#trying to figure out if i like him or hate him

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

🍂🍁🎃

❤️ just some tooth rotting fluff involving Eddie and his not so secret admirer

🎃💌

Eddie was in hell. Who's idea was it to do this stupid shit again?

A banner hung from outside the school that proclaimed today was Boo Day 👻🎃 a day dedicated to your boo (partner) or someone you admired.

Who had came up with this monstrosity you ask? Why that was Miss O'Donnell. She had the idea to have the day before Halloween dedicated to love. Where she had even had an idea like that was anyone's guess but Eddie was pretty certain that the old bat had lost her mind.

Or teaching Eddie for three years had finally driven her crazy.

Everywhere he looked people were cooing over mystery cards that they had gotten from a secret admirer.

This was another thing he hated about this whole day, he had to suffer through Valentine's Day, now he has to go through this shit as well? Who the hell would send him a card like that?

He'd be slightly jealous if he didn't think this was load of bullshit.

He dodges excited students dressed up as ghosts and pumpkins, students who Miss O'Donnell had cajoled into delivering cards and gifts to people who had participated in the card and gift exchange.

Finally there is a hint of escape when he barges into the drama room and breathes a sigh of relief. Jesus h Christ that was a nightmare.

It takes Eddie a second to realise that he's not alone. His heart skips a beat when he realises you're with him.

🎃💌

You're settled on one of the desks with a serene smile on your face that disappears the moment you hear the door open.

Once you see it's just Eddie and no loved up couples looking for a place to make out, you feel yourself relaxing once more.

"Hey Eddie" the haggard look on his face morphs into a genuine smile, all cute dimples and big brown eyes lighting up.

He was so cute and you had the biggest crush on him and you had planned to tell him, today in fact but his loud proclamation that this day was all a bunch of bullshit made you chicken out of handing him the card you made.

You doubted he felt the same anyway, he probably had a crush on one of the cheerleaders or someone like that.

Even if he said he didn't conform to societal standards you still caught him checking out the cheerleaders once or twice. You weren't a cheerleader or popular or anything like that, you just did what you liked and right now that was occasionally joining in on a Hellfire campaign or drawing or writing, honestly anything creative was your thing.

"So do you not have a secret admirer you made a card for?" Eddie teases and you clam up, avoiding his eyes.

"Maybe it's not like he feels the same though" you murmur and notice that Eddie isn't smiling anymore, in fact he looks kinda pissed and a little sad.

"Right, so I guess it's some popular douchebag or something?" He mutters and you try to figure out why his mood has suddenly changed so dramatically.

Was he jealous of who you liked? Didn't he realise that it was him you were smitten by. Shit what if he didn't... Feeling brave you decide to tell him how you feel and hope that he feels the same way or at least things aren't awkward between you after it all.

"It's you. I made a card for you Eddie" shit you wish the ground would swallow you up. The waiting to know how he felt was horrendous, if he laughed in your face you're sure that you'd high tail it out of here.

Instead of laughing he's gawking at you and you're ready to leave and hope to forget this all but something in his expression stops you.

"Maybe I should thank Miss O'Donell after all then" he's grinning widely and looks thrilled. "Can I see the card sweetheart?" flustered you nod and hand him the card.

It has a hand drawn picture of a pumpkin patch and you wrote inside if you were a pumpkin I would pick you 🎃❤️

Cheesy yes but you thought it was cute. Now however you're second guessing that decision and mortification fills you. Shit. This was a bad idea.

The anxiety leaves you when Eddie looks up at you smiling, he hides his face with his hair and it's so adorable.

"Aww shucks sweetheart, that's so cute. Just so you know I feel the same about you, I like you a lot princess and I'm thinking that maybe I could take you on a date"

Beaming you kiss his cheek and nod. "Where were you thinking?" he holds up your card and points to the pumpkin.

"I'm thinking of visiting the Pumpkin patch in town" he suggests and the idea is so perfect that you can't help but giggling.

"Sounds perfect"

🎃❤️

[dreamescapeswriting]

Blood and Affection ~ LMH

☪WORD COUNT: 1.6K

☪GENRE: established relationships, minho worried about his girlfriend, cute, fluffy, worried minho, mafia au,

☪PAIRING: Mafia!Minhox Fem!Reader

☪Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - September 2024

☪MASTERLIST

You are in a relationship with Minho, one of the most powerful and feared mafia leaders in Seoul, someone everyone knew never to mess with or lie to which was why you hadn't been surprised when your nurse who was treated you told him where you were.

"Traitor." You whispered to her as you saw his car pulling up in the parking lot. She smirked over at you and shook her head. She, along with everyone else who worked for Minho, had known you a long time.

Your history with Minho ran deep—you were once his top operative, known for your flawless execution of missions and unmatched skill in the field. You'd trained every single day alongside some of the best of the best in the business and you were incredible. Not to toot your own horn anything but you were.

There wasn’t a single task you couldn’t handle, earning you a reputation that made even the most hardened criminals wary of crossing paths with you.

"You knew he was going to find out anyway. I did you a favour." The nurse teased as you rolled your eyes at her playfully. It wasn't anything major. In fact, you felt stupid for it to have even happened in the first place.

You'd been caught completely off guard and left exposed to something that shouldn't have even happened. 

"It's stupid, I wasn't even paying attention." You grumbled more at yourself than the nurse who was with you. But you hated it. How could you have missed something like this? Minho trusted you to be alone without a guard and now you knew that was never going to happen again.

You'd been out in town all morning, taking a rare moment to unwind in town, deciding to treat yourself at the spa and then at the local stores to some new clothes or some books if you'd seen any. But you'd only just left the spar when out of nowhere, you were ambushed by an assailant with a clear intent to kill. 

Though you fought - and incredibly might you add - and managed to eliminate your attacker, you weren’t unscathed. A deep stab wound in your side left you bleeding profusely. The pain had been nearly overwhelming as you'd struggled to stay conscious on the way to the hospital, it was wishful thinking that you could hide it from Minho. The man saw you naked every single night, if you'd somehow managed to hide it from him while your scar healed you'd have a hell of a lot of explaining to do for the new scar when you eventually got naked in front of him again. 

"Everyone has an off day," The nurse reminded you as she applied some cream to your stitches, eventually covering it with a bandage as you sighed a little. All you wanted was to go home and pretend the day hadn't even happened.

"But not everyone's off day is going to lead to them needing an armed guard at all times," You smiled at her and she bit her lip softly and nodded in understanding. As you lay back on the bed, trying to process everything that happened, the door burst open with a loud bang and you watched it vibrate off the wall. Minho, your stoic and usually composed former boss and now current boyfriend, storms in with a frantic look on his face. His eyes, usually so cold and calculating, are now wide with panic.

“Are you okay?! I heard what happened...” His voice cracks slightly as he hurries to your bedside, his usual air of control slipping away. Normally he was well put together and didn't show any kind of emotion since they were usually held against him but with you, he always let them out. 

"Minho, don't make this a big thing." You laugh weakly but he shakes his head at you. You knew asking him not to make a big deal with a lost cause but you'd figured you'd try anyway. Within a second he was on his knees next to you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for yours, his gaze scanning your bandaged wound with a mixture of fear and fury. The thought of losing you had him on edge, his usual cold demeanour shattered by the raw emotion he feels for you.

Minho glances up at the nurse, his voice laced with tension. The whole way over he'd been panicking about what he was supposed to do now, he'd already called his guys to arrange protection for you.

“What’s her condition? How long until she’s fully recovered? Are you sure she’s getting the best care?” He peppers the nurse with questions, his usual calm replaced with a sense of urgency. Your nurse opened her mouth to speak but was quickly cut off as he pointed to the IV that was inserted into your arm,

“And those painkillers—are they strong enough? I don’t want her in any more pain. Is she going to need to stay overnight?” You stroked his hand gently, the small act calming him down within seconds but you could still see just how on edge he was with this whole thing and you nodded at your nurse.

“She’s stable now, sir. The wound was deep, but she was strong. With rest and proper care, she’ll be okay, she should be able to go home as soon as this round of painkillers is done with.” Minho’s gaze flickers back to you, his expression softening as he takes your hand and squeezes it softly. 

“You hear that? You’re going to be okay,” he says, more to himself than to you, as if he needs the reassurance just as much. He placed his lips on top of your hand and kissed softly before shaking his head at you,

"Minho-" You tried to warn but you were quickly cut off,

“But this… this can’t happen again.” He pointed at your wound before leaning in closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and smiling weakly. There was no way he was going to ever let anything happen to you for as long as he lived. 

“From now on, you’re getting extra protection every time you step out. I don’t care if it’s just for a walk or to grab a coffee—you’ll have backup, no exceptions.” His tone leaves no room for argument, the fear of losing you still evident in his eyes. It was going to be pointless arguing with a man who was set in his ways as much as Minho was when it came to your safety,

“I can’t risk anything happening to you again. Not when you mean this much to me.” He whispered, the nurse excused herself once his men began to gather in the room. All of them watched Minho with a smile on their faces. You were the only one that had ever been able to pull any kind of emotions out of their scary boss,

"Is the hospital floor secure?"

"You did not kick anyone out, right?!" You screech at your boyfriend who looks at you with a nervous smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

"If I say no, it won't be a lie...technically

"Minho-" You hiss at him but he shakes his head at you, it wasn't as if he'd thrown them out of the hospital. He'd merely paid everyone to be moved quickly.

"I moved them to different floors," he shrugged at you before you scoffed and nudged his shoulder. You'd have been perfectly fine without him moving anybody.

"I don't need protection from a bunch of old people."

"I don't care," He mumbles, looking at you and then kissing your cheek softly as you playfully scolded him for being so damn overprotective.

"I can't lose you, Yn...I just can't." He finally whispered as you pulled him to sit on the bed with you, your head resting on his shoulder. His men quickly filtered out of the room leaving you alone again.

He’s quiet for a moment, just resting his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your arm as he tries to think of something to say to you. 

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and heavy with emotion. It had been hard for him when he'd heard the news of the attack, he'd gone into overprotective mode within seconds,

“I can’t lose you. I just… I can’t,” he whispers, the words almost a confession. 

“When I heard what happened, it felt like the ground was ripped out from under me. I’ve always been in control, always knew how to handle things… but when it comes to you…” He trails off, his grip on you tightening slightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him. You can feel the tremor in his voice, the raw vulnerability he rarely shows. 

“I’ve lost people before, but you… losing you would destroy me. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” You lift your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. The depth of his fear is written all over his face, the tough exterior he usually wears stripped away in this moment. You reach up, cupping his cheek in your hand, your thumb brushing away a tear he didn’t even realize had fallen.

“You won’t lose me, Minho,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, you’ll never lose me.”

His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to believe it, trying to let your words sink in. Finally, he exhales a shaky breath and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I’m holding you to that,” he murmurs, his voice a little steadier now, but still tinged with the lingering fear of what could have been. 

“Because I can’t… I won’t let you go.” He promised you as you nodded at him, cuddling into him softly.

"I'm not going anywhere," You whispered to him, closing your eyes as you laid your head on his chest.

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[noira-l]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠

⋆ ★ '𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞' - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

chapter summary: Megumi awkwardly asks Satoru for help with his first shave after weeks of hesitation. Despite the teasing, Satoru patiently guides him, creating an unexpected bonding moment between them.

warnings: fluff, father / son moment, slice of life, first shaving, hitting puberty, razors, a little cut (blood, just a tiny bit), teasing, Megumi is kinda awkward and Satoru is proud to be a father figure.

author's note: Oke! So! I haven't seen a fic like this anywhere (might be wrong, correct me if so), and I found the concept totally adorable and couldn't resist writing this as soon as the thought popped into my head. Hope you like interactions between them ;3

It had been a long couple of weeks for Megumi.

Every morning, he stared at the mirror, glaring at the small, stubborn patch of facial hair growing on his upper lip and chin.

At first, he tried to ignore it, thinking it might just be a phase, something that would disappear as quickly as it had appeared. But each day, it seemed to taunt him, getting thicker and darker. It was an undeniable sign that puberty, the inevitable storm he’d been trying to dodge, had arrived.

Megumi wasn’t one for asking for help, especially with personal things like this. He liked his independence, his ability to figure things out on his own.

But this?

Shaving?

This was unfamiliar territory, and though he hated to admit it, he needed guidance. He had stared at the razor his guardian had left out on the bathroom counter for a few days, feeling its weight in his hand as he practiced slow, cautious strokes in the air, too nervous to actually try it on his face. The thought of cutting himself was embarrassing enough. The last thing he needed was to walk around with a face full of tiny nicks and razor burns.

After much internal debate, he came to an uncomfortable conclusion: the only person who could help him with this was Satoru Gojo.

That realization didn’t sit well with Megumi. Of all the people to turn to, it had to be him.

Satoru was playful, unpredictable, and never missed an opportunity to tease Megumi about anything remotely personal. The idea of standing in front of a mirror with Satoru beside him, cracking jokes and treating it like some kind of bonding experience, made Megumi cringe. But, as much as he wanted to avoid it, he didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t ask Satoru, he’d have to figure it out himself - and that was a gamble Megumi wasn’t willing to take.

So, he waited.

He waited through the days when Satoru went on missions, or came home so late that he didn't manage to reach him, waited through the long silences when the house seemed even emptier without him. When Satoru was finally home at his normal evening time, Megumi knew he was out of time. He had run out of excuses.

Tonight was the night.

With a mix of reluctance and awkwardness, black haired one found himself standing outside the bathroom door, his hand hovering over it.

Inside, the sound of running water splashed against the sink. Satoru had disappeared into the bathroom minutes earlier, likely getting ready for bed after a long day. Megumi shifted on his feet, internally debating whether to knock or to just turn around and pretend like none of this mattered.

But the patchy mustache on his face wouldn’t let him ignore reality any longer.

He raised his hand to knock, hesitated, then finally let out a quiet tap against the door, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of water. For a brief second, Megumi hoped maybe Satoru hadn’t heard it, and he could walk away. Maybe he could figure this out some other time, when it didn’t feel quite so embarrassing.

The hope didn’t last long.

There was a pause before the door swung open.

Satoru stood there, relaxed as usual, with a long shirt on and a towel slung over his shoulder. His white hair was still damp from the shower, with a few strands falling sloppily across his forehead. A small smile appeared on his face when he saw Megumi standing with her hands clumsily folded, trying to look indifferent.

"Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite brooding teenager." Satoru greeted, leaning casually against the doorframe, he mischief in his voice unmistakable "What’s up?"

Megumi shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor before looking up at Satoru with a faint scowl.

"I, uh… I need your help with something."

Satoru raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued "My help? With what exactly?" his grin widened as if sensing the awkwardness radiating off the kid "Come on, spill it. What’s the big deal?"

Eyes lowered to the floor, a faint scowl replacing any response. Megumi let out a frustrated breath, clearly uncomfortable "I… I need to learn how to shave."

For a second, there was silence. Then, predictably, Satoru's grin morphed into a wide, amused smile.

"Oh, this is amazing." he said, unable to contain his laughter "You, Megumi Fushiguro, the kid who broods his way through everything, needs my help with shaving? Oh, this is great. Really great."

Megumi rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest "I knew this was a mistake." he grumbled, turning as if to walk away "Forget it, I’ll figure it out myself."

But before Megumi could take a step, Satoru reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back toward the bathroom.

"No, no, wait, don’t be like that. I’m just messing with you!" he said, though the smirk hadn’t left his face "Come on, let’s do this. It'll be fun."

Megumi frowned, but he didn’t resist as Satoru ushered him into the bathroom.

The space was bright and the counter was cluttered with Satoru's various personal care products, though half of them looked like they hadn't been touched in months. The smell of shower gel was in the air. The older one crossed his arms, looking far too pleased with himself as he eyed the younger one’s face with exaggerated seriousness.

"Alright, kiddo, let’s start by taking a look." the older said with exaggerated seriousness, leaning in to inspect Megumi's face "Ah yes, a fine crop of peach fuzz, right here." he teased, poking lightly at his upper lip.

Fushiguro scowled, batting his hand away "It’s not that bad."

"Relax, it’s a rite of passage." Gojo replied, turning to rummage through the cabinet "Ah, here we go! Shaving cream, razor, aftershave… hmm, now do I trust you with a razor, or do I need to call in a professional?"

"Just get on with it." Megumi glared at him, exasperated.

Satoru chuckled, but didn’t push it further. He grabbed one of many razors in a multipack from the cabinet and handed it to Fushiguro with a grin.

Black haired stood in front of the bathroom mirror, now smeared with a bit of condensation from Gojo's recent shower. The weight of the razor in his hand felt strangely significant, like it was a test of maturity that he wasn’t quite ready for.

Awkwardness lingered, thick and undeniable. Satoru stood beside him, fiddling with his own razor as if this were a casual activity they did every day, his usual playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"So! Just like there are many cursed techniques..." he began, his voice dramatic "... there are also many techniques for shaving. Some are more efficient than others, but today, I’m going to reveal to you my own secret shaving technique."

He turned the faucet on, letting the water warm up before grabbing a washcloth and handing it to Megumi "Okay, first, wet your face with warm water. Opens up the pores or whatever."

He followed Satoru’s instructions, wetting his face, though he still looked like he wasn’t entirely convinced this was necessary.

White haired one then shook the can of shaving cream dramatically before squeezed some into his palm and handing it to kid next to him "Now, the magic foam. Lather it up."

Fushiguro did as he was told, applying shaving cream to his face while Satoru stood beside him, doing exactly the same thing as he did.

"Don’t go too heavy. Just enough to cover your face, but not so much that you can’t see what you’re doing." he spread the foam evenly across his own face, demonstrating as he spoke "See? A nice, thin layer. You wanna feel the razor, not get lost in a mountain of foam."

He felt so awkward, like he was painting his face, but Gojo was watching him with a surprising amount of patience.

"Not bad, not bad." Satoru said, nodding approvingly "But don’t forget the neck, unless you’re planning on walking around with half your face looking clean and the other half looking like a scruffy mess."

"Can you be serious for once?" Megumi muttered, focusing on spreading the cream evenly to his neck as well, trying to remember all the steps Satoru had demonstrated earlier.

Satoru just grinned wider.

"Where’s the fun in that? Alright, now for the tricky part. The razor. You wanna go with the grain, not against it, or else you’ll end up with cuts and looking like you’ve been attacked by an army of tiny knives. That's funny, I had a situation like that in real life!"

Gojo demonstrated by making movements in the air, not yet applying a piece of plastic to his face. Megumi tried to feel with his hand how he should turn the tool, so that it would go as smoothly as the older one next to him.

"Always go slow. If you rush, you’ll look like you’ve been in a fight with a cat and lost. Here’s the trick." Satoru said, lifting the razor and positioning it carefully against his neck.

"Start with the neck. It’s the easiest place to mess up, but also the easiest place to correct." Satoru explained, his tone suddenly more serious, as though he was giving instructions for something far more important than shaving "Just avoid too much pressure on Adam's apple and move slowly."

Megumi watched intently as Gojo carefully and precisely glided the razor down his neck, avoiding the sensitive area with practiced ease. Fushiguro, feeling a little more confident, brought the razor up to his own neck and mimicked the movements.

"Like this?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concentration as he worked alongside the white haired one, both of them standing side by side in front of the mirror.

"Exactly. Nice and steady." Satoru said, casting a sidelong glance at the younger one "Not bad, kid. Now, once you’ve got the neck down, you can move on to more complicated terrain." he watched as Megumi did a few strokes across his neck, he waited patiently for him to finish.

Satoru finished shaving his neck with ease "Don’t forget to rinse the blade after a couple of strokes." he did just that, risning the razor in boiling hot water. Then turned his attention to his chin. He lifted the razor, positioning it just below his lower lip.

"Now we move on to the chin. Gotta be careful here too, or you’ll end up looking like you lost a fight to a particularly angry porcupine."

Fushiguro followed suit, doing his best to replicate the careful movements his guardian was demonstrating. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, both razor-clad hands gliding across their skin.

It felt oddly… normal. Like this was something they did all the time, though it was far from their usual interactions.

"You know, I wasn’t really blessed with much facial hair. Genetics didn’t think I needed a full beard to complement my already perfect looks. But who knows, Megumi - you might end up with more to shave than I do."

Fushiguro huffed, concentrating on his strokes "Yeah, lucky me."

Satoru’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he continued to shave "Maybe you’ll be able to pull off that rugged look, huh? The ladies love that. But me, well, everything went into my other attributes." he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Can you just focus?" he nearly nicked himself.

Gojo chuckled "That’s what I should told you, you need to stay focused. Look at that - you’re getting distracted."

Black haired one glanced down and saw that he’d missed a spot on his chin. He muttered something under his breath, but quickly corrected his mistake, his movements now a little more cautious.

Gojo finished faster than him, completely avoiding the cheek area, as he mentioned he had absolutely nothing to shave there, so he washed his face straight away, wiping it with a towel.

Fushiguro, on the other hand, had a few randomly distributed hairs in different areas that he managed to shave off quickly, starting to catch on to how he should direct the blade to get the best effect.

"You know..." his guardian said, leaning against the counter "... you’ll be doing this more and more. Puberty’s a relentless thing. Before you know it, you’ll be shaving almost every day."

Megumi sighed "Great. Just what I wanted."

He was almost finished, but just as he reached a particularly tricky spot, the razor snagged slightly, catching on his skin. He stuttered in his movement, flinching slightly as the blade nicked him.

"Hold up." Satoru said immediately, catching the motion out of the corner of his eye "I told you. You’re not fighting a curse here, no need to rush."

Megumi frowned, frustrated with himself, dabbing at the small cut "Yeah, yeah. I’m fine."

Gojo gave him a knowing smile, though it was softer this time "Just a small nick, no big deal. Happens to everyone the first time."

"Even you?" Fushiguro asked, though there was a hint of skepticism in his tone.

"Especially me. You should’ve seen my first shave. Looked like I went head-to-head with a blender." a wide grin appeared on the pale face.

"I doubt that."

The last bit of cream disappeared from the young teenager's face. He turned on the tap and rinsed off the rest of the little white lines that remained on his face. The towel absorbed the drops of water that ran down his neck.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. Instantly better. Although he reproached himself for the little scratch, Megumi was genuinely pleased with the effect he had achieved. Finally he wouldn't have to be embarrassed at school about how he looked.

Satoru, standing beside him, seemed far too proud.

"Look at that! Clean as a whistle." he said, examining his face with exaggerated approval "Not bad for your first time. But we’re not done yet."

"Huh? What now?" Fushiguro groaned internally, shooting his guardian a sideways glance.

He didn't understand a bit, after all he had just finished, what does this annoying type still want from him? It's enough that he feels stupid sitting here with him anyway, asking him for help.

"The grand finale." Satoru announced, picking up a small bottle of aftershave from the counter. He wiggled the bottle in front of the teen's face like it was some kind of treasure "Aftershave cream!"

"What’s it for?"

Gojo uncapped the bottle, squeezing a small dollop of the aftershave cream onto his palm "It’s for soothing the skin after you’ve shaved, kid. Makes sure you don’t end up with razor burn. Plus, it smells nice - very sophisticated, like you’re someone important."

Megumi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced "You sure it’s not just another way for you to mess with me?"

Satoru gave a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "You wound me, Megumi. This is the real deal. You’ll thank me later."

He rubbed the aftershave cream between his hands and then gently applied it to his own face, patting it onto his freshly shaven skin with practiced ease.

"You don’t need too much, just a little to cover the areas you shaved. Trust me, it’s important. Otherwise, your face will feel like it’s on fire later."

Fushiguro eyed the bottle warily but took it from Gojo’s hand. He squeezed a small amount into his palm, hesitating for a moment before rubbing it between his hands and awkwardly patting it onto his face like the older one had done.

"Don't rub it in like you're washing your face." the older one said, grinning as he observed his technique "Just tap it on. Light touch. Gotta treat your skin like it's worth something."

Megumi muttered something under his breath, but adjusted his approach, patting the aftershave onto his cheeks and chin. The cooling sensation spread across his skin, soothing the slight irritation left from the razor.

"See?" Satoru said, giving a nod of approval "Nice and smooth. And now you smell like a responsible young adult."

"It’s... strong." black haired couldn’t help, but wrinkle his nose at the scent

White haired laughed, clapping Megumi on the shoulder.

"Yeah, but it fades pretty quickly. Besides, it’s part of the process. Get used to it - you’ll be doing this more and more."

Megumi wiped his hands on a towel, his face still tingling slightly from the aftershave. He looked in the mirror, taking in the results of his first proper shave. He looked good, like his normal self he was used to.

Satoru stood beside him, admiring his own reflection with a satisfied grin.

"Now you’re officially a man. Or at least, a step closer to it."

There was no respond to that, just flicker in younger eyes, as if he realised something.

Satoru grabbed the aftershave bottle and put it back on the counter, then turned to Megumi with a grin.

"Next time, we’ll get into the more advanced stuff. Maybe I’ll even teach you about beard shaping."

"I’m never growing a beard." Fushiguro shot him a flat look.

Gojo chuckled in respond.

"That’s what they all say. Just wait until it sneaks up on you."

The teen shook his head, already done with the conversation, but despite himself, he felt a small sense of relief. This whole shaving thing wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be, and Satoru - teasing aside - had actually been helpful. Weirdly enough, it was kind of nice having him around for things like this.

"Alright, shaving master..." Satoru said, throwing his arm around his shoulders as they left the bathroom "...let’s go show off that baby face to the world. And remember, every time you shave, think of it as another step toward adulthood."

"Pretty sure it’s just a step toward more chores." he snorted in respond.

Gojo grinned "Exactly! You’re getting it."

Megumi, now freshly shaved stood at the door of his bedroom, watching as his guardian stretch his arms above his head with a satisfied grin.

"Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?" Satoru asked, still clearly pleased with himself as he prepared to head to your shared bedroom.

Fushiguro shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes flicking down to the floor as he cleared his throat.

"Yeah, it was… fine." he muttered, glancing up briefly before looking away again.

There was a pause, then he added, barely audible "Thanks for the help."

Satoru turned toward him, his grin softening into something more genuine. He walked over to Megumi and gave him a playful pat on the shoulder, though his tone had a rare warmth to it "Anytime, kid. And hey - don't be embarrassed. You did good."

Megumi's face flushed slightly, and he gave a small nod before opening the door "Good night, Gojo."

Satoru smirked, watching him go.

"Good night, Megumi." he called after him, amusement dancing in his voice.

As Satoru lay back on the bed, a quiet sense of softness washed over him.

He hadn’t expected Megumi asking for help with something as simple as shaving to hit him like this. For all the teasing and playful banter, there was something deeper - Megumi was growing up and Satoru felt like he was more than just a protector, guardian or teacher.

He was part of that growth.

And he couldn't be more proud.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

tl: @kalopsia-flaneur

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Crash Course

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Word count: 798

Pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: As Y/n recovers from her injuries, an unexpected visit from Lando leads to a heartfelt confession, shifting their relationship from fierce rivalry to the possibility of something more

______________________________________________________________

Y/n lay on the medical bed, her side wrapped in gauze, the sharp sting of the injury finally dulled by painkillers. The medical team had assured her it wasn’t anything too serious—just a few cracked ribs and a deep cut from the impact. She'd be back in the car soon enough. But as she stared up at the ceiling, her mind wasn’t on the injury.

It was on Lando.

The way he had looked at her, the worry in his eyes, the unexpected softness in his voice—it all played on repeat in her head. She had spent months thinking of him as nothing more than a rival, someone she needed to beat, someone who annoyed her with his smug attitude and relentless determination. But now, the walls between them seemed to have crumbled in a matter of moments.

The door to the room creaked open, and Y/n instinctively tensed, expecting a doctor. Instead, Lando slipped in, quiet and cautious. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by an expression she barely recognized—concern, maybe even something more.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low as he moved to stand beside her bed.

Y/n forced a smile, trying to play off the awkwardness that had settled between them. “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse.”

Lando’s lips twitched upward in a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked down at her for a long moment, like he was wrestling with something, then pulled up a chair, sitting beside her bed.

“Listen, Y/n… about earlier—” he began, but Y/n cut him off, shifting slightly to sit up straighter despite the protest from her ribs.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” she said quickly. “We both screwed up. I was pushing too hard. We crashed. End of story.”

“It’s not just about the crash,” Lando said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked nervously to hers. “I was angry, sure, but… when you nearly collapsed like that—” He hesitated, his gaze softening. “It scared me. More than I thought it would.”

Y/n stared at him, her chest tightening—not from the pain, but from the weight of his words. This was the Lando she had never seen, the one behind the constant rivalry and playful arrogance.

“I didn’t realize I was hurt,” she admitted quietly. “The adrenaline… I just wanted to get to you and tell you off.” She tried to laugh, but it came out weak and half-hearted.

Lando’s lips curled into a small smile. “Yeah, I figured. You always have something to say.”

She looked down, avoiding his eyes for a moment. “You said you don’t hate me,” she whispered. “But… all we’ve ever done is fight.”

Lando let out a slow breath, leaning back in the chair, his gaze never leaving her face. “That’s because I didn’t know how else to deal with it. With you. I wanted to win, to prove I could beat you, but… I also didn’t want to admit how much I admired you.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. “Admired me?”

Lando shrugged, his expression softening. “You’re fierce, Y/n. You fight for every inch on track. You don’t back down, not from anyone—not even me. It drove me crazy because, deep down, I knew I liked it. Liked you.”

For a moment, the room fell into silence, the weight of his confession settling between them. Y/n searched his face, trying to find any hint of mockery, but all she saw was honesty. It was disarming.

“I’ve been so focused on beating you,” Y/n murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped to think about anything else.”

Lando leaned closer, his voice soft but intense. “Maybe we should start thinking about something else.”

Y/n’s gaze flicked up to meet his, and in that instant, the tension between them shifted. It was no longer fueled by competition or rivalry, but by something deeper, something that had been building beneath the surface for far longer than either of them had realized.

Before she could say anything, the door creaked open again, and a nurse stepped in, breaking the moment.

“I’m sorry, but we need to check on the patient,” the nurse said kindly, though her presence felt like a bucket of cold water over the moment.

Lando stood, nodding to the nurse before turning back to Y/n. “I’ll… I’ll check on you later,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on hers for just a moment longer than necessary.

Y/n nodded, watching as he left the room. As the door closed behind him, she sank back into the bed, her mind reeling from everything that had just happened.

Her rival. Her competitor. And now… maybe something more.

[yutarot]

IN PERFECT SYNC [j.jh smau]

twenty-two — i did it for you wc: 0.9k

there was nothing like the sweet, sweet bliss of fresh air amidst a college party. it was who you found in that fresh air, that made you want to turn around and walk back inside.

a face you haven’t seen for weeks.

the face of the girl who betrayed you.

giselle.

she didn’t see you right away, to engrossed in thought of whatever seemed to be bothering her, hidden behind a tail of cigarette smoke.

it was only after you’d turned your body in preparation to leave that she noticed you, her words stopping you in your tracks.

“you not having fun?” she asks.

you turn back around and she offers you her cigarette, which you politely refuse.

“i am..” you reply, “just needed some air.”

“ah.” she drops the cigarette to the floor, stomping it out with the toe of her heels. “sorry.”

you furrow your brows at her nicety. what’s the point in being nice now, after everything she had done to you?

as if she’s read your mind, she speaks up. “look yn, about Y..”

“you mean jaehyun? you can say his name giselle, i wont start crying.” you snap, and she flinches in shock.

“you know?” she asks, surprised.

but you’re even more surprised at her question. she seems eerily calm about the fact that Y was infact jaehyun. why was she more shocked about the fact that you knew? unless…

“you knew?” you question.

her head hangs in defeat.

she knew the whole time?

“giselle?”

she looks back up at you.

“i knew.” she whispers. “but yn-“

“it’s just one thing after the next with you.” you say, sighing, picking yourself up to go back inside.

but she stops you.

“i did it for you.”

huh..?

“what?”

“sleeping with him. i did it for you.”

you feel the need to bang your head incessantly against a brick wall in attempt to understand what the hell she means.

“oh so you slept with my ex bestfriend behind my back… all for me????” you feign adoration sarcastically, “awww giselle you didn’t have to.”

“yn! i’m serious!”

your smile falters as you notice a change in giselle a demeanour.

she’s telling the truth.

“what do you mean you did it for me?”

“remember when you got that message from Y saying ‘i’m over you.’?” she says.

“yes…”

“that night, i bumped into jaehyun on my way to the bathroom and uh, he looked upset.”

you’re confused.

“upset? what about?”

“you.”

you let her continue. “he was drunk, and so i asked him what was bothering him, not actually caring, just hoping i could yk, find out something interesting. and boy… i did…”

“he told you he was Y, didn’t he.”

“yeah… and look yn, i rlly wanted to go straight to you and tell you. but all i could think about was how you would feel if you found out that the one person in the world you hated the most ended up being Y. i knew that you would feel so embarrassed and hurt and i just really couldn’t stand to let you find out like that, not after everything he did to you and not after everything Y had said to you. i knew you were excited about it, i couldn’t stand to see you be let down.”

your eyes look down to the floor, trying to figure out what she’s trying to say. but she continues.

“so, drunk out of my mind, all i could think about is that he needs to get over you before you find out. i thought i could do something.”

“so you slept with him?”

“so i slept with him.”

wow.

you don’t know how to feel.

you have to admit, giselle’s drunken attempt at being a good friend to you was quite frankly stupid and albeit it insanely dumb, but her intentions shocked you.

“i didn’t think of the repercussions, i didn’t think of how you would feel when you found out about it. but i knew that id rather have you hate me than have your heart broken by the fact that Y was jaehyun. so i let you hate me. i wanted you to hate me, if it made you happy.”

just like how jaehyun did, you think to yourself. she had chosen your own feelings over hers.

“giselle…”

“i don’t expect you to forgive me, what i did was stupid. because you know now anyways.”

you don’t know how to tell giselle that whatever she did, worked. that jaehyun really is now over you, that Y isn’t him anymore. because something makes you reluctant to admit that she ended up being right.

“you really did all that so that jaehyun would get over me before i found out he was Y?”

“yeah, stupid right.”

you laugh, and she laughs too.

she’s right, it was stupid. and to you, her reasoning makes no sense, but to know that she didn’t purposefully betray you makes you feel a little better.

like jaehyun, she let you hate her so that your suspicion wouldn’t falter.

but you really can’t forgive her.

because, unlike jaehyun, she knew it was him she was sleeping with.

you sigh. “it’s too complex.”

she nods. “i’m really sorry.”

you smile, “see you around?”

“see you around.”

but you won’t. not tomorrow, not next year.

not ever.

mlist — next

notes; sorry to those of u who thought Y 2.0 was giselle 😢😢😢 but i wonder why yn and gigi won’t be friends ever again 🤔🤔🤔🤔 hmmm suspicious 🤔🤔🤔🤔 oh yeah btw tmrs chapter is the big Y 2.0 reveal😁 sleep well!

taglist — open; @https-yeonjun @chenlesfavorite @therealbobbyshloby @f6llsun @jkslvsnella @nanaxwi @cloudmrk @neocrashed @vernonburger @vividwritess @taeeflwrr @mmjhh1998 @cyjzzl @stareaa @minkyuncutie @mrkleelvr @dudekiss3r @nattan127 @slayhaechan @jaeveil @tynlvr @mslora @nosungluv @grassbutneo @dokyriu @girlz4jaem @axo-l0tl @yyangj3lly @solvrse @m1ng1swife @gentlepeach @xiuriii @soobinbunnie5 @tocupid @apolloxxivmin @ctrlstar @gyuguys @tokitosun @i-kai @flamingi @mrkleelvr @en-dream @queenrachelpink @ssweetreveries @swanyvess @flaminghotyourmom @hyuck-me @cryingforjae @hizhu @starfilledgaze

[xiao-come-home]

Thinking about post-story Jiaoqiu trying to find himself in the new situation.. and getting even more clingier 🤧

warning: spoilers for jaoqiu's story if you havent played the new quest. possible ooc jiaoqiu?

Word count: 1k+

a/n: its been a while from writing and even tho im not disabled in any way, i hope its alright bc im kinda nervous to post this. i just think hed be a lovely pain in the butt to get more love </3

The new reality has been a true challenge for Jiaoqiu - trying to navigate through the house was already a tedious task, let alone cooking, but he wasn't going to give up so easily. While yes, he did miss doing things by himself - which, once in a while brought dark clouds over his head - the foxian managed to find enjoyment through doing tasks together, with your help.

It's quite known that Jiaoqiu isn't afraid of craving affection from you anywhere and anytime - especially now, considering he's limited in what he's able to do safely without hurting himself. Now that you're welcome in the kitchen to assist him, the pink-haired foxian can't help, but pull you flush against him while you carefully guide his hands to cut vegetables in even slices.

The healer slowly trails the tip of his nose down your hair until he recognizes the familiar shape of your neck - Jiaoqiu nuzzles happily into you, ever so slightly tickling you and giving you goosebumps; he smiles against your skin when you let out a comically fake, tired sigh, only fueling him to continue pestering you further.

He purposely takes his chin off the top of your head and searches for your ears so he's able to whisper, but when you decide to playfully confront him, Jiaoqiu only plays dumb and tilts his head to the side, asking you a seemingly innocent question, "Hmm? What do you mean, love? I'm not doing anything, the kitchen is not a playground, remember?"

There's a chance you'd probably believe him if you two were mere coworkers - but his twitching ears always give away his attempts to lie to you.

Jiaoqiu is clingy. Absolutely no news to anybody. That's when you finally get done with cooking, it's time for the cunning foxian to get a break; he stretches his arms to you, waiting until you put his hands on your cheeks. He cups them gently, rubbing the soft flesh with his thumb, and softly moves it to find your lips - his mind paints a picture of your figure, the shape and every crease his fingers feel; he smiles at you yet again, with a glimmer of mischief.

He wants to kiss you.

He also knows he will most likely miss your lips more or less.

But instead of feeling hopeless, he uses it to his advantage.

Jiaoqiu begins to pepper your face in kisses until he feels you try to get away from him and hears your angelic giggles; he kisses your left eyebrow - oh no, that's definitely not the place he's aiming for! He moves more to the right and kisses the bridge of your nose - oh no, not yet! The softness of his lips meets the apple of your cheek - oh, that's closer, but still not the goal he has in his mind...

After a while of Jiaoqiu purposely changing directions (and probably missing some anyway, but it's not like he complains about it, since he can kiss you more this way), with a little help of yours, he places a kiss on the corner of your lips, barely giving you time to breathe and finally, finally reaching his awaited destination, pressing his lips on yours; he gives you a few quick kisses if he feels like he still misses the exact place to change the angle, melting into a puddle with butterflies in his stomach.

Is it hard sometimes? Yes. The heavy weight travels straight to his heart, leaving him clenching his fists; the foxian hates the helplessness that hurts twice as much, much worse than the wounds Hoolay has inflicted.

Nowadays, his ears pick up your step way better, even letting him guess correctly what jar of herbs you're opening from the mere sound. He uses his tail as some sort of object detector - but he only waves his fan innocently when it makes you yelp in surprise, as Jiaoqiu runs the tip down your spine all the way down.

"Ah, I wonder what that was?" Jiaoqiu wonders, the fluffy ears twitching and the pink tail swishing behind him, "Is something wrong, beloved? Did you mess up the measurements? No worries, we'll fix it right away."

Well, if you decide to leave the house for supplies, you now have to hold his hand all the time. Just to be sure, he also wraps his tail around you, so he knows you're by his side and he doesn't bump into anybody. Hey, he's just thinking about the civilians around him! As a doctor, there's nothing else that matters more than keeping them safe and healthy... Right?

Even though he's been braiding his hair for years and could probably do it by himself again - being only a tiny bit off on one side, he cuddles up to you in the morning and presses kisses onto your neck, silently asking you to help him once you get out of bed - you certainly can't miss his hair getting all up in your face... and therefore, what he's asking for.

Does he feel a liiiitle desperate? Mmm, a bit.

Does he feel like he's feeding the helplessness in the back of his mind? Sometimes.

But it's worth to look for happy moments regardless of the situation - and you being perfectly aware he's doing it solely to get even more of your attention - makes him feel a little better with it.

Though, he knows when to stop and give you space; he doesn't want to actually become your burden, even if he lost his sight, he's still trying his best to stay as independent as possible in terms of daily tasks as possible.

If you're tired, Jiaoqiu waits until you hand him the brush and he's the one combing your hair; if you're too sleepy in the morning, he's the one helping you put on your clothes with verbal help, even if it takes a bit more time than usual. Along with you, he organizes medicines so neatly, it takes a blink of an eye for him to bring a full tray of medicines when you happen to catch a cold.

Does he miss being able to see? More than he'd admit.

But the more he thinks, the pink-haired foxian always comes to the same conclusion - it'll probably be harder to unlearn the clinginess once his eyesight comes back...

But for now, maybe it's alright to indulge a little more?

[jetii]

hello lovely!!! if you have the time for it with your follower celebration, i’d looooove #21 with hunter 🤭 or if you get too many reqs for him with howzer or wolffe! tysm, and congrats on this big milestone!!!! 💗💗💗💗

okay so i got a lot of requests for #21 so i'm trying to do something different for each! also a slightly different style than i'm used to with some slightly more unhinged smut. @a-cryptid-called-magetha come get your man

A Game

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 5,049

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, smut, friends with benefits to lovers, Frat Batch era Hunter, semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, underwear kink?, the most dominant Hunter I'll ever write, he's still a simp tho

Prompt: 21. “Moan a little louder, cyare. Let all of 79s know who’s fucking you.”

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You’ve played this game a hundred times, so you know that when Hunter meets your eyes across the bar, you have a choice. You can walk over and talk to him, or you can ignore him. 

The first will take you on the route of the seducer. He’ll buy you a drink, and you’ll let him. You’ll let him slide his hands up your skirt, and you know where it ends.

You can already feel him behind you, his breath in your ear, his lips on your skin. You can hear him say the things he always says, the words that’ll make you feel like there’s no one else who has ever made you feel the way that he does. He won't be wrong.

Or, you can look away, and let him come to you. The seduced. It isn't like he won't find his way over. It isn't like he isn't always there. You'll pretend that you don't see him until you feel the heat of him right behind you, his presence filling the room, his hands on the back of your chair.

You'll pretend you're not thinking about him and what you could do with him. You'll pretend not to want it, because you know the game, and you know how to play it well.

You can tell yourself that you aren't going to give in. You're not going to let him kiss you, and touch you, and fuck you. But it's a lie. You are going to. And it infuriates you that you're still doing this. It makes you angry, and you can't quite figure out why.

You don't look at him again, because if you look at him, you'll be done for. It's not that you haven't had this conversation a thousand times. It's just that sometimes it feels like it's not a game anymore. It feels like something real, and you hate the part of you that wants to believe that. You hate the part of you that still lets you think that there's a chance.

So you don't look. And, even though he's the hunter, it's you who waits. It's you who watches. You don't have to turn your head to see him. You don't have to watch. You already know how it will play out. You're only here for the ending.

Hunter doesn't come to you right away. He takes his time, talking to his squad, pretending that he isn't watching you, pretending that he doesn't know exactly where you are. You know he can see the tension in your body. You can see it too, because you can't stop the way your hands clench, the way your thighs shift, the way your back straightens. You can't keep from turning your head to look at him.

It's then that he makes his move. He crosses the room to stand beside you, and the rest of the bar fades into the background. He doesn't touch you, doesn't even come close. Instead, he leans in and speaks, and his words are the ones that make you weak. "Let me get you a drink."

The thing is, you shouldn't let him. This isn't supposed to be happening. You aren't supposed to be here. Not with him.

"No." You shake your head. It's the first time you've ever said it, and you aren't sure how it feels. "I'm not interested."

He gives you a look, like maybe he doesn't understand what's happening, like he didn't expect to have to try this hard. Then, he looks down, and when his eyes meet yours again, you feel something shift. He knows.

His voice is different when he speaks, and he's so much closer now. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You nod, and it's not the first lie you've told tonight, but this one feels better, and so does the next one, the one where you tell him, "I have to go."

You leave the bar, and he doesn't follow. Not this time.

It's a good start.

The second time, you're not going to give in.

You don't know if you can say no again, but you have to try. Because there are things that matter. Things like love, and trust, and respect. There's a future.

You want that future. You want it more than anything, and that's what you have to remember.

Hunter walks in, and you think maybe he's going to ignore you. He’s talking with one of his brothers, the one that joined the Batch a few months back, and they seem engrossed in whatever they're talking about. You feel a flood of relief, and maybe a little disappointment.

But then, Hunter meets your eyes, and you realize that he hasn't forgotten. Across the floor, you're frozen in place, and all the things you should say, all the things you should do, have left your head. His eyes are dark, and the room is crowded, but somehow, it's like there's no one else here.

When he looks at you, it's like the whole world is falling away.

You're the first to break the contact, looking down and away, pretending you didn't see him. You feel a flush creeping up your neck, and you hope no one notices.

You can't do this.

You shouldn't do this.

It's the only thing on your mind as the music pounds through the speakers, and the crowd surges around you. It's all you can think about, and it's distracting, because you keep seeing him in your peripheral vision. It's like he's everywhere, and you can't escape.

You know that if you turn your head, he'll be there, and if he's there, then this will all be over. He'll come to you, and you'll let him. It will be like every other time, and you'll wonder why you tried, why you thought you could say no, why you thought it was worth a try.

He'll be there. You know he will.

You keep your head down, and your eyes averted. You focus on the lights and the music and the crowd. You focus on your feet, and your hands, and the glass in front of you. You don't think about Hunter.

Someone else approaches you. Not Hunter. Someone you don't know, and it's nice. This is the kind of thing you came here for. This is the distraction you needed.

You aren't sure why it makes you feel worse.

You go home alone.

The third time, Hunter comes to you, and it's over.

He doesn't wait. He doesn't ask. He's already got his arm around your waist, and his lips are pressed to your throat, and you've got no choice. There's no way to stop this, and no way to walk away.

"I missed you." He breathes the words into your ear, and there's no one else, not for a single moment, who could ever matter the way he does. You can't even remember what your life was like before him.

"You saw me a few days ago."

"It's not enough." His hands are in your hair, his hips pressed against yours. "Not anymore."

You have no answer to that. There's no reply.

Hunter pulls away, and he's still holding you, and when he speaks again, the words are low and urgent. "Don't make me beg. Please."

Your hand is on his chest, and you're not sure if you're trying to push him away or hold him closer. You've never heard him sound like this before, and it's something new. Something terrifying.

Something hopeful.

"Okay," you tell him.

Hunter exhales, and his arms tighten around you. He rests his forehead against yours, and there are a million things you want to say. You could say them. He might listen.

"Come on." He doesn't kiss you. He doesn't even let go. He just takes a step back, and you can't stop yourself from following. You know what's going to happen.

This is the part of the game you can't stop playing.

You aren't surprised when Hunter pulls you into the nearest darkened corner. He isn't gentle, and he doesn't stop moving. When you're alone, it's like he can't get close enough, can't touch you enough.

It's like this time, he wants to prove that he's still got a hold on you. That this hasn't changed.

It hasn't.

His lips are against your neck, and his fingers are digging into your hips. He's everywhere, and all you can think about is how this was a mistake. You knew it would be.

It's just that it's so hard to remember why.

“Hunter...” Your voice sounds strange, and Hunter lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are so dark, and the light from the main room glints off his tattoo.

When he meets your gaze, he stops. You see the realization cross his face, and it's not what you expected. You thought he'd keep going. You thought he'd push. You didn't think he'd care.

He doesn't speak, and neither do you. You're not sure how long you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

You don't say anything. There are no words. There's just him, and you, and the fact that, after all these months, the rules have changed.

For a moment, he almost looks scared, and you don't know what to say.

"I don't..." He looks away, and you can tell that he's struggling, trying to figure out what's happening, and what he's supposed to do. It's the first time you've seen him this unsure, and it's your fault.

"Hunter." This time, when you say his name, his eyes meet yours. He's not hiding anymore, and he's still touching you. You can still feel his breath on your face.

You've played this game a hundred times, but the stakes have never been higher.

"I can't."

Hunter frowns, and the confusion on his face is obvious. He doesn't understand. You're not sure if it's because he never believed that you could stop, or because he never expected that you would.

"You said—"

"I know what I said."

He takes a step back, and the space between the two of you is wide, and empty, and cold. The air is different without his hands on your skin.

"Did I do something?"

"No,” you say. You shake your head, and then, because there are some things you can't deny, you add, "Yes."

"Tell me." He's still standing so close, and when his voice drops, your breath catches. He puts his hand on your arm, and when he slides it up to your shoulder, his thumb grazes your collarbone. "Whatever it is, I can fix it. Tell me."

He's not listening, and he doesn't hear you. If he did, then this wouldn't be a problem.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

His hand freezes. "You don't want..."

"This," you say. You gesture to the space between the two of you. "This thing where we pretend that nothing's happening. It's not just sex anymore, Hunter. I'm not some random stranger. This means something."

He's still frowning, and you're not sure he gets it. "Of course it means something."

"No," you say. You're getting frustrated, and he still isn't letting go of you. "You don't get it. You need to take a step back, and we have to figure out what we're doing here. Because I can't do this, and—"

"What?"

"I can't have a casual relationship." The words are rushed, and quiet, and everything comes spilling out at once. "I can't have a sex-only, friends with benefits, no strings attached relationship. Not with you. I want more. I've wanted more since the day I met you."

Hunter opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He looks like you've hit him, and you want him to say something, to say anything. But he doesn't, so you speak for him.

"I can't keep pretending that it doesn't matter. I can't keep lying. It's too much." You take a deep breath. "So, no. I can't. Not anymore. We can't."

Hunter doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. He’s preternaturally still, and there are so many things you wish he would do, but this is not one of them.

It hurts more than you could have imagined, and it's more than you can bear. You feel like you can't breathe, and like the only thing holding you together is his hand on your arm. He's staring at you like he doesn't recognize you, and you have to look away.

It's only a moment, and then Hunter moves. His fingers drag up to your chin, tilting your head up so you're forced to meet his eyes. You're caught. Held in place by the intensity of his gaze.

"You really don't know, do you?"

You blink. You aren't sure what to say, so you don't say anything.

"This isn't casual. Not for me,” he says, his voice rough, and his eyes search your face, like he's trying to make sure that you're understanding what he's saying.

You're not sure you are.

"I haven't touched anyone since the day we met." He pauses, and the words are like a blow, knocking the wind from your lungs. "Not anyone. Not ever."

He keeps talking, and you're not sure what's happening.

"I didn't lie. Not ever. I never told you how I felt, but that's not because I didn't care."

"Hunter..."

"You're not the only one who feels something," he says, and his voice is low, and desperate, and full of all the things you've never allowed yourself to believe. "There is no one else. There never was. Just you."

He's not playing the game anymore.

"I'm not pretending," he says. "This matters."

You can't speak. Your throat is tight, and your heart is pounding. You want to believe him, and it's almost too much.

"You—"

"Yes," Hunter says. He nods, and then he smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

He leans in, and you're frozen. You can't move. It's like the world has stopped.

"Do you understand now?" he asks, and he's close. So close.

"Yeah," you breathe.

Hunter's eyes close, and he exhales. "Good."

Then, his lips are on yours, and this isn't like any other kiss you've shared. This isn't a game. It's different. Everything is. It's like the first time, but better, because this time, you both know where you stand. This is a beginning, not an ending.

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs, and his lips trail down your neck. "I thought... I didn't know."

"Me too," you whisper. "I didn't want to hope."

"I know." Hunter's hands slide under the hem of your shirt, and his fingers dig into your hips. His mouth is against your ear. "But, now, I want to know what else I've been missing."

"Me too," you say. "Stars, me too."

"Yeah?" He's still smiling, and he's not stopping, and you've never been more turned on. "You gonna show me, then?" 

"Oh, yes," you say. You guide him back with a gentle shove of his shoulders, but you don't let him go far. The door to the women’s restroom is right behind you, and without thinking, you grab the lip of his chest plate and drag him inside. He laughs as he follows you in, and the sound makes you smile, but then, he's not laughing anymore.

Hunter slams the door shut behind him, throwing the lock into place. You don't waste any time, pushing him back against the door, and he groans. He's already reaching for the hem of your shirt, but you've got other plans.

It's easy to slide to your knees, and when you reach for the buckle of his belt, Hunter's eyes are wide, and dark. His breath catches as you unlatch his codpiece, and toss it to the floor. You don't wait, pulling his cock free, and Hunter's head thunks back against the door.

"You don't have to—"

You take him into your mouth, and his words dissolve into a moan. It's been too long since the last time, and the weight of him on your tongue, the taste of him, is better than you remember. The thick vein that runs along the underside is throbbing, and you press your tongue against it, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

He's already breathing hard, his hands on the door behind him, as though he's not sure what to do with them. He's got one foot braced against the tile, his hips shifting restlessly, and when you glance up, his eyes are closed, his mouth open, his face slack.

He's beautiful.

You don't have time to think about that, not with him filling your mouth, the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat, his fingers threading through your hair. His hands are gentle, guiding, not pushing. You can feel his restraint, the way he's trying to hold himself still, the tension in his thighs as he rocks against you.

You hum, and Hunter gasps, his hips bucking, his cock thrusting deep. He hits the back of your throat, and you moan, and it's the first time that he tightens his grip, the first time that his voice breaks. "Oh, fuck."

His hand is cupping the back of your head, holding you close, and when he pulls back, the drag of your lips over his cock is obscene.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

You cut him off with a lick along the slit at the tip, and Hunter moans. He doesn't seem to be able to look away, his eyes glued to the sight of you on your knees, and the way his cock disappears into your mouth.

"Fuck, I've missed you."

You laugh, and the vibration of it makes Hunter shudder. He's shaking, and when he meets your eyes, his own are burning. "I mean it. You don't know what it was like. Watching you walk away."

You take him deeper, and his words come faster, like he's finally getting it out. "It's always like this. Every time I'm close to you, I can't think. The way you look, the way you feel, fuck, the way you smell."

His cock slips from your mouth, and you suck a line down the length, and then back up. He's leaking, and you lap at the salty tang of his release, swirling your tongue over the sensitive head. 

"All I can think about is burying myself inside of you, and fucking you until you're screaming. I don't know what you do to me, but it's too much."

He's rambling, and his fingers are tugging your hair. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's shaking. "It's too much. It's always too much, and it's never enough."

You know exactly what he means. You can feel it every time he's near. It's a pull, a draw, and a need. There's a part of you that is always searching for him, that needs him closer, and closer still.

It's maddening.

"I can't stop wanting you."

You've never heard Hunter talk like this, and it makes you moan. The sound is muffled around his cock, and it's like the last of his self-control evaporates.

"Get up here."

He tugs your hair, and you can hear the urgency in his voice. He's not waiting. Not anymore.

His cock slides from your mouth, and his hand wraps around the back of your neck, hauling you to your feet. His lips are on yours, and the kiss is rough and biting, his tongue thrusting deep. You can taste him, and you can feel the way he's shaking.

You've never seen him like this, and it makes you want more. It's intoxicating, and addictive, and all you can think about is how much more he's going to give.

He doesn't give you time to catch your breath. He's spinning you, and you're facing the sink, your hands gripping the edge. He doesn't ask as he rips his gloves off and tosses them into the sink, but you can see the question in his eyes. He doesn't have to.

You nod, and it's all he needs. Hunter's hands are on your waist, and then he's yanking your skirt up, and his fingers are sliding between your legs. He curses, and when he pulls his hand away, his fingers are glistening with your wetness.

“All this from my cock in your mouth, and I've barely touched you." His words are a low rumble, his breath warm against your ear. "Is this what you wanted? Me to take you hard and fast, so that anyone who walks in can hear how good I make you feel?"

Your thighs clench, and Hunter groans, his voice cracking. "Do you have any idea what it does to me, knowing that I'm the only one who can make you come like this?"

"You're the only one I want." Your voice is breathy, and uneven. You can't seem to get a full breath, not when he's looking at you the way he is, his fingers sliding between your folds.

He brings his hand to his lips, and licks his fingers clean, his eyes closed. He looks like he's savoring it, and you're transfixed. It's not until his hands are back on you, hooking into your panties and pulling them down, that you take in a gasp of air.

You watch as he kneels behind you, dragging your underwear down to your ankles. He lifts one foot, and then the other, pulling the soaked garment off. You don’t see where it goes, but you don’t hear it hit the ground. He doesn't drop it. Instead, he stands, and shoves it in one of his pockets, and when he looks at you, he smirks.

You aren’t sure what to say. It shouldn't turn you on. It does.

Hunter leans forward, and his cock slides along the cleft of your ass, and then lower. His lips are on your neck, and when his cock brushes against your clit, you gasp. You can't take much more of this.

You try to turn, but his hands are on your hips, and he's not letting you. His mouth is hot against your neck, and his lips are pressed to your ear.

"No." His voice is a rough growl, and you can hear the smile in his tone. "Stay."

It's not a request.

You freeze, and his teeth sink into your neck, making you cry out. He doesn't speak, and the only sound in the room is your breathing, and the soft, wet sounds of his cock sliding between your folds. He's rubbing the head against your clit, and it's almost too much. You can't stop moving, but the pressure on your hips keeps you still.

"Hunter,” you whimper, and the word is half plea, and half command.

He doesn't answer, and his breath is coming fast and shallow. His fingers are digging into your hips, and he's pressing his cock lower, and lower. You can feel him notch against your entrance, and he pauses, the both of you held in limbo.

"Please."

The moment stretches out, and then Hunter's hand is on the back of your neck, pressing you down. Your forehead hits the cool porcelain of the sink, and you can feel his fingers flex, and then his cock is pressing forward, and stretching you open.

You moan, and it's all you can do not to move. He takes his time, easing inside, and the feeling of him filling you, the sensation of being stretched and filled and claimed is exquisite.

It's not until he's seated inside you that he lets go of your neck. His hand is on your shoulder, holding you in place, and his hips snap, driving him deep. You gasp, his name a strangled cry that tears from your throat, and you can feel his lips brush against your skin.

"That’s it,” he grunts, his breath hot against your ear. He's barely pulling out, fucking you with quick, sharp thrusts. “Moan a little louder, cyare. Let all of 79s know who’s fucking you.”

You don't know what he's doing to you. All you know is that you want more, and you're desperate to obey. You can't help the noises spilling from your mouth, and if you weren't so focused on him, on the way his cock felt inside of you, you might have been embarrassed.

But all you can think about is the way his fingers are gripping your hips, and the way his body is pressed against yours, armor cold and unyielding against your back. You can hear him breathing, and the quiet grunts and moans that fall from his lips are driving you mad.

“Hunter—”

He's not waiting for you to finish, not even bothering to let you catch your breath. You feel the way he responds to the sound of his name, the way his hips jerk, and the way his cock thickens inside of you. His arm slides under your body, wrapping around your stomach, and his hips are moving faster, his thrusts rougher. Hunter fucks you like he's trying to claim you, and in a way, he is.

His mouth is at your ear, and when he speaks, the words are a rough whisper. "Tell me you're mine."

You're shaking, and it's not from the force of his thrusts. It's from the way he says the words, the way he breathes them into your ear, like a plea and a prayer.

"Tell me, and I'll let you come."

You don't know how he can keep talking. You can't form the words, and he's relentless. The way his cock fills you, the way his hips snap, the way his mouth is pressed against your neck, his lips leaving kisses and marks that will linger, and remind you that you're his.

"Please," you manage, the closest your fogged mind can get.

"Say it."

"I'm yours," you whisper, and the way his hips jerk is telling.

He doesn't speak, his hips shifting, and when he drives into you again, it's all you can do to hang on. He's hitting the perfect spot, and when he fucks into you, he stays there, the head of his cock grinding against the most sensitive parts of you. His hand finds your clit, his thumb circling, and it's only moments before you're coming undone.

The force of it hits you, and the noise that escapes is not quite a scream, and not quite a moan. You're shaking, your vision going white, and your entire body is clenching, tightening around him. It's only then that he lets go, the sound that spills from his lips making you shudder.

You can feel him coming, the heat of his release flooding your core. It's a sensation that will never get old, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the way his hand tightens on your hip, the way his mouth opens against your neck. The way he gasps, and sighs, and whispers your name, like you're the only thing that matters.

It's always like this.

He holds you close, and neither of you speaks. It's just the sound of your breathing, the quiet rustle of his armor, the gentle hum of the music from the club outside the door.

There's a knock on the door, and Hunter curses, his hands tightening. His voice is rough, but quiet, and there's no mistaking the warning in his tone. "Go away."

You're frozen, and there's no reply, just the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway.

"Fuck," he groans. The sound vibrates through your body, making you shudder.

"You're gonna get us thrown out,” you tell him, and Hunter laughs.

"It wouldn't be the first time." He pulls away, and it's an unpleasant sensation, the drag of his cock leaving your body. You can feel him leaking from between your legs, and you shift, trying to find something to clean yourself up with.

"Here." Hunter pulls a towel from the rack, and he's gentle as he runs it over the inside of your thighs, and between your legs. He cleans himself and tucks his cock back into his blacks, and the whole time, he's got a hand on your waist, like he's not ready to let go.

You adjust your clothes, and when you turn to look at him, Hunter smiles.

"I've been thinking," he says, and he's reaching for you, pulling you close.

"That sounds dangerous."

"Maybe." Hunter dips his head, and he kisses you, his hands cupping your face. His mouth is warm and soft, and it feels like an apology. When he breaks the kiss, he's still holding you, and the next words out of his mouth are the last ones you expect.

"Do you want to go to dinner with me?"

You blink. Hunter's eyes are serious, and his hands are on your shoulders like he's bracing himself.

"Like, on a date?"

He nods, and he looks so nervous, it's hard not to laugh. The two of you have been having sex for months, have done things that would make most people blush, and he's nervous because he wants to take you to dinner.

"Just the two of us?"

Hunter nods again, and when you smile, his own lips curl up.

"Yes." You wrap your arms around his waist, and he looks relieved, like he didn't think you were going to say yes. "I'd love to."

Hunter smiles, and it's brilliant. It makes his eyes shine, and you can't help but grin.

"Good," he says. "That's good."

“But you’re going to have to give me my panties back."

Hunter raises an eyebrow and dips his hand between your legs, the touch light, but firm. His fingers glide through your folds, and the sound you make is high and strangled. He's still wearing a smirk when he pulls his hand away, and when he licks his fingers clean, there's no mistaking the way his gaze darkens.

"I think I'm going to keep them," he says without a hint of remorse.

"But—"

"Consider it a promise." His smile is wicked, and his voice is low and rough. "For later."

Your eyes widen, and Hunter chuckles.

"Now," he says, his hands sliding down your arms. He interlaces your fingers with his, and pulls you toward the door. "Let's get out of here."

This time, you follow him without question.

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[teeny-tiny-revenge]

Look, when Ed leaves with Jack it isn't Ed choosing Jack over Stede as the better partner/love interest. This is what Stede thinks is happening. Stede hasn't even entirely admitted to himself at this point that his investment in Ed is romantic, but he does treat it as a breakup, he sees Jack as a rival for Ed's attention/love, so from Stede's perspective, yes, Ed is leaving him for Jack.

Stede thinks he is in the romance novel plot and has to compete with his love interest's ex for his affections.

This is also what Jack is intending to make Stede feel.

Jack is playing a con. He is actively working towards Stede coming to the conclusion that Love Triangle Business is happening, but Jack's motivation isn't winning back Ed as a boyfriend from Stede. I don't think Jack does boyfriends. Jack does dalliances. He would probably agree with Lucius's "we don't own each other". And this would apply if Jack happened to randomly come across the Revenge and decide to fuck with Ed's new crush for kicks and giggles (which is what Anne and Mary do when in that situation!). But Jack doesn't come across the Revenge by accident. He is on a mission, given to him by Izzy. We don't know if Jack gets paid for it or if he does it because he's worried about Ed and doesn't want the Navy to get him, or some combination of both, but Jack is the only one in this equation who actually knows what is happening, and what is happening is a plan to drive a wedge between Ed and Stede to make Ed leave the Revenge so he's out of the picture when the Navy shows up.

But neither of this is what's going on from Ed's perspective. (This entire episode is a masterpiece in the "characters completely misunderstanding each other and what's going on" trope.) Ed doesn't really figure that he's been cast as the pivotal point of a love triangle. Ed isn't spending the episode trying to choose the better boyfriend candidate and then leaving with him.

Ed is busy having a personal identity crisis.

This crisis has been ongoing for a while when Jack shows up. With Izzy's pressure to pirate a certain way gone, Ed is freer to explore what Ed wants to do now and how he wants to live and who he wants to be. He is tired of the traditional pirate life, he wants to try something different. He also isn't ready to fully do a hard cut. He just figured out Stede might return his feelings during the treasure hunt. They just decided to co-captain. A lot of things are changing for Ed.

And then comes by a very old pal. Jack and Ed have history, they used to sail together, they survived their difficult youth under a cruel captain together. Jack represents a different type of pirate life than Izzy. Jack is fun. (Everyone but Stede thinks Jack is fun, and that's in no small parts because Jack is actively working towards making Stede uncomfortable but everyone else have fun and take Jack's side - this works on everyone in the crew including Ed!)

From the beginning on, Ed is struggling to make Stede and Jack get along and like each other. He's trying to somehow combine his old life and his new life because he doesn't want to choose between one of them. He wants to have the best of both worlds. He wants his old friend and his new friend/his ex and his crush to be friends and get along. He wants to keep what was fun about traditional piracy (as represented by Jack) but also move on to Stede's new brand of doing things. He wants fancy breakfasts, and then has to realise that Jack pours alcohol into his teacup. He wants to play coconut war like the old times, but has to realise Stede hates the idea. A big part of this episode, from Ed's perspective, is about trying to reconcile these two worlds and failing.

Ed's main problem, through both seasons, is that he doesn't really know who he is or who he wants to be. He struggles massively with self-worth and self image. He views himself as an unlovable monster and spends his entire life bending over backwards and wearing masks to cater to what he thinks other people want him to be. He plays up Blackbeard for Izzy, Blackie for Jack, and he isn't sure if who he is being with Stede is actually Ed or not. Ed thinks nobody can possibly like him, so he constantly tries to perform to whatever expectation his direct peers have of him.

Next to this main crisis, Ed is having another secondary crisis called "fuck I'm in love with this guy" and "does my crush like me back". This secondary crisis is heavily influenced by the first, because Ed thinks he is a terrible unlovable person, remember, so "does this guy who I think is the bee's knees return my feelings" becomes a lot more fraud than it would be for a person with a modicum of self-esteem.

Ed, who struggles with "who/what am I as a person", sees Jack as a person who is similar to Ed. They have a lot in common. They share a lot of backstory. They are both pirate captains. They used to do the same things. Ed always played Yardies and Whippies and Turtle Vs Crab, because really that's just pirate culture. The main difference between Jack and Ed is that at some point Ed outgrew this life, and Jack didn't. But Ed, who is bad at recognising himself as a person and to define his identity, is only sorta vaguely aware of that. In Ed's perception, him and Jack are very much alike.

So when Stede, Ed's new friend and crush who he already thinks is too good for someone like Ed, starts rejecting Jack and Jack's behaviour, and says things like "I don't like who you are around this guy", what Ed hears is "I don't like who you are". Ed hears Stede thinks Jack is a bad person, and because in Ed's head a) he and Jack are the same and b) Ed is a bad person anyway, Ed hears "you are a bad person".

"You were always going to realise what I am", says Ed, as he is leaving with Jack after Stede tells Jack to leave the ship. Note the dehumanising "what" instead of "who" Ed used for himself. Ed, who thinks he sucks and is an unlovable monster, thinks this is the other shoe dropping, and he's been waiting for it to drop all along, because someone great like Stede isn't for a guy like Ed. Stede was always going to see what Ed is.

Ed's leaving the Revenge/Stede is 100% down to Ed's abysmal self-worth. It's a self-perception born from childhood trauma that fucks Ed over several times during the show (and ultimately leads to his suicide attempt).

Ed is so busy having All That going on that he mostly fails to notice that Jack is playing him, or what exactly happens between Jack and Stede, that Stede perceives Jack as a romantic rival for Ed's attention/affection or that Stede too struggles with self-worth and that Jack is hitting him where it hurts all the time. Ed's headspace in this episode isn't "oh, two sexy guys I like, which one should I choose to be with". It isn't even "oh my old pal is being a real dick to my new friend who is feeling really insecure here". Ed's headspace is "I'm a terrible person and Stede is seeing it now and Jack wants me to do more pirate party stuff but Stede hates that so now they both hate me and I probably deserve that because I'm a monster".

Ed leaves for Jack as much as Stede an episode later leaves for Mary. It's the exact same situation. For Stede, his own trauma and self-worth issues show up in the form of Chauncey Badminton, telling him he is a monster and ruins beautiful things, and Stede's reaction is to agree because he already thinks that of himself, so he takes his horrible ruinous monster self away from beautiful things (Ed) and back to where it belongs (to a miserable life he was hoping to leave behind). And for Ed, no Chauncey Badminton is required, because he's already constantly thinking these things about himself anyway. From Ed's perspective, Stede tell him he is a bad person (just as Jack), so Ed agrees and takes his horrible self away from beautiful things he doesn't deserve (Stede) to a miserable life he was going to leave behind.

Neither Jack nor Mary actually feature into the leaving much. Neither situation is "leaving the new guy for the ex". They're both situations of "I have a fuckload of trauma and self-hatred and it destroys my actually pretty nice new relationship".

And this is very interesting as a parallel. It doesn't even end there! When Stede returns, and Ed hears where he went, Ed too goes to "you left me for Mary". Same as Stede went to "you left me for Jack". And neither of it is actually what was happening!

Stede doesn't leave Ed for Mary, and Ed doesn't leave Stede for Jack. They both decide, driven by very similar trauma, to leave because surely the other one is going to be better off without them.

[wrennyfics]

sub!snape headcanons :)

{part one}

im working on some sub!snape fics rn (ur requests), but in the mean time... have this

im high. so i apologize if thiss is a mess. pls ignore the grammar or whatever

warnings: NSFW, explicit, smutty (MINORS DNI OR I STG)

alright here we go (virgin, inexperienced, sub!snape)

My headcanons about...

Kissing: I honestly, this is kinda sad, but i imagine that sev was always really scared to be kissed because he thought it would be a prank. The first time you kiss him would have to be somewhere private, for this reason and the fact he hates pda, and you'd have to ask him. (i mean obviously, consent is important folks) but i mean, like literally verbally, "Severus, can I kiss you?" And i think at first his face is just blank, like hes trying to figure out if you're serious, amd he gets all flustered, and blushing and like "i, uh, you want.. are u sure? i.." or he is literally speechless and just nods

Kissing Cont. As the kissing gets more intimate i feel like hed be breathing pretty heavily. we know this man is skilled at occulemency and can control his emotions sooo well.. but when it comes to this... i think that man lets it go and is just a shaky, panting, flustered mess

Teasing: Especially in the beginning, he doesn't like to tease you or make moves. One, he's impatient. Two, he doesn't really know what to do and is scared of doing the wrong thing and messing up. But the second you start kissing on his neck... Running your hands down his body...

Preferences: sub!snape i think def prefers gentle!dom. i don't think he'd be totally against pain or stuff like that... but especially at first and for the most part, imo he would prefer to be taken care of. like lets bffr, his entire life he was neglected, touch starved and forced to always be in control. I think he would crave giving in, letting someone else control him

Prefrences Cont. He keeps his clothes on, especially at first. prob the trauma, mixed with insecurity, mixed with a bunch of other fun stuff. But at first, he is nearly fully clothed.

Kinks: Praise. 100%. And if you asked him before you guys had had sex about praise he probably would've scoffed. But the second you're on top of him the first time, moaning his name, saying how good hes making you feel, how well he's going... I think hes like o h. also slight degredation

Kinks cont. I don't think he'd like to be tied up tbh. as pretty as that'd be.. i think he'd need to touch you, feel you, his hands roaming everywhere. being pinned down by your wrists is different tho

Fav positions: when he's sub! he def likes you riding him, pinning his wrists down, taking what you need from him. he gets to see your whole body.. and relax for once and be a lil selfish in his own pleasure

Oral: sub!snape def prefers to give as opposed to recieving, i think this about dom!snape too, but especially about sub!snape. especially when you ride his face, when he gets to look up at you, watch your face contort in pleasure... especially when you grind down on him, but giving sub!snape head is like, a religious experience fam. on jah, on your jaw, dun dun tiss. yea that man is a shaking, whimpering mess, his hands clawing at the sheets, panting, cursing, begging. yep

His first time: lets be honest guys. he aint lasting long. but i think he would be like THIS? is what its like? and then proceed to overexhaust himself by going ten times because how in the world had he never felt this before.

misc.

he never used to touch himself much, insecurity and yk depression, but since you... whenever you're gone... he fucks his pillows yep i said it.

he def likes to edged, and having to beg for it. idk why, but i'd die on this hill.

he blushes so easy. like so easy. the man is so pale, one compliment or small kiss and his face is red

he's relatively quiet. he's verbal, but doesn't moan very loud. more so whispers, begs, quietly.. especially at first when he's more shy. but when he starts to get desperate, maybe after a lil bit of edging... he whimpers when he cums and thats just the truth

but if you compliment those whimpers.. tell him how much it turns you on.. he'll let them out even more

building on that, he wants to please you. be good for you. know that he's doing it right. in a horny way and also in a kinda emotional like.. she really does want me look at how shes reacting kinda way

loves to watch your face when he's making you cum

the first time you pull his hair hes like oh....

needs a lil extra aftercare after being sub! cause its a very vulnerable thing for him.. but his fav is just to lie there, cuddle you, bonus points if you praise him and tell him how proud you are of him

this was shameless.

cheerio xx

[cdbabymp3]

hi! i love ur editor!reader, i was wondering what some like domesticated things her and hamzah do? like do they shop together for necessities? do they cook for each other? or do they kind of like mind their own business while being roomates? love you sm queen

𐙚domestic stuff ― hamzahthefantastic

notes/warnings: just a collection of domesticated activities w these two shy freaks <3 nothing super nsfw, just mentions of pads and using condoms lol

farmer's market 🍊

hamzah found this street downtown that holds a bunch of food and trinket vendors every sunday morning, so that's what sundays usually look like for them. the market opens at 8am and you guys are always the first ones there LMFAO. hamzah will be like, "oh, wow, this is so cool! how much is it?" and the poor lady working the tent is still setting up her stuff 😭 it's also a fun opportunity to try new foods that the vendors make homemade, which he's all over. lowkey he's a bit of snob when it comes to organic food, so he loves the homegrown/homemade shit. you'll both separate for a bit and come back with samples for each other to try, it's very wholesome. "ah-hamzah! too spicy!" you giggle, waving your hand over your mouth, not even sure what hamzah just gave you to try "no, they're good! i bought a whole bag!" he holds up a large bag of spiced cashews with a price sticker that says $30.00 "30 dollars???!!" you spit out what's in your mouth and grab the bag "yeah, but they're homemade!"

cooking 🥄

believe it or not, hamzah is a pretty decent cook ! he teaches you some simple recipes since you've never lived on your own before. you guys like to try recipes that are wayyyy too advanced for you just as a challenge. it usually ends in ordering take out, but you two laugh and bond so it's #worth it. plus, it's the perfect excuse to watch him open sauce jars and help you stir when your arms get tired. with your flexible schedule and him filming, you're the one who cooks for the two of you―unless he really wants to. he has a burner facebook account just for recipes im so serious. he does not play....if it's a way to impress you, he's doing it. you mentioned wanting cupcakes randomly? he's never baked in his life, but for you he's reading 'susan's yummy vanilla cupcakes in a pinch' like it's the bible. he even goes to mandy for baking tips, but makes her swear not to say anything to you or martin. 'accidental' food fights. if you're both working on dinner together, he'll 'accidentally' get some marinara sauce on your hand, so you flick some parmesan cheese back at him. this usually results in you two chasing each other around your small kitchen, trying to dodge small bits of flying ingredients. one time, martin facetimed you guys in the middle of a food fight and he was so confused. "wait, what are you guys doing?" he gets close to the camera, noticing bits of food and stains on both your shirts "it's pizza night. mind your fucking business, bro." hamzah will try not to laugh and hang up 😭

shopping 🛒

let's just say the walmart and ikea employees hate to see you two coming.... you guys take so long at both stores, but especially walmart. hamzah is always grabbing shit you don't need and then forgets where he found it. you're there on average 2 hours per trip, it's embarrassing. just to get basic necessities, it takes forever. you offer to split up so you can get your stuff and he can get his, but he refuses like a child. he also gets distracted easily, so you figure it's better if he sticks with you. that way he can't get lost. however, with how reliant he is on you for the grocery list and location of the items, when you're sick and can't join him.... it's a fucking nightmare. he'll call you or facetime to make sure he's getting the right stuff, but he's speaking full volume and you keep telling him to be quiet. "wait, which ones? the green or purple?" he asks, flipping the phone camera so you can see "um, the purple, yeah..." you say quietly, face flushed "purple??? these big hammock-lookin' ones?" "i'm hanging up." you'd never tell him, but when he brought home the groceries you swear you saw a box of condoms amongst his bag of toiletries. a pang of nervousness and jealously hits you. your brain rapid fires a million questions like: when is he using those? does he think he's going to need them soon? who is he using them with? it's none of your business, you know that, but still.....sometimes you forget he can just go out and hook up with someone he if wants. it's makes you a little sick to your stomach. albeit slightly possessive, it's hard to picture him with someone else when you two spend so much time together on the daily. sure, he could meet some nice girl at a coffee shop. they could hit it off and she could take him back to her place. but she doesn't go lamp shopping at ikea with him or know which deodorant he likes and which one he's allergic to.

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა taglist ; @nativegirltapes @etherealval @thatmartinkitten + lmk if u wanna be added !!!!

[pretentious-blonde]

meet the parents

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve didn't expect things to go smoothly when he introduced you to his parents, but nothing could have prepared him for the rage he felt when they turned their comments towards you

warnings: family drama, alcohol, steve feeling inadequate, steve's father sucks here

a/n: idk if i like how this turned out, but I tried my best

You tugged at the hem of your dress, giving your outfit a once over in the mirror for the last time. You had spent ages rummaging through your wardrobe before you found this one, it’s simple but elegant—enough to make a good impression on Steve’s parents. Whom you were meeting for the first time, tonight. 

They had been nagging him since they returned from their trip, one of many, wanting to meet the girl who he had been seeing in their absence. They insisted on inviting you over for dinner, and based on Steve’s reaction, you knew how much this meant to him. You wanted to look your best. 

The knock on your front door pulls you away from your thoughts. You quickly grab your jacket and scurry down the stairs, slipping your feet into a pair of shoes as you go to greet him. 

He is standing on your front porch, hands buried deep in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. He reverts his attention to the sound of the door opening. His breath catches in his throat as he drinks in the sight of you, his previous nerves are momentarily replaced with awe at your appearance. God, you looked angelic. 

The world seems to still as he unapologetically stares. The gentle curve of a nervous smile on your lips, the dress hugging your figure just right—it takes a great deal of strength on his behalf not to call the whole thing off. To whisk you away for the evening all to himself, leaving his parents to dine alone. He swallows hard as he composes himself, running a hand through his hair as a lopsided grin graces his features. 

“Honey, you…wow.” He begins, any words that entered his mind seemed unable to articulate how beautiful you looked tonight. “You look amazing.”

A blush creeps up your neck at the compliment, it’s endearing how he still gets tongue-tied around you. “Thanks. Thought I should put in a little effort.”

His fingers twitch at his sides as he faces another dilemma. Wanting to reach out and pull you close, push you back inside and be selfish, but he shoves them deeper into his pockets instead. The anxiety he was feeling about the night ahead was overwhelming, he was dreading it—dreading the way his father would most likely find something to dig at, something to put him down. 

But looking at you now, all dolled up for his sake, he hates it even more. 

He hates that you put effort in for this, when it could have gone to something so much more worthwhile. It was the story of his life, trying so hard time and time again to get their approval, only to be shot down over and over again. He didn’t want to subject you to that. 

The drive there is strangely quiet, except for the faint hum of the radio station that fills the car. His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it usually was, his eyes trained on the road ahead. His thoughts, however, were miles away. Questions filled his mind about what could happen. What they could say to you. If they made you uncomfortable. Each one was worse than the last, the stress made his chest tighten. 

He brushes them off. How could they not love you like he did? When you’re sitting all pretty beside him, looking so damn perfect. In every way that he is not. 

“You seem quiet,” you say, trying to break the silence. “So, are your parents like, super strict or something?”

He chuckles, but it’s nervous. He has told you bits and pieces about what his family is like. Constant business trips that his mother insisted on tagging along to, holidays without him, calling a few times throughout the week. He had failed to mention how much of a dick his dad could be, especially after a couple drinks. 

“Nah, I mean, they’re not…strict.” His fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. “They’re old-fashioned. Like, ‘everything has to be perfect’ kind of way, you know?”

You nod along slowly, mood still playful, not quite picking up on the nerves flowing through the boy next to you. “Damn, I should have brought something, or even baked, huh?”

He laughs now, but the tension still remains in his shoulders. “Honestly, you might be their favourite person after tonight if you did that. I’m pretty sure they like you more than me.”

Your expression falters slightly at that, smile dropping as you reach over to squeeze his hand. “Steve, come on. There is no way that’s true.”

He doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes forward. 

She has no idea.

“Well, if they don’t like me, I’ll get them with my dazzling personality. You fell for it, right?”

That earns you a genuine smile. Yes, he fell for it. He fell damn hard and welcomed it fully. That is why he loathed the idea of bringing you home. Of subjecting you to this dinner. 

“Yeah, you got me good, angel.” He squeezes your hand back. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

His raw honesty renders you silent for a few moments, turning your face to the view outside to hide the flush in your cheeks. He always knew how to do that. Say something so nonchalant that made your knees weak. 

“Just a heads up,” he glances over to you briefly, hand still resting in his as you pull into the driveway of his home. “Just if they say anything…weird, don’t take it seriously.”

“Steve,” you pull your hand away to cup his face, big, brown eyes staring back at you as you reassure him. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

He wants to believe you. He wants to believe you so badly, but the feeling in his stomach only tightens more. In truth, he has no idea how this evening will go. And that terrifies him. 

Steve rounds the car to open your door, holding onto your waist as you head up the stairs to the entrance. He opened the door quietly, stepping aside to let you in. He pauses to take a look at you one last time, almost melting at how the entryway light falls over your face, illuminating your tender smile. He quickly moves to help you with your coat, sliding it off your figure with gentle movements and hanging it on the rack. 

“Shoes too,” he whispers, almost apologetic, his hand gently guiding your gaze toward the carpeted floor.

He had never asked you that before. You raise a brow, amused but willing to comply. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code,” you tease lightly, holding his shoulder and slipping out of your shoes.

He chuckles nervously. “Yeah, just… don’t want you getting into trouble.”

You scrunch your nose at him and smile, but there is something else brewing behind those eyes of his—worry perhaps? You just chalk it up to innocent nerves. I mean, who wouldn’t be slightly anxious to introduce their partner to their parents?

Leading you down the hall, you are greeted with the smell of roast chicken wafting from the kitchen. It’s surprisingly homey, comforting. Tonight might not be so bad after all. 

You step into the dining room, just opposite the open plan kitchen, first locking eyes with Steve’s mother. She gives you a warm smile, which you return. She looks just like him, same eyes, same smile, same kind expression that he always gives you. Her hands are busy on the stove but still when you enter. 

“Oh, you must be Steve’s girlfriend!” She says, her voice cheerful as she wipes her hands on a rogue teatowel. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” beaming as you step forward, leaving Steve’s side for a second. “Everything smells amazing.”

Steve’s dad makes himself known, giving you a curt nod. He sits at the head of the table, relaxed with a beer in his hand which Steve spots immediately. “Glad you could make it,” he tells you, his voice low, but not unkind—for now at least. 

Steve returns to your side once more, a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to a seat at the table. This is good, he thinks, allowing a small flicker of hope to spark in his chest. You’re being your usual polite self, and so far, his parents seem…normal. He feels relaxed as his mother places the perfectly roast chicken at the centre of the table, letting out a small breath as he sits down. 

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaim, your face lighting up at the spread. “I love a roast! It’s been so long since I’ve had one.”

His mother blushes, clearly pleased by your praise. “Well, I’m glad to hear it! There is plenty here so please, help yourself.” 

You nod as you pick up the plate of potatoes, Steve picking up the greens, locking eyes as you swap them over. You are pleasantly surprised to see his expression, no longer sour with anxiety. 

“Bet it’s nice to have a home-cooked meal, huh?” Steve’s father takes a swig from his drink before gesturing to the boy at your side. “Kid barely knows how to boil water.”

He lets out a large laugh at his joke, oblivious to the way Steve pauses as he sets down the plate. He forces out a laugh as well, trying to shake it off, but he can’t deny how the joke stings. Especially when it was made in front of you. 

“I mean, I can handle the basics,” he chimes in, trying to defend himself as much as he can without insulting his father. “Eggs, pasta…” He trails off. 

You allow your gaze to wander over to him, your smile faltering as you catch the hurt look in his eyes. His father doesn’t seem to notice—or care at all, really. 

He can cook, he thinks as his eyes are trained on his father. He has cooked for you so many times, and you always said how good it was. The first moment you complimented his food he made it his mission to do it more often. It was something he took pride in. He had to teach himself after all, it’s not like they were ever around to do it, and he couldn’t just live off takeaway pizzas every night. 

He never was in the kitchen when they returned home, his mother always took the reigns there. His jaw tightens as he recalls the countless dinners made alone in his house, too used to the silence that always followed his parents’ absence. 

You set the fork down to the side of your place and turn to him, giving him a look of reassurance that does little to help him. You don’t speak up, but the mix of emotions in your expression makes Steve’s heart lurch. He should have said something, warned you more. Or better yet, come up with an excuse as to why you couldn’t make it tonight. 

His mother was equally as oblivious to the exchange as she carved off another piece of chicken. He doesn’t really care about what his family says about him, he has dealt with much much worse. But it still stings. It stings because it is in front of you. 

The conversation flows well as you all settle into the meal. The chicken was undeniably delicious, the familiar setting of the Harrington house helped soothe you as you chatted politely with is mother. 

“So, what is it you do?” She asks you, tone genuinely curious. 

You finish chewing, wiping your mouth with a napkin before you respond. “I just finished college actually. And I recently got an editing job at the local newspaper. It’s helped me get my first apartment too, so it’s a pretty exciting time.”

Steve can’t help but sit up a little straighter as you speak, his chest filling with a sense of pride that this is the woman he is introducing his folks to. 

That’s my girl, my smart girl.

“Well, isn’t that wonderful!” His mother says, clearly impressed. “You must be so proud of yourself.”

Steve smiled at the knowledge that they approved of you. They might not have approved of him, they made that clearly known whenever they had the chance, but seeing how impressed they were with you—that was enough. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his own and admiring how they looked intertwined in the glow of the dining room. His thumb strokes your knuckles, feeling a smug satisfaction rise up inside of him. You’re smart, capable independent. Everything Steve’s parents valued in a person. He might not be what they wanted him to be but he somehow had you to show for it. He was damn lucky to have you here with him. 

A voice cuts through the warmth he was feeling, a sharp edge bringing him down from his high. “Well, good for you,” his father said, his eyes drifting to your hands. His gaze was cold, calculating. “You know, I’ve always said people with drive go far. Funny how some manage to make it whilst others…don’t.” He gasts a glance at Steve, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm, the same voice that had followed him his whole life. “Guess you lucked out, huh, son? Dating someone with actual ambition.”

The comment hit Steve harder than he cared to admit, the jovial tone from his father did little to soften the blow. His chest tightens as he feels the sting of disappointment, but he can’t help but take the words on board. You are ambitious, you have the whole world at your fingertips. You could do anything you set your mind to and he knew that. He just hoped that when that time came, he would be lucky enough to be cheering you on from the sidelines. 

“Yeah, well,” he begins with a crooked grin. “Guess I’ve got the charm at least.”

The shift in his mood is noticeable to you, you can read him like the back of your hand, the way his smile remains on his face for just a second too long. His father's words were not just a joke, not to Steve. He always doubted himself and his abilities, worried about where he would go in his life. But at the end of the day you were there to support him, whatever decisions he made were his and his alone. 

He tells himself that it’s fine, that he can handle it. Just as long as they don’t go after you, he can take it. He has no problem being the martyr, he has been the punching bag for years and has no problem taking a few more hits.

The way he looks down at his plate makes your chest ache, the way that he acts like this isn’t a big deal. It’s obvious how much it bothers him, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. It hurts you to see him like this—reduced to a quiet, tense version of himself, happy to just keep the peace. 

The clink of silverware continued against the plates as the conversation flowed, finishing up the remainder of dinner, the beer in Steve’s father's glass also gone. He leaned back in his chair, the same look in his eyes that Steve was familiar with, inhibitions mellowed and ready to bite. His eyes narrowed as he observed the both of you, amusement dancing in his gaze like he found the perfect moment to strike. 

“Let me guess,” he began, wiping the edge of his mouth with a napkin before tossing it carelessly onto the table in front. “You’re with Steve because you think you can change him, right? Girls like you always think they can fix a guy like him.”

Steve stiffened beside you, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat. For a moment, he felt like a kid again, being told off for something he had no control over. Something he couldn’t change. 

Before he even had time to fully process the insult, you were there. Your tone fast, steady, unfazed. There was no way you would sit there and let that comment go. Not when it was the furthest thing from the truth. 

“I’m not here to change Steve,” you said, your tone calm but resolute. “I’m with him because I love who he already is.”

His heart fluttered in his chest at your words—the way you spoke them. With such unwavering conviction that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you meant them. 

His father raised a brow, leaning forward in his chair, sizing you up and clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. The act revolted you. You were done with playing nice, you were not going to let him insult you or the one you love. It didn’t matter if they were family. 

“Love, huh?” He scoffed. “That’s cute. But, sweetheart, love doesn’t pay the bills. Steve is not exactly rolling in success here, is he?”

You don’t flinch, not even a little. “I don’t need him to be rolling in anything. He works hard and is more successful than you give him credit for.”

His father barked out a humourous laugh, nowhere near close to finished. “Kind? I’ll give you that. But I’m just saying, girls like you—smart, career-driven, their own place—usually go for someone with a little more ambition.”

You narrowed your eyes at the older man, keeping your voice collected. “Ambition isn’t about titles or money. Steve has plenty of it. He has been through things you couldn’t even understand.”

The tension that settled over the room was tense as you locked eyes. Steve’s mother stared at her husband, you wonder if she wished to say something, or if she also was too scared to challenge the older gentleman. You felt no fear, not when it came to conflict over those you care for. You wouldn’t back down. The more you spoke, the more Steve felt that old, crushing weight of his father’s judgement start to lift from his shoulders. 

“Look,” his father said, not enjoying the pushback. “I’m just telling you what I know. Guys like Steve—they’re nice, sure—but they don’t get you very far. Eventually, you’ll want more, and you’ll leave him just like the last one.’

That one hit hard. Too hard. Steve’s hand clenched under the table, unwanted memories of his past relationship springing to the surface, reopening old wounds. He wanted to make a joke. Wanted to say anything that would get away from this topic. His father noticed how withdrawn he got after Nancy, and now he was throwing it back in his face. He didn’t like weakness, and Steve had never felt more inadequate when that happened. 

“Actually, I’m more than happy with Steve,” you say effortlessly, voice low and confident. “He is one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. I don’t need to ‘want more’ when I already have everything I could ask for.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something—surprise perhaps? He certainly wasn’t used to being challenged like this, feeling at a loss that his tactics weren’t working. He took it as a sign to cut deeper, harsher. He needed to get the upper hand once more. 

His lips curled into a smirk, one that Steve had seen a thousand times before, the one that always made him feel like he was on the losing end of an argument before it even began.

“Are you really gonna let your woman talk to me like this?” His voice heavy and patronising as he stared Steve down. “That’s what you’re doing now? Letting a girl fight your battles?”

Absolutely not. No fucking way. 

Everything was still, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Steve’s anxiety turned to full-on rage, seeping through every vein in his body as he looked at his father. He didn’t care what he said to him, but the vile way he spoke of you was unacceptable. Something in him snapped at that moment. 

“No,” he said, voice holding unwavering clarity. His father looked shocked, not expecting such a firm response from his son.

“No?” His father echoed, leaning forward slightly, trying to intimidate him. “Finally found your voice huh? Took you long enough.”

“No,” Steve repeated with finality. You glanced over and saw the muscles in his jaw tightening as he met his father’s gaze. “What I’m not gonna do is let you disrespect her like that.”

“Disrespect?” His father scoffed, shaking his head, acting as though he knew better. Like he was better. “I’m just telling it like it is. Someone has to, or you’ll go on thinking you’ve actually done something with your life.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how much of a fuckup I am, okay?” Steve shot back, heart pounding in his chest. “I got the message.”

He looks in your direction, eyes softening slightly as he takes in your expression. It held something his father had never directed at him. Pride. You looked proud of him. And that thought alone stirred him on. 

“What I’m not gonna do is allow you to talk to her like that,” He returns his attention to his father, his finger pointing in your direction. “Not when you don’t know a damn thing about her.”

His father bristled at the insubordination, the condescension in his voice was thick. “I know enough,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know she’s playing house with a guy who peaked in high school. How long till she figures that one out, hm?”

Steve’s blood spiked, now more willing than ever to fight back against his father. He had been pushed around for years, if there was any time to rebel, it would be now. “You don’t know anything about us! You’re hardly here!”

His father leaned back, smug. “I know enough about you, Steve. I know you’ve been coasting. First, it was basketball, then this lousy job at the video store—hell—you’re lucky someone even gave you the time of day. A girl like her? She’s going to wake up and realise you’ve got nothing to offer.”

Steve swallowed hard at that moment, his father’s words were getting to him, digging into his skin and refusing to let go. It was beginning to break him, like so many times previously. He was ready to back down, let him say his piece and be done with it. 

That was until he felt a gentle hand on his leg. One that softly ran its fingers against the denim of his jeans. He stared at it. As its presence. He felt the warmth within your touch, reigniting the fire he never thought lit. 

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly, voice cracking slightly but he pushed on. “She is not like that. You say she’s smart? You have no idea. I trust there is a reason she is with me. She sees who I am, something you have never been able to do.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something that resembled surprise, but he quickly masked it with a cold look. “So, what? You think this tantrum is going to change anything? These are facts.  You’ve always been weak, Steve. That’s why you’ll never—”

“No,” Steve cut him off, using the same word he had been repeating for this conversation, filled with a conviction that startled even himself. “I’m not weak. I’m done letting you make me feel like I am.”

The room went still, the sharpness in Steve’s voice hanging in the air that nobody was accustomed to. His father opened his mouth to respond, but Steve didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m not you. If I was she never would have looked at me twice, and I’m damn proud of that.”

Your exit was swift. Steve grabbed your hand and dragged you to the front door, leaving both of his parents in a state of shock. You just about managed to slip your feet into your shoes as he grabbed your coat to the side of your head. Slamming the door loudly as you left. 

The night air was cold, helping in soothing his raging anger, letting a breath out before he turned to you, stare softening with affection. He turned to face you, touching your cheek with such tenderness as he searched your eyes, trying to figure out how you were feeling. 

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, running his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him, leaning into his touch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I—wow,” he was still jittery, letting out a shaky laugh and running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I said all that.”

“I can,” you said as you gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m really proud of you.”

His expression was gentle, grateful to actually hear the words that had been denied for so many years. There was another emotion within him as well, a sense of awe. The way you handled yourself with grace, not bending under pressure. He swore he was already head over heels for you, but after tonight? He fell for you a just little bit harder. He shakes his head at your previous compliment. 

“You were amazing in there, sweetheart,” a crooked smile forming. “God, you’re something you know that?”

You smiled as you allowed him to lead you to his car, arm resting on your back as he opened the door for you. He slipped into the driver's seat and started the ignition, fingers drumming on the steerwheel as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I don’t think I can go back there. Like, ever.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that,” you say as you nudge him playfully. “Guess I’m gonna have to move you in, huh?”

He glanced at you as he pulled away from his childhood home, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, pleased that he was making jokes instead of spiralling. The comfortable silence that filled the car was peaceful, but his expression shifted, something tentative, serious settled over him. 

“We could, you know.”

You blinked at his proposition. “What?”

He cleared his throat and immediately regretted saying anything. His nerves now spiking at his confession. It was too late to back out now, the words that spilt from his mouth flowed without thought. 

“I mean,” he started, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. “I may work retail, but I definitely make enough to rent an apartment. I could contribute, really. I could…”

He trailed off, watching your reaction carefully. There was a sincerity in his words that made your heart melt.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be mad about halving the rent,” you said with a blush forming on your face at the thought of living with him. Of waking up with him, coming home to him. For all of your belongings being mingled together. For everywhere you look his presence is there with you. 

His face broke out into the softest, most boyish smile you had ever seen on him. “You mean it?” He uttered, voice quiet, as if he may have misheard you. 

“Yes, Steve,” you brush a hand through his hair, so in love with the sweet boy next to you. “I mean it.”

[insomanic-fanfication]

Hey, I really liked your Dick Grayson sfw and nsfw alphabets! When you have the time, can I request either of those for Jason Todd? Thanks 😊

Jason Todd SFW Alphabet

Author's note: Of course! I planned on doing his anyway after finishing some of my drafts. But that's taking a little longer than I thought it would. CW:

Alphabet Under the cut!

Affection: How affectionate are they? How do they show it?

Jason isn't really affectionate, at least in open places. He's got way too many people wanting his head on a pike. Family and friends know you two are dating; however, if someone on the outside saw you two, they would have no idea. However, when you two are alone, his true colors bleed through. His personality is similar to that of a huge dog that hasn't figured out they can't be a lap dog anymore. Laying his head on your lap while you do your own things. He is reading a book, and you do one of your hobbies. Just decompressing from the day Comfortably in science and enjoying the other's presence. Will 100% fall asleep if you start playing with his hair.

Best Friend: What are they like as best friends? How would you become best friends?

Unless he needed to ask you for something, you would probably have had to make the first move toward friendship. Jason gets very lonely, but trying to meet new people on his own accord is not part of his personality. If he approached you, it would be one of two things; 1. You did something that impressed him, or 2. Dick was pestering him about meeting new people too much, and he caved to make Dick leave him alone.

Cuddles: Do they like to cuddle? How would they?

Jason hesitates to cuddle at first; it's not that he hates it, but more so, he fears it. For the most part, positive physical interaction is a foreign concept in his body. For the first few times he cuddles, he will flinch, and it doesn't matter which one of you enacted it. But once he gets to the point of cuddling, where you two can cuddle, he is relaxed? Your fate is sealed. You've created a monster! Anytime you're not busy in the apartment, it's cuddle time, and no protests are allowed. Will get pouty if you have to get up.

Domestic: Do they want to settle down? How good are they at cooking and cleaning?

Jason is one of the Batfam members who would settle down in a heartbeat, even if it's just for a year or two. He craves at least some normality. But if he does, no one can protect the ones he loves, at least not well, in his opinion. Unlike his brothers, Jason is an excellent cook and even a chef with his skills. One of his favorite early memories is helping and learning to cook with Alfred. He's also very good at cleaning, partly cause his spaces are the bare-bone things to live in. However, he likes to clean his apartment or space once weekly as a coping mechanism. It's something he feels he is in complete control over. However, if you find him randomly deep-cleaning a room or his apartment. BE AFRAID; he's not okay, no matter how often he tries to tell you he is alright. For him, that is grippy sock stay levels that are not okay.

Ending: If they had to break up? How would they?

Like Dick, if you two broke up and he was the one that broke it off, it was due to him having an episode. But unlike Dick, it would be out of paranoia. Jason would make himself believe that your life will be destroyed. or you'll die because you are dating him. He would most likely ghost you and not actually break up with you. Because the words would pain him too much to say out loud. Only coming to his senses after the episode has passed, realizing his actions, and imminently finding you in person, terrified he fucked up everything between you both.

Fiance: How do they feel about commitment? How long before they pop “the question”?

Jason didn't want marriage for a long while, too terrified that it would make something go wrong. However, the longer the relationship goes on, nothing terrible happens like he expected. The more the thought of marriage would come into his mind. Asking what your thoughts on marriage are one night while cuddling.

Gentle: How gentle are they? Both physically and Emotionally? 

Jason is incredibly gentle with his partners, partly due to his personality and partly because he fears accidentally hurting you. He's a little rough around the edges emotionally, though, mostly because he's not used to being a completely open book to people.

Hugs: Do they like hugs? What are their hugs like?

Jason hugs like a dad coming home after a long trip. He'll hug your waist and lift you, keeping you in his arms with the biggest smile. He'll kiss your forehead while you feel the warmth of his body around you.

I love you: How fast do they say the L-word?

Jason would be extremely slow to say the actual' I love you' wording, but he would make up for it in physical affection and words of affirmation. Holding you as close as he can while telling you how much you mean to him and how great of a partner you are to him. So, people may mistake it for love bombing, which added to his other behavior. But it's because it's so hard for him to verbally tell you he loves you. He feels he needs to say it to you in other words, so you know how much his heart bleeds for you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? What would they do?

Jason gets super jealous; he won't control who you talk to or anything like that. He knows you have a life outside your guy's relationship, and it's not his place to manage. But he's protective of you and gets jealous when others flirt with you because, in the back of his mind, it's hard for him to believe someone would date him. So he's worried that you'll find someone more accessible to love, and you'll give up on him. Does it sound balls off the wall crazy? Yes, but mental illness is rarely something that likes to make sense.

Kissing: What are their kisses like? Where do they like to be kissed/ kiss you? 

Jason loves it when you kiss places on him that are generally done on the submissive partner, such as his knuckles, neck, forehead, etc. He finds them so comforting and feels very loved.

Little ones: How are they around kids?

Jason is great around kids unless it's his brothers. Generally speaking, though, he's very good with kids. Sometimes, he understands what's okay for a kid or not. He'll let a toddler he's watching fidget with an unloaded gun if they are very interested in it. But he'll explain to the kid in terms they understand gun safety and how you know a gun is loaded or not. Telling the kid you never treat a gun like it's a toy. It is a 100% safe choice for a kid to go to if they can't find their parent.

Morning: How are they during the mornings?

He's a morning person but a lazy morning person. He'll wake up at 5-6 and do dishes, eat, and do morning stretches, but he will not do any actual work until around noon. God forbid the poor man has a morning shift, no matter what his day job is. He'll be the grumpiest man in the world, but he hides it well from clients/ customers. Some of his coworkers get very confused of this very quick change of mood, but others just see that, and think 'Same brick wall dude, Same'.

Nights: How are they spent with them?

He is a huge Night Owl, wither that be doing the bulk of his work at Night, or having a nice cuddle session with you while having a smoke on the fire escape of the apartment. He is a very light sleeper, or deep sleep with every hour or so waking back up. He also has a lot of night terrors, so he tends to avoid sleep, ESPECIALLY if you are staying over at his place. He has a lot of 'what if i hurt you..' paranoia.

Open: When would they start revealing things about themselves?

Try to get Jason to open up, is like trying to open a can with no can opener. You may have be in a relationship with him for 5 years, and still not know everything about him. Not because he doesn't trust you not to use that against him. But because he struggles with knowing WHEN to open up about things in a relationship. He wants to make sure your twos relationship is a healthy as it can be, which every now and then dose end up causing problems. Especially when he's having a ptsd episode and you feel helpless within how to help him through it.

Patience: How easily angered are they?

He tries to be a laid back person, tries to be, is the wording there, he doesn't have a hair thin trigger, but sometimes his trauma just gets triggers by something he doesn't even see the connection to, so he's in a pissed off fight response for a bit. He does, however go to anger management therapy to try and help these behavior issues. But somethings slip through the cracks before they can be brought up in therapy. This does not stop him from bragging to his siblings, that he's the only one taking care of his mental health.

Quizzes: They remember everything or nothing about you?

It's like a scale, sometimes he remembers everything, other times he can't remember your favorite hoodie, (it's the one that's been used as a pillowcase for 3 months, because he missed holding you). He can dissociate for a long awhile, but him also bottling up his emotions plays a bigger role in this.

Remember: What is their favorite memory in the relationship?

The first time you fell asleep while cuddling with him. You both were watching cheesy 90s slashers for Halloween night, snuggled in almost a cocoon of blankets and snacks. When he turned to check on why you had been so quiet, you had falling asleep while being snuggled so far into him, that he half expected for you to fuse into his side. The amount of trust you had for him, the emotions he felt was too much and he ended up crying for the first time in years. the tears feeling like they were burning his eyes, but it's still a memory he holds closest to his heart.

Security: How protective are they? How would you protect each other?

No matter what your appearance is, wither that be tall and lanky or short n stout. Jason tends not to need a lot of physical protection, but you are most defiantly the protector of his emotional peace and social battery. Think of it like a Pitbull done with his guarding of the house for the day, so runs to their favorite human to become the biggest cuddle bug on earth. That's Jason Todd, (He's very Resurce dog coded, don't blame me, blame DC). He very much, however, is scary looking guard dog for you. He could kill someone with his death glare sometimes.

Try: How much effort would they put into dates, gifts, anniversaries, etc?

Jason puts an extreme amount of effort into your anniversaries, gifts and dates! He's not a social able person, so don't expect fancy Lucious dinner dates at a 5 star restaurant. They make him very uncomfortable, thinking everyone's eyes are on him. But he will make you the most romantic and gushy homemade dinners, your favorite flowers or candy. Cooking Red type pastas with red wine or cooking a Hispanic dish that learned while growing up around crime ally.

Ugly: What are some bad habits of theirs?

He has a bad habit of pushing you away, instead of telling you what's up. For better, or for worse. Sometimes it's because his crime lord days caught up to close to him, and for your safety he pushed you away. Or on the worse side of things, he's terrified you'll look at him as a monster or not understand where he's coming from with his trauma and his poor mental health, so he tries to keep them from you as long as possible, until he has no choice to tell you, or lose the relationship he has built with you.

Vanity: How concerned are they with their looks?

Honestly, Yes and no, like he cares about his looks more than a person would think, but like.. slightly more. He's not gonna shower every single day on the dot and shave his pubic hair into a sharp clean design. But he absolutely cares about keeping up good hygiene. Though he does have issues with cleaning his teeth, nothings rotting in there, but he is brushing his teeth waaay less than he really should be.

Whole: Would they feel incomplete without you?

No, unless you two date each other until your 4 years into retirement and you die of old age. He will be able to feel the same before you to started dating, because he feels incomplete on a regular basis. Like he isn't able to do enough, BE a enough for anyone to see him how he is as a person now.

Xtra: Random headcanon for them?

Jason use to smoke weed, especially in his teen years, regularly. But now he smokes cigs, problary Marlboro's or Lucky Strikes maybe Camels , and eats edibles every now and then to help with muscle pain and mood swings. (he still hasn't figure out if meds are worth not being able to have a beer whenever he wants.)

He knows he has PTSD, maybe C-PTSD, however he's not quite sure or not that he has BPD or a similar disorder, he's mainly just not internally ready to know the answer to that part of himself just yet. He's barely processed his feelings towards his Mother, so he's not there yet in his healing journey.

Yuck: What are some things they don’t like, in general, or in a partner?

if you have bad few of poor people or think poor people are only poor because they chose to be. Than I'm sorry, but Jason is more likely to pop a bullet in your head than he is to see you in a good light, let alone a romantic one.

Zzz: What is their sleeping habit?

Either waking up every 1 to 2 hours, or only sleeping 30mins to 3 hours and then staying up for the rest of the night or start cleaning or smoking a cig outside.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hate You (Kidding)

Crowley & daughter!reader, Sam and Dean & witch!reader, a little Rowena & granddaughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: your dad abandoned you years ago, but what happens when he finds out you’re still alive?

A/N: just so no one gets confused about this, here’s the background—Crowley found out how powerful demon/human babies can be, so he tried to make one, only it didn’t go the way he planned—the baby (you) were born without powers, and so he abandoned you. (Just because I didn’t want to give this the exact same backstory as Crowley’s son)

The theft was not going well. Your grandmother had made it seem so easy—sneak into the bunker, grab the black spell book, and make it out fast.

She failed to mention the two professional hunters that lived there.

You hadn’t been dumb enough to assume it would be empty—there had to be a reason Rowena wasn’t going herself, after all; she was scared. But you weren’t ready for Sam and Dean Winchester.

They had you in their dungeon basement—which was super creepy—before you’d even managed to find the book, much less grab it.

“What were you looking for, kid? Who sent you here?” The shorter—but no less scary—one had his hands on the sides of your chair, and he was looming over you. You had no doubt that he was willing to hurt you—you did break into his very dangerous house, after all.

You kept quiet, still unsure what the best course of action was. If you told them about the book and Rowena, would they let you go and go after her?

Then again, you didn’t know anything about these guys—maybe once they got their information, they’d just kill you.

You decided to stay quiet.

“Hey!” Dean smacked his hand on the arm of your chair, and you flinched. “I said—“

The man stopped yelling when the lights went out. They flickered back on a moment later, only this time they were red.

“Someone’s here,” the tall one said.

“I’ll go check.” The man in front of you pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and turned to leave, saying to the tall one “watch her.”

Then it was just you and the giant—who, surprisingly, seemed a little less scary. He was definitely intimidating, but he also had a sort of “I don’t hurt children” vibe about him.

“This will all be easier if you tell us what you were after,” he broke the silence.

“Right, because you’ll have a reason to keep me alive after I tell you everything,” you scoffed.

“We won’t have a reason to kill you, either,” Sam countered.

“And you need one?” You questioned.

“What makes you think we’d just kill you for no reason?” He asked.

“I mean I did break into your house, and you are hunters.” You shrugged as best you could with your hands cuffed behind you.

“I’m Sam,” the man said, crouching down so he was more on your level—he was trying to look less intimidating, which surprised you. “That other guy is my brother Dean. We are hunters, but we’re not gonna just kill you for no reason. We’re not like that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the door opening cut you off.

“Look who came for a visit.” Dean stepped into the room with a man trailing behind him. As soon as the man stepped into the light, every bit of air left your lungs.

“Didn’t know you had a visi—“ Crowley’s sentence froze halfway out of his mouth when he laid eyes on you.

Dean’s suspicious gaze picked up on the awkwardness instantly.

“You two know each other?”

Crowley gained his voice back first. “Used to. Not so much anymore.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” You found the strength to speak after you heard Crowley’s words. “You still look just as pathetic to me, father.”

“Father?” Dean choked. “Wait, that’s not possible.”

“I thought you were dead.” Crowley was now completely ignoring the Winchesters. “After…after that incident I figured the demons would’ve—“

“Incident?!” You all but screamed. “Incident? Is that what you call you abandoning me? Leaving me for dead? An incident?”

“I had no choice,” Crowley argued. “When the other demons found out you were powerless—“

“The other demons? It wasn’t about the other demons, it was about you! You used my mother to make yourself a half demon, and when I didn’t turn out to have any powers you threw me away. You wanted your demon friends to kill me.”

“No.” Crowley was brushing past Sam and Dean now, coming to stand directly in front of you. You squirmed in your chair, but you couldn’t get further away from him. “No I didn’t. I thought if I got rid of you, they’d have no reason to kill you and—“

“Don’t lie to me!” You cried out. “I’m not stupid! You may not have wanted me dead, but you sure didn’t abandon me to try to save me. You did it because I was useless to you. Pretending otherwise is just…it’s just pathetic.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but he had nothing to say—he knew you were right.

“So you’re half demon with no powers?” Dean cut in. “Because I’ve met a half demon who could do anything he wanted just by thinking it.”

“Why do you think he wanted to make me?” You forced your gaze away from your father to look at Dean. “He wanted an all powerful being that was also fully dependent on him. Too bad for him, not all half demons are the same, and he got stuck with the powerless one.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here now,” Sam cut in.

You bit your lip. You should’ve known it would circle back to this.

“Look, we’re not gonna hurt you if you tell us,” Sam promised.

“Fine.” A sly smirk lifted onto your face as your eyes went back to your father. “I’m here to get a book. For my grandmother.”

Crowley was still choking on air while Sam and Dean shared a meaningful glance before turning back to you.

“Rowena? You’re working for the witch?” Dean’s reaction told you that he both knew Rowena and probably hated her.

“She’s the only reason I’m still alive,” you said. “When he—“ you were inclined your head towards Crowley “—left me behind to get killed by demons, she saved my life.”

“My mother knows you’re still alive and she never told me?” Crowley scoffed. “It’s just like her.”

“She didn’t tell you because I told her how much I hated you.” You glared at Crowley as you spoke. “She understood the feeling, and we had a mutual understanding. Anyway, she told me she would teach me to take out demons the way she can—“

“But let me guess—only if you steal a spell book from us and bring it to her,” Dean interrupted.

“She said it was the only way she’d be able to teach me,” you defended yourself.

“She lied,” Crowley butted in. “She always lies—she was using you to get that book.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so trustworthy,” you shot back. “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange that the first thing she does with you is send you to a place where you could get hurt, just to get something for her?” Sam argued. “You don’t think that that’s using you?”

You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again it was more subdued.

“I didn’t have any other choice. There are still demons out there who want me dead, and I’m totally and completely helpless.”

“You don’t have to be,” Crowley said. “I can help you.”

“Rowena may not be a saint, but I already know I can’t trust you,” you snapped. “I’m not looking to get abandoned again.”

“She had to know you’d get caught.” Sam seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. “So why…”

The Winchesters seemed to come to a conclusion at the same time, sharing a moment of telepathic connection before they turned and ran out the door.

“Do they do that a lot?” You wondered.

“You have no idea,” Crowley huffed. “I suppose I should find out what’s wrong.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” The sudden smirk on your face made Crowley nervous. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you fell for that whole ‘totally and completely helpless” thing.” As you spoke, Crowley saw a faint glow coming from your hands, which were still handcuffed behind you. After a moment, he heard a snapping sound, and suddenly both of your hands were free and you were standing up. “Do you really think Rowena sent me here with no knowledge of magic?”

With a single wave of your hand, you sent Crowley flying against the wall. He landed with a thud, and you stepped over his frame on your way out the door.

“See you soon, father.”

…

Rowena had escaped with the book by the time Sam and Dean got to the library—she had waited until everyone was in the dungeon to make her move—and by the time the boys got back to the dungeon, Crowley was on the floor and you were gone.

“Great,” Dean growled. “She tricked us. I hate witches!”

“For once,” Crowley groaned as he slowly sat up. “I agree with you.”

…

“The Winchesters.” Your nervous gaze met your grandmother’s as you watched her flip through the spell book. “It’s them, they caught up. What now?”

“We need to distract them long enough for me to get through this spell,” Rowena insisted. “I won’t even need the book anymore as long as I can get this spell done.”

“I’ll distract them.” You were halfway to the door when Rowena stopped you.

“No, you’re not strong enough, not like this.” The way your grandmother was staring you down made you nervous.

“Like this?” You asked.

The door blasting open after a swift kick from Dean Winchester seemed to make up Rowena’s mind.

“I’m sorry, dear girl, but it’s the only way,” she said. “Impetus be—“

“Not so fast, mother.” You father appeared out of nowhere just behind Rowena, and he snatched up the spell book she was holding and swung it at her—she went down without another word. “I’m the only one that gets to hurt my brat.”

You didn’t say anything—you were still shaking. “Impetus beastiarum”—that’s what Rowena had been trying to say. Your own grandmother was going to turn you into a rabid monster—and ultimately kill you—just so that she could get away.

“The book.” You flinched out of your daze when Sam Winchester brushed past you and held his hand out to your father.

“Of course, moose,” he answered. “What would I need with a witches book?” He passed it over without argument.

“Why did you save me?” You demanded, sidestepping the taller Winchester to get a good look at your father, who merely shrugged.

“I’m the only one that gets to kill you.”

…

The Winchesters, of course, wanted to grab you after the little incident, but you flung them against the wall with your powers—one of the few tricks your grandmother had managed to teach you, and currently your favorite—and left before they got the chance.

You didn’t see them or your father for several more months. When you saw Crowley again, you were running for your life.

Somehow word had gotten around that a great witch had a granddaughter; or maybe it was that the king of hell had a daughter—you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that an archangel was after you because of it, and you had tried to cut a deal with him.

It hadn’t worked.

Lucifer had wanted you because he thought you’d be useful, and when he found out you weren’t, he of course decided that killing you was proper punishment for wasting his time.

You were in the midst of running for your life when you saw your father.

He was chained to the floor like a dog, watching your exchange with the archangel with peaked interest.

“Conteram hoc cincinno,” you yelled as you ran—it worked, and the chains at Crowley’s wrists snapped; they were warded against demons, not witches.

The freeing of his prisoner was enough of a distraction to get Lucifer off your tail. By the time he remembered you, you were out the door, and when he tried to turn his attention back to Crowley, the demon had already teleported.

…

“What was that?”

You jumped in surprise when your father appeared next to you.

“An escape,” you huffed out.

“You saved me back there.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you demanded. Crowley just grinned at you.

“Maybe witches aren’t so bad.”

Taglist:

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[mariacallous]

The New York Times once dubbed the Princeton professor Robert George, who has guided Republican elites for decades, “the reigning brain of the Christian right.” Last year, he issued a stark warning to his ideological allies. “Each time we think the horrific virus of anti-Semitism has been extirpated, it reappears,” he wrote in May 2023. “A plea to my fellow Catholics—especially Catholic young people: Stay a million miles from this evil. Do not let it infect your thinking.” When I spoke with George that summer, he likened his sense of foreboding to that of Heinrich Heine, the 19th-century German poet who prophesied the rise of Nazism in 1834.

Some 15 months later, the conservative commentator Tucker Carlson welcomed a man named Darryl Cooper onto his web-based show and introduced him to millions of followers as “the best and most honest popular historian in the United States.” The two proceeded to discuss how Adolf Hitler might have gotten a bad rap and why British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was “the chief villain of the Second World War.”

Hitler tried “to broadcast a call for peace directly to the British people” and wanted to “work with the other powers to reach an acceptable solution to the Jewish problem,” Cooper elaborated in a social-media post. “He was ignored.” Why the Jews should have been considered a “problem” in the first place—and what a satisfactory “solution” to their inconvenient existence might be—was not addressed.

Some Republican politicians spoke out against Carlson’s conversation with Cooper, and many historians, including conservative ones, debunked its Holocaust revisionism. But Carlson is no fringe figure. His show ranks as one of the top podcasts in the United States; videos of its episodes rack up millions of views. He has the ear of Donald Trump and spoke during prime time at the 2024 Republican National Convention. His anti-Jewish provocations are not a personal idiosyncrasy but the latest expression of an insurgent force on the American right—one that began to swell when Trump first declared his candidacy for president and that has come to challenge the identity of the conservative movement itself.

Anti-Semitism has always existed on the political extremes, but it began to migrate into the mainstream of the Republican coalition during the Trump administration. At first, the prejudice took the guise of protest.

In 2019, hecklers pursued the Republican congressman Dan Crenshaw—a popular former Navy SEAL from Texas—across a tour of college campuses, posing leading questions to him about Jews and Israel, and insinuating that the Jewish state was behind the 9/11 attacks. The activists called themselves “Groypers” and were led by a young white supremacist named Nick Fuentes, an internet personality who had defended racial segregation, denied the Holocaust, and participated in the 2017 rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, where marchers chanted, “Jews will not replace us.”

The slogan referred to a far-right fantasy known as the “Great Replacement,” according to which Jews are plotting to flood the country with Black and brown migrants in order to displace the white race. That belief animated Robert Bowers, who perpetrated the largest massacre of Jews on American soil at a Pittsburgh synagogue in 2018 after sharing rants about the Great Replacement on social media. The Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, the gunman wrote in his final post, “likes to bring invaders in that kill our people … Screw your optics, I’m going in.”

Less than three years later, Carlson sanitized that same conspiracy theory on his top-rated cable-news show. “They’re trying to change the population of the United States,” the Fox host declared, “and they hate it when you say that because it’s true, but that’s exactly what they’re doing.” Like many before him, Carlson maintained plausible deniability by affirming an anti-Semitic accusation without explicitly naming Jews as culprits. He could rely on members of his audience to fill in the blanks.

Carlson and Fuentes weren’t the only ones who recognized the rising appeal of anti-Semitism on the right. On January 6, 2021, an influencer named Elijah Schaffer joined thousands of Trump supporters storming the U.S. Capitol, posting live from House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office. Eighteen months later, Schaffer publicly polled his hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers: “Do you believe Jews disproportionately control the world institutions, banks, & are waging war on white, western society?” Social-media polls are not scientific, so the fact that more than 70 percent of respondents said some version of “yes” matters less than the fact that 94,000 people participated in the survey. Schaffer correctly gauged that this subject was something that his audience wanted to discuss, and certainly not something that would hurt his career.

With little fanfare, the tide had turned in favor of those advancing anti-Semitic arguments. In 2019, Fuentes and his faction were disrupting Republican politicians like Crenshaw. By 2022, Fuentes was shaking hands onstage with Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene and dining with Trump at Mar-a-Lago. In 2019, the Groyper activists were picketing events held by Turning Point USA, the conservative youth organization founded by the activist Charlie Kirk. By 2024, Turning Point was employing—and periodically firing and denouncing—anti-Semitic influencers who appeared at conventions run by Fuentes. “The Zionist Jews controlling our planet are all pedophiles who have no regard for the sanctity of human life and purity,” one of the organization’s ambassadors posted before she was dismissed.

In 2020, Carlson’s lead writer, Blake Neff, was compelled to resign after he was exposed as a regular contributor to a racist internet forum. Today, he produces Kirk’s podcast and recently reported alongside him at the Republican National Convention. “Why does Turning Point USA keep pushing anti-Semitism?” asked Erick Erickson, the longtime conservative radio host and activist, last October. The answer: Because that’s what a growing portion of the audience wants.

“When I began my career in 2017,” Fuentes wrote in May 2023, “I was considered radioactive in the American Right for my White Identitarian, race realist, ‘Jewish aware,’ counter-Zionist, authoritarian, traditional Catholic views … In 2023, on almost every count, our previously radioactive views are pounding on the door of the political mainstream.” Fuentes is a congenital liar, but a year after this triumphalist pronouncement, his basic point is hard to dispute. Little by little, the extreme has become mainstream—especially since October 7.

Last December, Tucker Carlson joined the popular anti-establishment podcast Breaking Points to discuss the Gaza conflict and accused a prominent Jewish political personality of disloyalty to the nation. “They don’t care about the country at all,” he told the host, “but I do … because I’m from here, my family’s been here hundreds of years, I plan to stay here. Like, I’m shocked by how little they care about the country, including the person you mentioned. And I can’t imagine how someone like that could get an audience of people who claim to care about America, because he doesn’t, obviously.”

The twist: “He” was not some far-left activist who had called America an irredeemably racist regime. Carlson was referring to Ben Shapiro, arguably the most visible Jewish conservative in America, and insinuating that despite his decades of paeans to American exceptionalism, Shapiro was a foreign implant secretly serving Israeli interests. The podcast host did not object to Carlson’s remarks.

The war in Gaza has placed Jews and their role in American politics under a microscope. Much has been written about how the conflict has divided the left and led to a spike in anti-Semitism in progressive spaces, but less attention has been paid to the similar shake-up on the right, where events in the Middle East have forced previously subterranean tensions to the surface. Today, the Republican Party’s establishment says that it stands with Israel and against anti-Semitism, but that stance is under attack by a new wave of insurgents with a very different agenda.

Since October 7, in addition to slurring Shapiro, Carlson has hosted a parade of anti-Jewish guests on his show. One was Candace Owens, the far-right podcaster known for her defenses of another anti-Jewish agitator, Kanye “Ye” West. Owens had already clashed with her employer—the conservative outlet The Daily Wire, co-founded by Shapiro—over her seeming indifference to anti-Semitism. But after the Hamas assault, she began making explicit what had previously been implicit—including liking a social-media post that accused a rabbi of being “drunk on Christian blood,” a reference to the medieval blood libel. The Daily Wire severed ties with her soon after. But this did not remotely curb her appeal.

Today, Owens can be found fulminating on her YouTube channel (2.4 million subscribers) or X feed (5.6 million followers) about how a devil-worshipping Jewish cult controls the world, and how Israel was complicit in the 9/11 attacks and killed President John F. Kennedy. Owens has also jumped aboard the Reich-Rehabilitation Express. “What is it about Hitler? Why is he the most evil?” she asked in July. “The first thing people would say is: ‘Well, an ethnic cleansing almost took place.’ And now I offer back: ‘You mean like we actually did to the Germans.’”

“Many Americans are learning that WW2 history is not as black and white as we were taught and some details were purposefully omitted from our textbooks,” she wrote after Carlson’s Holocaust conversation came under fire. The post received 15,000 likes.

Donald Trump’s entry into Republican politics intensified several forces that have contributed to the rise of anti-Semitism on the American right. One was populism, which pits the common people against a corrupt elite. Populists play on discontents that reflect genuine failures of the establishment, but their approach also readily maps onto the ancient anti-Semitic canard that clandestine string-pulling Jews are the source of society’s problems. Once people become convinced that the world is oppressed by an invisible hand, they often conclude that the hand belongs to an invisible Jew.

Another such force is isolationism, or the desire to extricate the United States from foreign entanglements, following decades of debacles in the Middle East. But like the original America First Committee, which sought to keep the country out of World War II, today’s isolationists often conceive of Jews as either rootless cosmopolitans undermining national cohesion or dual loyalists subverting the national interest in service of their own. In this regard, the Tucker Carlsons of 2024 resemble the reactionary activists of the 1930s, such as the aviator Charles Lindbergh, who infamously accused Jewish leaders of acting “for reasons which are not American,” and warned of “their large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government.”

Populism and isolationism have legitimate expressions, but preventing them from descending into anti-Semitism requires leaders willing to restrain their movement’s worst instincts. Today’s right has fewer by the day. Trump fundamentally refuses to repudiate anyone who supports him, and by devolving power from traditional Republican elites and institutions to a diffuse array of online influencers, the former president has ensured that no one is in a position to corral the right’s excesses, even if someone wanted to.

As one conservative columnist put it to me in August 2023, “What you’re actually worried about is not Trump being Hitler. What you’re worried about is Trump incentivizing anti-Semites,” to the point where “a generation from now, you’ve got Karl Lueger,” the anti-Jewish mayor of Vienna who inspired Hitler, “and two generations from now, you do have something like that.” The accelerant that is social-media discourse, together with a war that brings Jews to the center of political attention, could shorten that timeline.

For now, the biggest obstacle to anti-Semitism’s ascent on the right is the Republican rank and file’s general commitment to Israel, which causes them to recoil when people like Owens rant about how the Jewish state is run by a cabal of satanic pedophiles. Even conservatives like Trump’s running mate, J. D. Vance, a neo-isolationist who opposes foreign aid to Ukraine, are careful to affirm their continued support for Israel, in deference to the party base.

But this residual Zionism shields only Israeli Jews from abuse, not American ones—and it certainly does not protect the large majority of American Jews who vote for Democrats. This is why Trump suffers no consequences in his own coalition when he rails against “liberal Jews” who “voted to destroy America.” But such vilification won’t end there. As hard-core anti-Israel activists who have engaged in anti-Semitism against American Jews have demonstrated, most people who hate one swath of the world’s Jews eventually turn on the rest. “If I don’t win this election,” Trump said last week, “the Jewish people would have a lot to do with a loss.”

More than populism and isolationism, the force that unites the right’s anti-Semites and explains why they have been slowly winning the war for the future of conservatism is conspiracism. To see its power in practice, one need only examine the social-media posts of Elon Musk, which serve as a window into the mindset of the insurgent right and its receptivity to anti-Semitism.

Over the past year, the world’s richest man has repeatedly shared anti-Jewish propaganda on X, only to walk it back following criticism from more traditional conservative quarters. In November, Musk affirmed the Great Replacement theory, replying to a white nationalist who expressed it with these words: “You have said the actual truth.” After a furious backlash, the magnate recanted, saying, “It might be literally the worst and dumbest post I’ve ever done.” Musk subsequently met with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and accompanied Ben Shapiro on a trip to Auschwitz, but the lesson didn’t quite take. Earlier this month, he shared Carlson’s discussion of Holocaust revisionism with the approbation: “Very interesting. Worth watching.” Once again under fire, he deleted the tweet and apologized, saying he’d listened to only part of the interview.

But this lesson is also unlikely to stick, because like many on the new right, Musk is in thrall to a worldview that makes him particularly susceptible to anti-Jewish ideas. Last September, not long before Musk declared the “actual truth” of the Great Replacement, he participated in a public exchange with a group of rabbis, activists, and Jewish conservatives. The discussion was intended as an intervention to inoculate Musk against anti-Semitism, but early on, he said something that showed why the cause was likely lost before the conversation even began. “I think,” Musk cracked, “we’re running out of conspiracy theories that didn’t turn out to be true.”

The popularity of such sentiments among contemporary conservatives explains why the likes of Carlson and Owens have been gaining ground and old-guard conservatives such as Shapiro and Erickson have been losing it. Simply put, as Trump and his allies have coopted the conservative movement, it has become defined by a fundamental distrust of authority and institutions, and a concurrent embrace of conspiracy theories about elite cabals. And the more conspiratorial thinking becomes commonplace on the right, the more inevitable that its partisans will land on one of the oldest conspiracies of them all.

Conspiratorial thinking is neither new to American politics nor confined to one end of the ideological spectrum. But Trump has made foundational what was once marginal. Beginning with birtherism and culminating in election denialism, he turned anti-establishment conspiracism into a litmus test for attaining political power, compelling Republicans to either sign on to his claims of 2020 fraud or be exiled to irrelevance.

The fundamental fault line in the conservative coalition became whether someone was willing to buy into ever more elaborate fantasies. The result was to elevate those with flexible approaches to facts, such as Carlson and Owens, who were predisposed to say and do anything—no matter how hypocritical or absurd—to obtain influence. Once opened, this conspiratorial box could not be closed. After all, a movement that legitimizes crackpot schemes about rigged voting machines and microchipped vaccines cannot simply turn around and draw the line at the Jews.

For mercenary opportunists like Carlson, this moment holds incredible promise. But for Republicans with principles—those who know who won the 2020 election, or who was the bad guy in World War II, and can’t bring themselves to say otherwise—it’s a time of profound peril. And for Jews, the targets of one of the world’s deadliest conspiracy theories, such developments are even more forboding.

“It is now incumbent on all decent people, and especially those on the right, to demand that Carlson no longer be treated as a mainstream figure,” Jonathan Tobin, the pro-Trump conservative editor of the Jewish News Syndicate, wrote after Carlson’s World War II episode. “He must be put in his place, and condemned by Trump and Vance.”

Anti-Semitism’s ultimate victory in GOP politics is not assured. Musk did delete his tweets, Owens was fired, and some Republicans did condemn Carlson’s Holocaust segment. But beseeching Trump and his camp to intervene here mistakes the cause for the cure.

Three days after Carlson posted his Hitler apologetics, Vance shrugged off the controversy and recorded an interview with him, and this past Saturday, the two men yukked it up onstage at a political event in Pennsylvania before an audience of thousands. Such coziness should not surprise, given that Carlson was reportedly instrumental in securing the VP slot for the Ohio senator. Asked earlier if he took issue with Carlson’s decision to air the Holocaust revisionism, Vance retorted, “The fundamental idea here is Republicans believe not in censorship; we believe in free speech and debate.” He conveniently declined to use his own speech to debate Carlson’s.

[magpod-confessions]

i am getting so tired of the Jon-asexuality discourse like just LET PEOPLE LIVE

LET PEOPLE DO WHAT THEY WANT

I’m ace, i get off, i make sex jokes, I don’t want to have sec with an actual human being, but I’ll read slash fics, I get horny for fictional men, I joke that I want to fuck them, I don’t, but I might be a smutfic of these characters when I feel like it, none of this makes me any less asexual.

saying all ace people are virgins and have never and will never have sex and have no libido and are “uwu liddle babees” who are oblivious is just factually incorrect.

some ace people don’t have sex.

some do.

Jon’s asexuality is left vague for a REASON.

we hear about through gossip, from someone who 1) hates Jon 2) heard it from his EX. That’s not the most reliable source. I hate to break it to you, but it’s not. It’s second hand information that is, AGAIN, left vague. So that the viewer may interpret it however they like.

someone interpreting Jon as sex-favorable is fine. It’s a headcanon. We don’t ACTUALLY know bc there’s no sex scene or lack of sex scene. Because it doesn’t matter whether or not he has sex! It adds nothing to the overall story, but if you want to write smut with Jon, that’s fine!

Stop getting so uncomfortable, it’s a fictional character and these fics are hurting no one. Stop “calling people out” just because they’re writing something you don’t like. It’s like saying someone who writes detective novels is a cop or condones murder.

and most of the fics I’ve seen are by ace people who are projecting their own sexuality onto Jon, maybe even figuring out their asexuality through him. I realized a lot of my asexuality by reading some of these fics!

hell, even if you don’t like Jon having sex or feeling attraction to people, there’s fics where he ISNT attracted but will still have sex bc guess what! Even allo people have sex with people they aren’t attracted to! Bc they want to! Bc some people like having sex with others!

no ond is trying to erase Jon’s asexuality. You’re just mad because not everyone has the same headcanon as you. And guess what? You can block tags, block creators, you can block people on ao3, you can filter out smut on ao3, all of this is easily avoidable if you just curate your own expirience.

people are gonna write smut of any and every ace character. It’s not inherently acephobic to do so. Especially not when someone who is acespec is just projecting onto a fictional character who’s sexuality was left vague for that reason.

if you disagree, fine. You can always just look the other way.

🗣️

God. Agree these are my exact opinions on it LMAO. Idgaf how someone portrays jons asexuality and frankly the whole 'HES ACE HE HASNT HEARD OF SEX EVER' is just. Uncomfortable and aphobic to me as an ace person LMAO - rosette

YEAH . agreed ! as an ace person as well it isss . a spectrum guys . somebody making the canon ace character have sex isn't going to kill you . i can obviously understand if you're uncomfortable with it due to being ace yourself but non-ace people shouldn't be trying to dictate how other people headcanon a characters asexuality to be . - deceit

[ramsywasalittlelamb]

can i request a mood board for gambit then hes just a baby you can take as long as you need on the mood board or not do it if you dont want its okay :DDD you should watch xmen 97’ its so good but graphic so i would say you should watch the original from 1997 if youre regressed

Gambit (X-Men ‘97) age regression moodboard!

Since gambit is my favorite from the show, I’ll share some headcanons >o<

He LOVES colors, but a lot of toys and gear targeted towards babies are pastels, so they make do with baby-appropriate things and try to get colorful things for him

He also adores everything his little eyes and hands can get a hold of, aesthetics or sticking to a genre of toys does not happen for him. He likes what he likes, and that’s just how it is.

I cannot emphasize enough how much this baby loves water. Swimming? He’ll be squealing with laughter and excitement at the mention of it. Bath time? His favorite part of the day! Don’t even get him started with water toys.

When getting a new toy, Jean showed him that it squeaked, which then lead him down a trail of curiosity to find out what things make a noise at a squish, or more direct approach, a hit.

The team put an end to that very quickly when he punched Logan in the stomach to figure out what noise he’d make. (It was a yelp/grunt of shock, because for a baby, he could pack a punch.)

Hates being left alone when being fed, especially if it’s a bottle. He sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed for hours when Hank had handed him a bottle rather than feeding it to him— he kept crying even after Hank offered to feed it to him after realizing his mistake. Hank never did that again.

He loves rogue as his caregiver, but Scott and Jean do give some of the best hugs, and he especially loves babbling to Scott and Jean. He loves to talk, even if it makes no sense to anybody.

He’s generally a fussy baby, always wanting his way or no way, but he (sometimes) feels bad afterwards for his bad behavior, like if he’s thrown a full tantrum over something small.