#you know. you know where to find me. you know. you know where to find me

[abedmajeed]

Who I Am & Why I’m Here 💙

Hey everyone, my name is Abdelmajed. I don’t usually talk much about myself, but today, I want to share a little piece of my story.

I was born and raised in Gaza, a place that has always been my home 🏡. I grew up surrounded by my family, my friends, and the streets that I knew like the back of my hand. Life wasn’t always easy, but we had love, laughter, and dreams. I used to think that no matter what happened, home would always be here. But life has a way of changing things in ways we never expect.

Over the past months, everything I once knew has disappeared. The streets that were once filled with children playing are now silent. The houses that held so many memories are now just rubble. And the people I loved—some of them are gone forever. 💔

But I don’t want this to just be a story of loss. I want it to be a story of hope. No matter how much has changed, I refuse to stop believing in better days. I refuse to stop dreaming of a future where I can rebuild, where I can find peace, where I can wake up in the morning without fear.

That’s why I’m here. To share my journey. To connect with people who believe in kindness and humanity. To remind myself—and anyone reading this—that even in the darkest times, there is still light. ✨

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I’d love to get to know you too. Tell me something about yourself in the comments. Let’s build something positive together. 💬💙

And I'm now waiting to be Vetted by @gazavetters 🙏

[averageestrogenenjoyer]

Brienne of Frickin' Tarth!!!! best girl!! best girl brienne!!!!

Oh my god oh my god oh my god but thinking about Brienne and how she didn’t reject her femininity by choice but everyone else rejected it for her because she wasn’t conventionally attractive so the only role she felt she could fit in to in society’s eyes was that of a warrior and how she was in love with Renly because he was nice to her and danced with her and treated her how all the other girls her age were treated even if it was just for a night and how she never feels like she fits in as a woman because she’s ugly but she never fits in as a man because she isn’t a man but she can’t go back now that she knows what its like to be free from those constraints but there is still a small part of her that wonders what it would be like if maybe, just maybe… and I just… George had absolutely no right to write a character that good

[howslemon]

Perfect Translation

IVE Rei x Male Reader

Words: 3.2k+

*Japanese

.

The forty-story glass building loomed before you, its sleek facade reflecting the morning sun. You smoothed down your suit coat, gripping your company ID like a lifeline. Your supervisor's words echoed in your mind: "Just a casual check-in with our Japanese partners." Easy for him to say, he wasn't the one navigating Tokyo without speaking the language.

The security guard accepted your ID with both hands, his expression courteous but firm. After a brief examination, he returned it with a gesture toward the waiting area. The glossy pamphlet on the side table offered little comfort. Its characters might as well have been abstract art.

"Good afternoon sir,"

The voice pulled your attention from the pamphlet. A woman stood before you, her presence commanding yet graceful. Her dark hair fell just past her shoulders, complementing the sharp lines of her business attire.

"Naoi Rei, I’ll be assisting you for today." she introduced herself, extending a hand. Her handshake was firm, professional. "Please follow me."

.

The elevator ride was quiet for the soft jazz playing overhead. You noticed how she stood, straight-backed, hands clasped before her, the very picture of corporate professionalism.

"First time in Japan sir?" she asked warmly, softening the elevator's fluorescent lighting.

"That obvious huh?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "You have that look about you. Wide-eyed, just taking everything in." She turned slightly toward you. "Tokyo can be overwhelming at first."

"Any suggestions for a newcomer?"

"I know quite a few hidden gems in the city." Her eyes met yours briefly. "Places tourists never find."

The elevator chimed, interrupting whatever was building in that moment. Rei gestured for you to follow, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. The office buzzed with quiet energy, the soft murmur of voices, the gentle hum of computers, the distant ring of phones.

Rei led you to a meeting room along the corner, where an executive in his fifties greeted you with a slight bow. His silver-streaked hair and wire-rimmed glasses gave him an air of distinguished authority.

"Welcome," he said warmly. "I trust you found us without too much trouble?"

Rei translated, voice replicating the same warmth. Was it your imagination, or did her eyes linger on yours a moment longer than necessary?

"The building was hard to miss," you replied, settling into the chair she indicated. The seating arrangement placed Rei between you and the executive, close enough that you caught the subtle scent of her perfume.

"Well, shall we discuss how the partnership has been progressing?"

Rei translated, but this time, she carried a hint of playfulness. "He wants to know how well we work together." Her emphasis on 'we' was subtle but unmistakable.

.

The conversation flowed, a dance of languages and meanings. With each translation, Rei seemed to grow bolder, a lingering glance here, a subtle shift in her chair there. Her translations remained professional, but her body language told a different story.

"How do you manage your team?" the executive asked, innocently enough.

Rei's eyes sparkled as she translated. "He's curious about how you... handle things." Her foot brushed against yours under the table, too deliberate to be accidental.

"I believe in being... hands-on when necessary," you replied, maintaining eye contact.

She turned to the executive, translating your words with perfect professionalism, but her crossed legs angled slightly more toward you. The rest of the meeting became a delicate balance, maintaining corporate decorum while an undercurrent of tension built with each exchanged glance, each "accidental" touch.

The executive seemed pleased with the discussion, checking his watch. "I believe we've covered everything now, unless you have any other questions?"

Rei's translation came with a subtle bite of her lip. "He's wrapping up. But I'm sure there's more we could... discuss."

The professional facade was cracking, replaced by something electric, dangerous, and entirely unprofessional. But as you caught her eye, you knew neither of you cared anymore. "That could be arranged,"

Rei’s eyes lingered onto yours a bit longer than necessary as she turned to the executive. "I have no other questions,"

As the executive gathered his papers, Rei translated his closing remarks with perfect professionalism, but her eyes told a different story entirely. The tension that had been building throughout the meeting was reaching its breaking point.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet today," the executive said, standing and extending his hand.

"He said thank you for the stimulating... conversation," Rei translated, her voice low enough that only you could hear the suggestion in her tone.

You shook the executive's hand, maintaining your composure despite the heat crawling up your neck. After exchanging pleasantries, Rei led you back into the hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor with newfound purpose.

"I should show you around before you leave," she said, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, not that anyone understood it anyway. Then, leaning closer, she whispered, "There's a utility room at the end of this hallway. Nobody uses it this time of day."

Your pulse quickened as you followed Rei down the corridor, past busy offices and meeting rooms. To anyone watching, it was just the translator guiding a visitor, nothing more.

She slowed her pace as you approached a door near the end of the hall. Glancing quickly in both directions, Rei reached for the handle.

The door opened to reveal a small storage room, shelves of office supplies, a utility sink, and not much else. But neither of you were looking at the surroundings as she pulled you inside, closing the door behind you.

She locked the door. The moment it clicked, she turned to you, professionalism cracking at the edges. "So," she murmured, voice dipping lower, "let's talk about that hands-on management style."

You didn’t bother with words.

Your mouth was on hers in an instant, capturing her gasp as you pressed her against the nearest shelf. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t patient. The tension that had been building throughout the meeting snapped in an instant.

She matched your urgency, her hands already at your tie, loosening it with quick, practiced movements. Your fingers traced the buttons of her blouse, slipping one free, then another, revealing smooth skin beneath.

"I've been thinking about this since I saw you through the lobby," Rei whispered against your mouth, her fingers already working at your tie.

The confined space of the storage room amplified every breath, every rustle of clothing, every muffled sound, everything. Your hands found her waist, the smooth fabric of her blouse a stark contrast to the heat emanating from beneath.

"Someone could hear us," you murmured, even as your actions contradicted your words.

"Then we'll have to be quiet," she replied, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Her fingers moved with surprising dexterity, undoing your coat with practiced ease. "Unless you want me to translate that too? Let them know what we’re doing."

The joke broke the tension for just a moment before it rebuilt, stronger than before. Your hands found the edge of her skirt, bunching the fabric as she pressed harder against you.

"No more talking," she commanded, professional composure completely forgotten. She reached for your belt, working it open with precision.

The small room felt electric, charged with the hours of pent-up energy released in this stolen moment. Office supplies rattled on nearby shelves as you both moved against them, neither caring about maintaining order anymore.

You turned her around swiftly, hands rested on the curve of her hips, guiding her against the stacked shelf. Her breath hitched as your fingers slid up the smooth skin of her thighs, bunching her skirt higher until it barely covered her. Her palms pressed against the shelf, nails barely scratching the metal frame as she arched back, offering herself without a word. You could feel the heat radiating from between her legs, her body betraying how long she’d been waiting for this.

"You're already soaked," you murmured, running a finger along the thin strip of fabric that barely covered her. A soft, muffled gasp escaped her lips as you traced slow circles over her panties, teasing, taunting.

"Do you want me to translate how much I need you right now?" she whispered, voice thick with desire.

Instead of answering, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and tugged her panties down, letting them slide past her thighs before they dropped to her ankles. She kicked them aside without hesitation, spreading her legs wider in silent invitation.

Your fingers dipped between her folds, spreading her open, feeling how wet she was. "Fuck," you breathed, dragging your fingertips through the slickness before pressing one inside her. She clenched around you instantly, her breath catching as she bit back a moan.

"You need to be quiet," you reminded her, sliding another finger in, stretching her, curling just enough to make her shudder. "Unless you want everyone out there to know what a filthy little professional you really are."

Her head dropped forward, forehead resting against the shelf as she fought to control herself. You freed yourself, lining up at her entrance, teasing her with the head of your cock.

You gripped her hips, holding her still as you teased her entrance, rubbing against her, coating yourself in her wetness. "Tell me how badly you want it."

She turned her head slightly, eyes blazing as she met your gaze over her shoulder. "I’ve wanted it the second I saw you in that lobby," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Now stop teasing and fuck me."

A growl rumbled low in your throat as you thrust into her, burying yourself in one smooth, deep stroke. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, fingers tightening around the edge of the shelf. You gave her a moment to adjust before pulling back and slamming into her again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the small space.

"God—" she gasped, cutting herself off, trying to suppress her moans.

You grinned, gripping a handful of her hair and pulling her head back. "Careful," you warned, your lips brushing her ear. "Wouldn't want anyone to walk in and see you like this, bent over, dripping, taking every inch like you were made for it."

Her only response was a desperate whimper, her walls tightening around you, her body pushing back against yours, seeking more. You gave it to her fast, deep, relentless. The shelf rocked against the wall with every thrust, papers slipping loose, pens scattering onto the floor, but neither of you cared.

"You're so fucking tight," you groaned, your grip on her hips bruising as you drove into her harder, faster. She was trembling now, her legs shaking, her breath uneven as she neared the edge.

"Please," she panted, barely able to get the word out. "Don’t stop."

You reached around, finding her clit, rubbing harsh, quick circles in time with your thrusts. Her whole body tensed, back arching, muscles tightening as she came hard around you, her orgasm crashing over her in silent, shaking waves, pushing your cock out of her.

You felt her soft thighs press around your length. The slick wetness from her previous orgasm made it easy for your cock to slide in and out smoothly between the soft flesh of meat, lightly brushing her still dripping folds. Each slow thrusts teasing, matched with your hand creeping up to her perfectly sized breast.

Rei let out cute little whimpers, her fingers tightening around the shelf, trying to steady herself as you plant gentle kisses along her nape. You ran your hands up her sides, tracing her ribs through the thin fabric of her blouse before gripping her waist again, controlling her movements, making sure she felt every inch of you sliding between her thighs.

Her thighs squeezed tighter, the sensation delicious as you picked up the pace, fucking into that soft, slick heat. You could feel how wet she still was, how close she was again. "Sensitive?" You murmured against her ear, dragging your lips along the curve of her neck, sucking lightly, just enough to make her jerk, but not enough pressure to leave a mark, at least not for now.

Rei shivered, nodding weakly as she bit her lip before turning her face to you. Your fingers trailed down, dipping between her legs, teasing her folds just as your cock slid past. She jerked against you, a sharp inhale escaping her lips as you circled her clit again, rubbing in time with your thrusts. Her pleading eyes stared at yours, full of hunger, desires. Warm breaths hitting you before you closed the tiny gap in between your faces, claiming her plump lips, tounges slithering together, savoring each other’s taste.

There she was again with her cute whimpers, this time, against your mouth, her body trembling against yours, breathing uneven. Lewd wet sounds of your exchanged heat echoing the small space, the universal language of sex that didn’t need any translation for anyone to understand.

You felt yourself getting close, the friction of her plush thighs, the heat of her soaked pussy just barely out of reach, driving you to the edge. You pulled back at the last second, gripping her hips with both hands as you turned her around. Rei blinked up at you, dazed, her pupils blown wide with lust. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing still ragged.

Her back hitting the shelf as you lifted one of her legs, hitching it over your arm. The new angle exposed everything, her swollen, dripping entrance, still twitching from her last orgasm, waiting, begging for you to fill her again with your cock.

You lined yourself up, teasing her entrance with the head of your cock, reveling in the way she shuddered, her fingers gripping at your shoulders for support.

"Please…" Her voice was barely a whisper, but the desperation in it made something snap inside you. You thrust into her in one hard stroke, burying yourself to the hilt. The shelves behind her hit against the wall, the remaining office supply containers dropping down the floor. You somehow felt bad for someone who’s gonna clean all this mess, the wasted sheet of papers already unusable, soaked with Rei’s cum.

You didn’t give her time to adjust this time. You set a punishing rhythm, deep, unrelenting, each thrust forcing her against the shelf, her body completely at your mercy. Her nails dug into your shoulders as she held on, breaking her with every thrust. "Too much—!"

"You can take it," you growled, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at you. Her lips trembled, breath hot and uneven as she stared up at you, pupils wide, drowning in lust. "Yes, I can—ahh!"

You slammed into her harder, watching her back arch, her body forced against the shelf. The unrelenting force of your thrusts shaking both her and the unstable storage behind her.

"Don’t stop…" she gasped, nails raking down your back through the fabric of your shirt, her legs tightening around you as you drove into her relentlessly.

You grabbed her other thigh, lifting her completely off the ground, pressing her against the cold metal shelf as you held her in place, using your strength to fuck into her at a brutal pace. She had no choice but to take it, her body fully surrendered to you, trembling, shaking, as pleasure wracked through her.

"I-I’m gonna—!"

You felt it, her walls spasming around you, body shaking, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she—

Somebody knocked, forcing you to stay absolutely still, cock still burried deep into her, painfully halting Rei’s climax. You covered her mouth, preventing any unwanted cries of pleasure to be heard by someone out there. She’s still gasping, trying to catch her breath as you slowly continue your pace.

"What did he say?" You whispered before letting go of her mouth.

"Just asking if someone’s here,"

Coast is clear, you heard footsteps walking away from the room. You stared at each other, letting out breathy laughs.

"You were so close," you murmured against her ear, feeling the way her walls still fluttered around you, desperate for the release that had been stolen from her.

"F-fuck... I hate you," Rei whispered breathlessly, forehead pressing against yours, her nails digging into your shoulders. But her body betrayed her, still shifting against you, still silently pleading for more.

You smirked, pulling back just enough to watch her face as you rolled your hips, slow and deep, pressing her further into the cold shelf. "Hate me?" Another slow, deliberate thrust. "Or hate that I stopped?"

"A bit of both," she gasped, tilting her head back as pleasure took over her again.

"You wanna cum?"

Rei nodded frantically, staring at you with lips slightly parted, already lost in it again. "Please, make me cum,"

You gripped her thighs tighter, pressing it higher against your waist as you snapped your hips forward, resuming the brutal rhythm she needed, slamming into her deep and hard. She cried out, her voice muffled against your shoulder, her nails scratching down your back.

"You wanna scream?" you taunted, breath hot against her neck. "But you can’t, can you? Not unless you want them to hear how filthy you are, getting fucked like this in a storage room."

She nodded weakly, biting her lip to keep the moans inside.

"Then cum," you growled, thrusting harder, fingers digging into her skin as you drove her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, her pussy clenching down on you, squeezing tight as she came violently, her muffled moan vibrating against your skin.

You groaned, feeling the way she milked your cock, every pulse pushing you closer, her tight, dripping heat dragging you into oblivion.

"Fuck Rei,"

You buried yourself as deep as you could, white-hot pleasure crashing over you as you came inside her, filling her completely. She whimpered, shivering as she felt it, her body still shaking, still coming down from her high as you spilled every last drop into her.

Silence settled between you, both panting, pressed against each other, sweaty, spent.

You finally dropped her legs down as you pulled back, watching your cum slowly dripping on her thighs. "Messy…" you murmured, smirking.

Rei let out a breathy laugh, legs still weak, arms wrapped lazily around your shoulders. "That was the best fuck I’ve had here."

You kissed her—slow, deep, savoring the taste of her.

"Should we clean up?" You pressed your forehead to hers, glancing around the wreckage of the storage room, office supplies scattered, papers ruined, and the unmistakable scent of sex heavy in the air.

"Should we?"

You both chuckled, fixing yourselves back into the professionals that you were before you went in that room. "You free tonight?" You ask her.

She leaned against the shelf to steady herself, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tonight?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"My hotel." you replied, straightening your tie.

Rei glanced at her watch, then took out a business card. She flipped it over, writing something on the back before pressing it into your palm. Her fingers lingered against yours.

With that, she unlocked the door, checked the hallway, and slipped out, once again the perfect professional. But the card in your hand, warm from her touch, promised this was only the beginning.

••••••••••

Extended version of @mintwithchoco's prompt.

[illustoryart]

I have very bad not at all good news considering my Good Omens stuff. This morning, I got a email that every fan artist dreads.

This letter includes 80+ pages of screenshots from my Ko-fi, printshops, and socials, even my Twitter header, where I simply listed my main fandoms.

They’ve also demanded to delete all the freebies: PDF version of Ineffable Affirmations and wallpaper packs (not sure how free/donate stuff violates IP, but that's what they say).

I will have to comply with these demands — if they start any legal process, it would be absolutely catastrophic. 

They also have the right to block or deactivate my social media for IP infringement, which would be basically a starvation sentence for me and my family, so I don't have any other options.

Yes, I should have seen it coming — it was always a grim possibility. But right now is quite literally the worst time to get a letter like this. I had planned to gradually shift toward creating more original content, but the war and forced emigration disrupted everything. 

When we suddenly lost all our sources of income, I had to stick back to drawing mostly fanart. Basically the tiny amount of money I got from Ko‑fi and occasional commissions, was all our means for survival these years. 

All this time, we’ve been trying to find a safer place to live — an incredibly difficult process with Russian passports. And just yesterday, we got an invitation to apply for a long stay French visa.

The cruel irony of it all...

Honestly, I am shaken and trying not to fall into despair. 

If we get these visas, we will have to move in April, which means we’ll need A LOT of money for tickets, rent, transporting our stuff, and who knows what else. If you ever moved between countries, you can imagine that.

I was hoping our Ko‑fi and the new projects we planned for this year would make it possible. But now, we have to delete most of the shop and cancel half of the projects we were working on. 

I’m very scared, and have no idea what to do now.

I have to remove everything before March 9th. 

Tomorrow, I’ll set the lowest possible prices on all our GO items. If you wanted something from these collections, this will be literally the last chance.

Please, please tell me everything is going to be okay 😰

[jan1on]

hi, can you write a fanfic about Lando Norris and the reader, where the reader is not a native English speaker and is preparing for an english exam, and Lando helps her, but a little silly and funny

Learning his language

Summary: Reader is studying English since she goes to university in Monaco. But her boyfriend is a menace and wants her attention.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: Lando being a menace.

an: Thank you for this request, I’m sorry it took time! English is also not my first language and there can be typos in this, that’s why it also took time to make this because I wanted to give it justice 🩵

Lando Norris had always been a menace—never in a malicious way, but in the way that he found immense joy in teasing people, especially when they were flustered. And right now, sitting across from Y/N, watching her struggle with her English test preparation, he was having the time of his life.

She was curled up on his couch, surrounded by a mess of notes, a textbook flipped open on one side, and a notebook filled with frantic scribbles in her lap. Her lips moved slightly as she tried to pronounce a sentence under her breath, her Italian accent slipping through. Lando, of course, found this incredibly entertaining.

“I can help you with this. Just repeat after me.” He said, looking like he’s going to say something stupid. “No, you’re disturbing my peace when I’m studying.” She stated , trying to focus on her studies while her boyfriend was as annoying as always.

“You’re no fun, live a little.” He groaned, finding her too boring when she’s focusing on something other than him. “That’s not my problem.” She mumbled, continuing her work.

“Just one!” he pleaded, taking her notes from her until she gave into him. With a dramatic sigh, she gave in. “Fine. What is it?” His smirk grew impossibly wider. “Say: Lando Norris is the best driver in Formula 1.” Her jaw dropped. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Y/N!” he nudged her playfully. “It’s just English practice.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not saying something that isn’t true.”

Lando gasped, hand flying to his chest as if she had physically wounded him. “Wow. Betrayed in my own home.” She bit back a grin. “Fine, I’ll say it.” Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes and said, “Lando Norris is… a very average Formula 1 driver.”

His mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. “You little—!” Before he could retaliate, she grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, giggling as he barely managed to dodge.

“You are so lucky I like you,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smile. She grinned back at him, eyes twinkling. “I know.”

[nanamiskentos]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[muqingslover]

Ok, so... this might be a bit of a +18 think piece, but... what do you think the lads men would have as their top 3 kinks? I started thinking about it after I read the Xavier somno one, lol. Maybe I'm crazy but I think Caleb would have blindfolds/rope play in his top 3 (on mc not on him, since he wants to see all of you but is very resultant to show all of himself back due to fear of rejection+ if mc is tied up she can't leave)

[ choosing only three was a lot harder than I thought whew. Also, I'm testing out different layouts rn so don't mind me (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ]

Xavier

Predator/Prey Play: This guy is the literal definition of wolf in sheep's clothing. What gets him going is the thrill of the hunt and the turntables (his specialty), which is why he will often let you think you're in control and have your fun teasing him only to then pounce when you least expect. If you run from him then you better pray he won't catch you or not.

Exhibitionism: This might be a hot take but walk with me. Xavier is a very jealous man so he won't ever allow anyone to actually see you, buuuut he is very into letting others know you belong to him. You gotta leave for a mission with someone else? Not to worry, all he needs is 10 minutes in the bathroom stall. The bread guy is back at it again? It can't be helped, he'll just have to fuck against the door while he's knocking to show you're busy. He'd love to see you struggling (and failing) to keep your voice down and looks like a smug cat when others notice the marks he left on you.

Cunnilingus: This man eats pussy like a goddamn champ. He absolutely adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, to the point he finds it comforting, and the feeling of his tongue stretching open your dripping pussy for his cock later. Your taste is something he could have every day, which he will if you let him, and he takes pride when you're left a writhing, whimpering mess that begs for him to fuck you.

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Zayne

Bondage: The joke about him tying MC up with surgical knots was definitely not a joke. In my opinion, rather than the power rush over the control he has over you, what really gets him off is the trust you put in his hands. Bondage is all about having faith in your partner to never truly hurt you and knowing you see him that way makes him feel beyond special. Given the chance he'd love to have you wrapped in dark blue, silky ribbons and the aftercare is top tier with this guy.

Lingerie: For some reason I feel like Zayne is REALLY into seeing you wearing lingerie. Ladies, feel free to tease him by telling him you're wearing one, but not letting him see until he's home much later. He'll spend the entire day imagining what type of lace you have under your clothes and he pretty please asks you to strip for him as a reward for waiting.

Phone Sex: Another one I just have a feeling it's his thing. I mean, he is a busy man and sometimes it can't be helped, people have needs yk. He'd like the feeling of knowing you think of him as much as he does of you when the other is not around. The photos you send and the sounds of your needy whines right next to his ear goes straight to his cock and he is mortified when the post-nut clarity hits him and he realizes what he did in his own office.

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Caleb

Overstimulation: I'm an overly sensitive Caleb truther. The overstimulation has his head spinning so good that he can barely form a coherent thought that isn't your name while he slams into your pussy for the nth time like a desperate man. He doesn't want to simply break you he wants to break together, to the point neither of you can think about anything else besides how good it feels.

Roleplaying: I've lost count of the amount of times we've seen him and MC roleplaying and this man will unironically take it to the bedroom. It starts as a joke where he's only doing it to make you laugh, but then he won't allow you to break character and will edge you until you say your "lines" correctly. Forceful and cold soldier? Check. Teasing and pervy Gege? of course. A loving and gentle husband? Sign him up. Strict teacher? No need to ask twice.

Brat Taming: Now defying Caleb is the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull and you better run because when he catches you you're done for. He needs you to need him as much as he needs you and if he has to break you for you to admit it then he will. The rush of being the one in charge and "taking care" of you in a way no one else will is enough to have his cock throbbing.

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Sylus

Breeding AND Biting: These two go hand in hand every time you have sex with him. He craves to have a family with you but, more than anything, he wants you to be as full of him as his heart is of you. He wants you to be so filled with his cum that he has to keep his cock inside otherwise it'll leak out of you. He absolutely enjoys the slippery mess your warm insides become when he rocks his hips into you, slowly but deep, pushing his cum even further into your womb and hoping you'll get pregnant.

Body Worship: I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sylus is a lover boy! ! ! Each kiss on your skin is an offering, a promise and a worship. He wants to know the parts of your body not even you do and give you the love you deserve. The praises he whispers against your body are similar to a prayer and he could spend years exploring every inch of you without ever getting tired. You're the very reason for his existence and any less is just unacceptable.

Size: This guy is not only big but he's also very large. He is a softie who likes to tease you about how small you are compared to him while he holds your hand and pretends he doesn't hear your complaints about him suffocating you after the draped his heavy body over yours. That feeling of satisfaction extends when he has to gently coo you and kiss your tears away while he's spreading your little hole open. He can't help the fangy grin on his lips when he feels his cock bulge on your tummy and he holds your hand over the spot so you feel how deep he is inside of you as well.

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Rafayel

Rough Sex: Another controversial take but I feel like he's a secret sadist just not the extreme type. Man can flip his demeanor from "harmless babyboy" to intimidating sea god in a split second who knows what else he's hiding under that purple wig. He'll keep an almost cold demeanor while he coaxes whimpers out of you in the best way and a wicked smirk spreads across his face at the sight of your tears, spurring him on until he's completely broken you.

Food Play: That's definitely one way to make sure he actually eats. Having you be his meal will make him hungry like never before and oh he absolutely will feast (this may or may not be a reference to this). He makes a point of not using his hands while licking along your skin, tasting the sweet chocolate before he left a purple mark on your thighs. Oh, this goes both ways so please pour wine on him and lick him clean ;)

Body Painting: I forgot if there's an actual English term for this but Rafayel would love to draw on your skin and watch you squirm each time the soft, wet brush went over your perked up nipples. He'd scold you when you move because you're making him smudge the lines and holds you in place with his free hand, warning you to stop or he'll take "extreme measures" to make you keep still. You are the only one he'd ever dare to call a masterpiece.

[inkandapex]

You're worth it

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris and Y/N share an undeniable connection, but the pressures of F1 and personal hesitation have kept them in the "just friends" zone. Despite their close bond, an unspoken tension hangs between them, each moment charged with what-ifs. With a little nudge from fate, aka, their best friend Max, the two are pushed to give things another shot. Will Lando find the courage to make his move, or will Y/N slip through his fingers, forever just out of reach?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, light angst, mentions of anxiety.

Lando’s season had been anything but smooth sailing. Sure, the car was leagues ahead of where it had been, delivering near-constant podiums and even his long-awaited first race win. He was sitting second in the championship, closer to the title than he’d ever been. On paper, it was a dream season. But pressure had a funny way of twisting even the sweetest moments into something suffocating.

Lando had always been good at managing the weight of the sport—keeping his mind sharp, his body stronger. But even the best-built machines showed signs of wear. His friends saw it in the way his laughter didn’t reach his eyes. His team noticed the uncharacteristic silence between debriefs. His fans, ever watchful, caught glimpses of something heavier behind the usual smiles.

Now, with a rare break in the chaos, it was clear that he didn’t just need rest. He needed reinforcements.

“The food I ordered half an hour ago? Yeah… they just told me the restaurant’s actually closed now,” Lando muttered

Max blinked, mouth slightly open. “So… they told you there’s no food, and you died on Tarkov? That’s a double fucking shitter, my jeez.” He dragged a hand down his face, visibly pained for his best mate.

Lando let out a defeated laugh. “Hasn’t exactly been the best couple of months for me, really.”

Max exhaled. “Mate, you need a personal chef or something. You’ve got too much on your plate.”

“I actually have nothing on my plate right now, funnily enough.”

“Right, well—eating weeks-old frozen food from your fridge isn’t exactly the fix, is it?” Max sighed, already knowing that’s exactly what Lando was about to do.

"Don't really have much of a choice now don't I mate?"

"Chat's saying you need a girlfriend" Max states rather matter of factly

"You could say that again"

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A series of persistent knocks, followed by the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand, dragged Lando from the depths of sleep. He groaned, squinting against the soft morning light that seeped through the curtains, his brain sluggish as he reached for his phone.

A slight frown tugged at his face when he saw the caller—one of his closest friends. A couple of missed calls from both them and Max F. only deepened his confusion. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled his hoodie over his head and shuffled toward the door, answering the call as he went.

“Y/N? I just woke up—sorry, could you give me a minute? I’ll call you back, someone’s at the—” He stopped mid-sentence, mid-step.

Because standing on the other side of the door, phone still pressed to their ear, was Y/N. Bags in hand.

"Hey… Max told me you knew I was coming. Him and P just dropped me off. They’re out running a couple of errands," Y/N said, ending the call and slipping her phone into her pocket.

Lando blinked at her, still processing. "No, actually, he didn't. I didn’t even know he was coming here. Did you just get here, or?"

"I landed about two hours ago," she said with a soft laugh. "Been standing here for the past twenty minutes, though."

"Shit, my bad, Y/N. I really didn’t know." Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, his brain scrambling to recall any moment where Max might have maybe mentioned this.

"Hey, it’s all good! Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I really should’ve reached out beforehand anyway. I just thought you and Max had already sorted it out."

"What? No, Y/N, don’t apologize, silly." Lando finally snapped out of his trance and stepped aside. "Come in—fuck, I mean, the apartment’s a mess, but make yourself at home." He quickly reached for some of her bags, ushering her inside before shutting the door behind them.

"What exactly did Max say?" Lando finally asked, still scrambling to pick up the mess scattered across his living room. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you, but this is just so... out of the blue."

"Honestly? He was worried," Y/N admitted, grabbing a few stray items to help. "Said you didn’t seem to be doing too well. Thought maybe you could use some company during the break. Listen, Lando, I came here thinking you knew about this. I completely understand if you’d rather be alone right now—I know you’re busy and all—"

"No!" Lando cut in, pausing mid-cleanup. His expression softened, and for the first time since opening the door, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. "I'm… I'm really glad you're here. Max is right. It hasn’t been easy." He exhaled, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you. For being here. I really appreciate it."

Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he spread his arms. "You gonna hug me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Y/N let out a small laugh, relief washing over her as she finally saw that familiar spark in his eyes. Taking a few steps forward, she let Lando wrap her in a tight hug, his hold warm, grounding. Exactly what he hadn’t realized he needed.

------------------------------------------------------------

The first day of Y/N being there was more housekeeping than anything else. Between cleaning up Lando’s apartment, clearing out the fridge, and fixing up the guest room, the day passed in a blur of chores. By the time Max and P finally arrived, the boys volunteered to head out and pick up some late lunch—partly because there was absolutely nothing to eat at Lando’s place, and partly so Max could finally discuss the sly plan he had cooked up.

A heavy silence filled the car as Lando gripped the wheel, his knuckles tightening against the leather.

"You’re awfully quiet," Max finally said, side-eyeing his best friend from the passenger seat.

"Oh yeah? Wonder why," Lando bit back. "Maybe ‘cause my best friend decided to go behind my back and plan shit without telling me. The fuck were you thinking not mentioning she was coming over to stay?"

"Mate, it was all in good conscience," Max said with an exaggerated sigh. "Plus, what happened between you two… it was months ago—"

"Exactly!" Lando snapped. "I haven’t even been back home to talk about it since. Fuck’s sake, Max… it’s weird enough I haven’t seen her in ages, but springing this on me? That’s insane, even for you."

Max groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Why can’t the two of you just admit you like each other like the grown, mature adults you supposedly are and get on with it? It’s honestly exhausting."

"You know why."

"I actually don’t. Please, do explain. I’d love to hear whatever shit excuse you’ve got lined up. Go on then."

Lando let out a slow, tired sigh. "I’m busy, she’s busy. I can’t just drag her along with me and make her leave everything behind so we can be together. And you know how the media is, Max. I don’t want her dealing with all that hate. You’ve seen how bad it gets."

Max scoffed. "And what do you think she just did? She dropped everything to be with you when you needed her, yeah? Her choice. She’s already doing work at Quadrant—her own volition, might I add—on top of her own career. And might I remind you, you were the one who didn’t want to go through with it. From what I heard, she was willing to make it work."

"Yeah?" Lando let out a dry laugh. "From what you heard?"

Max smirked. "Fine. P told me."

"Lando, mate. If it all goes to shit—not that I think it will—I’m sure you’ll sort it out. She cares about you. And I know you feel the same way about her."

Lando sighed, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the engine. He leaned back against the seat for a moment before finally looking over at Max.

"I know you have good intentions," he admitted. "And despite how insane this is, I do appreciate it. I’ll… see where it goes." Then, with a smirk, he nodded toward the door. "Now go pick up the food, ‘cause I’m fucking starving."

Max narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "This conversation is not over, by the way."

Lando just laughed, shaking his head as Max climbed out of the car.

------------------------------------------------------------

Lando woke up to the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting sounds of pots clanking and the scent of food filling his apartment. It was so foreign that, for a second, he thought he was dreaming. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of his room, hair a complete mess, barely awake.

"Morning," Y/N greeted, smiling as she wiped her hands on a tea towel. "There’s breakfast on the counter. I’ve got meals sorted out for the rest of the week—followed your diet, so don’t worry."

Lando blinked at her, then at the kitchen, which now looked like a fully stocked catering service. "It’s 9 in the fucking morning, Y/N. What time did you get up for all this?"

"Like… 6:30?"

"Y/N"

"What? I have jet lag."

Lando squinted at her. "We’re in Monaco. London is one hour behind."

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "I wanted to make sure I had it ready for you. It’s nothing, really—it didn’t take me too long."

"Nothing?" Lando gestured at the sea of neatly packed containers. "My kitchen looks like McLaren hospitality right now."

"It’s not a big deal, Lan, really, I—"

Lando didn’t let her finish. He reached out, gently grabbing her hand and stopping her from cleaning. "Could you���please slow down for a sec?" His voice was softer now, his brows furrowing as he tilted her chin up so she’d look at him. "Y/N, you don’t have to do all this. You don’t have to take care of me."

Lando sighed deeply, his arms instinctively pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his heart heavy. "I don't deserve you."

Y/N’s arms wrapped around him, her voice soft as she spoke, her thumbs tracing gentle circles on his back. "You have me, either way"

Lando pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression clouded. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. "Look, Y/N... we can't. I can't do this right now. What I said about us—about this, months ago... that's still how I feel. I like you... a lot, trust me, I do. But this is too much, and I can't possibly ask you to—"

He couldn’t keep eye contact, his gaze drifting as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

Y/N took a step back but stayed close, her eyes searching his. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I get it, Lan. I’m here for you. As a friend." She took a deep breath. "What I said, about me wanting to be here... to do this with you... I meant that too. I still feel that way. I told you I can wait. You’re worth it."

"You two done being sappy, or should I give you a couple more minutes?" Max's voice echoed through the apartment, making both Lando and Y/N jump and scramble to step away from each other in a panic.

"You little shit, how long have you been stood there listening? You fucking weirdo." In a swift motion, Lando grabbed the nearest object, a spatula, and tossed it across the room. It flew past Max’s head, narrowly missing him as he stood frozen in the middle of the living room.

"So sorry, guys. I told him not to come in without knocking." P finally steps into the apartment, giving Max a pinch on his side. Max let out an exaggerated yelp, squirming away from her with a pained expression.

"Ow! Everyone’s so violent this morning," Max groaned, rubbing his side as P smirked, clearly satisfied with herself.

"You're ridiculous. Just gonna run to the bathroom real quick then we can have breakfast and plan the rest of our day" Lando shook his head with a groan, but a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaves the room

Max took the chance to walk over to Y/N, who was quietly setting the table for breakfast. "You good?" he asked, his voice low, careful not to let Lando hear.

Y/N glanced up at him with a soft, knowing smile. "Take a wild guess, Max. Bet you heard enough to figure out how I'm doing right now." She let out a quiet laugh, but it was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place, defeat, maybe?

Max took a breath, his tone shifting to something gentler, more understanding. "Look, he... you know how he is. As much as I want this for the two of you, you don’t have to wait for him. He can’t just expect you to be there until he’s finally ready. No one’s gonna hold it against you." His voice dropped.

Y/N shook her head slightly, her smile softening. "You’re really sweet, Max, but I’m okay. I promise." She was careful, though, making sure her words felt sincere.

Max gave her a small, thoughtful nod. "Just trying to look out for the two of you is all."

"I know," Y/N replied. She didn’t need Max’s concern to know what was best for her, but it was comforting, knowing that someone understood.

------------------------------------------------------------

Several races had passed since Y/N was last at Lando's apartment. Despite the distance, they’d kept in close contact—calls, texts, little check-ins whenever they could steal a moment. Lando was clearly doing better, each conversation revealing just how much he’d grown over the past few weeks.

Now, it was the Singapore Grand Prix weekend, and Y/N had finally managed to take some time off work. She’d been counting down the days until she could see Lando again, her excitement mingled with the kind of nervous energy that had been building up ever since she booked her flight. The anticipation was almost unbearable, especially when she considered how much her feelings for him had grown since their last conversation.

Despite the distance, despite all the unsaid things, she found herself thinking about him more and more, how his laugh had sounded over the phone, how his presence felt like a comfort when they’d been together. But now, standing outside of Mclaren's hospitality, waiting for Lando to step out his driver room after finishing free practice, everything felt good.

"Y/N! Hey, haven’t seen you around in a while. How have you been?" Zach, a close friend of Oscar Piastri, and someone Y/N had become friends with, walked over with a smile.

"Zach, it’s good to see you. I’m great, just been busy with work is all. The car seems good, Lando and Oscar are driving really well too" Y/N replied with a warm smile, happy to see a familiar face in the paddock.

"Things are looking great. We’re doing really well in the constructors, too. You waiting for Lando?" Zach asked, leaning against the railing casually.

"Mhmm, I’m catching a ride with him back to the hotel. He texted me, he’d be out in a bit." Y/N explained, glancing down at her phone to check for any updates from Lando.

"Right... listen. Are you free any time this weekend? Maybe even after the race? I was thinking—"

"Ready to go?" Lando's voice cut in, and he walked over to the pair, bag slung over his shoulder and phone in hand. "Oh, hey man, sorry, we gotta go. Got some friends waiting for us."

Zach smiled, stepping back. "Oh, don’t let me hold you back. I’ll see you around, Y/N. You still got my number, right?"

"Yep, I’ll catch up with you next time," Y/N said, giving Zach a friendly nod.

"Perfect. Hope you enjoy the weekend. It’s great having you back in the paddock," Zach said with a grin, stepping in to give Y/N a quick hug before patting Lando’s arm as he walked past. "Great stuff today, man. See you around."

Lando raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with slight bitterness as they walked toward the parking lot. "Didn’t know you two were close like that."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, hello to you too, Lando. So great to see you after months, feels fantastic to finally be here with you."

Lando chuckled, though it was clear there was a hint of jealousy in his voice, "I didn’t mean it like that, just... you two seemed pretty chummy." He smirked at her, trying to play it off.

Y/N leaned back in the passenger seat, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't know, I actually think he's pretty cute."

Lando almost slammed the door shut in frustration, his face twisting into a scoff. "Cute? Right."

"What? You jealous?" Y/N teased, barely able to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm not," Lando grumbled, eyes focused on the road but his jaw clenched slightly.

"You so are. Your ears are red."

"I'm not" he repeated, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

"So you don't mind if I go out for dinner with him after the race then?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone light but with a little edge, just to push his buttons. It was playful, but they both knew the boundaries—they weren’t together, not officially.

"No."

"No, you don't mind?" Y/N repeated, pressing him further.

"No, you can't" Lando snapped back, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Why?" she asked innocently, though a knowing smile played at her lips.

"Cause then you'll miss my victory party," Lando replied with a sly smirk, glancing over at her briefly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed. "Oh wow, cocky now, are we?" She let out a laugh, though deep down, she couldn't ignore how his confidence was somehow making him all the more attractive.

"Wow" Lando gasped dramatically, glancing over at her with exaggerated disbelief. "You don't think I'll win this weekend? You're breaking my heart, darling."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Don't get too cocky, Norris. The race isn't over until it's over."

"True," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I like to think I’ve got this in the bag. You better be there to celebrate my win, Y/N."

She met his gaze, her playful teasing giving way to something softer, something more real. "We'll see," she replied, a small but genuine smile on her face. "But if you win, I'll begin to think I'm your lucky charm."

Lando nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "You just might be."

------------------------------------------------------------

"We’ve got this in the bag, Lando. Stick to Plan A, do what you do best, and we’ll take care of the rest. Focus on the drive, and if anything shifts, we’ll adjust. We’re counting on maximum points from you two tonight." Will, Lando's race engineer, pauses, his eyes locking with Lando's, waiting for confirmation after his brief but crucial words.

"Lando."

"Yeah yeah. Maximum points, drive fast, got it." Lando mutters, his response flat, his attention half there. As important as this race is, his mind keeps drifting back to Y/N. She’s in the garage, talking with Zach. His Y/N. The thought pulls at him in a way he can’t shake.

Will’s voice cuts through the haze. "I need 100% of your focus, Lando. The race starts in 30." He hands him his earplugs, but Lando’s gaze is distant.

"Yep, heard." Lando mutters again, his tone quieter, his mind still elsewhere as he turns to leave, the weight of his thoughts lingering like an anchor.

Y/N and Zach were in the middle of an easy, lighthearted conversation. Lando, across the garage, could only watch, his gaze sharpening as he noticed how comfortable Y/N and Zach looked together. The laughter between them, the way they stood too close, it ate at him.

"Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lando’s voice cut through the air, direct and intense, as he strode toward them.

Y/N looked up at him, surprised but giving him a warm smile. "Yeah, what’s up? You nervous?" She didn’t get up from her seat, still in that calm, relaxed mood.

"Alone" Lando said, his tone sharper now, as the urgency in his words broke through.

"Oh—yeah, of course." She rose to follow him, a furrow crossing her brow, concerned by the intensity in his eyes. They walked towards a quieter corner of the garage, far enough from prying eyes and cameras.

As soon as they were alone, she looked at him. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to call Max or—"

Lando didn’t give her a chance to finish. "I don’t like this. You and him, talking... being all flirty. I don’t like it." The words spilled out of him faster than he could stop them, relief and frustration flooding his chest. It was all coming out at once.

Y/N blinked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m not flirting, Lando. He’s just a friend."

Lando’s frustration reached its peak. "I’m just a friend, Y/N! Fuck’s sake... I can’t get in the car like this, not with this on my mind. Not like this." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Hey, Lan. What’s going on? You wanted this—actually, no, you didn’t want anything right now, did you? You said so yourself. I’m not doing this to make you jealous or get back at you, He's just a friend. That’s it."

But Lando shook his head, his voice shaking with vulnerability. "I don’t know what I want, okay! But seeing you... with him? I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, though it held a touch of sadness. She gently took his hands in hers, stopping him from messing up his hair further. "You’re not gonna lose me, you silly boy."

Lando looked at her, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood, that she felt the same pull. "One kiss. Give me one kiss. Let’s pretend nothing else matters. Just right now, right here, with you. One kiss before I go." His voice was a whisper, full of longing and desperation.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, her eyes softening. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing across his jawline as she spoke quietly, almost to herself. "Nothing else matters... I don’t have to pretend. You’re all I want, Lando. Why can’t you see that?"

Lando exhales quietly, his fingers grazing her cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They stand close, the world around them fading into the background, neither in a rush to break the moment. Their eyes meet, lingering, only flickering downward for the briefest second before finding each other again.

"You take corners faster than this—are you gonna kiss me, or should I send in a request for DRS?" Y/N teases, tilting her head with a smirk.

Lando leans in, closing the small space between them, his lips pressing firmly against hers. It’s not their first kiss, there had been fleeting moments before, small pecks here and there, brief touches exchanged in passing, but this is different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Their movements are unhurried, deliberate. It’s a kiss that speaks of everything unspoken, deep and certain, carrying the weight of something that had been waiting to happen.

She’s the first to pull away, though neither of them really want to. But reality tugs at Lando, he has somewhere to be.

Before stepping back, he presses a lingering kiss to her lips, another lighter one at the corner of her mouth. His lips brush her cheek, then her forehead, a quiet farewell without words. When he finally pulls away, he catches the flush creeping up her neck and smirks.

"I'm quick when it matters," he murmurs. "But some things are worth taking my time on."

-----------------------------------------------------------

It was the kind of weekend that felt almost predestined, Lando wins in Singapore, by a massive 20-second gap to Verstappen in P2. But even with the trophy in his hands and the roar of the crowd in his ears, his eyes searched for only one thing.

And there she was.

Among the sea of faces, hers stood out effortlessly, beaming with pride, hands clapping in celebration. The victory was unforgettable, but this moment, seeing her there, cheering for him, was the one he’d carry with him forever.

Lando could hardly sit still. He’d been rocking on the balls of his feet, barely paying attention to the post-race interviews with Oscar, his mind already somewhere else. The second the cameras cut off, he was up, grabbing his things in record time, making Oscar chuckle at his urgency.

"Word in my garage is you’ve got yourself a little lucky charm now," Oscar smirked, watching as Lando fumbled with his phone, already dialing Y/N.

"Word spreads fast, huh?"

"Finally made a move?"

"Yeah, took me long enough," Lando laughed, giving his teammate a quick pat on the back as he pressed his phone to his ear.

The call barely rang before her teasing voice filled his speaker. "Why hello there, champ. Miss me already?"

A grin stretched across Lando’s face, warmth creeping up his chest. "Always, baby. Where are you? Need my post-race kiss, like, now."

"On your left."

Lando spun around, immediately spotting her seated outside the motorhome with Max and P. He didn’t even bother ending the call properly, just stuffed his phone in his pocket and made a beeline for her.

"There he is! Mr. 20-second lead. Mate, you were proper flying—"

Max didn’t even get to finish before Lando stopped behind Y/N’s chair, tilting her chin up and leaning down to kiss her. This one deeper, lingering, completely unbothered by the fact that they had company.

"Shit—when did this happen?" Max gaped, his arm tightening around P as if he needed something to ground him.

"Just before the race. Can’t believe you’re only finding out now, thought the whole paddock knew by now," Lando chuckled, hands rubbing Y/N’s shoulders as she sat there, visibly flustered, still adjusting to the attention.

"Well, damn. About time."

Y/N glanced up at Lando, still a little dazed, but the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her forget about everything else. He pressed one last kiss to the top of her head before leaning down, voice just for her.

“You’re my good luck charm.”

She laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “Guess that means I have to stick around then, huh?”

Lando grinned, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Oh, baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

[abedmajeed]

Who I Am & Why I’m Here 💙

Hey everyone, my name is Abdelmajed. I don’t usually talk much about myself, but today, I want to share a little piece of my story.

I was born and raised in Gaza, a place that has always been my home 🏡. I grew up surrounded by my family, my friends, and the streets that I knew like the back of my hand. Life wasn’t always easy, but we had love, laughter, and dreams. I used to think that no matter what happened, home would always be here. But life has a way of changing things in ways we never expect.

Over the past months, everything I once knew has disappeared. The streets that were once filled with children playing are now silent. The houses that held so many memories are now just rubble. And the people I loved—some of them are gone forever. 💔

But I don’t want this to just be a story of loss. I want it to be a story of hope. No matter how much has changed, I refuse to stop believing in better days. I refuse to stop dreaming of a future where I can rebuild, where I can find peace, where I can wake up in the morning without fear.

That’s why I’m here. To share my journey. To connect with people who believe in kindness and humanity. To remind myself—and anyone reading this—that even in the darkest times, there is still light. ✨

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I’d love to get to know you too. Tell me something about yourself in the comments. Let’s build something positive together. 💬💙

And I'm now waiting to be Vetted by @gazavetters 🙏

[morganbritton132]

AU where after a fight with his dad, Steve’s entire life implodes when he’s told that Hopper is his real father.

This just wrecks Steve. He knows that his dad is disappointed in him and that he has to work harder to make him proud, but to find out that it was impossible? That the reason it felt like his dad hated him was because he did? And - and Hopper hates him too?

It never occurs to Steve that maybe Hopper didn’t know. All he can think about is how easy it was for Hopper to adopt El, so it’s not that he didn’t want kids. He just didn’t want Steve in his life.

He doesn’t tell anyone about it for a long time - not even Robin - and then one day blurts it out. To Callahan.

Callahan says, “You know, Hopper is like a father-figure to me so-“

“Hopper is my father.”

And then Steve just breaks down in tears and Callahan thinks to himself that there was probably a better way to start off telling this kid to stop trespassing.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

keep quiet.

mdni. 18+. not for the kids, pls look away.

dry humping. semi-public. fingering (briefly).

sylus gets a taste of his own medicine. let's go back to immobilized, shall we? but let's make it a little more freaky.

Somehow, you and Sylus found yourselves back in this situation: stuck in a small, tight closet that's barely big enough for the two of you. This time, you weren't hiding from your friends to keep your relationship hidden, but rather, to hide from the guards that are roaming around the private building that you've broken into.

This time, staying quiet was much harder.

It was all for business. Sylus needed to retreive a special weapon that was stolen from him, and you needed information that'll help with your investigation on Ever. Once Sylus sent you the invitation to join him for a mission, you didn't hesitate to agree.

While you two could easily take down any guards that get in your way, the whole point in sneaking inside that base was to keep quiet, snoop in the main offices for secret information, find Sylus' weapon, go in and out without getting noticed.

The base resembles a nice, modern business building filled with plenty of offices. It has three floors, and you two managed to get through the first two easily. The third floor is where all the secrets are hidden, which is why it's much more guarded, according to Mephisto's surveillance.

One guard almost spotted you as you made a turn at a hallway, but luckily Sylus was fast enough to pull you into an empty office, and right inside a closet, since it's the only thing that could fully hide your bodies.

You could hear guards walking around outside, all over the hallway, so there's no way you're getting out of there anytime soon. For now, the best thing to do is wait until they're gone, or at least, wait until the number of guards lessen. You will be waiting for Mephisto's signal to let you know when the coast is clear as he is outside watching the guards.

You were peeking through the small slits on the closet's door, guard on high, just in case one of them detects a movement from your direction. You were doing your best to stay quiet.

Sylus.... was not helping.

Teeth nipped the shell of your left ear, lips feverishly pecked on the skin behind it, and tongue gliding down your neck.

He was standing right behind you, left hand snaked around your waist, pulling you back so that your back is touching his chest.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, right hand catching his wandering fingers on your right thigh, creeping at the ends of your shorts.

"Just trying to pass time, sweetie." You could hear the smirk he has on his irksome, beautiful face without even looking at him. "Looks like we'll be here for some time. Since you don't want me to handle them and be out of here within a minute, we'll have to entertain ourselves while we wait for their bedtime."

You scoffed. "We are trying to not get caught so we can reach the main offices and get information along your damn precious weapon. If you fool around and make too much noise, they'll - "

"I'm not making any noise." He cuts you off before his mouth dove back into your neck. You closed your eyes as you felt him sucking your skin to leave a mark. "As for what kind of noise you'll be making.... that's up to you, kitten."

You spun around and tugged on the collars of his black buttoned-up shirt, lowering his face so your lips could align with his. "You are so annoying." You covered his mouth with your own so that he doesn't say anymore things that'll make you feel hotter than you already do in that tiny closet.

You felt him smile against your lips right before a hand supported your back and he deepened the kiss, your body leaning back while he leans forward. You closed your eyes and tangled your fingers through his hair, listening to nothing but the sounds of your heavy breaths and lips colliding against each other tenderly.

A gasp slipped out of you as his teeth caught your bottom lip. Sylus' legs started to drive you backwards, intending to push your back against the back wall of the closet. "Remember, sweetie, try not to make too much noise."

You halted and stood your ground. "Me? And what about you?"

"I told you, I'm not making any noise. All they'll hear is a mewling kitten."

Your eyes twitched and shoved him forward so that you could trap him against the wall instead, though the plan failed instantly as Sylus was surprised by your action and suddenly lost balance, causing him to fall on his ass. Fortunately, no one outside the room caught the noise.

"...pffft..."

Sylus looked up at you with a raised brow as you suppressed your laughter behind one hand. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Not yet."

A grin was displayed on your face as you lowered yourself onto his lap, thighs on the sides of his hips. His breath instantly hitches as you pressed your weight against him and hovered your lips right in front of his, while your hands rested in the back of his neck.

You kissed him hard enough for his head to tilt back, and he instantly melts against your touch, closing his eyes and sighing against your tongue.

Soon enough, Sylus was thrusting his hips upwards, letting you feel how hard he had gotten. You returned the favor by increasing the friction, grinding down on him while kissing him even harder.

There was a low growl before hands gripped your thighs and made their way back to squeeze your ass, while simultaneously pushing you and guiding you into rubbing your core against his cock.

"Fuck... so good..."

You pressed down harder and shifted back and forth faster against the tent in his pants, earning a groan out of him.

"Ssshhh..." you covered his mouth with one hand without stopping your movements. "You need to keep quiet, Sylus."

Both of you were starting to sweat from all the heat emitted by the closet as well as your bodies, yet you couldn't stop.

He could feel your soaked underwear through your shorts, just as you could feel his pre-cum through his pants.

"Sweetie - I need you. Now." His chest was heaving, one hand unable to stop itself from reaching inside your shorts to feel you and easily insert two fingers inside you.

You stopped yourself from squealing and quickly pinned his hands back down to his side. "Sylus.... remember to be quiet, okay?"

You were determined to get pretty noises out of him, first and foremost.

Sylus swallowed his saliva as your hands unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He raised his hips so you could pull it down and remove them and free his aching cock. But you had other plans, it seemed.

You only unzipped him, but didn't fully remove his pants, and you kept his boxers on, leaving his cock straining and leaking through them.

"What are you - "

"Ssshhh."

Grinding against him with less layers of clothing felt even better than before, and you only stopped yourself from moaning with ecstasy by sinking your teeth against his neck and letting all the noise you let out be muffled by him.

"Faster." Through his grunts, Sylus whispered against your ear, causing your body to burn up even more. Just the sound of his strained voice had you clenching with need.

You increased your pace rutting against him, even when his hands flew to your hips as a warning. Sylus shut his eyes, unable to stop himself from breathing heavily.

"Fuck. I'm..."

A cry of euphoria makes it pass his parted lips as he comes and releases all over his boxers and pants.

It was a sound that you'd heard plenty of times, and a sound that you'd never get tired of. It's a sound that's meant only for you.

But if the guards outside the room heard it..... well.... that's a problem for another time. For tonight, as of now, you've already accomplished one of your missions.

"Sylus." You rested a hand on his chest as he takes a moment to collect himself. "Did you forget to be quiet? Or did you want those guys to hear you?"

Oh, you were so going to get it later. For now, he has to figure out how the hell he was supposed to finish the mission with cum-stained pants and a smug lover who looked like she just won a war.

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington's room was a shrine to Corroded Coffin, with posters plastered on every inch of his wall. His friends had grown accustomed to his obsession, but even they had limits. "Dingus, we get it. You love Corroded Coffin. Can we please talk about something else?" Robin would say, exasperated.

But Steve couldn't help himself. He had discovered the band through Dustin, who had introduced him to their music as a way to rebel against his parents. At first, Steve had played their songs loudly, just to annoy his mom and dad. But as he delved deeper into their music, he became genuinely obsessed.

Eddie Munson's raw voice spoke to Steve on a deep level. He loved how the lead singer's lyrics seemed to capture how he felt. Steve felt seen and heard through Eddie's music, and he couldn't get enough of it.

As he lay in bed, surrounded by his Corroded Coffin posters, Steve would often find himself dreaming of Eddie. He'd imagine what it would be like to meet the lead singer, to talk to him about music and life and everything in between. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, Steve had even vowed to one day marry Eddie Munson. It was a crazy, impossible dream, but Steve couldn't help the way he felt.

On his 19th birthday Robin surprised Steve with tickets to Corroded Coffin's concert, and Steve was ecstatic. But what he didn't know was that Robin had also arranged for a backstage meet and greet with the whole band.

As they made their way backstage, Steve's nerves started to get the better of him. Eddie was smiling and chatting with fans. Steve was so nervous he was shaking. Robin just smiled and grabbed Steve's hand, leading him to the table where the band was sitting. Eddie looked up and smiled at Steve.

The only thing Steve could manage to say was, "Marry me?" The rest of the band members giggled at the sudden proposal.

Eddie's smile grew wider, and he looked at Steve with a serious expression. "Okay," he said, "I'll marry you."

“Wait what?”

[kingofthewilderwest]

I feel like I have, sort of. It's been over a decade and I've been in a fever dream since. What happened? I don't know. I don't know how I don't know.

There were multiple bookstores on the downtown street, several big, and all delightful. I was walking through downtown on my way to the usual used bookstore I visited. This place was a treasure, one of those used bookstores where the shopfront looks tiny, but you step inside and it runs deep; there's rows and rows and rows of books in invitingly dark niches, every shelf stuffed to max capacity, and then mountains of books stacked every which way on all other space—book skyscrapers conquering the limited floor real estate, book stacks climbing up the desk where the employee would take your card, book stacks morphing into the shelf so you hardly knew where the shelf ended and the freeform stacks began—the ultimate organized, chaotic clutter of books, books, books. You never knew what you'd find, but the books ran heady and obscure, a delightful deep-dive of knowledge.

But on my way, a man beckoned me to an unassuming door. I'd seen the door before, I think, but it'd always been a locked mystery. It was on the main street filled with store fronts, but it might've been squeaked between two buildings. There was another store cheek-and-jowl next to it, so it had to be a tiny sliver of real estate. It was a regular door and there was no accompanying storefront to show you what was inside. Just a door, and on it, the name of the store. Another bookshop, allegedly. Allegedly, again, because that door was easy to miss, and because I'd never seen anyone go in or out of it or seen signs of life that you could go in and out of it.

Today was different. This man, he beckoned me in. The door, it was opened to me.

And inside was a bookstore six times the size I thought it could be. Books displayed in inviting stacks on tables in the front. Bookshelves snaking about the interior, all in their eclectic order. Books climbing up the walls to the ceiling. The interior was cramped and maze-ish, but, at the same time, it was vast.

I didn't see all the books at once, but therein lay the magic of it. Every time I thought I'd seen more books than I could expect, I came across another passage that opened into another area. The books climbing to the walls could be accessed by a staircase to a second floor. A second floor! Here? How?! The entire way up to the second floor: books covering each inch. And then you'd turn and there was the final room, books again covering every inch. Lots of old books—not trashy, but those types of heavy, beautiful, rare treasures.

It was enchanting.

It was so enchanting, in fact, that I feel like the bookstore upright disappeared after I left it.

Not just the bookstore.

But the door.

The damn door.

Disappeared.

In this city that I'd been living in years, on a street I'd been shopping for years and knew every inch of.

I kept looking for that door on the way to the used bookstore I usually went to. I kept saying, "Well, it's an easy door to miss." I'd keep peering at the nooks and crannies between buildings, thinking, "It was this intersection, right? Or did I remember wrong?" I never... saw that door again. I never went into that bookstore again.

I don't have dreams that are realistic and can be mistaken for reality. I'm a vanilla person who doesn't even consume coffee, let alone something that could make me trip.

What the heck happened? What did I remember wrong? Because I had to have remembered something wrong—where the door was, what building it was, what it looked like inside, something, something, something! My mind vividly tells me where the door is, but there's no door there! There's! No! Door! There! There's no door anywhere up and down that street in the vague vicinity of where I was teleported away to this fucking fae-ass bookstore.

I looked for years, guys! I have looked for years trying to refind just the door!

It's a mystery that's nagged me for over a decade, and it'll nag me for decades more.

yeah libraries are cool but have you ever found a library with a secret doorway disguised as a bookshelf that leads to a smaller, hidden library filled with ancient books full of mysteries and forgotten knowledge? me neither and i'm sad about it

[simpjaes]

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.

SIGN UP OR LOG IN TO CONTINUE WATCHING…

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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[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[gordonengineswifenirmal]

I was physically healthier in grade school, but I had a lot going on emotionally. I had ppl calling me trans n lesbian before it was acceptable. Im cisgender n thought I was straight at the time. (I turned out to be very asexual). I started missing school because the emotional torment was too much.

The principal n teachers thought I was hearing voices - because I could not identify the harassers. They were in a younger grade, they harassed me for years in another school before they were old enough to attend this one. I didn’t know their names. I could pick out what they looked like if I’d seen them, but they would whisper it and run away.

I have never heard voices or seen things except when I was on some bad meds for depression that really didn’t agree. Never before or after. This particular incident was long after I’d been off those meds, n hadn’t been hearing voices at all. Never heard anything at home, on the high street. Also, this was before cell phones were a thing, so I couldn’t just snap a picture of them in the hall n b like here - these ruddy bastards did it.

I nearly quit school because of it. It still triggers things to this day. This is also why I’m extreme sensitive to being misgendered. It goes far beyond JUST being proud to b who u r n whatnot. The backstory is emotionally painful. Luckily, I was able to get home schooling after a real fight for it with the district. I probably fought for that shite more than most did for an education. I then went on to get 2 degrees, n help others get theirs.

The point is -

People need to listen. Actually listen. Don’t make arrogant assumptions. Instead of snide remarks n accusations, ask questions, try to help find solutions, try to better understand the situation. That kid who is in pain n missing school, or that kid who is traumatised by school probably has a reason. They’ve been ignored n shot down so many times, they’re probably afraid to speak up. Don’t add to that. Be the difference. Believe me, it can affect them later. You can honestly b part of the problem or part of the solution. You may be able to help more than one person, n it doesn’t take much.

Sadly though, people treat older folks the way they do kids. Have the same approach - and understand that writing them off is offensive for a reason. Just like a kid wants to genuinely be heard, so do we older folks. We have life experience. You don’t want to be insulted, talked down to, patronised, n made of? Neither do we. How do u avoid this? Don’t do it. Learn to communicate better, appropriately. You want to be valued too? U won’t be by treating others like shite. And for the younger lot - one day, u will get older. You might b in a position where u r mistreated by younger folks. Just remember that.

When I say “school should be disability accessible”, I don’t just mean we need handicap rails and EAs. Kids should be able to miss a day without failing out of school. You shouldn’t be dismissed from clubs because your attendance record is “spotty” (true story). I once missed an entire week of school because of a terrible, unending migraine. I was expected to keep up with my studies despite the blinding pain that came with working on my computer. When I heard my teachers say that you couldn’t miss exams, I asked what I would have to do to be excused from them. Their response? “Either get a doctor’s note an hour before the exam or death of an immediate family member.”

I cannot express how rigid this expectation was. First of all, with my condition, I wouldn’t have enough warning about my sickness to go to the doctor and request a note. For many people, this is exceptionally difficult, especially with the current shortage of medical professionals. Next, it ignores the fact that my schedule may not line with theirs because of my medical needs. Once, I had to visit a hospital a province away (which I was on the waiting list of for over a year) on the same day as an exam. I begged my mother not to take me because I was so nervous that I would be marked as an automatic fail. I was lucky enough to make it work, but that’s only because of my spectacular support system consisting of family members and wonderful doctors.

Disabilities aren’t always about needing a bus that can accommodate wheelchairs. It’s already difficult enough for many of us to maintain school attendance without the harsh punishments involved for skipping a day. We need to be able to miss school without being punished. Only than can you claim that the school is “accessible”