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fairuzfan · 7 months

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This post is for the anon who sent me that video asking me to debunk it's claims so they can be better equipped against accusations of antisemitism.

Sorry, I won't post the video since I refuse to have that man on my blog but I can give you common Zionist talking points and the illogicality behind it.

To preface: most of the questions Zionists will ask you are a trap, and will make you fall into a "rabbit hole" (as I was once told when I was younger), as we try to apply their reasoning. My advice is to ALWAYS center the humanity of Palestinians. For example, when a Zionist says:

"Don't Jews deserve a homeland to be safe?"

It fundamentally ignores the core issue: Palestinians are being raped, murdered, and expelled from their homes so that the establishment of this so called "homeland" may exist. When people ask this to you, I personally advise saying something like:

Why must Palestinians suffer for the establishment of this homeland?

Always recenter to the issue at hand—the inhumane removal and treatment of Palestinians.

"Palestine belongs to the Jews and Not Muslims"

The whole premise of this claim is flawed—there is a weird tendency to equate Arab/Palestinian=Muslim when it just is like. Completely untrue. There are Palestinian Christians, Bethlehem is famously a Christian city, who have been there for centuries. There are Palestinian Jews, who have been there for centuries. There are Palestinian Muslims, who have been there for centuries. My grandpa told me stories of how he would turn on lamps for his Jewish neighbors in Al-Khalil (or Hebron) during Shabbat.

To claim that Palestine is EITHER Islamic or Jewish doesn't make any sense and completely neglects the fact that dissemination of culture has occurred for centuries, as well as the intermingling of people throughout generations. To somehow assert that for some reason, Jews and Muslims did not have ANYTHING to do with each other—did not create together, did not build families together, did not build culture together, all while being PALESTINIAN—is incredibly racist and nonsensical. "Palestinian" is not a religious identity—it's a cultural and ethnic one.

Also, it does not negate the core issue—Palestinians are being killed, removed, and tortured so that others can live on that land.

"Well what about [something about partitioning land]?"

Honestly like, who cares about the partitioning throughout the 1900 and early 2000s. Sorry, I'm not going to list the whole "partitioning" history nonsense. The whole reason "Israel" exists is because of a Mass Exodus, murder, and rape of Palestinians. Everything after that is rendered obsolete.

"Well, I heard Palestinians allied with Hitler"

I don't know how to tell you this but Palestine was under British Control. No they didn't.

"Israel withdrew from the Gaza and left them to themselves and they put Hammas in charge"

Oh yeah, Israel totally left Gaza, that's why Gazans' water, electricity, internet, and food is completely controlled by Israel (this is sarcasm, Israel still controls basic life in Gaza).

Go back to centering the idea that no human deserves to be shoved into an open-air prison, starved, and controlled. Did you know that the Zionist Entity controls the amount of water Gazans receive, as well as counting their calories to ensure they don't have enough energy on a day to day basis?

"I heard Israel asked Arabs to stay"

Show them these papers and videos when they say this:

youtube

If you can't show them these videos, check in the next point what to say.

"Well the Palestinians left of their own will in 1948"

Palestinians in 1948 didn't "leave." They had heard of how the Zionist Entity was slaughtering Palestinians en masse. Women especially heard stories of rape and sexual violence. They fled from *violence*. Again, from an earlier post, that this was a calculated effort on the Zionist Entity's part to try and get them to "leave" on their own and "abandon" their houses so that they can come in and say "hey, they left on their own so, we can come in and take their houses now."

Anyways, the idea that once you leave your house you can't ever come back to it is incredibly odd to me as an argument on Zionists' part. Like if you leave your house right now to go to the grocery store and you come back and see someone in your house and they're like "sorry dude, this is my house now, you left so that means you can't come back," you'd be like, "what the hell!" It would be even weirder if everyone agreed with the guy who took your house, which is what happened to Palestinians.

In Al-Khalil, or Hebron, Palestinians always have to have someone stay in their house or else a Settler will come in and take it from them. So it still goes on today as well.

This is not a point, but when that one person in the video said "Arabs lived under Israeli rule" and showed a clip of a bustling city with mountains, I'm pretty sure that was Amman, Jordan, not Palestine lol. Those buildings in the mountains look like how downtown Amman builds the residential areas. Could be wrong tho.

"There are no Jews living under Palestinian rule in Palestine"

What is this, some sort of gotcha argument? What are they trying to prove, the racist (obviously false) notion that Palestinians hate Jews as a whole? How do they know no Palestinian Jew lives in Gaza? Also, Settlers in Palestinian Territory exist??? I had never heard this claim before, its incredibly stupid lol. You're automatically a citizen of "Israel" if you're Jewish, whether or not you live in or outside of Palestinian Territories. So of course technically they don't live under Palestinian rule, they're granted full rights as an "Israeli" citizen automatically!

Go back to talking about the inhumane treatment of Palestinians, I wouldn't bring up the above counterpoint unless they really won't let it go since the main point is mistreatment.

"Why are Christians supporting Israel then, if it's a secular issue rather than a religious one?"

Well actually for a couple reasons:

Oil interests and regional control of goods (White People Supporting White People).

Weird fundamentalist ideology where they want to enact the second coming of Christ.

And finally because they are racist and don't think Arab Christians deserve to live. They literally bombed a 1500+ year church the other day. Why would (White) Christians cosign that.

Anyways, its a stupid argument again, because it forgets the core issue of Palestinians dying and being displaced.

In summary, always go back to the point of centering the Palestinians being displaced, tortured, and murdered, no matter the argument a Zionist gives you.

#palestine #gaza #info post #maybe i should do a masterpost with links to palestine education #maybe later #Youtube

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minihotdog · 5 months

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Caught Red Handed // Part 1

Summary: Soap Catches His Roommate Reading an Erotic Novel

Part 2

Pairing: John "Soap" Mactavish x Fem!Reader

a/n: Most likely gonna be a follow up fic for this, already brainstorming

c/w: oral (F receiving), a little penetration

word count: 2k

***

You sat on the end of the couch curled up in a blanket, completely enthralled by the book in your hands. Your nose is buried inside the pages and you only move to readjust your glasses every once in a while.

Soap saunters into the kitchen to get some water, noticing you in a trance-like state as he reaches for a glass. He calls your name to no avail. Eventually, he gives up and plops down on the other end of the couch and your eyes rip away from the book to him. You cautiously put the book down on your lap, hoping he hadn’t caught some of the words.

“What are ye readin’ tha’ has ye blushin’ like tha’?”

“Huh?” You pretend to not know what he’s talking about and try, nonchalantly, to cover the book with your blanket. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a little warm.”

He eyes you, not believing a word of what you’re saying and you try to play it off as if your soul didn’t jump out of your skin from him interrupting you while reading the most filthy paragraphs of your life.

Soap raises an eyebrow at you, a smirk appears on his face. Heat continues to rise to your face as his muscles bulge while he scratches the back of his neck. He always lounged around in a pair of gray sweats, chest exposed. You always assumed you were used to it until you were close enough to take all of him in. The Scottish flag on his left pec and a quote on his ribs you had yet to get close enough to read, and worst of all, the sheer size of him.

“Yer full o’ shite,” He accuses you playfully. “Let me see then?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before you toss the blanket at him as a distraction and take off running. He fights off the blanket and is hot on your heels as you try to hide the book in your room.

He comes up behind you and snatches it from your hands.

“Johnny! No!” He holds the book above his head and you’re jumping up, trying to take it from him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll give it back.” You put your hand out and he turns, running into his room. You follow him only for the door to shut in your face with a click.

“Give me my book back!” You try to open the door, banging on it when it won’t budge.

“Be quiet, I’m readin’.” He shouts through the door.

You put your forehead on the door, cursing yourself for reading such a thing when you had someone like him around.

“Why’s there a big lad wearin’ a kilt on the front?”

Your eyes close and your hands cover your face. You stood there about to die of embarrassment thinking about how this couldn’t get any worse, until…

“His body was as hard as steel, forged frae generations of resistance against the soothern British armies - fuckin’ Brits -.” He murmurs the last bit before continuing. “Her hands ran ower his muscles as he slid his throbbin’ member intae her soaked…WOAH!”

“Johnny, stop!” You plea for him to stop reading. Your ears hurt at the sound of it being read out loud.

The room falls silent for a while and you call out his name once again. The quiet fuels your embarrassment. It feels like a thousand years go by before he opens the door and stands in the frame, holding the book at his waistline. He points at you with a wicked smile,

“Oh, yer a dirty, lass.” You snatch the book from him and stop towards your room.

“John Mactavish, you are so nosey!” He laughs as you shut and lock your door so you can read in peace.

***

You tip-toe out of your room, not quite ready to confront your roommate after the events earlier in the day. You poked your head into the kitchen, seeing his mohawk peaking over the other side of the half wall separating the two rooms. You quietly enter the kitchen, turning your back to him to try and open the refrigerator, hoping that the TV is loud enough to cover the sound of the door opening.

“Y/n, ye done being mad?” He taunts, resting with his forearms on the half wall, looking right at you. You stick your tongue out at him and he chuckles. He never took you seriously when you were mad at him. To piss you off, he’d often tell you that you reminded him of one of those little dogs, angry as hell and completely unaware of how small they were.

He motions to the couch, “Come watch a movie wit me.” You shake your head and he whines, “O’ c’mon, y/n.”

“Fiiiine.”

You walk over and sit on the other end of the small couch, your nerves building up in your stomach. Soap is wrapped up in your blanket. You glance over at him as you rub the fabric on your pj shorts. He scratches his scruff and his eyes slowly meet yours. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “Wha’s wrong, lass?”

Your eyes drop, heat rising to your cheeks from being caught staring.

“Nothing.”

“Lassie, there’s nothin’ wrong wit readin’ those types o’ books.” A mischievous smirk plays on his lips, “There’s nothin’ wrong wit wantin’ a big Scotsman tae throw ye around and fuck ye silly either.”

You hide yourself with your hands, not wanting him to see the horrified look on your face. He scoots over to you, wrapping you in a bear hug.

“Oh, innocent little y/n has a dark side, I cannae believe it!”

“Nooo!” You squeal, “Stop bringing it up!”

You turn to push him away but he locks an arm on both sides of the armrest behind you, trapping you. His blue eyes bore into your soul making you squirm.

“So, tell me, Ye read tha’ because ye like it? Or did ye wish it was another Scotsman ye know?” He tilts his head, looking up as if he’s trying to remember something. “His grasp on my throat tightened as his thrusts became harder, pushin’ me over the edge… Is that what she said?” You cover his mouth with your hands and he grabs your wrists in one hand, pulling them off.

“I’ll make yer little dreams come true, just tell me ye want me.”

Your breath catches as you try to speak, “Johnny…” You’re left not knowing what to say to him. He catches you off guard, pulling you onto your back by your hips. His body forces your legs open and he rests his weight on his forearms. His lips graze your ear, “I see ye lookin’ me up and down all the time, lass.” His hand travels down your body to cup your pussy through your shorts. A wave of heat shoots through your body. “I hear ye moanin’ my name at night when ye play with yerself, now I catch ye readin’ a book about some lad wrecking a wee thing.” He pushes the hem against your clit and you grip his shoulders.

“Jus’ admit it and I’ll be more than happy to give it to ye.” His hand grabs your jaw, giving it a taunting little shake. He holds himself above you, eyes glued to your lips, whispering, “C’mon, c’mon,” encouraging you to answer.

You find the courage to speak, the fire coursing through your body is unbearable.

“Johnny, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, fuck me.”

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He mutters before coming down to kiss you, pressing his bulge against you through his sweats. His lips move with yours, his kiss leaves you feeling hypnotized. By the time he begins pulling your shorts down, you’re seeing stars. He throws the shorts off to the side and his fingers run over the wet patch on your panties. He lets out a shaky breath, and he takes in the sight of you. Legs spread for him with your nipples poking through your oversized t-shirt. Your big doe eyes watch his every move as he positions himself lower on the couch, throwing your legs over his back.

He kisses down your thighs, nipping at the soft flesh, until he reaches where you want him most. He leaves one last kiss on your clit through the fabric before pulling it down your legs. He groans, watching you drip for him. He parts your lips with his thumbs and licks a stripe up to your clit. “Oh, lass.” He moans, tasting you on his tongue. He leaves slow licks on your clit, savoring the small sounds he’s coaxing out of you. He looks up at you from between your legs, as you squirm,

“Quit fuckin’ tryin’ to get away fra’ me.” He wraps his arms around your thighs forcing them to squeeze his head and continues lapping at your clit. He was usually impatient when he was in this position, wanting to draw out the most erotic sounds from whoever he was blessed with his tongue, to drink from them like a man stuck in the desert. Of course, he would do the same to you, but at this moment he wanted to revel in what he had fantasized about doing for so long. His beloved roommate whom he dreamed of, and spent so many nights imagining beneath him had his head in between her legs.

He closes his lips around your clit flicking it repeatedly. The attack on your sensitive nub has you arching your back. His name falls from your lips, your eyes clamp shut, one hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk and the other digging its nails into his arm.

He goes back and forth from flicking your clit quickly and leaving long licks, lapping up your wetness.

“Johnny,” You breathe out. His name being drawn out from you causes his cock to ache every single time. One of his hands rips your shirt up, exposing your breasts. He kneads the soft flesh, giving the mound a gentle slap. He moans when your hips move against his mouth.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He gives his head a shake, letting his tongue move with it. The motion has you mewling as your orgasm begins to build up.

“Johnny, p-please I’m gonna-” Your words trail off as he eats you out like you’re his last meal. His scruff scratches against your thighs leaving the skin irritated as he bobs his head, licking away. His pace doesn’t slow when you gasp and begin squeezing around nothing. Your hand keeps him in place while you ride out your high. His name fills the room in a chant. Your body jerks violently as the waves continue hitting you even longer due to him not wanting to stop.

He cleans you up, groaning at the mess you made. His mouth leaves a gentle kiss on your overly sensitive clit before he rises from his position. He wipes his chin off, his eyes cloudy just like yours.

“Fuck, lass. Yer addictin’.” His rough calloused hands run over your curves. He pulls your shirt completely off and leans down to give you a deep kiss. He trails down leaving wet kisses all over your neck. He goes further, leaving hickeys on your breasts, catching one of your perky nubs in his mouth. He then licked from between your breasts and up your neck, giving you one more kiss before pulling away to free himself from his sweats. He kicks them off and kneels in front of you completely bare. The sight of him and his body has you dripping once again. His piercing blue eyes were darker than normal, his hair a mess from you holding onto it for dear life, his muscles contracting with every movement. Your eyes run over him, admiring every part of him until you get further down.

“Oh dear god, Johnny.” You gasp. He lets go of his member and it slaps down on your stomach. He was long and thick, the head was bright red with a bead of precum threatening to fall from it. “No wonder you’re such a cocky ass.”

He laughs at your playful insult.

“We’ll see how much talkin’ yer gonna be doing in a second.”

He rubs the tip on your sensitive clit causing you to jump. He teases you by running the length of his cock in between your pussy lips, collecting the wetness. Both your eyes are glued to the pornographic scene.

“I better never catch you readin’ one of those books again, lovie.”

“Why’s t-that?”

“Because I’m a better fuck than tha’ clown you were readin’ about.”

You roll your eyes at his cockiness. In all truth, he was a little upset that you were drooling over some scot in a book when you had him right here. His competitiveness with the fictional character was enough to fuel him.

He positions his tip at your entrance, poking into you slightly.

“Alright, lass. Deep breath.”

You listen, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Ready?” He looks down at you with a gentle smile. You nod your head and he focuses back on your dripping core. “Finally got ye where I want ye.” He mutters, shifting his weight. The fat head of his cock slides into you, your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open.

#soap cod #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap john mactavish #soap x reader #soap smut #john soap mactavish smut #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish smut #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod smut #myfic

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sillysowa · 10 months

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･ﾟ:* DAZED AND CONFUSED *:･ﾟ

pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Spiderperson!Reader

genre: smut! porn with a bit of plot and a lot of foreplay.

word count: 4k

warnings: sexual content, slight exhibitionism kink, hair pulling (reader has at least enough hair to fist), bondage with spider webs, a lot of praise, oral sex f&m receiving, squirting, biting, scratching, choking, dacryphilia, size kink if you squint, literally writing out Hobie’s british accent, Hobie is kind of a switch, a little use of Y/N, lots of pet names, reader and Hobie use the color system, spider abilities used during sex, reader is sort of fighting back but it’s all consensual!

authors note: first time writing smut! If I missed any warnings let me know, ty!

synopsis: You and Hobie are in a secret relationship, but that never stops him from teasing you suggestively infront of your friends.

—

Hobie adored teasing you, but it’s not like you could blame him—you made it too easy.

You walked into the headquarters common area after a short mission, seeing Hobie hanging out with his friends. Miles and Gwen were sitting together and Hobie was sitting with a very energetic looking Pavitr. You searched for a place to sit as you walked up to them, when Hobie lifted his head, your eyes locking. His expression slightly faltered, a mischievous glint flashing through his features, gone just as quickly as it arrived, but before you could think too hard about it, his smooth voice pierced the air,

“Nice’v you to join us, Doll.” He said, smiling with his eyes as he motioned with an upturn of his head for you to take a seat across from him, next to Gwen. You looked down to avoid showing the others the sight of your face scrunching up, visibly flustered by just a pet name. Gwen and Miles made a space for you, and you sat in it, looking around at the group of spider people you called your best friends, along with your secret lover. The air seemed thick this time around—like something was about to happen. You leaned back in your seat, scrunching your eyebrows at your man. Hobie’s deep eyes bored into yours when no one was looking, your head ringing with your spider senses. You braced yourself for the worst.

“Oooh! Hobie and Y/N, don’t think we can’t see all of that intense eye contact!” Pavitr teased, his eyes lighting up as he rapidly looked between the two of you, talking over you when you started rambling to defend yourself, “You should play that song you promised you’d show us, Hobie! It’s getting late and we all really wanna hear it!” Pavitr groaned, changing the subject, also leaning back and kicking his feet up, Gwen squealing out something about his bare toes. Hobie knew the gang had their suspicions about his and your relationship—they speculated and accused, saying that ‘normal friends’ don’t look at each other the way that you and Hobie do, and ‘normal friends’ don’t touch each other as much as you and Hobie do, but through it all Hobie still had yet to blow your cover, able to expertly tease you in ways that are only humiliating and obvious to you and balance out the physical touch by being equally as touchy to everyone. However, he decided tonight he was going to tease you like he had never before. He was going to play the song that played when he was between your thighs the night before. The deep bass chords that buzzed around in Hobie’s bedroom while he mercilessly ate you out for hours, bringing his lovely doll to her release over and over again.

“Yeah, I did promise didn’t I?” Hobie smiled smugly, pulling his colorful, sticker coated, bass guitar out and leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. Your eyes bore into his, staring at him despite him doing his best to not look you in the eye. Without even looking at you Hobie could feel your nervousness.

“Need a pick, love,” Hobie flicked his middle and ring ringer twice in his direction, beckoning you forward. Your eyes widened, and you slowly leaned forward and looked down, feeling Hobie’s long fingers come up behind your neck, plucking the guitar pick necklace, his guitar pick necklace, off of you. No one else knew of the necklace, something you kept hidden under your spider-suit to keep a little piece of Hobie with you everywhere you go. Pavitr glanced over at Miles and Gwen, all of them equally stunned. They all shared a ‘Are you seeing this?’ look before quickly looking back over at the two, not wanting to miss a moment of the drama.

Your gaze locked onto Hobie’s for a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you glanced down to his fingers, and when they plucked at the strings, the deep bass chords of ‘Dazed and Confused’ caught you by surprise. The air instantly felt heavy, suddenly, you were transported back into last night. The song sent a shiver down your spine, and you did everything in your power to not lunge at Hobie. He played with passion, making faces that were all too familar—your nipples hardened under your spider suit and your thighs clenched together. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your obvious need, remaining silent and bringing your knees up to your chest. However, nothing could stop you from staring directly at Hobie’s long fingers, mind clouded with unhealthy amounts of lust. It was just an innocent song to your friends beside you, but it meant more to you and Hobie, obvious in the way he was playing it. He threw his head back at times, adams apple bobbing in his pretty neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, sending a surge of need though your core, and he even had the gall to look at you the same way he had last night, when his tongue was deep inside you, and his hand clutched your thighs, keeping them spread apart for him, keeping you still for him. It was too much, and he could tell by the way his spider senses were starting to go off frantically—a sign of your desire and unease.

With a large palm over the base of the gutiar, and a sling over his shoulder, Hobie was dont playing, “That’s all for tonight mate,” he quickly stood up, grabbing your hand in his, his other hand on Pav’s shoulder, looking down at his stunned friend and doing nothing more than sending him a smirk. “Come to one’uv the shows!” He shrugged, glancing at all his friends and then opening a portal with his bootleg watch, “I’ve go’ta finish what i’ve started.” He winked, pulling you flush against his chest and stepping back into the portal, vanishing just like that.

—

“Easy love, didn’t know my li’l stunt was gonna have ya this bothered now.” Hobie smirked as you pushed him down onto his bed, the glint in his eyes still obvious in the low lighting of his room. You had stripped out of your spider-suit the moment you landed in Hobie’s dimension and now you were in just your pretty underwear. Your lips were on his neck, straddling him with his hands pinned on either side of his head…because you couldn’t look him in the eyes. Whenever you dominated Hobie, he just found it amusing, because in reality he was still fully in control. He could break free from your hold any moment, but he didn’t, not yet. Hobie wasn’t done teasing you.

“You knew damn well what you were doing Hobie, you thought you were going to embarrass me.” You snapped, kissing up his neck and sucking a hickey into the spot that you know makes his knees weak, satisfied with the grunt he fights back and the way his wrists tense up. “I hold up pretty well though huh?” You whisper next to his head, biting his earlobe and tugging on his silver earring between your teeth. Instantly, one of his hands shoots out of your grasp, long fingers fisting you hair and yanking your head back as a shocked and agonized grunt spills from your throat. Your left hand clutched his wrist, as you looked at him with more intensity than he had ever seen from you in his life.

“Say whatcha want doll…but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry.” He grinned, You sure I didn’t get under your pretty skin? Not even just a li’l?” He held you in place, your hands tightening around his wrists, struggling for dominance as he leaned in,

“…Hobie,” You whispered, looking down at his plump lips, fighting the need to kiss him and the need to make your point.

“Yeah, baby?” Hobie teased, a slight tilt in his voice, his other hand fighting for dominance against yours. You close your eyes, tilting your head back as he leans in. It would be so easy to get the pleasure your body desperately wants If you just gave in, but you just couldn’t give him that. You tug your wrists back, expecting him to release you, but Hobie’s grip just tightens and he laughs airily,

“What, you really thought I was gonna let’chyou call the shots, love? You know you love being good f’me.” He smiled, dark eyes piercing through you as he releases you just so that he can drag you back to him by your ankles when you inevitably crawl away from him. You gasp, kicking your legs helplessly just for Hobie to web shoot your legs open, silky strings connecting your ankles to the walls. He laughs as you sit up with your hands ready, his long and lanky form crawling over you like a black widow spider as he uses his webs to restrain them beside your head. You’re out of breath, he’s out of breath, and he just looks down at you squirming, admiring his work.

“Come on love, all that talk just to end up writhing under me.” Hobie coos, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip before thrusting it into your mouth, ignoring your gasp, “It’s adorable how you always fight back knowing you’ll just end up crying under me.” He tilts his head, lost in the way you suck his thumb and then his fingers when he slides them over your tongue, moaning at the sight. “Mmm, good job doll. So obedient f’me.” He grunts, “What’s your color baby?” He asks, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a newfound softness crossing over his features as he check in on you. Hobie loves to treat you like a toy and to absolutely wreck you, but that’s only because if want it,

“Green.” You whine, holding eye contact with him and curling your toes at the smirk that covers his face. He flicks his head to the side, going you a beautiful view of his side profile, web shooting to his open record player where his Led Zeppelin vinyl sits. He expertly swings his webs around to start the soft thrum of ‘You Shook Me,” allowing you to admire the veins in his hands before he turns his attention back to you. Looking down with a devilish toothy grin, watching your eyelashes flutter. He drags his fingers over the expanse of your chest, trailing them behind you to unclip your bra and tossing it across the room, ignoring your protests on how its your favorite. Suddenly, he’s leaning down and capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, looking up at you while his large hand palms your other breast. He moans at your taste, swirling his tongue around your nipple and tugging on it between his teeth.

“Always keen on the sight of my girls.” He mumbles, kissing your chest all over. You tip your head back, feeling dizzy as a soft sigh escapes your parted lips. Hobie’s eyes flicker up to you, his hand languidly coming up to your neck and applying pressure, smiling into your skin when you lightly gasp. He trails wet kisses all over your smooth skin, paying close attention the parts of you he knows you like less than him, until he makes his way to your thighs. He licks and sucks them slowly, holding eye contact with you and softly biting into your flesh when you look away. You liked it at first…

“Hobie, please!” You cry out, tugging on your web-restrained wrists and thrusting your hips up. He instantly flattens his large palm over your lower stomach, looking at you with his piercing gaze,

“You’re not getting anything if you’re not patient, angel.” He slurred against your skin with a leering tilt in his tone, deciding to give you what you want, “Be good now, y’gonna be a good girl f’me, Y/N?” He whispered the last part, leaning down and running his nose over your covered pussy, hooking his deft fingers under the elastic band and slowly starting to pull your underwear down. You let out a shuddered gasp, his face lips and nose bumping on your throbbing clit, a primal grunt leaving his lips.

He slides your panties down your thighs, balling them up and and sitting on his knees, “Open up baby,” Hobie taps the side of your face gently, his half lidded eyes boring into your slightly shocked ones as your jaw goes slack. Hobie proceeds to shove your wet panties into your mouth and webbing it shut, grinning from ear to ear,

“I’m so hungry love,” he leans down to your ear, whispering absolute filth that rattles around in your empty skull. You moan helplessly as his long fingers begin their torture on your clit, rubbing it the way he knows makes your limbs weak and your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You look up at the ceiling, your eyelashes fluttering as he sucks hickeys into your neck, swirling his fingers around your sensitive nub until you make a noise that sounds like a muffled whimper of his name.

“I know, I know, I’ll quit torturin’ the both’v us.” He coos mockingly, pecking your nose before getting back on stomach between your legs, spreading your pussy lips open with two long fingers and thrusting one of his fingers into your tight walls with the other hand, looking up at you to catch your every reaction. Hobie was always careful to not hurt you or cause you any discomfort when you couldn’t tell him how you were feeling—But he knew you’d be on cloud nine from just one of his spindly digits. He leaned down and roughly licked your clit, moaning deeply at your taste, looking directly into your soul as he spits on it, continuing his assault on your pussy. You groan loudly with your eyes clamping shut, as you aggressively tug on your restraints. Hobie fucks another finger into you, laughing through his nose when your pussy sucks it in. Hobie curls his fingers up; watching when, like clockwork, your eyes shoot open, muffled moans ringing out through the room. He sucks, kisses, and licks your bundle of nerves, rhythmically pleasing you as one song ends on his record player, and the notorious bass of ‘Dazed and Confused’ fills the room through his speakers. Hobie ravenously eats you out, shaking his head side to side and getting his whole face involved. He meant it when he said he was hungry because he was eating you like a starved man, his face piercings glistening with your wetness. He would speak into your folds, grunts of ‘love this pussy’ and ‘all mine’ tearing out of his throat. Your hips were now shaking, a telltale sign of your approaching orgasm. Hobie absolutely devoured your pussy, thrusting his hips into the mattress at the sound of your non-stopping moaning and whimpering that steadily increased in frequency, Hobie whispered one last time into your sweet, throbbing pussy,

“Cum on my tongue, love.” He grumbled out, a slightly desperate whimper present as he grows needy. You whine, and whine, crying out as your back arches and your thighs desperately try to close as you cum. Hobie eats you out with so much fervor, slurping up your cum and spitting it back onto your pussy again, making a complete mess of your overstimulated sex. Hobie is completely lost in the deep electric guitar chords and the muscle memory of eating his girl out that he almost doesn’t notice your overstimulated cries and the way your hips and thighs are shaking. He gives your pretty pussy one last kiss before tearing the webs off of your ankles, watching them fall onto the soft mattress instantly. He tears his webs off your wrists, and gently peels them off your face, his knees on either side of your thighs. He works faster when you whimper,

“I’m comin’ baby.” He pants, pulling your panties out of your mouth, staring at your parted lips and glossy eyes. Hobie wastes no time in cupping his hand behind your head, pulling you into a sloppy kiss. You’re both moaning and clutching at each other, hands all over. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he knows it. Pulling away and gently lowering your head, hanging it off the edge of the bed. You knew what time it was.

“Hobie~” You smiled, viewing your lover upside down. He stripped naked, down to his boxers. You admired his beautiful dark skin, his beautiful wicks, and his mouth-wateringly beautiful cock that sprung free from his boxers. “Hobie,” you repeated, “You’re so pretty, Hobie, I love you~” You whispered, fluttering your eyes closed as he lined his dick up with your throat, grunting at the sight of how deep in your throat he’ll be when your words catch him slightly off guard. He crouches down, kissing your forehead and your cheek, cradling your head and whispering ‘I love you too’ into you ear. He knows you get all soft and lovey after your first orgasm, craving to please him. He stands back up, slapping his tip onto your lips and gently thrusting into your wet mouth,

“Now show me how much you love me, doll face.” Hobie grunts, thrusting at a steady rhythm into your throat, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open at the sound of your gagging and the slapping of skin-on-skin. You’re focusing on breathing through your nose while he fucks your throat, all of him sliding in and out faster, and faster. Hobie loses all decorum, panting and moaning like an injured animal as he looks down at you. Fat tears slide down your cheeks from all the gagging, your hands reaching to hold onto his hips while his throbbing dick absolutely mauls your throat. You swallow and gag until you’re sure you’ll pass out, vision bleary while Hobie praises you relentlessly,

“Take it, take it, take it…oh fuck. You feel so good, baby…so good…so filthy love, taking this dick like you were made for it~” Hobie moans, needy and chasing his release. You feel his hips stutter and thrusts pick up in speed, his whines becoming more frequent as he rapidly pants, a mantra of ‘I’m cumming’ spilling from his pretty lips as his semen shoots down your throat, gasping and swallowing as he looks down at you, unbelievably turned on. Hobie slides his length out of your throat slowly, watching you through his dark eyelashes. His cock pops out of your mouth, a string of saliva from his tip to your tongue and he nearly cums again just from the sight. He leans down and scoops you up with ease, using his super-human strength, placing you on your feet and kissing the top of your head as the both of you slowly walk backwards. Hobie’s hands were massaging your skin gently as he backs you against the wall.

“On the wall, my li’l spider.” Hobie whispers, kissing your forehead as you use your spider abilities to cling onto the wall with your palms, spreading your legs for him and hooking your ankles behind his back, panting. Hobie places his elbows on the wall, lining his cock up with your entrance and slowly slipping the tip in before pulling it out and slapping it against your pussy. You gasp at the feeling, snapping your head up and glaring at Hobie,

“Don’t be a tease.” You groan, eyebrows furrowing and hips lifting. “Hobie!” Your lover just looks down at you, cracking a smirk,

“Hobie! Don’t be a tease!” He moans, mocking you and plastering a fucked out look on his face, drinking up your pissed off face. He trails his hand up to your chin, holding it keeping your eyes forward as he leans down to your ear, “You know you love it when I make you beg dollface.” Hobie whispers, biting your earlobe as he snaps his length fully inside you. You gasp loudly and moan uncontrollably, scratching up Hobie’s toned back and making him groan.

“O-Oh fuck! Hobie! Shit!” Your pussy throbs, his long dick kissing your cervix with every thrust. You’re so soaked he slides in with absolutely no effort, fucking you with so much energy you’d think you just started. You both grunt and moan, Hobie staring at you, you staring at where your bodies meet. He follows your gaze, grabbing your hips and fucking into you even faster, loving the way you’re nearly screaming for him.

“Y’like the view lovely? Yeah, I know you love this dick.” He grunts, fucking your pussy ruthlessly, completely hell-bent on fucking you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. He wants to make sure all the people at HQ can’t help but wonder what could have possibly happened to you to leave you so destroyed, only to see him, the infamous Spider-punk right behind you, kissing the purple hickeys all over your neck.

The room smells like sex and it feels like heaven. Your lips are permenantly parted with moans spilling out and your lashes soaked with tears, pussy clenching around him, in dire need of an orgasm when Hobie suddenly pulls out and tosses you over his shoulder.

“What the fuck, Hobes!” You yelp at first, mumbling at the end of your sentence out of exhaustion. Your back hits the bed with a thud and Hobie crawls on top of you, hooking your legs over his shoulders,

“Just craving a change of positions.” Hobie enters you again, his thin waist and glistening abs a sight for sore eyes. You admire Hobie until you feel your eyes melt, not even aware of the animalistic sounds coming from your throat as he pounds your pussy into oblivion, the bed creaking and Hobie’s fingers feeling like searing hot lava on your skin as he circles your clit with his calloused guitar fingers. To think that you were here because Hobie embarrassed you in front of your friends—you wouldn’t change a thing. The delicious drag of his dick in your warm walls, and the sounds of his impending orgasm are driving you insane. Steadily, your orgasm is building inside you.

“Hobie I-“

“I know love, I’ve got you, cum f'me, gimme one more.” Hobie groans a long, dawn out groan, throwing around profanities as he speeds up, fucking up into you with reckless abandon. He reaches down to your empty hands beside your head, locking his fingers with yours and kissing your open mouth as you both chase your high. The melody of muffled moans, creaking wood, and wet skin slapping reverberate in your ears as your eyes clamp shut and you squirt all over Hobie and the sheets, whining into his mouth as you struggle to kiss him back. Hobie thrusts vehemently, losing himself as he eventually stills and fills your pussy up. You both ride out your orgasms, breathing heavily and breaking the kiss, completely out of breath. Hobie rests his forehead on yours and you’re lost in the moment--He took you to cloud nine like no one ever had. Your chest rose and fell, your breathing slowly stabilizing as you hold eye contact with the man who made you feel this good. He pulls out panting and hissing in overstimulation, getting up with a promise of being right back.

You don’t even process that he left the room until he’s back with a wet cloth and cleaning you up, your head cloudy as you mumble,

“Thank you, Hobie.”

He focuses on gently wiping you clean with the warm cloth, kissing the bite marks and hickeys that cover your thighs.

“Don’t thank me love. ’t’s always a treat to make m’girl feel good.” He replies, genuine love filling his each and every word. Hobie tosses the cloth into his laundry, pulling the covers over the two of you and holding you close to him, spooning you. “You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you.” He whispers, kissing the crown of your head and massaging your skin as you sigh, curling up and relaxing after all you did. “I love you, Y/N.” He whispers into the thick air.

“I love you too, Hobie.”

——

Back in Pavitrs dimension, the rest of the gang are chilling in Pav’s room in various seats eating all his snacks and chatting. With a mouthful of popcorn and a hankering for a juicy discussion, Gwen fills the random silence by addressing the elephant in the room,

“So…do you guys think Hobie and Y/N are like…a thing?”

#Spotify #across the spiderverse #spider punk #spiderman #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #hobie my beloved #atsv #pavitr #gwen stacy #hobie brown smut #silly’s fics

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briefalpacashark · 3 months

Text

~Darkest fear~

The boys of 141 find out your darkest fear.

Warning: Swearing and mentions of needles.

================================================

How well did you fit in with the boys of 141. Too well. From day one you and Soap instantly connected. Price called you Soap 2.0. Why? Because your sarcasm and wit had you and Soap bantering for hours on end. Everything you two would say would just feed and complement the others. And God help whoever you were making fun of that day. One time Gaz had to endure two hours of back and forth. You had worked with Price before, and you were already close. Gaz you become quick friends with. And Ghost, well although slightly intimidated by the giant you came to respect one another, and the specialist abilities you both held.

After all, you were respectful and kind. You always wore a smile and they would never admit it but to them you were like a little ball of sunshine. Or like a cute little puppy.

One day, about two days before your next mission you walked into base. Into the shared common area. To your surprise you found Gaz, Soap, and Ghost all standing around the far side of the table.

“What's going on?” you asked. Hearing the door shut behind you. You glanced back to see Price locking it and then placing his body in between you and the exit.

“You alright captain?” you asked hesitantly seeing his nervous look.

“Damn cap, you look like you're trying to shit a brick,” Soap commented with a bemused chuckle. He wore a smirk that showed he was far too happy to be there.

“She can't be that bad,” Gaz shrugged, gesturing to you.

“What am I bad at?” You asked with a confused chuckle.

“Alright love. Now I want you to be calm,” Price raised his hands like he was talking to an injured animal. Love, it was a nickname all the british lads used.

“Calm, what you on abou-” Your words trailed off as you spotted the syringe in his hand. It was a shot. A vaccination of some kind. Instantly you scooted away from him moving around the table. Your blood ran cold as adrenaline filled your every being. You were scared of needles. Scared to the point where you would do anything to keep away from them.

“The fuck is that cap?” You asked lowly.

“Wait, you're really scared of needles?” Soap chuckled at your reactions as you hide yourself behind him.

“Love, come on now,” Price was really trying his best.

“Price, I told you. I fucken told you. You drug the fuck out of me and then that's when you give me the fucking shot,” You had a plan, one Price knew about and had done before for quite a few of your shots. You would take a sedative and that's when they would stick you. Was it ethical, no in the slightest. but it was the only way of giving you a shot without anyone getting hurt.

“I know, but this one needs to be taken when you're conscious. Something bout side effects or what not,” he explained calmly.

“I told you how I get cap,” you mumbled, pointing an accusing finger at him as you shifted from side to side.

“I know, that's why I got the lads here,” he said, nodding to them. You looked at the three that surrounded you with betrayal.

“You're in on this?” You asked. “Come on lass, it's just a little needle,” Soap smirked loving the ammo he was receiving to tease you later with. "I thought you Australians were supposed to have nerves of steel?" he joked.

“I don't think you guys understand the severity of this. I turn feral ok. I once almost bit a doctor's finger off, ok,” You admitted honestly.

“Almost?” Ghost asked.

“It doesn't matter. Cap you can't do this alright. Let's just do it tomorrow yeah?” You said as you went to slip out of the little corral they had you in only for Gaz to hold up his hand to stop you.

“Grab her,” Price gave the order.

“Eat a dick Price!” You snapped. Gaz was the first to reach for you. With a cocky and bemused smirk, he went to grab you. A cocky smirk that was slammed against the table. Everyone's eyes went wide at the movement. You had ducked under his hand taking ahold of it and grabbed his neck slamming his face onto the table. It was a reaction; one you had no control over.

“Oh my god, I'm sorry,” You rushed out the words shocked at your own actions. Soap was the next one to reach for you, well more like tackle. You crouched sliding to your left through Ghost's legs.

------

A few other soldiers on the base stared in confusion at the barrack building. What sounded like a bar fight was happening inside. The sounds of breaking furniture and shattering plates filled the air.

There was a shocking amount of swearing and a few choice sentences before you slammed through the window. Shattering it upon impact and landing from the three story building in a tuck and roll.

And then you legged it. Like the devil himself was on your heels. There was another commotion before the three men stumbled out of the room, Pierce with a busted nose, Gaz holding his head, Ghost dusting the remnants of a broken glass of his shoulder and Soap still laying on the floor inside curled up in the fetal position. His hands clutching his family jewels.

“How the fucks did she do that?” Price muttered in confusion as they watched your disappearing figure.

The boys in all their wisdom beside to treat giving you the shot like a mission. On the thoroughly planned and scoped out before enacting. Little did they know it would be one of their hardest missions yet. They tried to administer the shot 29 times. Every time they would come up with a different plan. They had tried everything, bribery, outsmarting you, trapping you. None of it worked, you always managed to get away.

“Macgyver!” You bloody froze as you heard your call sign. At that very moment you sat perched up in the very high corner of an aircraft hangar. Had you scaled the walls to get there, yes, was it your greatest idea, no. But you weren't thinking logically. You knew it was stupid how frightened you got but you just weren't able to control it.

“We know you're here,” they called again. You peeked around the large beam spotting only Ghost in the entrance. Instantly you looked for the others. Were they trying to trap you again?

“Come on Sargent,” He was your Lieutenant. You should have listened to him. But you kept your mouth shut happily perched in your little hidey hole.

“It's fine. Just so you know Gaz it hurt. Idiot sprained his ankle running afta ya,” He informed. Instantly you felt guilty, and a little worried for your teammate. You wanted to get down and help, but you also knew the possibility of it being a trap. Ghost waited a few moments before cursing under his breath. He began to search the hanger. Under every trap inside every plane. Around every corner. He looked like he was about to give up. Then out of sheer luck for him, and anything but luck for you he looked up. Instantly the two of you made eye contact. He stared for a moment truly grasping the situation, trying to forget about how exactly you got up there.

“The fuck you doing up there?” his gruff voice asked as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Thought it looked like a comfortable place to sit,” you shrugged nonchalantly. Ghost took in the awkward sit/balanced crouch you had going on.

“Oh yeah, it looks real comfortable,” he said.

“Well I am,” you stated.

“Right, well come on now, fun's over,” he nodded for you to come down.

“Respectfully sir. Suck a dick” Ghost propped an eyebrow at the insult. With your apologetic expression he knew you didn't mean it, but he had to admit. It was refreshing to see someone who was willing to insult him. “Fine, well it's either you get down yourself or I come get you,” he gave you the ultimatum.

“You're right, Let my just give up now and come down. Just like you said,'' You pretended to get ready to descale the walls.

“Thankyou,” Ghost was actually genuinely thankful. He thought by some miracle you were actually going to listen to him.

“Yeah you know just let me,” Quickly snapping back to your original position you flipped him off. He stared for a few bewildered moments.

“That's just childish,” he said.

“You're a child,” you snapped back.

“Right,” Ghost huffed, walking up to the beams. You watched him as he struggled to scale the walls. After all he was a big man, he was carrying a lot of weight. As he finally reached the beam you were on he turned to look at you. Only you weren't there. He frowned looking down to see you sliding down a beam and hitting the ground.

“Fuck,” he quickly did the same. Hearing the thunderous footsteps of Ghost feet would be encouragement enough for anyone to run for their lives. To you it was a reminder that you not only insulted your lieutenant but you flipped him off and called him a child. You had just made it outside of the hanger.

Now you were fast, the fastest on the team when it came to running. You could have outrun him. Only when you stepped out into the open did you feel a sharp pain hit your left ass cheek.

“Fucking Ass!” you came to a small hopping stop as you looked for the culprit. A little red feathered dart had been plugged into the soft tissue of your ass.

“Did you just shoot a dart at my ass!” Your bewildered and angry yell was directed to the general direction of where it had come from. Price sat on the roof of a nearby building, dart gun in hand, Gaz by his side with a pair of binoculars.

“Direct hit,” GAz announced.

“She's pissed,” Soap commented as they watched your little tantrum.

Later that night you stood outside on your little makeshift patio area. You hand rubbing the still stinging spot on your ass with a permanent frown. Hearing the door open you snapped your head around to glare. Ghost silently walked out and stood beside you.

“Using Gaz was a low blow,” you grumbled. Ghost silently looked over you, your cute little frown. It reminded him of a toddler that wasn't allowed to have chocolate.

“Then what do you call kicking Johnny in the balls?” he asked.

“Tactical,” you grumbled. You were surprised to hear the softest huff of a chuckle come from Ghost. It was times like these you wish you could see his expression. But you were sure you saw the side of his mask where the edge of a smile would be, tilt upwards. The idea of Ghost smiling had you chuckling.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“All this, I'm a medic you think I'd be comfortable with needles,” you chuckled.

“That ain’t funny. Soap getting kicked in the balls. That's funny. Fucker deserved it,” Ghost said. You chuckled again. Ghost glanced over at you, he liked your laugh. It was always a true honest one.

“Well I guess I should apologize about the disrespect I've shown today,” With a deep sigh you stood at attention. “I apologize for the disrespect I showed and not listening to orders,” You said with an embarrassed smile.

“So what will be the punishment, Lieutenant?” You asked. This was the first time you had done anything wrong with the boys. While they seemed ok with it, you were used to the military hierarchy. You had insulted a higher ranking officer once. It didn't go so well. You expected Ghost to be no different.

“Not gonna punish you,” he shrugged. You let out a relieved sigh closing your eyes. “But,” when you opened them again, Ghost was standing directly in front of you. On instinct you stepped back, hitting the pole you had been leaning on. Ghost closed the distance. You swallowed as he stepped close enough for you to feel his body heat, your neck craned back to make eye contact with him.

“Don't ever call me a child again,” he stated his voice dropping into a serious tone. You quickly nodded with an awkward chuckle. It was meant to be intimidating, Ghost had used his size to intimidate before. While you were intimidated there was one thing that kept your attention. You could have sworn you could see a smirk under that mask.

“Um, yeah sure,” You muttered. Leaning down he hovered his head by your ear, his hot breath faint through the mask but you could still feel it. You felt your heart jump. skip a beat and then rattle the back of your throat. Why was he so close?

“I promise you love I'm no kid,” he whispered. You were barely able to frown at his comment when something pricked your thigh.

“The fuck was that?” you asked at the small amount of pain giving Ghost’s chest a soft shove. He stepped back holding his hand up that held an empty syringe.

“You bastard,” you whispered. Now you were sure he was smirking. You could see it in his eyes.

“Price thought it best not to tell you about the second shot,” he shrugged nonchalantly. Wow, so he basically just gave you a mini heart attack just to give you a shot.

“Next time I need to take blood from you I'm gonna miss your veins so many times,” you threatened half heartedly.

“Good thing I'm not scared of needles,” he said, his eyes shining smugly.

“You..” You glared at the tease. He simply turned towards the door.

“Fuckers,” you grumbled as you watched him walk back into the barracks.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

================================================

#141 x reader #cod 141 #141 x you #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod ghost #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

hi mae! i’ve recently become obsessed with herbal teas and i noticed you have mentioned chamomile and jasmine tea in your fics lol. i am wondering if you would be interested in writing a remus or poly!marauders fic with an american reader who loves herbal teas and they kinda tease her about it (in a loving way of course)? i love your fics and i hope you have a lovely day whenever you read this <3

I love herbal teas! I fully support this obsession honey. Thank you for requesting!

cw: british slander, i love y'all but i'm besmirching your brand <3 (based largely on my own experiences lol, so perhaps not fully accurate)

Remus Lupin x american!reader ♡ 614 words

“This is so disappointing,” you sigh at the sight of Remus’ cabinet.

“What?” he asks from the couch.

“You told me you had tea.”

“I do have tea.”

“No, you only have this.” You take the box of Yorkshire Tea out of the cabinet, brandishing it where Remus can see. “This shit is nasty. Rubbish, as your folk say.”

“Oh,” he laughs, “so you sail all the way across the ocean, take our teas with you, denounce our government, and then come back here to criticize, is that it?”

You look at him darkly. “This is what the Boston tea party was really about. I get it now.”

Remus beckons you toward the couch. You go, abandoning the boiling kettle since apparently there’s no point in searching the kitchen for anything good to drink. It’s only once you sit down on the couch and he takes your hand into his lap that you realize your mistake.

Remus has a mollifying effect on you. It’s tragic, really. All it takes is a look, a shift in his tone, a small touch like this, and you’re pliant and boneless for him.

“What sort of teas do you prefer?” he asks you softly, tracing the lines of your palm.

“I usually keep a variety,” you tell him, matching his tone. “Like cinnamon, or passionflower, or rooibos…have you heard of any of those?”

Remus smiles, slow and sweet. “I have. Would you like whipped cream and sprinkles on those as well?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. You try to take your hand back, but Remus holds fast (you don’t make it hard for him), grinning at you.

“That is so not fair. Just because y’all like your tea bland—”

“Say that one more time for me? Who all?”

“—doesn’t mean my tastes are somehow unrefined.” You fix him with a hard stare, though your smile is untamable. “You’re being posh.”

Remus looks amused. “Never been accused of that one before,” he says.

“Have you ever tried jasmine tea with a little bit of sweet creamer in it?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Remus, you’re really missing out.”

“Alright.” He stands, taking your hand with him and giving it a tug when you don’t follow. “C’mon, up.”

“Where are we going?”

“To make you a cuppa.”

You giggle. “I can’t take you seriously when you call it that.”

“Once you stop saying dude, we can talk about my diction.”

“So mean,” you tsk, letting him pull you over in front of the kitchen counter. He pours the hot water from the kettle into a mug, placing a tea bag in it.

“We’ll get this drinkable for you, love, don’t worry,” Remus murmurs, waiting until the tea is a deep brown before going to the fridge. He pours in heaps of milk and sugar, stirring with a look of mild distaste in his expression. “Alright, try.”

You take the mug off the counter warily, blowing on it before putting it to your lips.

You hum, and Remus lifts an eyebrow.

“It’s…better.”

“I’ve done my best,” he chuckles, taking it from you. “I’ve thrown all my principles and better sense out the window, and it’s still not up to your standards, hm?”

“No, it’s not bad.” You steal the mug back, taking another sip and smacking your tongue against the roof of your mouth experimentally. “It’ll do.”

Remus gives you an indulgent look. “I’m sure we can find you some jasmine tea if that’s what you want,” he offers.

You shrug. “I was just at the grocery store, and I didn’t see any.”

He tilts his head skyward, blowing out a long-suffering breath. “I think you mean the grocery, sweetheart.”

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emotionaldamages · 6 months

Text

american girl & british boy - lando norris

summary- established relationship

pairings- lando norris x sargeant!reader

authors note- might be spelling errors, feel free to put in requests

masterlist

y/nsargeant

liked by landonorris, logansargeant,and 2,837,872

y/nsargeant I ♡ my bf

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y/nsargeant tell her I'll be back soon😔🤞🏻

username i wish i was lando so i could just stare at her all day

landonorris

liked by y/nsargeant, carlossainz55, and 2,927,415

landonorris my travel buddy

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y/nsargeant I love you❤

username I love them so much together:(

username hes so inlove

username if my future bf doesnt love me this much i swear-

username tHaT sHoUlD bE mE

carlossainz55 I thought I was your travel buddy😔

y/nsargeant not anymore buddy

charles_leclerc your down bad my man

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username y/n arguing with the other drivers is everything

username I'm going on tinder

logansargeant gross. give me my sister back

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y/nsargeant

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 3,837,872

y/nsargeant yup yup going back to these mfs in a week

tagged landonorris, mercedesamgf1, pierre gasly, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri, and logansargeant

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mercedesamgf1 delete that-toto

y/nsargeant no can do grandpa

mercedesamgf1 your not allowed in the garage

y/nsargeant I always find a way in😍 now go to sleep gramps

username LANDO

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oscarpiastri I slayed

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username y/n always getting flipped off

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pierregasly she gets on my nerves

logansargeant she deserves them

y/nsargeant I'm older dont try me

logansargeant BY 5 MINUTES

y/nsargeant best 5 minutes of my life and then your screeching came along

landonorris I'm pretty sure you were screeching as well baby

y/nsargeant dont defend him😒

username them arguing in the comments is the best

username carlando❤

username I'm obsessed with all of them

lewishamilton I was kidnapped for no reason

username summer is almost over

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, y/nsargeant, and 3,827,182

landonorris my gf made me post this but late night shenanigans

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lilymhe y/n always has the best sleepovers

username I want this friend group

username y/n being on top of that thingy is terrifying especially with her thoughts

username I need friends

maxverstappen y/n decided to jump off that

carlossainz55 I got pushed off the couch by y/n

alex_albon y/n stole my gf

charles_leclerc she hit me with a wooden spoon

arthurleclerc she let me sleep

lewishamilton she yelled at me to bring roscoe

pierregasly she yelled at me to bring kika

logansargeant she slammed the door on my face

danielriccardo she threw cake at me

oscarpiastri she stole my phone

landonorris she made me sleep on the floor

y/nsargeant ACCUSATIONS FALSE ACCUSATIONS

username damn they really came for her throat

y/nsargeant IM NEVER HAVING A SLEEPOVER AGAIN I HATE YALL

y/nsargeant

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, and 3,152,837

y/nsargeant back to paddock-sitting no more vacation-sitting

tagged lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen, landonorris, lilymhe, alex_albon, pierregasly, sebastianvettel, danielriccardo, heidiberger_, alexandrasaintmleux

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landonorris we are so cute

alex_albon was a chef slay

pierregasly we are not that bad

lilymhe yall are horrible

y/nsargeant what she said

heidiberger_ what she said

francisca.cgomez what she said

username lando and y/n are the power couple

charles_leclerc stalker

username y/n stalking charles

maxverstappen you are a mean babysitter

y/nsargeant and you need to stop running away

username dont you just love love

username I want a lando and y/n relationship

username if they dont get married istg

danielriccardo lan looking a little funny in the first photo

sebastianvettel nice see you guys

username oh to be loved

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saintjosie · 7 months

Text

i’m gonna cave and say one more thing about demilypyro because it irritates me to no end that people are accusing me of lacking reading comprehension when imo the actual issue is a tremendous lack of historical context and how out of touch people are with how absofuckinglutely devastating christianity has been to the modern world, especially for people of color.

But sure, some christians and weirdos online think trans people are icky so it's not real, probably. lol.

THIS is the part of her post i have tremendous issue with. it’s not her coping with humor. and i hope it’s obvious that i think transphobia is bad.

christians have done SO so much more harm than just thinking that queer people are icky. because before colonization happened, queerness was common and accepted, and in many cultures, even revered.

but then guess what, the roman empire happened. and then after the byzantine empire happened.

and then after that the still very much alive institutionalized catholic church rooted it’s cancer in the world.

and then after that, the british, french, spanish, portugese, german, italian, and yes, dutch (being particularly relevant, demilypyro supposedly being from the netherlands) empires happened.

and of course, we now have america.

and thus through conquest, bloodshed, and genocide, white people spread christianity to literally every corner of the world and with it, christian values of homophobia and transphobia.

as a second generation korean immigrant, first generation american, and the eldest child of a pastor, i am directly impacted and incredibly traumatized from white colonialism.

so yeah, it pissed me off more than a little bit how quick people are to accuse me of lacking reading comprehension and jumping to defend someone who made at best, a carelessly offensive and at worst, horrendously privileged comment.

if you don't have to think at least a little bit everyday how horrendously fucked up things are because of christianity, then that is an immense privilege.

i stand by what i said and i hope that more people seek to actively decolonize themselves instead of reveling in passive ignorance.

#josierants #tw christianity #demilypyro #zero tolerance policy for white people shit

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

Text

Hypothetical AI election disinformation risks vs real AI harms

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (Feb 27) in Portland at Powell's. Then, onto Phoenix (Changing Hands, Feb 29), Tucson (Mar 9-12), and more!

You can barely turn around these days without encountering a think-piece warning of the impending risk of AI disinformation in the coming elections. But a recent episode of This Machine Kills podcast reminds us that these are hypothetical risks, and there is no shortage of real AI harms:

https://soundcloud.com/thismachinekillspod/311-selling-pickaxes-for-the-ai-gold-rush

The algorithmic decision-making systems that increasingly run the back-ends to our lives are really, truly very bad at doing their jobs, and worse, these systems constitute a form of "empiricism-washing": if the computer says it's true, it must be true. There's no such thing as racist math, you SJW snowflake!

https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2019/02/aoc-algorithms-racist-bias.html

Nearly 1,000 British postmasters were wrongly convicted of fraud by Horizon, the faulty AI fraud-hunting system that Fujitsu provided to the Royal Mail. They had their lives ruined by this faulty AI, many went to prison, and at least four of the AI's victims killed themselves:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Post_Office_scandal

Tenants across America have seen their rents skyrocket thanks to Realpage's landlord price-fixing algorithm, which deployed the time-honored defense: "It's not a crime if we commit it with an app":

https://www.propublica.org/article/doj-backs-tenants-price-fixing-case-big-landlords-real-estate-tech

Housing, you'll recall, is pretty foundational in the human hierarchy of needs. Losing your home – or being forced to choose between paying rent or buying groceries or gas for your car or clothes for your kid – is a non-hypothetical, widespread, urgent problem that can be traced straight to AI.

Then there's predictive policing: cities across America and the world have bought systems that purport to tell the cops where to look for crime. Of course, these systems are trained on policing data from forces that are seeking to correct racial bias in their practices by using an algorithm to create "fairness." You feed this algorithm a data-set of where the police had detected crime in previous years, and it predicts where you'll find crime in the years to come.

But you only find crime where you look for it. If the cops only ever stop-and-frisk Black and brown kids, or pull over Black and brown drivers, then every knife, baggie or gun they find in someone's trunk or pockets will be found in a Black or brown person's trunk or pocket. A predictive policing algorithm will naively ingest this data and confidently assert that future crimes can be foiled by looking for more Black and brown people and searching them and pulling them over.

Obviously, this is bad for Black and brown people in low-income neighborhoods, whose baseline risk of an encounter with a cop turning violent or even lethal. But it's also bad for affluent people in affluent neighborhoods – because they are underpoliced as a result of these algorithmic biases. For example, domestic abuse that occurs in full detached single-family homes is systematically underrepresented in crime data, because the majority of domestic abuse calls originate with neighbors who can hear the abuse take place through a shared wall.

But the majority of algorithmic harms are inflicted on poor, racialized and/or working class people. Even if you escape a predictive policing algorithm, a facial recognition algorithm may wrongly accuse you of a crime, and even if you were far away from the site of the crime, the cops will still arrest you, because computers don't lie:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sacramento/news/texas-macys-sunglass-hut-facial-recognition-software-wrongful-arrest-sacramento-alibi/

Trying to get a low-waged service job? Be prepared for endless, nonsensical AI "personality tests" that make Scientology look like NASA:

https://futurism.com/mandatory-ai-hiring-tests

Service workers' schedules are at the mercy of shift-allocation algorithms that assign them hours that ensure that they fall just short of qualifying for health and other benefits. These algorithms push workers into "clopening" – where you close the store after midnight and then open it again the next morning before 5AM. And if you try to unionize, another algorithm – that spies on you and your fellow workers' social media activity – targets you for reprisals and your store for closure.

If you're driving an Amazon delivery van, algorithm watches your eyeballs and tells your boss that you're a bad driver if it doesn't like what it sees. If you're working in an Amazon warehouse, an algorithm decides if you've taken too many pee-breaks and automatically dings you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

If this disgusts you and you're hoping to use your ballot to elect lawmakers who will take up your cause, an algorithm stands in your way again. "AI" tools for purging voter rolls are especially harmful to racialized people – for example, they assume that two "Juan Gomez"es with a shared birthday in two different states must be the same person and remove one or both from the voter rolls:

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/eligible-voters-swept-up-conservative-activists-purge-voter-rolls/

Hoping to get a solid education, the sort that will keep you out of AI-supervised, precarious, low-waged work? Sorry, kiddo: the ed-tech system is riddled with algorithms. There's the grifty "remote invigilation" industry that watches you take tests via webcam and accuses you of cheating if your facial expressions fail its high-tech phrenology standards:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

All of these are non-hypothetical, real risks from AI. The AI industry has proven itself incredibly adept at deflecting interest from real harms to hypothetical ones, like the "risk" that the spicy autocomplete will become conscious and take over the world in order to convert us all to paperclips:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

Whenever you hear AI bosses talking about how seriously they're taking a hypothetical risk, that's the moment when you should check in on whether they're doing anything about all these longstanding, real risks. And even as AI bosses promise to fight hypothetical election disinformation, they continue to downplay or ignore the non-hypothetical, here-and-now harms of AI.

There's something unseemly – and even perverse – about worrying so much about AI and election disinformation. It plays into the narrative that kicked off in earnest in 2016, that the reason the electorate votes for manifestly unqualified candidates who run on a platform of bald-faced lies is that they are gullible and easily led astray.

But there's another explanation: the reason people accept conspiratorial accounts of how our institutions are run is because the institutions that are supposed to be defending us are corrupt and captured by actual conspiracies:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/

The party line on conspiratorial accounts is that these institutions are good, actually. Think of the rebuttal offered to anti-vaxxers who claimed that pharma giants were run by murderous sociopath billionaires who were in league with their regulators to kill us for a buck: "no, I think you'll find pharma companies are great and superbly regulated":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

Institutions are profoundly important to a high-tech society. No one is capable of assessing all the life-or-death choices we make every day, from whether to trust the firmware in your car's anti-lock brakes, the alloys used in the structural members of your home, or the food-safety standards for the meal you're about to eat. We must rely on well-regulated experts to make these calls for us, and when the institutions fail us, we are thrown into a state of epistemological chaos. We must make decisions about whether to trust these technological systems, but we can't make informed choices because the one thing we're sure of is that our institutions aren't trustworthy.

Ironically, the long list of AI harms that we live with every day are the most important contributor to disinformation campaigns. It's these harms that provide the evidence for belief in conspiratorial accounts of the world, because each one is proof that the system can't be trusted. The election disinformation discourse focuses on the lies told – and not why those lies are credible.

That's because the subtext of election disinformation concerns is usually that the electorate is credulous, fools waiting to be suckered in. By refusing to contemplate the institutional failures that sit upstream of conspiracism, we can smugly locate the blame with the peddlers of lies and assume the mantle of paternalistic protectors of the easily gulled electorate.

But the group of people who are demonstrably being tricked by AI is the people who buy the horrifically flawed AI-based algorithmic systems and put them into use despite their manifest failures.

As I've written many times, "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, but we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job"

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

The most visible victims of AI disinformation are the people who are putting AI in charge of the life-chances of millions of the rest of us. Tackle that AI disinformation and its harms, and we'll make conspiratorial claims about our institutions being corrupt far less credible.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/27/ai-conspiracies/#epistemological-collapse

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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zepskies · 5 months

Text

Miss Professor

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader

(Love triangle: Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason has to make a decision. You, or Lana Lang.

AN: Here’s the sequel to “Assistant Hottie.” Hope you enjoy!

Song Inspo: “Look at You” by Screaming Trees

Word Count: 5,200 Tags/Warnings: Angst, love triangle, hurt/comfort, fluff and a tinge of spice.~

Jason finds you in the bowels of the university library.

Out of four giant floors of books and computer labs at Central Kansas A&M (CKM), they just had to put the Writing Center in the non-proverbial basement. There you have to wear at least two layers at all times, despite the late-spring swelter outside.

Like now, when he enters the Writing Center lobby and finds you at your desk, tapping your red pen on your lip as you work on revising an essay. Jason smiles at the sight of your fuzzy red and green sweater over your jeans and ankle boots.

“You know, Christmas came and went, like, five months ago,” he teases.

You glance up at him as he steals a chair from your coworker’s desk. She’s conveniently been on break…for two hours now. Leaving you with a mildly enormous stack of essays to edit and leave feedback on.

“Yeah well, I’m running out of winterwear. It’s almost summer, for God’s sake,” you grouse. And yet, you shiver when another pass of the AC vent above your head hits your back.

Jason smiles, but he also shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your frame. It’s lighter than what you’re wearing, but he hopes the added layer helps. You can’t help smiling up at him, though your brows end up furrowing.

“Oh, don’t do that, you’re gonna be freezing,” you protest. You try to take off the jacket, but Jason stops you by wrapping it snugly around your shoulders.

“It’s okay, I don’t plan on being here that long,” he replies.

You raise a brow. “Oh really?”

Jason grins. “You’ve got my British Lit. paper, right?”

You narrow your eyes at him, with a light grumble. “Some friendship this is. You only come to see me when you want something.”

Jason mock frowns at that accusation, but he plies you with raised brows and waggling “gimme” fingers until you relent. You reach back into your files with a sigh and hand him his ten-page essay, complete with your revisions and suggestions for the final draft.

“Here you go, freeloader,” you quip.

“Many thanks, Miss Professor,” Jason rejoins.

The nickname always manages to make your face warm a bit, no matter how you try to stamp down the butterflies in your stomach. It doesn’t help when he smiles at you like that.

His glinting green eyes soon dim, however, as he takes in the sheer amount of red marking up the pages of his essay. All 10 pages.

“Damn, woman. Was it that bad?” he asks.

“You’re actually getting better,” you say with a smile. “I’m seeing signs of improvement.”

Jason continues to flip through with a frown. “Right.”

Though when he actually starts reading your revisions, the familiar slopes of your handwriting, his disappointment begins to relent. You’ve made corrections here and there, but you’ve also written a lot of encouragements in the margins, like, “Good use of the word ‘solidarity.’”

And, “This whole paragraph perfectly explains your point. Just add a transition into the next section and you’re golden.”

Not to mention his personal favorite: correcting his typo on eggzagerate, and drawing a doodle of a fried egg above it. He doesn’t think you do that for all your customers.

It makes him smile.

Though he looks up when he hears you yawn. You try to stifle it, but he can see clearly now that you’re tired. It’s almost 9 p.m.

“How long have you been working?” he asks.

“Since I got out of my last class at 5,” you admit. Finally, you spot your coworker coming back from her break (and she’s still on the phone, chatting away to her boyfriend).

“Have you even eaten dinner?” Jason asks.

You shake your head, with a pointed glare at your coworker. “No time. I’ve been chained to this place all night.”

The girl gives you a fake smile when she returns to her desk and grabs one of the thinnest essays from the pile. After shooting her one last narrowed look, you give Jason your full attention. He’s trying to temper his smirk.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your arm. “Let me treat you to the Central Kansas delicacy of Chicken Finger Friday.”

You laugh at that; the university food court leaves much to be desired. You still have plenty of work to do, but you’re willing to push it off until tomorrow and take him up on his offer, if it means a hot meal and spending some time with your friend. It’s been a few weeks since it’s been just the two of you, hanging out.

After grabbing your backpack and clocking out for the night, you and Jason walk together across campus. The evening air is warm. It begins to defrost you as you two venture down the sidewalk. You smile to yourself and playfully bump into his side.

Jason shoots you a grin and bumps you back, though he grabs your arm when the heel of your boot catches on the edge of the sidewalk. You both fumble a bit and laugh.

You tuck a wily strand of hair behind your ear. Part of you wants to ask what he’s doing this weekend. Maybe he’d want to go to the lake with you, hang out on the dock, or go for a swim…

But of course, that’s when his phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pocket and his brows raise. The text is from Lana, asking him if he can come to the Talon.

I really need your help with something.

Jason lets out a breath and looks up at you apologetically.

You know that look.

“Your girlfriend?” you ask, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Jason nods. “I hate to do this to you, but we’ve both been so busy, I haven’t seen her all week.”

And this is the first time this week that Lana has reached out to him first, wanting to see him… Well, she’s also asking for a favor, but she wants to see him.

“You know, one of these days I’d love to meet this mysterious girl,” you remark, lightly shoving his arm.

Jason smiles, but inside he’s clamming up. For obvious reasons, he hasn’t told you that he’s dating Lana Lang. Though it doesn’t make it easy to keep it from you, to lie to you. Over the course of the school year, you’ve become one of his closest friends here in Smallville.

You encourage him to explore his interests and keep focused in school, and you’ve often been a listening ear whenever juggling his classes and helping to coach the Smallville High football team stress him out.

And he’s done the same for you. With your time split between being a teacher's aid at Smallville High and working in the Writing Center to make ends meet between classes, you've done your share of venting, sometimes through frustrated tears. Jason's been more than willing to provide a strong shoulder to lean on.

Now, you don’t know that dating Lana is part of his stress, but he just…can’t afford to tell you.

It doesn’t matter that Lana’s 18, and he met her months before he took this coaching job. This is a small town, and he knows how people will talk if word gets out that he’s dating a high school senior. Not to mention, he’d get very fired.

“I’m sorry,” he says to you. “This seems important.”

Again, you have to hide your disappointment when you smile at him. “It’s okay. I should probably get back to work anyway—”

“Uh-uh. No,” Jason says, grabbing your arm when you start to turn in the direction of the Writing Center. "You’re done for the night. I wanna see you marching full-speed for those dry-ass chicken tenders.”

He nods toward the campus food court, making you expel a sigh.

“If I must,” you lament.

“And you’d better not keep working on your laptop,” he warns. “If you so much as crack open that Mac, I’ll know.”

He levels a finger at you as he walks away. You roll your eyes and head to the food court, with the promise of food just beyond the glass doors.

After a moment, you chance looking back at Jason. He catches your gaze, and he points two fingers from his eyes to your face in stern warning.

You giggle and shake your head at him, but you keep walking toward the food court.

Jason smirks in satisfaction. He continues on to the parking lot, and to his car.

When Jason gets to the Talon, he crosses paths with Clark, who’s just walking out.

“Hey, man,” Jason greets, with a jovial pat on the younger man’s shoulder. Though he can’t help but wonder why the guy is here at this time of night. “Little late for a coffee fix, huh?”

“Hey, Coach T,” Clark smiles. “Could say the same about you.”

Jason blinks at that. He cards a hand through his short hair and laughs it off. “Yeah, I was in the mood for a slice of your mom’s coffee cake. Any left?”

Martha Kent supplied the Talon with its baked goods, and they were most certainly worth driving across town for. It’s a pretty good excuse, if he says so himself.

Clark nods. “Yeah, should be.”

“All right. G'night,” Jason says. Clark nods and waves goodbye before he heads to his red truck in the parking lot.

Jason shakes his head and steps into the coffee shop, where he finds Lana alone. She’s cleaning up a large takeout bag from Gino’s, the Italian restaurant across the street. He silently takes note of it, but doesn’t yet comment when he kisses his girlfriend in greeting.

“Why’d you send up the Bat Signal on this fine Friday night?” he asks, wrapping her in his arms.

Lana smiles up at him. “Well, I’m probably going to be slammed all weekend with the shop, but I’ve got this huge speech for class on Monday and was hoping you’d help me practice.”

She pulls those doe-like hazel eyes on him, and Jason’s almost captured by them. This time, he lets out a small sigh.

“You know I’m always down to help you out. Always. But you know, we haven’t just hung out in a while now,” he points out.

Lana concedes to that with an incline of her head, but she still eases out of his arms to finish cleaning up.

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy,” she says.

“I have too,” Jason replies. “But even with my crazy schedule, going back and forth from campus, don't I still make time for you?”

Case in point, he was willing to come out to her on the drop of a hat, late at night, and on the crunch week before his final exams. But he would be hard-pressed to remember a time when Lana went out of her way to see him.

Lana pauses, casting him a frown. "I'm trying my best, Jason. You know I'm graduating in a few weeks. Everything's ramped up to 11 this year."

Yeah, I know the feeling, Jason thinks, but after a moment, he caves with a nod, even though his gaze lingers on the Gino's bag.

“Have you eaten?” he tests. “Let me get us some takeout.”

He almost said, Let me take you out, somewhere nice. But he hadn’t been able to do that since before he got to Smallville. He’s beginning to wonder if he ever will again.

“Oh,” Lana says. Her eyes avert from his as she wipes down a table. “I already ate.”

Jason draws closer to her and dips his chin in order to catch her gaze. Eventually, she pauses and glances up at him.

“With Clark?” he asks.

Lana tightens up, just as he predicted. “Why would you say that?”

“I saw him when I came in,” Jason replies. He tilts his head at Lana, who never used to be a good liar. But ever since they had to start hiding their relationship, he’s noticed how good she also hides her thoughts and feelings around other people…maybe even to herself.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “He was here. But we were studying for finals, and we got hungry. That’s it.”

Jason shakes his head, but she grabs his hand with both of hers. He looks down at her tan, slender hands, and can’t help but be drawn back to her beautiful face.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, as if that can dismiss the churning in his gut.

“Listen,” he says, rubbing at his face. “I know I’ve asked you this before, and I’m sorry but…do you still have feelings for him?”

“No,” she refutes, “I’m with you, Jason. How many times do I have to prove that this is what I want?”

She seems so annoyed and vehement that Jason has to believe her. He wants to, so badly.

Maybe too much.

The last straw comes just two weeks before the end of spring semester—with the coming of senior prom. Jason knows he can’t ask Lana, but she assured him that she wasn’t going.

He has a late class that night, but afterwards, he promised to pick her up and get dinner together in Metropolis. A nice date, a long-ass way out of town, so they’re unlikely to be recognized.

On the Friday evening, just hours before a high school dance, you and Jason sit together in the one class you have together: Introduction to Mass Media.

It only meets once a week, for three hours. Technically it’s an elective for both of you, but you’d told Jason to pick any class outside of his major that he was interested in. Anything to broaden his horizons, and you promised to join him. For some reason, he chose this one.

He thought it would be easy. Just a study of pop. culture stuff, with a mix of social media, maybe a dash of sports, if he was lucky. He’d actually been surprised with how much he was enjoying the segments on videography and broadcast journalism.

Right now, however, he's distracted. You can certainly tell, the way he keeps checking his phone.

“What’s wrong?” you lean over and ask in a whisper. He knows how anal Professor Jones is about cell phones in class. The man had a “contraband bucket” to collect them in, if he caught a student using one.

“Just letting my girlfriend know I’m gonna be a bit late,” Jason grumbles, though he’s looking at the screen. “Jones is droning on past the eternity mark, as usual.”

A man clears his throat above you and Jason. You both look up and meet the flat gaze of Professor Jones. He shakes the bucket in his hand with an arched brow. Already there's about three contraband phones inside.

Jason gives a wan smile. “Come on, Professor. We were supposed to be outta here 20 minutes ago anyway.”

The lines in Professor Jones’s face betrays one simple truth: he doesn’t give a shit.

“Bucket, Mr. Teague,” he says.

Jason’s lips press in irritation, but he’s forced to drop his phone into the waiting bucket. He doesn’t see two mixed text messages from his girlfriend.

You lay a comforting hand on Jason’s arm. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

By the time Jason gets to the Talon, the lights are dark and Lana’s not home. Suspicion creeps in, making him feel a little crazy.

He decides to get back into his car and drive down to Smallville High. There the gym is decked out to the nines in some kind of underwater theme. It reminds him of his own senior prom a couple of years ago, complete with the punch bowl and cheesy snacks.

But soon enough, the nostalgia comes to a screeching halt.

A familiar ballad croons from the band on the stage.

"And how can I stand here with you, and not be moved by you? ...Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?"

He sees Lana on the dance floor, wearing one of the most beautiful dresses he’s ever seen. And she’s in the arms of one Clark Kent.

Jason's never hated Lifehouse so much.

On Saturday morning, before the Talon even opens, Lana opens the door to Jason while still wearing her robe.

“Hey!” she says, with wide eyes, though she lets him in.

“You seem real surprised,” Jason notes.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s early for you on a Saturday,” Lana remarks with a short laugh. But she still leans up to kiss him. She only manages to get his cheek, since he doesn’t bend down to meet her like he usually would.

She frowns. “Is something wrong?”

Jason doesn’t answer at first. The words are stuck in his throat. He gestures for them to move away from the glass doors, where anyone can peek in. So they travel up to her bedroom and close the door.

It’s not the first time he’s been in her room, though not much has ever happened on her bed. He’s waited completely on her signals for that one. Though now, he’s actually kind of grateful that their relationship has never progressed that far. It makes what he’s about to do easier.

“Where were you last night?” he asks. He figures they’d better start there.

“I tried calling you,” he adds, when Lana doesn’t immediately offer a reply.

“Well, I didn’t hear from you. I figured you were busy with your classes, so…I went to prom by myself,” she says.

Jason sighs. “You didn’t seem all that lonely.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

Her confusion looks so real. A perfect face, and a damn near perfect lie.

“Look, I saw you and Clark on that dance floor,” Jason finally says. “Wasn't that just the perfect Hallmark moment?”

“Jason…” Lana finally starts to break. She doesn’t want to admit what’s broken, her gaze falling to the floor.

“No, let me say this,” he says. “Lana, I really put my all into this. I did whatever I could to be with you. To love you, to protect you. But in your heart, I think somewhere down the line you decided you don’t want that to be me.”

Lana’s eyes flood with tears, but she doesn’t deny it.

“I think it’s time to really call it quits this time,” Jason says, “for both our sakes.”

He can’t help but reach out to her. His thumb brushes her cheek. Lana’s watery gaze meets his as her lower lip wobbles. She grabs his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” she confesses.

He won’t say it’s okay, but he accepts that with a nod, and he kisses her cheek.

It’s a goodbye that’s meant to last.

Once he’s back in the relative safety of his car, Jason lets out a deep breath. He grabs his phone from his pocket on some unspoken urge; in that moment, he needs something. Someone.

He needs you.

You answer on the third ring, sounding sleepy on your day off.

“You’d better be on fire,” you say. Jason smiles at the sound of your grumpy voice.

“Hey,” he laughs a little, though he's surprised that it comes so easily. “You doing anything right now?”

“Besides sleeping?” you toss back. “…No. Not really. My life is boring.”

“Boring sounds nice right about now,” Jason says, more seriously than he meant to. “Wanna take a drive or something?”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then your voice greets him again.

“Let’s go.”

When Jason arrives at your house, you come out to meet him. He gets out of his car, and already he looks wrong. He looks drained of all energy.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in concern, grabbing his arm when you’re close enough. His eyes find yours.

“We broke up,” he says.

It takes your brain a second or two to compute. (You’ve just finished your first cup of coffee, after all.) But then, you’re moving to wrap your arms around his neck in the tightest, warmest hug you can give.

He holds you back for a while, and you relish in the feeling of his hands smoothing around your back and pulling you in close. His chin tucks on your shoulder, and you rub his back.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

He hums in response. Sometimes, what is just is.

He lets you drive him out to the lake near your house, in your beat up Volvo. This lake is your favorite place in the world, you tell him, as you two sit side-by-side on the dock. Your sneaker-clad feet dangle over the edge, next to his longer legs.

“So far,” he corrects. “There’s a whole lot of world out there.”

You smile. “Yeah, you gonna show me? Got a magic carpet tucked in your dorm somewhere?”

Jason laughs, and you’re grateful to see his smile so soon.

“Yeah, along with a dusty-ass lamp,” he says.

You smile, but you tilt your head at him. “Are you okay?”

Jason’s grin slips a little. “Yeah, I think so…is that bad?”

You bite your lip. “Depends. What was her name? I don’t think you even told me.”

Jason turns to you, and he sighs deeply. It takes him a moment, but he eventually answers while looking you in the eyes.

“Lana Lang,” he says.

The name rings a bell…and as it comes to you, it blares like a foghorn. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in shock.

“J-Jason…she’s a student,” you stammer. “Not like, us students. Like—”

“I know. We met before I got the coaching job,” Jason explains quickly, before you can blow up at him.

He can see you’re freaking out, trying to contain your reaction with a hand over your mouth. But the more he explains, the more you withdraw into a simmering silence. He can tell, however, that you don’t know how to feel about it.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

It’s not the first thing he thought you would say, but it’s very you all the same.

“Well, being outmaneuvered by my own quarterback stings like a bitch, but I still think I’m better looking,” Jason jokes. Because that’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable.

Too bad that was the wrong answer.

You roll your eyes with a disgusted huff, and you pull yourself up onto your feet. You start to leave him there at the dock, but Jason hops up as well and grabs your hand.

“Hey, wait,” he implores. “Look, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was just…easier.”

“Why, because you didn’t trust me?” you challenge. “Or because you felt guilty about what you were doing?”

The truth is, Jason doesn’t feel guilty. Not for his relationship.

“I was trying to protect her reputation,” he says. “I know how smalltown people think. She’d be the talk of the damn town. And for what? Because we’re two years apart?”

“And I’m smalltown, is that it? I’m sorry I’m not as evolved as you, Mr. Metropolis,” you snark. “Forgive me for being a lowly country bumpkin with some morals.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jason says with an angry frown, throwing up his hands in frustration.

You shake your head at him and start booking it towards your car.

Jason follows. “You know you can’t leave me out here, right?”

“Just get in the car, before I change my mind!”

He obliges you, and it’s a painful ride back to your house. He really can’t believe you’re being like this. It’s the first real argument he’s ever had with you. He knew you might get upset, but he did think you’d be a little more understanding…

“Look, we met in Paris last summer,” he admits. And a hint more vulnerable, “I just…couldn’t help but fall for her.”

“I get it, Jason,” you reply. Your voice is flat.

“Just please don’t tell anyone,” he asks. “We’re done. She’s about to graduate.”

As mad as you are at him for lying to you, you begrudgingly see his point. You can also start to understand why he didn’t tell you.

But, regardless of how you feel, you don’t want him to lose his job. You know it’s the only way he can afford college.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” you say, before you can reign yourself in.

Jason turns to you with a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

It’s still awkward when you two get to your house. He turns to you, like he wants to say something that’ll most likely soften you.

You’re not ready for that.

So you kill the engine and get out of the car without looking at him. Jason takes the hint; he doesn’t say another word to you when he gets into his car and peels away.

The next weeks that follow are hard for Jason. As a member of the staff, he’s forced to go to Smallville High’s graduating ceremony.

He watches Clark and Lana graduate together with the rest of their friends. The two of them hug after she gets off stage, looking at one another with a moment of blushing smiles. It’s an inevitable look.

It makes Jason feel sick. He leaves as soon as he can, going back to languish in his dorm room. He lays on his bed over the covers with his hands folded over his stomach and his eyes closed.

He thinks about you.

He can see you in his mind’s eye, with a pen balanced between your teeth and your hair falling over to brush the pages you pour over.

He sees your fuzzy green sweater. Your smile. The shade of your hair, your eyes, your laugh, your furrowed look when you’re concentrating hard on revising a sentence.

The more he sees, the more he wants to call you. To hear your voice, even if you're just going to yell at him.

Jason sighs. He sits up in bed and has a thought that soon takes hold of his body, and has him swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and pulling his backpack closer.

He pulls out a folder for one of his classes and finds an essay you revised. His eyes scan over the encouragements you’ve left in the margins, along with the stray doodles. They still make him smile.

And it reminds him of the first note you ever gave him, which he keeps tucked in a small drawer in his desk. He tosses the folder onto his bed and goes to that drawer, where he finds your hastily written haiku.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

You don’t know that those words have kept his head above water in times where he’s wanted to quit school.

Or even worse, in those times when he’s wanted to go to his father, tail between his legs, to ask for money and a job doing anything easy.

So now, Jason realizes that he needs to make another decision.

He gets out of bed, and he goes to see you.

Jason travels down to the basement of the CKM library, to the Writing Center, where you’re sitting at your desk as always on a Thursday night. You have a pile of essays stacked high next to you, and your forehead is wrinkled while you read a problematic passage.

The smell of coffee makes you look up first, before you realize who brought it. Your eyes widen at seeing Jason, along with his small smile and peace offering.

“Hey,” he says.

His voice washes over you, his eyes that always manage to disarm you, even now.

Despite your better judgment, you take the coffee from him and revel at its warmth. It has to be 60 degrees in this damn room (you’re one step shy of bringing your winter gloves next time).

You sip at the coffee and hum in delight at the taste of caramel and cinnamon—a combination that only your family, and Jason, would know you loved.

Your gaze flits up to his, more begrudging as you sigh.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Teague?” you ask.

Jason grins and takes your coworker’s empty chair to sit across from you.

“I’ve got a little haiku for you,” he says, handing you a folded piece of paper. You eye him in confusion, but you set down the coffee on your desk and take his second offering. You unfold it and read something that genuinely takes you by surprise.

Hey, Miss Professor

I’ve got a question for you…

Want to get dinner?

You can’t help but laugh. It’s most definitely not a haiku, but you also know that it’s his best shot. His smile is sheepish, making yours deepen.

“So, what’s your answer?” he asks.

You glance down at the page, then back at him. You bite your lip, and your heart clenches. Is this it? you wonder. Is he asking you out, for real? You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking.

“What kind of dinner?” you ask.

Jason’s grin fades. “What do you mean?”

“Is this our normal kind, where we roll out like we’re Thelma and Louise?” you ask, making him snort. “Or is this the kind where I need to change out of my dirty sneakers and brush my hair?”

He shrugs; his amused grin is back. “I mean, however I get you is all right by me.”

You nearly utter another sigh, but Jason surprises you yet again—by grabbing your hand.

“But, uh…I’d like this to be the kind of dinner where we try something new,” he says, licking his dry lips. He looks a bit uncertain, you think, hiding the fear of rejection. “Maybe you’ll let me do my Cary Grant impression and get you some flowers. Box of chocolates.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Chocolates?”

“Whatever it takes,” he says. His tone is joking, but he seems serious. You know him well enough by now to spot the difference.

“Whatever it takes, huh?” you ask.

Jason’s hand tightens on yours, but his eyes never leave you. He really is serious, and it makes your heart stutter and trill with warmth. It feels a lot like hope.

He leans in, his head bowing towards yours…but you lay a hand against his chest.

It stops him, until your fingers curl into his shirt.

Your gaze slowly meets his.

When he reaches for your cheek, this time you let him pull you in.

His kiss is sudden, but it’s still a gentle test. You take in a deep breath through your nose as your eyes fall closed. You press your lips against his, answering him. His fingers slide into your hair and drag down the back of your neck. It makes you shudder and tug him even closer by his shirt.

Jason’s solution is gathering you into his lap, where you take his face with both hands and kiss him with unfettered passion. The locked doors of your heart are swinging open, and it’s a sweet relief to be honest with each swipe of your tongue against his.

He’s gripping your hip, his fingers pressing into your thigh, while the other hand supports your lower back and presses you flush against him. As the kiss slows, so does your hand in his hair, more soothing now than gripping.

When your lips eventually draw apart from his, it’s with panting breaths. You stare into his eyes, as yours brim with relieved tears. You touch his cheek.

“I better not be a rebound,” you warn him. “I can’t take that, Jase.”

Jason shakes his head, holding you a fraction tighter. “No, believe me. That's the last thing you are."

You bite your lip, and he encourages you to release it with his thumb brushing across your lower lip. You've been on his mind longer than he can readily admit. Since the first day he met you.

"I know I haven't made it easy, but will you trust me on this?” he asks. "I really wanna do this right with you."

It takes you a moment to decide, but you do. You trust him.

So you nod and brush your fingers along the apple of his cheek.

“Okay,” you concede. "Let's do this."

Jason grins. “Oh, thank God.”

You giggle softly and hide your face in his neck. His chest shakes with a chuckle as he holds you back. It feels very right to hold you, he thinks.

Just as it's a relief for you to finally be in his arms.

“Where d’you wanna go for dinner?” he asks.

You laugh, a bit giddy as you cling to him and thread your fingers in his golden hair.

“I don’t give a damn.”

AN: Haha, I hope you liked this! ❤️ These one-shots are kind of AU, in that I don't get into the Stones of Power arc of S4 just for simplicity's sake.

I do have one more one-shot idea rolling around in my head for these two...the reader meeting Jason's infamous mother lol (Genevieve Teague, played by the fabulous Jane Seymour)!

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