#it's that they're taking work without permission

[verdancy-hime]

Basically how this works is that a lot of people go to therapy for what is essentially an "appeal to authority" problem or a "I have no friends" problem. Therapists like this because it's really easy to listen to people with no friends talk and charge them $500 to tell them the same thing a stranger on the bus or Google would tell them and let the money they paid and the appeal to the authority of the degree on the wall make them believe it.

A lot of people in our society also suffer from a kind of chronic freeze response when they are asked to take accountability for their own choices. Not the kind of thing where they aren't offered any good choices, like a double bind, or a systemic issue where they have a problem that is not within their power to solve that they need to solve before they can solve any of their other problems in a meaningful way, but a fear of making their own decisions without approval of someone else.

Everyone has that sometimes. If you have it, it's okay.

A lot of my pro domme clients have a version of this where they don't want me to actually tell them what to do so much as they want me to act like a very scary person who traumatized them once and then give them permission to do something they already really wanted to do. Again, those are very easy people to deal with in any situation. You just tell them that it's not the end of the world if they get stoned on a weekday or call in to work when they're stressed or are bisexual or whatever and it's fine and then that's all they want or need.

The problem is

Much as we don’t like to admit it publicly, it’s an open secret among therapists that the road to recovery from trauma can be fraught with clinical missteps. In the past few years, I’ve frequently been consulted by highly competent colleagues who were dumbfounded by the speedy decline of clients contending with traumatic memories. Eight of these clients included a nurse, a businesswoman, a salesman, a therapist and other men and women who’d functioned relatively well prior to therapy. Yet after attempts to address their traumatic pasts (including rape, mugging, childhood abuse, and household fire), three were hospitalized, two went on disability, and the rest endured debilitating flashbacks, panic attacks, or other symptoms of dysfunction. All the therapists involved were experienced and well trained. Each one favored a different, theoretically sound, therapeutic modality (psychodynamic psychotherapy, EMDR, body psychotherapy, and cognitive-behavioral). None was irresponsible. So what exactly went wrong?

*Curb your enthusiasm music*

[necro-hamster]

ppl defending ai art by completely ignoring the genuine major issues that people have with it and pretending like ppl r just mad because they're Art Elitists and think that art should only be made through Suffering instead of being easy are some of the most embarrassing ppl tumblr has been recommending to me lately

[captain-ultimat-doggo]

Humans entering space and realizing we are so small. We are mice compared to these giant races with their advanced machinery and technologies and experiences beyond us- except that we're humans. And our engineers dive into the new tech and once we learn the principles we also soon realize how Inefficient everything is. Their "microchips" are the size of cars, their storage drives are basically buildings, and they somehow store less data than ours. So, human companies take advantage, and tech starts rolling out. Massive and there's a lot of wasted space so that it can be managed with larger hands/pincers/claws/tentacles, but also so much more efficient than anything the galaxy has seen before.

Human technicians start hopping ships and upkeeping the general maintenance, the stuff that most aliens put off or don't notice because they never access the crevices of their ships. As human companies become more popular and lead the tech world in everything from warp cores to game stations ("it's so compact! How are the graphics so good?" Says a 60' tall grimbleback, holding a new VR headset that has all of its components included because it's so BIG by our tech standards), soon many things have accessibility ports for humans to be able to use as well. This means that these shiprats hoping ship to ship cause such a huge improvement in everything running smoothly, and there's a huge downtick in pests on ships because those "pests" are not only big enough and aggressive enough to bite a pitbull or a person in half, they're invasive to so many planets and humans hate nothing more than dog killing planet overrunning monsters.

All the while, from the Aliens perspective, humans are an elusive race that don't fraternize much with them. You almost never see a human as most places aren't exactly safe for the little things to run around in. They do export so much stuff though, and the custodial staff at the Central Galactic Outpost insists that there's more humans around than any other race if you just know where to look.

And sure it's somewhat known that some of the little daredevils hop ships and help out in exchange for room and board, usually without permission, but that can't be that common, can it?

Maybe your ship is running better this cycle ever since you stopped at the last station, that just means that tuneup was better than you thought. And maybe for some reason that program you were working on last night is finished when you wake up, but you're so tired maybe you finished it before you passed out. Somehow that faulty light in the galley has fixed itself as well, which is odd, but maybe the Engineer finally got to it. You'd know if there was someone else on your ship.

Right?

... You leave a little bowl of berries out as a thank you, just in case. You're not sure what humans like but you've heard they have a sweet tooth.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

The Exotic Animal Photo Reference Repository is live!

You can find it at: https://www.animal-photo-references.com!

Here's how this repository works: all photos were taken by me, a human, at zoos, aquariums, sanctuaries, and other facilities with animals in human care. There is no AI involved in the photo editing or creation and there never will be. Right now there's 56 species on the site; my catalog has over 300 and I will be uploading the rest of them as fast as I can.

Artists creating derivative or transformative works (without AI) have blanket permission to use these references. Yes, even for work you're going to sell.

All other usage/reproduction requires permission, but assume I'm friendly and please do ask! That's educators, researchers, the media, people who need images for a school presentation, etc. This is just to retain copyright/control in case they're scraped/reused unethically - it doesn't meant I don't want folk to have access! So please do reach out via the contact form on the repository website, I don't bite and I'm most likely going to say yes.

Please don't repost the repository photos to your own blogs: I've created @animalphotorefs as a dedicated blog to share photos from the site, and of course I'll reblog a lot of it here! That again just helps with retaining copyright and sourcing of the images. If you really want to repost some for a specific purpose, please just ask me first!

Also, folks, this project has no funding. It's just me and my camera.

There will never be a paywall on the site - I believe resources like this absolutely must be free for everyone to access. So please, please, please support the repository if you use it. Want sneak peeks at photos, cute videos I take, or to help choose what I photograph and what gets posted first? You can do that through Patreon (and there's a free trial on the most interactive tier!) If you'd like to just drop a tip, I've also set up a Ko-Fi.

I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of the repository.

To whet your thirst for cute photos, here's an Indian rhinoceros contemplating a goose.

[hoothootmotherf-ckers]

can people please stop filming the entire fucking world around them for public consumption? and especially random fucking strangers who you did not ask???

I work at a park and man the front desk. and I'm photographed and filmed a lot. I'm talking easily 20+ times per day. most of the times, it's parents filming me swearing in their kids as junior rangers. which. they're intending to film their kids. what they get is me and the back of their kids' heads.

there's this recurring problem that like. people forget we're real people? like yeah you're filming your kid, but you're filming me interacting with your kid. I could count the amount of times someone has asked me permission to do this in the past year on one hand. and sometimes that's after they already start filming.

Like, I'm not an actor. I did not agree to this. You could be a dick and make the argument that I'm a public figure, but I'm not. This is not a persona and my uniform is not a costume. I'm a person trying to do my job and help people and teach them about science and history. And you know what makes it harder to do that? The knowledge that anything I say or do could end up shared with thousands of people. The fact that if I fuck up the wording of this kid's junior ranger pledge, or I sneeze, or make some basic mistake, it's not just a funny or embarrassing moment for me and this one family. It could end up on tiktok.

And okay, those are the people intending to film their own kids and not thinking or caring about the collateral. What's worse is the people who film everything. A few times a week some guy walks into the visitor center, phone already horizontal in front of their face, narrating what they're doing and seeing. They come up to the desk and ask me questions, phone in my face. They take wide establishing shots of the visitor center and every visitor in it. None of us agreed to this! None of these people consented to be in your youtube video! We are not the fucking set dressing of whatever travel instagram story you're making!

I don't know where I'm going with this. This is really only the tip of the iceberg. Sometimes people ask us to repeat what we just did - swear in their kid, or explain a detail, or hand them a fucking map - so they can get a second take, and they're already filming so if we say no we look like the asshole. Sometimes we're asked innocuous things like to point out a landmark, and next week there's a photo of us in the 15,000 member Rangers Pointing at Things facebook group (yep, real thing). One time my entire 45 minute evening program was filmed without my permission and I was informed after the fact. This happens all the time, and I'm giving park ranger examples, but this happens to so many people in service work or public positions every single fucking day.

I guess just, next time you go to film in a public space, take a second. Think about who you're about to film, if they agreed to that, what might happen if a video of them went viral. there's a reason I'm not out as trans at work. And then, maybe. don't. or at least fucking ask.

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader (18+) summary it wasn’t uncommon for you to seek each other’s presence after the sun was tucked away—for company, for comfort. but there’s something more consuming about tonight [post-outbreak, fluff, soft smut, 3.3k] a/n they're in love.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

There always had been something about the night. Something singular about its ability to take the most tightly wound days and coax them undone. Like the silken ribbon of a worn bow that had grown weary of holding its shape.

For quite some time now, your nights have belonged to each other. After years of going to bed alone, even Joel realized how good it felt to end the day next to someone who reminded him just how sweet life could be. 

Everyone's deserving of good company—you’d spoken those words to him in the face of his independence. Thankfully, with time, they’d worked their way into his spirit. Like vines, like air itself. He no longer feels wrong for craving care as tender as yours, even though his hands have made ghosts out of many men. 

Earlier tonight, it was you who came to him. 

Three muffled knocks had roused him from the beginning of a light sleep. Given he didn’t have to entertain Ellie tonight, he figured he’d turn in a little earlier than usual. He’d answered the door with fluffy hair and squinted eyes. There was an undeniable softness about his rumpled pajamas and the sight of his bare feet against the hardwood. Few words were needed between you as he helped you out of your coat and led you upstairs to his bedroom. 

It’s quiet where you lay now, tucked beneath sheets that smell faintly of earthen pine. You’ve draped one arm over Joel’s waist while your nose remains tucked between his shoulder blades like it belongs there. 

During the day, while out in the commune, you remained cordial and unassuming around each other. You weren’t exactly hiding from the attention of others but were protecting the bond forming between you. 

In due time, you’d allow the familiarity and intimacy of the night to bleed over into the day, but for now, this nighttime ritual is sacred in its newness. It had been a couple of months since your patrol partner didn’t show, and Joel stepped up to take his place. 

As it turns out, spending six hours with the right person in the cold can change your life. 

Joel holds his breath on an inhale when he feels your fingers begin to toy with the hem of his shirt. They slip beneath it a moment later, almost shy as they trail along his waistline and brush through the thin hair beneath his navel. Joel’s hips tilt just so. 

He swallows around a low sound as your hand ventures up his chest with featherlight curiosity. Exploring, cataloging. Past his ribs and to his chest to graze the pads of your fingers over his nipples, making something stir low in his gut. 

Your hand then drifts back down to splay over the small pudge of his stomach as if to center him again. 

“You’re so warm,” you murmur. 

If he were braver, he’d say it was by virtue of your touch alone. Your hands had wandered over each other's bodies, but never quite like this. This time, your touch doesn’t seek to soothe or ground but to evoke. 

Joel rests his hand over yours with a hum. It covers yours whole. 

“Your hands are so big.” Your voice dips into a purr. “And strong. Capable.”

Joel chuckles a low, flustered sound. He’s not sure what to do with these compliments or if that’s what they’re meant to be. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you then say. “Fix my mailbox.”

Of everything you could’ve mentioned, he wasn’t expecting that. It was an easy task he’d knocked out earlier this afternoon. It took him no more than fifteen minutes. 

“Nothing to it,” he assures in a low drawl. 

Except, there was something to it. The fix meant Joel had been listening when you mentioned it broke. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something for you without asking for permission. Joel Miller is a man of action. If he sees a problem or a need, he doesn't hesitate. That strong sense of initiative had yet to steer him wrong. 

It’s lovely to be seen and heard by someone like him, especially in a commune where it wasn’t hard to slip through the cracks at times.  

A half-restrained shiver rolls down Joel’s spine when you press a kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair curled there tickles the tip of your nose. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Welcome—” His voice catches when you pepper more kisses to his nape. His hand stills yours when he feels your attempt to trail your touch downward from his stomach. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes, a little wary. 

“Yes?” you lilt. 

The sheets rustle as Joel turns over to face you. He can only make out a few of your features in the glow of the moonlight slipping into the room. The rest, his mind fills in. You cup his stubbled cheek with a gentle hand. 

“Makin’ me hot.” His voice is soft and honest, a little frayed around the edges. A pleasant buzz has settled beneath his skin. 

Maybe you wanted him to burn. 

You scoot that much closer to press your lips to his. When the initial surprise dissipates, they move, slow and easy, against your own. Almost tired if you didn’t know any better. But even in the shroud of the night, he’s wide awake. For this. For you. 

A low sound rises in his throat when you take his lower lip between your teeth and gently tug until you’ve fully pulled away. 

Joel hadn’t realized his hand had drifted to settle on your waist, but suddenly, it’s not enough. He needs to feel you entirely. A need rooted so deep he aches with it. There’s no more denying the swell in his pants, where the brunt of his desire has made itself known. 

Restraint looks good on Joel, but there always has been an air of allure around the notion of him surrendering. Of what it looked like for him to partake and be partaken of. It’d been some years since he’d allowed himself to open up in this way, and anyone he shared himself with in the past was long gone. You wanted to demystify it all and come to know that side of him for yourself. 

This time, when your hand begins to drift lower, he doesn’t stop you. Not when your fingers slip beneath both his waistbands. Or as you wrap them around the base of his warm, rigid length. A pleasured shudder courses through him as you pull upwards in a reverent tug. At the top, your thumb encircles the velveteen head to spread the small, wet bead of eagerness.  

Joel starts to move upright but trembles back into place when your loose grasp descends, mapping back down each snaking vein before gently massaging the rounded fullness that hangs beneath. 

“Love the feel of you already,” you murmur. Joel’s face warms as his arousal kicks up under your ministrations. 

In an unexpected display of agility, he repositions to hover above you, pushes down his pants and boxers, and braces himself as he kicks them away. His movements are so seamless that your touch isn’t disrupted for long. 

You spit into your hand as best you can and reach out for him in the dark, knowing exactly where to find him as he bobs towards his stomach. 

Joel’s more interested in gripping your pants, and you place your feet flat on the mattress to lift your hips for him to shuck them off. The cool air of the room registers against the slickness between your legs as you clench. Joel lowers a finger to trace along your entrance, spreading the moisture upwards as he circles your budded nerves. 

He continues paying careful attention to the spot, even as your hand distractedly falls from him to curl into the sheets. Your exhale is shaky when he stops. 

“Just a second,” Joel rasps. 

He braces himself further up your body, one large palm splayed near your head. As the mattress shifts, you realize he’s reaching toward the nightstand. You move your hand to play between your legs to ease the throbbing ache lazily. 

A faint click sounds, and a flame sparks to life, balanced on the crooked wick of a candle. The light casts a dim, golden radius in the room. 

“Can’t miss this,” he explains as he returns to his original position. 

“Need to see you.” In a testament to his words, his arousal kicks up on its own accord yet again. 

You selfishly take him in. His intense gaze. Broad shoulders. Thick thighs. The straining, desirous region of him that your hands had come to know before your eyes ever did. A thatch of unruly dark curls rests at the base of him. 

Joel pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his last covered portion. His arms are toned and firm. A thin dusting of hair spans over his impressive chest. New and old scars pepper the expanse of his torso. The faint indents of a v-line remain even with the pudge of his stomach from age and finally eating good meals again. 

Now it’s your turn. Joel helps you out of your shirt and tosses it aside with renewed urgency. As you finally lay bare, his dark eyes admire your chest as if this first chance is the last chance he’ll get. He extends a careful hand to cup one of your breasts, gaze flicking to your face to watch the way your brows furrow in approval. 

“Christ,” he grouses in an air of disbelief. 

You suck in a quick breath when he leans down to kiss along the side of your neck. Goosebumps arise in the wake of his lips as he continues downward like it’s a path he’s traveled before. Over your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, straying to gently peck a pebbled nipple before returning to the centerline of your torso. 

In the process, he shifts himself further down the mattress, your legs propped like two mountains along either side of him. 

His kisses turn into toothless nips when he reaches the lower portion of your stomach. That sensation, paired with the scratch of his beard, makes your abdomen twitch and flex. It isn’t until he makes it beneath your belly button and strays toward your hip bones that your chest finally shakes with a laugh as you squirm. 

Joel stills you with a steady hand and peeks up at you with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. He’s cataloging every shift and sweet sound. 

As his shoulders force your thighs to splay a little wider, you bite your lip both out of anticipation and to keep your lingering smile at bay. In seconds, he’s made a live wire out of you. 

Every other breath you take catches. You find yourself swallowing more than you had all night. But suddenly, there’s no urgency about him at all. You’ve slipped into an unspoken purgatory where your release looms on hold. 

He’s drawing things out, taking his time, ignoring the throb of his own need as he tries to pick you apart. 

Joel bypasses where you’re spread open and pulsing and delivers a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mere inches from where you crave him. You shift, hoping he’ll reroute, but he pretends not to notice. 

You try again, attempting to twist and present your core as an alternative to the fluff of your thighs. 

An exasperated huff escapes you. “Just…”

You let your sentence trail off as you attempt to give him your best pleading look. It almost works. They’re the eyes he’d steal the moon for, but he wants to relish this moment a little longer. Wants to hold out on you while you’re both safe to be these needy versions of yourselves. 

“Just what, sweetheart?” he coaxes. 

Your mouth opens a couple of times. “Do something. Touch me,” you murmur, cheeks warm. 

“I am touchin’ you.” He smooths a calloused palm along your leg to prove it. 

“Like you were before,” you specify, voice smaller now. 

Your stomach flips when he starts to move back towards your hips, and flustered, premature giggles bubble up your throat because he’s got you so on edge, and you just know he’s about to do those maddening little kisses again. 

“Not that,” you whine. “C’mon Joel, I need you.” The earnestness of those words sends a jolt toward the apex of his thighs. 

You’ve got him now, so you press further. “Please? Wanna feel you.” You make your voice softer. “Been wanting to feel you all night.”

Joel caves and runs a heavy finger through your folds, then gently spreads you open to press a kiss to that small, swollen part of you. His lips are so delicate you’d think he was kissing a rose bud. A helpless mewl escapes as he replaces his lips with the firm press of his middle finger and begins drawing tight circles. 

The touch stirs faint, premature flutters that make you tilt your hips into his hand. “I gotcha,” he assures. 

He did have you, not just in this way, but in every sense of the word. He’d proven that from the day he met you, ready to be the supply to your demand when it came to all manners of your needs. Even the ones you didn’t realize you had. The thought alone makes pleasure knot in your stomach all the more. You clench around nothing but the idea of taking him. 

“Joel,” you breathe. 

His eyes lift from your core to your gaze. Your eyes sparkle with candlelit desperation. Still taking his time, he runs his finger back down and just barely breaches your entrance with a curious probe. He’s wet with your slick and knows he’d slip right in. 

“Need you,” you murmur again. It’s different this time. 

Joel withdraws his touch and crawls back up your body, muscles shadowing as they shift. You open your legs wider so he can slot himself between you, bracing a forearm near your head. He’s close enough that your chests brush. That your breaths mingle.  

He takes himself in his hand and guides the tip to the warmth of your center. The gentle touch soon turns into a glide that bumps your clit with every upward pass. You place your hands on his shoulders because your fingers are shaking, and you don’t know what else to do. 

Like a locksmith with a key, he notches at your entrance with delicate intentionality. Both of you shudder, and he briefly touches his forehead to yours. The world stills as he slowly begins to push inside of you. You welcome each new inch with the same steady, heated snugness. Not once does your body flinch or hesitate. You welcome him in even through the dullest ache until he’s burrowed.   

Your joint groans just barely register on the outskirts of your consciousness as the blinding haze of pleasure becomes one with reality. 

Joel grants you a quiet moment of acclimation before he pulls out a little and eases himself back in. A hum vibrates through your chest. This time, he pulls back a little further, then finds his way back inside the encompassing warmth of you. 

“You’re the warm one,” he counters your earlier statement. “Taking me so well,” he praises. 

He withdraws a little more each time until his thrusts become fuller, and he finds an easy rhythm. You encourage his movements with the dig of your heels at the back of his thighs. 

He tucks his head down to place open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and graze down his back. 

“You feel so good,” you admit in a frantic sigh. “So so good.” 

Joel nearly comes from hearing that alone. 

There is no reprieve from the pleasure, no moment that allows you two to fully gather your bearings or muster up a semblance of composure. Every sound that slips past your lips is helpless, a little gone. They join the tiny squeaks of the mattress and the sticky, rhythmic contact of skin meeting dewy skin. 

“Faster,” you breathe. Joel listens in a heartbeat, continuing to meet that dense, tender place within you that has your toes curling. “Oh god—” you choke out, a mix between a moan and a whimper. 

Before you can find your breath again, Joel cups your breasts, switching from one to the other and running his thumb along your nipples. The sound that escapes you almost sounds pained, but your face scrunches in the prettiest, rawest way. Joel’s hips drive forward in an involuntary thrust of force.

One of his hands slips between your bodies to rub over that still-pulsing part of you. A dreamy sound falls past your lips as you writhe and arch. The tightness builds. The sea swells. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep it all at bay and prolong the moment. 

“Open your eyes, angel,” Joel encourages in a rasp. 

You don’t listen and silently pray that he gives up. 

“Lemme see those pretty eyes,” he tries again. 

You whimper as his finger rubs faster circles, his thrusts remaining intense. 

Joel’s voice takes on a waver, cracking around the edges with something fragile and desperate. “C’mon, baby, please?” 

You realize then that he needs it. 

When your eyes flutter open, a few rogue tears run down the apples of your cheeks towards your ears. Joel catches them. It’s too much. The newness of it all, the warm weight of his body moving above yours, making you his. There’s a glisten on his forehead, in the divot of his sternum. The way his muscles flex with his thrusts is living art. You’ve never met a more gorgeous man or had the pleasure of knowing and becoming one with someone who made you feel this whole.

“There she is,” Joel hums. 

In an instant, your body jolts against the mattress as you come undone beneath his frame. Your walls flutter around him in strong pulses of pleasure that radiate outward and leave you floating. If it were light instead, you’d be a shining star illuminating the room. 

Joel’s seen fewer sights that have struck him at his core. 

It takes every ounce of decency and strength within him to override the recklessness of pleasure, and pull out of you in a swift drag. Away from your swollen, pulsing warmth. Away from one of the few places he could confidently say he belonged in this fallen world.  

Through dazed eyes, you watch as Joel wraps a hand around himself and begins stroking. He’s slick with you, and the veins in his forearms pop. 

He spills onto your stomach in seconds with an earnest, shuddered groan. Each pulse of his release grows duller, resulting in shorter spurts until there’s nothing more than a pearly dribble running down the sides of him. 

You reach out with a weak hand to take over and coax him through the last few waves. Joel twitches in your grasp but lets you continue. Another shudder courses through him as he grows sensitive and begins to soften. 

“That’s all of me, baby,” he says, voice low and soft just for you.

You hum in a daze as you withdraw your touch. The last thing you remember is the kiss Joel presses to your forehead, the dip of the mattress as he gets out of bed, the gentleness of his hands, and the warm towel as he cleanses you.

There’s something special about the following morning. Something soft, aglow, and singular as pale sun rays slip into Joel’s room. They coat the cozy space like a seal. It’s as if the events of last night had carried over and been made manifest into something warm, and lovely, and beautiful. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[harbours-lighthouse]

here's pt. ii !

Jason caught it in the corner of his eye. Sitting in the parking lot beneath your apartment, was a gleaming Yamaha MT motorcycle. Spotless. Clean.

It's a naked model, he thinks, as he can see the engine clearly. It's black, with accented colours streaked along the sides.

Jason glances around the parking lot, eyes sweeping along the shadows and cement pillars. No one else is here. It's only him.

With muted curiosity, he ambles towards the bike with his hands shoved in his pockets. He knows you won't fuss too much if he's a minute behind his schedule (which was simply messaging you about three minutes ago, saying he's arrived at the complex).

Circling the bike, he takes it in. It's a nice model. Sleek. Expensive. He wonders who owns it, because it isn't the smartest idea to keep such a bike out in the open.

Especially in Gotham.

But as he looks down at the tires—that look brand new—he notices three locks wrapped around one of the suspensions. Huffing in amusement, he sees they're connected to the metal guard rail behind him that's been pushed up against the wall.

"Not bad," he mumbles beneath his breath. Steam puffs into the air.

It's cold, and the numbness of his nose makes it to the forefront of his mind again.

Sparing the bike one last lingering, appreciative glance, he crosses the parking lot with long strides, and slips into the elevator when the doors slide open.

When they open again, he's greeted with a long, carpeted hallway. The lights are dim. They flicker. He searches for the woodgrain door with the number 208 painted on the front.

Finding it and feeling his heart flutter in his chest at the thought of you, he knocks on the door. He waits, leaning on his left leg.

There's a muffled commotion inside, a faint 'ow' that makes him frown.

Then your voice calls out, "One sec, I'm coming—damn it!"

Jason's head dips with a hidden smile; he imagines you struggling with something. Maybe the cat got underneath your feet again. Or maybe you were hurrying to put something on, and couldn't get your head through the t-shirt—

The door swings open, and you stand inside the frame with an almost frazzled look about you.

Jason perks a brow. "Hi."

"Hey," you say breathlessly, smiling.

"You, uh...you okay?"

"....I got tangled in my blanket and tripped."

Well, at least you're honest. Jason shakes his head with a soft grin. He steps into your apartment and curls his arm around your shoulders, guiding you with him.

"How you’re not dead with the things you manage to do is beyond me," he murmurs close to your ear.

You groan quietly, "I'm not that bad."

"Babe—"

"I've seen how Tim is. Now he's the definition of clumsy."

"Fair point."

You slip out of Jason's hold, not without kissing his cheek, and move to the kitchen.

Jason, feeling at ease, drops himself on the couch. The TV is still on, frozen on a scene in a movie. It's your favourite movie. Or 'comfort movie', as you've said before.

He hears the clink of glasses in the kitchen. The shuffle of your footsteps.

"How was patrol last night by the way?" you call out to him. "I know you weren't able to drop by 'cause you had to go back to the Manor this time."

Jason runs a rough hand down his face. "Yeah, it was fine. Tiresome, but fine."

He doesn't want to really talk about it. Not here in your warm apartment. Not with you and the normality you give him.

Outside, the traffic hums. He hears the roar of an engine—he remembers the bike.

"Hey, babe?"

"Hm?"

"Who owns that Yamaha bike in the parking lot?"

You come around the corner, holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Your eyes lock with his.

"Oh. It's mine."

"What?"

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[piistolstar]

LIKE A GODDESS

⧼ warnings :: smut, hair pulling, service top!james, cunnilingus, whipped!james

pairing :: james potter x fem!reader

exams. so many exams, you were slaving over and studying for weeks. all day every day, it’s all your poor boyfriend saw you do. it nearly stressed him out as much as it did you, not knowing how to help and make it easier. despite the times you reassured him that him being there helped.

but finally, it’s all done. and tonight you can finally rest peacefully, laying in james’ bed, spooning him without a worry in the world. james shifts, turning his body around to look at you. "are you okay?" you bite your lip in thought, letting your hand go to his hair.

"i’m better," you sigh, twirling his hair between your fingers. "but i still feel a little on edge'." james huffs out a breath, not knowing what else to say. you hear him hum when you tug his hair slightly, causing a smirk to rise on your lips. you tug a little harsher and you feel his hand come up to yours.

"stop that," he whines into your neck, attempting to pull your hand away.

"that's not how you repay me." you joke back, recalling the reward he had promised you after all of your hard work. you kissed his cheek before letting go of his hair and there's a bit of silence before he's shuffling off the bed. you hear him maneuver himself to your side before turning the lamp on.

you gape at the sight before you, your pretty boyfriend on his knees. looking up at you, hands inching towards you. "is this better?" you shift so your lower half is off the bed and your right above him. his hands find purchase on your thighs and he looks up at you hesitantly.

"you know..." his hands travel further until they're at your waist. "i really should reward you." he shrugs and one hand goes to tug at the waistband of your pajama pants. "you did so well on your exams."

you just watch as he marvels over you, taking in every bit of you like it's the first time he's seen you. "you’re so beautiful." with your permission he tugs your pants off, “like a goddess.” he kisses up and down your legs before finding his way to your stomach. “i want to worship you.”

he nudges you so your back hits the mattress, slow, messy kisses trailing up your abdomen. "let me make you feel better?” you let out a breath and nod your head, his gaze focused on you before he presses his lips against yours, a kiss that's both gentle and passionate at the same time. he brings one hand to your chin, and another to your cheek to caress the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. you can feel how nervous he was, making all the decisions.

he lets out a soft groan, as an arm slips around your waist and pulls you closer, moaning against your lips. he presses his thigh between your legs, satisfied at the noises of pleasure you let out. james smiles into the kiss and pushes his body further into you. his hands run along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body, appreciating every part of you.

he slowly tilts your head to the side and his lips begin to trail kisses down to your neck, leaving nips and bites along your collarbone. his hands slide down to the sides of your thighs and he grips them. his lips keep their focus on leaving marks all over your neck, his hips grinding down on your leg.

"what if someone sees those?" you tauntingly ask him. he pulls away from your skin with red cheeks. he hesitates, letting his hands go up and down your body slowly.

"let them," he shrugs nervously. "i don't care, i want to worship you. i'll be happy if they know." you stare at him for a moment before threading your fingers through his hair. you dip your head down to his neck, littering butterfly kisses on his skin.

a soft groan slips from his lips but it's quickly covered up with a breathless laugh. the feeling of your soft lips against his skin is just so good. he closes his eyes and hums, leaning back to brush his nose gently against yours. his thumbs rub your hips, as he looks at you intently, his gaze taking in everything about you.

he's so infatuated with you, completely at your mercy. his hands slide underneath your top, caressing your skin. he pushes the fabric up a little higher as he presses a heated kiss to your lips. his hands travel higher and higher until his breath catches in his throat.

his face flushes again when he realizes where he's touching you, his thumb gently stroking over your chest in slow, teasing circles. his eye is locked on you as he does so. he feels you tug at his hair, making his body shiver slightly. soft sighs and gasps escape him and he lets out soft moans from time to time. the feeling of being so close and touching you with the soft caresses of his hands has him reeling.

he bites his lip nervously, "can you take it off?" his pretty, glazed over eyes are now avoiding yours. his shyness gives away what he wants and you reach back to unclasp your bra. he doesn't waste any time sliding your bra off to leave your entire upper body exposed to him. he can't help but stare for a moment, as he always does. taking in your body and appreciating the sight in front of him.

"you're so pretty, angel." he murmurs, still a little breathless. you let out a small laugh before sliding your hand up his shirt, leaving ghost touches along his abdomen. he lets out a groan at your touch, his body twitching in excitement. a shiver of pleasure ripples through his body when your lips nip at a sensitive part of his skin.

with a whine he pushes your body back down, "this is about you, not me." he places his lips on your skin again, inching lower and lower with every one he places. they trail from your collarbone, to your chest, down your torso, and landing right above the waistband of your pants.

he looks up at you as if awaiting your commands, causing you to giggle. "thought you were gonna worship me? you get to decide what to do then." he stutters before shutting his mouth and nodding, hands shakily sliding your pants down your legs.

he kisses along your thighs, breathing heavily at the sight before him. you're clad in just your underwear, you're piercing eyes trained on him while you wait for his next move. his kisses come back up until his breath is making contact with the fabric of your panties.

he presses a small kiss to your clit thought your underwear, unable to bite bad a prideful smile when you hum out of pleasure. he pushes your underwear to the side and he slides his tongue through your folds.

he moans when your hand tugs at his hair again, harsher this time. he judges his nose against your clit. he can't get enough of your taste, hands snaking around your thighs to hold them in place around his head.

he feels your hand push down, attempting to control his head. with a soft groan he lets you use his face to get off. the vibrations his noises make has you squirming, your own moans getting louder and louder when a finger slips into you.

your noises turn into tired pants and your hand falls to your side. you lazily grind against his face and he holds your thighs down. you feel yourself getting close and you let out a sigh before tugging his head up by his hair.

he looks dazed and his fingers continue to work inside you, "i'm close, you're doing so good." the praise has his head spinning and his movements quickening. he leans up to capture your lips in a kiss, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you.

he pants into the kiss, his desperate hips grinding into the mattress. he feels your body spasm before you're cumming around his fingers, biting down on his lip and leaving him whimpering.

he stops and lets you catch your breath, face inches from yours. you go to praise him some more when your eyes catch on the wet spot on his pants. "did you really..." he whines before you could finish your sentence, burying his head in your neck.

"don't say anything, please."

[riki-dazed]

Making out with Nishimura Riki 🍒

suggestive · wc: 371 · Requested

Riki would be so touchy, even during the softest of makeout sessions.. He'd need to have his hands on you at all times. Whether that'd be in the form of smoothing them over the small of your back, having his fingers dig into your hips... He just needs to be touching his baby.

Playful make-out sessions with bf!riki.. Both of you giggling between kisses, him showering your face with soft pecks, him just being so smitten over you, and vice versa.

He'd love making out with you during cuddle sessions..

Imagine making out with him as Every Kind Of Way plays in the background.. He'd be so perfect. It'd be so sensual, yet so soft with how loving he is.

I can see him being such a messy kisser.. If he's not leaving a quick peck against your lips, he's devouring them with his own. His kisses would be so wet, dripping with desperation and need..

We all know how pretty his lips are.. God, they'd feel so soft against yours. They're just so perfectly plump, the perfect size, just perfect. He'd love it if you were to take his bottom lip between your teeth, it'd leave him a whiny little mess for you.

Having you in his lap would be one of his favourite positions to make-out with you in. His hands kneading at your ass, your chest pushed up against his, he'd be in heaven.

Body worshipper subby riki... Like that's your babyboy. Your needy, passionate, overly-hungry-for-your-lips babyboy.

The most delicious sounds would fall out of his mouth mid make-out session. Breathy moans against your lips, his quiet whines mixed in with the sounds of the wet kisses you'd share..

Another position I can see him enjoying kissing you in would be where your back is pressed up against his torso, preferrebly whilst he's sat with his back against the headboard of a bed or something. Your head would be turned to the side, him kissing you over your shoulder.. You being in-between his legs like that would allow his hands to further roam your body. He's just so big, he'd have easy access to everywhere.

He would never be able to get enough of you and your lips.

...

Copyright © 2024 riki-dazed. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED | Do NOT edit, copy, translate or repost any of my work without permission.

[lay-z]

Simon Riley appreciates a healthy routine.

Neither Gaz nor Soap can quite tell what is stranger their Lieutenant declining to go for a pint after touching ground back on base or the sight of him furiously typing away on the cracked screen of his phone since they got some proper cell service.

They keep sitting in their respective seats on the plane, quietly observing Ghost and Captain Price for the past hours like they're some nearly extinct animals they shouldn't dare to startle; trying to gauge the latter's reaction, though that hint of a knowing smile barely hidden behind a coarse beard is only confusing them more.

It's as if Price has found the answer to a riddle that his Sergeants aren't even fully aware of.

Almost immediately, they lose sight of the sneaky Lieutenant as soon as the plane lands on the tarmac and once the tired soldiers receive permission to sign out for a long weekend after spending the last eight weeks deployed, travelling places no one else wants to go.

And of course, the lads think that Ghost has simply had enough of their bullshite, that the naturally aloof man is feeling too agitated and overwhelmed to linger, even though the mission was finished successfully. Perhaps he made arrangements with some working lady to get it out of his system (Soap's words, "Who else would the bloody geezer be textin' to, eh?"), or perhaps he's already being called in for a single op by Laswell.

They don't see the signs their Captain has picked up on a while ago when it comes to the closed-off Lieutenant.

The hushed phone conversations behind a closed office door, the more frequent rummaging for a phone that he usually didn't spare a glance at for hours on end, a spring in his step after suddenly spending more weekends off base, eating homemade biscuits from a Tupperware box that surely isn't his while doing his paperwork, pushing himself harder at the gym with a kind of natural energy that comes with higher testosterone levels, humming on his way back from a terrible training session with a squadron of rookies.

Yes, the signs are all quite obvious to a happily married man like John Price, because he remembers the honeymoon phase with his wife in the beginning of their relationship all too well.

Meanwhile, Simon manages the one hour long drive from base to your flat downtown in 37 minutes, and he takes the fact that he got caught speeding in stride. And what if he loses his driver's license? He's broken much worse laws in his lifetime than driving without legal documents.

The spare key to your home that you've gifted him with, feels heavier than all his tac gear combined as it rests in his jeans pocket heavy with meaning and responsibility, a reminder that he's found a new purpose in his life.

He sheds and leaves his gear and dirty fatigues in his truck, and he takes three steps at once as he rushes upstairs to your flat with single-minded focus, excitement and adrenaline equally coursing through his veins as if he's about to seize a hostile target by himself.

The familiar front door closes behind him with a soft click, and then he's greeted by peace and quiet.

Instead of finding fear or annoyance, Simon is met by raw happiness and adoration as he watches your eyes light up once you notice his presence all curled up and cozy on your couch.

"Hi!"

His socked feet make no noise as he approaches you over the carpeted floor.

"I didn't expect you for another hour," you tell him, even though he very well remembers what time he'd told you he'd arrive, though he had added two hours to that time frame just so he wouldn't disappoint you if he didn't make it.

"Your dinner is ah!"

Simon picks you up with practiced ease, and your little shriek of surprise dissolves in a fit of melodic giggles. Bulky arms wrap around your body and cradle you to his chest bridal style as he carries you towards the bedroom with simmering urgency.

The words he mumbles as explanation come out gruff and harsh, oafish even, but you can't help and feel utterly smitten by them: "Bed. Now."

You're dropped onto the mattress without warning, and the way you laugh again makes Simon's chest hurt with how hard his bloody heart flutters.

And then you're already reaching out for him right when he joins you, mattress dipping beneath his added weight as he drapes himself over the full length of your body; slotting his meaty thigh between your legs until he can lay down more comfortably on top of you like a weighted blanket.

"Can you rub my shoulders? Please?"

His voice is muffled as he nuzzles his flushed face in the crook of your neck. Sometimes, it still feels forbidden to ask for something so mundane from the person he would die for.

"Yeah, sure. Can I take off your mask?"

You can carve out his heart with a butter knife if you'd like, but he chooses to keep that to himself for now while the fact that you're asking for his consent again makes his head feel fuzzy and his arms tighten around your warm, welcoming frame reflexively.

Simon nods. "Aye, take it off f'me."

The cloth is gently removed when he manages to lift his head up before letting it drop back into the crook of your neck, and then your fingers card through his short, disheveled strands of dirty blonde hair; blunt nails scratching lightly at his skull until a full-body shudder runs along his spine.

It's heavenly.

It's more than he ever wanted and everything he never even dared to wish for.

It's a routine he's managed to build up with you from scratch.

Strangers to lovers, and he will never let you go now that he's sunken his sharpened claws into your willing flesh.

Yet he is but a tamed kitten in your tender embrace. Just a man enjoying and craving the simplest and purest form of affection right in this moment, stripped bare from his demons as you keep them off his back with your sheer, golden presence.

"You're safe now, Si. I missed you so much, baby," you coo into his ear, and his brain fills with cotton while he noses along your pulse point, breathing in your calming scent.

Then he feels the gentle press of your lips against his temple while your warm palms stroke and rub along his back, and he melts into a vulnerable puddle, exhausted eyes finally fluttering shut.

"Missed ya, too, pet," he murmurs gruffly, chapped lips brushing over your sensitive skin. "M'not gonna move f'a while, yeah?"

And Simon barely registers your answer when he's already drifting off into a dreamless slumber, allowing himself to cling to your body like a needy child while soaking up the warmth and comfort you're giving him oh so willingly.

He's home.

[babachira]

an assassin and his healer

nagumo yoichi x doctor!reader

── ⟢

+ having graduated with an assassination-medical major, a very small sub-department in the JCC where only the skilled in human science are found, you're technically a licensed doctor for any regular citizen who wants a simple check-up. you have a job in the clinic near sakamoto's store during the day, but during your assassination hours, you deal with injuries ranging from critical to a scratch. you took four years of apprenticeship under granny miya, so you tend to follow her ideology of 'the patient can be healed as long as they're not dead'.

+ your graduation was a special case. the JCC considered scrapping your department due to the lack of applications, but you excelled in combining the assets of poisons and weapons, making equipment like a portable bandaid or even discovering the smallest of pressure points that could enhance someone's strength, which floored their views. after witnessing a presentation of your projects, they decided to keep it up and running just to see what you were capable of, and thank god they did, otherwise, you would've had nowhere to go.

+ you met the famous trio during their prime when you were all 16, and you were fully aware of the fact that if they had no interest in someone, it would be drastically clear. you thought this was the case for you too since no one really appreciated your work because it wasn't 'strong' like the assassination majors, but when you received a personal congrats from them, it took you by surprse.

+ hell, when you saw them enter your lab without a word, you quirked your brows, pausing from pulling the trigger of your flamethrower. upon request from your weapons department friends, you were in the middle of melting a large batch of energy-fuelling pills. you slowly put the flamethrower down on your desk. "if i knew i was having such esteemed guests, i would've cleaned the place up a bit. to what do i owe the pleasure?"

+ but before they could answer, the three of them were hovering over your pile of books, empty beakers and box of surgical equipment. rion plucked a grey glass bottle from your top shelf, which you reserved for your most expensive creations, before popping the lid off.

+ she sniffed the top of it and gave a "hm!" of approval before taking a swig. "wow, this is actually pretty good," rion said, smacking her lips together and offering some to sakamoto, who only took the bottle from her hands, "what's this one for? my stomach feels like it's doing backflips."

+ you folded your arms. "that's because it's for serious internal bleeding. you're only really meant to take it when, you know, you're only puking an alarming amount of blood." rion nodded in acknowledgement and dangled the empty bottle with a grin. "ah, gotcha. no internal bleeding for me now!"

+ "mmm, i prefer this flavour." your eyes flit over to nagumo yoichi, the insufferable student that had all the girls swooning in seconds, swiping four potions from your shelf and stuffing them in his pocket. "i'll come back again to try more!"

+ "wait, you just came here to take my stuff?" you asked, stopping the three in their tracks. sure, it's . . . fine that they stole your things without permission, but your lab was usually off-limits for those who didn't belong in your department. well, now that you think about it, when did these three ever follow rules?

+ rion waved her hand. "we'd love to talk, babes, but we gotta dash. will use these potions well, though!"

+ and nagumo added with a more enthusiastic wave, "keep a separate shelf just for me!"

+ and they left, leaving you to finish your work of delivering pills to the weapons department. they were a funny bunch, you always thought as you sometimes passed by them in the hallway. rion would always strike a conversation whenever you bumped into each other. she was always so sweet to you. sakamoto occasionally asked how your projects were going since it was a season of missions being carried out more often than ever, so you were ever-so-busy with surgeries. nagumo had the biggest grin on his face as he bombarded you with requests like a strawberry and lemon flavoured potion for his fatigue. they were strange but fun all the same.

+ since then, they made a common appearance, sometimes it was just rion who wanted to have a chat. you got along well, getting to know her likes and dislikes, laughing along when she verbally tore sakamoto and nagumo apart like they were shreds of paper. other times, it was nagumo alone and when it was just him, it was like a spitfire of insults after insults.

+ when nagumo is fiddling with one of your brain-relaxing equipments that you made just a week ago, he realises that you're a lot quieter when it's just him, when rion and sakamoto aren't present. "hm? why is it when akao and sakamoto are here, you have so much to say, but you're silent when it's me?" and honestly, it felt like a big slap to the face because wow, it was true.

+ ". . . shut up," you said, earning a chuckle from him. "the whole building will be able to hear you yapping."

+ today, a few years after their first intrusion in your lab, nagumo is taller and different at the age of 19. he wasn't more mature per se, but he definitely carried a more confident wittier aura that you didn't recognise from before. you, at 19 were renowned for your fantastic creations. one of your best moments was when you received a commission from an order member albeit a small one. your efforts were so well-recognised that applications for your department were growing much to your pleasure. rion congratulated you a lot, sakamoto actually used your creations and nagumo had never broken his streak of making sure to visit you almost everyday.

+ and you don't know when you started to feel this way, but whenever nagumo entered the room, time seemed to go painfully slower as though he was staying in your lab for longer than you thought. your equations for perfecting brain damage potions seemed harder than normal and you just couldn't seem to find that one blueprint that was always in its same place. even nagumo went, "it's this one, no? it was right under your hands" much to your embarrassment. your brain was scattered whenever he was near you and you really hated it.

+ and what was worse is that he noticed all this and was enjoying it.

+ "is my (name) . . . a little distracted?"

+ yes, yes. infuriatingly so, you think as you watch nagumo bounce over to where you stand in the far corner of your lab. he has that mischevious grin, the one that you want to melt off his annoyingly-handsome face. did it never occur to him that you couldn't work at your best whenever his talkative ass was in the room? is he really that stupid that you have to say, "nagumo, i need to do my work," then deal with those big eyes of his begging to stay? if he was a little less insufferable, maybe you would've─

+ you freeze. wait, he said 'my?'

+ and nagumo, his face creased with laughter, sees the cogs whir in your brain as you finally realise that he really just indirectly labelled you as his.

+ "don't tell me you've been ignoring me for that long."

+ and much to your dismay, it hits you that yeah, he's always been there. "wow! my (name) seems to like today's lunch! i don't see you here that often!" he once commented when you sat with him at the cafeteria. "the food's not always so great, but today seems ok."

+ or the other time when you had a first-year student schedule an appointment with you because he wanted advice for his weapons. nagumo saw him waiting outside your lab. "hmm, my (name) is a bit busy today! why don't you come back later?" he said while he was opening the door to waltz in, "ah! my (name) i've come to bother you!" he sang before slamming the door. you didn't manage to see the poor kid because nagumo took up your entire evening.

+ and you really did find yourself making a separate cabinet just for nagumo. even to this day, at the ripe age of 27, you made soothing creams for burns, motion sickness pills and gums for him to chew on for whenever osaragi would drive. his placement as an order member made him busier but never enough to keep him away from you. whenever you're at the clinic for your day-job, nagumo made frequent appearances. he'd lean on the front desk and request for his usual "lovely, lovely and beautifully perfected doctor," even when you're literally standing there, typing away at the computer. "yoichi, you're really doing this on my shift." it would never stop him. "i am your shift!"

+ he's surprisingly romantic for someone with little dating history. he's had a few girlfriends in the past but because of his occupation, they obviously don't last long. with you though? though not a fully-fledged assassin yourself, you're part of that world, his world, so you understand the burden and pressure that comes with it. just like nagumo is tasked with completing his missions with no mistakes, you're equally expected to never fail a surgery, always finish on time and come up with new ideas. it's a cycle where you both have each other backs.

+ like, as much as he jokes, he's very proud of your achievements. as an order member himself, he'd probably commission you a lot and if anyone needs surgical assistance or high-tech weapons, he'd be quick to mention your name. of course, he hesitates just a little because he doesn't want to share, but for the better of your work, he puts your name out there.

+ he doesn't get heavily injured because he's scarily skilled. his 'gold assassin's license' that he boasts about keeps him protected, but just to rile you up, he'd limp in through your clinic or house, crying for the kiss of the doctor that he's come to adore. if you're at the clinic, you need to appear more professional because you have people you see everyday watching you care for this grown ass man wailing his guts out. if you're at home, you're much more relaxed and honestly, so's nagumo as he leans into your delicate touch.

+ generally, he's so proud and whipped about the fact that you're a doctor and are so capable of doing what you do. he has extensive knowledge on poisons, so he tries to add his recommendations from time to time and he's grateful whenever you take it. on the rare case that you don't, he acts hurt, "oh . . . my (name) doesn't like my idea," and he'd jokingly mope until you kiss his ego better. anything can solve this man's problems if you silence him with a kiss.

+ sakamoto's like ". . . please tell me you did not get with nagumo," and nagumo finds this hilarious. he's like, "i have an idea! let's go on double dates with you, me, aoi and (name)!" to which sakamoto rejects. he doesn't mind the idea of you being friends with his wife, of course, but he doesn't want to take nagumo anywhere.

+ sometimes, he'd disguise himself as you and nonchalantly act as if he's doing chores in your house until you come back home. so when he sees you, he points and goes, "an imposter!" and at this point, you play along, "there's my doppelganger. can you give me back my boyfriend, please." and as soon as you say that, he transforms back and grabs you.

+ life with this mf is a wild ride, but honestly, you signed up for it, so good luck. once his eyes are set on someone, he goes all in and is not about to give it up. especially when he knows how serious you are about him and he is for you. a match made in heaven!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

49 / 1.5k / TF141's free use medic + lil riff on @majinbangus's words about Ghost trying to teach Soap how to take care of his toys.

...

"Is the collar really necessary?"

Ghost smirks, pulling the leash taut. "Are you really in any position to question us, love?"

You're forced to lean into him. A haughty scowl flashes across your face, but you smooth it back into cold, professional disdain. "No."

"That’s right. You’re not." His voice is a low, gruff rasp as he uses the leash to yank you closer against his solid body. "You’re not in any position to do anything except what you’re told, yeah? You got a problem with that?"

"No. Not one."

"Good." He smirks, his eyes running over you appraisingly. "Now, get on your knees."

You do as he says.

Gaz and Soap observe you and Ghost, stances relaxed and eyes sharp as knives.

"Look at that," Soap murmurs to Gaz. "She's already trained."

⬇ nsfw, dom/sub dynamics, free use, objectification, toxic polyamory

You cut a sideways glare at Soap out of the corner of your eye, but Ghost's fingers are still hooked into your o-ring. He forces you to look back up at him.

"Eyes on me," he growls. "You don't look at my boys without my permission, understood?" His cold voice is as soft as a knife sliding between your ribs, and he gives the steel o-ring a sharp, warning tug. "Or are you gonna be a handful this time?"

You stare up at him. You're aching, mind exhausted, body wired with too much energy. Restless. "Haven't decided," you tell him, voice low.

He likes it when you’re bratty. "Careful, love. You know the consequences for disobedience." You feel his hand thread into your hair, tugging it just a bit, forcing you to arch back against his grip. "If you’re gonna get smart with me, I'll gag that pretty mouth."

You shift, pulse speeding up. "Promise?"

Ghost's eyes darken. "Open."

You open your mouth just in time for him to grip your hair and slide his cock down your throat.

He keeps a tight hold, controlling you as you take him in. "That's right. Just like I trained you."

Soap can’t help but let out a soft groan of approval. His jaw is already tight from watching Ghost dominate you. You’re a pretty sight on your knees, even with your eyes turned away from him, even with the stab of jealousy in his gut. But you look so good like this Soap would watch you gag on anyone. Ghost isn't the worst option, anyway. Not when Soap knows you're still gonna be thinking about him.

But then Ghost starts rocking against your mouth, and Soap makes a soft, ragged sound, the sound of a man struggling to keep himself in check. "I want a go," he tells Ghost.

"No. Sit down."

Soap sulks, but obeys. With a grunt, he drops back onto the bed to watch. His pants are tight--he grips a fistful of fabric on each thigh in an attempt to keep himself occupied--but he won’t touch you until Ghost gives him permission.

His blue eyes smolder. He wants you. But Ghost is possessive about you, and Soap knows he has to follow his lead. He knows better than to go against a direct order.

Gaz smirks. He, too, knows better than to stir up conflict. He also knows better than to tease Soap right now.

"Gaz," Ghost says.

Gaz snaps to attention. "Sir."

"Bring the leather cuffs."

"Rog'."

Ghost's eyes never leave you as Gaz retrieves the leather cuffs from a duffel. They're soft with wear, but strong enough to withstand whatever bratting you intend to do. Strong enough to withstand the punishment, too.

"On her," Ghost orders Gaz, nodding toward your hands.

They're resting on Ghost's thighs as you continue working him in and out of your throat. You're hardly paying attention to their conversation until Gaz pulls your arms behind your back instead. You pull your arms away, gripping the back of Ghost's knee with one and slotting the other between your legs. You're not in the habit of making yourself easy to work with.

"What did I say, love?" Ghost's words are a low, warning growl. "Keep testing my patience. Give me a reason." He punctuates his words with a sharp, firm tug on your hair. "You want me to show you what happens when you misbehave?"

Gaz smirks, watching you lean away from him and into Ghost. He runs his fingertips down your arm, letting his hand travel between your legs to join yours. He grips it hard, pushing your greedy fingertips against your bare folds.

"Easy, doc," he mutters. "Nice 'n easy, yeah?"

You choke out a groan around Ghost, vision blurring at the rough handling. Your hips twitch forward. You need more.

And you feel Johnny's eyes on you, burning to be where Gaz is. So close to you.

Soap's body is taut, stretched far too tight, gripping his pant legs the way he's dying to get a grip on you. He can’t look away.

"Gaz," Ghost says, his eyes on Soap. "Don't be too rough. We don't want to break our toy again."

"Yeah, I remember," Gaz says with a smirk. He watches you grind against his fingers intertwined with yours, working on Ghost all the while. "Still. She looks like she can take a little bit of roughing up."

"Fuck off," Soap mutters.

"Careful, MacTavish," Gaz replies, cool as ever. "Jealousy’s not a good look on you."

"I get my turn," Soap snaps. "We've been over this."

"You get your turn with the medic when you learn to treat her nicer. Gaz," Ghost grunts, "that’s enough. Give her a second to breathe, and then get her wrists in those cuffs."

Ghost hooks his fingers through your collar again and pulls you away. You slide off him with a frustrated groan, fighting his grip. "Simon--"

"Greedy slut." He runs his palm down your cheek, possessive. He can feel how wound up you are right now, how much you want to play. He knows you need to be owned. "Pushing your limits won't get you rougher treatment. Not tonight. We're doing things how I want. You understand?" He gives your leash a sharp tug. "You're my medic. You do what I say."

You suppress an angry sigh, gulping in air instead as he strokes your face. The gesture is sweet, almost tender, and you don't want that. You want pain. You want tears. You want to be hollowed out and forget who you are.

"Fuck you." You let your head loll to the side and look over at the bed, leveling your heated gaze at Soap. "I want Johnny to touch me."

Soap's gaze glows with heat when you lock eyes with him. He hears you say his name, sees those pretty lips wrap around the syllables. The desire in his eyes is enough to make you shiver.

"Eyes on me." Ghost grips your face, forcing your traitorous eyes back to him. "You’re not getting him. He's not as gentle with you as I am. You know what happened last time."

"I like how he hurts me," you mutter. Shame prickles down your throat.

"Don't say that." A possessive edge sharpens his tone. He's not going to let Soap have you. "You want me to give you more. You don't want to be hurt. Soap is too rough."

You stare up into Ghost's face, naked as you are except for the collar and the cuffs as Gaz finishes securing them. But your gaze is cold and serious. You've never lied to Ghost before. Why would you start now?

He holds your gaze. You pretend at rebellion, but it's a ploy. You're already wet and malleable; you're still aching to wrap your lips around his cock again.

Still. He doesn't like when you get stubborn like this. Doesn't like being wrong. Doesn't like the thought of not satisfying you as much as Soap does. You should know he can give you the pain you need. He knows your limits; Soap doesn't. He can't give you to him. Not when Soap has demonstrated how little he's willing to control himself with you.

"That so?" Ghost's voice is a low snarl. "I’m sure Johnny wants that too." He glances back over at Soap, who's starting to look uneasy. "Looks like he's already trying to imagine it. Should we give him a better view, love?"

"Si--!"

Before his name can leave your mouth, Ghost is wrenching you up and forward, bending you over the dingy hotel room's countertop. He pulls the leash taut and winds the end several times around your leather wrist cuffs to force your back to arch.

Gaz smirks to himself, watching you arch against Ghost's grip. He sits on the bed, eyes on you as you struggle against his Lieutenant.

Soap has to lean forward from his position on the bed, jaw tight, eyes glittering as he drinks in the sight. Ghost grabs your ass and spreads you apart to make sure Soap can see.

"You think he's entitled to your body," Ghost growls, lining his cock up with your weeping slit and prodding his thumb cruelly hard against your asshole. "Fine. I'll show you both what happens to broken toys."

...

more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / more free use medic / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[svetamillss]

NSFW alphabet with her💋🫦

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f)

A/N: This is the first time I've written something like this, so there may be mistakes! Inspired by a similar alphabet with Thanos!

💋🫦💋🫦💋🫦

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

After sex, the girl will carefully take care of you. She will help you take a shower, change clothes, and also change the bed if necessary. In general, Hyun Ju is a dream.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

The girl loves all parts of your body, but she pays more attention to your breasts and hips, licking and caressing them, also leaving scarlet marks. She loves breasts and hands in herself, because you pay a lot of attention to these parts, shower them with compliments and so on.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Your girlfriend cums inside you or on your stomach, sometimes maybe on your face, but only with your permission.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Hyun Joo has long dreamed of fucking you at work. But she is very afraid that you will refuse, and she does not want to be noticed by your colleagues, but, on the other hand, she wants to experience adrenaline.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

The girl had a relationship before you, not very long, but she is still more experienced than you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary: she likes to see your face, eye contact is also important for a girl, because through a look she can understand whether you like it or not

Cowgirl: she likes it when you can ride her and she has a great view of your breasts.

When the girl does all the operations, you will learn to do lesbian poses.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

She is very serious, but sometimes she can joke, especially when she sees your cute face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As a true lady, she always takes care of her hair, so you will always be comfortable.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

For her, sex is a very close and intimate process, she is always serious, but also very romantic, will shower you with compliments and also likes to tease you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

With the arrival of you, Hyun Ju began to masturbate much less often, except when you are not around for a long time or have not had sex for a long time.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Cute nicknames, as well as the nickname "Mommy" as you often call it, as well as a kink to your flirt.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

She loves classics, so you study on the bed or on the couch, but sometimes you can also do it in the shower.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you put on underwear in front of her to seduce, your dirty talk with her, teasing.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

She will never hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She always gives you everything, but she also likes it when you give her a blowjob.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

The girl is often slow and very sensitive, but sometimes she can be rude and fast, but all with your permission.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

She doesn't like quick sex, because it's very important for her that you both enjoy the process.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

She doesn't like experiments very much, but she can do it if you don't mind it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

It can last 3-4 rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No toys.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She teases you a lot, because that way your face becomes even more embarrassed.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Hyun Ju is usually not very loud, sometimes she can't be heard at all because of your moans. But if you ask well, she's ready to scream.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

On one of your dates at home, she dressed up in a chic tight red dress and danced for you the best striptease of your life.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

7.5 inches.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High, especially when she missed you a lot.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

The girl will go to sleep only after taking care of you and seeing that you are sleeping sweetly.

����🫦💋🫦💋🫦

[teaboot]

Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.

This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.

You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.

For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.

White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.

Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.

Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.

The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.

There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.

The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"

You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.

Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.

Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.

Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.

If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.

If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.

When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".

[accidentcache]

taking care of sick DabiHawks except they're either acting like they're dying (it's a cold) or acting like they're not sick at all (bro could collapse at any seconds)

so it's scolding them 50% of the time, 20% "I shouldn't hug and kiss you cause I don't wanna get sick but I'll just make a little exception", 15% ACTUALLY taking care of them and 15% listening to their illness thoughts that makes no sense

taking care of sick dabihawks would be a fucking nightmare

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