sadesluvr

[sadesluvr]

Do I have to start watching Peacemaker bc I will 🤭

I don't know what Freddie Stroma is putting in his cereal but he looks even better in the second season than he did the first and I've fully accepted and now love the new hair

[sadesluvr]

Emergency Contact (pt 1)

pairing: Mr. Terrific (Superman25) x fem reader synopsis: when your friends ditch you on a night out, you are forced to call the one person who you know will get you home in one piece. your ex. content: fluff, some suggestive content, a little angst, drunk reader, avoidant reader, reader is the problem word count: 2.7k notes: had to get this out... it was in my head. There is a part 2 coming (hopefully this weekend) that's a lot less wholesome. First time writing Mr Terrific, so he might be a little OOC, but I tried. Likes and reblogs are always welcome, and I love feedback!! thank you for reading :D posted on ao3

This is a bad idea. You know this when you pull your phone out of your bra and scroll to his contact, the world still fuzzy around the edges. This is a supremely bad idea, you think as you scroll past the multiple other available contacts. This is such a bad idea, you think as you hover over the call button. But there’s no one to stop you anymore. The friends who had dragged you out are nowhere to be found, your alcohol blanket is wearing off and you’re at the part of the night where bad ideas are beginning to look less like bad ideas and more like strokes of genius. You have the shame to hesitate for a little longer, but when a man stumbles out of the club and gives you the leeriest once over he can manage you hit call. Awkwardness be damned, you had to get out of here. The call rings exactly three times, and you can see him clear as day staring at your caller ID, face impassive.

“Hello.” Your world tilts so violently when you hear his voice that you can’t speak, can’t breathe for some time, so you just stand there letting the silence stretch between you. He doesn’t speak again but he doesn’t hang up either, just waits for you.

“You answered.”

“I always will. What do you need?”

You scoff, leaning against the wall. “Who says I need anything,” you slur, and cringe the moment you’re done.

“You’re drunk,” he says. No judgement, just a fact.

“Tiny bit,” you whisper, sitting down on the pavement, ignoring the way the bouncer looks at you. “Can you come get me?”

“Be there in 15.” Then he hangs up.

You can still hear the bass pumping from inside, and the alcohol-fueled part of your brain wants to go back inside and dance. There’s a bigger part of you that knows that your night is done. No friends meant no protection from weirdos trying to cop a feel. And your feet were killing you. You’d been so eager to dance you’d picked the most uncomfortable pair of heels you owned, and a good 5 hours of being on your feet had taken its toll.

And then there’s the tiny part of you that’s excited to see Michael again.

It’s been two weeks since you ended things with him, told him you needed space. Space that he was more than happy to give you by the looks of it. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since he’d dropped you off at home post-breakup (he wouldn’t let you find your own way home, citing crime stats for your neighbourhood while pushing you into his car-spaceship monstrosity) and then thumbs-up reacted to your message telling him to get home safe.

You should have been happy— a man leaving you alone when you told him to was a rare thing after all— but you weren’t. You’d only really said it to see if he’d argue back, maybe fight for what you had; which was crazy because you weren’t even sure what you guys had had. It was comfortable, safe, and the sex was really good but as time dragged on and you’d hoped he might ask you to be his girlfriend he never did. Just kept sleeping at yours and letting you leave your clothes at his. He fed your cat when you traveled with work and stocked up your groceries when your part of the fridge didn’t look full enough for his liking.

Dropped the bomb that he was Mr Terrific and then introduced you to his associates as “a close friend”.

Indignation rises in you, hot and fast. A close friend? “I have literally seen your balls. Close friend my ass,” you mutter, eyes scanning the street for him.

“Excuse me?”

You freeze, a deer in the headlights when you hear him behind you. He’s leaning down to help you up, arms strong around your waist even when you try to push him away with protests of “I can do it myself, Michael.”

“Sure you can. I didn’t say you couldn’t,” he states.

You don’t wanna look at him, so you look around instead listening.

“What are you looking for?”

“Your globes,” you say, looking to your left when he stands on your right. “How did you know where I was. I didn’t tell you.”

“My globes are called T-Spheres. Why would they be here?” He forces you to face him, a hand on each shoulder to hold you still. Against your better judgement you look at him. He’s there, all broad shoulders and stoic face, dark eyes roaming over you like they’re searching for something. He’s out of uniform, dressed in a plain white tee, biceps straining against the material even when he’s relaxed. You let your eyes wander lower, to where his jeans hug his thighs and you snap your attention back to his face when you feel that tell-tale curl of longing in your stomach. He’s still looking at you.

You wonder if he even blinked.

“How did you find me then if you weren’t tracking me with your T-Balls.”

You shake his hands off of you, and cross your arms tapping your foot. You miss his touch instantly, but you won’t let yourself go there.

“Well now I’m not gonna tell you, because you’re just being petty.” He turns and motions for you to follow him, and you do, wobbling in your heels. He leads you to an alley where his car-ship monstrosity is parked.

“Really?”

“You shouldn’t have called me if you were you gonna complain the whole time,” he says as he unlocks it. He waits for you to step in first then follows behind you, waiting for you to get seated before he straps you in. He takes longer than necessary, making sure it’s tight.

Then he leans down, unclasps your heels and takes them off, securing them underneath your seat. He comes back up, and leans in so close you can count his lashes. Or kiss him.

“Better now?”

“Yeah,” you sigh out. Relieved. You hate that he knows you well enough to consider that your feet might be aching. You hate that you miss that tenderness. The way he always knew what was wrong before you had to say it. You never had to teach him to be considerate, or talk to you nicely. The only drawback really was the fact that he had never asked you to be his girlfriend; even though you guys were pretty much in a relationship. But you knew that pretty much wasn’t a guarantee and as much as it had hurt to put that distance between you, you’d managed to convince yourself that it was for the best. This longing and endless missing was better than limbo— even if the limbo was really comfortable and good and made you feel safe.

And one night out had managed to torpedo your resolve completely. You hadn’t been prepared for him to be so nice to you. It was making you itch, the way he acted like it was perfectly normal for him to be so considerate even after you’d ended things so abruptly.

He kicks the ship into motion, and the silence stretches between you guys, vast in a way you never thought silence between two people could be.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, after a good ten minutes of just driving (piloting? You never knew what to call what he does). He sounds genuinely interested. You think you might actually be sick.

“I’m gonna kill my friends for leaving me,” you say. You aren’t lying. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re hatching up the perfect murder plan, body disposal and all. He just turns his head to look at you, unbelieving.

“What? I am,” you pout.

“Sure. Besides murder, how have you been? I’ve missed you.”

He takes a sharp left, and you lurch sideways. “Oh yeah. I could really tell,” you mutter, closing your eyes and holding on to the straps. You’re not prepared for this conversation. You want him to take you home and leave you there and never say he missed you again.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Haven’t seen or heard from you in two weeks, so no, Michael, I don’t believe you.” It comes out harsher than you intend, but you’re so embarrassed by the situation you don’t even begin to apologise.

Hard right. “You know that thing you asked for? Space? I was giving it to you.” You can hear the slight irritation in his voice and it throws you off for just a moment.

“Yeah but if you missed me, you would have texted me. But you didn’t text ergo you didn’t miss me.” It sounds stupid when you say it, and if it sounds stupid to you, you know it sounds stupid to him.

He’s silent, breathing deeply as the craft moves forward. You must be getting close to home because he’s slowed down.

“You wanted me to harass you then?”

“No. I don’t know what I wanted you to do, but I think anything might have been better than just missing me and not texting me. Were you gonna do that forever?”

“No. I was gonna give you three weeks, and then I was going to reach out. I’d thought about a month but that was too long without you.” He’s hovering now, eyes fixed on you.

“Roommate’s friend is staying over so there’s no street parking. You need to park in my backyard,” you say, ignoring him.

Slowly, he inches the craft over your house and into your backyard, lowering it so gently you aren’t even aware you’ve touched down. You don’t know how to handle anything he just said, so you bolt. You unbuckle your belt, grab your heels and hoof it the moment he opens the door.

“Thanks for the ride, take care of yourself Michael.”

You can hear him mutter something like “oh my god, why is this so hard,” and you know you’re being needlessly difficult. You’re complicating things; it’s what you do, and if you heard him out you might be able to get things back on track, but you’re so embarrassed by everything that you don’t care. You were gonna get inside, wash your face, change into something comfortable and sleep like this whole night had never happened. It’s warm outside, the remnants of summer clinging to the air and making it balmy. Your grass is damp and the coolness of it between your toes is needed.

“Wait,” you hear him calling, but you’re practically sprinting to the back door. You must be the slowest sprinter in Metropolis because he’s pretty much caught up before you can stop to look for your keys.

Your keys. Shit. You’d left them in your friend’s jacket for safekeeping and now they were wherever the fuck she was. You’re about to text your roommate to let you in when you watch Michael slot the spare he has into the keyhole. No fuss, no drama.

Your heart aches.

He doesn’t open the door straight away, just looks at you with his hand still gripping the handle.

“Can we talk before you go in. TV’s on. I think your roommate and his friend are still up.” His voice is low, even, but there’s something beneath it that makes you hurt. You want to say no, really, but you’re so tired and your feet hurt and he looks so fucking pained that you think it won’t hurt to at least hear him out. You slide down onto the step, and you look up at him, expectant.

“Right, well. I don’t know what happened. One moment we were together, the next you were telling me that you just needed a little space. So I gave it to you. Didn’t really want to, but I figured if I pushed, our relationship would be unsalvageable." But I missed you every single second of those two weeks you didn’t wanna speak to me, you know. I mean that. I can’t even tell you how relieved I was when you called, even if it was just for a ride.”

His sincerity makes you feel like your chest is being cracked open.

“Look. I don’t think I’m fit to have this conversation now, but if you stay the night we can talk about it tomorrow.”

He visibly relaxes. He helps you up and ushers you inside, closing and locking the door behind you. You try to ignore the heat between your legs when he puts a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the kitchen even in the dark. You try your best to make it past the living room undetected, but your flatmate seems to have the most annoying radar in the world.

“Welcome home drunkie! Do your friends know your situationship is creeping around your house with you?”

Michael scoffs, lets out a baffled “situationship?” at the same time that you correct it to “ex situationship”. “EX???” Michael almost yells, and you flinch.

“Right. You guys have a good night,” your roommate and his friend beam at you.

You were going to kill him tomorrow. Flay him. Ask Lex Luthor to re-open the dimensional rift and throw him in.

Michael’s steady hand guides you all the way to your bedroom, where he helps you untie all the little straps on your dress, avoiding the urge to look at you whe the dress pools at your feet. He busies himself with readying your skincare— setting out the makeup wipes, oil cleanser, normal cleanser, toner and night time moisturiser for you. When you step into your bathroom, you’re wearing an oversized Superman sleep shirt that still barely covers your ass and you’re yawning so wide he thinks you might swallow Metropolis. He helps you remove your makeup, your chin between his index finger and thumb as he turns your head this way and that, making sure he’s got everything. When your makeup is all off he just… stares at you, thumb brushing your cheek.

All too soon his hand is gone, and he’s in your bathroom doorway.

“Shout if you need anything, okay. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Wait. Your pyjamas are-”

“Second drawer from the top. I know,” he smiles.

And then he’s gone, scooping your cat up off the bed on his way. Just like he used to do when you two were together.

You take your time with your skincare, trying not to think about how easily he slots into your life. As if he was never gone at all.

When you come out, he’s shirtless wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, holding your cat in one arm and a plate with a toasted sandwich in the other. Your water bottle has been refilled and there’s some aspirin for you.

“Just in case,” he says.

“Thanks.” You’re trying so hard to avoid looking at him. To avoid really looking at the way his muscles flex when he bends down to put your cat back on the floor, back tight. You definitely don’t admire the definition in his abs, the way his v-line seems to tease you as it disappears into his boxers.

“It’s for you,” he says and you jump. “The sandwich. It’s for you.”

And when you catch his eye he’s almost grinning. Smug bastard.

You demolish it in maybe ten seconds flat, climbing into bed. Michael follows suit—no question—and he pretty much wraps himself around you the moment he gets comfortable, lips pressed to the back of your head, strong arm acting like a pillow.

“This doesn’t mean we’re back together.” You have to save a little face.

“I know.” You feel the vibrations in his chest where he’s got it pressed flush against your back. You feel him chuckle at you.

“I mean it,” you say, sleepy. “This isn’t anything you just dropped me off at home and I let you stay the night!”

“Yup,” he pops the p. “Just go to bed now, we’ll talk in the morning.”

You sigh. Anything you say now will just be petulant, and you’re so tired anyways. So you settle in.

And when you finally start drifting off, you swear you feel him whisper “I love you” into your hair. Or maybe you hope, you don’t know.

Tomorrow had the potential to be the longest day ever, but for now you didn’t care. You were the most comfortable you’d been in two weeks, you’d worry about the tough conversations later.

[sadesluvr]

Might do Kinktober again

[sadesluvr]

I have some very controversial thoughts about Oz Cobb

[sadesluvr]

Edi Gathegi as Mr. Terrific SUPERMAN (2025)

[sadesluvr]

Fair Play

You find an unconventional way to get Mr Terrific to take a break.

w/c: 1.9k

warnings: none, just fluff with smut. i need this man so bad y'all.

It’s a mid-September evening. Relatively quiet; it had been a little windy throughout the day in Metropolis, and you always seemed to hear it the most in the kitchen. The window’s closed, but you can hear a small whistle through the vents. It’s an historic Brownstone, and you’re lucky enough to share it with none other than Mr Terrific. 

You knew him as Michael. 

The jingle of keys in the door can be heard over the low hum of your music. You hear the creaking of floorboards gradually get louder until he’s in the doorway – still in full superhero attire.  

“Hey baby,” he greets you in a cool tone, adjusting his gloves. You plant a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re still dressed?” 

“I’ve been running around town all day, so I went to Paula’s for dinner,” you replied simply, focused on the cutting board and knife in your hand.  “I’m just prepping for tomorrow.” 

Terrific nods, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgment before turning to leave the kitchen. Your interaction is brief, but ultimately comfortable – you’ve been together for three years, living together for one. It’s taken a bit of a while, but you feel you’ve finally reached a kind of domestic bliss with a superhero. 

Your only gripe was that Michael wasn’t the best at self-regulation at times, and recently he’d been overworking himself, surely to the point of exhaustion. If he wasn’t out fighting some interdimensional threat, then he was out at the Justice base at his computer, or in a lab, and if not then he was in the basement pumping a few weights, often at the ungodliest times of the night. It was never ending. 

Questioning it was always met with the answer, “You can’t do what I do, baby,” and a kiss to the forehead, leaving you at a crossroads. You just hoped your final act of biological warfare would work. 

Luckily, you were in for a treat. 

“What in the goddamn hell is that in the living room?” Michael shouts as he pokes his head out the room, staring daggers at you through the hallway.  

You can’t deny the small grin on your face, quickly masking it with a sigh as you make your way to where he’s standing. He’s staring exasperatedly at his chair, where a black ball of fur has nestled itself across the upholstery, small body rising and falling as it sleeps. 

A cat. 

Specifically, your new cat. And in this moment, a bargaining tool.  

“What?” You said, arms folded as you feigned innocence. “Oh, it’s not a ‘that’, she’s our new baby. Her name’s Misty.” 

Michael side eyed you - to which you responded with a simple shrug.  

“I know how you get around dogs. Cats are totally different.” 

“No, they’re not.”  

You scoffed. 

“How would you know?” 

He ignored you once again, this time taking a step towards the animal, peering at it intently as if it were some kind of undead creature. Briefly glancing around, he made out the new editions; a scratching post, litter tray, functional water fountain…all encroaching on his home. 

“You spent the day doing this?”  

Another shrug. It had been a day well spent; darting in and out of pet stores and thrift shops in search of the perfect toys and amenities before collecting Misty, a sleek black Persian, from the shelter just before closing time. Paula had cackled when you’d told her. 

“It — Misty is on my chair,” Terrific said, seemingly bewildered. “It’s not a toy, do you know how expensive it was to build? I can’t take that to a regular cleaner once she decides to use it to go potty.” 

“…Cats don’t use the potty.” 

Rolling his eyes, Terrific shook his head as he walked past you, back towards the corridor. You bit down on your cheek to stifle a laugh – revelling in the irony that he was one of the smartest men alive and yet was utterly flustered over a simple house cat. It was one of the things that reminded you he was human, and not a machine. 

Following him out of the room, Michael was taking off his shoes. If you knew anything about him, it was that he could certainly be stubborn at the best of times. If there was a simple way to remove Misty, he would.  

“It’s cute, cats aren’t usually so bold on their first day home. Obviously, it’s cozy for her, so leave her be, ok?” you finished sternly, but he brushed off your concern. 

“I’ve got work to do.” He stated flatly, taking another glance at the seat. Pursing your lips, you looked over at Misty before looking back at him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze in false sympathy. 

“You’re Mr Terrific, I’m sure you’ll find another way.” 

Much to your delight, Michael had ended up coming to bed not long after you, though it wasn’t as if you were sleeping. Curled up on the far side, you listened out to the en-suite, hearing the draining of the sink before the light clicked off, signalling that he was on his way out. 

Putting on your best gravelly voice, you called out to him, expecting to feel the bed dip under his weight…but it didn’t come. 

“I put all your superhero stuff in the basement. We can’t have her playing with those T-Spheres —“ 

“—You planned this, didn’t you?” 

You paused, sitting up to face Terrific who was standing at the bathroom door, arms folded. 

“…When did you figure it out?” 

“Unbelievable.” He scoffed, feet trudging a short distance towards the bed, lazily pulling up the sheets to slide under. The weight of its occupancy was very much felt, and you instinctively inched towards him, your face encroaching on his own pillow.  

On your lips was a large grin, watching as Michael made himself comfortable, seemingly relaxing almost instantly. You knew he needed to rest. He knew he needed to rest. All it took was a little strategy. 

“You’ll grow to love her, I promise.” You said softly, scanning his face for a reaction.  

Instead, he stared blankly at the ceiling, with seconds passing before he decided to turn to you, staring you down instead. The action was brief, and before you knew it, he’d shifted his gaze upward again. He’d hate the comparison, but his behaviours were already rather cat-like. 

“Mhm…” he hummed softly, seemingly focused on the blinker of the smoke detector. Taking it as confirmation of his defeat, you rolled onto your side, feeling rather proud of yourself as you adjusted your pillows; attempting to make yourself comfortable.  

Shutting your eyes, you tried to fall asleep, only for Terrific to speak again, 

“...She better not play in my jacket, neither.” 

You only moved your head to face him this time. 

“Are you worrying about her already?” 

“I’m just thinking ahead.” 

“That’s fine,” you grinned knowingly. “I want to be the only one who gets to play in your jacket.” 

The suggestion was evident in your voice.  

There was a stillness between you, cut short upon feeling Michael roll towards your side of the bed, soft sideburns tickling your cheek as he spooned you. Curling a hand around his surprisingly large bicep, (the jacket made him look less muscular than he really was) you traced small circles on his skin as he felt his way down between your legs. 

Gently, he pushed past your shorts and into your panties, lazily stroking your slit with his middle three fingers.  

“You’re wet,” he said.  

Like most things from Terrific it came off as an observation, a fact - but for some reason in this instance it was a turn on. You didn’t respond, at least not verbally, nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder as he toyed with you. Biting your lip, you reached back, feeling along his toned thighs and up towards his hardening cock, palming the bulge through his trousers. 

He let out a stifled grunt, and you could’ve sworn you felt his bicep twitch as you did. His lithe fingers knowingly found your clit, stimulating the area with his index and middle finger. You didn’t make love often – but when you were both ready and, in the mood, you always found a way to make it memorable. Every movement with Terrific was precise, sensual; down from the way he worked his fingertips around your bud, right up to the chaste kisses he pressed to your neck and along your shoulder blades.  

A quiet moan turned into a considerably loud gasp when he moved away from your hood to curl his fingers into you, walls leaving a slimy, clear coating on his fingers. Feeling past the buttons of his bottoms, you gave his bare cock a few languid strokes, smirking to yourself as you did. What he didn’t have in girth, her certainly made up for in length. 

Squeezing your arm through his hold around your body, you fumbled through the contents of your nightstand to pull out a condom. 

“We can do it without that, baby,” he crooned into your ear. “Just for today.” 

You certainly didn’t object. 

With a grin, you took his cock and guided it towards your entrance, his tip prodding against the wanting hole. You held him there for a moment before sliding the tip in, Michael letting out a small sigh upon the feeling of your walls gripping him perfectly. Raising his hips to an angle, he adjusted himself, sinking into you deeper, finding a comfortable spot before he slowly began to move his hips. 

He snaked his hand along the silhouette of your body, finding solace in holding on to your hip, caressing the skin as he steadied his pace. Snaking your hand on top of his, you drew him closer so that his thighs slapped softly against your own with every thrust. 

Your bodies were warm in each other's arms, if not slightly hot. 

“God, Michael...” you moaned, brain empty as the curve of his dick seemed to find the right spot. His bicep tightened around your neck, but he was careful not to choke you, rather angling your head further into the crook of his neck so he could kiss your temple. Terrific's beautiful brown eyes were half-lidded as he stared into your own, reminding you of how grateful you were to be on the receiving end of his passion. 

“You’re taking me so well, honey...” he cooed, voice stifling into a grunt, cock twitching inside you as he did. “Keep at it.” 

You'd been playing with yourself in the meanwhile, joint stimulation sending shivers down your spine and seemingly teasing every last nerve in your sex, clamping you down on his dick in the process.  

Michael’s thrusts soon grew shallow, sloppy; emitting a whine through his teeth as he groped your thigh, hastily moving the body part so he could get as much of his load inside of you as possible. He came with a deep sigh, chest heaving against your back as he unfolded his arms from your torso to tease your cunt to your following orgasm.  

He'd cum so much that his fluids were leaking down your thigh, and on any other day you’d probably have gone to clean yourself up. Instead, you both felt content where you were – tangled in each other's arms as you’d eventually fall asleep. 

You made a mental note to give Misty and extra bit of tuna for lunch the next day. 

divider by @mfrgraphics !

[sadesluvr]

The agony of having a concept for a fic but not a plot

[sadesluvr]

sorry i get really emotional about pope fuckkk

[sadesluvr]

I am Mohammed, I live in the northern besieged Gaza Strip, I am 21 years old, I have always tried to create a beautiful future for myself in which I achieve all my wishes. I had ambitions and dreams, but they evaporated because of the war, but I still want to achieve them despite the siege. During the war, I lost many things, including my university, my dreams, my job, and some friends. Despite that, I still want to achieve my dreams and ambitions. I want to rebuild my life again, so please help me in that and rebuild my life. Therefore,

please donate as much as you can because that helps me a lot. If you cannot donate, tell people about my suffering.

[sadesluvr]

Verified by : @nabulsi

The donation campaign has been verified ✅

If you came from the tags , I want to reassure you, don’t worry, because @gaza-evacuation-funds helps me to make the post reach the largest number of people

‼️PLEASE DON’T IGNORE THIS – A FAMILY NEEDS YOU NOW ‼️🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏

This was our home… now it’s gone

Even $20 will make a big difference and save us!

We have collected $21,777raised of $40,000 !🇵🇸

🔗 🔗 Gofundme link for donations 👇👇👇👇🔗 🔗

save family lost their home ,dreams and everything in Gaza 💔💔

This is my home before the war and after the war how it became💔💔💔

Before: After:

Before the war, we lived a simple but happy life in Gaza. Our home in Shujaiya wasn’t big or luxurious, but it was filled with peace, love, and comfort. We had our own land — a small garden where we planted vegetables, a roof where we sat on warm evenings drinking tea, laughing as a family. Our kids went to school every day with joy, dreaming about their future. We had work. We had neighbors we trusted. We had routines, family dinners, birthdays, laughter. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. It was full of meaning.

The bombing started, and we had to flee our home during the first week of the war. We left everything behind — not knowing it would be the last time we would see our home standing. We first went to Rimal, hoping to be safer. That’s where we heard the news: our home, the place we built with love and hard work, was destroyed. Flattened. Just like that — gone. Everything we owned, everything we saved for, was buried under rubble.

After that, we kept running. From Rimal to Al-Zawaida. Then to Rafah. We’ve been displaced four times. Each time we carry less with us, but more pain. We sleep on floors. Sometimes there’s no roof. Sometimes we stay in tents. The nights are cold, the days are burning hot. There is no electricity, no clean water, no toilets, no privacy. We wait hours just to get a piece of bread. We lost our jobs, our income. We lost our safety, our dignity. We live in fear every day — fear of the next bomb, the next loss.

We used to dream of the future. Now, we just dream of surviving the next day.

We are the Anas family — like many families in Gaza — ordinary people who only wanted peace, a safe home, and a chance to live in dignity. But the war has taken everything from us: our home, our land, our jobs, our dreams, our stability… even our sleep.

It’s hard to write this. It's hard to ask for help. But we are desperate.

Please, if you are reading this, help us. Even a small donation could mean we sleep under a real roof again. Could help us buy medicine, food, or clean water. Could bring back a little dignity to our lives. If you cannot donate, please share this story. You might reach someone who can.

This isn’t just a story. This is our life. And we’re still living through it.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

💔

Please, we are in dire need of you and your support. If you cannot donate, you can share☹️❤️🥹

Even $20 will make a big difference and save us!

You can donate through any of the following link:

1-gofundme

[sadesluvr]

Terrific’s the type of man to track your period. Not elaborating with this

[sadesluvr]

[sadesluvr]

Starting work next week, hair not done, eyebrows unwaxed…omg

[sadesluvr]

Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

After disobeying him, Lex gives you a rare second chance to prove yourself.

w/c: 3.6k

warnings: smut (p in v). gunplay. lex being lex (unhinged). implied but also obviously toxic relationship. kinda dark?

All you had to do was stand and look pretty. 

That was the simplest requirement for being Lex Luthor’s girlfriend. Whenever there was an event, he’d personally take you shopping; carting you around different luxury brand stores to make sure the pair of you looked like a match. Colours, fabrics, labels – everything had to be to perfection. It was all for appearances, just as everything with Lex was. 

You weren’t exactly like his past playthings, other than being youthful and vibrant. You’d had a relatively flourishing career in publicity (and a knack for public relations) – independently, nonetheless – which had been how you’d come across Luthor in the first place. Apparently he’d been ‘impressed’ by your work on a summit he’d attended and had his team sought you out. Ironically, despite all this he’d still found a way to insult you, labelling your work “mostly fluff”. 

Three catered events later, Lex had asked you to become his permanent PR executive, willing to fire the current employees on the spot. All you’d had to do was give him your word. 

Declining the offer had caused instantaneous chaos. 

Lex was not a man used to hearing the word ‘no’. Subsequently, he took his bruised ego and did what any rational human would – blacklisting you from the best paying clients, strategically and considerably knocking down your income. At the end of the day, bills were to be paid and rent came along monthly, leaving you with no choice but to beg for the position. 

On his lips had been just a hint of a smug smile, all done whilst sipping his coffee and flicking through a tablet as if nothing had ever happened. Your name had rolled off his tongue like butter as he clasped his hands together. 

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses, though I’m rather embarrassed that it took so long…Go and tell Chandler and Sarah that they’re fired. I’d do it now but I have a far more important meeting to attend,” 

“You want me to fire them?” 

“— I suggest you rip the proverbial Band-Aid off sooner rather than later, it’s not a good look to your colleagues that you can’t be upfront with them.” 

Things had a way of happening, and once Lex had acquired you as an employee, he’d thought it best you become a girlfriend. Any questions about your job was now answered with an “indefinite hiatus” (Lex’s words of course), a tight lipped smile on your end, and an even tighter grip around your waist. 

Most women dreamed of quitting their jobs to be with a rich man who provided for them, right? You should’ve been nothing but grateful. 

So, here you were at an awards ceremony for the most ‘impactful’ people of Metropolis. Dangling off Lex’s arm as you always did, nodding, smiling and making the few bits of small talk you were allowed to do. 

Naturally, there were people there that you knew. But there was one in particular you hadn’t seen in a while…for fairly obvious reasons. Perry White, from the Daily Planet. 

“Go and get us another drink, would you?” Lex said softly, nodding his head to the man opposite him. They’d been engaged in conversation all night. “A whiskey and a champagne. Be careful, I know how you can get after you’ve had a few.” 

On the surface it was friendly banter between a couple. But what Lex was really saying was don’t embarrass him by tripping on the stairs. 

Nodding, you went in search of refreshments, barely noticing Perry as you did, until he called out your name. Glancing around, you figured you were a safe distance from Lex, ducking your head to speak to him. 

“Perry…It’s been ages.” 

“I could say the same to you,” he said knowingly, casting a somewhat disapproving look around. “How you keeping, kid?” 

You blinked. 

“…Just going through a momentary blip, I swear,” you said vaguely before swiftly changing the subject. “How’s the team? Did any of the interns come back?” 

Even under the hushed panic of your voice, there was a clear intrigue.  

“We’re making it work,” he shrugs. “We’ve been getting real reach with our online content. Olsen’s here too, but he’s technically on the clock.“ 

“Still a ladies man?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Where did he go last? I’ll see if I can hunt him down --”  

Perry made a face. 

“— I suspect you won’t be seeing him anytime soon. Luthor’s at your three o’clock.” 

With wide eyes you turned around, gaze finding its way to the balcony where Lex was stood by the railing, knuckles white from his vice grip. Piercing blue eyes were locked onto your own, mind likely racing at the connection between you and the man. He wore a smug smile, which to anyone looked reassuring, waving you over with the palm of his hand. The room suddenly felt small, shrinking, lungs squeezing together as you tried to compose yourself, gasping for breath. 

You were fucked. 

The limo ride back was quiet. You could hear every click of the hand break, every whirr of the air conditioning and felt every ounce of Lex’s silence.  

Sat next to you, he was fixated on a tablet, the screen lighting up his features in an otherwise dark car, flashing between white and green. He hadn’t looked at you once.  

Fiddling with the hem of your dress, you tugged at the seatbelt, finding it rather constricting over the torso. The majority of the time Lex was one to fly into rage, making this apparent stillness all the more uncomfortable. 

Swallowing, you opened your mouth to break the ice, ultimately unable to find the words. 

It wasn’t long before letters that formed the word ‘LuthorCorp’ were reflected in the window, looking over the car like a fiend and signalling your impending doom. Everybody knew what happened if you crossed Lex Luthor. You would just become another in a long, seemingly endless line of floating squares in the pocket dimension of all the people who’d wronged him. 

The car screeched to a halt, and Lex jumped out almost immediately, discarding the tablet on the car seat. He knew you’d follow. You had to. 

Perhaps was time to start begging. 

Popping the door open, you began to call after him, brain a flurry as you tried to make it to the elevator before it closed. His demeanour was tight, right up to his lips; stretched into a thin pink line, and his brows were ever so slightly furrowed.  

The light was much brighter now, and with the mirrors around the elevator shaft you could see the reality of the situation – you pleading to an emotionless Lex for your life back. The very situation you’d been in over a year ago when you were weeks out from losing your apartment.  

Like any man in his position, Lex liked the power he had over anyone, and in this case, it was you.  

“Lex…” you began, “I’m sorry, I made a mistake…” 

“I don’t like it when you speak to the reporters without me,” he replied simply, his gaze fixed on the buttons. With every floor passed it changed colour. Biting your lip, you anticipated where it would stop. The 40th floor was the penthouse. The 39th was his infamous office. If you could just reach the top — 

 “As a matter of fact, I don’t like it when you speak at these things at all.” 

“All I said was hello…he was an old friend; it would be rude not to —“ 

“What’s rude is your blatant disrespect for my rules,” he said, is voice tapering into a slight hum at the end.  “It’s such a shame. You’ve been my favourite of the lot.” 

You knew what that meant.  

The elevator pinged and the room opened, the bright lights of Metropolis below illuminating his wooden desk and the various computers at the centre of the room. The absence of employees was uncanny, lending the room an almost deadly quality. Even in the darkness, the foreboding turquoise light of the portal stuck out, its circle a ring of hell.  

With Ultraman seemingly appearing from nowhere, you braced yourself for a firm grip to your arm…but it didn’t come.  

Instead, he pulled out a sleek silver revolver and placed it in Lex’s hands as if it were a crown jewel, with the bald man giving the masked individual a small nod in acknowledgment. Ultraman stepped away, but he didn’t leave. 

Your head spun, the weight of the situation now dawning on you like a horrid twilight. Lex was never above resorting to murder, but you’d never imagined he’d do it to a girlfriend...or you for that matter. It seemed like an irrational punishment for what you ultimately felt was a minor misdemeanour, but for all of Lex’s genius he was never rational to begin with.  

“Lex, please,” you begged again, hesitant to close the gap between you. He didn’t look at you once. He seemed to be fiddling with the rod. “It was just a silly conversation. We didn’t even get past hello --” 

You found yourself glancing over at Ultraman, hoping that he could see the desperation in your eyes, and find the slightest bit of humanity within him to intervene. But deep down, you had a feeling it wouldn’t come. 

“If you haven’t learnt from tonight…I suggest you give your boyfriend some attention for once,” Lex finally spoke, drawing your focus back to him. He hadn’t flinched an inch; the formation of his suit still as crisp and kempt as it had been when he’d left earlier that evening. 

 “Since you like being friendly with common folk and gambling with my reputation, we’re going to play a little game of chance.” 

He pointed to his chair with the gun. 

“Sit.” 

“Lex —“ 

He cocked a brow at your defiance. Lex rarely gave second chances, if ever. Nodding, you hurriedly moved to sit, dress sweeping like a cape at the motion. The man walked behind you, leaving you to stare out onto the city. Most people were asleep, watching a movie, throwing a party – either way they were free, totally unbeknownst to your captivity.  

Like a shrew in a vulture's nest, he circled you, luxury cologne flooding your nostrils so that you couldn’t smell the pure iron of a semi-loaded gun.   

The cylinder made a whirring sound as he spun it, and with a pointed flick of his wrist it clicked to a stop. Slowly, but surely, he pointed the barrel to your upper back, right between your shoulder blades. The contact was cold against your flushed skin, and you were almost certain that Lex could feel your heart race right against the object. 

“Perry White…” he announced, and your eyes widened at the mention. Of course Lex had done his research. That was what the tablet on the ride home was for.  

“Editor-in-Chief of none other than The Daily Planet, which you should know are my biggest critics…How do you know him?” 

Swiping your tongue over your bottom lip, you look a small, ragged breath before answering. 

“Like I said, he was just a friend, a colleague, even –“ 

He dug the gun deeper into your skin. 

“— The Daily Planet received some money for an intern scheme a few years back. They asked me to do some publicity to showcase their philanthropy – it was a small scale thing. Perry was just a mentor, and I dropped by a couple times.” 

Lex paused, lowering his head so that his lips were by your ear, a clothed arm brushing against your skin as you were centimetres apart. He was close, almost too close. 

He didn’t say anything when he pulled the trigger. 

The gun made a dull clicking sound, and you could’ve sworn that your skeleton leapt out of your skin, bracing for impact. But it didn’t come. You’d passed the 1/6 chance of death. 

There was barely time to question his judgement when he asked a follow up, spinning the cylinder yet again. 

Click. 

“Daily Planet…” he mused, dangling the gun in his hand. His designer shoes tapped along the floor as he continued to pace the short distance around you, leisurely tracing along your shoulders with the object.  

He did it for a few short moments before he slid the barrel under the thin strap of your dress, guiding it off your shoulders and down your arms. The act was sensual, scary…almost a turn on. Judging by the slight prominence in his pants, apparently it was for Lex too. 

“…There’s at least over 60 people employed there. I want to know who you were speaking with.” 

“I spoke to everyone. It’s best practice.” 

Their identities were just a click away. 

Tightening his grip on the gun, he aimed it at your neck. 

“Specifics. Otherwise I’ll get him to squeeze it out of you.” 

He nodded his head in the direction of Ultraman, who stood motionless.  

You cleared your throat. 

“It was only really the gossip columnist – it was always a bit of fun between us if I gave her titbits,” you said sincerely. Briefly casting your gaze to the floor, you noted that you were just left rather dishevelled; one strap still secure on your shoulder and the other dangling down, showing off the tips of your strapless lingerie. Exposed. Seemingly making you more honest. 

“…I haven’t spoken to her since, I swear. Most of my contact was with upper management and HR. It was their idea.” 

You couldn’t have. Lex had trackers everywhere. 

“I’ll bet,” he sneered, tracing the gun along your neck, moving down the top of your spine. You could feel the dense rim of the barrel almost massaging your skin. “Gossip. So trivial. Fitting, when your IQ doesn’t account for much all anyone can turn to is mindless drivel.” 

Almost effortlessly, he spun you around in the desk chair, the swivel somehow leaving you partially stunned. You were now face to face with him, making eye contact as his arms were either side of you. If it wasn’t clear before, there was no escape. 

Lex seemed to be amused now, the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. He’d stripped off his blazer, rolling up his sleeves to his forearms. Like a succubus he inhaled every last one of your laboured breaths, biting down on his cheek in relief as he pulled the gun, this time aimed right between your breasts. 

A dull click. 

No bullet. 

Lex sucked in a breath, chuckling as he shook his head and withdrew the revolver. 

“This is going better than I expected,” he hummed. “This is what I like about you. Not once have you ever flinched under pressure.” 

You ignored the fact that you were scared out of your mind. He was of course talking about your ‘official’ tenure as his PR exec.  

When you’d been working independently you’d been a strong, all-rounded career woman. Everybody was treated firmly, but fair – and Lex had been no different. You challenged him when no one else did, and that was why he’d relentlessly pursued you…and was now systematically breaking you down.  

“Lex,” you began, finding it within you to speak out of turn. “I can tell you whatever little information I know, just —“ 

“— Don’t tell me to put the gun down,” he said sharply, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny. “You’ve been squirming in your seat ever since you sat down – you’re enjoying this as much as I have.” 

You couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your loins. 

“Stand up. Palms on the table.” 

You obeyed, back at a slight angle but perfectly straight as you pressed your palms against the hard wood, fingertips ever so slightly clammy.  

“Good.” He praised. 

Lex wedged his foot between your legs, sharp leather shoes digging at your skin as he kicked your legs apart. 

“Perfect.” He finished, his voice a whisper in your ear. Sliding himself behind you, he trapped you against the desk with his erection on your thigh. His body was surprisingly warm. 

“Now here’s the money shot,” Lex smirked, raising his voice as he flicked the cylinder with considerable force.  

 Another click.  

This time, he pressed the ice cold gun to your temple.  

“What do they know about Superman?” 

Now was time for genuine panic. 

“What?”  

“Don’t pull those dead eyes,” he scoffed knowingly. “You know that publication has been unfairly biased against me to date. They’re anything but impartial – and that one reporter, you know his name – is at the helm of it.” 

“Lex, think about this,” you bit back. “I’m just an external agency, I know nothing about how they get their stories —“ 

“— Before me you were practically a glorified socialite. You have connections to almost everybody in an 100 mile radius. There are people you know that I wouldn’t have even bothered to do business with. You would know something.” 

“I don’t!” 

With one hand holding a gun to your head, he used the other to bunch up your dress, messily dangling the fabric around your hips and using the edge of the desk like a pin.  

You were unable to hold back a gasp when Lex slid his fingers into your panties; lithe digits rubbing against your slippery folds, threatening to push them deeper. He seemed to laugh in pleasure. 

“Say it. I want you to say his name.” 

You didn’t answer immediately, prompting the man to push his fingers into you. All bets were off when he began to move, pumping them in and out and creating an obscene squelching sound. 

“…C-Clark Kent…” 

“Clark Kent,” he repeated, adjusting the gun as you moved against him. “The only man on the planet who can get an interview with Superman. Surely he was at that intern celebration, correct?” 

The gun pressed deeper into your skull. 

“Yes, he was—“ 

You sighed; in pleasure, in exhaustion…you weren’t sure. All you could think about were the way Lex’s fingers skilfully moved across your cunt, finding your clit and rubbing against it in small circles. Your mind practically went blank as you heard him undo his zipper with one hand and pulling out his cock. 

It was warm, slightly slimy with precum against your ass.  

“You know very well I don’t like to repeat myself. You should anticipate my next demand.” 

Lex entered you, swollen nub intruding your hole. He held you there, the revolver still firmly in position as he locked his other hand around your body. He didn’t give you the gratification of a kiss, instead nuzzled you, feeling the little prickles where he’d shaved.  Shortly, he began to move, making shallow strokes. 

“Clark – he was there. He was happy for them…” you said, trying to form the words. “When I met him we only made small talk. I was at reception and he offered to take me to HR directly. He gave me coffee…” 

Lex’s grip tightened on the trigger at the fact.  

“It was around the time of his first article with Superman. I told him well done and that he was lucky to get a chance —“ 

The gun made a rattling sound. 

“-- All he said was that they were friends – I figured he was joking…” 

You could’ve sworn his hand was trembling. After a prolonged moment of judgement he loosened his finger from the trigger. Lex quickened his pace, bucking his hips so that your ass collided with his trousers and creating a muffled slapping sound.  

His one-handed grip tightened on your body, deep enough to hurt in the morning but also drawing you into him; like he was going to consume your thoughts and use them as his own. He didn’t voice his pleasure, but you could hear his heavy breaths. 

You, on the other hand, were rather loud, relieved that Lex had seemingly caved. With your palms still trembling, you could feel your stomach turn with a familiar heat, ankles buckling under the pressure. If you weren’t sandwiched between Lex and the desk, you certainly would’ve fallen. 

Lex was fucking you good; in fact he’d never fucked you like this before. He seemed to agree, heavy whistles coming from his nose as his thrusts grew sloppy. Breathily, you moaned his name as you came around his cock. He twitched inside you as your walls squeezed around him, though you were unable to enjoy the full height of your orgasm as Lex abruptly pulled out of you. A fraction of a second later he was spilling all over your thighs, white fluid messily painting a section of your navy dress. It was perhaps the only time he was uncoordinated.  

He stepped out from behind you, and you could feel yourself wanting to sink into the chair, perhaps maybe through all 39 floors entirely. The revolver had never left his hand, not once through the entire ordeal. 

Shock hadn’t kicked in yet, but it would. 

Sniffing, he gathered himself together, swiftly removing the bullet and placing the gun into his trouser pocket.  

He cast you a look.  

In fact, he seemed to be admiring you. 

“Steve will drive you home. Tomorrow morning someone will come to get that cleaned,” he announced, nodding at your spoiled dress. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m giving you permission to return to your job...at least temporarily,” 

Folding your arms around your body, you cocked your head. It was suddenly rather cold in the office. 

“I want you to dig, pry and claw at every single source you have across this city. I need their reputation, their credibility ruined. I want you to destroy The Daily Planet, and I don’t care if you have to do it from the inside out – starting with that miserable reporter.” 

s/o to @grackleshells for the post with the concept!

[sadesluvr]

IOAN GRUFFUDD as REED RICHARDS Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer • 2007

[sadesluvr]

wardrobe appreciation ♡ pope heyward (outer banks s2)

[sadesluvr]

I miss my man 😔

I mean, it’s just the pecker thing.

JONATHAN DAVISS AS POPE HEYWARD OUTER BANKS SEASON TWO