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yanderenightmare · 3 days ago

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♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend…

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a no-known sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed.

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that.

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation.

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit.

“I��we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.”

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.”

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm such a great guy, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together.

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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paracosmicka · 2 days ago

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Primal Fears AU content but don’t worry it’s still sonadow

That last one is a repost from last year so if you saw the silly drawings but then read the thing in the bottom left corner and went “wait what the fuck”

It’s because it was an AU thing but I literally only had that drawn out and now you get some context at least:

In this universe Sonic is an assassin/bounty hunter/whatever you wanna call a guy that is hired to specifically to kill other Entities. He meets Shadow when they run into each other because they’re both following the same Avatar. Then they do the normal canon sonadow thing where the first interaction they have always ends with them fighting and beating the shit out of each other. And then they kinda calm down but then Shadow has a similar moment from the beginning of the IDW Sonic comics where he gets absolutely pissed that Sonic managed to distract him from catching the bad guy and zooms away before the two have another chance to speak again.

Here Shadow is a GUN field agent except in this universe GUN isn’t really military and it’s more focused on not only investigating (like the Magnus Institute) but also actively dealing with the Entities. Which sounds great except remember how I said they aren’t military well actually they kinda are because “dealing” with Entities and Avatars just means: throw it in the high-security prison that is guarded by other various Avarars that all work for GUN because it means they don’t have to get thrown in prison. So GUN is kinda like The Magnus Institute + Section 31 working together. So actually I guess it’s like the SCP Foundation.

One day Shadow goes into work and Sonic and there and I’m not really sure on what I’m gonna do in the plot to make him end up there (like maybe he’s undercover and just using GUN to get to his next target or maybe GUN does the “hey we’re gonna throw you in jail if you don’t agree to work for us” idk again not sure yet) but now he’s working with Shadow because they still need to catch that Avatar.

So now we’re sorta caught up, they’re at Club Rouge (and I realized I didn’t specify which Entity she serves in my drawing of her but people who guessed the Stranger ding ding ding here have some sonadow) because Sonic and Shadow need to kinda interrogate Surge and Amy, who are associated with the Slaughter. They have a band called Poison Rose and it’s basically just Grifter’s Bone but they perform rock music instead. And are also probably dating.

Anyway the Big Case™️ Sonic and Shadow are working on is investigating a bunch of spooky murders and they’re pretty sure whoever’s behind them is a Slaughter avatar. But not specifically Amy and Surge☝️ They’re kinda “allowed” to perform the Music That Makes You Die because GUN also has like an “informant” group of avatars they can rely on. These avatars don’t work for GUN, but they agree to chill out on the spooky stuff if it means they don’t get arrested for spooky crimes. So for Poison Rose, “chilling out” on the spooky stuff means that they have to force people to wear earplugs while they perform, which wasn’t specifically stated in MAG 42 if that works or not, not really sure of the magic rules of the Music That Makes You Die phenomena but yeah they gotta do that and probably some other stuff so GUN doesn’t arrest them. Like maybe no swearing or something lol.

Okay gonna stop there before this gets even longer explaining my AU because this was supposed to be just a normal sketch post but whoops.

Oh also I made a playlist for the kind of music Poison Rose performs but it was made private because I didn’t want anyone to stumble across it and be like “pshhhh this dumb person who makes public playlists of their AU that no one knows about what a loser” (me when I make up completely unrealistic scenarios in my head) but now here’s a post explaining that part of my AU so that person can’t make fun of me anymore

#primal fears au #sonadow #sonic #the magnus archives #sonic au #sketches #my art #also i think in my sketches from my previous primal fears post i said that amy is an avatar of the corruption but that sketch is old #i decided on making her a slaughter avatar solely for the surgeamy #so yeah #surgeamy #if you want #as a treat #but also i really like the amy!popstar idea so its sorta that too #tma au #ig lol even tho if anyone sees this under the tma tag theyre gonna be like #‘heyyyyy wait a second this isn’t tma this is sonic the hedgehog idiot’#Spotify

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sosasturns · 2 days ago

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matt sturniolo WHERE DEM CHERRIES AT?

…IN WHICH MATT TITTY FUCKS YOU, BLURB

matt thought he’d died and gone to heaven the moment his dick slid between your tits, thick and flushed as you pressed them together, bouncing them to the pace of his thrusts. his breath hitched, jaw slack, lips parted as he watched himself disappear into the plush of your chest, the tip peeking out slick and needy before vanishing again.

“holy fuck,” he choked out, head falling back against the pillows before snapping forward again—because there was no way in hell he wasn’t watching this. his hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white, resisting the urge to just grab—to squeeze, to push your tits together harder, to thrust up and lose himself completely.

his pupils were blown, mouth hanging open as he sucked in shallow, shaky breaths. he was hypnotized, practically cross-eyed with it, like he’d been starving for this exact moment his entire life and was just now realizing it.

“you like that?” you teased, voice all honey, all sweet, dragging your tongue across his flushed tip when it peeked through.

matt’s breath stuttered, a groan ripping through his chest, hand flying up to grip your wrist—like he needed something to ground himself, to tether him before he lost his goddamn mind.

“baby, you don’t even know,” he muttered, voice wrecked, barely able to get the words out. his hips bucked up, his cock sliding messily through your spit-slicked skin, and his fingers curled around your wrist, tightening. “shit, you’re gonna make me cum just looking at you.”

his head dropped back again, adam’s apple bobbing, lashes fluttering, and for a second—just a second—you swore you saw his eyes roll back. completely blissed out, so far gone over the sight of your tits alone.

“fuck,” he rasped, chest heaving. “fuck, i need—i needa—”

you grinned, shifting closer, letting him finally cup them, palms hot and greedy, fingers digging into soft skin like he couldn’t believe they were real. his thumbs swiped over your nipples, almost in awe, before his grip tightened, squeezing as he thrust up again.

his head lifted, eyes hazy as they locked onto yours. “marry me.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

his lips were pink, glossy, spit-slick from how much he’d been licking them, biting them, working himself up just from the sight of you. he swallowed, jaw clenched, eyes heavy.

“nothing,” he breathed, shaking his head. then, quieter—more to himself than to you—“just fuckin’ love you.”

his hips stuttered, cock twitching between the tight warmth of your tits, and his grip on your wrist turned almost desperate. “fuck—baby—”

you knew it was coming—knew he was coming—but you still stuck your tongue out, ready for it, waiting—

and when it hit, hot and thick, spurting across your tongue, your lips, spilling down the valley of your chest, matt lost it.

“fuck—oh my fucking god—” his voice cracked, a broken, wre-cked little noise that had your stomach clenching. his thighs tensed, whole body shuddering as more of it spilled over your tits, dripping down your skin. but he kept going, hips still jerk-ing, ropes of cum spilling out in messy spurts because he couldn’t stop.

he was still coming.

his eyes were barely open, just slits of blue barely peeking through, his jaw clenched so hard it could shatter, breath coming in ragged, fucked-out gasps. his lips trembled, thighs quivering, hands gripping the sheets like he needed to hold on or he’d float away.

he could see it—his cum thick and glossy against your skin, smearing over your tits as you squeezed them together like you wanted to stay covered in it.

“jesus christ—” matt choked out, voice nothing but a desperate moan.

you swiped your fingers through the mess, licking it up, watching him the whole time, and his cock twitched—again.

“ohhh—ohhh fuck,” matt whined, actually fucking whined, head dropping back as another broken groan tore out of him.

his hips jerked, cock twitching, another weak spurt dripping from the tip because he swore to god he was gonna fucking pass out.

“matt,” you cooed, sweet as ever, leaning in, brushing your lips against his jaw. “you good, baby?”

his chest was heaving, body still trembling, completely wrecked, completely fucking whipped.

his response was breathless, barely a whisper—

“gimme a minute.”

©SOSASTURNS

sosas 💬: watched this reel last night n giggled.. had to type ts up last min. we’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming soon chat

#sosasturns #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo blurb #nick sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets

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poisonf0rest · 2 days ago

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Poison I am on my hands and knees BEGGING PLEADING IMPLORING for some more teacher Rafayel i did not know I needed it until you made me see the light godbless biggest fattest kiss for you MUAH

(I hope you don’t take this as me demanding you to write anything, definitely only if you want of course!!)

teacher's pet?

♱⋅── a/n: 3k of Professor! Rafayel. It's not his fault you're so easy to tease, to rile up, to get you right where he wants you when you're being a brat and not listening to your dear professor. art credit to @/sugarqiyu on x

Rafayel is a world-renowned artist, known for his masterpieces communicating all the rage and depth of the ocean, a devotion so palpable apparently you could drown in it. A rumor second only to his notorious reputation of having the face of an angel and personality of the devil.

You can vouch that both these rumors are damn near true.

Linkon University jumped at the opportunity when the Rafayel offered to become an adjunct professor for the senior year art capstone.

From the first day, the entire lecture hall was captivated under Rafayel's siren spell, his voice like sweet poison as he first introduced himself to the class, words a careful balance between arrogant and playful— that is, until you introduced yourself.

It was barely noticeable, something you almost swear you imagine, but those sunset eyes light up when you say your name, his smile becomes a little less hollow, and something in his gaze arrests you so violently you nearly forget to look away.

Little do you know Rafayel has been looking for you in this lifetime for nearly seventy years. And finally, finally he’s found you. So what if these circumstances are a little less ideal than usual?

He’s not letting you go again.

Professor Rafayel gives you impossible standards to meet, critiques that cut deep enough to make you want to scream, and grades that keep you shackled to his office hours.

He’s careful, though. His feedback is always just shy of unreasonable, his authority unchallenged, his reputation untouchable. And when you come storming into his office demanding an explanation, he just smiles, leaning back in his chair with the air of a predator who knows his prey walked right into the trap.

“Poor thing,” he drawls, feigning sympathy as his eyes slowly trace your figure from behind his glasses. “Maybe you’re just not cut out for this. But I suppose... with the right guidance...”

He lets the offer dangle, his gaze heated and unwavering. You hate that your heart races, hate that you need his approval, his help. Hate that he looks so damn smug knowing just how to make you beg, just how to make you come looking for him instead.

Professor Rafayel savors every insult you hurl behind his back, every time you grumble to your friends about his impossible standards and arrogant demeanor. He listens, silently cataloging each biting word, each curse muttered under your breath.

And when he finally has you moaning his name, his mouth wicked and merciless between your thighs, he can’t help but remind you of every cruel thing you’ve said.

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, cutie. Didn't you call me a sadistic asshole last week?” His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he flicks your clit with his tongue again, smirking as you writhe in overstimulation. “I suppose I am... but you love it, don’t you?”

The way you choke on a sob only makes him smile wider.

Private lessons with Professor Rafayel become a blur between you learning and losing your mind.

Half of the time, Rafayel is a masterful teacher, and his passion for art is as mesmerizing as his paintings. He speaks about color theory with a fervor that none of your other professors have come close to, his eyes alight as he explains the emotional weight of each shade, the way hues can whisper secrets or scream rage. His knowledge is boundless, and his lessons on storytelling through art are so captivating you almost forget to breathe.

But it’s the tales of Lemuria that leave you spellbound, like something out of a fairytale or tragedy. Ancient techniques lost to time, rituals where pigments were mixed with seashells, and spells hidden in brushstrokes. He speaks with such reverence, his voice low and haunting, and sometimes, just sometimes, you catch a flicker of sorrow in his gaze, as if he’s lived through it all.

He shows you his personal collection, paints richer and more vivid than anything you’ve ever seen. Reds deeper than blood, shimmering blues that seem to ripple like water. He teaches you to paint underwater landscapes that feel eerily familiar, scenes of ancient temples swallowed by the sea, fragments of a forgotten and drowned world.

You convince yourself it’s just Rafayel’s eccentric genius rubbing off on you, a byproduct of his intoxicating charisma. But then he watches you with that knowing smile, his eyes gleaming as if he’s waiting for you to remember something you’ve long forgotten.

The other half of the time, Professor Rafayel’s lessons are nothing short of madness. He invades your space, his body always too close, his mere presence overwhelming.

His hands are always on yours when he shows you how to sketch the curve of moving muscle, the delicate slope of a hip, fingers guiding yours with agonizing slowness. His touches linger, featherlight in ways that make you shiver, his breath brushing your ear as he murmurs instructions, his voice addictive and velvety.

You try to stay focused, try to be professional, but his scent wraps around you, warm and heady, and your mind spirals. You spend far too long watching the way his hands move, the lithe grace of his fingers, the gentle strength that could so easily ruin you.

Your paintbrush trembles, your breathing uneven, and you can’t help the way your heart races when his chest presses against your back, his hands guiding yours as he whispers, “Just like that... perfect.”

Your professor knows exactly what he’s doing, of course. Rafayel feels the way your hand trembles around the paintbrush, sees the way your pupils dilate, hears every shaky breath. Rafayel drinks it all in, his smile infuriatingly smug, his sunset eyes heavy with satisfaction.

And when he finally touches you—really, truly touches you—all your remaining morality crumbles.

Of course, it’s punishment when you fail to turn in your twenty still-life practices by the end of the week.

You’re slammed down on his desk before you can think to protest, paint-stained fingers clutching the wood as he presses you down, his body caging you in. He kisses like he paints, with passion and devotion, stealing your breath and sanity in one fell swoop. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs—touching, gripping, claiming.

You gasp as he pushes your skirt up, his fingers slipping beneath your underwear, babbling nonsense about how dare you wear something so cute, so sinful to his class and how he’s been thinking about ripping it off your slutty little hips all day long.

“All that complaining, but you’re rather obedient now,” Rafayel teases, his voice mocking as his fingers curl, instantly finding that spot that makes you scream around his fingers. “Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d learn faster.”

You curse him, or at least you try, but the words dissolve into a broken moan as he curls them up again, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. Rafayel laughs. “You’re very cute when you’re frustrated.”

He doesn’t stop until you’re crying his name, apologizing for being a brat, every stroke and curl of his fingers calculated to drive you to the edge, to make you lose all sense of time and reason. And when Rafayel finally lets you come undone, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, he watches you fall apart with that infuriatingly smug smile, as if this was his plan all along.

And maybe it was.

Later, you’ll try to paint again, your mind hazy, body aching. But every brushstroke feels too intimate, every color too vibrant, too alive. You’ll stare at the canvas and swear it’s moving, the paint shimmering, swirling, forming shapes that look hauntingly like his eyes. You’ll feel his presence behind you, his hands warm on your shoulders, his voice velvet-smooth as he purrs, “See? Was that so hard?”

Private lessons were always his trap. And now, Rafayel’s got you exactly where he wants you.

When Professor Rafayel suggests you sketch him nude “for practice,” he’s already won.

You know it the moment his lips curl into that wicked, knowing smile, the kind that makes your pulse race and your stomach flip. You should have said no. Should have refused, made up some excuse, anything to avoid this situation.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And now you’re trapped, heart pounding as he begins to strip in front of you.

He’s maddeningly slow about it, drawing out each movement with practiced ease, and you’re hyper-aware of every single detail. The way his fingers deftly loosen his tie, the silk sliding from his collar with a whisper that makes your breath hitch. His eyes never leave you, watching every nervous fidget, every time you shift in your seat pretending to be unaffected. But you don’t fool him. Not for a second.

Rafayel’s hands continued down to the buttons of his shirt, his long fingers working methodically, one by one, exposing more pale skin with every pop of fabric. You can’t help it—your gaze follows the path of his fingers, tracing the lines of his collarbones, the lean muscle beneath his skin.

You swallow hard, mentally debating if it would be worse to watch him or worse to chicken out now, practically surrendering and acknowledging what watching your professor does to you. Not that you could think at all when his shirt falls open, slipping off his shoulders to pool on the tiled floor, leaving him half-naked, so casually beautiful it makes you ache.

Rafayel’s enjoying this far too much. There’s the same smug glint in his eyes as he watches you struggle to maintain your composure. He begins to thumb at his slacks and you whip your head away, your entire body going rigid at the sound of his belt unbuckling, the click of metal on metal echoing through the empty lecture hall.

You don’t dare look, eyes glued to the blank canvas before you as heat floods your cheeks. But your traitorous mind cruelly fills in the details, painting a picture more vivid than any still life you’ve ever drawn. You hear the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of the pedestal as he positions himself, and when you finally gather the courage to glance back the sight makes you forget the canvas entirely.

Rafayel lounges on the pedestal like he belongs there, all long limbs and lazy grace, his body on full display with a confidence that borders on obscene. His skin is milky pale, the delicate arch of his ribs leading to the defined lines of his abdomen and fuck of course he has a six pack, his muscles lean and corded beneath flawless flesh.

Rafayel is every bit the masterpiece you expected, unfairly beautiful even like this, his glasses still perched on his nose, that infuriatingly smug smile playing at his lips.

“Well?” he drawls, arching an eyebrow as he settles into a pose, one arm draped artfully over his head, his body a careful composition of sharp lines and curves. “I thought you were supposed to be drawing, not gawking. Not the best student, are you?”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you force yourself to look back at the canvas, gripping the charcoal so hard it threatens to snap. You try to be professional, try to focus on the technicalities—the shapes, the shadows, the proportions. But it’s impossible when every angle of him is so utterly mesmerizing, when every stretch and shift only highlights the elegance of his form.

Your strokes are shaky at first, charcoal dust smudging your fingers as you outline his figure, but it’s hard to stay steady when his ocean dual-toned eyes are fixed on you, gleaming with mischief and something far more dangerous. He knows exactly what he’s doing, each subtle change in his posture designed to make you squirm. When he stretches, his body arching like a cat, you almost drop your charcoal, your mouth going dry at the ripple of muscle, the unapologetic sensuality of it all.

“You’re tense,” he comments, his voice soft, lilting with amusement. “Your lines are stiff. Rigid.” He shifts, his body unfurling as he sits up, one leg bent, his arm resting lazily atop his knee. You make a sound in protest, frowning as you lose your reference. “Heh, you won’t capture the fluidity of the human form like that. You need to relax, loosen up.”

You bite back a retort, teeth grinding as you force yourself to adjust your grip, trying to follow his advice. But then he’s standing, moving toward you without a semblance of shame or modesty, his fingers curling around yours, guiding the charcoal along the paper. His completely bare body is too close, his skin too warm, the faint persistent seasalt and driftwood scent of his cologne too intoxicating as he presses against your back.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning back into his touch, one hand still shading the muscle and contour of his body as the other blindly reaches out for Rafayel’s body, hitting the edge of his abs before sliding downwards ever so slowly.

“Don’t stop there, I’ll help.” And Rafayel’s hands come to meet yours, encircling the charcoal with one as the other wraps your palm around his dick. “You have to move your hand like this…” Gently flicking his wrist to show you the proper shading technique for the lighter areas, groaning into the back of his neck as you repeat the movement around his base, already leaking down to your fingers.

“Just like that, nice and fluid.” His fingers guide yours around his shaft, setting a pace that makes his breath hitch, his head dipping to rest against your shoulder as his hips roll forward, chasing the friction. “Good girl.”

You can barely focus, your vision blurring as he curls his fingers around yours, moving the charcoal in slow, fluid strokes over the paper. But your other hand is trapped—held in place by his, wrapped around the velvety heat of his cock, his hips giving the tiniest, most subtle thrusts into your palm as if he can’t help himself.

He’s so hard, so hot, already leaking onto your fingers, and your breath shudders as he groans against your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin.

“You’re sooo tense, cutie. Why is that, hmm?”

“Professor…” His title slips out before you can stop it, your voice trembling, your fingers tightening instinctively around him. His laugh is breathy, wicked, and he nips at your ear, his teeth sharp, his tongue soothing the sting.

“Remember, it’s just Rafayel when we’re together.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think, not when he’s so close, not when he’s touching you like this, guiding you, molding you. His thumb rolls over yours, smudging charcoal across the page, and you realize you’ve accidentally traced the same curve over and over, lost in the rhythm he’s set. You’re not even drawing anymore, just following his lead, letting him control every movement, every sensation.

“Rafayel.” You repeat, and he swears he loses his mind just a little.

“That’s it,” he urges, his voice shaking slightly, rougher. “You can be braver than that. This is your art, isn’t it? You decide what to do with it.” Rafayel’s teeth scrape along your neck, and you shiver, your eyes fluttering shut as he ruts against you, his cock twitching in your grip, his moans muffled against your shoulder as he loses himself to the pleasure you’re giving him.

When suddenly, he pulls away.

You’re entire body goes rigid. Did you do something wrong? Did he change his mind? Has he finally realized how utterly inappropriate this is and chose to save himself the scandal and embarrassment of being caught with you?

Mind still racing a mile a minute, it’s Rafayel’s gentle touch on your tense shoulders that has you breathing again. “On second thought, maybe I’m not in the right condition to teach you. Maybe you also need to…” Rafayel’s arms come to wrap around you, fingers slipping under your shirt as lips trace the shell of your ear, and you swear you feel a light nip. “get comfortable.”

The charcoal hits the ground with a hollow crack.

Your back hits the wall of his office with a muffled thud, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. This was supposed to be a professional meeting, it was supposed to end with you getting that damned A back on the last assignment. But not like this. Not this.

It’s reckless, dangerous, stupid. But Rafayel’s hands are already beneath your shirt, those stupidly gorgeous and talented fingers caressing bare skin, and each heated touch makes it harder to remember why you were fighting in the first place.

“Wait,” you gasp between kisses, your voice trembling as his mouth trails down your neck, “People might see...”

“Shh, it’s okay, cutie,” Rafayel laughs, his voice a low purr that vibrates against your collarbone. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire, a wicked grin playing at his lips. He’s already ruined you, already got you drunk on his touch, and yet you’re still worrying about silly, inconsequential things. That means he’s not doing enough. “No one will know.”

Not that he’d mind. In fact, the thought of someone catching you like this—of someone realizing that you’re his, completely and irrevocably—only excites Rafayel more. After all, he didn’t lock the door. Anyone truly could just walk in, and his cock jumps at the thought.

Teeth grazing your pulse, Rafayel’s tongue soothes the sting as his fingers tease below the waistband of your jeans. “You’re so cute when you try to be good,” he teases, his voice mockingly sweet. “Too bad you’re not really the model student you pretend to be.”

Your protest dies in your throat as his hand finds your clit with practiced ease, stroking slow and deliberate through your panties, drawing out a needy whimper that you can’t quite swallow. His mouth is on yours again before you can think to be embarrassed, the kiss possessive, consuming, swallowing every last protest you can think of.

“See?” he whispers against your lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You don’t really care who hears, do you?” Rafayel then curls his fingers, thrusting deep in as you scream, clawing at his shoulders and desk as your knees go weak.

God, you hate him. You hate the way he knows your body better than you do, the way he unravels you so easily. You hate the smug look on his face, the cocky confidence as he drives you to the edge. But you hate yourself more for how desperately you crave him, how much you want him, consequences be damned.

Because he’s right, nothing matters here. Not anymore.

Nothing besides your dear professor.

#𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 writes #professor rafayel #he looks good in glasses #tw a little yandere #lads rafayel #love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #lads x reader #lads smut

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temporarywelcome · 3 days ago

Text

Sleep - Leon Kennedy

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Leon can't help but crave physical affection from his girlfriend.

CW: language, cold!reader, re4 leon but re2 puppy leon is def lurking, he is a BABYYY, hint of some 2000s toxic masculinity?

_______

Leon was pretty content with his relationship.

Another agent, but in the FBI. A strong and resourceful woman who didn’t mind him constantly being gone on dangerous missions, considering she was busy with her own. She didn’t mind his closed-off personality because she was probably more closed off than him.

And she didn’t mind his dry dad jokes. Another plus.

She also never pestered him for his lack of physical affection. He always gave her a kiss when he would first see her and one when they said their goodbyes. A handhold every now and then. But he barely touched her. She barely touched him.

He was content with that

…Yeah, he was lying.

Sure, he tried to give off a cold and dark vibe. A demeanor that showed he was not one to be fucked with. But damn, even the baddest bitches need to be held every now and then.

Sometimes, his girlfriend would stay at his place for the night. The first time it happened, he didn’t dare admit it, but he was excited. Excited to not sleep alone, to sleep next to the woman he claimed his, to feel her warmth in his arms.

Then, when they laid in bed, she had said a gruff “goodnight”, turned her back to him, and passed out. Not even a kiss. An “I love you”. Nothing.

Did she even love him?

He questioned that often. Why didn’t she ever kiss him? Touch him? Showed him any affection? Then again, why didn’t he? They both gave each other the bare minimum. But that wasn’t what he wanted.

Fuck. Even the baddest bitches wanted to feel loved.

Like right now. He was seated in bed, fiddling with his fingers as she laid curled up next to him. Practically on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible. Like he was diseased or something.

Maybe there was something he was doing wrong. Maybe he wasn’t loving her right. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be touched. Didn’t deserve to feel love.

But what did he do wrong? What did he do to not deserve a simple fucking hug from his girlfriend? Why couldn’t she initiate a kiss? Hold his hand? Nothing?

Fuck, stop thinking like that, Kennedy. Be grateful you even have a girlfriend.

And so he laid down, burying his head in the fluffy pillow and shutting his eyes. Back turned to her, like they always slept. Like they didn’t even like each other. He had thought finally getting a girlfriend would make it all better. He wouldn’t feel as lonely and sad. He just wanted to feel wanted.

So why did the bed feel more cold with someone in it than without?

Just stop fucking thinking and sleep already. Fucking loser.

Trying to steady his breathing, he brought the blanket up to his chin, suddenly feeling cold as goosebumps formed on his skin. It was almost fucking spring, for fucks sake. Maybe it was because he had the coldest woman on the planet in his bed that he felt like this.

Yeah, that’s probably what it was-

Wait.

He couldn’t tell if it was a hallucination or a dream, but he could have sworn he felt arms slowly wrapping around his waist. Felt the bed stir slightly as she scooted closer to him, her chest to his back. What the fuck what the fuck what the-

She was holding him. She was actually fucking holding him. Was he in the fucking Twilight Zone? Yes, he had to be, because there was no way his girlfriend had her arms around him.

Holy shit.

Hesitantly, Leon reached down, placing his hands atop hers, feeling… warmth? Feeling something he hasn’t felt in years. Tracing his fingers over her soft skin, her well-manicured nails, feeling her breath on his neck. Fuck, this was just a little touch and he felt so fucking happy. Something so small finally made him feel somewhat wanted.

Honestly sad. This simple gesture was enough to get him giddy.

Giddy and eager to hold her too, slowly turning in her grip. She moved as well, unconsciously repositioning herself on her back, an arm still lazily keeping him close. With a smile, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Pressing his face in the spot connecting her neck and shoulder. She smelt so good.

Look, Leon was a big guy. Broad-shouldered and muscular. However, this was probably the safest he ever felt. In a long fucking time.

So you can’t judge him for tearing up a bit. A lot. Sniffling against her neck as he held onto her tightly, resisting the urge to cry like a fucking baby.

“Babe?”

Shit.

He laid limp against her, hoping she’ll somehow assume he was asleep and leave it alone. A dumb thought. As if she couldn’t feel his tears on her skin and hear his ragged breathing. Maybe she’d think he’s just having a nightmare. Yes! This wouldn’t be the first time he had a nightmare-

“Babe,” she repeated gently, and he felt her fingers trail from his spine to his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with her nails, “What’s wrong? I know you’re awake so stop playing,”

Before he could respond, she tugged at his hair, not enough to hurt, but to get what she so impatiently wanted. His attention, which she had when he finally peeked up at her, stormy blue eyes meeting hers. “Nothing,”

“Bullshit, you’re literally crying,” she rubbed at his scalp again gently, “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, I don’t really want to talk about it,” he replied, tapping the pads of his fingers against her hip absentmindedly, “I’m fine,”

“Am I supposed to believe that?” she chuckled softly, lifting his chin up and cupping his cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone in a soothing motion, “C’mon, I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re upset,” He didn’t even know how to respond. Her hot-and-cold personality made it so difficult for him to know what would be considered okay to say.

“I’m… I’m not upset,”

Her brow raised in disbelief, “You’re not upset? Am I imagining these tears then?” With her thumb, she swiped one off of his face, “Hm, no. Not imagining anything,”

“They’re…” he gulped, embarrassed, “...happy tears,”

“Oh? And what caused these happy tears?”

He could hear it in her tone already. She was ready to tease the fuck out of him. So with a huff, Leon sat back up, crossing his arms over his toned chest in annoyance. “Nothing,”

“What do you mean nothing?” She sat up as well, tilting her head to the side as she eyed him in curiosity. “Just tell me what’s up already!”

“You fucking held me!” he broke, burying his face into his hands in embarrassment.

Silence.

“Ughhhh,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the bed, ready to leave. Jump out the window and dive proudly to the street and die, maybe. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea.

“Wait!” he then felt her arms go around his shoulders from behind, “Stay!”

And like a dog, he stayed put. Still with the pouty and embarrassed look on his face, staring straight ahead at him at the window he so desperately wanted to jump through.

“That made you cry?” his girlfriend whispered, head resting on his shoulder, “I was just hugging you from behind…”

He felt a tad bit more pathetic now. “I know. You… you never did that before,” he hesitantly raised a hand to graze her arm, soaking in the physical touch as much as possible.

“I suppose not,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “You always seem so closed off. I figured you didn’t want to be touched, which is why I always just let you initiate contact,”

“I…” he bit his lip, trying to form the words in his head before saying them out loud. Trying to describe how he felt without hurting his manhood.

But fuck, yes, even the baddest bitches need to be spooned from time to time.

“I do want to be touched,” he mumbled out, “You’re my girlfriend. I want you to touch me, I want to touch you. I thought you didn’t want to be touched,”

“You’re kidding?” she laughed gently, next kiss going to his neck, right on his pulse point, “Literally every night I stay at your place, my arms are around you at some point while we’re sleeping. Can’t help myself,”

That made him shift his body to face her, eyes slightly widened, brows furrowed as he processed his words. This wasn’t the first time? She… did this literally every night she was here? “Really?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, taking his hands in hers, “You know, you could have just told me you wanted some affection, babe.”

“That’s embarrassing…” his eyes darted away again, cheeks flushed red. He could still feel her eyes on him, making his cheeks redden further.

“So unmanly, isn’t it?” she teased gently.

“Shut up,”

She giggled, releasing his hands and laying back onto the bed, head resting comfortably on the pillow. Arms opening, she said, “C’mon. It’s late and we both have to be up early!”

He hesitated. Because, well, he was a dumb ass. Falling asleep cuddled up to his girlfriend like a fucking baby? How fucking embarrassing-

Ugh, sign him the fuck up.

The hesitation lasted a possible two seconds before he laid next to her, accepting the embrace while snaking his arms around her waist as well. Accepting a little kiss to his forehead and a soft “I love you” that left her lips.

Handing her an “I love you too” back before getting the best sleep he literally ever had.

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shokosmokes · 2 days ago

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i don’t think nerdjo is shy and stuttery and awkward tbh like nerdjo is defo more blunt and brash, band kid coded. he has a binder full of digimon cards and rages on 12 year olds in fortnite on the weekends. sure he’s socially inept but in the way that he has 0 concept of social cues and will 1000% say something rude without a second guess. and he’s defo one of those nerds that thinks drinking and partying is waste of time he absolutely bashes on shoko and suguru for it. so when you try and invite him out for a drink (because you think he’s soooo cute and just need to get to know him more) your heart is absolutely shattered when he replies with something like “why would i waste my time with something like that”. (T ^ T) so you slink back thinking that you’ve fumbled your shot until one day you don’t show up to class and the next time you do come to class you get an earful of how irresponsible skipping your 8am just to get an extra hour of sleep is from none other than the nerd himself. you’re left speechless because just who does this guy think he is??? you’re left even more without words when he tosses a set of papers your way with an eye roll and a “here a made an extra copy of lecture notes for you”. he really needs to get better at showing that he likes you.

#he’s secretly just pissed he didn’t get to sit next to you that day #nerd gojo #nerdjo #gojo headcanons #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo imagine #gojo x reader #shokosmokes has thoughts 🍙#gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo

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ariichive · 2 days ago

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WITH OPEN ARMS

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

truly, it was never tribbie's intentions to get you two to admit your feelings like this!

mydei x fem. reader 2.7k words

cw: chrysos heir fem. reader, mydei being soft, confessions, tribbie playing matchmaker, fluff :) girl dad mydei supremacy, not proofread whoops

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

mydei and tribbie stared at you expectantly. tribbie's eyes full of childhood expectancy and innocence. whereas mydei's naturally looked fierce and piercing.

"we must go lady [name], we can't live with the regret of not snatching this deal!"

you were previously doing research on the skies above, trying to find out more about the nameless from above per agalea's request when suddenly tribbie and mydeimos appeared, raving about a deal a favorited reasturant around okhema currently has.

'THREE GUESTS, FREE ALL YOU CAN EAT!' said the flyer tribbie held up to your face. and of course, in very fine print in the corner of the page read, 'with the purchase of our famed wine starting at-' yeah, it was better off not reading the price for your own sanity.

"ah but tribbie, i don't really have the time to-- s-stop with the puppy eyes!" you quickly diverted your gaze to mydei, who naturally looked unbothered by the ordeal. "gods, how did she manage to rope you into this too?"

mydei crossed his arms, "there was no need for persuasion when the opportunity to taste new foods is presented." he had a pleased expression, as if already imagining the endless amount of food he could eat.

"ah, makes sense, i'm sure it takes a lot of calories to maintain all your muscle?" you felt comforted at how relaxed he seemed, it was rare to see such a display. though, his calm demeanor shifted at your words, a faint pink hue taking over. "l-lady [name], it is mandatory to maintain such a build as a kremnoan."

you couldn't help but smile at his flustered reaction, the sharp contrast to his usual confident demeanor amusing. "i see, so it’s part of the job, huh?" you teased lightly,

mydei quickly composed himself, though the pink tint didn't quite fade. "indeed, it is a cultural necessity," he said with a slight tilt of his head, his usual confident posture returning, but there was a hint of something shy in his eyes now. "the kremnoans believe that strength is not just a physical attribute but a reflection of our spirit and endurance."

you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of admiration for his pride in his culture, his heritage. "that’s... really admirable, mydei," you murmured, genuinely impressed. mydei let out a confident thank you as your attention went back to tribbie, who seemed to be giggling to herself.

"what about trianne and trinnon? that's three of you there, why bring us into it?"

tribbie's giggles stopped immediately, as if she wasn't prepared for this question. "w-well uh, we.. we needed an adult to enter! yeah, i'll bring back plenty of leftovers for trianne and trinnon." tribbie sent you an award winning smile.

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by tribbie's explanation. "an adult, huh?" you said, crossing your arms. "and you just happened to think of us as the 'adults' in this scenario?"

tribbie's smile wavered slightly, but she quickly regained her composure, nodding enthusiastically. "yep! absolutely! you're, uh, very mature and responsible, after all." she added with a wink, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from the awkwardness.

you couldn't help but chuckle at her attempt. "mm, sure, we’ll go with that. but don’t think we’ve forgotten about trianne and trinnon. you'd better keep your promise."

her grin returned with your subtle agreement to accompany them. "of course! i'll make sure they get the best of it. you'll see!"

the three of you began to embark on the short walk to the infamous restaurant when suddenly, tribbie stopped. "such a beautiful day on okhema," tribbie said honestly, which you agreed with. "yeah, the air feels extra refreshing today." mydei nodded in agreement.

tribbie smiled, "i could close my eyes and let the wind guide me!" she said as she closed her eyes. mydei tsked, "if you're gonna close your eyes and walk, at least hold onto one of us."

mydei parent mode: activated.

tribble giggled, "you're very right, de. me and trianne hold trinnon's hands whenever she's feeling shy, that way she knows we're here for her!"

you smiled at her cuteness, having witnessed the three of them skipping hand in hand through okhema once.

"in fact, you and [name] should hold hands!" mydei's eyes widened at her words.

mydei's cheeks flushed, a deep pink quickly spreading across his face. "w-what?" he stammered, clearly caught off guard by tribbie’s suggestion.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction, the sudden shift in his usual composed demeanor amusing. "hold hands, huh?" you said, teasing him lightly. "that’s an interesting idea."

tribbie, always one to push things further, grinned from ear to ear. "oh, come on, you two! it's just a little hand-holding!" she said, her excitement uncontainable.

mydei cleared his throat, his eyes darting between you and tribbie, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "i... i don’t think that’s necessary," he mumbled, though the slight awkwardness in his voice made it clear he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

you noticed the little flush in his cheeks and decided to make it a little more fun. "well, mydei, it’s not a bad idea. it could be... comforting, right?"

tribbie bounced up and down, clearly enjoying the playful tension. "exactly! see, it's just like how trianne and trinnon always hold my hands! nothing to be shy about!"

mydei sighed, clearly resigned to the playful teasing, but his gaze softened when he glanced at you. "i suppose... i could... hold your hand for a moment, if you insist."

mydei offered a polite hand to you, one you gently took. tribbie happily made her way to your other side, taking ahold of your other hand.

with your hands now occupied, you couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected warmth of the situation. tribbie hummed happily, swinging your arm gently as the three of you continued down the path toward the restaurant. mydei, though still looking a bit stiff, seemed to relax slightly, his fingers lightly brushing against yours.

"see? nothing to it," tribbie chirped, clearly pleased with herself for orchestrating this moment. she glanced up at mydei, her grin widening. "feels good, doesn’t it? to be connected like this?"

mydei glanced at the ground for a moment, his face still flushed, but after a brief pause, he gave a small nod. "i suppose it does... in a way," he admitted, his voice softening. "it’s... not so bad."

you squeezed his hand gently, offering a reassuring smile. "i’m glad to hear that," you said warmly.

tribbie giggled, looking between you both with delight. "see, i told you it would be fun! you two are the best!"

the gentle breeze rustled through the trees above, the atmosphere feeling lighter with the shared connection between the three of you. mydei’s earlier unease slowly melted away as he began to fall into the rhythm of the moment, his grip on your hand becoming a little more comfortable. you could almost feel the unspoken bond strengthening, even in the simplest of gestures.

soon enough, the restaurant came into view.

and the first thing that greeted you was well...

trianne?

"um trianne? why-"

"WELCOME esteemed guests," trianne was quick to cut you off, fixing her bowtie and faux mustache. "trianne's name is uh," she paused for a second, silently looking at tribbie as they seemed to have a quick telepathic exchange, "trixie! and trixie will be your server."

you glaced around at the completely vacant restaurant and then to mydei, who looked completely unimpressed.

you blinked, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. the sight of trianne, dressed in a bowtie and sporting a poorly attached faux mustache, was... certainly unexpected. it was hard to take her seriously, especially with the way she was trying so hard to sound official.

"trixie, huh?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "that’s quite a transformation. i don’t think i’ve seen a more... professional server before."

trianne—no, trixie—straightened her back, putting on her best exaggerated smile. "ah, yes, trixie at your service!" she said, adopting an overly dramatic tone that only made the situation even more ridiculous. "what can trixie get for you today, esteemed guests? something spectacular perhaps?" she added, gesturing to the empty restaurant with grand flair.

you glanced around at the vacant tables, your confusion growing. "uh, i don’t see anyone else here... are we the only customers today?"

mydei let out a long sigh, clearly unimpressed. "seems like it... but i'm not sure if this is quite what i expected from a well-known establishment," he muttered under his breath, folding his arms. "though, it is rather joyous to see them having fun like this."

you agreed with him, "might as well entertain them!"

"follow me right this way, tribbie, de, and [nickname]!" you let out a giggle and silently followed after the young girl. mydei just now letting go of your hand to pull out your chair for you, tribbie not far behind.

you cleared your throat ,"is there a menu-"

"NO! we uh, are very limited so chef trinnon's specialty will be served!"

as if on cue, the sound of loud crashing and a soft yelp was heard from the kitchen.

you blinked, your concern growing as the crash echoed through the restaurant. tribbie, looking almost too relaxed, simply leaned over and whispered, "it’s fine, they do this all the time."

mydei didn’t seem as convinced. he was already halfway to the kitchen, his face set with a mixture of concern and curiosity. you, not wanting to be left out, quickly followed behind him, tribbie trailing casually.

as you reached the kitchen entrance, you could see trinnon—covered in flour and surrounded by shattered plates. "o-oh sorry," trinnon said softly. she looked around sheepishly. distracted by the eyes on her, she forgot to turn off the stove and the boiling water began to overflow.

"oh no," trinnon said softly and was about to get up to turn off the stove but mydei was quicker. "you are all much too young to be alone in a kitchen," there was a rough edge to his voice, but it was all out of love. mydei was quick to pick up the glass shards left by the plates, he then grabbed a damp towel and began to wipe the flour off of trinnon's face.

"i… i didn't mean for this to happen," trinnon mumbled, her face flushed with embarrassment. "i just wanted to make something special for everyone…"

"you will, don’t worry," mydei said softly, his voice calming as he gently lifted trinnon's chin, wiping the last of the flour from her face. "but for now, let’s just make sure you’re okay."

you couldn’t help but watch with a warm feeling in your chest, seeing the way mydei balanced his strength with kindness. he had a way of caring that wasn’t always obvious at first, but moments like this made it clear just how much he looked out for the people around him.

tribbie, who had been standing at the doorway watching the whole scene unfold, gave a small chuckle. "oh, this is just like when mama took care of us," she said with a hint of sadness.

you and mydei shared a look of sadness for the poor trio.

trinnon, now feeling a bit more at ease, smiled shyly. "thank you, mydei… and sorry again."

"no need to apologize," mydei replied, his voice now calm and steady. "just be more careful next time, okay? you all go sit back down, i'll show you the cooking skills of a true kremnoan."

with the situation finally under control, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. "well, looks like we’re in good hands after all," you said, nudging tribbie lightly. "this meal might take a little longer, but i’m sure it'll be worth it."

tribbie grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "oh, it’ll be worth it. i mean, with de in charge, we’re basically guaranteed five-star kremnoan cuisine!" she said, giving mydei a playful salute as he turned back to the stove, his brow furrowed in concentration.

you chuckled, shaking your head. "you really do have a way of making everything more interesting, don’t you, tribbie?"

"what can i say?" she shrugged with a smile. "life’s more fun when you don’t take it too seriously!"

you and the three young girls made your way back to the table. smiling hand in hand.

sitting down, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. there was something comforting about this strange, yet warm, situation. the way everyone was so quick to pitch in and take care of each other—it was a bond that went beyond the usual social niceties.

"so girls, care to tell me what today was for?" you question gently as the three of them chuckle nervously. "w-we see the way you and mydei look at each other," tribbie started. "trianne wanted to set you both up on a date, but we weren't sure how to go about it."

"trianne found a romance book in castorice's bag, it was so slay, slay! we had to follow it!" trianne said with a big smile on her face.

"it seemed like a good idea in the moment," trinnon said softly.

you smiled at the three of them, at such a heart warming moment. "thank you for the attempt, but... i-is my crush on mydei really that noticeable?" you hid your face in your hands, not noticing how the footsteps behind you seemed to halt or the sound of the three girls giving each other high-fives.

trianne let out a mischievous giggle, "we'll let the two of you talk it out!"

mydei looked at the door for a second, his expression unreadable, then finally turned his gaze back to you. "so... seems like things are... out in the open now," he said softly, his voice surprisingly calm.

you finally peeked out from behind your hands, only to find him looking at you with the faintest hint of a smile. "i guess so," you mumbled, still feeling the heat of embarrassment.

mydei’s smile softened, and for the first time, you noticed the way his eyes held a certain warmth—almost as if he were relieved, too. "well, i suppose it was only a matter of time before they figured it out," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, "i do not think i was the best at hiding my feelings either." he admitted while avoiding eye contact.

"w-wait does that mean you really-" the amount of surprise in your voice caught mydei by surprise as he let out a small laugh. "how could i not be enamored by your beauty and strength? after fighting alongside someone as worthy as you, it was only a matter of time before i fell hard."

your heart skipped a beat as his words settled in, the weight of his confession sinking in. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, and your mind raced to process it all. mydei—mydei—had been feeling the same way? your face flushed, and you struggled to find your voice.

"i… i didn’t know," you stammered, still processing his words. "i thought—i mean, i didn’t want to assume anything. you’ve always been so... calm and composed around me."

mydei finally met your gaze, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. he looked almost unsure for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "i was careful not to let my feelings cloud my judgment," he explained, his voice softening. "but after everything we've been through together... it became harder to deny what was growing inside me." he paused, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "you... are extraordinary. your strength, your courage, your heart—i couldn't help but be drawn to you."

"now then, please enjoy the meal i made for the all of us."

your heart raced, but in that moment, everything felt right. "yes," you said softly, your words steady and sure. "i’d like that."

bonus:

earlier that day

"de, could you accompany [nickname] and us-"

"yes."

tribbie scratched the back of her head, "it was that easy to convince you?"

"why would i need any convincing when [name] is involved?" mydei said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"wow, he's got it bad. we probably didn't need to break into that reasturant..."

#hsr x reader #mydei x reader #mydei fluff #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #mydeimos #honkai star rail #tribbie #amphoreus #hsr #hsr fluff #hsr mydei #honkai star rail mydei #mydei

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simpjaes · 3 days ago

Text

exhibition ― s. jy

Requested by anonymous via tumblr: cam boy jake. That’s it.Jake is your college roommate and he needs to buy a camera for his online classes. Curiosity gets the better of him, leading to a lot of extra money and, well, finding out that you’ve been a little too curious about what he's doing. Or the one where your roommate flaunts his secret job at you, not thinking you’d go out and search for him. And definitely not thinking you’d be getting off to him either.

MDNI

WORDCOUNT― 4.9k

PAIRING― cam boy jake x afab reader

CONTENT― college setting but it’s mosting within the apartment they share, cam boy jake, confused best friend reader, smut WARNINGS― none but brief mention of mommy kink in passing

NOTE―this isn't proof read ;o;

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Seven hundred.”

“What?” “That’s how much I made last night,” Jake’s eyes shine brighter and brighter with each word, a crooked smile plastered across his face as he sleepily blinks. “I didn’t even have to do anything weird either.”

You pause as you sip your morning coffee, wrapped up in a blanket and head pounding at the amount of stress and work you’ve had to get done while he was too busy playing with himself on camera for dozens of people. Or maybe hundreds. Thousands?

“What did you do then?” You raise a brow, not entirely checked in on his boasting this morning, though it is impressive.

Jake always shares how much he makes after each session. What started with fifteen dollars is now reaching seven hundred. Surely your best friend isn’t just jerking off, right?

“Well, it was a little weird, but not that bad.” He avoids the question with a vague answer, suddenly feeling his face heat up. “Just a little here and there, y’know?”

You narrow your eyes instantly. So he does do weird shit for money! You knew it! No way could someone make that much money in such a short span of time by regular jerking off.

“Just a little what?” You stare him down, now placing your coffee on the table and leaning towards him. He knows better than anyone that you, of all people, can point out if he lies. Meaning, he has to be honest.

And so, he shrugs, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Mommy.” He says it like he’s saying any other word, as if he’s uncaring, as if it was worth the money. “Just had to say it a few times and the money came pouring in.”

Your eyes narrow at him even more.

“What else?” You question. “There’s no way they’d accept it unless you…”

He raises his brow at you now, tilting his head in cheeky curiosity.

“Unless I cried? Edged? Let them torture me a little bit?” He smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

You’re a bit shocked, the images of what that must have looked like for his viewers forcing your curiosity to grow. His smug face looking back at you now serves as proof that he very well may be into that kind of thing. Almost like he’s sharing a kink with you, which…is not something the two of you do.

Despite being roommates, and without any mention of how long you’ve been friends, sex has never been a topic until he started this whole camboy thing.

You remain calm though. This is Jake you’re talking to. He’s the last person you want to see drooling and cumming all over himself.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, you’re a liar.

All day, all fucking day you’ve thought about it. It’s not that you’re into the kink, or even that you’re into Jake. You’re just…curious about how smug he is about it. And yeah, it’s probably just a huge confidence boost to have all sorts of people rubbing one out to you while paying your bills, but still.

You’re only a liar because that so-called confidence makes him more open about it. More loud. More comfortable. More…horny?

You can tell by now, weeks after he started. You could never hear a peep from his bedroom, not a single moan or sigh at first. Now though, he’s only gotten louder. You hear the moans, the dirty talk into his camera, the usernames, all of it.

“Thank you–mmf– cumslut2000.”

God, you hate that you didn’t cringe hearing him say that. It was the moan mid-sentence maybe, or the sultry tone you’ve never heard from him until now. You can’t help but squeeze your legs together with an annoyed groan, practically leaping for your headphones shortly after because, absolutely the fuck not.

Not Jake. It’s too weird.

And the days pass like that, casual with him as he discusses his pay where you no longer question because now you’d just think too hard about the details. The nights pass like that too, where he’s louder, louder, louder, until you can almost hear him through your muffled videos and playlists.

Until you are forced to feel the arousal just like the rest of his viewers. You can’t escape the attraction despite wishing, hoping, fucking praying for your head to stop wanting to hear more.

You know better than anyone though, hoping and praying does nothing for you and the only thing that will help this situation between your legs is seeing. Proving to yourself, so to say, that seeing Jake act like that will feel gross. It will turn you off. It will solidify that Jake is your best friend and your roommate, nothing more.

It’s easy to find him too. All you had to do was abandon your headphones tonight, waiting for him to introduce himself via username to his stream.

Doggystyle02.

That’s what he picked? He can’t be fucking serious.

You’re excited as you google the username, enabling NSFW search and finding him within seconds. Excited to lose the interest that’s driving you up a fucking wall, that is. And before you click into his stream, you inspect.

Yeah, that’s definitely his abs oiled up in his profile picture. You choose to ignore his uh…thing under his sweats, heavy, leaving a little spot on the front of them.

Oh, 23k followers? And he started two, maybe three months ago? People want Jake that badly? And you just…live here with him? You get to see him daily, and hear him playing all these kinky roles in real life? God, you just know if the viewers knew they’d be saying shit like “If i lived with you, I’d be on that cock every day.” Blah, blah, blah.

They don’t know Jake like you know him. He’s just a dude, not some sex god.

Then…something in your gut stirs. It flips, it bubbles, your face warms up. The comments on his profile asking him all sorts of things, saying all sorts of things and he just…responds? Reciprocates?

Cumslut2000 comments: god i want you to hold me down and make me take it

Doggystyle02: Don’t sweet talk me like that, you know how I get.

Oh, does she now? How the fuck would she know anything about Jake. Your best friend. Your roommate.

DPlover: can we plllleeease do another private show?

Doggystyle02: book me for later, i’ll even give you a discount <3

Another private show?! A fucking discount?!

Blushy: im too shy to talk when you’re online but i really, really want you.

Doggystyle02: you wanna talk in private? I’ll message you and bring you right out of that shell. let me take care of you baby

You’re speechless. During his private job, where he doesn’t share his name but he shows his fucking face, he publicly talks to people like this? He’s never so much as looked at you for too long after you’ve gotten out of the shower, yet he wants to take care of a fucking loser ass bitch who is too shy to talk to him?

Sexually?!

Safe to say, never in your life did you ever think you’d find yourself jealous of people who get Jake’s attention. To you, he’s always just been, well, Jake. The guy who ran up your apartment stairs on all fours the day you moved in, the boy who constantly did your homework for you in highschool because he knew you wouldn’t graduate with him if he didn’t, the absolute best friend who followed you to the same college, saved you from the dorms by becoming your roommate, and now…somehow, seems…more than just what he was before.

Surely you’re just horny though. Curious, in the mood, whatever. Anyone would be when there’s a porn set just a wall over, right?

You shake your thoughts, knowing you’ll just make yourself sick if you keep reading all of his little public comments and start wondering what he says in private to them. You scroll up instead, glancing at his abs again before your eyes land directly on what you were trying so hard to avoid.

He’s kind of packing, you can’t lie. If he wasn’t Jake, you’d probably be ogling, rubbing out to him just like everyone else. Hah. You chuckle, shaking your head at your own stupidity, ready for these weird feelings to be eradicated the second you click into his stream.

Except…jesus fucking christ.

The comments roll in faster than you can read. The money is pouring in, and he’s sitting there on camera with that same dopey grin he gives you every morning. There’s something else with his smile though, a little lip bite, some tongue darting action to wet his lips. Hair falling into his eyes…jesus.

After a minute or two of staring at your best friend’s face, ignoring the movement of his shoulders attached to the hand that’s…doing something, a pop up covers his image entirely.

Never in your life have you signed up for something so fast, typing in a string of cute letters and numbers to differentiate yourself in the sea of horny viewers. And then his image is back, and your eyes trail straight down.

Instantly you choke up, watching the way he uses his hands with that expression on his face. It really is just typical jerking off but…something about it. Something about the way he flicks his own nipples with a seething lip bite, bucking his hips up before shining his pouting eyes into the camera, as if wishing any or all viewers were there to do it for him. And god, the way he looks kind of wet? Like, oiled up or lotion, maybe lubed up, you don’t know. His hips slide that thing through his fist so easily, making squelching sounds all the while.

That’s…that’s really him. And he’s not even ten feet from your bedroom door looking like this. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to get up and interrupt him.

What would you even do? What would you say?

So, you just watch, completely forgetting that you were doing this to get rid of the curiosity, not feed into the sexuality of a man you’ve known for so long as nothing more than your closest friend.

Over a thousand dollars made in just one stream by the time he logs off, and those moans echo in your brain. Hearing them so clearly through your headphones just…wow. And, well, you did your best.

You swore you’d never get off to the image of Jake after all this curiosity started, it’s just, you can’t help it now. At least he wasn't on your screen, moaning and whimpering for all the faceless people watching. You waited. Your belly burned and your clit throbbed through all of it, and only when he made a mess of himself with that same fucking smile before logging off did you finally give yourself what you needed.

You don’t know why you did that, and you don’t know why the muffled stream of his shower just down the hallways is what sticks in your head when you finally reach your own orgasm.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Over a thousand this time.”

“Oh?” You awkwardly avoid his eye contact, stiffening your shoulders at the mere mention of his stream from last night.

“Yeah, not sure why they gave me so much this time though…” He trails off briefly, inspecting your posture and sudden defensive stance. “I didn’t even do any of the kinks.”

Well…you know why he made that much. He wouldn’t even need to feed the fetish crowd to make a decent living off of this, not with a face like that, a cock like that. It’s only natural he starts making more and more with each lengthy stream.

“Yeah, that’s weird.” You answer shortly, rummaging through cabinets despite your lunch sitting on the table across from him.

“Yeah…” He notes the shift, feeling tension in the air. “Are you okay?”

“What? Me?” You ground both feet on the floor now, abandoning the cabinet as you turn towards him and look to the floor.

You can’t do it. You can’t look at him.

“I’m perfectly fine, what gives you that idea?”

You hear him stand from the table, taking his usual Jake-esque strides toward you. Then, he leans forward and tilts his head, chasing your eyes with his own and forcing you to look at him.

“Well, you haven’t even looked at me all morning,” He smiles, tapping your chin. “Was I too loud or something? Did it make you feel awkward?”

Oh, an out! An excuse!

“No, no, I just –”

Now, why the fuck did you say no? Why are you looking at him now, stopping mid-sentence entirely stunned because, yep, that’s him alright. You saw him cum. You watched him do it, you listened, and you fucking liked it.

And now you’re looking him in the face, and he’s giving you that same smile, and you’re…oh god.

“I–”

He tilts his head again, blinking twice before narrowing his eyes.

“Spit it out. What happened? Jay do something?”

Your words are caught in your throat, cheeks hot, stomach doing flips…Your eyes glance down without intention, right to his groin and he sees it. He even pulls back a bit, looking surprised before softening his expression.

“Don’t tell me you–” His voice is softer now too, but he calls out your name. “Why are you being so weird?”

You can tell he doesn’t want to make the assumption, and arguably, you’re bad at hiding things from him.

“I kind of, like, accidentally saw your stream last night.” You say it so fast, avoiding eye contact again by embarrassingly staring right between his legs. “It feels weird now.”

He laughs. He fucking laughs, but it’s kind of like, a smug laugh? A chuckle?

“Oh now it’s weird?” He rolls his eyes. “Relax, it’s not weird.”

“It is though! You’re, well, you! I didn’t need to see that!”

“Then why’d you watch?” He smirks, reaching a hand out to tilt your chin up at him again. And he’s done this many times in the past. Platonic, lovely little touches from someone who will protect and appreciate you. This though, this is…

“Go on. Tell me. Why is it weird now?” He encourages you to admit it. “Because you liked it?”

You remain silent, unwilling to answer.

“I grossed you out?”

“No!” An immediate disagreement there, one that only digs your hole deeper. “I just–didn’t expect that.”

“So you did watch it.” He leans back now, crossing his arms and staring you down. “Did you enjoy yourself?

What is he fucking asking right now? The worst part about this is if you don’t answer, it’s still a fucking answer. But you don’t want to like, lie, because already you couldn’t even make it through a fucking morning with him after seeing it. So, with the smallest voice you have, so small you hope he can’t hear it, you whisper.

“Yes.”

And if you were to look him in the face right now, you’d have seen that smug look go to curiosity. You’d have seen the split second of his adoration for you merging with a new view, a new feeling, and possibly a new need.

“Wait, did you–?” He even feels a bit shy now, his ears practically on fire as he keeps his eye on you, and the way you curl in on yourself with the admittance. “Did you..touch yourself?”

A small nod, you squeeze your eyes shut.

Then you hear him hold his breath, taking a step back from you. You’ve touched yourself to him, he can’t believe it. After all these years, never once looking at him like that…not even he looked at you like that but now?

He pictures it. The way you must’ve been in your room all alone, knowing what he’s doing, searching him up, then confirming it for yourself. You liked it. You liked what you saw and you got off to it.

And now he can’t stop smiling. Proud, he feels proud.

“Well, don’t feel weird.” He finally says, trying to ease your discomfort. “It’s just…a normal thing. I don’t think you’re weird.”

With that, the conversation dies, fades entirely into awkwardness as you both split off.

You need space to think.

He needs space to think.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’re doing it again, as if just this morning you didn’t have to bury yourself 6 feet under right in front of him.

Neither of you spoke after that. Avoiding each other consistently throughout the day with knowing, growing, and exhausting tension. Yet still, he’s started his stream, and here you are, watching it with a dazed look.

You don’t know how to feel or what to do. Your head doesn’t anyway, your body knows too well what it wants and needs, and you hate yourself for making it so awkward between the two of you. Why did you tell him? You wonder if he’d be uncomfortable knowing you’re watching again, this time knowing your hand will stray as you watch.

You wonder, and wonder, will he think you’re disrespecting your friendship by doing this not once, but twice?

Then, you hear him.

“Can we do some roleplay today?” He speaks out to the chat, cock pressing against his briefs, head tilted with his messy hair in the very computer chair you bought for him.

Last time, he was sprawled out on his bed, and you wonder if he always starts his streams this way.

“I want you to imagine we live together, and you know I’m in my room fucking myself, begging, needy for anything, anyone to touch me.” He looks into the camera. “Let’s say you’d hear it too. I’m loud on purpose…”

“Tell me what you’d do to me.”

You stare forward blankly, frozen on the spot at his words, then your eyes flick to the chat.

“You wouldn’t see the front door ever again.”

“I’d be on you within seconds.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to turn your camera on, just come home and I'd be waiting.”

Oh.

Jake hums at the responses, whispering them to himself.

“Ah,” Jake reads a specific comment with a nod. “I’d be an idiot to not jump at the opportunity.”

And the rest of his words become muffled as your ears pop. Is he…talking about you right now? Was he expecting you to watch again?

“If that ever happens to me, just know I’d be grateful for all of you. Running to help me feel good, you’re all so good to me.” He giggles now. Fucking giggles. “Alright, enough of that.”

Jake stares into the camera again, and you can’t help it. It feels like he’s staring at you. Straight through your fucking soul at this point.

“I have a lot of stress to relieve.” He ends on that note, skewing his pants down and making haste.

He’s not slow or cute with it like he was before. He’s aggressive, almost frustrated. His eyebrows furrow, his lips become red from his biting and chewing, and you watch the money flood in.

The comments blurring past, words of, “Oh fuck,” and “This is new.” before suddenly, you hear an irritated sigh. A string of curse words pour from his lips, his hand squeezing the base of his cock so tightly, and spurts of cum shooting up his chest, only to drip down slowly.

“What a waste.” He comments shortly at himself, heaving in a breath before he breaks out into his usual smile. “Sorry to end on such a short note, just thought I’d let you guys join me for a quickie!”

Then he’s gone, the stream lasting about ten minutes in total.

And apparently so is your fucking sanity because why is it that now you find yourself getting out of your bed, feeling the wet between your legs drip, and you’re heading for your bedroom door just to get to him?

Why is he standing right outside, as if he was already waiting for you to open it?

And it’s silent now as you stare at each other. Him, with his sweatpants skewed over his waist, cum still on his chest, breath still uneven. Then you, practically vibrating to get on him.

“You’re looking at me like you want me to eat you out.” He says, already pushing you right back through your bedroom door, letting you flop back on your bed as he instantly pulls at your shorts. “Want me to kiss you first?”

You feel your head spin the second you flop back and feel your shorts being pulled off, and before you can even comprehend his question, he’s already kissing you. Hot, heated. He sounds just as frustrated as he did just minutes ago getting off by himself. You don’t even mind the cum on his chest, nor the way he spreads your legs with his knee to get more comfortable.

It’s happening. This is what kissing Jake feels like. This is what everyone wants from him, but it’s you that’s getting it. Has he always been like this? Good at kissing? Firm with his movements? Confident as he kisses down, down, down, giving you what he thinks you want?

You do want it. Perhaps you were looking at him like you wanted him to eat you out, and now he’s doing it. Breathing shortly right against your clit without so much as savoring his view before diving in, tongue instantly licking from your hole straight to your clit and sucking.

He hums around the taste, both hands holding your inner thighs and keeping your legs open. And he just…keeps humming, licking and sucking you so good that you can’t help but cry out and tug at that fucked up mess of hair on his head.

Jake likes that. He likes the way you hold your breath and the way your legs shake around his ears. He likes even more the way he knew you were watching him tonight, and that you looked like you were coming straight to his room to jump him.

So strange how quickly things can change, so strange how good his best friend must have tasted all these years, and he had never once considered it. And now, he blinks up at you, seeing the way you close your eyes and breathe through it, like you’re calming yourself down, thinking both too much and not at all.

Easily he runs his hands up and under your shirt, feeling the soft skin of your belly before gently running his palms over your perked nipples. He continues to stare up, watching you, tasting you, loving this a little more than he ever knew he would.

He did want you, he does want you. His cock has been aching all day for you since the moment he found out you thought of him. Jake thinks you’d be tight, because lord knows you haven’t gotten laid in a hot minute, and that quick jerk off session was absolutely for you.

He wants to show off to you, wants you to see him more than anyone else can. Yet, it’s you he’s seeing more of right now and he doesn’t mind that so much.

His eyes flick back down, allowing his fingertips to toy gently with your nipples as he skews his head, essentially making out with your pussy, slurping the slick you offer and not letting a single bit of it go to waste. Then, he dips in, pointing his tongue right against your pulsing hole and pressing in.

There’s that tug of his hair again, your legs squeezing around him and your hips bucking up.

Oh, you like that.

So, he does it harder and with more focus. He squeezes his eyes shut and prepares to not breathe for a bit, licking as far into you as he can, his nose easily pressing your clit in such a beautiful way that all you can do now is moan.

Genuinely moan for him. His name in a little hiccup followed by a curse.

Fuck, you’re so hot to him right now. Anyone would be fucking lucky to be in your bed at all, and finally it’s him. As if he’s been waiting for years despite never needing a turn previously.

And this continues until he can’t breathe, his fingers growing more needy against your tits, his tongue reaching deeply before pulling out and allowing him to take a deep breath that is scented entirely in you. Then, he fucking nuzzles it.

You glance down with a heaved breath, legs shaking as you watch him do it. Eyes closed gently, rubbing his nose and lips against your clit in such a gentle, loving way that it has you melting instantly.

“Jake–” You whisper in a breath, the first word you’ve said to him since you opened your bedroom door.

All he does is shoot his gaze to you and continues his nuzzles, uncaring of whatever you need to say if it isn’t you asking him to fuck you right now. And arguable, you have nothing to say anyway.

You just…needed to say his name. Needed to solidify that you just broke a boundary with him willingly, and he doesn’t care. You don’t care.

You feel the thumping in your chest, your clit throbbing with each little rub he lends before you sit up slightly on your elbows, balancing yourself before reaching a hand down.

He leans into your palm on his cheek, like a puppy wanting love. Then his hands leave your chest and find their way to your hips. His doe eyes instantly sharpen, and you’re instantly being pushed back down to your bed.

“Want me to be whatever you want? Let you do whatever you want to me?” He finally says, licking his lips as he makes his way up to hover over you, making sure to lift your shirt enough to expose both of your tits. “Just like I ask?”

You find yourself nodding before taking it back, shaking your head.

“I don’t want it to be like that–” You trail off, avoiding his intense gaze and suddenly feeling very vulnerable under him. “I just want you. The Jake I’ve always had.”

Another shocked look reaches his expression. He’s a bit surprised, assuming that all of this was simply because you watched his stream and didn’t expect to be so turned on. He thought this would be a one and done thing. A “let’s forget this ever happened,” thing.

But you want him? Not the acting? Not the kinks, or the cocky grinning? You want the best friend in him, the part of him that was never sexual, never confident, never willing to approach women.

He looks at you in question.

“I don’t know how to be that right now.” He finally says, pressing his hips down and against you with a choked moan. “How can I be that when I want to fuck you so badly?”

You find yourself smiling, running your hands through his hair to get it out of his face before shrugging.

“When have we ever known what we were doing?” You ask quietly, wincing slightly at how hard he’s gotten, knowing that you’re not having to see him through a screen now.

That’s all he needed to hear before keeping eye contact and reaching down with one hand. You can’t bare to look down, knowing some sort of embarrassing sound will leave your throat. You decide to feel it instead.

And goddamn, do you fucking feel it.

He slides in easily, but the size of him stretches you far past anything you could have imagined. This is him, he’s this big. This is what Jake’s cock feels like and it has your chest caving in over it.

All you can do is hug him, clinging to him through the stretch and hoping the way your cunt squeezes around him isn’t hurting him.

“God, fuck.” He says in a quick whisper, arms shaking to hold himself up as you hug him. “You’re so tight, fuck.”

You smile against his messy chest at the compliment, basking in it really before allowing yourself to freely adjust. Your body clenches him tightly, and he remains still through it until he can’t anymore.

He drops to the bed, flush against you without warning and the moans start pouring from his chest. He can’t stop even if he wanted to, can’t control his hips, his words, his thoughts.

He just lays here flush against you, letting his hips move freely and rapidly. In, out, in, out. So clumsy, so loud, and goddamn does it feel fucking amazing.

You moan alongside him, petting his hair with each thrust, feeling his cheek against your tits move with each drop of his jaw. Even when his moans are silent, you know he feels good and that makes you happy.

None of those little bitches in his chat could get him like this, surely. He’s not acting right now. He’s Jake.

And that’s what makes it so good, you think. That’s why he has so much cum to put in you, apologizing through it all because the fear of this act comes with the orgasm. Apologizing for fucking you, for cumming in you, for getting off so quickly, promising you that he’ll make you cum too.

It’s then that you realize, when he’s got his face back down between your legs, sucking his mess out of you…maybe you have feelings now.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing either.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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#enhypen smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake smut #jake sim smut #enhypen x reader

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ariaste · 2 days ago

Text

So I was nodding along almost the whole way through, I was saying "Yeah!" and "Oof, I feel that, I can relate," until I got to:

"be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial" and "you must insist upon her [...] because she may still not yet know how".

And... yeah, no, kinda lost me there. Now, don't get me wrong! It is perfectly valid if you're doing those things essentially as kink (or not-really-kink-but-kinda-uses-the-same-tools-and-skillset) -- that is, you and your beloved have sat down and talked about her discomfort and her difficulties, and the difference between actual discomfort and cognitive dissonance at the concept of having nice things for herself, and how SHE wants you to recognize the distinction (and what signals SHE can give to provide cues in cases of ambiguity), and she's given you express permission to do the Being Forceful thing in pursuit of doing nice things for her and insisting or persuading her into accepting them -- AND y'all have talked about how she can communicate effectively when your insistence and persuasion isn't just not landing right for some reason or when it's actually starting to cross a line. If you've done all that: great, godspeed, I love your love. Make her accept all the compliments and adoration and the nice things she deserves! Your crusade to love her properly is righteous and just!

However. The vast majority of us across the spectrum of transness have experienced people crossing our boundaries, infantilizing and condescending to us, assuming that they know better than us about what we want, and ignoring our quiet, hesitant attempts to push back in small ways as we try to establish a foothold and figure out how much space we're allowed to take up. So... idk, putting "be forceful" and "insist because she may not yet know how" right next to solid, sound advice for all situations like "be patient, be generous" as if they are equivalent in meaning and impact and importance just... rubs me the wrong way. I think OP is absolutely speaking coming from a place of love and positivity, but... this needs caveats.

Because man-oh-man I have personally experienced this kind of thing from both sides: Just because you know that something is going to be good for someone doesn't mean they're going to appreciate having it forced on them. Just because you're absolutely sure that someone will be delighted by something doesn't mean that you're always going to be right.

Suppose the nice thing that someone (let's call them Tye) is doing for their partner (let's call her Mia) is... taking her out to her favorite Italian restaurant. Suppose Tye does this every week without fail, and they feel great about it because Mia loves this restaurant and she deserves to be treated like a princess. But what happens if one week she's bored of it, or not in the mood for Italian food? What happens if she says, "Hey, maybe we don't have to go today... I don't really need all this, what if we just eat toast and eggs--" and Tye says, "NO NO. NO, I LOVE YOU AND WE'RE GOING! YOU DESERVE IT!!!" Y'know what I'm saying??? That's not actually about loving Mia anymore, that's more about Tye getting off on their own heroism. And Mia is once again having to shut up and make herself small.

If the goal is to love your person and give her space to grow confident enough to accept and embrace all the love and wonderful things she deserves, the strategy of forcefulness and insistence COULD actually end up being counter-intuitively DISempowering if it is not explicitly consensual: It is removing opportunities for her to practice communicating her own needs, choosing happiness, and valuing herself where other people can see. It is reinforcing the lesson she has already learned from the rest of society, which is that her self-knowledge and boundaries are inferior to the wants and goals of the people around her.

Having a partner who is so passionate about loving us that they INSIST on giving us the things we secretly long for even when we're scared and shy of accepting them ourselves (and that they always telepathically know exactly what is going to be the perfect thing even before we know it ourselves, and they never once make a mistake in reading our mood when we come home tired from work, and they're always able to seamlessly adjust their plans to accommodate our whim)... It is a lovely fantasy. I will not deny that it is a very lovely fantasy and that I too would like to go to there. That sounds FANTASTIC.

But at the end of the day you are loving an adult human being and "no means no" must remain true even if you think you perceive a glint of longing in her eye (unless modified rules of consent have been established and ratified between you prior to this). Absolutely be patient, be generous, be loving, be attentive and proactive. But also you also gotta be okay with backing the hell off sometimes. You gotta be humble enough to acknowledge that sometimes you might be projecting your own past self's longings, rather than looking at the person in front of you with clear eyes. Create a space where it's safe for her to come out of her protective shell instead of dragging her out of it before she's ready. Encourage her to set her own boundaries, and express appreciation when she does so, especially when the boundaries are ones you disagree with or are personally inconvenienced by.

You cannot force a person to move faster along their journey of loving themself. Having someone insist on giving you love (and I'm once again speaking from experience here, as someone who has been on both sides) can sometimes end up making the beloved feel more guilty, more self-conscious, and more aware of their own "failures" and "deficiencies". To the person trying to do that style of love, it probably IS purely in good faith, but to the person receiving it, it can sometimes come across as a constant implicit reminder of, "I'm not doing it right, I'm still not doing it right, and everyone can tell. No matter how hard I try I still can't do it right, I hate myself even more now."

OP absolutely hit the nail on the head with everything about, "I had to stop [negative self-thoughts], I had to start [taking care of myself], I had to learn [those skills], but more than that I had to learn to ask[...]. it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train." 100% cosigned. That is exactly it -- training muscles. You can be someone's spotter and cheerleader, but you can't lift the weights for them, and forcing them to lift more than they're ready for often hurts more than it helps. Communicate! Establish a culture of consent even outside the bedroom! And continue to be patient even when it turns out that progress is not a straight line without any stumbles!

so many of the transfems i know spent their time pre-transition performing a kind of lifelong exercise in self-deprivation, the goal of which was to find out exactly how little a person needed to live. they starved themselves, dressed carelessly, shunned friends, and hollowed themselves out so as not to be burdens on anyone but themselves.

i see it now, too, in the girls around me. i'll ask if they want care – a home-cooked meal, relaxed company, sex without the expectation of reciprocation – and they say no, no, thank you, i don't need it; what would you like, what do you want, because in their head they're still doing that awful calculus, still training themselves to disappear in the eyes of the people around them.

i don't think i'd have died without transition – not in the conventional sense, at least – but to take that leap, i had to stop thinking of myself as a human experiment in fuel-efficient living and start nurturing the anemic, atrophied flame of desire in my heart. i had to learn to eat well, to exercise, to style myself beautiful, but harder than that, i had to learn to ask the people around me to work on my behalf in order to enrich my life and give me the things i wanted.

and i did it; i learned. and it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train, and every day i get better at accepting gifts with the hungry gratitude i never learned in my years and years as a sad, scared, lonely boy.

so be patient with the trans girls in your life. better than that: be proactive, attentive, generous; be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial that so many of us once learned to rely on.

and if you are so lucky as to love a trans girl, you must insist upon her. you must insist upon her happiness, her comfort, her pleasure, and her rest, because she may still not yet know how to make those demands for herself. if you can devote any amount of energy to becoming an engine that nurtures the flame of even a single tgirl then there is a place for you in trans heaven, which as far as i'm concerned is the only one worth going to

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tojisteddy · 23 hours ago

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Sweet Ride | smut, 18+ MDNI, 1.2k words, softdom!Toji x sweetheart!reader

You’d been 3 months into your relationship when Toji Fushiguro finally realized that you, for some odd reason, loved letting idiots fuck you.

It must’ve been where that very minuscule masochism kink came from. Had to be.

He’d noticed the way you’d get shocked when he went to pay for— well- everything. Didn’t matter if he lost a shit ton from gambling and losing that day, didn’t matter if you went over your own set budget, didn’t matter that you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to look money hungry or if you quickly pulled out your card and paid. He’s sending $300 to you to make up for it. The man. Was going. To pay.

Toji also noticed the way you’d shy away when you realized he was actually listening to the words that came out of your mouth. Informing you that he hated that coworker of Sherl just a little bit more than you did. Plainly telling you ‘no’, he didn’t just want to see just your hair bone straight- he wanted to see your curly hair that framed your face (when you wanted to of course) and that he thought you would look good with any hair color not just the jet black. Or when you only went to make food that he liked,

“But this is what my ex-“

“—Mama, what do you really wanna eat? Tell me or we’ll both starve tonight.”

Truthfully, it irritated the fuck out of the man.

He didn’t get it, how someone so precious got treated like shit on multiple occasions. He kept reminding himself that you weren’t the problem, those fucking dick wads were.

But the irritation jumped back out when you rode him. He knew after that first time (just a week ago) that those fucking idiots didn’t know what the fuck to do with you. He’d cock his eyebrow up at you because he simply couldn’t hide the vexation of it all.

“You don’t like it Toj?” Your voice was hoarse, curls falling over your face, a pout forming.

It was clear the way you moved your hips back and forth, held yourself and didn’t use him for leverage, you rode your ex’s to get them off and nothing more.

More sins against God.

There had to be a scripture about it somewhere, “Never let thou spouse ride-ith you in cowgirl without her cumming.” Or something— the man didn’t know. He knew for a fact, only a bitch would never let a woman cum while she’s riding him.

“Toji? ‘M sorry, it must not be good.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax, not be too touchy. “ ‘S just harder cause you’re so… so big. ‘Nd I- fuck- mmm- don’t think I’ve ever had time to relax like this. I must be takin too long.”

Shit, you frowned, big brown puppy eyes looking down at the green eyed monster and his heart ached. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his poor pretty baby. Sweet doll, don’t you worry your little head. Your Toji would fix this little problem tonight.

And when you two were done, he’d beat the fucking breaks out of each and every single one your exes.

It would cleanse the soul.

“ ‘S okay baby, yer doin good. Need you to relax f’me. Want you to take a little bit more though, hm? You can take it, right? You’re a good girl.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

Such a good girl. Toji’s sweet ‘nd good girl.

Tojis hands pulled you closer. “How do I get ya to relax then? Can you tell me?” You felt your cheeks heat up, shaking your head and attempting to hide yourself in his neck. But Toji kept you still, playfully bumping your foreheads together with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out then,” His hands wandered, up and down your sides, then one staying at the small of your back, the other making its way to your pretty tit in his hand. Slowly massaging it in his palm. “Maybe you like it here?”

You whimpered in his mouth and Tojis scar moved upward in amusement, green eyes low. He left a trail of kiss from your cute cheeks, down to your jaw. “Or here?” Down to your neck, taking a few nibblies here and there. “Or here?”

You let out a soft moan, finally nodding your head.

“Words, mama.” He was stern but you felt the grin against your neck.

“T-there feels— feels so nice Toj.” The man hummed at your words, being sure to praise you with an array of kisses and hickeys for the world to see tomorrow on your neck.

“I-I can move now?” You asked. You felt so full with what he was giving you, but you felt so good with every little kiss the aching tip and veins of his member gave to your walls.

“Course doll.” He enterwinted your fingers, “Gotta take it nice ‘nd slow baby, don’t gotta go fast.”

You gulped, gradually lifting yourself up and down and rocking your hips back and forth, then repeating the motion. Your hands left his large ones, starting to use his shoulders as leverage, “There you go ma, there you fuckin go.”

He hissed, you were a god damn waterfall down there. Toji didn’t even know how the fuck you were still managing to keep him insider everytime you’d move up so just the tip was in, and slamming back down. When you tried to go faster a large calloused hand came down to your ass.

“B-but Tojiii,” you whined, slowly swiveling your hips one time to get a curse out of him. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“ ‘Nd I ‘ppreciate Doll, I do. You feel so fuckin good too ma, but it’s not about me tonight, ‘s about you. Need you to really feel it deep in your pretty pussy.” He gave you a few thrusts, matching your rhythm creating the most beautiful smack smack smack your bedroom has ever heard.

“Take what you need babygirl.”

Toji had a way with words, he’d gotten a pornographic moan from it alone. Your nails dug into his shoulders, the meat of your thighs jiggling every time you came down. Slick drenching Toji’s cock, your thighs were burning but you kept moving. Chasing your high with every bounce on his fat fuck.

“Goooood girl, now you got it doll.”

“I can— I can take more Toji.” You stammered out.

“I’d loooove that sweetheart— shit ma- but not tonight. Ngh— This is just enough.”

“But—“

“-Aht,” he grumbled, helping you move your hips as you got just a tad too slow for his liking, “don’t bite more than you can chew. Come on, you can make yourself and your boyfriend cum, can’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you were grinding and slamming yourself down what you could take as hard as ever getting a loud from Toji. You were such a good and fast leaner, the man would have to keep you. Train you to do other things, soon enough you’d be able to take all of him. You were fucking pulsing like a over worked heartbeat around him as a wave of emotions smacked you over the head, a string of fuck fuck fuck and Toji Toji Toji leaving your mouth.

The man growled, giving your ass a few harsh smacks as he rapidly thrust into you. You never knew when you were cumming so you never vocalized it.

You’d work on that too.

Quickly pulling out, spurts of his cum hit your stomach. You both were panting messes, Toji’s pink lips meeting your temple, then your soft full lips.

“Good fuckin job, mama.”

a/n: ride the dragon by fka twigs

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shadowgamerhalo · 22 hours ago

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My early child years I was a morning person, but the older I got that's when the shift happened. I became someone who woke up in the afternoon most days. How I was treated for this was horrendous. My several of my siblings would comment on or mock me for it, especially on the occasions i was awake in the morning. My mom often threatened to take away things just cause I couldn't wake up in the morning. And mind you I say couldn't as in, I tried to wake up in the morning, my body wouldn't let me. I often would say it knew how much sleep I needed better than I did.

When I started college it was absolute hell, my sleep schedule became so bad that I was sleep deprived during school days, sleeping well into the evening when not going to school.

On top of this, my body had the usual sleep problems, such as can't fall asleep cause of restlessness, seeing things in the dark, racing thoughts. And when I did sleep, sometimes I'd be woken up by nightmares, and some nights I couldn't sleep after them.

I had no control over my sleep, it was exhausting. I tried everything my family told me over and over to do, cause somehow if I did them, I'd be able to wake up in the mornings. None of them worked, and I hated every time someone mentioned how tired I was, mentioned my sleeping habits. I researched everything I could, until someone outside the family mentioned something called melatonin. So I went into more research with that and decided to take the supplement.

This actually helped me fix my sleep schedule, and figure out why my body was doing it. Firstly, children and teenagers need more sleep. Secondly, my body was trying to help me with my growing sleep problems, even if that meant I slept in more often. Thirdly, when I went to college it required me to wake up extremely early, when I normally would be sleeping, my body's circadian rhythm was thrown off badly because of this. Fourthly, I kept inside so much my body wasn't able to produce enough of the melatonin it was already low on supplies with, because of the very people who demanded I wake up earlier.

There wasn't anything wrong with my younger self waking up 10-12, I wasn't harming nobody, in fact those were my more restful days, when I was actually able to sleep as much as I needed to. Messing with my balance was actually what fucked with me, and my body suffered the price for it.

Now days my sleep schedule is forced to do mornings, however it's now a lot healthier than it was in college, as the melatonin sorts out most of the sleep problems, and being away from my family sorts out the others most of the time. And I have one day where I get to sleep in as much as I need to, and yeah my body wakes me up on that day normally at 10 to 11 am. Goes to show I'm still not a morning person, mornings are just because of my work schedule.

I still think it’s objectively fucked how the world is built for morning people and if you wake up later than everyone else you’re seen as a malicious aberration of some sort. I am that but it’s not because I wake up at 11 fuck yourself

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jaeclerc · 2 years ago

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sebastian vettel was a bastard. he was an absolute bastard and charles would let him know when he got back to HQ, that he was a fucking prick for setting charles up to fail like this. there was zero chance he didn’t.

“percival.” lando crackled over his in ear, shocking him from the absolute rage seething in his blood and into the current situation of sitting in front of him. “just make your escape, mate. we’ll reconvene and work out what to do next.”

charles hummed, his lips turning up as he looked back at the man in front of him, looking him over as if he was trying to appreciate the man in front of him and not attempting to calculate how he could get the fuck out of there. he mourned the work he had done for months to reel this man in, the hours spent sexting and sending digital nudes that he giggled over with lando just to get an in.

but this was obviously a failed honeypot plot and he just needed to cut his losses and use what he managed to glean from his suspect.

“ah, Mathieu.” he simpered, his lips turning into a slight pout. “i need to use the restroom, but i’ll be right back, love.” he tucked his napkin on the table, got up gracefully, and walked proudly to the bathroom, giving his hips just a little sway because he knew the other man was watching.

“charles.” great. max was also watching his absolute failure of a mission through his glasses. he loved his best friend but he didn’t love how he always managed to get the missions that didn’t involve fucking old men digitally to get secrets from them.

he was a kingsman and he was giggling his way through dinner with some millionaire who was supposedly involved in some high level trafficking scheme just to try and fuck him and gain access to his house.

turns out, even millionaires are lonely and some even just pay others tons of money to sext them and go to dinner. who would’ve known!

“merlin, why is agent tristen monitoring my stream? and not at home with his loving husband and cats?” he hissed through his teeth, his lips quirked down into a frown as he looked at them through his glasses, adjusting his suit as he wiggled out the bathroom window.

he’s the second youngest kingsman agent, second to only max himself and here he was: wiggling his hips through a bathroom window to escape his atrocious date. how high class and gentleman of him.

“well agent percival because—“ lando is cut off by max presumably smacking him before coming over his comm and saying “don’t worry about it.”

charles knew that max wanted to watch how bad this date would go, that asshole. using his shit missions as his own personal entertainment.

“when i get back and i’m done kicking seb’s ass, i’m kicking both of yours too.” he whispered, furiously tugging his smoking jacket down to proper level in the back alley of the restaurant.

“charles.” charles hated when sebastian used that tone of voice with him, like he knew better than him. he did, but it still made charles huff and get frustrated. “i didn’t set you up. i fully believed in your capacity to extract the information we needed. you already did. we just needed him to be tracked, but it would help if he had access to the information we need.”

charles crossed his arms tighter around him, lips pressed into a frown that he was willing to not turn into a pout. he wanted to protest that cases like these were below his pay grade and ability.

“seb.” he huffed “i spent months virtually making a relationship with this man because everyone assured me he had information we needed to access this ring. he is just a lonely old man who wanted company. the most he ever did was hire an escort who happened to be apart of this ring. i wasted months of my life on this project and now all everyone has to say is it’s a shame that he was a dud.” his pout came out, he couldn’t help it. he was better than these stupid little projects.

charles joined kingsman and fought to the top of his selection pool to be a spy and to save the world and help people. and here he was, honeypotting and getting nothing as a result while people like max were diffusing bombs and saving the world.

“that’s still valuable information gained, charles. that’s still information that helps us.” sebastian tried to calm him but he was worked up.

“why does max get to do all these interesting things and lando gets to be cool tech support and carlos is currently under cover as a fucking billionaire ambassador in brazil but i have to honeypot and sleep with old men for lousy information that we could’ve gained by so many other means?” charles rolled his eyes as he uncrossed his eyes and gestured to the men in question who were just outside the door, listening in to hear their spat.

“well-“ sebastian started, but charles cut him off, hissing “if you say i am the prettiest agent, you will not like my reaction.”

he finished with “you are the prettiest agent.”

charles yelled in frustration.

#charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #sebchal #right so.#there’s more to this but i needed to get something out #this is so terrible im sorry LMFAO #please let me know ur thoughts #kingsman au

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ralabbit · 2 days ago

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I hate when people say ai makes art more accessible. These people have never made art and they don't even know it. Ai didn't give them the ability to make art. It actually makes it less accessible by discouraging beginner artists from putting in the effort. I think there is a fear of making bad art now and the internet in general is very hostile to beginners. Like if you can't draw good, you will never be able to draw good and people online will hate you. So you need to use ai for "accessibility". Because it isn't "fair" that artists who have honed their craft for years and years are better than you. And it's apparently ableist to think otherwise (despite the fact that historically disabled people have always been making art) But if you genuinely are entirely unable to create art (which is incredibly unlikely, to be completely honest with you especially if you're able to type out pro ai messages). If you genuinely are incapable of making art (and I don't mean "good" art, because no one starts out good. This is not an inate ability that can be lacked. It is not a deficiency that a select few are born with) Then ai will not open the doors to your ability to create. Because you'll have no part in the creating. And if you genuinely have something that prevents you entirely from making art, then I truly feel for you. I do. Because you'll never ve able to make art. AI will never be able to give you the ability to make art. I know this sounds harsh.

Ai isn't a tool to make the art process easier, it is more like delegating the process to someone else. It's like if you hired an artist and comissioned them to draw something. And then, upon receiving the artwork, you called yourself an artist. It's illogical. It's delusional. It entirely goes against common sense. But at least in that situation, you are contributing financially. You aren't the artist, but in a way, you've played a role in the art, by enabling the artist to be able to support themselves while making the art. With AI, you've lost that too. You're less of an artist than someone who is purchasing a commission from an artist, not only are you not the artist, you're also actively hurting artists.

A five year old child scribbling on the wall is more of an artist than you. The smudged remnants of their creativity after their parents attempted and failed to fully clean it off; it's ugly, but it's more art than your generated images. And then, in a little over a decade, the child has grown up and is moving out to college, and it's awkward and sad in the final hours before getting in the car and then the mom sees the wall, still smudged after so many years, and she laughs, and she tells the child the story again. And the child rolls their eyes because they've heard it so many times, but secretly, they're happy to hear it. They can be a child for a little while longer.

Their little sister is in middle school. She's drawing something angry in her English notebook. She is more of an artist than you too. Her parents are fighting and she misses her brother. She doesn't care about school. She wears headphones in class and doesn't listen to the teachers. When they yell at her, she yells back. And then, one day, her English teacher notices her drawings. And she remembers how she felt as a little girl when her parents were fighting, before the divorce. How she felt all alone in the world. She tells the girl, "I'm here for you, okay?"

The older sibling is studying to be a doctor. It's stressful, and they're overwhelmed. They put on the playlist their younger sister made for them. It feels like home. It calms them down. The music is what gets them through med school. They become an anesthesiologist. Their sister's playlist plays in the operating room, calming down worried patients.

One day, the siblings' mom is home, recovering from a surgery of her own. She's disabled and spends long periods of time in bed, recovering. She knits sweaters, finding the repetitive nature of the task comforting. It's summer now, and the sweaters won't be used for a while. The younger sister's sweater from last winter sits on her bed in her art school dorm. It's her favorite colors. It emanates love. The older sibling has it hung in their closet. Seeing it, they remember to call their mom to check on her. To make sure she's getting enough fluids and not overexerting herself, the doctor in them showing as brightly as the patterns on the sweater.

When the dad gets sick, really really sick, the kind that you don't recover from, he moves back into the family house. The mom hands him a sweater and the daughter hands him a hand drawn card. The eldest child sees these thoughtful gifts decides to sing him a song on the spot. They're an awful singer. But everyone is smiling and soon they're all singing along. The wall is still smudged behind them.

Your image sits on the internet, empty and lifeless.

Unpopular opinion but if you don't enjoy the process you should find a different thing to do.

And I think this is true in general but now I'm talking about it in the context of AI.

If you don't enjoy making art and only care about the end piece and how it'll look and how much traction it"lol get online then making art is not something for you, find something you enjoy from start to finish.

Same goes for writing: if you do not enjoy writing and rewriting and then some more and instead want AI to write for you, being a writer is not something you should pursue.

Sure, not every part of creative process is going to be equally enjoyable but you should get satisfaction from solving the problems along the way and you should get a sense of accomplishment on your way of "making the piece yours" and you should have a sense of ownership once you are done.

None of these things will come from typing in a prompt into chatGPT. And I am sad to see so many people are missing on the opportunity to experience the joy of making something with their own hands and brains.

#anti ai #rabbit says things

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