#Announcing the Continuation of US Neutrality

[nolongersigma]

Osamu Dazai SMUT.

MINORS DNI warnings! Dazai crunches up on your cooch, gender neutral pronouns used but afab reader implied, Relationship already established. This is a short fic!!

(headers from Pinterest)

You are absolutely drenched by the time you get back home. It’s been stormy all week and it’s making everything totally depressing, not the fact you work a 9-5 office job that looks like the stereotypes. Kicking off your boots as you enter Osamu’s apartment, you lazily toss your jacket who knows where and you slump onto the couch. When you close your eyes to relax for just a minute, you hear the god awful footsteps of your boyfriend! Can’t you just get a break yet??

His voice rings out like a fork against a plate. “Welcome back! Couldn’t even care to announce your arrival?” He says in fake somber as he drops to his knees by the couch where you sit and lays his head by your thigh. You groan in response and put your hands over your eyes to block out the light. “I thought you wouldn’t be home until seven…” You grumble out, to which he chuckles. “I convinced Kunikida-kun to let me leave early~” You roll your eyes, as if, he definitely used his wits to escape or something, typical. He’s going to get an earful tomorrow. Simply, you slump back, making your exhaustion as obvious as possible, knowing he can definitely tell. Of course, Osamu pretends, typical… He innocently smiles up at you, his hand on your knee and his body sat on the floor before you, as if he were praising a higher being. It’s a pleasing sight, you admit mentally. Maybe if you were a bit more energized, you’d give him some attention, but you just lay back and close your eyes, to which he pouts. Shuffling can be heard before your legs are spread. You jerk in surprise and look down at Osamu between your legs. It’s something your used to but it certainly caught you off guard when he does that so quickly! Relaxing again, you absentmindedly move your hips forward towards him and he eagerly digs his fingers into the plush of your thighs. Osamu is definitely going to ask you to crush him between your thighs after this, as usual. You lazily watch him nimbly undo your belt and pull it off, tossing it to the other side of the couch before unzipping your pants. He grins as he sees a bit of your panties and he gets to work on pulling off your nuisance of pants. Osamu finally gets them off and he admires your taste in underwear before running his finger tip along the seam of your panties. He snickers and looks up towards you. You roll your eyes, not in the mood for foreplay. Osamu reads the expression easily and quickly hooks his fingers into the panties and pulls them down to your thighs. He groans under his breath at the sight of your sex, excitement building as he notices you’re not even wet. Osamu loves when he has to really try for it..

Pulling down your panties the rest of the way, whispering some curses, he brings his face close to where the tip of his nose bumps against the flesh of your cunt. The musky scent has his eyes rolling back and body twitching like a virgin. Looking back up at you one more time, admiring your invisible grin before leaning in and licking a fat stripe against your slit, top to bottom. He moans, loud, louder than you. As his tongue reaches your clit, he sucks down on it, teeth grazing against it, making you twitch immediately. His nails dig into your inner thighs as he eats like a starved dog. Teeth, tongue, lips, it all has you arching and moaning like you never have. Your hands fly to grip his hair and gain at least a little control, fingers tangling into the brown locks as he continues slurping up on your sensitive cunt. Whining, your legs move to his shoulders and he takes it as just more invitation to go further. His teeth lightly bite down on your clit, making you yelp in surprise. You feel him smile against your pussy, so you hit the top of his head, to which it turns into a pout. He licks gently over where he bit before going back to using his whole tongue to lick everywhere else. The sensation of his tongue flattening then him sucking right after is too much. You squeal and yell whatever will come out of your mouth as you grip anything for dear life. Your back arches and you groan in a high pitched way, swearing you could see the light. No, you really just squirted all over his face. When you come back down from your high, you glance down at Osamu, blinking away the tears. You finally see the mess you made on him and the surprised expression on his face, (which is a first for you.) which makes you almost laugh. He slowly smiles wildly. “I have never seen you do that before, that was so sexy.” He giggles like a little kid with a crush. “Hey! I wanna see you do that again. Let’s do it again.” …How fun.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Demon King Headcanons

You have accepted the Demon King’s marriage proposal!

I wasn't planning on writing a second part, but some of you gave me ideas and I decided on short headcanons instead. The image of a big, buff, evil Overlord lovingly doing house chores for their human was too tempting.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance

[Main Story]

The proposal, as you quickly found out, came as a surprise to everyone. Not even the King’s loyal butler knew of such intentions; he’d assumed they were finally going to destroy everything and everyone at once. To him, the dramatic scene of you and his Lord enveloped in flames was anything but a romantic confession. It was your final battle. So one might imagine the poor lizard’s confusion when the Demon King returned with you following behind. “S-sir?” He questioned meekly. The armored creature nodded at his servant. “It has been done. We’ll plan the wedding upon our arrival home.” The what? His baffled expression must’ve given him away, because the Demon continued: “What’re you gawking like that for? Didn’t I ask you earlier how humans forge a bond?” The butler stumbled to search for his words, swallowing dryly. “Well y-yes, your Majesty…I just didn’t expect it to be anything more than curiosity.”

The same speechless reaction repeated itself all the way to the Kingdom. Soldiers, diplomats, other monstrous entities of the unknown Land, they all greeted you in disbelief. So much, in fact, that you began to poke fun at their hesitant response: “I am his mortal enemy”, you’d announce with a dramatic bow. “Spouse! We talked about this!” the Demon Lord would quickly correct you, flustered.

Truth be told, you're not quite sure what made you accept this ridiculous offer. Perhaps a mixture of intrigue and disillusionment. The city you've dedicated yourself to stood no longer, burnt to a crisp along with its corruption and crookery. In a way, the monster had unshackled you from a responsibility you no longer wanted to bear. And if that wasn't enough to convince you, well, the sight of the Ruler himself kneeling before you certainly sealed the deal.

Although it may take a while for you to accept the idea that your worst adversary had actually been infatuated with you this entire time. Were there even any hints? During your last battle you nearly died. You'd crawled out of an enormous crater on your fours, bones shattered and ligaments torn. When you pointed this out to your groom-to-be, he stared at you in horror. "I had no idea humans were that fragile. I was trying to adjust my strength so as to not do any harm." You could only nod, patting away the sweat beads forming on your forehead. Uh huh. Maybe it's better you didn't experience his full range of attacks.

Ever since the devastating revelation, he's been extra careful when handling you. Sometimes he'll awkwardly hover his large hands above you, with a concentrated frown on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" you ask, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm trying to be gentle." he'll answer. "You're not even touching me." Fair point, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

The Demon King will often ask you about customs from your world as a way to make you comfortable, just in case you get struck by the occasional homesickness. His Realm is very different from what you're used to, after all. Lamentably, his own years spent in the human world were not too fruitful from a cultural point of view. He was either busy stalking you or devouring the souls of the innocent. Now that he has nothing else to worry about, he will gladly listen and even do his best to actively participate.

You wake up shrouded in thick smoke. Overwhelmed by heavy déjà vu, you rush down the grand stairs, searching for the source of the fire. Are you being attacked? Enemies of the Demon King? You elbow yourself against the kitchen door, similar to when you left your home to find the city ablaze. The Demon Lord turns to face you, visibly overwhelmed and exhausted. You gawk at the scene unfolding before you and remember to close your mouth, mainly out of politeness. "It's too small. I'm afraid I cannot use it", he reveals timidly, holding a human spatula between his fingers to showcase the impractical size difference. You glance at the disastrous attempt behind him and manage to deduce he'd been trying to make breakfast. In an unspoken agreement, he steps back and allows you to take over.

"I'm surprised you let him burn down the kitchen", you mention to the butler once you get a moment to yourself. The scaly servant sighs, and theatrically lifts his clawed hands in hopelessness. "Pointless to argue with him when he's like this, (Y/N). In my entire life serving the Family, I've never witnessed a more stubborn leader." He points to the lavish portraits adorning the walls with a faint smile. "And, to put it frankly, he's obsessed with you. I've never seen him in a more deplorable state. Marrying a human?! The shame, the outrage!” he cries out. “No offense intended to you, of course. You must understand." You hum in agreement, a tad uncomfortable, yet sympathetic. "M-maybe it'll tone down after the wedding?" you suggest as encouragement. "Oh, no, I suspect it will only get worse", he bemoans in return. Then, he promptly straightens his back and resumes his duties.

You go on your own way, not wanting to burden the lizard in his work. As you cross the hallway, you find the Demon King himself scanning each room, somewhat agitated. He notices you and his features soften. "I was wondering where you'd vanished." You approach him with the words of the butler still ringing in your ears.

[sayruq]

Berlin announced on 23 April that it will resume cooperation with the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) in Gaza. Germany’s move came after an independent investigation headed by former French diplomat Catherine Colonna that found “neutrality-related issues” in implementing UNRWA’s procedures to “ensure compliance with the humanitarian principles of neutrality.” Colonna’s report made note that Israel provided no proof of whether UNRWA staff were involved with the Palestinian resistance’s Operation Al-Aqsa Flood on 7 October. “The German government has dealt intensively with the allegations made by Israel against UNRWA and has been in close contact with the Israeli government, the United Nations, and other international donors,” a joint statement by the German Foreign Office and the Ministry for Economic Cooperation and Development read. The former French diplomat’s investigation proposed reforms to UNRWA to increase the neutrality of staff and behavior, education, and governance, including methods to achieve these goals through engagement with donors. Germany pushed UNRWA to implement these recommendations, strengthen its internal audit functions, and improve the external surveillance of project management. “In support of these reforms, the German government will soon continue its cooperation with UNRWA in Gaza, as Australia, Canada, Sweden, and Japan, among others, have already done so,” the joint statement continued. Germany gave the UN agency over $200 million in 2023 and is the organization’s second-largest donor after the US. In an interview with Al-Jazeera, UNRWA chief Philippe Lazzarini said the attacks on the agency “have nothing to do with neutrality issues but in reality, they are motivated by the objective to strip the Palestinians from the refugee status.”

[ao3org]

Updates to AO3 "Mythology" Fandoms

Hi AO3 users! You may have noticed that recently, fandoms previously canonized as "Mythology" are being updated to "Religion & Lore". This renaming project is part of a wider ongoing process on AO3 about respectful treatment and naming of various religions, spiritual beliefs, faiths, and collections of folklores belonging to a particular religious or cultural tradition. This includes both major and minor religions, as well as reconstructionist, ancient, and modern religions.

In the coming months, the term "Mythology" is being phased out of canonical fandom names. This is because of its potential for use as a disparaging term, and the way in which it is used primarily for religions which are already under-represented. Since "mythology" has connotations of being fictional or inferior to the religious beliefs of the speaker or writer, and is unfortunately used in this way by some, the decision has been made to replace this term with something that the Wrangling Committee believes is more inclusive and less derogatory.

After extensive discussion between individuals from varying religious backgrounds and beliefs, including wranglers representing the various fandoms which were being covered, it was felt that "Religion & Lore" was an appropriate and neutral way to describe the bodies of faith, belief, knowledge, and tradition associated with many of these religions which were ancestrally imparted and regional in nature. It is also hoped that this will decrease ambiguous or confused use, allowing people to more accurately describe their works and find works in which they are interested moving forward.

The use of "Ancient" in many of these fandoms' names reflects that these countries still exist but now have different predominant religions or spiritual beliefs. For example, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore (as Greece is now a predominantly Christian country) or Ancient Egyptian Religion (as Egypt is now a predominantly Muslim country). Because "Norse" does not refer to an extant country, region, or culture, it is not necessary to specify that it is historical or ancient in nature.

The names of these fandoms will also have the native language piped, if the English-language demonym is significantly different from the native-language demonym or if there is a culturally specific term based on consultation with individuals who speak these languages as a first language. We hope to give representation to the language of the source culture by doing so.

Each of these changes has been and will continue to be carefully researched and discussed with traditional knowledge keepers and researchers from the cultures represented in the fandoms under discussion.

Many religions face the issue of texts being written long after their events occurred. Unfortunately this is something which is shared across many religious fandoms; AO3 seeks to treat these religious fandoms equally. Care has been taken in researching characters relating to these fandoms, and character tags will be canonized or made a synonym on a case-by-case basis. Fandom tags that are currently synned to the Ancient religious fandoms have been checked as thoroughly as possible to ensure that they are not referring to modern folk tales, and where possible such relatively modern folk tales are canonized as their own fandoms.

(From time to time, ao3org posts announcements of recent or upcoming wrangling changes on behalf of the Tag Wrangling Committee.)

[slayingfiction]

Words to use instead of ‘said’

**Using the word ‘said’ is absolutely not a bad choice, and in fact, you will want to use it for at least 40% of all your dialogue tags. Using other words can be great, especially for description and showing emotion, but used in excess can take away or distract from the story.

Neutral: acknowledged, added, affirmed, agreed, announced, answered, appealed, articulated, attested, began, bemused, boasted, called, chimed in, claimed, clarified, commented, conceded, confided, confirmed, contended, continued, corrected, decided, declared, deflected, demurred, disclosed, disputed, emphasized, explained, expressed, finished, gloated, greeted, hinted, imitated, imparted, implied, informed, interjected, insinuated, insisted, instructed, lectured, maintained, mouthed, mused, noted, observed, offered, put forth, reassured, recited, remarked, repeated, requested, replied, revealed, shared, spoke up, stated, suggested, uttered, voiced, volunteered, vowed, went on

Persuasive: advised, appealed, asserted, assured, begged, cajoled, claimed, convinced, directed, encouraged, implored, insisted, pleaded, pressed, probed, prodded, prompted, stressed, suggested, urged

Continuously: babbled, chattered, jabbered, rambled, rattled on

Quietly: admitted, breathed, confessed, croaked, crooned, grumbled, hissed, mumbled, murmured, muttered, purred, sighed, whispered

Loudly: bellowed, blurted, boomed, cried, hollered, howled, piped, roared, screamed, screeched, shouted, shrieked, squawked, thundered, wailed, yelled, yelped

Happily/Lovingly: admired, beamed, cackled, cheered, chirped, comforted, consoled, cooed, empathized, flirted, gushed, hummed, invited, praised, proclaimed, professed, reassured, soothed, squealed, whooped

Humour: bantered, chuckled, giggled, guffawed, jested, joked, joshed

Sad: bawled, begged, bemoaned, blubbered, grieved, lamented, mewled, mourned, pleaded, sniffled, sniveled, sobbed, wailed, wept, whimpered

Frustrated: argued, bickered, chastised, complained, exasperated, groaned, huffed, protested, whinged

Anger: accused, bristled, criticized, condemned, cursed, demanded, denounced, erupted, fumed, growled, lied, nagged, ordered, provoked, raged, ranted remonstrated, retorted, scoffed, scolded, scowled, seethed, shot, snapped, snarled, sneered, spat, stormed, swore, taunted, threatened, warned

Disgust: cringed, gagged, groused, griped, grunted, mocked, rasped, sniffed, snorted

Fear: cautioned, faltered, fretted, gasped, quaked, quavered, shuddered, stammered, stuttered, trembled, warned, whimpered, whined

Excited: beamed, cheered, cried out, crowed, exclaimed, gushed, rejoiced, sang, trumpeted

Surprised: blurted, exclaimed, gasped, marveled, sputtered, yelped

Provoked: bragged, dared, gibed, goaded, insulted, jeered, lied, mimicked, nagged, pestered, provoked, quipped, ribbed, ridiculed, sassed, teased

Uncertainty/Questionned: asked, challenged, coaxed, concluded, countered, debated, doubted, entreated, guessed, hesitated, hinted, implored, inquired, objected, persuaded, petitioned, pleaded, pondered, pressed, probed, proposed, queried, questioned, quizzed, reasoned, reiterated, reported, requested, speculated, supposed, surmised, testified, theorized, verified, wondered

This is by no means a full list, but should be more than enough to get you started!

Any more words you favor? Add them in the comments!

Happy Writing :)

[fairuzfan]

Id:

I wouldn't have won The International Women's Media Foundation (@IWMF)'s Courage in Journalism Award 2024 this June if I hadn’t been on the ground reporting events and exposing Israeli flagrant violations under perilous conditions, all while being systematically attacked by supporters of the perpetrators.

Winning a prize for “courage” means being subjected to attacks and choosing to continue your work regardless. However, I regret to say that the very organization that recognized these perilous conditions and awarded me the prize succumbed to pressure and chose to act contrary to courage; they rescinded the award in a decision that would put my life at risk.

In fact, I’m very glad that both my winning the award and its withdrawal have starkly demonstrated the systematic physical and moral attacks Palestinian journalists endure throughout their careers. These threats and character assassinations aim only to silence us and perpetuate the longstanding bias in global media. I have never worked to receive awards, nor have I ever submitted an application to nominate myself. I didn't choose journalism as a profession; I became a journalist after recognizing the extent to which the world overlooks Palestinians’ suffering and opts to conform to Israeli pressures.

Every year, Palestinian journalists are recognized with international awards for their brave reporting under the Israeli occupation and relentless attacks. These accolades honor their courage and dedication to uncovering the truth.

However, each announcement of an award to a Palestinian journalist is systematically followed by extensive smearing campaigns and intense pressure on the awarding organizations from supporters of the Israeli occupation and the Zionist lobby. While some organizations uphold their principles and maintain their decision to honor these journalists, others, regrettably, cave to the pressure and withdraw the prizes.

Instead of recognizing the threats they face and contributing to their protection, a decision to withdraw a prize from a Palestinian journalist in Gaza—where over 150 journalists have been killed by the ongoing Israeli genocide—can further endanger them and increase their risk of targeting.

I have no regrets about any posts or reasons that led to the rescinding of this award, and I will not stop expressing my views. Before being a journalist, I am a Palestinian living under military occupation, a strangling blockade, and genocide in Gaza.

My grandparents were expelled from Jerusalem upon the creation of the state of Israel, and I have been expelled from my home in Gaza during this genocide.

If winning a prize entails enduring and witnessing war crimes while remaining silent, I am not honored to receive any prizes. I will always be objective in my reporting, but I can never be neutral; I will always point out the perpetrators and stand in solidarity with the victims. This is what journalism is truly about.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Do you know that I love you? (do you know that you shouldn't?)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

warnings: jason's injured and there's blood but it's not too graphic, except that it describes giving stitches, sometimes people get mean when they get scared, biting like a misbehaved dog etc etc

a/n: there is a fatigue seeping into me that I fear is building a home inside my chest :) how are we all doing this evening do we like this are we excited for the dc event announcement on sunday

You hear another muffled curse from the other side of the bathroom door, Jason's voice tight with pain. The sound makes you press your lips together firmly, your jaw tense as you stand in the hallway of your shared home, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed.

"Jason -" you start again, but his voice cuts you off.

"No."

"Let me help you," you continue, an exasperated sort of fatigue in your voice. Somewhere in your kitchen, you know that the clock is ticking well past 4am. 

"You don't need to be here for this," Jason says stubbornly and you scowl at the closed door. You wonder, for just a moment, if he locked it - or if he simply trusts you enough to know that you won't go where you're not wanted.

"You can't put stitches in our back on your own," you say stubbornly, and a sigh is heard through the barrier between you as you thump your head back against the wall to stare at the dark ceiling. But then the door swings open slowly and Jason's face appears, haloed by the light pouring out of the bathroom.

"Help me, then," he says tightly, and you draw yourself up to a full stand, moving past him and into the small space. Jason sits on the edge of the bathtub and faces the wall while you rummage around the first aid kit, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the rushed, messy bandaging covering the slash across his back.

You don't say anything, of course - there's no need for an I told you so in a space like this, but you do click your tongue disapprovingly when you crouch behind him to pull back the bloody gauze.

"You don't need to be so stubborn about this, you know," you say softly as you begin to clean the damaged skin. There's no attack in your voice, no righteous demand that he become something that he's not.

It's just love… and the patience that comes with it. 

Jason sighs at your words, though, like he's being tried in court and found guilty. He shifts, his fists clenching as he hangs his head and stares down at the white porcelain of the bathtub and the bloody bandages that you've thrown in next to his feet, the red staining everything that it touches.

"I don't want you to have to see me like this," he says eventually, a tired sort of resignation in his voice. You huff out a breath.

"I've seen you dead, Jason," you point out flatly. "I'm not sure why you think this would be worse."

"Don't joke about it," he snaps before he can stop himself, something mean and angry flashing through him before regret begins to wash over him.

"Why do you think I'd joke about loving you?" You ask it quietly, pressing a needle to his skin as you begin to put him back together, as you smooth over wounds and blur out the scars that he's sure would bloom there without your help.

Jason sits quietly, lets his head hang as you work and listens to the slow rhythm of your breathing as you move your hands across his back, as you love him in the only way you know how.

"Sometimes, I just don't know what to do with you," he admits, his voice low and wavering. That makes you pause, makes your hands freeze for just a moment before they continue, slower now than before. 

"I suppose that was going to happen eventually," you offer softly. "Neither of us are really who we used to be… I'm not sure we can, I don't know, fall into step with each other the way we did before…"

"Before I died?" Jason supplies. You tap him on the back of the head with your knuckle in a reprimanding sort of way - just like you used to do when you were kids.

"Before we grew up, I was going to say," you explain dryly, and Jason laughs a bit, a huffed-out breath that he can't really find in himself to stop. You roll your eyes rather fondly and a quiet settles over the two of you, nothing but your breath mixing with his and the faint rustling of your working hands filling the space as he settles. 

But then you finish Jason's stitches, tying off the thread and taping down a new, clean bandage before tapping him on the shoulder lightly to let him know that you're finished. He swings one leg up and over so that he's straddling the edge of the tub and watches as you stand, wincing and letting your knees pop.

"You should've said something," he chastises gently as you lift one of your own legs into the tub, straddling the porcelain to sit face-to-face with him and let your knees bump against his.

"I don't mind," you say easily, and a frown tugs at Jason's lips.

"See, that's what I mean," he murmurs, smoothing his hands across your thighs to rub gentle circles over your knees where he's sure the tiled floor had been digging into your skin. "Sometimes I just don't know what to do with you."

"What do you mean?" You ask softly. Jason looks away, staring at the blood-soaked bandages sitting in the tub. You follow his gaze, of course, just enough to see what he's staring at and then look back at him with your head cocked curiously to the side.

"Sometimes you act like you don't care at all," he says flatly, his hands tightening their grip on your knees.

"When I act like I care, you act like it's killing you," you point out gently, watching as Jason's lips turn down into a scowl as he watches his own blood drip towards the drain.

"Sometimes I think it is," he says dully. You reach to brush a few of his curls back, his hair unruly and mussed from the night as sweat sticks to the strands.

"Then what do you want me to do, baby?" you ask quietly, letting your fingernails scratch over his scalp rhythmically as he sighs and closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

"I want you to let me see you," he replies honestly. "I want you to let me here there for you."

"Not sure you should be saying that," you respond easily. "Something about living in a glass house and all that."

"What do you mean?"

"You locked yourself in the bathroom to bleed out alone so that I wouldn't see it," you point out. There's no accusation in your voice, no cold, hard edge or betrayal to be heard. But Jason's shoulders tense all the same as he opens his eyes and takes your hand in his to press kisses across your knuckles. "You don't need to protect me from yourself," you continue gently. 

"Neither do you," he retorts, the same kindness and love coming back to you in waves.  

"I'm just…" you begin, letting your eyes flick around the bathroom as you feel yourself suddenly under scrutiny. "I'm trying to be there for you."

"That's my job," Jason says firmly. "You gotta let me be there for you." You sigh at that, something long-suffering and loving as you look back at him and lift a brow. 

"When are you going to learn that I love you?" You ask softly, and Jason looks at you like you've pointed a gun to his chest.

"When are you going to learn that you shouldn't?"

"I don't think you get to make that decision for me, Jay," you offer with a shrug. "I think I've earned the right to decide my own life." He sighs at that, looking at you like he loves you too much and doesn't know what to do with it, before he reaches for you.

"C'mere, baby," he says it quietly, a whisper pressed against you as he wraps his arms around your waist and hauls you into him, letting your thighs rest overtop of his as you settle into his lap. "You know I love you, too, right?" he asks softly, his lips pressing kisses over your cheeks.

"I know, Jay," you respond soothingly, tangling your hand into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Maybe we'd both… maybe we'd learn a thing or two from showing it more, hm?" Jason laughs at that, burying his face into your neck as he sighs and rocks the two of you back and forth gently.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" he offers, his voice muffled as his lips press against your skin. You tap your knuckles to his head in another chastising manner, but you also smile as you lean down to kiss the crown of his head. 

"I wouldn't mind that," you say quietly, and when Jason lifts his head to look at you, there's no hint of joking in your face. You smooth a hand over his cheek and he lilts his head to place a delicate kiss on your palm while you watch him, your eyes big and loving in a way that makes him feel a bit naked. 

"Yea?" his voice wavers as he asks, his hesitation festering inside him, but you just smile in that gentle, loving way of yours and smooth over the crease between his brows with your thumb.

"Yea," you say easily. "You're not hard to love, Jay. It just takes a bit of practice for us to learn how to give that love."

"And you'll stay with me long enough for me to learn?" 

"Long enough for us to learn," you correct gently, leaning into him to kiss him softly. "And hopefully a whole lot longer than that." He laughs against you at that, chasing your lips as his arms wrap around your waist a bit tighter.

"Well," he says as he pulls away just enough to let his lips brush against yours. "I'm sure as fuck not letting go." You laugh at that, something loud and honest and a bit more carefree than either of you are used to.

"Good," you say easily. "We'll do it together, then."

[ghouljams]

Hear me out... SCP!141 with SCP288 (the marriage rings)

:>

GOD. YEAH.

Note from O5 regarding SCP-288 tests:

In an effort to make the members of SCP-141 more docile each male will be subject to no more than an hour to observe the effects of SCP-288 on their personality. It is hoped that SCP-288's memetic effect might neutralize their more dangerous impulses. I understand that this has raised some ethical questions with our more psychologically attuned staff. To which I say: proceed with the tests.

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-A Research Note: Seems only right to start with the ring leader. Results: SCP-141-A is exposed to SCP-141 and brought into standard human containment unit(HCU) which has been outfitted to resemble a small apartment with simple luxuries. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ offers him the ring box, he chuckles but takes it. "Sweetheart, ya shouldn't 'ave." He opens the box and inspects the rings. "matching set, cute." "If you would wear the-" Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ stops, frowns. "The men's ring?" SCP-141-A supplies. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ nods, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple as SCP-141-A removes the men's ring and slips it onto his finger. SCP-141-A spends the next several minutes observing Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ silently. He tips his head then tugs a box of cigarettes from his pocket and pulls one free with his teeth. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ takes a seat in the armchair and SCP-141-A pulls her back to standing with a hand under her elbow. "Ah, ah sweetheart, the couch." He sets her on the provided couch and searches his pockets for a lighter. "Darling-" He tips his head again, taking the cigarette from between his lips and holding it out to her. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ takes a lighter from her pocket and lights the cigarette for him. "Those things give me a headache." Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ sighs. "Man upstairs won't shell for cigars." SCP-141-A takes a seat next to Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛, resting his hand on her knee. The two sit in silence as Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ rubs her forehead with her fingers. SCP-141-A's hand creeps up her thigh in the quiet. "You know-" SCP-141-A exhales smoke, Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ winces, her hand drops to his on her thigh. "You're hurting me." "-Not right for you to watch a man and his wife." [DATA CORRUPTED]

Testing Notes:

Computers in observation room C ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ due to SCP-141-A's ⬛⬛⬛⬛, security personnel dispatched to HCU ⬛⬛ after video feed was interrupted and the cameras were ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛. Security was able to intervene before SCP-141-A could [Data redacted]. Recommending Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ for immediate psychological examination.

Note from Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛:

I'm fine. Testing may resume.

-

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-B Research Note: I thought we weren't doing any more tests on this guy? Note: Testing will continue. Results: SCP-141-B is exposed to SCP-141 and brought into standard HCU outfited to resemble a small apartment with simple luxuries. The ring box is left on the table with instructions. SCP-141-B places men's ring on his finger, and D-class personnel is let into the room. Announcement made informing SCP-141-B of "wife." SCP-141-B displays characteristics in line with typical SCP-288-2 exposure including: deference to authority, "doting" behavior, and discussions of family planning. "Wife" displays rapid behavior changes in line with SCP-288-1 exposure, making comments on the state of the house and attempting to use the kitchen to bake for SCP-141-B. Test halted after SCP-141-B's attempt to [redacted]. D-class "Wife" displays advanced cognitohazardous effects, and actively resisted staff attempts to neutralize memetic damage. Suffered severe seizures for ⬛⬛ hours before passing. Time of death ⬛⬛:⬛⬛PM. SCP-141-B unresponsive to questions, still smiling ⬛⬛⬛ hours post testing.

-

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-C Research Note: I'm not going in there after what he did. O5 Note: Yes you are. Results: Immediately after placing SCP-288-2 on his own finger SCP-141-C goes after Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛, after several minutes of struggle Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is wrestled to the ground and SCP-288-1 is forced onto her finger. SCP security staff prevented from intervening. SCP-141-C holds Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ against the ground with her arm twisted behind her back for several minutes, making her repeat bible verses regarding marriage and "wifely duties." He only lets her up upon completion and apologizes for punishing her. Dr. ��⬛⬛⬛ smiles and nods along to his apology. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is kept on her knees beside the couch. Testing stopped when SCP-141-C removed his [redacted] from his trousers and told her to "open." Security staff were able to safely remove SCP-288-1 from Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛'s finger despite interference from SCP-141-C.

Testing Notes:

Recommending Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ for immediate psychological examination, and mental health leave. Denied

-

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-D Research notes: audio logs and transcriptions pending review, staff may be editorializing these. O5 Notes: Someone muzzle the psych please. Results: SCP-141-D is exposed to SCP-141 and led into standard HCU furnished like small apartment with simple luxuries. His former psychiatrist Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is handcuffed to the arm chair, she tugs at her restraints in a panic as SCP-141-D takes his seat on the couch. SCP-141-D reads instructions next to ring box and removes SCP-288-2, and places it on his finger. After a moment he steps around Dr.⬛⬛⬛⬛ in order to fiddle with the handcuffs. "Calm down sweet'eart, tryin' ta get ya outta the damn things." (Voice can be heard over receiver) Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛'s struggling only gets worse. SCP-141-D grabs her by the throat and holds her against the back of the armchair. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ appears to be on the verge of hyperventilation. "Come on." SCP-141-D breaks the chain on one of her cuffs and Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ smacks him across the face. SCP-141-D's grip on her tightens and quickly loosens, anger there and gone only long enough for Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ to cower. "Not gonna hurt ya," [researches described voice as "gentling" pending review] "wouldn't hurt ya, calm down f'r me love." SCP-141-D spends the remaining hour, holding Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ in a bear hug as he sits in the armchair and she thrashes against his hold. SCP-141-D sustains multiple bite injuries and several headbutts, leading to what was assumed to be a broken nose. Upon examination no injuries were found.

SCP-141-D Note:

Don't you ever put that on me again. Like puttin' a fightin' dog in a jumper. I'll kill 'er next time.

Site ⬛⬛ Memo:

Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ requesting immediate termination of employment. Denied

[xxsycamore]

🔞IKEMEN BREEDING SEASON🔞 - XXSYCAMORE'S 2000 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION EVENT

On October 28th, 2024, this blog hit 2K followers! Once again, thank you, everyone, for the support, and for sticking around in my writing adventures. I hope you can continue enjoying my work! Now, our previous milestone celebrations were all about fluffy short stories, so I figured it's high time we bring some smut into the mix. Even though spring would have been perfect for the Ikemen Breeding Season, I decided, why wait when we can have it now. Besides, that time is reserved for part 2 of our Steal My Heart!! (1500 followers) event! If you have placed a request for it and haven't received a ficlet yet, don't worry, I haven't deleted anything! :)

➺ PROMPTS

How do you want the suitor to breed you (or the MC)? :

In the heat of the moment

As proof that you belong to them

To produce an heir

With a chance for twins

While imagining you being pregnant

Making sure that it takes

Making the moment special

When they'd already gotten you pregnant before

With you taking the lead

While you're in heat (Omegaverse)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 2 separate request openings - Since in the past there have been times when everything has been grabbed in the first 10 minutes from the announcement, I decided it would only be fair for the people in different time zones if I divide it into two batches at different times of the day.

FIRST REQUEST OPENING WILL HAPPEN ON OCTOBER 30TH, 12 PM UTC (8 AM EDT) (or click here to see it converted to your time zone)

SECOND REQUEST OPENING WILL HAPPEN ON OCTOBER 31TH, 12 AM UTC (8 PM EDT on the 30th) (or click here to see it converted to your time zone)

Both request openings will be closed after I get a total of 15 requests each! I will make separate posts to announce when those start and close.

➺ RULES:

Understand that these are going to be short NSFW stories, around 500 words each.

Anonymous asks are allowed, but please don't abuse my kindness and don't request if you're a minor!

Pick a character from the list below and a prompt from the prompt list. Threesomes are allowed, so long as no one is related, lol.

Be sure to let me know if you want MC x Suitor(s) or Reader x Suitor(s). If you don't specify, I'll write it as I see fit!

Specify your gender preferences if you have any! If you selected "Reader", I'll by default write them with afab traits. This goes especially for the prompt "Imagining you pregnant" where you could encounter terms including but not limited to: breasts, lactation, love handles, vagina, ovulation, womb, ovaries, pregnant bellies, you get the picture. To bypass all of this, you can ask for a Gender Neutral Reader, or you can be more specific and tell me your preferences in detail.

Mpreg is welcome, sure, why not. This goes both for Male Readers and for Getting your suitor pregnant, like in the case where you picked the Omegaverse prompt and he's an Omega. Go wild.

OCs are NOT allowed, due to how short these stories are going to be versus the research required in order to do justice to your OC. Sorry!

Don't send multiple requests! One per person. Again, I'm put my trust in you about not abusing the anon option.

In the event where I've already received the same prompt with the same character, I'll only write it once!

Don't hesitate to give me details! :) I want to create a work specially crafted for you. If you have a whole scenario in mind, I'd love to hear it, even if I have to squeeze it in the word limit. Where are they doing it, what is the reader wearing, what petname the suitor uses - these are just a few examples! Additionally, since I haven't read all the routes of the characters listed here, if you feel it's needed, you can provide some in-game information about the character if it has a relation to topic. Ex: "I think he'll make a great family man because he canonly loves taking care of the younger ones."

Requests sent outside of the specified time periods won't be accepted. I try to immediately answer these so you'll know, but I might also straight-up delete anything that doesn't follow the rules.

➺ AVAILABLE CHARACTERS:

Ikemen Villains: Wiliam; Harrison; Liam; Elbert; Alfons; Roger; Jude; Ellis; Victor; Darius; Nica; Ring

Ikemen Prince: Leon; Chevalier; Yves; Nokto; Licht; Jin; Luke; Clavis; Rio; Sariel; Gilbert; Keith; Silvio, Cyran/Cyril, Matthias, Kagari

Ikemen Vampire: Napoleon(pls); Leonardo; Mozart; Arthur; Vincent; Theo; Isaac; Jean; Dazai; Sebastian; Comte; Shakespeare; Vlad; Faust; Charles; Drake; Galileo

Ikemen Revolution: Lancelot; Ray; Jonah; Fenrir; Edgar; Sirius; Kyle; Luka; Zero; Seth; Blanc; Oliver; Loki; Harr; Mousse; Dalim; Dean; Levie

Ikemen Sengoku: Nobunaga; Masamune; Shingen; Hideyoshi; Mitsuhide; Kanetsugu; Ieyasu; Mitsunari; Yukimura; Sasuke; Kenshin; Kenyo; Ranmaru; Motonari; Keiji; Kicho; Yoshimoto

Midnight Cinderella: Alyn; Giles; Louis; Leo; Byron; Nico; Albert; Robert; Rayvis; Sid

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘⋆

Please understand that I can't guarantee that I'm going to write all of these! I have a lot of issues IRL that I need to take care of, which leads me to either not having a lot of free time or not having the needed energy and inspiration to write. Either way, I hope you can have fun with this event! I can't wait to see what you send me. Have a great day, and I'll see you in my askbox soon! <3

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #3

Strangelove

kinktober day three | restraints, bratting (if you squint, he's very polite) | cw: 18+, sub!Gil, service dom!gender neutral! Reader, inappropriate use of Elvish rope, mouthy princess gil, oral sex (m receiving), safe sane and consensual | word count 4,1k | author's note under the cut | click here for the full kinktober list |

“Now,” a majestic voice rolls over the room like thunder.

You cannot see its owner for that he is hidden behind several of his advisors but your mind paints a picture familiar and amusing.

Face scrunched in petulance, crown slightly askew, the High King bends down to bring his face closer to the dignitary. “I have spoken all there is to say on the matter. Do not make me repeat myself!” He straightens promptly, dark eyes flashing in flickering golden light, and addresses the expectant crowd. “I have exceeded my quota of patience for today! Take your leave! Ego!” The command comes off as harsh even for the King when he is in one of his moods, so he hurries to soften the blow. “We shall continue on the morrow.”

Golden robes billowing out behind him, High King Erenion Gil-Galad takes his leave without sparing a second glance towards the disappointed Elves. Some nod in understanding, knowing just how heavy-handed some of the advisories can get when vying for the King's favour. Some frown and rush off towards the main exit, muttering displeasures to themselves. You linger, letting the crowd disperse into smaller groups, and nimbly make your way towards the side exit, unnoticed amongst various discussions and arguments.

The narrow hallway greets you with a silence and a chill, this year's autumn exceptionally windswept and grey. Erenion's abandoned outer robe stands out like a sore thumb: carelessly thrown over a toreutic statue, it glistens with what little sunshine pierces through low-hanging clouds pregnant with rain and fog. You pick up the garment and fold it at the waist before throwing it over your shoulder, adjusting the pile of notes to your chest. Well-worn soles of your shoes make no noise as you near the King's private study.

The door stands open, no more than a hand's width, and most of your field of view inside the room is occupied by the broad back of your King. It is tense, hard at the nape and taut at the seams of his shirt. Often, you have privately wondered of the possible incident that may finally cause him to burst out of his clothing - once or twice, you were sure Lady Galadriel had come very close to causing Erenion to simply spontaneously combust.

Such he stood with his back turned to you. Pent up, hard-boiled and simply done. A mostly empty carafe of wine at his left hand, a drained glass in the right.

“More wine,” he said the moment you announced yourself with a light step and a creak of the door.

“Yes, my Lord,” you replied evenly, racking your brain for the probable location of the nearest servant. Erenion Gil-Galad was a fair king and a kind ellon but that did not stop all servants from clearing his path when he got into a particularly sullen mood. A sulking King was no good company to anybody.

You trotted over to the nearest chair to place his outer robes onto. He turned swiftly. You needn't raise your eyes to see him struggle to swallow whatever bitter remark had been curling on his tongue; even so hotly angered, stupid he was not. Erenion knew better than to bestow unjust abuse towards his most dutiful and loyal attendant.

He spoke your name and you nodded in acknowledgement before smoothing out his robes and placing your stack of parchment on a nearby table. Not engaging in chit-chat but simply offering a quiet, steady, ataractic presence to the disgruntled King. Soft swishing of the parchment as you rearranged it invited a soothing ubiquity into the cool room. You felt, not saw, your King's shoulders drop. The clink of an empty glass being put down followed suit.

“These noxious vultures!..” Came the predicted grumble. Erenion's footsteps, unusually heavy and resounding for an Elf, traced a path from that corner of the room towards his desk. “Arguing for the sake of it...” Some of the more passionate choice words got lost in the pull of drawers being opened and paper bags' crinkling.

You hid a secretive smile. The Royal Snack Shelf, having been restocked by yours truly, was doing splendid at its job. A whimsical, silly detail even, but nevertheless quintessential at easing the burden of your King's day-to-day routine. A mentor in your past had given you valuable lessons on sweetening the bitterness of all that is tedious and mundane and you had taken them all to heart.

Periodically interrupted by crunching, the King's mouth ejected a day's worth of vitriol into the world, onto you and onto nobody at large, as he paced the long, spacious office like a caged lion. With every sentence he seemed to deflate a little and you counted every tiny victory as you mindlessly sorted and re-aligned your pages. The ranting was a canonical event and you did not interfere.

“... Grach! What secret information do your scrolls contain that is more important than listening to your King?!” Erenion's exclamation was not loud, but his deep and rich voice made it sound petulant and harsh.

Ah. One of those nights.

You straightened your back, taking your sweet time to readjust the muscles of your spine that were beginning to cramp from your hunched position and rapidly evened the stack that had previously preoccupied all of your attention. The bottom of it connected with the table with a sharp, resound tap, and Erenion immediately froze in his tracks.

You turned around slowly, body coiled in perfect precision, a masterful image of picture-perfect regard. Wide-eyed, Erenion frowned, dark brows creasing over the bridge of his nose. Your voice was even when you spoke.

“I am your dutiful servant, my King.” Bowing at the neck and not at the back, you crossed your hands behind yourself, looking him directly in the eye. “It is my job to thoroughly inspect all that concerns you and see to your comforts, which includes your spiritual well-being. At the present moment, it is imperative I allow you to vent your frustration without risk of scrutiny and judgment.”

Erenion, ever the imperfect perfectionist, scoffed. A knee-jerk reaction you harboured no ill will towards, for that you knew it would serve to be so much more rewarding when he finally decided to yield. As the King's brow darkened further with peevishness, his body language spoke of unmistakable interest. A creature of greatness and great contrasts was your King, most exhilarating. Bittersweet, like sour cherry wine.

“You think you know me better than myself?”

You pretended to think about it. “In certain areas, yes.” Jerking your shoulder a little, you took small, short steps towards him, observing him for any changes. Although his face was now contorted in a kingly version of a pout, his chest remained open and shoulders lax.

Looking down on you, Erenion seemed almond amused. “And what is it that you think I presently require?”

“Temperance,” you crooned. The air between your bodies thickened. With your eyes, you traced the fluid lines of his arms covered by his form-fitting undershirt. The hills of his biceps tapered down to wide forearms and sturdy wrists; towards broad palms, adorned with multiple rings but calloused from practice of warcraft. Erenion Gil-Galad was a beautiful King, all smooth lines and luxuriance from the regal curl of his plush mouth down to his shaking fingertips. “You need a lesson in temperance, my King.”

“Is that so?” He inquired lowly. Amusement, intrigue and apprehension all mixed up in his voice, colouring it with hoarseness usually reserved for lovers of a capricious occasion. Erenion was not known for those, but then again, it was unbecoming of a Noldorin High King to voluntarily overturn control of his persona to an assistant, even if it was temporary.

But you were just so good at what you did. How could he not surrender? With a gentle touch and a sharp word, you beheld the King within your eye as if nothing else outside it existed at all. The usually reserved personal aide, you became anything he needed you to be behind closed doors, be it a punching bag filled with sharp nails that cut him right back at every snap or a firm palm, offering rich handfuls of well-earned praise.

There was no diplomatic school advanced enough to lecture anyone on how to handle a King, so you could say that it came naturally. And proof was in the (re)actions: the willingness of Him to acquiesce, the intensity with which you handled him and just how far you were willing to go.

Erenion Gil-Galad stepped back. Again, and then again, until he landed noisily in the nearest chair, his broad, tall body sagging into the comfort of soft upholstery. Like this, you were just about eye-level with each other, and you beheld him with genuine sympathy and utter devotion. He stared back, eyes wide, deep irises seamlessly blending into dark pupils.

A cursory sweep around the room while he was contemplating your expression revealed an unexpected treasure: a thick roll of elvish rope laid on a nearby chair, likely accidentally left behind by a commander rushing in to receive or confirm orders. You smiled and looked away, least your plans be ruined by Erenion's inherent reaction to do the opposite of what people wanted him to do.

Carefully, you raised your hands to rid him of the crown. It always had to go first - dutiful servant as you were, it was most cumbersome to be reminded of his higher status when doing something scandalous with the King's body. Not that the situation lacked appeal, as a concept, but the crown had a weight attached to it. You were set on freeing the King of his burdens, after all.

Erenion's eyelashes fluttered as you gently carded your fingers through long, thick chocolate hair. Tugging lightly at the roots and brushing over the shortened warrior's edges at his temples. Tracing his strong jawline to brush a teasing thumb over his lips just to withdraw before he licked it like a playful kitten. You caressed the sensitive leaf shape of his ear and were immediately rewarded with a pleased rumble coming from the depts of his chest. For now, Erenion was much content to sit back in his chair and hold the outside of his palm against your leg, but it would not last.

Not when your fingers made swift work of the laces on his shirt and freed him from it. As the fabric landed on a nearby ottoman, his large palms settled over your hips, possessively kneading the meat there.

“Impatient,” you chided with a gentle shake of your head, eliciting a displeased grumble from the King, followed up by his fingertips digging deeper into you, clinging to your bones. A tap on his nose caused his eyes to shoot open. Your smile only grew. “Impertinent.”

Opening his mouth, Erenion's eyes shot to his crown abandoned nearby and back at your face. He pursed his lips, and, in lieu of a response, leaned in to rub his cheek over your clothed chest. You stood still, letting him find his comfort, but did little else. Until the very moment Erenion withdrew, his famous kingly pout back on full display.

“Melmë.”

“Erenion.” You echoed, matching his tone. “Are we in a rush?”

“Yes!” He grumbled. Looked at the window, where the clouds had obscured stars and the moon, blanketing Lindon within an impenetrable darkness. Several candles illuminated the room and that was it: not a single torch was lit outside the window. Erenion sighed. “Well, no, alas...”

“We are not in a rush.” You placed your palms atop his own, squeezing them once: a wordless command to release you. He did so and you stroked his face, his eyes, which he closed. Placing a kiss on his forehead, you swiftly grabbed the rope and returned with it, unfurling the roll as Erenion grew visibly more restless from the lack of touch. He dared open his eyes and immediately gasped, aghast. “Temperance,” you reminded him.

“No!” He protested, but made no move to get up or otherwise interrupt your planned activity.

You were sure many would call you mad for enjoying this exact moment of your games: the feigned resistance. Erenion would gripe and groan and complain and inevitably ruin his trousers in the process and there was no sweeter reward for your troubles that could be. The more he objected, the higher he riled himself up. That final leap over the edge beckoned you both in the distance. Erenion fell apart beautifully and...

A sigh. “Yes,” you stressed, wrapping the rope around his chest and the back of the chair before weaving it swiftly and delicately over his forearms, effectively securing them to the armrests. The length of the rope allowed for a safe amount of movement and several pretty knots.

It should withstand a good deal of resistance; Erenion's awareness of his own size and strength and their comparison to yours put an upper limit on just how physical these games would get. Ever cognisant, Erenion would flat out refuse even the possibility of causing you pain with his body so certain workarounds had to implemented. And even then, you found yourself wistful, wishing nothing more than for your King to lose himself to simple, mindless pleasures.

When was Erenion Gil-Galad ever simple? Effectively prevented from seeking out touch, he sat poised and regal, chin pointed in defiance, as he watched you shed your outer robes and and miscellaneous clothing. His eyes roved over you hungrily, yearning, as you stood before him in nothing but your underthings. Veins of his hands thick with rushing blood, what little was south of his trousers anyway: obscured by his breeches, the outlined of his hard cock stood as tall and proud as him.

You sat astride it, reveling in the hiss that came from his lips as you pressed your weight atop it and stayed still. The line of his jaw was fascinating to explore: you enlisted your lips, your fingers to do so.

As you'd predicted, his patience was... Not there.

“Well?”

“Hm?” You rumbled at the root of his ear, hot breath ghosting over the lobe.

“What now?” Centuries at Court kept his voice steady; his body was the biggest traitor. Blood rushed, a siren's song to you, enticing to switch your attentions to the other side of his face. Tenderly and thoroughly, you lavished it with attention, attacking Erenion's erogenous zones with tempered precision. You were in no rush to reply. He could not wait to feel. “I am sat in my office, indisposed and restrained, for the sake of your amusement?” He spat.

“No,” you murmured. And immediately corrected yourself because lying to your king is wrong. “Well, yes. But you are restrained for your own sake, as well. Good things come to those who know how to wait.” You preached, finishing off with a quick bite at the ball of his shoulder. Your hands slid lower, palming his thick pectorals, flicking his nipples.

There wasn't much to do but feel and bestow sensation and Erenion knew that. And enjoyed it so, his length twitching against your leg as you alternated between hard and soft, fast and slow, biting and kissing. Periodically, you withdrew enough to observe the changes on his face: how it grew from annoyed to flat to quivering. He panted softly through parted lips, groaning upon coming in contact with your own sex.

The buck of his hips straightened you up atop his lap. “You are much too impatient, darling,” you whispered against his lips. “Rushing to start one thing before the last has even ended,” withdrawing from his cock, you kissed him gently, pulling away as soon as he leaned in to envelop your tongue with his hot mouth. A whine slipped out instead and you smiled, brushing your closed mouth over his, moist and spit-slick.

“Multitasking is a necessary skill!” He objected, the ‘for a King’ hanging heavy and unsaid.

In lieu of a response, you ran your hands through his crown-free hair and gathered it in a loose ponytail, arching his head back. He moaned, low and long, and you rewarded him with a kiss to his lips. He did not misbehave this time as you mouthed at each other, losing time and space where your lips connected. You heard the creaking of wood, felt the bulge of Erenion's muscles as his body released all of its pent up tension.

Slowly, you lowered yourself back down to sit over his cock. Swallowing his moan and a noise of your own, you felt sparks fly as a sloppy movement brushed over where you were most sensitive. It was a sobering action. There was very little time for pleasure while you were doing your job, or, rather, the pleasure came from granting your King such. Boldly, your tongue snuck into his mouth to coax out his own so you could suck on it with conviction.

Erenion moaned, back arching within confines of his restraints. A wet spot was steadily growing under you, the result of your combined desire. Your mouth slid off his, smearing spit over his cheek as you panted. To pretend to be unaffected would be pointless and foolish. A pair of dark eyes sparking with amusement met yours: he looked too smug for an Elf who was at the brink of coming undone.

Cheeks flushed and mouth wet, Erenion Gil-Galad gave you a little smirk.

You wished nothing more than to bite him. So you did. Teeth clashed as you initiated another kiss, taking full control of it this time. It was wet and messy, full of growling and fangs as you temporarily abandoned your gentleness. You fucked his mouth with yours until your tasted bloody meat, and only then you withdrew, observing the momentary change in his behaviour. He was surprised, conquered, staring at you with reverence.

Your game of tug of war continued. He pushed and you pulled: he arched his chest and you bit down on his nipple, pulling it taut and letting your teeth scrape the surrounding sensitive tissue until his gasps descended into whimpers and bitten-off, broken Quenya. You raked blunt nails over his sides as he shuddered with sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain. Very few knew their King was ticklish and even fewer had the skills to incorporate it into ardurous sensual torture. You could have given any experienced courtesan a run for their money with how you played the High King akin to an instrument.

Maglor's incredible and terrifying singing had nothing on the broken noises coming out of the hot wet mouth of your King. Erenion was no songbird, no, he was a lone wolf howling at the moon. You observed the results of your handiwork as he shook with desire. There was little else to do but marvel.

Erenion Gil-Galad was a vision. Arms and chest criss-crossed with angry red welts where the ropes had rubbed a webbed pattern into his skin, he sat flushed and panting. Mouth red, as if wine stained, and eyes lidded, moved in wordless pleas for release. The need was showcased at the apex of his thighs where he'd leaked right through his trousers. Brown fabric was stained nearly black all around his sizeable bulge.

It was when you found yourself kneeling before it that reality sharply hit you in the face. Here you were, a servant, kneeling at the feet of your King, and he could do little else than plead for your mercy. And there was nothing else you wished to see more than give it to him - to see his face fall slack and easy, to see his twitching fingers finally find rest. But it was not the point of this. One release just bought the two of you a little time until the next.

The only thing you truly had control over was the amount of time it passed between the two. Not when you gave it and not how you gave it, for all that Erenion had to do was dismiss your advances and you would go back to sorting his mail and compiling his daily schedule.

Distracted, you nuzzled into his crotch, and fiddled with his trousers. His erect cock greeted you with a throb; the King moaned and threw his head back, straining the ropes to a point you began to consider they would lose their magic at once and simply snap. No such thing happened even as you blew gently onto the heated head of his cock.

“Cruel!..” He mumbled in between curses in languages you did not even know. “I was patient!” He objected to your withdrawal from his cock with fervor.

You were simply adjusting yourself. Not that he saw it, nearly delirious with need.

“Patient on account of lacking other options,” you teased him mirthfully.

He chuckled, but that noise quickly turned into a moan as you stuck out your tongue to trace the thick, prominent vein curving along the underside of his cock. Taking care to avoid the sensitive head, you took some tablets to lavish the shaft with soft licks of tour tongue. The sweet-salty taste of him beckoned you, clear droplets sliding down his cock just so you could curl your tongue around the middle of it to catch as much of the nectar as you could.

You went downwards, popping each of his testicles into your mouth. A whine in a pitch very few had ever heard echoed in the room; the chair creaked, it's back legs lifting off the ground. You immediately withdrew, placing apologetic kisses all along his cock as you ascended towards the tip. Erenion had been patient indeed and was now firmly stood at the edge of total overstimulation.

Sensitive Elven bodies, used to hard wars and tender lovemaking, had a very fine line that separated pleasure and pain. It'd been a steep learning curve to learn how to pluck the strings of your King just right, but once you figured out how to get him in that sweet spot betwixt the two and never firmly on the side of either, your sessions became something beautiful.

You wrapped your lips around him - he shuddered - and hollowed out your cheeks, tonguing along the frenulum as you swallowed as much of your King as would fit in your mouth. What couldn't fit was taken up by your hand, working him with all your might, going in for the winning round with single-minded abandon.

Erenion bucked his hips wildly, adding to the cacophony of your coupling. Moans, sighs and wet squelching, the creak of the chair that surely was to be replaced come morning - it all faded into the background as you kept your eyes firmly on the face of your King. Contorted in sweet agony, he gasped for breath once, twice, before his brow turned lax and a torrent of bittersweet nectar flooded your mouth.

Kneeling in awe and reverence, you swallowed it all. Erenion's chest heaved, covered in a translucent sheen of cool sweat, and he remained moaning softly all throughout it, reacting only when his flaccid flesh slipped from your mouth. His mouth was open and eyes closed as you undid the knots, content to ignore your own discomfort until the moment to relieve it offered itself.

You rubbed his wrists, eyeing his face for any discomfort. There was none - Erenion remained as timelessly beautiful when disheveled as he was in his golden garb. The corners of his mouth turned up in a lazy, absent smile, he freed a wrist to pull you in. You mirrored his smile.

“Come,” he spoke, voice rough. Unsteadily, he stood up, and pulled you towards the hidden door leading to his chambers. “We are not finished yet.”

Pretending to be surprised, you chuffed softly at the lack of care he showed at his own state of undress. He truly cared not, for he was the King, and managing his reputation (and any missteps of his in that regard) was your responsibility as his personal attendant anyway.

Would he ever make it easy for you? No. But, perhaps, one day you might get him to beg...

Someone said slightly bratty sub gil x service dom reader? OK I said it. I am pretty sure this is gender neutral, but in case it isn't, point out gendered things/words to me. I didn't bother to proofread it because I got too horny while writing it. I don't like this as much as I wish I did but oh well.

a/n: the bigger sub/smaller dom is an actual issue if you get physical during your scenes. I've dommed men roughly the size of Ben (I'm 5'4 130?lbs) and there are scenes and things that we simply cannot do safely, unless the sub is at least somewhat restrained. Even further, taking into account that canonical gil-salad is 7+ft... Tie that elf down before you let him brat/overstim or you'll get flat out 💅yeeted💅 across all Lindon.

[brandwhorestarscream]

OK OK JUST HEAR ME OUT!

Post-war peace negotiations and treaties and stuff, bots and cons trying to make nice. Things are still rather tense but both sides are genuinely trying to make this work. There's an upcoming Important Leader's Summit in decepticon territory or smthn, idk it's not really important, and Optimus is always walking on eggshells whenever he and Megatron meet up. The laat thing he wants to do is offend him somehow and reignite the fighting, so he's always sure to be as civil and polite as possible. This is his first time being invited to the decepticon capital, as usually their meetings take place on neutral ground. He thinks, 'well I cant show up without a gift to our hosts'.

Megatron is an ex-gladiator, right? Warframe cultural respects warrior prowess and athletic ability and weapons and stuff, right? So he decides he's gonna bring a nice fancy flashy sword, has it specially commissioned and everything. A paper thin, hyper-sharp blade, hilt carved with a decepticon and autobot symbol alike and inladen with a fancy off world gem. No one really uses melee weapons anymore, so it's a rather antique gift, but it shows respect for the culture, no? It should be an acceptable "thank you for hosting" present.

He goes to the summit, gives Megatron the blade, and can't help but notice he's acting rather Off™ all evening. Just before they part ways, Megatron tells him, "I accept."

No idea what that's about. Probably just accepting the continuing peace agreements.

He wakes up the next morning to about 10 million missed calls, Ratchet and Prowl (and everyone else for that matter) blowing up his comms, and he gets slapped in the face with an official announcement made in decepticon territory: Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron to be conjunxed

Whoops 🤭 the gift of a blade is considered a proposal of marriage in warframe culture, and OP just accidentally asked for Megatron's hand. Worse yet, his proposal was accepted. What the hell is he gonna do now?!

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (12/15) - Part I

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew @queenshikongo3

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

The flash of cameras filled the studio, each click capturing a moment in time. Lewis stood before the backdrop, his posture relaxed yet commanding, the very essence of the man GQ had dubbed a "global creative force."

"That's it, Lewis! Give us that winning smile," the photographer called out, and Lewis obliged, though his mind was miles away.

As he shifted poses, he couldn't help but think of Rorie. Her decision to step back from social media had been a breath of fresh air for both of them, even if it meant she was juggling her sponsorship duties more carefully. But lately, with Martin's increased attempts at contact and the whole Athena situation, he'd noticed a familiar tension creeping back into her shoulders.

"Alright, let's take five," the photographer announced, and Lewis gratefully stepped away from the lights.

He fished out his phone, smiling at the lock screen - a candid shot of Rorie and Lyric laughing at a beach in Brazil. No new messages. He debated calling her but decided against it. She was probably in the middle of her individual therapy session.

Their decision to return to both individual and couples therapy had been mutual. After Bahrain and the whirlwind that was Saudi Arabia, they'd both felt the need for a neutral space to unpack everything. The races so far had been a mixed bag - P7 in Bahrain, and a frustrating P9 in Jeddah. But it was the off-track drama that was really taking its toll.

"Alright, Lewis, let's try something a bit more serious for this shot," the photographer instructed, and Lewis complied. His brow furrowed naturally as he considered the complexity of their current situation.

The lawsuit with Deja...and Martin.

The man was persistent, he'd give him that, but after years of absence, what right did Martin have to suddenly play the doting father? And now, with Athena in the picture, it all felt like some elaborately orchestrated play.

"Perfect! That's the look we want," the photographer exclaimed, clearly misinterpreting Lewis's brooding expression as artistic intensity.

As the shoot continued, Lewis found himself longing for the simplicity of the racetrack. There, at least, he knew the rules, understood the game. Off-track, in the messy world of family drama and public scrutiny, the lines were far less clear.

His phone buzzed in his pocket - a text from Rorie:

"Session went well. Lot to talk about. See you at couples therapy later?"

A smile tugged at his lips as he quickly typed back:

"Wouldn't miss it. Love you."

As he pocketed his phone and returned to the shoot, Lewis felt a renewed sense of determination. It was going to be one hell of a season, both on and off the track. But then again, when had they ever done things the easy way?

________________________________________________

Lewis hurried into the modern building in central London, its glass facade reflecting the bustling city around it. He took the elevator to the fifth floor, tapping his foot impatiently as it ascended. The corridor was sleek and minimalist, leading to a door marked - Dr. James Bokinni and Dr. Alisha Williams - Family Therapy.

He pushed open the door, immediately spotting Rorie on the plush sofa. Dr. Alisha and Dr. James, the husband-wife team that had been guiding them through their individual and couples therapy, looked up with welcoming smiles.

"Sorry I'm late," Lewis said, slightly out of breath. He crossed the room, bending down to kiss Rorie on the lips. "Traffic was a nightmare. How's Lyric? Everything okay with my mum and Nina?"

Rorie squeezed his hand reassuringly. "He's fine, babe. Your mum said he went down for his nap without a fuss. Nina's got everything under control."

Dr. Alisha, her American accent a stark contrast to her husband's British tones, gestured for Lewis to take a seat. "No worries, Lewis. We were just catching up. Shall we begin?"

As Lewis settled in next to Rorie, he took in the familiar surroundings. The office was a blend of professional and homey, with warm colors and comfortable furnishings that put them at ease. Photos of their doctors' travels adorned the walls, a subtle reminder of their own cross-cultural relationship.

"So," Dr. James began, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement, "it seems like you've had quite an eventful few months since our last session. Where would you like to start?"

Lewis and Rorie exchanged glances. There was so much to unpack - Martin's increased attempts at contact, the sudden appearance of Athena, the ongoing stress of the lawsuit against The Sun and Deja, not to mention their plans to try IVF again.

Rorie took a deep breath. "I guess we should start with the Athena situation. It's... complicated things with Martin."

Lewis nodded, adding, "And it's not just that. It's the timing of it all, you know? With the lawsuit and everything else going on..."

Dr. Alisha leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. "It sounds like you're feeling overwhelmed by all these sudden changes. Let's break it down, piece by piece. Rorie, how are you feeling about Athena's appearance in your life?"

Rorie took a deep breath, her fingers intertwining with Lewis's for support. "Honestly? It's a whirlwind of emotions. On one hand, I'm curious. There's a part of me that wants to know my siblings, to understand that side of my family. But on the other hand, it feels... I don't know, calculated?"

Dr. James nodded, his pen moving across his notepad. "And Lewis, how do you feel about this situation?"

Lewis shifted in his seat. "I'm worried about Rorie. I want to support her, but I can't shake this feeling that there's more to it than just a coincidental meeting. With the lawsuit and Martin suddenly pushing for contact, it all feels like too much at once."

Dr. Alisha leaned back, her gaze moving between the couple. "It's natural to feel overwhelmed and suspicious given the circumstances. Let's talk about boundaries. Have you discussed how you want to proceed with Athena and Martin?"

Rorie shook her head. "We've talked about it, but we haven't really come to a decision. I'm torn between my curiosity and my need to protect our family."

"And the lawsuit," Lewis added. "We can't ignore the fact that any new relationship could potentially complicate things legally."

Dr. James nodded. "That's a valid concern. How do you both feel about seeking legal advice before making any decisions about contact with Athena or Martin?"

The conversation flowed, touching on the complexities of family dynamics, trust issues, and the stress of public scrutiny. As they delved into the topic of trying IVF again, both Lewis and Rorie's voices softened.

"It feels like we're juggling so much," Rorie admitted.

Lewis squeezed her hand. "But it's also something we both want. We can't put our lives on hold because of external pressures."

Dr. Alisha smiled gently. "It sounds like you both have a lot to consider. Remember, there's no rush to make decisions on any of these fronts. Take the time you need to process and communicate with each other."

As the session wound down, Lewis and Rorie felt a mix of exhaustion and relief. They had a long road ahead, but they were facing it together.

"Before we end," Dr. James said, "I want you both to remember something. Despite all these challenges, you're here, working together. That's a strength not every couple has."

Rorie's mind still reeling from the therapy sessions. The individual session had been intense, digging deep into her feelings about Martin, Athena, and the constant pressure of public life. Dr. Alisha had helped her unpack some of the complex emotions swirling around her newfound family, but Rorie still felt unsettled.

The couples therapy had been different - a united front with Lewis, tackling their challenges together. It was comforting, knowing they were on the same page about most things. The IVF discussion had been particularly emotional, but Rorie felt a renewed sense of hope about their future.

The days in London with Lewis's family had been a welcome distraction. Watching Lyric play with his cousins, carefree and giggling, had reminded Rorie of what really mattered.

Now, in Sydney for the Australian Grand Prix, Rorie found herself sitting outside the bathroom door, scrolling through emails while Lyric insisted on "privacy" for his potty time.

"You all done in there, baby?" Rorie called out, peeking her head around the door.

"No, Mama!" came Lyric's determined little voice.

Rorie chuckled, settling back to wait. Suddenly, the hotel room door opened, and Lewis walked in with Spinz and Miles.

Miles grinned at the sight of Rorie camped outside the bathroom. "What's going on here?" Before Rorie could answer, they heard a flush. Miles's smile widened knowingly. "Little man using the potty?"

The bathroom door swung open, revealing a proud Lyric. "Me big," he declared, pulling up his pants.

"Oh wow…sorry, big man," Miles laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Uh…wash your hands, Mr. Big Man," Rorie reminded, pointing to the bathroom sink.

Lyric climbed his little stairs, enthusiastically "washing" his hands - which mostly involved playing with soap and water.

Spinz shook his head, amused. "He needs to stop growing."

Lewis chuckled, peeking into the bathroom to check Lyric's handiwork. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the scene. The toilet seat was adorned with a scattering of tiny droplets, evidence of Lyric's still-developing aim, and a small puddle had formed on the floor in front of the toilet. It was clear their little boy had given it his best effort, but precision was still a work in progress.

"Oh my goodness, this is going to be a thing, huh?" Rorie joked, grabbing a Clorox wipe to clean the seat and floor.

"Yeah…boys do that," Lewis admitted. "But at least he used it the correct way this time."

"True," Rorie nodded. "Should we put Cheerios or something in the bowl - to help with his aim?"

Lewis looked perplexed. "Cheerios? That's what you have to use?"

"Or one of those pee-pee buddies I saw on Amazon." Lewis gave her an incredulous look. "What?" Rorie chuckled. "Didn't you read that potty training book I sent you?"

"No…between the photoshoot and race stuff, I didn't have time to look it over. But I don't think Cheerios is a good pick; you know he loves them. What if he eats them out of the toilet?"

Rorie scoffed. "Our child is smart enough to not eat some nasty Cheerios out of the toilet."

"But our other child still drinks water there from time to time," Lewis said, obviously referring to Roscoe.

"Ugh, don't remind me." Rorie's eyes cut to Lyric, still playing in the sink. "Can you handle that please?"

Lewis nodded, eyebrows knitting together as he realized what a mess his son was making. He sighed, rolling up his sleeves as he approached the sink. Lyric had managed to create a miniature water park, with soap suds covering most of the counter and water splashed up the mirror. The boy himself was soaked from chest to knees, his shirt clinging to his little body.

"Alright, big man," Lewis said, grabbing a towel. "Let's get you dried off."

As Lewis dealt with the bathroom situation, Rorie made her way to the kitchenette, washing her hands at the sink there. Miles leaned against the counter, a bemused expression on his face.

"So," Rorie started, glancing at Miles. "How are things with you and KiKi?"

Miles nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, we're getting there. It's not easy with our schedules, but she's been making an effort to come to some of my Olympic trials."

Rorie raised an eyebrow. "That's great, Miles. I'm glad she's showing up for you."

"Me too," Miles agreed. "It means a lot, you know? Seeing her in the stands, knowing she's there to support me."

Their conversation drifted to other topics - Miles' training regimen, Rorie's latest projects, the upcoming race. The comfortable banter was a welcome distraction from the chaos of the past few weeks.

A few minutes later, Lewis emerged from the bathroom with a freshly dried and changed Lyric.

Lyric's face lit up at the sight of Miles and Spinz. He toddled over, his little hand raised for a high five. "Up top, big man!" Miles grinned, meeting Lyric's hand with his own.

Spinz crouched down to Lyric's level. "Looking fresh, little dude. Give me some love," he said, holding out his fist.

Lyric, with all the seriousness a toddler could muster, bumped his tiny fist against Spinz's. The adults couldn't help but laugh at the adorable display.

As Lyric basked in the attention of his uncles, Rorie caught Lewis's eye. They shared a smile, a silent acknowledgment of the joy these moments brought amidst the whirlwind of their lives. Despite the challenges they faced, moments like these - surrounded by love and laughter - made it all worthwhile.

Lewis stepped out of the car, carefully unbuckling Lyric from his car seat, and settling him on the ground before they made their way towards the paddock, the familiar buzz of media day already in full swing.

"Alright, big man," Lewis said, settling Lyric on his hip. "Ready to see Daddy's work?"

Lyric nodded enthusiastically, his braids - a miniature version of Lewis's own - bouncing with the movement. Lewis couldn't help but smile at the sight. They were quite the pair today, both sporting Tommy Hilfiger-designed Mercedes team shirts and jeans. Even Lyric's tiny feet were encased in toddler-sized Timberlands, a near-perfect match to Lewis's.

As they walked, Lewis found his mind drifting to the therapy sessions back in London. The weight of everything - Martin, Athena, the lawsuit, their IVF plans - still pressed on him, but he felt more equipped to handle it all. Talking things through with Rorie and their therapists had been cathartic, reminding him of the strength they had as a couple.

"Dada, fast car?" Lyric asked, pointing towards the garage area.

Lewis chuckled. "That's right, buddy. We'll see the fast cars soon."

He savored these moments with Lyric; and treasured this one-on-one time with his son. It was so different from his own upbringing. Where his father had been stern and focused solely on racing, Lewis made a conscious effort to be open, to show Lyric that it was okay to have feelings, to be himself.

"You know, Lyric," Lewis said softly, "it's okay if you don't want to dress like Daddy all the time. You can wear whatever makes you happy."

Lyric looked at him, brown eyes wide with toddler seriousness. "Like Dada," he said firmly, tugging at his shirt that matched Lewis's.

Lewis laughed, pressing a kiss to Lyric's forehead. "Alright, big man. Like Dada it is."

As they approached the Mercedes garage, team members called out greetings, many stopping to coo over Lyric. The toddler basked in the attention, his shy smile growing more confident with each interaction.

"Lewis!" a familiar voice called out. Toto approached, a warm smile on his face. "And look who we have here. Hello, Lyric!"

"Toto!" Lyric exclaimed, reaching out his little fist for a bump, which Toto happily obliged.

As they chatted, Lewis felt a surge of pride. This was his world, and being able to share it with Lyric, to show him that success could come in many forms, meant everything to him.

"Dada race?" Lyric asked, pointing at the car being wheeled into the garage.

"Not today, buddy," Lewis explained patiently. "Today we talk to people about racing. But soon, yeah?"

Lyric nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. As they continued their tour of the paddock, Lewis answering Lyric's constant stream of questions as best he could, he realized something profound. In teaching his son about the world, about racing, about life, he was learning too. Learning to see things through fresh eyes, to appreciate the small moments, to balance his passion for racing with his love for his family. It wasn't always easy, juggling fatherhood with his career and the constant pressure of public life. But moments like these, with Lyric's little hand in his, matching outfits and all, made every challenge worth it.

As they rounded the corner near the Communications building, Lyric suddenly perked up, his eyes lighting with recognition. There, zipping along on her scooter, was Kevin Magnussen's daughter, Laura.

"L'waura!" Lyric shouted, his little legs carrying him forward before Lewis could react. Arms outstretched, the toddler made a beeline for his friend.

Lewis couldn't help but smile, remembering how Kevin had started bringing his kids to some of the races last year. Lyric and Laura had hit it off immediately, forming an adorable friendship that had become a source of both joy and mild embarrassment for their parents.

The Bahrain incident flashed through Lewis's mind - Lyric planting a kiss on Laura's cheek, a sweet gesture that had prompted a necessary but largely ignored conversation about boundaries and not kissing other kids without permission.

As if on cue, history repeated itself. Before Lewis could intervene, Lyric had reached Laura and planted another kiss on her cheek.

"Lyric! Big man, please don't do that!" Lewis called out, jogging towards the children. He shot an apologetic look at Kevin, who was watching the scene unfold with amusement.

Kevin chuckled, shaking his head. "Every time, Hamilton."

"I know, it's becoming a recurring thing. Sorry, man," Lewis said, reaching the kids.

Lyric and Laura looked up at their parents, their faces beaming with innocent joy.

"Lyric's my boyfriend," Laura announced proudly, her three-year-old vocabulary tackling the concept with endearing simplicity.

Lewis and Kevin exchanged shocked glances, both fathers clearly unprepared for this development.

"Sweetheart, what are you talking about 'boyfriend'? We agreed no boyfriends until you're fifty," Kevin said, his tone a mix of jest and genuine concern.

"But he's nice," Laura insisted. "He gave me a cookie!"

"Here, L'waura," Lyric chimed in, digging into his pocket and producing a fidget spinner toy.

Lewis couldn't help but chuckle at the situation. Here they were, two Formula 1 drivers, completely out of their depth in the face of toddler romance. As the two fathers shared a laugh, Lyric and Laura had already moved on, engrossed in the workings of the fidget spinner. Lewis watched them, marveling at the simplicity of childhood friendships and the unexpected challenges of parenthood.

"You know," Lewis said to Kevin, "I think I'd rather face a wet track at Monaco than navigate this whole parenting thing sometimes."

Kevin grinned. "Agreed. But it's worth it, isn't it?"

Lewis nodded, watching Lyric's face light up as he played with Laura. "Every single moment."

Rosa then approached Lewis. "Lewis, it's time for your panel. We need to head inside," she said, gesturing towards the building.

Lewis nodded, turning to Lyric. "Alright, big man, Daddy's got to go inside now. Can you say bye to me?" Lyric, still engrossed in showing Laura how to use the fidget spinner, didn't seem to hear his father. Lewis tried again, but the toddler remained oblivious.

Finally, Lewis used his stern 'dad' voice. "Lyric Apollo."

The use of his full name made Lyric's head snap up, his eyes wide.

"I'm going inside now," Lewis repeated. "Remember, no kissing, okay?"

Lyric gave his father a mischievous grin. "Yes, Dada," he said, in a tone that made Lewis wonder if he'd actually been heard.

"Rosa will watch you," Lewis added, ruffling Lyric's braids. "Be good, okay?"

As Lewis turned to leave, Kevin spoke to Laura in Danish, then fell into step beside him.

"Listen, mate," Lewis started as they walked. "I'm sorry about Lyric kissing Laura again. We've been trying to teach him about boundaries, but you know how kids are..."

Kevin waved off the apology with a good-natured chuckle. "Don't worry about it. They're kids. To be honest, it's kind of cute." Lewis raised an eyebrow, surprised by Kevin's relaxed attitude. Kevin shrugged. "I'm just happy Laura has a friend here. It can be a lonely life for our kids sometimes, you know?"

Lewis nodded, understanding all too well. "Yeah, I get that. It's not exactly a normal childhood, is it?"

As they entered the building, the buzz of media day enveloped them. Lewis took his place at the panel, fielding questions about the upcoming race, his expectations for the season.

____________________________________________________

Later that evening, as they settled around the table in their hotel suite, the Melbourne skyline twinkling through the windows, Lewis began recounting the day's events to Rorie. Her fork paused midway to her mouth, eyes widening comically as he got to the part about Laura calling Lyric her boyfriend.

"A girlfriend?" Rorie sputtered, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. "He's barely even two years old and he has a girlfriend?" Her gaze darted to Lyric, who was blissfully unaware of the conversation, happily munching on his dinner.

Lewis shrugged, a hint of pride mixed with sheepishness playing across his features. "That's what happened, baby. Our boy's got game, apparently."

Rorie's brow furrowed, her mind clearly racing. "Is this going to become an issue? Do I have to call Louise again," she paused, giving a mock glare to Lyric, who had the wherewithal to flash a toothy grin, "and explain to her that we tried to talk to our sweet boy about boundaries?" The exasperation in her voice was palpable.

"Kevin's cool with it," Lewis chimed in, his tone reassuring.

"Still... I'm going to send Louise a text. Never hurts to have another side of the story."

"Rorie, you're putting too much focus on it," he said gently. "They're kids, it's cute."

"Lewis, our son is Black and he's—"

"I know that, Aurora," Lewis interjected, his tone suddenly stern. Rorie reared back slightly, blinking in surprise, Lewis's face softened. "Sorry for the tone, okay? But I know; hell, I even experienced it myself. I spoke to Kevin, and he's cool, understanding for the most part. I'm sure he spoke to Louise about it. If things get wild, I'll step in, alright? For now, it sounds wrong to try and stop them from being friends, especially since he'll probably see Laura whenever he's at a race weekend."

Rorie's expression wavered between concern and acceptance. "But a girlfriend though?" she repeated, her voice softer this time.

"I know, I know," Lewis conceded, then turned to their son. "Lyric, any words on this? Like what's going on, buddy?"

Lyric looked up from his plate, his little face the picture of innocence. "L'waura nice," he said nonchalantly, then picked up his fork to eat another little tree of broccoli.

Rorie couldn't help but smile at his simple response. "Nice... okay, well that settles everything. No more kissing, okay?" she pressed, trying to keep her tone light.

"Okay, mama," Lyric replied, his voice carrying the same mischievous undertone he'd used with Lewis on the paddock.

Rorie glanced at her husband, one eyebrow raised. "He's gonna kiss her again, isn't he?"

"Oh, you know it," Lewis chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "He's a charmer."

"Just like his father," Rorie added, a mix of exasperation and fondness in her voice as she took a sip of her wine.

The conversation lulled for a moment as they all focused on their meals. Rorie couldn't help but steal glances at Lyric, marveling at how quickly he was growing up. It seemed like just yesterday he was a tiny baby in her arms, and now he was making friends and apparently finding "girlfriends" at the track.

Lewis reached over and squeezed her hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. His eyes met hers, full of understanding. "He's going to be fine, babe. We're here to guide him, but we've got to let him figure some things out on his own too."

Rorie nodded, returning the gentle pressure of his hand. "I know," she said softly, her gaze drifting back to Lyric. "It's just... it all happens so fast, doesn't it?"

One thing Rorie didn't fuck around with was anything that involved her son.

The journey to motherhood had been a long and arduous one, filled with heartbreak and disappointment before Lyric finally came into their lives. She remembered the endless doctor's appointments, the hormone treatments, the tears shed in quiet moments when she thought Lewis wasn't looking. When Lyric was finally born, it felt like a miracle.

Raising him in the limelight brought its own set of challenges. Every milestone was scrutinized, every decision questioned by strangers who felt entitled to an opinion on their family life. The recent media circus with The Sun had only intensified Rorie's protective instincts. And now, this situation with Lyric and his "girlfriend" Laura had her on edge.

Rorie found herself pacing in the paddock, phone pressed to her ear as she spoke with Louise, Kevin's wife.

"Really, Rorie, it's fine," Louise's voice came through, her Danish accent softening the words. "They're just kids being kids."

Rorie sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I know, I know. I just... I worry, you know?"

"Of course you do," Louise chuckled. "That's what mothers do. But trust me, it's harmless. And I appreciate you talking to Lyric about boundaries."

As she ended the call, Rorie felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.

Maybe I was overreacting a bit?

Race day, as usual, was a flurry of activity. Rorie watched as Lewis prepared, his focus sharpening as he slipped into race mode. Lyric bounced around excitedly, decked out in his mini Mercedes gear.

As Lewis donned his helmet, Rorie's phone buzzed insistently. A quick glance showed a barrage of texts from Martin. She felt a familiar twist in her stomach but pushed it aside. Today was about Lewis and the race.

Instead, she fired off a quick text to C.J.:

"Can you send over Athena's contact info?"

Within seconds, her PA responded with the information. Rorie couldn't help but marvel at C.J.'s efficiency. Hiring him had been one of her better decisions lately.

As she contemplated her next move, an unknown number popped up on her screen:

"Can we talk?"

Now, who the fuck was this? Rorie's fingers hovered over the keyboard, a response forming in her mind. But before she could hit send, Lewis's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Ror?" he called, beckoning her over.

She pocketed her phone, the unsent message forgotten for now. As she approached, Lewis pulled her close for an embrace.

"You've got this," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his helmet.

With a final nod, Lewis climbed into his car. Rorie scooped up Lyric, moving to their spot in the garage. As the engines roared to life, she felt the familiar mix of excitement and anxiety that came with every race.

"Dada!" Lyric cheered as Lewis's car pulled out, his little hands clapping enthusiastically. Rorie held him close, grateful for this moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their lives.

As Lewis's Mercedes lined up in its grid position, the air in the garage crackled with tension. The rumble of engines filled the air, a symphony of power and precision. Rorie could feel the vibrations in her chest, matching the rapid beat of her heart.

Toto's voice crackled over the headset, his Austrian accent clipped and focused as he delivered last-minute instructions to the team. In the car, Bono's calm tones filtered through to Lewis, a familiar ritual of encouragement and strategy.

"Okay, Lewis, we're looking good. Remember, it's a long race. Let's bring it home," Bono said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Rorie watched the giant screens, her grip on Lyric tightening slightly as the start sequence began. The red lights blinked on one by one, the tension in the air building with each passing second.

"Lights out and away we go!" the commentator's voice boomed through the speakers.

In an instant, the track erupted into controlled chaos. Twenty cars launched forward in a breathtaking display of speed and skill. Lewis's Mercedes shot off the line, jockeying for position as they hurtled towards the first corner.

Lyric squealed with delight, his eyes wide with wonder as he watched his father's car disappear into the distance. Rorie found herself holding her breath, as she always did in these first crucial moments of the race.

As the cars navigated the chicane, weaving through with millimeter precision, Rorie felt the familiar mix of pride and anxiety wash over her. The race unfolded like a high-speed chess match, with Lewis showcasing his unparalleled skill at every turn. He executed a brilliant overtake on the outside of turn three, threading the needle between two rivals with breathtaking precision. Lap after lap, he chipped away at the lead, his Mercedes dancing on the edge of adhesion as he pushed it to its limits.

In a heart-stopping moment, Lewis's car collided with George's, sending both spinning off the track in a shower of carbon fiber and rubber.

"Fuck!" Toto's voice boomed through the garage, his frustration palpable.

"Fuck!" Lyric parroted innocently, causing Toto to shake his head.

"Lyric, no," Toto said, his expression softening. "That's a bad word. Don't repeat that."

Rorie's heart raced as she watched the aftermath, relief washing over her as Lewis climbed out of the car unharmed. She was disappointed about the DNF, but grateful he was safe. As Lewis and George were driven back to the garage in the medical car, Rorie's phone rang - Lil Yachty.

"Hey, Boat," Rorie answered, "I may have to call you back. Lewis needs me."

"Oh, for sure, but I'll be quick, if that's okay?" he said.

Lyric, hearing the familiar voice, chimed in with a "What's up, Boat?" in his adorable toddler voice.

"Hey, lil' bro, what's up?"

"A lot," Rorie scoffed with an eyeroll. "Apparently, he's got a girlfriend now."

"Oh? That's what's up." Yachty's tone shifted slightly. "So, Ror, you got any free time in the next few weeks?"

Rorie's eyebrow arched. "Yes…?" she replied, curiosity coloring her voice.

"How'd you feel about performing at Coachella with me?"

Rorie's eyes widened, a mix of excitement and surprise flooding through her. "No freaking way."

"Way. Listen, I'll let you handle your stuff with your hubby, but I'll reach out to you and your people with more details, alright?"

"Yeah...of course. Wow, this is nuts."

"You got it, Rorie. Love ya, big sis."

"See ya, Boat."

When she hung up, she felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. This was insane - first, she performed at Austin City Limits, and now performing at Coachella was an option.

Rorie took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then stood up as Lewis came back into the garage. He immediately found them and took Lyric from her arms, kissing her temple. From his flat expression and silence, she knew he was furious. But he kept his composure, his posture never revealing his true feelings. Rorie wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the warmth and security of his body.

"Lean on me," she said, her words meaning much more than him shifting some of his weight onto her.

And so he did—literally and figuratively—allowing her to be his rock.

"I love you, Aurora Borealis," he whispered in her hair.

"I love you too, LewLew Bear," she replied.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of the downtown Los Angeles law office, casting long shadows across the polished conference table. Deja sat rigidly in her chair next to her lawyer, her jaw set in defiance as she faced Julian across the gleaming expanse of wood.

The air was thick with tension, the proposed settlement papers lying untouched between them. Deja's lawyer, a formidable Black woman named Tanya, pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"Deja, I strongly advise you to consider this offer," Tanya said, her voice strained with barely contained exasperation. "It's more than fair, given the circumstances."

Deja shook her head vehemently. "No. I'm not backing down. We can win this."

Julian leaned back in his chair, his expression a mixture of pity and annoyance. "Ms. Barnes, I urge you to listen to your counsel. This offer won't be on the table indefinitely."

Tanya turned to Deja, her patience clearly wearing thin. "You need to understand the reality of your situation. With Luisa's testimony now supporting the Hamiltons, your position is significantly weakened."

"I don't care," Deja snapped. "I know what happened. I'm not letting them silence me."

Tanya's eyes flashed with anger. "If you're not going to value my expertise, then I don't see how I can continue to represent you."

The meeting ended in a stalemate, with Deja storming out of the office. As she stepped onto the busy LA street, she pulled out her phone, dialing Alexander's number for what felt like the hundredth time.

Straight to voicemail.

Again.

This motherfucker.

Since the Hamiltons were acting on business about the lawsuit, Alexander slowly but surely began to distance himself from her. And she couldn't blame him, yet he was just as involved in this as she was, so playing innocent wasn't going to work.

Frustrated, she ducked into a nearby alley, fishing a vape pen from her purse. She didn't usually smoke, but the stress was getting to her. As she inhaled, the sweet vapor filling her lungs, Deja leaned against the cool brick wall, closing her eyes.

Everything was falling apart. Her supporters were abandoning her one by one, brand deals had dried up, and now even her lawyer was threatening to jump ship. The trial loomed in May, and she felt increasingly alone.

With shaky fingers, she pulled out her phone again, opening one of her text apps. She typed out a message to Rorie's old number: "Can we talk?"

Her thumb hovered over the send button, a mix of hope and desperation coursing through her. As the LA traffic roared by at the end of the alley, Deja pressed send, clinging to the slim chance that Rorie's number hadn't changed after all these years. It felt like a Hail Mary, but at this point, what did she have to lose?

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[zvaigzdelasas]

A senior Ukrainian official has said that the impact of Azerbaijan’s blockade of Nagorno-Karabakh is being exaggerated as a Russian effort to distract the world’s attention from the war in his country. In an interview with the Moldovan public broadcaster, Mykhailo Podolyak, an adviser to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy, said that the blockade was being “pumped up” in order to “distract attention from the war in Ukraine and redirect it to other conflict spots so the whole world looks there.” In the interview, the Moldovan presenter framed the blockade in Karabakh as a Russian plot. “Some experts” say that Russia is preparing a “Crimea scenario” for Karabakh, she said to Podolyak, suggesting that the territory’s new de facto leader, Russian-Armenian billionaire Ruben Vardanyan, was sent from Moscow for the purpose. While Armenian sources claim that 120,000 ethnic Armenians are living in Nagorno-Karabakh, “in fact it’s three times smaller,” the presenter claimed, saying that Russian President Vladimir Putin used the same tactic of distorting population sizes as part of the process of seizing control of Crimea and other parts of Ukraine.[...]

Podolyak’s reading of the conflict was echoed in a number of other officials’ statements at around the same time. Lyudmila Marchenko, a member of parliament in Zelenskiy’s Servant of the People party who has long supported Azerbaijan, gave several interviews in which she made many of the same points. “As an ally of Russia, Armenia is using similar methods to maintain control over Nagorno-Karabakh that Russia does for control over Crimea,” she said in one interview. “Raising the estimates for the quantity of people living in these territories, Vardanyan speaks about 120,000 residents, but by objective assessments there are 40,000 people there.” Another MP from a different party, Igor Popov, wrote an article at the same time also taking issue with the population estimates, and denying altogether that there was a blockade. “Azerbaijani activists are not preventing the transit of civilian and humanitarian transportation,” Popov wrote. “But the leadership of unrecognized Karabakh is using the situation to show shortages of food and the threat of a ‘humanitarian catastrophe,’ and blaming Azerbaijan and the activists for it.”[...]

Ukraine has long taken a pro-Azerbaijan position vis-a-vis the conflict with Armenia. The conflicts share some common patterns, as Armenia and Russia have forcibly taken Azerbaijani and Ukrainian territory, respectively, with the purported aim of unifying their ethnic kin on that territory.

25 Jan 23

21 Feb 23

9 Sep 23

11 Aug 22

I've been told that Ukraine's analogous to Armenia here, while Azerbaijan is analogous to Russia. strange that Ukraine doesn't seem to think so.

[kermitkrqb]

A Glimpse of Us pt. 2 || Xavier Thorpe x reader

A/n: Here is part 2!!! You guys are just too adorable for me to deprive you of this any longer!

What to expect: Gender neutral, enemies to lover vibes, hidden feelings, Xavier making the reader hella flustered, confessions!, make out, no spoilers here babes

The two of you shared fencing class yet again and Xavier’s plan set in motion. Usually, when the coach announced for the class to pair up for practice, the two of you just assumed you’d be up against each other as it was the only class your rivalry was welcomed. However, as you were about to walk up to Xavier he had already started a match with Wednesday who was clad in black as usual. She was beating him terribly, having already scored 2 points before he had the chance to even score 1. In any other situation you would have laughed at his predicament, although you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hurt as he chose her opposed to you. Sensing your loneliness, Enid made her way over to you. She gave you a bright smile as she asked to partner up, an offer you didn’t refuse. The bubbly girl wasn’t half bad at fencing but that didn’t mean you’d let her win. Dodging her blade you lunged forward striking her square in the chest as you scored the final point. The two of you took your fencing masks off and each fixed your hair before she gave you a nod of respect to which you returned.

You looked over at Xavier who was seemingly immersed in his conversation with Wednesday, this of course didn’t go unnoticed by Enid. She gestured towards the tall boy, “So…what’s going on between you and Xavier? The two of you are always together.” You huffed, “Nothing Enid, nothing.” Although, deep down you wished there was more. She reluctantly dropped the subject raising her brow, “If you say so Y/n.” Xavier continued to ignore you the rest of the fencing session much to your dismay. However, you simply brushed it off as you were sure it was only for this session. As rare as it was, you were wrong. He continued on like this the rest of the day, no sarcastic remarks, no challenging you in class, and no teasing. You were extremely confused by his sudden absence in your life, and you genuinely started to miss him. Watching you from afar, Xavier noticed this. He’d look away just before you’d seek him out, hiding his grin as he’d let you stare at him. It got to the point where he’d go out of his way to find different ways to class, he would always walk with you to class.

You were practically devastated when you noticed this, but nobody could waterboard this information out of you even if they tried. It was the end of the day, and all of your shared classes were finally over. You caught a glimpse of his long hair in the hall way ahead of you, your legs speeding up without realising. Xavier realised you were behind him when he finally looked down and gave you a curt nod before continuing on his way. You frowned at the quick interaction, tilting your head in confusion, “Thorpe!” The tall boy paused, quickly hiding his grin before facing you, “You called?” Your brows furrowed, “That’s all you’re going to say?” He tilted his head looking down at you, “What do you mean?” You scoffed, “What do I mean? What do you mean by ‘What do you mean?’” Xavier shrugged biting back a laugh at your flustered state. You huffed, your ears red from frustration, “You- You’ve been ignoring me. Did I do something wrong? Xavier?” He was so close to giving into you, your doe eyes peering up at him were enough to make him weak in the knees. But, you still hadn’t cracked.

Indifferent, he raised his brows at you, “What’s it to you?” You paused at a sudden loss for words. Xavier turned and began to slowly walk away before you blurted out, “I missed you!” He immediately went still, his back still towards you. You were absolutely mortified at what you had just confessed. You had said so little but so much at the same time. The long haired boy turned around to face you, his smirk growing even wider as you refused to look at his face, instead becoming oddly fixated on the loose thread on your blazer. Slowly looking up due to the silence you finally looked at Xavier. Noticing his wide grin, a deep crimson flooded your cheeks, “Are you- Are you laughing at me?!” Much to your dismay, the tall boy cupped your face, stroking your flaming cheeks, “Huh. I think this might be my new favourite colour.” You had finally cracked, unable to form a coherent sentence as the boy held your face in his large hands.

Xavier cut off your rambling, “I really like you Y/n.” Your rambling came to a halt as you gasped slightly, whispering, “You like me?” The brunette chuckled at your reaction confirming, “Yes, Y/n. I like you if it weren’t obvious enough.” You paused unsure how to respond without being a blabbering mess. He sensed your troubles speaking for you, “You don’t need to say anything. I know you feel the same.” Your face was still slightly pink as a playful grin made its way through. You decided to get him back for flustering you so much, “And if I don’t?” Now it was his turn to start stammering, a pink hue overcoming his pale face as he hadn’t anticipated the possibility of you rejecting him. You took his hand in yours, your thumb brushing over his, “Relax dummy, I like you too.” Xavier let out a sigh of relief at your statement before a cocky smirk spread across his face, “Oh really now?”

You rolled your eyes at the boy’s antics, “Really.” A pause of silence fell over the two of you before his lanky arms pulled you closer as he leaned in planning on kissing you. You lightly smacked his arm, speaking in a harsh whisper, “Not in the hallway!” The brunette chuckled at your worries before dragging you to his dorm which was thankfully nearby. Your eyes twinkled with amazement as you looked at the many drawings littering his walls before Xavier pinned you against his door. You gulped at the intimate gesture, Xavier’s eyes staring at your plump lips, “Now…where were we?” Pulling him closer by the collar of his blazer you whispered leaning closer, your breath fanning over his face, “I believe you were about to kiss me.” Eager, the Thorpe boy obliged to your requests, leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You let out a whine at the way he pulled you flush against his body, your hands finding refuge in his long hair. You find yourself tugging lightly on his hair to which he would groan in response. He gripped on to your waist tighter than before, leaving you to gasp slightly. He takes this opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, mingling with yours. Xavier pulls away, and you pout whilst chasing his lips but he refuses your kiss. Your brows begin to furrow in confusion which quickly dissolves when he decides to start kissing your neck. He studies your reaction as he trails across different parts of your neck until he has you panting in need when he reaches the spot below your ear. Sucking harshly on the chosen spot you involuntarily let out a moan. You tense realising what you just did. “Sorry.” You whisper. His signature smirk appears on his face, his green eyes staring into yours, “Don’t be. Hopefully I’ll be hearing more of those.” He doesn’t give any time for your response, capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

The two of you finally pull away catching your breath. You tilted your head as you remembered today’s earlier events, your brows furrowing in confusion, “Wait so, why were you ignoring me the entire day then?” Xavier could only smile at you, “I had to get you to crack somehow.” You gasped at the boy, “Oh my god, so does that mean you knew I like you?” Xavier chuckled at your realisation, poking his tongue in his cheek as he smiled, “Let’s just say it was a lucky guess.”

Me when people comment and reblog after liking:

Seriously though, it means the world. 😌

[justwonder113]

Head over heels - Lee Know pt2

First part here (Can be read as a standalone)

Warning: Cursing(I can't help it). mentions of drinking. The reader is overthinking in the beginning but the end is fluffy. Minho is a menace and I love him for it. I can't think of anything else please tell me if I missed anything. Reader is gender neutral.

Word count - 1.4k

Masterlist

A/N- Hey lovelies, I'm back with the continuation of the previous Minho drabble. I wasn't thinking of writing the second part but I got inspired so here we are. I really hope you'll like it. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I'd love to hear what you guys think. Thank you for all the love and support you give me, it really means so much to me. Please take care of yourselves, love you all so much!! <3 <3

The one and only sun, the sourse of light and basically all life on earth was sometimes a huge dick. Like what do you mean you're brutally waking someone up from their sweet slumber on 8 am on sunday? That's just evil. Do you know what they were up to all night? Maybe they need their much needed rest. Talk about inconsiderate.

Grumbling curses at the bright rays of sunshine which felt like you were being poked in your eyeballs you turned to your side, trying to escape them. You furrowed your face into your pillow hoping to fall back asleep. But you couldn't. Because you realized couple of things. First of all your so called pillow was clearly breathing. Second of all the familiar comforting smell clearly belonged to your best friend. Third, how the fuck was Minho's chest so firm yet so soft?

Hold on, hold on. Why were you sharing a bed with Minho? Normally whenever he slept over he opted for using the guest bedroom or the couch if he was too lazy to get up. It was rare of you to share a bed. Wait did you do something?

You tried to recall the events of the last night. You were at the club. Minho got a bit drunk, you went to get him some water. Some deuchbag tried to hit on you but Minho scared him off. You got to your apartment. You asked him to help with detangling your Chains and you two made out for hours, you talked in between and some time into talking about some random stuff Minho fell asleep.

You made out wit your best friend! What were you thinking?! You're clearly into him, you have been for a while, but what about him? Okay you knew Minho wouldn't just kiss you out of nowhere but still! You have been extra flirty lately but he hasn't given you a hint or a clue that he romantically likes you like that. Maybe it was just a spur of moment thing. Let's say he wanted to test things out. Maybe he wanted to test if he liked you like that? Oh god, what if he regreted it? What if you ruined everything. Oh God, what if this messed up your friendship. You couldn't live without him in your life. Maybe it was an overdramtic announcement but he was too dear for you. He was the reason you believed in suolmated be it platonic or romantic. God you shouldn't have indulged in kissing him when you knew he was still a bit tipsy. But he was so close tho and his lips looked so pretty and kissable... Oh what the hell?

The hands tightening around you stopped your train of thoughts. Great you woke him up now. You were mad at the damn sun for waking you up and now you were the one to wake him up? Great job.

Minho's groggy yet soft morning voice startled you. "I can physically feel you overthinking. It's too early, go to sleep."

"But Minho." You cringed at yourself at how whiny your voice sounded. Minho opened his eyes to give you an unimpressed look. He wrapped his hands more tightly and brought you even closer. You both loved and hated how at peace you felt whenever you were around him. Being between his harm made every cell in your body relax, except your heart, which felt like it would burst any second. When did you even manage to fall so hard for him?

"Do you like me?" The suddenness of his question startled you. You couldn't with him sometimes.

Unimpressed with the lack of answer Minho opened his eyes and full on glared at you. Normally you would laugh it off or try to make him well not upset but now all you could think about was how could a human look so breathtaking first thing in the morning. With messy hair and slightly dark circles from the few hours of sleep he got. He was like a walking renaissance painting what the hell? Minho was about to let go of you when you started talking. Well you had to say something.

"It pisses me off how pretty you look first thing in the morning."

You blinked at you once, then twice then rolled his eyes. His hand came up to your cheek and you thought that maybe it was one of those rare moments when he was sweet and affectionate, but no, you were proven wrong when he slightly pulled on the skin of your cheek.

"First of all, I'm always pretty. Second of all I could say the same to you." He let go of your skin and now slightly grazed your soft skin. "Third of all you're getting distracted sweetheart." This smooth fucker. You could feel your face start to heat up.

"You have never called me sweetheart."

"Hm, do you not like it?" Minho mused and looked at you with eyes full of mischief. The fucker knew he was getting you all flustered up.

"I didn't say I didn't like it."

"You're cute." Why was he so keen on teasing you today?

"Shut up!" - You couldn't help but groan. You didn't fully appreciate how flustered he made you feel.

The smirk on his face grew even wider if that was possible."Make me!"

If he thought that you wouldn't retaliate! You looked at him with challenging eyes. "I just might!"

"So you do like me." He said so casually while playing with strand of your hair you were taken aback for a second. God you hated how your heart basically did a backflip at his soft voice.

"You're infurating." You wanted to hide your face now, you knew this little asshole was having the time of his life watching you get this flustered.

"And you're not denying." Why would you? He knew you liked him.

"One fact doesn't exclude the other smartass!"

"So you're admitting it." How was he so casual about it?

"Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it?" You challenged him. Proud of yourself when you saw that your comment got to him and suprised him for a second.

"Then, I am going to kiss you senseless like you're pretty butt deserves to. And I'm going to take you some place fancy for our first date." To make his point across he even took your hand and softly kissed it.

"Aww you think my butt is pretty." This was the only response you could muster up. At this point you were amazed how was your heart still working.

"Well of course I think my partner's butt is pretty." Did he just say what you thought he did?

"Partner?" You couldn't hide your surprise as well as your hopefulness.

"Bold of you to assume You have any way out of this relationship." What a romantic. Why was he so him?

You decided to tease him a little, after all that's all he did all morning. "What if I'm tired of you?"

"You can always sit the fuck down." Again, so romantic.

"What if there's no chair?" Based on the smirk on Minho's face you knew he was going to make it dirty. "Okay never mind, I got it. Okay, what if we lose chemistry?"

"I have seen breaking bad, we will cook something up."

"Okay you're clearly quoting that one tiktok I sent you."

Minho glared at you for a second. "Doesn't mean I'm not being genuine."

"What if your cats hate me?" Minho rolled his eyes at you.

"They love you and you know it."

"Yeah, I'm way too adorable for them to not love me. Okay what if..." Minho didn't let you finish.

"No what if's. I love you and it's clear you feel the same. I knew what I was doing when I kissed you last night and I know what I'm doing right now. You're mine and I'm going to treat you like a royalty until you let me. Don't overthink your pretty mind now. Let's just cuddle for a while and then I will take you out for the fanciest breakfast ever." Again not really romantic but the butterflies in your stomach still decided to have a French revolution in your tummy.

"I still hate you"

"Whatever you say sunshine." He leaned in and sealed his lips with yours.

[xo-valxntine]

The Proposition (S. Gojo)

pairing: gojo x stripper!femreader

synopsis: you’re a stripper and satoru gojo has taken a liking to you. whenever he comes to see you, he always gets a private dance but tonight he has something else in mind

tws: 18+ mdni!!!!, smut w/ plot!, cheating (gojo is married), somewhat established relationship (gojo comes to see you quite frequently), pet names (baby, princess, good girl), nippleplay, oral (f + m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, semi public sex (private room at a strip club), mentions of alcohol wc: ~4,600

a/n: i haven’t written smut in so long so pls bare with me. i had a black woman in mind when i wore this but descriptions are ethnicity neutral :) i’m thinking abt maybe making this into a mini series? anyway, i hope you enjoy

It was a typical Tuesday night at the strip club, slow with a few men coming in here and there. Mondays and Tuesdays were typically slow, considering the weekend had come and gone. You had already done a few dances, but since it was slow you had only garnered about $100. It was so little, even for a Tuesday night. The night before you were able to gain just under $300. If this was a sign as to how the week was going, you were certainly screwed. You had bills coming up and you weren’t sure how you were going to pay them. You let out a sigh and push your thoughts away. You had to focus on making the most you could, so you went to freshen yourself up before your next stage set. You’re fixing your makeup when your friend enters the room unexpectidly.

“That guy with the sunglasses is looking for you.” She says approaching the mirror.

You scoff in reply. Satoru Gojo. One of richest men, if not the richest man, in the city had become one of your semi-regulars. He’d come in about once a week to see you and he was always wearing those stupid sunglasses in the club.

“He can wait.” You say as you continue to touch up your makeup in the mirror.

“You really don’t care, do you?” Your friend laughs.

You shrug. Gojo always tipped you better than any customer that came in, but it was never enough to make you fall to your knees. You weren’t one to complain, though. Money was money and you definitely needed it.

“Not in the least bit.” You say moving on from your makeup and fixing your hair.

“The richest man in the city is obsessed with you and you don’t care?”

“I’d hardly say he’s obsessed with me.” You reply. Your friend kisses her teeth.

“I’d beg to differ. The only reason he comes in is to see you.” She says. “He’s obsessed. I bet you could easily be with the richest woman in the city.”

You laugh at her.

“Be serious.” You say doing your last touchups. “Isn’t he married anyway?”

Your question didn’t really mean much, though. Married men came in all the time, it was nothing strange to you. Your friend shrugs.

“I think he’d leave her for you.” She says with a smile. You laugh and turn towards her.

“How do I look?”

“Sexy. I can see why he’s obsessed with you.” She says, after giving you the once over.

“He’s not obsessed with me.” You reply easily. “Okay. Back out I go.”

You make your way to exit the dressing room and your friend calls after you.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll take him!”

You simply shake your head and exit the room.

As you walk out to the floor, the music is loud, the lights dim, and there are a couple of men scattered across the club. Honestly, you had grown used to club life and there were aspects of it that you actually enjoyed. You loved dancing and loved the persona you created when you were performing. Sure it was exhausting, but you got a thrilling rush of adrenaline when you danced. You liked how the men’s eyes swept over your body, wanting something they’d never be able to have. All of them were fawning over the false fantasy you sold.

You approach the stage and swap places with one of the other girls, ready to start your set. The dj announces your stage name and you plaster your face with the most angelic smile. You start your set by walking around the pole a few times and your attention is captured by bright white hair. Gojo’s smiling and despite the sunglasses covering his eyes, you know he’s staring directly at you. You do your best not to roll your eyes and begin dancing.

Suddenly, the music takes over you and the way you dance and swirl around the pole is effortless. You can hear the men watching you get excited as you swing yourself around on the pole and do a few tricks.

A few men hand you bills while you’re dancing, but most of them just watch. There were two types of men that watched, those that watched because they had no money to give and then there were those that watched and tipped you afterwards. You always found the former annoying. You couldn’t stand the ones that only paid the entry fee and then didn’t have anything else to give. Why were they here if they didn’t have money? Satoru, however, was the latter. He watched you and then would book a private dance with you. He did this every time he came to the club, without fail.

You continue dancing, stripping off your lingerie in the process. You found your way to the floor and roll your body sensually, watching the men as their eyes rake over your body. You smirk at them and proceed through your floor routine. You click your heels together, gaining more of their attention. You fan your legs open, putting your pussy on display, before closing your legs and moving to your knees. In that moment, your eyes find Gojo, and you swear you saw him bite his lip for a split second.

As you finish your set, a few more men hand you more bills and you thank them before exiting the stage. When you return to the dressing room you immediately gulp down water. You did your best not to show it when you were performing, but dancing took a toll on your body. As much as you loved it, it was exhausting. Honestly, you were tired and ready to go home. So, you stuff your money into your bag and pull out a change of clothes. You’re pulling your shirt over your head when you’re suddenly interrupted.

“Y/N, that guy wants to see you.” the house mom says coming in. You let out a huff.

“Well, tell him I said fuck off. I’m not in the mood to see him tonight.” You reply. It was a slow night and you were ready to leave. You just wanted to pour yourself a glass of wine and relax for the rest of the night.

“He says he’ll give you double what he gave you last time if you come see him.”

Double?

You consider it for a moment. You had been complaining all night about how it had been slow and now here was an opportunity for you to make up for it. The last time he was here, Gojo had paid for his dance and tipped you $500. If you saw him tonight then he would pay you a grand. You did really need the money. You let out a sigh.

“Tell him, I’ll be there in 5.”

After freshening up and pulling on a new lingerie set, you make your way to the private room Satoru always booked. You shove open the door and find Satoru sitting on the sofa with his legs spead wide open, facing the small stage. You make your way over to Satoru and sit on the stage across from him.

“What do you want Gojo? I’m not really in the mood.“ You say annoyed.

When Gojo booked a private dance with you the first time you kept the angelic persona he originally saw on stage, but that soon faded when Gojo started booking more private dances with you. He kept riling you up and one day you finally snapped at him. You were taken aback at the fact that you had lost your calm and you were sure Gojo wasn’t going to book with you anymore, but in that moment he only chuckled and told you “I like this you better.”. After that, you didn’t use your false persona around him.

“Now, that’s no way you should speak to your best customer.” Gojo replies with a smirk on his face. You roll your eyes.

“Tell me what you want, Gojo.”

Gojo motions for you to come closer to him and you eye him for a moment. You really weren’t in the mood for this, but the thought of money flashes across your mind and you make your way over to him. You stand between Gojo’s legs and his fingers trace lingerie on your body. Customers weren’t allowed to touch dancers, even during a private dance, but on account of Gojo tipping you so much, you allowed him to sneak in a few touches here and there. Though, he had only grown bolder the more he saw you.

“I like this set on you.” He whispers quietly, still tracing the lingerie. Behind his sunglasses, you’re sure his eyes are dragging against your body.

“You’re really starting to piss me off, Gojo.”

Gojo lets his hands fall down to his sides and he smirks at you.

“Dance for me, baby.” He says in a sultry tone.

You oblige, but only because he was paying you double your usual. You begin swirling your hips around and dancing for him. You grind gently into Gojo and throw your head back against his shoulder as you roll your body. This position leaves your neck exposed and you feel Gojo’s lips gently brush against your neck and then your ear. This, however, doesn’t faze you. Gojo always got too close to you.

“I have a proposition for you.” He whispers against your ear.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

You’d become used to the games that Gojo played with you. He’d liked playing games with you and saying outlandish things to see your reaction.

“You sure you want to hear it?” He says brushing your thighs gently.

“Just spit it out, Gojo.” You say as you continue to swirl your hips around him. His breath tickles your neck and even though, Gojo said outlandish things all the time, you’re surprised at what comes out his mouth.

“Let me fuck you.”

You freeze your movements. Gojo had always made suggestive comments to you all the time, but he’d never actually said he wanted to fuck you.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, princess. Let me show you a good time.” Gojo says, slowly drawing a line from your knee to your hip.

“I’m not going to let you fuck me, Gojo.” You say and continue with your dance. This had to be another one of his games.

“Why not? I promise, I’ll take good care of you.” Gojo says, resting his hands on your hips.

“You’re not fucking me, Gojo.” You say, swaying your hips side to side. “Definitely not for free, anyway.”

“Oh?” Your statement had piqued Gojo’s interest. “So how much would it take? A grand? Maybe five?”

You scoff.

“Aren’t you married?” You ask and Gojo laughs humorlessly.

“You think I’d be here with you if I cared about her?”

“Stop toying with me.”

“Oh baby, I can do a lot better than this.”

Your dance has led you back to being face to face with him. Gojo was wearing a boyish smirk. He licks his lips before speaking again.

“So tell me, how much would it take to feel your pretty pussy squeezing my cock?” Gojo asks, tapping his finger against your abdomen.

You consider it for a moment. Five grand was a lot of money and you really did need the money. And it’s not like Gojo was some sleaze, propositioning you. He was actually attractive from what you could tell, would it really be that bad to let him? It would only be one time, right? And it wasn’t like you were the one that suggested it…

“Five grand. In cash.” You say, eyeing him carefully. You still weren’t entirely sure if he was messing with you or not.

“Done.” Gojo replies a little too quickly. You tilt your head to the side.

“Stop playing games with me, Gojo.” You say.

Gojo reaches up to his face and pulls off his sunglasses. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cerulean blue eyes, staring directly into yours. Gojo came in to see you quite frequently, but you’d never seen his eyes. He was always wearing those stupid sunglasses. Now you understood why. You hated to admit it, but his eyes were gorgeous.

“I’m serious.” He says, not looking away from you. You decide to look away instead.

“Five grand.” You say, still not looking at him. “With the double you promised earlier.”

Gojo laughs quietly, but through the corner of your eye, you can see him nod.

“Anything you want princess.”

You return your gaze to him and Satoru is looking at you with desire in his eyes.

“Okay.” You say, agreeing to his proposition.

Gojo’s mouth was on yours in an instant. His lips are soft against yours and you can taste a trace of gin on his tongue. He kisses you with ferocity and it’s almost as if he’s trying to swallow you whole. Gojo pulls away from your lips and kisses your jaw gently, before making his way to your neck. His hands trail down your body while he nips at your neck. The feeling of his hands on you is exhilarating and you let out a soft moan when his lips find your sweet spot. He carefully slips his hand behind your back and unclasps your bra. Gojo cups your newly freed breasts and kneads at them. You can’t control the moan that slips out as he gently circles your nipples with his thumbs.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting to do this for so long.” Gojo whispers, brushing his lips across your jaw.

He continues to toy with your nipples, pinching and pulling at them lightly and then running his thumbs over to soothe the sensation. He trails his lips down your neck and collarbones before peppering kisses along your breast and slipping your nipple into his mouth. Gojo pinches and twists one nipple while swirling his tongue around and sucking the other. You can’t stop the lewd noises from coming out your mouth. The way his tongue flicked against your nipple was sending you into a daze. Gojo lets your nipple fall out of his mouth with a pop before pinching and gently tugging at it.

“You’re making such pretty noises for me, baby.”

You want to say something smart back, but you’re unable to as Gojo picks you up and places you on the stage. Gojo traces a teasing finger around each of your breasts, down your stomach, and drags it agonizingly slow up and down your thighs. You involuntarily shudder at his touch. You rub your thighs together hoping for some sort of relief.

“Gojo if you’re going to do something, do it already.” You say, not appreciating the way he was teasing you.

“It’s Satoru.” He says, giving your nipple a rough pinch. You whine in response. “And for five grand, I think I’ll take my time with you.”

His hands trail lazily down your body once more before pulling your panties off and shoving your legs open roughly. Satoru positions himself between your legs and uses his thumbs to gently spread your lips a part.

“So pretty.” He says before using one of his thumbs to gently massage your clit. You can’t help the whimper that slips out of your mouth.

“You like that, princess?” Satoru asks, looking at you with a smirk. He continued teasing your clit and you didn’t want to admit it, but Satoru’s touch was intoxicating. You wanted more.

“Satoru, please.” You whine.

That awakes something in Satoru and he quickly attaches his mouth to you, causing you to arch your back. Satoru uses an arm to pin you down under him and teasingly swipes his tongue up your folds. You let out a sigh at the feeling of his tongue on you. Satoru swirls his tongue around your clit, licks up your folds, and then dives his tongue into your hole. You whine at the feeling of his tongue lolling against you.

“F-fuck Satoru. D-don’t s-stop.”

Satoru takes this as an invitation to replace his tongue with his finger and moves his tongue to your aching clit. Satoru teases his finger out of your dripping hole and then adds a second. He pumps his fingers in and out of you and sucks gently on your clit.

“Feels so good.” You manage to slur our through your whines.

Satoru begins pumping his fingers in and out of you at a faster pace, and makes a come hither motion with his fingers. You’re a mewling mess under him and you can feel your high approaching.

“‘m g-gonna cum.” You manage to strangle out, completely focused on the pleasure Satoru is giving you.

Not long after you’re tumbling over the edge, spewing profanities. If it wasn’t for the loud music in the club, everyone would’ve heard you. Satoru continues to suck gently on your clit even after your high. You’re still sensitive, but that didn’t stop him from lapping up the mess you had made.

Satoru finally comes up and smiles at you. His smile stirs something deep in your core.

“Such a good girl for me.” He whispers before enveloping you in a kiss.

His tongue dances with yours, making sure you can taste every drop of yourself.

Satoru pulls away from your lips and gently strokes your cheek and then carefully traces your lips with his fingers. He pulls your bottom lip down with his middle finger and then slides his middle finger and ring finger into your mouth with ease.

“Suck.”

You’re taken by surprise at first, but then start sucking gently on his fingers. You swirl your tongue around his fingers and continue sucking. Satoru lets out a groan when you suck a little too roughly.

“Fuck, I wanna feel that pretty mouth wrapped around me.” Satoru says, pulling his fingers from your mouth. When he does a string of saliva follows and falls down your chin.

You watch as Satoru quickly frees himself and your eyes widen. You didn’t want to admit it but his cock was gorgeous. Satoru notices you staring and chuckles.

“Think you can take all of me?” Satoru asks cockily, tilting his head to the side. You quickly regain your composure and roll your eyes at him.

“Easily.” You reply. Satoru let’s out a chuckle and looks down at you.

“That mouth of yours is really going to get you into trouble, you know.” Satoru says as he strokes himself gently. You watch as his hand travels up and down his length. You swallow deeply and thoughts of him in your mouth quickly flood your mind. You lick your lips at the thought of him throatfucking you.

“Get on your knees for me.” Satoru commands and you oblige immediately.

Satoru positions himself in front of you and taps the head of his cock on your lips. You wrap your lips around him and run your tongue along the underside of his cock. Satoru lets out a quiet moan and you feel your core heat at the sound. You lower your head as far as it’ll go and take what you can’t fit in your mouth in your hand. You glance up to Satoru and your eyes meet his as you force your head down his cock. Satoru’s eyes are suddenly clouded with lust and all of a sudden his hands are on your head, shoving your mouth further down on his length. He throws his head back and lets out the most attractive moan you’ve ever heard. Something about seeing him that way only made you want to pleasure him more. Satoru continued to guide your head and thrusted in and out of your mouth. Your mouth was slick with saliva and you could feel drool running down your chin. You were completely focused on the feeling of him in your mouth and the lewd noises coming from his. You hollow your cheeks and Satoru let’s out a deep groan.

“F-fuck, princess.” Satoru says, thrusting into your mouth roughly. You gag as he slightly hits the back of your throat. Satoru continues his assault on your throat for a moment, then pulls out with a hiss.

“As much as I’d like to fill that mouth of yours, I need to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around me.” Satoru says. “Lie on your back for me.”

You do as he instructs and watch as Satoru yanks his shirt off and throws it somewhere in the room. Your eyes immediately rake over his toned body. You hated admitting it but, fuck, he was attractive. You’re taking in every inch of his body and Satoru notices you staring.

“Not having second thoughts are you, princess?”

You shake your head.

“Good.”

Satoru runs his tip against your entrance teasingly, before gently pushing in the head. You gasp at the contact and Satoru let’s out a groan. You can feel your walls clench around his length as he slowly sinks inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re even better than I imagined.” Satoru hisses through clenched teeth.

Satoru pulls back, leaving just the tip in, before pushing back inside you. He continues thrusting in and out of you gently. With each thrust your walls squeeze him, not wanting him to pull out.

You couldn’t control the whimpers coming out of you. Satoru felt so good inside of you. Your thoughts were completely focused on his cock dragging against your walls. He was filling you up just the way you needed. Satoru thrusts into you roughly and leans over you so that your body is flush with his. He continues fucking you as he peppers kisses along your neck and up to your ear.

“I’m going to fuck you, until all you can say is my name.”

Your insides twitch at his words and Satoru quickly picks up his pace, thrusting into you more fervently. The room fills with the sound of skin slapping and the slick sound of his cock diving in and out of your wet cunt. Thank heavens for the loud music at the club, or everyone would’ve heard the way Satoru was fucking you into oblivion.

Your eyes are rolled into the back of your head and Satoru’s loving every second of it. He lifts your leg to angle deeper inside you and slows his pace, fucking your deeper.

“F-fuck baby. You’re squeezing me so good.” Satoru groans.

He continues his agonizingly slow thrusts and takes note of the way you’re whining under him.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” Satoru asks, smirking down at you.

Your hands run against the stage trying to find something to grip onto, but your efforts are fruitless. Satoru continues his slow thrusts and it’s hard for you to focus on forming words with the way Satoru’s fucking you. Suddenly, Satoru pulls back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you and you whine at the loss of him filling you up. You roll your hips in an effort to get him to fill you once more, but it’s hopeless. Satoru just smiles at your cock drunk state.

“Answer me and I’ll keep fucking you.”

Your cunt throbs at the idea of him fucking you more.

“Y-you are s-Satoru.” You stutter out, wanting to feel his cock inside of you again.

“There’s my good girl.”

And with that Satoru thrusts into you once more and somehow, you feel more full than you did before. He pumps in and out of you with perfect rhythm and with each thrust you feel your high building and building.

“G-gonna cum. F-fuck, ‘toru don’t stop.” You slur out.

Satoru can tell you’re close by the way your walls are tightening around his cock. His fingers quickly find your clit, making figure eights in order to guide you over the edge. The way his cock is slamming in and out of you and the feeling of his fingers on you sensitive spot is dizzying. It’s no wonder you’re a moaning mess when the pleasure comes crashing down on you.

“That’s a good girl.” Satoru praises you.

He curses at the way your walls are clenching around him. He watches as you roll your hips against him, riding out your high. You’re moaning his name and it’s sending him into a frenzy. His thrusts become sloppy and a moment later, he quickly pulls out of you, stroking his cock. Satoru pumps his cock a few times before cursing and shooting his load onto your stomach.

You watch as Satoru breathes heavily, lets out a huff and collapses on the stage next to you. He traces your collarbone with his finger and then strokes your cheek gently. You turn your head to face him and are met with those mesmerizing blue eyes. His white hair falls carefully over his features and you take that moment to admire him. Your eyes run over his features taking every detail of him, appreciating how beautiful he is, but the appreciation completely dies when he opens his mouth.

“Want to go for round two?” Satoru asks, with the same boyish grin he had earlier. You scoff and slap his chest playfully.

“Absolutely not.”

“What? Are you going to pretend that you weren’t moaning my name as I fucked that pretty pussy of yours?” Satoru asks, tracing teasing circles on your hip. You swat his hand away.

“I was totally faking it.” You reply, jokingly.

“Liar.” Satoru fires back, lips still tugged up in a smirk.

It falls quiet for a moment before Satoru speaks again.

“Is there anything around you can use to clean up?” Satoru asks, referring to the mess he made on your stomach.

“Pretty sure, there’s some paper towels in that closet over there.” You say, pointing to the door in the back of the room.

Satoru quickly moves from his place next to you and over to the closet. He rummages around before pulling out a roll of paper towels and making his way back to you. When Satoru passes you the roll you thank him and begin cleaning up his mess on your stomach. As you’re wiping away the mess, you watch as Satoru pulls on his clothes and replaces his sunglasses.

“We should do this again, sometime.” Satoru says, smirking. You can tell his eyes have a playful glint even though his sunglasses cover them. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“This was definitely a one time thing.” You say and move to put your lingerie back on. “I only did it because you were paying me.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it.” Satoru says, watching as you pull your panties and bra back on.

“Where’s my money, Gojo?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Satoru frowns at you.

“I told you to call me Satoru.” He says.

“Fine. Where’s my money, Satoru?” You correct yourself. Satoru motions for you to come closer to him and you do.

“I really do like this color on you.” Satoru says, playing with the band of your panties.

“Satoru.” You say firmly.

“It’ll be waiting for you on your car when you leave.” He says, still playing with your panties. His thumb traces circles on your hip.

“How do you know what car I drive? And what if someone takes it off my car before I get to it?”

“No one’ll take it.” Satoru reassures you. He rests his hands on your hips.

“Okay, and how do you know what kind of car I drive?” You ask again. Satoru shrugs.

“I’ve seen you leave the club a few times.” Satoru admits. You eye him carefully.

“Don’t tell me I just fucked my stalker.”

Satoru laughs and shakes his head.

“Not stalking, promise. I’ve thought about stopping by more often, but you were always leaving when I got here.” Satoru explains.

“Yeah, I totally believe that.” You say, moving away from Satoru and making your way towards the door.

“We should do this again.” Satoru calls after you once more. You roll your eyes and turn back around to see him smirking.

“In your dreams Satoru.”

“Most definitely princess.”