted, your nose brushing against his. “But I think you knew that.”

Cheeky. You were cheeky – knew he’d heard you pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. 

Steb agreed with a considering hum. He really did want you – wanted to feel you, taste you, be inside of you. Everything and more. As much as he could accomplish before the water ran too cold for even himself.

You pressed your lips to his once again, a brief peck. “I’m just going to come out and say it,” you began, straightening yourself and running your fingers down his chest. Traced along the skin that bordered the jagged gills on his side. He’d sparred with you, trained with you, but the feeling never was quite like this when it came to your touch. “I want you to have me, Steb. I need it, I need you.”

The desperation in your voice betrayed how you probably wanted to sound, an attempt at being brazenly seductive. The plea laced in your tone was its own kind of attractive, enticing enough to make his cock jump for not the first time right in front you, and definitely not the last. 

Steb wet his bottom lip. Groaned. If only you knew what images he’d conjured up before coming in here.

He backed you against the wall just outside of the heaviest spray of water, held your hips to steady you, and kicked your feet further apart. Steb grabbed his cock, stroking himself a few times as he watched the way your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths of anticipation. You lifted your leg and allowed Steb to hold your knee against his narrow hip. The head of his cock brushed against your slicked pussy, parting your lips too easily. He was still sensitive from when you’d jerked him but that didn’t stop his eagerness from wanting to enter you, to feel you strangle him. 

“Steb,” you whispered. Your hands grasped his shoulders, careful of the fins that fell with the curve of them down the blades. He shook himself back to the very real moment, a moment before things would never be the same again. “Please… I want to feel you inside of me.”

He’d surely assume he was stuck in a torturous dream if you weren’t here grounding him to this tangible reality. Your eyes stayed locked with Steb’s as he guided his cock into you. He shivered with the sensation, muttering a quiet curse at how warm, soft, and wet you felt around him. You were holding your breath, digging your nails into his slick, toughened skin. 

You shivered. Gasped. “You’re so… fuck–”

Your head flew back when he buried himself completely, a swell of pride flooding him knowing that he was the one who was doing this to you, making you feel so full like this. Steb understood he was a bit bigger than the average human male, a little different in overall appearance, but you took him completely like the perfect thing he knew you were. Like you were made for him.

Rather than moving right away, Steb stayed buried inside of you, unmoving, peppering appreciative kisses along your jaw and down your neck as you adjusted to the feeling. You whimpered again, so desperate, subtly jerking your hips to hint at your need. Steb chuckled, huffed out a sigh. He started to move, slowly dragging his cock back out through the tight channel of your cunt until only the head remained before nearly slamming himself back in. You gasped, nails digging deeper. Steb’s scales fluttered at the sting of his skin breaking, a newly discovered oddity. He continued to thrust in earnest, gripping your hips as hard as you were clinging to his shoulders. 

That innate, carnal instinct began to seep through when Steb’s blunt front teeth started grazing your skin, salty with the same notes of your sweat from earlier. You tasted even better than you’d smelt, and he kept mouthing at you, starving for more. When he found your collarbone, he noted where the uniform would cover, took your skin between his teeth, and bit down. You keened, audibly pleased with the amount of pressure he’d tried – so he curled his fingers around the back of your neck to pull you closer and did it again, and again, growing bolder with every gasp and moan of approval you could muster, and experimentally factored in his sharper teeth further back, taking more of you into his mouth. The taste of you could be addicting if he weren't careful – but he allowed himself to indulge, to commit this entire experience with you to his long term memory. With every sound you made he swore it couldn't be topped until your lips would part again, gracing his twitching ears with yet an even better one, proving him wrong every time. 

“Feels so good,” you moaned, breathless. It was music to his ears. “Don’t stop.”

Wouldn't dream of it.

He’d fuck you like this forever if it were possible. He’d never leave your cunt, never remove your skin from between his teeth, never release your body from beneath his fingertips. Everything seemed to spur him on. You were so slick, already dripping around his cock and thighs and the it was so distinct – the sounds of Steb fucking you in the shower. Despite being surrounded by water and moisture in the air, he felt himself getting dehydrated. Aiding in his efforts, the humidity and your increased body heat were consuming him. It was all too much now, but he wouldn't stop. Not until you’d come around his cock, not until he’d allow your tight cunt to drain every last bit of tension from his being, every last drop. 

He’d never been like this for anyone else. He’d never tapped into those deeper desires, acted upon them until now. There was way more Steb knew he could potentially be capable of with the right partner, but this was only the first time with you. If you were willing, he’d really open up. Devour you whole. Eat you alive. Break you down and build you up only to do it all over again. Self-indulgent but reverential. 

Shakily raking his fingers through the damp strands of hair that had fallen in his face, Steb bared his teeth, hissing at how tight you were getting. It was becoming harder for him to keep up his current pace. You were so close, teetering on the brink. He felt it. Saw it. It was like the life within you was slowly fleeing your body, your bones doing little to keep you upright. 

“I’ve got you,” Steb assured you. You nodded pathetically, hanging onto him for dear life as he chased the feeling up the steep incline. He removed his hand from its firm grasp on your neck, finding your clit instead. You whined as Steb rapidly circled it in time with his thrusts, and soon your legs gave out, pussy fluttering with your climax. Feeling your body let go, Steb’s did the same. The swell of his cock burst in the clutch of your cunt. Filled you until he was spent. The adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins practically jettisoned with his climax, leaving him unsteady and out of breath. Clear-headed. Hunched over you now, Steb’s cock throbbed inside of you. He met your tired, satiated gaze and you cracked a smile to match that look in your eyes. 

“Holy shit,” you announced. Breathless and winded. You awkwardly moved against him, wiggling yourself free as he pulled out with a slight wince from the sensitivity. Steb stepped backward into the cooled water, gingerly rinsing your shared fluids from himself. Stepping aside to make room for you to join, he hummed in agreement. 

‘Holy shit’ was right. 

You had to be sore; the few steps you were taking were done with a wince. Steb flashed a concerned look your way, guiding you under the water and aiding you as you washed the sex from your skin.

“I didn't know you were so…” You paused, trying to find the words as you angled different parts of your body under the stream. Steb wasn't even sure how to finish your train of thought. “Sorry. I just never would have expected any of that from you.”

Amused, Steb arched a brow. Facing him again, he noticed the darkened marks along your chest where his teeth had apparently broken your skin, his fingers ghosting along the same path his mouth had taken. There was a feeling of guilt there, for having lost himself in the throes of it all, for having tossed his caution to the wind; but when you cheekily grinned up at him with reassurance, showing Steb just how much you enjoyed the whole experience – that prideful rush flooded him once again.  

“I guess it’s true, what they say,” you mused. Inquisitively, Steb tilted his head as he reached around you to shut off the water. You didn’t supply anything to punctuate your statement, and you instead giggled quietly, shaking your head while you wrapped yourself in a towel. 

From just behind the opened curtain, Steb watched quietly to the side as you dressed into clean civvies. He didn’t mind remaining bare to you for a little while longer. It felt freeing – you knowing him that much deeper now. Besides, he needed a bit of time to regulate himself after that exertion; he’d probably turn the water back on and take some time to himself to rehydrate after you’d gone. 

“Someone could have heard us,” you whispered, as if your spoken words were the worst amongst the scandalous and obscene sounds that had been let out this evening. Steb knew that no one would have been in the area, but he had to admit – someone hearing how good he’d made you feel would not have been the worst thing for his ego. Steb was well-respected and well-liked, but most knew him only on the surface level, if that. They knew him as a quiet, reserved officer. Always prepared for anything the job had to throw at him. ‘Ladies man’ and ‘smooth talker’ definitely weren't traits one would use to describe him – not that he considered himself either, anyway. Maybe it was the slightly possessive nature in Steb, but perhaps that new junior ‘hotshot’ would stop flirting with you if he'd heard how you'd whined and gasped the name of the higher ranked officer. 

Steb cared for and respected you too much to let his own ego and unavoidable proprietorial nature overshadow that. 

Now fully dressed and your bag slung over your shoulder, you reached for Steb’s hand. Your gaze scanned his naked body, leaned against the stall wall. Confusion etched into your features. “You’re not heading home?”

Straightening, Steb shook his head. “Need a moment,” he stated matter-of-factly. His internal temperature had noticeably started to level out, matching that of the chilled air that had settled from the dissipating steam. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Your voice was so sweet. Hopeful. Giddy, almost. He nodded. 

Of course he’d see you tomorrow. You’d probably want to spar with him again after your shift, and maybe he’d offer to make you dinner. He’d make one of your favorites, a dish that you always raved about and were oblivious to how Steb had learned the recipe a long time ago with the hope that he’d get to make it for you one day. 

Hopefully after dinner he’d get to have dessert. Now that he knew how truly delectable you were, there was going to be nothing that would stop him from tasting you again. 

The thought made Steb’s scales flicker. A blush darkened your cheeks and you bit your lip – a mutual understanding. Delicately holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he let you read the promise held within his eyes. Before you turned to leave, you kissed him again. It was quick. Chaste. When you pulled away he felt your essence still buzzing on his lips.

Watching you walk away, Steb sucked in a reverent breath. Held it in with your pheromones swimming in his senses until you were out of sight and released with a murmured endearing phrase of departure. 

Until next time.

[atimesfeeler]

They were kissing, and there was blood in their mouths Wade didn’t care to wipe away. It was one of Logan’s kinks, and Wade wasn’t one to slut shame. He also wasn’t particularly surprised when he found out. Did you see the way he smiled when Wade’s blood dripped onto his teeth? Nasty.

The blood was from their brawl in the living room over something Wade couldn’t remember . The only thing he remembered was that he started it, purposely riling Logan up to get him to pounce. Technically, Wade won, but Logan used a different rules than he did, declaring whoever was on top was the winner. Wade thought it was common sense that the first one to do something sexy lost. And that included biting his neck and then licking clean the healing wound. Obviously a prelude to super sexy times. There was nothing gayer, actually.

Wade yanked his head back, breaking their kiss solely to run his mouth. He loved kissing. Kissing was great. Kissing with a bloody feral man on top of him was even better. He also loved talking. So far, he hadn’t found a good way to multitask those two things yet.

Logan clearly didn’t have that problem as he set to work kissing and biting down Wade’s neck.

“Bloody brawls really do it for ya, huh?” Wade gasped, arching into the teeth pressing threateningly against his collarbone. Hot breath puffed against the thin skin and pebbled it. “Enough to get you to forfeit?”

“Didn’t forfeit,” Logan rumbled, the words closer to a vibration against Wade’s neck than an audible sound. “I won.”

“Just keeping telling yourself that,” Wade goaded and jerked when Logan closed his teeth around his collarbone like a dog who thought he could rip it out of his skin and bury it in the back yard.

“It’s starting to be a habit, you know,” Wade teased around the little noises of both pain and pleasure zinging through him. “Is beating me up your favorite-“

Wade frowned.

“Shit.”

Logan paused. “What?”

“What’s the word? Pre-game. No, that’s not it.”

Logan attempted to distract Wade by pulling his shirt over his head. Wade just glared at Logan’s fuzzy tits like they held the answers.

“Pre-game. No. It’s- what is it?”

Logan sighed, realizing he was, yet again, losing a battle, and sat back in Wade’s thighs.

“Motherfucker. It’s going to bother me. What’s the word for pre-game but for sex?”

Logan stared at him with a long suffering look. Wade looked around and patted the floor beside his head, looking for his phone to google it.

“You mean foreplay?” Logan deadpanned.

Wade snapped his fingers, “Yes, that’s it! I knew it had something to do with sports. If you ask me, it probably has something to do with the inherent homoeroticism of all male sports. I mean, have you seen those Italian soccer players? Straight up SEX on the field. It’s disgusting. I’m so jealous.”

Logan’s look clearly conveyed that Wade had ruined the mood and something along the lines of why do I even like this idiot?

“So, are we gonna have sex now? Or are you gonna keep daydreaming about Italian soccer players?”

Wade grinned manically up at him. “Depends. Would you consider wearing a soccer uniform?”

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

Hi love you're writing i just basically stalked your posts teehee. Can I get the younger brother group with a chubby fem reader who's family is rather rude about their weight. Like calling reader nicknames such as Big Bertha and Fatass and talking about how reader needs to eat less and buying clothes in sizes to small to motivate reader to lose weight. Really self projecting here but I could use some comfort lol Feel free to skip if you're uncomfy with it

Bro genuinely disown your parents 💀

Seriously now, something like feeling insecure about your own body because of people is unfortunately common and for some reason it makes me happy writing these, as it's a situation where comfort is due and it makes me feel fuzzy.

Featuring: Papyrus, Edge, Honey, Cash, Rus, Mutt and Coffee.

Masterlist

Papyrus

Oh! Your family's very rude, let's get out and never return!

Like, excuse you? Why are you talking shit about HIS partner?

He thought they couldn't be that bad, yet he was so wrong.

Papyrus's not the type to get angry easily, but oh boy, he's scary when mad, and trust me, your family won't ever bother you again.

He apologizes to you the moment you two leave that house, and he promises to never return to this crazy

Edge

Lectures your parents and never ever comes back.

He's a well known chef who people always love the food, so why should he care about this nasty idiots opinions again?

He motivates you to a healthy diet for you not to die of a heart attack or something, not because he thinks you need to lose weight, and it's not like he'll ever say you can or can't eat what you want.

"DON'T BEAT YOURSELF BECAUSE OF THOSE IDIOTS, THEY'RE JUST JEALOUS OF YOU."

Honey

Too lazy to move from your belly to go answer the door to your shitty parents, if they can't appreciate this then more for him.

He always complimented you since the start of your relationship, and he'll gladly do it more.

He already knows you're perfect, yet he will be

Probably donates any clothes your parents send, he just doesn't like things going completely to waste.

Cash

Well, if your family doesn't like their own child, then he already knows they're gonna despite him, in all senses.

Yet Cash is Cash, and if he ever goes to meet them, is with the sole purpose of annoying the living shit out of them.

If your parents send any type of clothes, he doesn't even see it and simply sells them on vinted or something when you're not looking and buys you clothes that actually fit and make you feel comfortable.

And if any of them dare to go to your house, he's willing to call the cops, those fuckers are not accepted even 80 km away from his home.

Rus

Fuck no. No one is allowed to say shit about his partner.

Totally doesn't do not so harmless pranks to your parents without them ever knowing it was him.

Burns anything that your parents send. He already knows what it is and he just doesn't want shit from those types of people in his house.

You may not even notice, yet he'll slowly compliment your body more and will start napping on your thighs even more.

Mutt

No. Just no.

Mutt knows what is like having a family who doesn't care nor like you, damn, his own father threw him and his brother in the streets when he was barely 6!

So, he does everything in his power not to meet your parents, if he sees them in the corner of his eye, he's already leading you the other way.

Like Rus, he burns anything that your parents send, he doesn't like them so.. why should he even keep things from them?

Coffee

Just by what you told him he does NOT want to meet your family.

And genuinely? He doesn't.

Avoids them at all costs, and it's actually really easy since he usually stays home.

Though, he will start to leave notes saying how beautiful he thinks you are and not to listen to your parents since they don't know what they're talking about.

[pshenyasstuff]

Headcanons for sub Valentino

Notes: I do not claim the canonicity of my words, these are solely my thoughts “what if..”. Valentino's personality makes it hard to imagine him as a sub, so I decided to give it a try.

Firstly, obviously, if you are weaker than him, lower than him in the hierarchy of hell, then he is unlikely to even try. He? Submit to some scum? Never;

But if you are also an overlord or simply a stronger demon than him, this is a different matter. He rarely gets rebuffed, so it is something unusual for him when someone is equal in strength to him or even stronger than him (except for Vox);

Just push him against the wall with his legs over your hips when no one is looking, and something will click in him;

He's such a brat, I swear. Constantly swears during sex, pointing out your mistakes. He does this on purpose so that he can be fucked harder. He just doesn't know how to work his tongue in a non-sexual way, like, dude, you can just ask;

In any case, you can easily shut him up if you do what he is trying so hard for. Just fuck him, knock all thoughts and curses out of his head, make him think only about this moment;

Have you heard his moth noises when he's angry? I think it works the other way too, when he feels as good as possible. On top of that, it's already loud, so unless you're alone, everyone knows what you're doing;

It's better to press his head to the pillow, face down, if you don't like bites or hickeys, because this bitch bites 99% of the time, and it hurts quite a bit. He doesn't care if you hurt, he just needs something to shut his mouth other than a kiss;

Speaking of kisses. He's so good, but sometimes you feel like you'll suffocate if you don't stop in time, because this whore's long tongue seems to be deliberately going right into your throat;

If we talk about his sensitive spots, then these are definitely his wings and his fluff. It’s so good to run your hands into his soft fluff or touch the place where his wings grow from. He immediately becomes more obedient, because all this is quite fragile, so use these methods more often;

And also this strange piercing of his nipples. It's sexy, actually. I think his tits are a little sensitive because of it;

Should I talk about the role play fetish? This dude has so many outfits, so don't be surprised if he's dressed differently every time you have sex. One day you are a policeman and a criminal with him, and the next a maid and a butler. Do not ask. Every time it's something different;

It is difficult to surprise him with something new. He owns the porn industry, I mean. So he's seen a lot. Too much. Accordingly, he has many fetishes;

Sado-masochist and bdsm lover. Change my mind. A common practice would be to beat him with a whip. Or handcuffs on both pairs of his hands;

To some extent, it is easily distracted by bright light in the dark, as moths usually do. It's as if his brain immediately turns off, so it's much easier for him to fuck;

If his hands are free, it is vital for him to grab onto something. In most cases, this is your waist, hips, tits... In general, you;

Maybe he will dance a striptease for you. Who knows;

Sex with him takes quite a long time, because he is quite hardy. It's rare that you're limited to two rounds;

Definitely good at sucking cock or eating pussy. Just watch out for his teeth;

It's strange for him if you treat him tenderly. He doesn’t like it, he will immediately leave or start acting up. "What the fuck? Do I look like I'm into all this romantic bullshit, babe?"

After sex, if you don’t leave, he falls asleep on your chest and hugs you with all his arms. The only moment when he behaves calmly. True, in the morning you will most likely be pushed to the floor, because, let’s say, the moment of tenderness has passed.

I hope it's not too much. Sorry if there are any typos or anything here. Love you, guys <3

[mangomingus]

Enhypen as Boyfriends (Fluffly HC)

WARNINGS: super fluffly?, brief mention of praise kink, otherwise none

Pictures credited to @ni-ki's protector on pinterest

Heeseung

•Heeseung would be absolutely whipped for you, and only you •Like whenever you feel slightly insecure, he's there •Assuring you with the sweetest words and kisses on you cheeks and shoulders •Or if there's someone flirting with him, he wouldn't even entertain the idea. •"Stop, I'm taken." or "My girlfriend is all I need." •he wouldn't be rude about it, but he's not exactly nice when he has an angel as his gf. •I don't see him as the biggest cuddlefest dude, but he enjoys the proximity •Like your thighs touching, or your shouders being pressed together •But he also likes being held by you, when you cling onto his arms or kiss him. •He likes when you initiate the affection •His love language is probably quality time, he loves spending time with you •Whenever they have to go on tour, he just has to call or text you at every given moment just to let you know that he misses you •He doesn't mind being called a simp by the rest of the band •PDA is a must with him, he'll get jealous if you're talking to a guy and not touching him •You'll be ordering a drink, but if it's a guy at the register, Heeseungs hands are on you •He wouldn't be afraid to do all the common couple stuff you with •Matching outfits, face masks, Matching manicures, Matching pfps on IG, etc. •The talks between you guys would always be kind of deep, with small jokes cracked by either one of o you if it's too heated or heavy •But, he just loves to see you laugh •He'd been such a solid bf,  I can't

Jay

•Jay's the kinda guy that you'd be best friends with for a while before getting into an actual relationship •Yall vibed so much, and the realized that you both wanted to kiss •He's definitely husband material I feel like •He'd also cook for you all the time •whether it's something he knows how to make, or your his test dummy for a new recipe •He'd also feed you too, like you can't feed yourself or like your incapable •He's the kinda guy that will buy you flowers everyday •even if the old ones haven't even died, he will have a whole new bouquet for you •Get ready for your house to look like a florist shop •He'd vent to you lik there's no tomorrow about anything and everything •He's pretty leader like just because he's one of the oldest and he often doesn't complain •But he's just so comfortable with you that'd he would just tell you about how his shoes got scuffed that day. •You'd be like his own personal journal •He'd be very protective of you. •Putting your seatbelt on himself, holding your hand to cross the road, keeping his hand on your elbow or lower back •His love language is definitely gift giving/receiving •He loves spoiling you, but he likes when you buy him stuff so he can show it off or never take it off •He has a habit of cupping your cheeks or squishing them together •He likes how cute you look with your face in his hands

Sunghoon

•S.I.M.P •He has such a huge soft spot for you •He is always laughing or smiling whenever you speak or do anything •His eyes are just always filled with admiration •Loves to tell corny dad jokes •He loves resting his hands on your head, or on your forearms, or hugging you from behind •He's a sucker for backhugs •He loves doing anything you like to do, like if you like to do yoga or draw that's his new favorite hobby •He loves when you express your love for him •Like whenever you say that you love him or do anything like a hug or a kiss randomly, his heart is melting •He's definitely an act of words of affirmation kind of guy •He likes when you tell him he looks good, or that your his soul mate and he loves to reciprocate that •"You're the love of my life." "You're gorgeous." "You're so cute when your mad." •when you're stressed, he'll run you a bath or buy you your favorite food •But he also likes to tease you when you're stressed for the sole purpose of pushing your buttons •He's just kinda so in love with you tho, obsessed with any reaction he can get out of you •His dog isn't a fan of you, but that's because your pretty •kinda opposed to change with you •Like there would be little disagreements I you changed your hair or got a random tattoo, but he would grow to love it •wants you to wear his clothes all the time •ice prince, but warm for you <3

Jake

•Puppy love in a nutshell •He's just so soft and cute and obsessed •He loves anything to do with your smile, your laugh, even just your voice •He's super touchy and always all over you •Expect hugs every second, kisses every second, compliments, too much •He likes the differences between you guys, height, personality etc. •He's the kinda guy who is definitely opposites attract •He's constantly doing aegyo to make you cringe out because he loves the look you give him •Loves PDA, physical touch is his love language for sure •He hates whe you get stressed or mad or even slightly upset •He wants to do everything he can to take care of you •He misses you all the time when he can't see you •constant texts and voice notes and calls •He'll show you off like his prized possession •He loves petnames, and sometimes they boarder ridiculous • Baby, angel, sugar cone, sweetie, lovemuffin.... •He loves when you compliment him tho (praise kink???) •Overall, he'd be precious and obsessed with you •He's so loyal •He'd be the kinda guy to write love letters to you if it was 1950

Sunoo

•Babygirl vibesss •Sunoo is so precious and you'd be doing a lot of the protecting, but he makes it so worth it •He's very sassy and opiniated but he won't be direct •You know he's judging you by the side eyes •He is just an emotional support animal though •You have the slightest worry and he's curled up by your side •He's ready to be the little spoon at all times •He loves to compliment you, but in Korean so you don't know he's complimenting you •Hand holder •yall are anywhere and he's attached to your hand, letting you lead him anywhere •He'll let you know when you're ever doing too much •You're being a jerk, he'll flick you and tell you off •But in that sweet little voice and those cute eyes •He loves eye contact •His love language is words of affirmation •He loves hearing that you love him, and he loves to say it back •His ideal way to see you is always no makeup and in a stupid outfit, he loves you naturally •Like Heeseung, he's into the couple stuff •But totally matching jewelry •He loves giving you piggyback rides, he likes you to know that he can support you •Loves when you run your fingers through his hair •A bit of a simp, but he would never let the boys see it •He experiences too much teasing on his own

Jungwon

•He's so evil •He loves to tease you, bully you, pinch you •whatever he can to grind your gears •He'll talk so sweetly behind your back though •Like to the other members, he'll go on and on about how perfect and angelic you are •But you come in the room and suddenly you’re a pain •All the while he'll be looking at you with those cute freaking dimples •Believe it or not, he loves physical touch •He likes when you poke his dimples, or kiss him •And he lovessss to kiss you •Everywhere •He does get a little shy when you guys have PDA, but he'd never push you away •Th other members don't tease him because they ship you guys so hard honestly •He loves to pout to you whenever he expenses any teasing (hypocrite) •You and Jungwon would have such good conversations •He always values your opinions and outlooks on everything •Keeps a very open mind with you •He struggles a little to express love through words, so when you say I love you hel hug or kiss you •He's not a fan of couple stuff at all •Completely opposed •He loves to take naps together tho •One of his favorite things is to cuddle under blankets and hug you too tight

Ni-Ki

•Ni-Ki is very active as a bf •He loves to go places with you, or just spend time with you (quality time) •Part of the thrill is to show you off •He loves to teach you their dances, and laugh at you for messing up •Definitely a teaser •He'll make fun of you, but it's just because he loves you so much •Ni-ki will say things like "Your pants are so ugly, love you tho" or dumb things similar to that •He also enjoys having petty argument with you •All the while, you'll be getting worked up and he'll just be smiling asyou try to get your point across •He's so pretty, he loves when you tell him that •He loves knowing that you would be with him over anyone else •He's very loyal as well, and he would purposely wear matching things or draw you around, attached at the hip so everyone can see he's taken •He loves when you tell him to do something, it makes him happy •It makes him feel super helpful and he likes making you happy •Even though he tease you a lot, he also isn't afraid to tell you how much he loves you. •He's a simp but doesn't mind being so, you're just so pretty that it doesn't matter •His habit with you is touching your waist a lot •Especially when his hands are cold, he'll just stick them under your shirt for warmth •A skin to skin contact kinda guy for sure

~hope yall engenes enjoy~

[salparadiselost]

How do the Mersupials see Clark? As a friend? As family? Something more complicated given their situation?

Hi!

So I think the mers solidly see Clark as “one of the pod” and essentially part of their family. I don’t remember where I talked about mer social structure, but I believe I’ve said that male Mers tend to raise their children communally.

In the wild, mer pods generally take three forms: male familial pods, female temporal pods, or male-female coupling pods. Male familial pods are the most common and often have the most individuals together. They are formed of multiple males with their pups and are multi-generational. Male pods are very strongly bonded and male Mers are often born into a pod which they do not leave their entire life. Females of the species are usually raised in male familial pods but almost always leave to go solo.

Occasionally females form pairs or small pods called female temporal pods, but they tend to be more fleeting or made for a purpose, such as hunting large prey. As the name suggests, these pods are temporary and rarely get above five individuals due to the aggressive nature of females. There have been many documented cases of female temporal pods ending due to in-fighting or even killing of other pod members, an instance that is exceedingly rare in male familial pods.

Male-female coupling pods form when an adult male and adult female live together in a lone couple. These tend to be a forced arrangement by the female onto the male. They can arise through circumstance such as a sister and brother hunting together, but most likely it is a forced arrangement where a male was seperated from a familial pod to breed with a female and care solely for her pups. It is not particularly uncommon and often is the reason why new pods forms, though the male is often extremely distressed by the arrangement and may try to return to a familial pod.

Males instinctively form pods because it provides an advantage in raising children and protection against females who could try to come in and kill pups to make room for their own or steal a mate from the pod. With multiple adults in a pod, males can spread the duties of childcare and are well-documented to frequently pass their pups into the pouches of related and unrelated males. This is also a strategy against infanticide by females as instantly frees up a pouch without the death of a pup or can confuse a female regarding their relatedness to a pup. Females do not kill their own children and they are much less likely to kill any pups at all if they are not sure what male is currently pouching their young. Pod members also provide protection against separation or the killing of pups as they can gang up on a lone female.

So, this is a long way to say that Bruce is basically hardwired to form pods, especially in stressful situations because pod = safety in the mer brain. This is only heightened when he has multiple pups and there’s more paternal pressure on him with his limited pouch space. Even though Clark is a different species, Bruce was raised by humans and sees them as equals so he wouldn’t hesitate to apply pod status to one. If anything, he’s probably really pissed that Clark never puts the pups in his pouch and Bruce has to do all the work, like wth Clark is supposed to be helping him out here.

Even though Clark has hurt them occasionally, Clark has basically lived with them for multiple years and there’s years of instances of Clark caring and helping raise the pups. The pups definitely see Clark as pod. He helped raise them. He’s protected them in many ways. They trust him completely even though he’s weird and funny looking. They see him as similar to Bruce though not as close as they recognise Bruce as their pouch parent. After all, Bruce was the one who pouched them when they hatched, nursed them and carried them when they were at their most fragile; he’s their ultimate parent, though that’s typical for mer social structures.

[maxdibert]

Hi I have read many of your James posts and so far I agree with all of them. What gets me wondering however is someone like Lily Evans - potrayed as the saintly morally good character - dating someone like James - an entitled bully who kept his jerkish behavior even after he supposedly changed. Who do you think she was? Did she excused James's behavior because she found him attractive and thought she could change him? Or that he would change for her? Was she downplaying his faults because she fell in love? Or was she simply too naive? I cannot believe a person who would marry a person with so many faults like James wouldn't also be far off from being jerkish themselves. And what about her relationship with Severus? Was she as attached to him as he was? Why was she friends with him for so long if she was excusing his prejudice for years? I'm so conflicted about her. The author implies she is something but the text kind of goes against that. As someone who is pro snape and knows Lily was a big part of his life what do you think about her, her motives, actions or relationships? I love your opinions a lot btw never stop sharing them😄

I looove to talk about Lily because her character sucks. And not because of her, but because HOW Rowling portrays her. Sooo.. Lets go! Lily is emblematic of a significant issue in the series: the tendency to use female characters as tools for male development rather than as complex individuals with their own arcs. In Lily’s case, her character functions primarily as a moral barometer—she exists to reflect the “goodness” or “badness” of the men around her. Her choices and relationships with James and Severus are less about her own desires, values, or growth and more about how they impact these two men. This framing does Lily a disservice, stripping her of agency and interiority while simultaneously burdening her with the narrative role of deciding who is worthy and who is not

Rowling’s portrayal of Lily is heavily idealized. She is the perfect mother who sacrifices herself for her son, the brilliant and talented witch who stands out even among her peers, and the moral compass who chooses “good” (James) over “evil” (Severus). This construction paints her as infallible, a paragon of virtue, and the embodiment of love and selflessness. However, this saintly image is rarely interrogated within the text.

The problem lies in the dissonance between how Lily is presented and the decisions she makes. If she is meant to represent moral perfection, her marriage to James —a character whose flaws remain evident even after his supposed redemption—creates a contradiction. James, even as an adult, retains the arrogance and hostility that defined his youth, particularly in his continued disdain for Snape. If Lily was as discerning and principled as the narrative suggests, why would she align herself with someone whose values and behavior contradict the ideal of Gryffindor bravery and fairness?

This contradiction weakens her role as a moral arbiter, making her decisions feel less like the result of her own judgment and more like a narrative convenience to validate James’s redemption. By choosing James, she implicitly forgives or overlooks his past bullying, signaling that his actions were excusable or irrelevant to his worthiness as a partner. This not only diminishes the impact of James’s flaws but also undermines Lily’s supposed moral clarity.

Lily’s role mirrors a common, harmful trope: the woman as a moral compass or fixer for flawed men. Her purpose becomes external rather than internal—she isn’t there to pursue her own goals, ideals, or struggles but to serve as a benchmark for others’ morality. It’s as if Lily’s worth as a character is determined solely by her relationships with James and Severus rather than her own journey.

By failing to give Lily meaningful contradictions or flaws, Rowling inadvertently creates a character who feels passive and complicit. Her saintly veneer prevents her from being truly human, as real people are defined by their contradictions, growth, and mistakes. Yet Lily is static, existing only to highlight James’s "redemption" or Severus’s "fall."

This lack of depth reflects a broader issue with how women are often written in male-centric narratives: their stories are secondary, their personalities flattened, and their actions only meaningful in the context of the men they influence. It’s a stark reminder of the gender bias present in the series, where women like Lily, Narcissa, and even Hermione are often used to drive or validate male characters’ arcs rather than having their own fully developed trajectories.

Regarding Lily and Severus relationship, their bond begins in a world where both feel alienated. Severus, growing up in the oppressive and neglectful environment of Spinner’s End, finds in Lily not only a companion but a source of light and warmth that he lacks at home. For Lily, Severus is her first glimpse into the magical world, a realm that she belongs to but doesn’t yet understand. Their friendship is symbiotic in its earliest stages: Severus offers Lily knowledge of her magical identity, while she provides him with acceptance and validation. However, this connection, while powerful in childhood, rests on a fragile foundation—one that fails to evolve as their circumstances and priorities shift. When they arrive at Hogwarts, the cracks in their bond begin to surface. While Lily flourishes socially, Severus becomes increasingly marginalized and becomes a frequent target of James Potter and Sirius Black. This social isolation only deepens his reliance on Lily, but for her, this dependency becomes increasingly difficult to sustain.

It’s important to recognize that Lily’s discomfort isn’t only moral; it’s also social. By the time of their falling out, Lily has fully integrated into the Gryffindor social circle, gaining the admiration of her peers and, most notably, James Potter. Her association with Severus, now firmly positioned as an outsider and a future Death Eater, risks undermining her own social standing. While her final break with Severus is framed as a principled decision, it’s difficult to ignore the role that social dynamics might have played in her choice.

It’s worth considering that Lily’s shift toward James wasn’t necessarily a sudden change of heart but rather the culmination of an attraction that may have existed all along, one rooted in what he represented rather than who he was. James Potter, as the embodiment of magical privilege—a pure-blood, wealthy, socially adored Gryffindor golden boy—offered Lily something that Severus never could: validation within the magical world’s elite.

Though Lily was undoubtedly principled, it’s plausible that, beneath her moral convictions, there was a more human, and yes, superficial, desire for recognition and security in a world that was, for her, both wondrous and alien. Coming from a working-class, Muggle-born background, Lily would have been acutely aware of her outsider status, no matter how talented or well-liked she became. James’s relentless pursuit of her, despite his arrogance and bullying tendencies, may have been flattering in ways that bolstered her sense of belonging. James’s attention wasn’t just personal—it was symbolic. His interest in her, as someone who could have easily chosen a pure-blood witch from his own social echelon, signaled to her and to others that she was not only worthy of respect but desirable within the upper echelons of wizarding society.

This dynamic raises uncomfortable questions about Lily’s character. Could it be that she tolerated James’s antics, not because she believed he would change for her, but because she enjoyed the social validation his affection brought her? Interestingly, this interpretation aligns Lily more closely with her sister Petunia than one might initially expect. Petunia’s marriage to Vernon provided her with the stability and status she craved within the Muggle world. Both sisters may have sought partners who could anchor them in environments where they otherwise felt insecure. For Petunia, that meant latching onto the image of suburban perfection through Vernon. For Lily, it may have meant aligning herself with someone like James, whose wealth, status, and pure-blood background offered her a kind of social and cultural security in the magical world.

If we view Lily’s relationship with James through this lens, her character becomes far less idealized and far more human. Rather than being the moral paragon the series portrays, she emerges as a young woman navigating an uncertain world, making choices that are as practical as they are principled. While it’s clear she disapproved of James’s bullying, it’s equally possible that his persistence, confidence, and status were qualities she found increasingly difficult to resist—not because they aligned with her values, but because they appealed to her insecurities.

It’s also worth noting that Lily’s final break with Severus coincided with her growing relationship with James. This timing is telling. Severus, a social outcast from a poor background, represented the antithesis of James. By cutting ties with Severus, Lily not only distanced herself from the moral ambiguities of his choices but also from the social liabilities he represented. Aligning with James, by contrast, placed her firmly within the Gryffindor elite—a position that would have offered her both social protection and personal validation. And this whole perspective is much more interesting than her image as a moral compass for the men around her. Unfortunately, as with many of her characters, Rowling didn’t put any effort into giving us definitive answers; she just insisted on that unhealthy, idealized view of motherhood and the idea that everything is forgiven if you're on the "right" side and rich and popular.

Sorry for the long text, but whenever the topic of Lily comes up, I tend to go on and on, haha.

[skywarpie]

little devils - Dad Aether fic

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV/Aether Ghoul

Rating: gen

tags: domestic fluff, house husband Aether/dad Aether finally getting attention from me bc I'm always ignoring him, half ghoul child OCs

Summary: The Impera tour has recently kicked off, only Aether isn't on this tour cycle. Instead, he's at the ministry working on their taxes and babysitting his kids.

Translations:

I mieli bambini! - My babies!

Babbo - Daddy

Poco sole - little sunshine.

words: 1,631

AO3 link

Aether lays stretched out on the floor with one arm folded under his chin. The other holding his phone. Originally there for the purpose of the game the girls had wanted to play but quickly lost interest in. Something that seemed to he happening recently these days.

“Are you calling babbo ?” Poppy asks as she wiggles herself under his arm holding the phone. Several red curls fall into her face and she pushes them away with the back of her tiny hand. Her tail wags lazily behind her as she looks up at him expectedly with eyes matching Copia's. 

“Hmm. What makes you ask that?” Aether takes the opportunity to tuck the curls she's still fighting with behind her small horns. 

“Because you aren't paying attention to us anymore.” Salem flops herself down on his back. Her tiny form is comical compared to Aether’s. Unlike her sister, her light blonde hair is tied loosely at the nap of her neck. A tiny paw reaching out for his phone, which he quickly moves from her grasp. “Hey!” She pouts and butts the back of his dead with her own horns. 

He chuckles, glad the both of them are now more comfortable presenting themselves without their glamors. Being part human had its perks, apparently. At barely a year old, the both of them had been able to glamorize themselves, something that sometimes even took a full blooded ghoul decades to perfect. While Aether was proud, Copia had been filled with panic, one moment holding a normal baby and the next holding a ghoul kit that wasn't aware they possessed very sharp horns. 

“Is this normal!? Should this be happening?!” 

Even four years later, Aether can still hear the panic in his mate and it’s just as amusing as day one. And although he'd never admit it, Aether knows he was much the same when they were in their human forms.

“And if I am?” He hums nonchalantly. 

“We want to talk to him!” They spout in unison, something that was very common for twins. At least according to Copia. Aether was still unsure about that though. 

He mocks offense. “What about me!?”

Poppy's brow furrows. “We're talking to you right now!”

“And because of that you can't keep doing it?”

Salem let's own a tiny growl over his shoulder that has him laughing. 

“Fine. Fine. You've twisted my arm. We'll call him.”

Both kits perk up, their ears jumping to attention as their tails wags furiously. It's incredibly enduring and Aether vaguely wonders when he became so domestic.

The three of them watch the tiny screen as it mirrors them while ringing. Copia's currently on the other side of the world, performing at various festivals and venues. But Aether has the timing down to a T. He should be done or just about done. If they're lucky, he's already back in his hotel room.

On the fifth ring, he picks up and his thick nasally mixture of Italian and American accents fills the room.

“I mieli bambini !“

“ Babbo !” 

The girls crowd around the screen, tails wagging even faster as they try to squeeze in as close as possible. 

Copia responds with exaggerated mwah's as he pretends to kiss the screen the same way he would their foreheads if he were there. “How have you been? Good girls for your daddy, I hope.” He arches a sculpted brow before looking playfully at his mate.

“They've been absolutely terrible. ” 

Aether watches as a look of alarm replaces Copia's excited one. 

“One minute they want to play one thing, the next minute I'm nothing but a jungle gym!” 

His expression softens and he laughs, glad it's nothing too serious. “Si. They seem to be good at that. Eh?” He flashes the twins a smile. It earns him a fit of giggles.

“How is touring?” 

Copia's demeanor changes once more. Only now it's one of exhaustion. “Tiring. I don't remember the last tour cycles being this..intense.”

“To be fair, the last tour cycle was nearly seven years and one pandemic ago. I think that checks out.” 

“I was also probably about thirty pounds lighter then too.” Copia's laugh is dry, a poor attempt at making it sound like a joke.

Aether remembers the last tour vividly. It's when he was christened as Papa Emeritus IV and was no longer Cardinal Copia. It'd been shortly after the end of that tour that they'd learned they were going to be parents. He remembers Copia frantically flitting about his office, trying to occupy himself with anything to create a distraction. Because the thought of two newborns and having to write a new album were definitely taking a toll on him mentally. Shortly after that the world had shut down and it almost seemed to work in his favor. The album was no longer a priority. 

It had taken several years for things to smooth back into place and it wasn't until this tour cycle, the Impera Tour, that they'd both realized it was either leaving the kits at the ministry or bringing them on tour with them. Copia had liked the second idea better. He'd barely been away from them longer than a day before, let alone months. There’d been a numerous amount of discussion until finally it was settled. Aether would remain at the ministry, keeping up with the paperwork Copia was undoubtedly still receiving while also taking care of Poppy and Salem. In return, Copia and the rest of the band (plus two new members) would go on tour.

“Babbo,” Poppy chimes in, “how many more tours till you come home?” 

“Ah,” now Copia sighs, “about a dozen more.” He frowns as their faces fall. “But it will be over in no time! They are scheduled back to back, remember?” He wags his finger in the air.

“How many days is that?” Salem is apparently having none of it.

“Eh, I'm  – I'm not sure, poco sole. ” 

It's not what she wants to hear. Her tail stops swaying. “That's not fair.” Her lip pouts out as her eyebrows scrunch together.

“Hey, hey, what did we say about pouting?” Aether takes the opportunity to roll her off his back.

“I don't care!”

“Crying isn't going to bring babbo home any sooner.”

She looks on the verge of tears and Copia takes the opportunity to interject. “Poco sole, babbo will be home in three weeks. Does that sound better?”

“We want you to come home now.” Poppy's sad features obscure the camera from her sister and father. 

“Ah, I know. I know. Babbo wishes he could be there now too. But I have to finish the tour. It's what helps our ministry grow!” 

Still unsatisfied with the answer, the twins seem to grow more agitated. Aether glances at the clock. “Hey, didn't Sunshine say she had a new flavor of ice cream for y'all to try?”

They gasp in unison, giggling and grabbing each other's hands as they race toward the door. Small shouts of bye echoing. 

“Aether!”

The ghoul turns back to the screen.

“They can't have ice cream without having eaten dinner first. See, this is why I didn't want to leave. It's chaos!”

Aether knows where this is going. Another spiraling incident. His mate seems to be having those a lot more recently. 

“I doubt one time will hurt. Besides, how I parent when you aren't here isn't a concern.” Copia gapes, mouth sputtering. “Now tell me, for real. How is the tour?”

That tired look crosses his face again. A hand runs through his hair while the Papa sighs. “I don't know, Aether. One minute I think it's going well and then the next I don't. Maybe I'm getting too old for this stuff.”

“Hip injury acting up?” The old ballet wound had forced him to walk with a cane for several years. Occasionally rearing its head.

“A bit. I think I just really miss home. Well, not home home but you guys. Eh, if that makes sense.”

“It does and we miss you too.” 

They settle into comfortable silence for a small time before Aether asks the burning question. “The new kids doing good?”

“Oh, fantastic! Aurora is a gem and Phantom plays beautifully only…”

“He's not me.”

“Si. He's not you.”

“You'll get used to it. Don't worry. Besides, in no time you'll be home and then you'll have me all to yourself.” A mischievous glint shines in his eyes. One that has a red dusting coating Copia's painted cheeks. 

An announcers voice cuts through the background as they mention the next band playing. Copia looks defeated as he sighs. 

“That's us. I'll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Or later tonight. You know those two little devils don't let anyone sleep longer than an hour or two.”

Copia laughs a genuine laugh, the first one of the call. 

They spend another minute or two telling the other bye until finally a crew member essentially yanks Copia from the phone and onto the stage. Aether chuckles as he tosses his phone to the side and stretches. A part of him is glad he isn't on tour. It's always nice but he truly has become a domesticated creature, now preferring the ministry over the stage.

He drags himself off the floor and stands, stretching again.

“ Daddy! ” The twins run in, shouting in unison. Each one latches onto a hand as they jump up and down. It's then that Aether sees the sticky ice cream drying all over their tiny mouths. Thank Lucifer Copia isn't here. He'd kill me.

“You have to try the ice cream!”

“It's the best!”

“Hm, is that right?”

“Uh-huh!”

He lets them lead him out and into the ghoul den’s small kitchenette. 

There's definitely no way any of them will be sleeping tonight.

[weemietime]

Blorbo

- Shayne or Weemie

- He/him, 33, Canadian

- ISTP, 8w9, sanguine

- Irish, French, Polish, Jewish

- Queer

- Find me on Reddit, and YouTube

- I run a mental health support group on Discord called Treehouse, the politics is kept low-key, moderates and progressives and allies are all allowed, people of all races, religions, sexualities, genders, etc are welcome. Our bread and butter is trauma and disorders that are caused by trauma such as cluster B personality disorders, OCD, certain psychotic features, attachment disorders, dissociative disorders, etc.

Posts about

- DDR, mutual aid, pragmatic pacifism

- ACAB, restorative justice, prison abolition

- Trauma, mental illness, indoctrination

- Zionism, New Iran, Land Back

- Diplomacy, international humanitarian law

- Post-economy, evolution beyond money

- Climate change, environmentalism

- Perpetration induced traumatic stress

Disclosure

- Religious Conservative Jew

- PTSD, SZPD, OCD, ADHD

- Physically disabled, chronic pain

- Former violent offender

- Sober addict

- I have a cortical visual impairment and visual agnosia, so sometimes I will misread or not see things properly. If I ignore or don't see something of yours it isn't on purpose.

Inline Tags (Theme)

#weemie #jumblr #hamas

#ask #mutual aid #szpd

#ocd #ptsd #lgbt #politics

#antisemitism #ableism #israel

Common Questions

What is antisemitism?

"Antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities." IHRA, International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance

Antisemitism is spelled as one word, without the dash, as it is not bigotry against all Semites (Arabs + Jews), it is solely about Jews.

Is antisemitism the same as antizionism?

The 3-Ds of antisemitism are Demonization, Delegitimization and Double-Standards. If your criticism of Israel doesn't apply to any other country, if the way you talk about Israelis doesn't match how you talk about Russians, Iranians, Chinese, etc. then it is antisemitism.

What antisemitism is not

Criticism of Israel on its own (i.e. crimes, gov't, policies)

Palestinian self-determination

Palestinian flags, pride, culture

Criticism of religious Judaism (i.e. trauma, harm)

Is accusing Arabs/Muslims of antisemitism racist/Islamophobic?

It is racist to accuse Arabs of being de facto antisemites.

It is racist to presume Arabs are all Muslim as well.

It is not racist to acknowledge that Islam is foundationally taken from Jewish texts and histories, which have been misinterpreted and abused to justify antisemitic violence. It is not racist to hold Islam accountable for the imperialism that pervades its evangelical arm.

Just like it isn't racist to do the same for Christianity. And we hold this standard for Judaism as well. Just like it isn't antisemitic to criticize the harms that Jewish religion has caused for others (such as LGBT), it isn't Islamophobic to do the same.

How prevalent is antisemitism?

It's baked-in to two of the world's major religions, Christianity and Islam. Unfortunately that means antisemitism is the de facto sentiment of a majority of the world's population. Antisemitism is one of the oldest, longest hatreds. That means we are often subjected to historical revisionism, such as denying the severity of the Holocaust, or publishing encyclopedias, textbooks, as "information" with clearly antisemitic content pasted over real events. 

A good example is a look at the Wikipedia article for what Zionism is.

This clearly shows that Wikipedia is being subjected to antisemitic historical revisionism.

What is the alt-left?

We will use the BITE model for indoctrination as popularized by Steven Hassan in Combating Cult Mind Control. BITE stands for Behavior, Information, Thought, Emotion. The most common form of indoctrination is called a thought-terminating cliche, or a fallacy-fallacy.

For example:

P1: "Israel is committing genocide!"

P2: "How many people have Russia killed so far"

P1: "500,000"

P2: "Do you think Russia is committing genocide?

Should we eject Putin from the UNSC?"

P1: "That's whataboutism!"

Resist this "whatabousim" idea, as it is designed to terminate all objections to clear hypocrisy. Hypocrisy is different than whataboutism, because it is a double standard, one of the 3-Ds of antisemitism.

So what is Zionism?

Zionism is the acknowledgment that Jews are the indigenous population of Israel, who have a right to self-determination in their homeland. Zionism is extremely broad. Some people don't even require Israel to be the Jewish country (their goal is simply safety and community for Jews world-wide, in Some Place), but this is a more secular argument.

Some people believe Zionism is only applicable to Jews (i.e. you cannot call yourself a Zionist if you are not a Jew), others are OK with goyim using the term as well. You'll have to feel that out, as both sides of the equation have a right to exist. Personally I use Zionism in as broad a definition as possible, so it does include non-Jews, with the exception of Messianic Christians, and evangelical hoo-hah.

When you're discussing Zionism with a Jew, especially as a non-Jew, you need to listen to what they describe Zionism as. It is de-legitimizing (another of the 3-Ds) to claim that Jews can't be trusted to point out antisemitic rhetoric. Jews define antisemitism, and we define Zionism. They are words about us, for us. 

In some cases people will say wrong dumb shit, so refer back to the first part of what antisemitism isn't. E.g. if someone (even a fellow Jew) says holding a Palestinian flag is antisemitic, they are actually being antisemitic themselves.

Is goy a slur?

No, in fact the term "gentile" was popularized by the KKK. Gentile is based off of a Christian scholar's interpretation of the term goy (Saint Jerome). Goy simply means "nations", as in non-Jewish people. Goyim/goy is not a slur. Some people might use it derogatorily, the same way Black people might speak negatively about white folks who have been racist to them.

It's still not a slur. We prefer to use goy because it is our word, we like it, and it doesn't have a history of being lobbed at us by mask-wearing wizard KKK freaks. Terms like "zio", "zionazi" etc are also slurs developed by David Duke.

You're a conservative who believes in prison abolition and social justice blah khadl blargo de glarm hlblehgah?

Conservative Judaism is a progressive, egalitarian denomination of Judaism. We believe in conserving the spirit of the Torah, but produce adaptive Responsa as we gain more scientific and social understanding. it is not Republican/political conservatism.

Why do you post all these gibberish asks by idiots?

That's actually the reason I am here! To do outreach to people who are brainrotted. I was an extreme kid. I was indoctrinated into a violent armed gang at age 8, and we had a lot of the same ideology.

Violence is cool, and our enemies should die and be hurt, brutality should be rewarded, etc. I want to dismantle this pipeline. I want to use my experiences to be a force for good, because that gives meaning to my life.

But I get that it's annoying to constantly read bullshit, so you don't have to follow me!

Is Israel committing genocide?

As it stands now, I'm keeping an eye on things. The simplest opinion I have is that we don't have any real data to work with, so we can't make conclusions. But we do have testimonies, believable ones, from people who were there and who are documenting the Likud war crimes.

So far, there is not conclusive proof that Israel is committing genocide in a systematic way. Some Israeli politicians are saying genocidal rhetoric, (one egregious piece of evidence is Halevi's statements that bombing Gazan civilian areas would "soften the battlefield," which is an open statement he made to media, this would mean he supports giving orders to deliberately target civilian areas - this is genocidal!) but this is separate from genocidal actions.

It's possible the answer to this question will change to yes and I have always been open about that. And if it does become yes, I will say yes.

[cannedbeefaroni]

The Bad Touch (Edward Nashton X Reader) (SMUT MDNI)

Part 2

Summary: You are a social worker at Arkham Asylum. The high profile criminal, The Riddler, is assigned as your patient after he's gone through many failed attempts of treatment. You devise a sinister plan to become the only therapist capable of treating Mr. Nashton.

Content: SMUT 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MEDICAL MALPRACTISE, MANIPULATION, POWER IMBALANCE (for those reasons, i consider this fic to be DUBCON), Reader and Edward have a bit of a role reversed Harley Quinn and Joker dynamic, Edward is described to struggle with hypersexuality and paraphilias (based on how the reader is described, they also have those issues), handjob, oral sex, exhibitionism (public sex), physical restraints, degradation

Y/N is referred to in second person as you/yours and is written to be entirely gender neutral.

In order to survive in your line of work you have to be at least a little bit insane. Over the many years of being a therapist at Arkham Asylum you’ve felt yourself becoming a dull, emotionally detached person. It was ironic, considering you went into psychology with the goal of helping people. Despite this feeling, you acknowledged that you were probably the least jaded and cruel social worker in the asylum. Your coworkers thought your methods were ineffective and soft, and your bosses didn’t assign you patients as often as you’d hoped. You liked to think of yourself as an understanding and approachable person, but your qualities weren’t appreciated. Things started looking up, though, once you were assigned a patient for the first time in a while. He was the high profile public enemy, The Riddler, AKA Edward Nashton. He’d been institutionalized several months ago upon his arrest, and in that time he’d gone through countless therapists. They all said the same about him, that he was uncooperative and didn’t seem to want help. You were assigned to be his designated therapist as a last resort. You felt prideful despite knowing you weren’t even close to being the first option. You had never gotten to speak with any high profile criminals like Mr. Nashton, and you were excited about it. 

You expected to be somewhat intimidated by his presence, but he just seemed to be an incredibly depressed and lonely man. According to the others’ notes, you found out that everything he had done as The Riddler was for the sole purpose of validation and attention. He had been diagnosed with OCD and severe C-PTSD. You had no question as to why he’d become the way he is. He was broken by the world around him, and let it corrupt his mind past the point of return. Before speaking to him, you’d heard so much about him being completely insane and “in another world,” but it was as if you were the only one who truly understood him. During your sessions you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, which was something you tried very hard not to do. You were able to speak to him, but trying to push his boundaries ever so slightly to talk about him being treated, he’d either go silent or push back hard. He kept saying that he didn’t believe anything in this world could fix him, and that he didn’t want to be “fixed.” 

You realized what's hindering his ability to move past all this was crippling loneliness. He had absolutely no family, friends, or acquaintances. You became frustrated knowing that as a therapist, there was no way to help him in that department. Sure, you could encourage him to be more social but beyond that there’s nothing. You had a sinking feeling that in another universe under different circumstances, you could be that person he could lean on. It was wrong to feel that way, and you knew you should’ve passed his case onto a new therapist for that, but you didn’t want to. You needed to prove yourself as capable. You wanted to be the one to get Mr. Nashton to the point of accepting treatment. Medical malpractice was common at Arkham, so you didn’t feel guilty about doing anything it takes to reach your goal. 

You’d remember the times he’d lament about how he felt truly unlovable. You paid extra close attention whenever he discussed his past relationships. He only ever had sex once as a young adult, and afterward he became hypersexual, obsessing over the idea of having sex again. He found it impossible to find another partner once that relationship had ended. In order to combat that loneliness, he became voyeuristic, developing obsessions with people, stalking them, and even sometimes going as far as performing sexual acts on himself in public areas. He grew bashful over discussing those feelings, which you knew were natural, but deep in your mind you thought it was cute, but you were too professional to let those feelings surface in your mind. You could tell that him lacking any romantic or sexual partner for so long was one of the significant factors in his depression. 

Ever since the topic of sex was brought up in your sessions, you had an idea creeping in your mind. At first it disgusted you, but after much contemplation, you decided that it might just be the only thing that will truly get to him. On the day you decided to carry out your idea, you had already perfectly planned the session out in your mind. It would be efficient and practical, you just needed to make sure no one suspected a thing. You collected an arrangement of items you’d need and concealed them in your pockets. You knew no one else would understand, but you had faith in yourself. 

You greeted him in the plain, empty white room you’d become accustomed to. Unlike a typical room used for therapy, there was a table between the two of you, creating a distance. You both sat on quite uncomfortable wooden chairs, and his hands were cuffed behind his back for your safety. There was a tape recorder on the table, which you were sure to be useless, knowing there were much more efficient mics wired throughout the room to record sessions. It was a tool used to either intimidate or comfort patients by either turning it on or turning it off. You never bothered with it. Mr. Nashton sat slumped over as per usual, hanging his head. You looked up at you pensively, as if at this point you’d worn him down to become subservient. You picked up your chair and moved it closer to his, placing yourself in proximity to him in order to connect with him better. You were closer than usual, making him tense. 

“So tell me, how are you feeling today, Edward?” you asked in a blank, professional tone. 

“I, uh,” he mumbled, voice hoarse as if this was the first time he’d spoken in days. “I guess it’s as good as it gets for me.” 

“Which would be bad or good?” 

“Probably bad, but I’m not feeling as terrible as usual.” Edward never really looked you in the eyes when talking, but you didn’t take it personally. 

“Why do you think that is?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m relieved that I have a better therapist now,” he says quietly as if he was hoping you wouldn’t hear him. 

“I’m glad you’re satisfied with our sessions, Edward. I can tell you’ve been opening up more,” you smile, but in a way that looks and feels empty, as if you’re a robot with the sole purpose to act in the correct way. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m satisfied,” he grumbles, trying not to sound gracious. “You just aren’t annoying or pushy like the others. And you’re actually nice to me, unlike those other shitty therapists.” 

“What can I do to make you satisfied?” your choice of words shock you as you spit them out mechanically. You feel perverted, despite what you just said being quite innocent. 

“Nothing, probably.”

You sigh, “look, if you let me, I can try and figure out what works for you. Not everyone needs the same type of care. I’ve been meaning to try out a different approach with you, and I need you to tell me if you want to move forward with it.” 

“What is it, exactly?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly apprehensive. 

“It’s quite… unorthodox, but if you trust me with this, I really think it’ll be of benefit to you,” you say as you perfectly mask all feelings of embarrassment behind a neutral expression. 

“Uhuh,” he says, utterly confused. 

“Do you trust that I don’t want to do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable?” you ask.

“I suppose. Yeah.” his voice gets small and quiet. 

You take your clipboard, and begin writing. Edward tries to look over at the paper, but before he can get a peak, you already turn it to let him read it. 

“You can’t make a sound for this. They can hear us. I’m going to partially undress you. Nod if you want me to do it”

Edward’s eyes widen before he glares up at you. He swallows thickly. For the first time this session, he looks you in the eyes. He sits motionless before slowly nodding his head. Red tints his face as he begins to sweat. 

You position your chair so that you’re facing him directly. Your hands begin unbuttoning his jumpsuit swiftly, and you notice his chest rising and falling with his breath rapidly. You can see a bit of his pale, bare torso and underwear underneath. Without wasting any time, you pull down his underwear, exposing his penis. It’s already half erect, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering if he always gets aroused around you. You reach into your pocket and retrieve a small bottle of lubricant, and you squeeze some on your hand before gently placing it on his crotch. Your fingers wrap around the shaft, and he gasps. You shush him, before moving your hand in a jerking motion. You don’t dare to look at his face while doing this, because you don’t want any sort of personal attachment linked to it. You just stare at his erection growing in your hand. His body writhes in his seat, arms squirming in their constraints. You hear him whimper softly, which surprises you. He sounds so unexpectedly sweet. Your other hand goes over his mouth, muffling his noises. 

“I need you to take a deep breath.” Your hand stops moving, gripping his hard cock. He’d been breathing so heavily that his glasses were fogging up. He whines against your hand as his body twitches. He relaxes his body a little, calming down. 

“Please, please, please-“ he begs in whispers. This process is torturous. Him being so pent up, it’s impossible to stay quiet. His dick twitches as precum leaks from the tip. You feel almost guilty, but you know it’ll be worth it in the long run. 

“Do you want to stop?”

“Don’t stop, please,” he whines behind your hand. You really hadn’t considered the possibility of him being this vocal. Not only did it put you at risk of being found out, it was causing you to get needlessly sexually excited. You ignored how uncomfortable your soiled underwear had become, you needed to finish the job. 

You tightly held your hand against his mouth as you jerked him off faster. His hips bucked, fucking himself into your fist. So much precum was leaking that it was getting messy. You worried about leaving evidence behind, so you got on your knees in front of him, pushing his legs open, and slipped his dick into your mouth. You lifted your head for a second to whisper, “stay quiet, or I won’t let you finish.” 

He wants to cry as he watches you take him so deep in your throat. He bites his lip tightly, holding back any moans. Your head bobs in perfect rhythm, and your tongue wraps around his shaft. You shamefully bring your hand to your crotch, rubbing yourself over your pants as you greedily suck his cock. What would everyone else think? They’d say I’m a desperate whore. Maybe I am. But I’m helping him. I’m the only one who can. He needs me. Your self degradation doesn’t help your case in this being purely “professional.” It’s not your fault he sounds so cute and pathetic while fucking your throat, or that his huge cock is filling your mouth so much that you can barely take it. You forget about your own voice as his tip hits the back of your throat. His hips begin rutting into you rapidly, and suddenly he’s cumming down your throat. You hear the clanking of his handcuffs as his arms strain against them behind his back. You shove him in as deep as possible, swallowing everything he’s got. You can’t help but finish in your pants, as your other hand has been over stimulating your body. You stay in that position for a minute, letting his dick sit in your mouth. You carefully get up and grab tissues from your pocket to clean him up, as well as wipe your mouth. Carefully, you dress him back up, and place your seat on the opposite side of the table, sitting as if nothing happened. 

“How was that?” you ask, returning to a robotic voice. 

“I wanna do it again,” he says hoarsely, eyes still wide in disbelief.

Part 2