#but obviously that's been while they aren't home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucidfairies · 21 days ago

Text

— mess around (part two)

part one • part three • part four

synopsis: it wasn't everyday you moved to the south, surrounded by cowboys and their women, but here you were, and your new neighbor simply couldn't get any more enticing

pairing: rancher!sevika x married housewife!reader

warnings: cheating, dom!sev, sub!reader, reader is bolder in this one, face sitting, fingering, finger sucking, size kink, back shots, breeding kink, rougher than part one(!), light bondage, sevika is a bit meaner in this one but not outside of sex, new pet names (!!!!), choking, thigh riding, cum plug

a/n: I want to make it very clear that even though pregnancy is mentioned several times, r will never get pregnant with an unwanted child or with the husband figure, it's solely for plot !

wc: 4.4k

collaboration: my biggest love and thank you to @sevsgiirl for literally leading me through this and giving me all the ideas and also reading my rough drafts lol! 🙏🙏

Sevika was obscenely tired. This was her third week running only getting two hours of sleep, tossing and turning, unable to fall back into sleep. When she did sleep, it was short and light, not sufficient enough. It was eating her alive.

There were a number of reasons - her dog had been sick for days, the horses needed a different feed schedule, she briefly had to travel up North to visit relatives, changing her time zone. But most of all, and most obviously, you.

Everything about you. Your eyes, your hips, your smell. The way your hair flicked when you walked, your smile when you greeted the neighbors, the way you knew something about everyone. You were the complete opposite of her, and it was driving her mad.

She hated you. Hated your perfection, and the blush in your cheeks. She hated the way you dressed, pretty sundresses that hardly past mid thigh, bows, and those fuck ass boots. She hated you because she needed you.

She was desperate to get you a real pair of boots, ones that weren't from some northern shop impersonating southern culture. She needed to show you off and parade you around, have you sit on her lap at the bar with her hat on while she played poker, and tell everyone that you were hers.

But that wasn't ever going to happen. You were never going to be hers, divorce was too much of a hassle for a woman like you, who probably wanted a million things she couldn't give you.

“Babe, can you come here?” Your husband called you from the kitchen. You were perched on your bed, folding the week's laundry. You stood and made your way to the kitchen, stomach twisting. Ever since your night with Sevika, your husband wanting to speak to you worried you. There's no way he found out. But what if he did?

“What's up, honey?” He beckoned you to sit down across from him at the small table, and you did. He had papers in his hand, messy scribbles covering the page.

“I wanted to have a serious conversation about kids,” he paused for a moment while his words sank in, “I asked you to stay home so that we could start our family, but you keep declining to actually start it. I can't keep you home like this if you aren't going to do anything.” You sighed.

You knew this was coming - every time he brought it up, you shut it down. Every time you slept together you had him wear protection, or you made sure you had taken the pill that morning. You couldn't identify why you didn't want to have children with him at the moment, but the feeling was there, and it was strong.

“I'm just not ready yet,” you insisted, “if you want me to go to work I can, but I do quite a bit around the house. Just because we don't have children yet doesn't mean that my work is diminished.” You stood your ground, annoyed at the constant assumption that you didn't do anything.

“Babe,” he sighed angrily, pinching the bridge of his nose while he formulated what to say, “every time we talk about this you say you're not ready. We've been married for three years, when will you be ready?” You shrugged, embarrassment getting the best of you. “You only have so many years to have kids. I can’t sit around and waste them while you figure out if you’re ready or not.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, especially because you knew them to be true. You got into this relationship and eventually this marriage knowing his intention with children, and up until recently, you thought you shared that intention. But the longer you thought about bearing his children, the more displeasing the thought became.

“We can start trying, then. But not until next week, come July.” If you had to do it, you would at least have it when you wanted to. Your husband grinned, rising from the table to give you a hug, and press a kiss to your head.

“I’m glad it’s time,” you put on your best fake smile, “I’m headed to bed. Mind cleaning up?” He waved towards the dinner dishes as he walked towards the bedroom. “See you tomorrow, my love.”

You sat in your seat at the table for a long time, simply looking at it. Sevika’s words from the night she had dinner rang in your mind like a screeching alarm - I’m a capable woman, babygirl. I can clean my own plate. She wanted to help, even after working all day. She chose to help.

Before you could choose the wiser, you were shooting up from your seat and clearing the dishes into the sink. You washed them quickly, not bothering to scrub very hard before tossing a robe over your shoulders and slipping on some shoes. Quietly, trying not to wake your husband, you peeled open the door and slipped it shut, sneaking down the steps carefully. You knew where they creaked now, you had lived here long enough for that.

There was a clunking sound and loud groan when you knocked on her door. Part of you hoped that, if you knocked softly enough, she wouldn’t hear it, or that she would be asleep. The other part of you begged to see her, even though it wasn’t right. Something about her drew you in, wrong or right.

The door flew open, and there stood Sevika in all her glory. Except, she didn’t look as if she felt glorious. There were eye bags under her eyes that made it look as if she hadn’t slept in a week, and her face was angry. Her downturned lips only frowned further at the sight of you, and you felt small, beginning to question your decision.

She must’ve noticed. Her face softened, still angry, but not as angry as before. She simply looked at you, waiting for something. “Hi Sev,” you whispered, meekly. “I don’t really know why I’m here.” You looked over your shoulder, gazing at the home that was calling you back, the husband that was asleep in the bed you shared.

“I can’t help you with that, sugar.” She said, gruffly. “When you know what you want, come and find me.” She went to close the door, but on instinct, your hand flew out to stop it.

“Can I come in?” She looked at you for a moment longer, eyes sullen and mind begging to send you back home. But she opened the door nonetheless, allowing you to step in. You had never been in Sevika’s home, but it looked just like you would think. Clean, homey, a little boring. Lots of pictures of people you didn’t recognize, aside from the ones you met at the bar.

“What can I do ya for, angel?” The name made you breathless. It effortlessly brought you back to when she had you riding her, calling you angel.

“I thought maybe we could talk,” You moved through her house slowly, taking a spot in the living room. It felt embarrassing, inviting yourself in like this, late. “Unless you’re sleeping. I understand if I woke you.” She punched out a laugh.

“I ain’t slept in weeks,” she plopped down across from you, the L shaped couch making it easy to see her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Husband doin’ you wrong?” You considered whether you should answer yes.

“We’re going to start trying for a baby,” you told her, cringing at the sentence. You could see her face drop and her eyes change, but she was quick to recover. “I’m not sure I want to.” Your gaze fell to your hands as you crossed your ankles.

“Want to try, or want to have a baby?” She clarified, brows knit as she leaned back and fell into her manspread once again.

“I guess both,” you sighed, “I don’t know if I’m ready to have a baby with him, and the trying part..” you trailed off, considering your options as to how to phrase what you wanted to convey. “When we.. did what we did, it was much more fun than when my husband and I sleep together,” a proud smirk found Sevika’s lips. “He’s very boring, he doesn’t like to try things. In out, in out.” You made a gesture with your hands and she laughed. “He’s always on top of me, it never really changes. I don’t like it.”

Sevika hummed. There were so many ways she could take this. “You don’t say,” her accent was thick this time of night. It made you wonder what she was thinking about. “So you want somethin’ rougher?” You nodded slowly, not 100% sure what ‘rougher’ meant. “Tell me, sugar, has anyone ever bent you over?”

Your eyes blew, and your lips parted. Sevika’s clit started to beat at the expression. It was perfect, she longed to frame it. “No, I don’t believe so.” She tapped her thigh, looking at you with low eyes.

“Come,” she instructed, and for some reason, you stood, and found placement on her thigh. Her hands gripped your hips in a tighter grip than the one she had the first time you were like this with her. There was something different in her now. “Tell me what you want. What he isn’t giving you.”

You thought for a moment. “I’ve always thought about having my hands bound,” you told her, quietly. You let out a soft gasp as she used her tight grip on your hips to roll them forward slowly. “I don’t know how that would work, but I’ve wondered. Sometimes I think about my throat..” Once again you trailed off, unable to formulate the right thing.

“What about your throat, darlin’?” Sevika pushed, bringing you down on her thigh again.

“Having it squeezed, being choked in a sense.” Sevika let out a soft ‘mhm’, reaching up and cupping your face, swiping her thumb along your bottom lip before her hand fell to your throat, gently wrapping around your windpipe. Your hands rushed to her wrist as she tightened her grip, forcing your head up. She held you there, large hand wrapped tightly around your throat while her mech hand worked with your hips.

The fuzzier your brain got, the better the muscle of her thigh felt under you. Sevika rocked you and rocked you until you were finding your own pace, forcing your cunt down onto her thigh in rapid, uncoordinated motions. You were so close, stomach twisting as you gasped for air under Sevika’s hand, just for her to hold you down and restrict your movements. “Sevy,” you whined, trying to push and get to your finish.

“No baby,” she hushed. “Y’r gon’ have to wait. You can do that, can’tcha?” With a huff you nodded, wondering how long you’d have to wait. What did she even mean by ‘wait’? Sevika lifted you off her lap and stood you up, standing with you and pressing a hand into your back, pushing you until you began walking.

Her bedroom was lovely. She had a large bed, probably because she was so tall. The sheets were a dark shade of purple and made, creating a clean look for the already clean room. Once you got in the room she shut and locked the door, as if anyone else would walk in. “Sit. I’m gonna get some things, sugar. I’ll be right back.” You sat on the edge of her bed and watched her move around, first grabbing a box from a drawer and then leaving, returning shortly after with a bunched up rope.

“What’s all of that?” You asked, trying to catch a glimpse of what she had aside from the rope. God, of course she had rope. She was a rancher after all, she probably took it from the stables. She sat her things down on her nightstand next to her bed, turning to you.

“Nothin’ you needa worry your pretty little head about, sweetheart.” Sevika came to you and leaned down, tilting your chin to her and capturing your lips in a kiss. It grew from a chaste kiss to a feverous one quickly, with Sevika bearing down on you, pushing her weight into you, making you hers, just for tonight. She pulled away from you, climbing into and laying back on the bed. “Get up and strip for me, peach.”

“What if I want you to undress me?” You pouted. It felt strange, acting like this. You wanted her hands on you, you didn’t want to bother doing it yourself. That’s what you were here for. Not having to do things yourself like you did with your husband.

“You said you didn’t want borin’,” she said, nonchalantly, as she laid back and placed her human arm behind her head, muscles flexing in the best way possible to keep her upright. “So get up and strip.” Huffing, you did as told.

You would never have looked at the situation and called it something as vulgar as a strip tease, but the slowness of you stripping yourself and the way Sevika’s eyes fell upon your body as you did made the thought cross your mind. You were slow to pull your pajama top up, slow to slide your pajama shorts down your thighs, slow to rid yourself of your panties. God, she could come off the sight of it.

Once you were naked, she beckoned you over with her mech hand, having you sit in her lap. “You look so damn pretty like this, all naked in my lap.” She felt as if this was her first time having a woman in her lap. She didn’t know where to start, all of her favorite things were before her, yearning to be touched and pulled and sucked.

She leaned into your neck, sucking the skin there briefly before traveling down your body. She caught your nipple in her mouth, and by some miracle, you could’ve sworn it felt better than the first time. Maybe it was because, in her lap, you had something to grind down against when her teeth clashed over the sensitive spot in your nipple, and when she pushed her tongue up into the spot after nipping it.

“Sevika,” you moaned, head thrown back as she did her best work on your tits. Fuck, your tits. She barely thought about them the first time, but now? Now. She got to see them in all their glory, nipples perky and waiting, so fucking ready for her. She didn’t even bother with her mech arm, she needed to feel you. Feel the way your nipple hardened when she rolled it between her fingers and feel the way you gasped and ground down on her every time she made you feel good.

She made you feel good. Nobody else. Only her.

She switched tits, and she couldn’t resist rutting up into you when a string of drool dripped from your boob. She didn’t even realize she was sucking enough that drool could fucking drip from you nipple, but it was a sight from God nonetheless.

She took much longer on your tits this night than she had the previous night you spent together, and it was lovely. But, to your humiliation, you had completely soaked through her pajama pants. The material was thin, but it was sopping from your grinding and dripping. She could feel it on her leg, and the feeling was driving her up the wall.

Sevika didn’t find herself begging very often, especially not at the mercy of a woman she had in bed, but when her eyes fell between your wet nipples and the patch on her thigh, she couldn’t find herself doing anything but. “Please ride my face, sweet thing, need y’on my face.” Her hands rested on your thighs in a tight hold.

You sat up, going up and up until your cunt rested over her nose, and your thighs found purchase on either side of her head. She brought her hands to your hips and pulled, dragging you down onto her mouth. You were quick to learn that sitting on Sevika’s face was the best feeling you’d felt at this point in your life.

However, you were also quick to learn that her nose had more purpose than just fitting her face and breathing. Your clit found purpose on her nose while you rode her tongue, so much so that it made the experience that much better. You must’ve looked like a fucking slut the way you were humping her face, but the feeling of her flattening her tongue and letting you take control was one that you never wanted to escape.

Your orgasm hit you like a punch, making you double over on her face. With ease, Sevika lifted you off her face and pinned you to the bed by your lips, licking you up and making your legs shake around her head. “Sevy, it’s too much,” you whined, but she didn’t care to listen. Her middle finger was pushing against your entrance no matter how much you whimpered and moaned, finding solace in your pussy as she fucked you again.

Her pace was ruthless, fucking you with two of her fingers and arching them into the best spot inside you. You were gripping the sheets, arching your back, doing anything you could to get away from her relentless abuse of your cunt, but she was stronger than you, and you loved it.

Sevika loved it too. She loved the way that, if she wanted to, she could get you to do anything she wanted. You were easy to hold down, easy to pick up and throw around the room, she loved being bigger than you. It drove her mad, the way you looked next to her, or under her, or better yet, on top. She simply couldn’t get enough.

“We’re gon’ try somethin’ new, peach,” she kissed your pelvis, overtop where her fingers were still logged inside you. “I’m gonna stretch you out, make you all good and ready for my dick.” The words hardly registered in your head before a third finger was probing in your entrance. And it hurt. Three of her large fingers were wider than anything you had taken before, and it made you wonder how wide her strap was if her fingers were stretching you this much.

“Vika it hurts,” you cried, and she paused, letting you adjust to the feeling before pushing more in you. She adored the view, the way your pussy gaped and pulled her in. With little further struggle, all three fingers were knuckle-deep in you, and you were clenching tightly around them.

“That’s my pretty girl,” her voice was hoarse, watching you take her. If this was this good, she couldn’t imagine what her strap would look like bottomed out in you, greedy pussy sucking her in. She fucked your cunt slowly, building up your orgasm with each pump, until you were on the brink, and once you were there, she attached her lips to your clit and sucked, pulling everything she could out of you.

You came again with a shriek, overstimulation getting to the best of you. She had you coming for maybe a full minute, getting everything she could out of you before stuffing her fingers in your mouth. You hoped this would become a routine - her fucking you then making you suck your cum off her fingers. The way she looked at you was irreplaceable.

When she was finished, she was giving you a whole new set of instructions. “On your knees, face the headboard.” You did as told, waiting patiently as she trifled through her things. You felt the bed dip and her body take position behind you. “Gimme y’r hands, bunny.” The new nickname had you reeling.

You placed your hands behind your back and she gripped them both in her mechanical hand, and soon after, you felt the rough material of rope lacing your skin. She pulled tight, letting the scratchy material dig into your skin. “Be good, or I’ll have you comin’ till you can’t fucking think.” She whispered in your ear, placing a small kiss below your ear before pushing you forward and bending you over.

With a squeal, you went cheek first into the pillows, ass up. Sevika pressed her mech hand into the arch in your back, pushing down and down until you were arching up as much as you could. Sevika smirked, not that you could see. You looked so pretty like this. Your pussy was drenched, waiting for her dick. She swiped two fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness and smearing her strap with it, before lining her tip up with your entrance.

You whimpered when she pushed into you, the feeling different than her fingers. It was different than anything you’d felt - the rubber wasn’t warm like when you got fucked by your husband, obviously, and as she bottomed out, it was insatiably better than any way your husband had fucked you.

Maybe her strap was longer, or maybe it was the position she had you in, but the stretch of your cunt and the feeling of her being in you made your head spin. She pressed a firm hand into your shoulderblades as she began to work her hips, fucking you gently at first. She couldn’t watch anything but the sight of her strap disappearing fully in you, and it was growing harder and harder each breathing minute to restrain herself from fucking you as roughly as she could.

Really, there was no luck for her the minute your little uh, uh uh’s started, matching each thrust as the air got punched out of you. She grabbed your hip roughly and fucked into you harder, the skin of her thighs slapping loudly against your ass as her pace quickened.

“Fuck baby, y’r so good, such a good pussy.” She groaned, base of the harness fucking against her clit in just the right place. Her pace only got faster, and you were practically crying to god. It was no less than the best thing you'd felt in your life.

“Vika,” you moaned, dragging out the ‘a’ while her pace grew restless. She needed your pussy. It was like she was high out of her mind, addicted to your body and your cunt. “Vika, Vika, oh, daddy!” Her hips came to a stuttered stop.

Before you could apologize, her mech hand was wrapping tightly around the back of your neck and pulling you up off the bed, against her chest. She continued her original pace, the new angle hitting even better than before. “You call y’r husband that, sweetheart?” She groaned.

“No,” you whined, and she grabbed the rope, pulling you into a deeper arch against her. “Just you, Vika.” Her head fell into the crook of your neck with a deep groan.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she pushed you back down, reaching around and rubbing your clit with her human hand. Her pace and the clit stimulation had your stomach twisting. “Wanna put a baby in you,” she moaned before she could think. The conversation you guys had early resurrected in her brain, and the thought of fucking a baby into you, just the thought. Fuck, she could've come on sight.

“Please,” you whined, high pitched and fucking disgusting. “Put a baby in me Vika,” she was going to fucking explode. Her hand found your throat again, leaning over you and squeezing as she fucked you as deep as she could. You were so fucking close, the feeling almost overwhelming.

“Gon’ make you a mama, peach,” the idea crawled into her mind and she knew it would never leave. Fucking you pregnant with her baby. If she could, she would never stop. “Fuck,” her moan was much higher pitched than any of her others, and you could tell she was growing just as close as you were, “take it, take it, take it,” she moaned in between thrusts, hand only tightening around your neck. “Fucking take it, nghh,”

You came at the same time, but you could barely keep yourself from coming again when she reached down and squeezed, filling you up and leaving you spent. You moaned again, rocking back into her.

She pulled out slowly, letting you adjust to being without her as your cunt drooled. You went to move and she slapped your ass, making you yelp. “Stay.” She commanded, and you did.

It was truly a humiliating position. You were ass up, drooling like a fool while her cum dripped from your cunt. When she came back, she had a toy, and she wasted no time pressing it into you. “Keep this in ya’ till you get home, y’hear me? Need you full of my cum, bunny.”

She unraveled your hands and you rolled over, the plug shifting in you just enough to roll against your sensitive g-spot. “How'd you like that, pretty? Rough enough for my girl?” You watched as she stripped herself of her strap and put on a clean pair of purple boxers.

You simply hummed, shifting in her bed and rolling onto her pillows. “I like you a lot, Sev.” You mumbled, fuzzy, fucked out brain speaking before registering. “Wanna keep coming over.”

Sevika sighed. “Wish you could, sugar plum.” She came to you and rubbed your thighs. “But for now, you oughta get home. Y’r husband's waitin’,” you groaned, shutting your eyes tightly. “‘m sorry, angel.” You sat up, letting her bring your clothes to you.

“Where are my panties?” You asked with a pout as you trifled through the mound of clothes she presented you with.

She pressed a kiss into your forehead, but you could feel her smirk under it. “I’m keepin’ those, peach.” You giggled, slipping your top over you and standing to slip your shorts up. “You best do what I say ‘nd keep that in you.” Her tone was low as she watched you dress from her relaxed position on the bed.

“I will,” you promised, reaching over and placing a finger kiss on her lips. “Wish you could watch me drip, though.” You pouted.

“Don't say shit like that,” she growled, “or I'll have you bent over again.” You shrugged, smirk painting your lips.

“Bye Sevy,” you said quietly as you slipped on your shoes and robe. “I'll see you.” She sent you a short goodbye and you were leaving her home, traveling back across the ride and into your house.

What a life, you thought. You spent the time before you fell asleep thinking about what life would be like with Sevika. Having Sevika’s babies, walking down the aisle to Sevika. And boy, it was good to think about.

taglist: @sevsgiirl @chaosisclassy @ilovesevika88 @2hiigh2cry @glass-apothecary @zthebean27 @sli-v3r @carotenoidstereo @hbwrelic @savedforlaterr @sunflowerwinds @megamultifandomtrashposts @thatsmadiculous @thehoneybeesting @moodient @jinxvex @lez-zuha @sookaihrts @belovedisappointment @rereanduselessbird @sksksscarlet @coneyislandhorrorqueen @prwttiestbunny @ghostlylittlemoths @half-of-a-gay @aiden-slayyyys @womenlover360 @luphelia @maximoff-jp @losernb @dayfeelinglighter @powderpinkandsweeet @gumboug @andyslovingwife @hello222things @ayooooohush @yoursimhannah @yesplstodaysatan @purplehazzes @xblinkx2 @mistershotz @lilithyys @abbyanderswife @stmvivs @theoreticalfreak @deliciouslydeviantsatan @lonely-nerd-sodaholic @misswannadieqwq @wingedhallows

#sevika #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #arcane smut #arcane league of legends #arcane league of lesbians #league of lesbians #league of legends

2K notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 4 months ago

Note

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

2K notes · View notes

pr0cyon-lotor · 13 days ago

Text

AU where SJ is a horror movie director and actor. All the movies he makes aren't overly gore filled and they focus on psychological horror (and have an all female cast with very few exceptions because of course). However, all the movies he acts in have him get brutally murdered (it's in his contract).

SY is a horror movie nerd and got hooked on SJ through his acting. He loved the monsters and the creative deaths. The interviews he watched of SJ, he's enamored (in a TOTALLY PLATONIC AND PARASOCIAL WAY) with the way SJ says he's usually the one writing his own death scenes. That led him to find SJ's movies and he was even more hooked.

But SY is also an actor, but he plays love interests in cheesy romance dramas (he did it originally to beat his sister in a bet but it's not a bit anymore). He's charming and sweet with all his co-actors and even amassed his own irl harem. He wishes he could act in horror movies, but he's too well known as the kind pretty boy from the romance genre. And people will most certainly riot if his characters die, so :(

And as cheesy and sappy SY thinks his roles are, SJ is absolutely enamored as well. His guilty pleasure is watching cheesy romance dramas. He loves them in secret and wishes saintly men like SY's characters existed in real life.

Anyway, during an interview with SY, he's asked what genre he likes, and he tells them that he's actually fond of horror. They ask what type of horror and he immediately starts gushing about SJ. About his acting, his genius, his writing, his directing skills, etc. He tells the interviewer that his dream is to either work with or under SJ, but he laments that he always gets rejected for horror roles.

In the distance you here all the woman SY has enchanted wail in unison as they realize they don't have a chance because he likes men.

SJ obviously sees this and doesn't know what to do with the obvious praise. He panics as SY says he wants to work with/under him, and is struck with inspiration (he had writer's block for a long time). And he writes a script with a kind man that gets everyone to love him with a few words that is actually a siren that secretly consumes his admirers (or something IDK I'm uncreative. it doesn't matter it just has to be a monster role that is obviously made for SY)

He refines the script and starts casting. SY hears SJ is looking for roles openly, which is rare because SJ usually has closed castings. So he hurries over and auditions for the main villain, and he gets the role (to no one's surprise).

When they start the filming process, SY has basically enchanted the whole crew and they all agree that SY was the best option. And then one of the scenes where SY reveals himself as evil, and everyone had something awake in them.

The entire time SY is hoping he's doing well so SJ will like him. And in SJ's corner, he's fighting demons to stay professional. Everyone is fighting their battles while SY keeps looking at SJ after each shoot to see if he's doing a good job. But SJ keeps leaving, so obviously he's not. So he tries even harder (causing so much emotional distress in everyone that wants him desperately)

When everything wraps up, SY asks if SJ would be interested in dinner so he can pick his brain. SJ hesitates thinking SY was going to reveal that he too was two-faced like his character. But no, SY genuinely asks him so many questions and looked stary eyed when he answered. SY didn't try anything and they left with SY walking SJ to his car before going to his.

SJ drives home conflicted because apparently a prince charming does exist and he casted him as a murderer in his show/movie. And SY is happy because he thinks he did so well in getting his favorite actor/director to finally like him.

The movie/show releases and everyone also has a violent awakening and want SY in more villain roles.

SY is happy because he can finally be in horror movies. SJ is actively making scripts to just invite SY to act in them (the most productive he's been in a while). SY is over the moon when he gets an invite to act in another of SJ's scripts and puts his all in his characters. He ends up shining so much that even if he was a side character, he'd be a fan favorite.

And eventually he and SJ get invited to play in a movie. SY is excited to act with SJ (he didn't read the script before accepting the role), and SJ is so conflicted because not only does the movie have a kiss scene between their characters but SY kills him. It's like evil, toxic yaoi or something.

SY finally reads his damn script and is having a whole sexuality crisis, but he shuts up because he doesn't want to lose this opportunity (and he doesn't want to offend SJ, who is openly and maliciously gay). The director (Airplane) is doing this for the love of the game and fan service, so he makes them redo scenes over and over again until he liked a shoot.

SY locks in and tries not to think much of it. Then SJ tells him they have to practice the kiss scene because it has to look authentic (Airplane is a tyrant and demands it to be sloppy and crazy and REAL), and suddenly SY is thinking WAY too much about it. They try, SJ tells him he kisses stiff, and that he figured all his romantic main lead roles would make him a better kisser.

SY doesn't know how to say that he uses stage kisses instead of actually kissing his co-actor because he always felt uncomfortable with it, so he settles on saying something accidentally suave. Probably something like "It's different to kiss someone you admire so much".

SJ takes at least 15 points of psychic damage and tells him that they better practice for him to get used to it (excuse to kiss SY).

Then the day of the scene comes and like... I can't think of anything to end this with. Idk they get caught in the moment and have weird sex on set or something and Airplane calls it genius and takes the movie to production.

This optional if you want to write this au. I just don't have a way to end this post :3

#svsss #jiuyuan #scumcum #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #I'm mostly writing this to feed the bottomless pit (the scumcum server I'm in)#ignore me im insane

1K notes · View notes

princesssmars · 5 months ago

Text

it's getting sticky!

a little vi x reader

wc : 1.166

inspired by this tweet. don't look at me. sequel and threequel here :3

contains : boxer!vi ib this, fem!reader, scissoring, vi's a horndog wbk.

a/n: can't wait for act 4 to drop next week don't worry they just took a week's break guys. pitfighter vi changed my life i had to keep pausing the episodes to scream into my hands baby girl come home.

ever since vi had met you, she had been discovering quite a few new things about herself.

she is apparently an active sleeptalker, has a habit of biting her lips when thinking, and once she gets you in bed she needs to keep going until she passes out.

she’d always known she had a soft spot for pretty girls, constantly flirting with and taking home the girls who showed up to her matches with her face plastered on their shirts and phone cases. but eventually, she started to grow a bit bored with the routine of a night of rough sex with a stranger before parting ways, never to meet again. well, hopefully. unfortunately, some of the girls could get a bit obsessed. one of the cons of being too good with a strap.

but like a deity above heard her secret prayers she spots you in the crowd at one of her shows, oh-so-pretty face stuck staring down at your phone as a girl she assumes is your friend looks on to the match with glee. as cliche as it was, she was instantly intrigued.

she had no choice but to come up to you after the show, black leather jacket slung over her shoulders as she greets you with a flirty smile and one of her most trusty pick up lines to make you laugh.

you aren't impressed. you do call her cute, which is a win in her book. luckily your friend is a huge fan, and manages to persuade you into giving her your number for an autograph. she swears she hears the girl call her hot when your friend drags you away, and she doesn’t hear you disagree.

you make it very clear at the start of the relationship that you know about her reputation with other women, and that you don't want to have sex until you are sure she is committed to you. and while she obviously respects your boundaries, taking the care to make she never goes too far whenever things do start to get a little more intimate, she has to admit it’s a bit of a struggle to keep it in her pants. she swears after a few weeks you start teasing her, hugging her from behind when you're in a towel fresh out of the shower and wearing tops with lower and lower necklines.

and once you finally do tell her you're ready to go all the way? the girl is stuck on you from sunset to sundown, wringing countless orgasms from you until you have to use the last of your energy to tap out.

she adores how you can keep up with her, especially after she successfully wins a match. the adrenaline from the fight is still pumping through her veins, sweat and bruises dotted over her skin as she rushes over to you once she’s cleared of injuries and lifts you up in her arms, twirling you around until she starts to get dizzy. the sound of your squeals and giggles as she bites and kisses at your neck one of her favorite sounds in the world.

it can only be paralleled by the noises you’re making now, desperate and pitched-up whines and gasps as you sit across from her, eyes drooping and head falling back as you grind your hips into hers. she had been so desperate to get her hands on you that she couldn’t be bothered to pull down either of your underwear, the friction from her boxers and your panties making her eyes roll into the back of her head. she’s sure the grip her hand has on your leg propped up next to her is too tight and sure to leave a slight bruise, but you only subtly push it closer to her grip, biting your lip when her nails dig into your skin.

“come on, come on pretty girl, keep giving it to me.”

her hoarse voice pants, tilting her hips just the slightest to the side so that her clit rubs even harder on the wet fabric below, brushing against yours the slightest bit to make you let out a needy moan. normally her dirty words are enough to send you into overdrive but she can tell that tonight the euphoria is getting to you, too deep in the experience to register what she’s saying. her other hand that's not gripping onto you for dear life reaches over, her breath hitching when her cunt presses even harder into yours, and gently but firmly grabs you by the back of the head so your head is upright again.

“vi, ‘h my god-” your moan is cut off by her plush lips harshly pressing into yours and sticking her tongue in your mouth, muscles massaging each other before she pulls away and watches the string of spit that connects you to each other. a dopey grin grows on her face before she ever so slightly tilts your head down, laughing at the strained gasp that leaves your throat.

even with fabric there you’re obviously both soaked, dark and light materials stained by yourselves and each other and only growing more intense by the second. it creates a perfect blend of embarrassment but arousal in you that forces you to grind yourself into her harder, chasing that high for the both of you as you hear the audible noises of your bodies meeting.

as you both get closer you start to get clingier, your trembling hands resting on vi’s shoulders as a subtle hint that she picks up on immediately. she helps you to wrap your arms around her shoulders as hers moves to your back, squeezing your sides and rubbing over the skin when your teary exhausted voice calls her name over and over as you get closer and closer to the edge.

“vi, vi, ‘m so close, please, oh shit harder-”

“i know, i know, baby. just a little more, fuck you feel so good, prettiest girl, god prettiest pus-”

she smiles and bites into your shoulder when your orgasm finally hits you, the desperate grinding of your hips paired with the breathy whining from your throat right next to her ear sending her to nirvana right after you, broad hands pulling your overstimulated into hers so she can keep using your pliant body to carry her through her orgasm.

you sit in each other's arms for a minute, hands softly brushing through each other's hands and pressing kisses to each other shoulders. she loves these little moments with you where she can just bask in the fuzzy post-sex bliss with you. she loves it even more when she delicately rubs herself into you to test the waters, always met by your lovesick giggle as you hold onto her tighter and return the movement, ready to go as soon as she gives you a sign.

im pregnant and pifighter vi is the father

#HEY EMO BOY #took me like 10 mins to come up with a title #another vi blurb inspired by yummy ayesha erotica....#thinking thots #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane smut #vi #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi x reader smut

3K notes · View notes

cocklessboy · 2 years ago

Text

The biggest male privilege I have so far encountered is going to the doctor.

I lived as a woman for 35 years. I have a lifetime of chronic health issues including chronic pain, chronic fatigue, respiratory issues, and neurodivergence (autistic + ADHD). There's so much wrong with my body and brain that I have never dared to make a single list of it to show a doctor because I was so sure I would be sent directly to a psychologist specializing in hypochondria (sorry, "anxiety") without getting a single test done.

And I was right. Anytime I ever tried to bring up even one of my health issues, every doctor's initial reaction was, at best, to look at me with doubt. A raised eyebrow. A seemingly casual, offhand question about whether I'd ever been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Even female doctors!

We're not talking about super rare symptoms here either. Joint pain. Chronic joint pain since I was about 19 years old. Back pain. Trouble breathing. Allergy-like reactions to things that aren't typically allergens. Headaches. Brain fog. Severe insomnia. Sensitivity to cold and heat.

There's a lot more going on than that, but those were the things I thought I might be able to at least get some acknowledgement of. Some tests, at least. But 90% of the time I was told to go home, rest, take a few days off work, take some benzos (which they'd throw at me without hesitation), just chill out a bit, you'll be fine. Anxiety can cause all kinds of odd symptoms.

Anyone female-presenting reading this is surely nodding along. Yup, that's just how doctors are.

Except...

I started transitioning about 2.5 years ago. At this point I have a beard, male pattern baldness, a deep voice, and a flat chest. All of my doctors know that I'm trans because I still haven't managed to get all the paperwork legally changed, but when they look at me, even if they knew me as female at first, they see a man.

I knew men didn't face the same hurdles when it came to health care, but I had no idea it was this different.

The last time I saw my GP (a man, fairly young, 30s or so), I mentioned chronic pain, and he was concerned to see that it wasn't represented in my file. Previous doctors hadn't even bothered to write it down. He pushed his next appointment back to spend nearly an hour with me going through my entire body while I described every type of chronic pain I had, how long I'd had it, what causes I was aware of. He asked me if I had any theories as to why I had so much pain and looked at me with concerned expectation, hoping I might have a starting point for him. He immediately drew up referrals for pain specialists (a profession I didn't even know existed till that moment) and physical therapy. He said depending on how it goes, he may need to help me get on some degree of disability assistance from the government, since I obviously shouldn't be trying to work full-time under these circumstances.

Never a glimmer of doubt in his eye. Never did he so much as mention the word "anxiety".

There's also my psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with ADHD last year (meeting me as a man from the start, though he knew I was trans). He never doubted my symptoms or medical history. He also took my pain and sleep issues seriously from the start and has been trying to help me find medications to help both those things while I go through the long process of seeing other specialists. I've had bad reactions to almost everything I've tried, because that's what always happens. Sometimes it seems like I'm allergic to the whole world.

And then, just a few days ago, the most shocking thing happened. I'd been wondering for a while if I might have a mast cell condition like MCAS, having read a lot of informative posts by @thebibliosphere which sounded a little too relatable. Another friend suggested it might explain some of my problems, so I decided to mention it to the psychiatrist, fully prepared to laugh it off. Yeah, a friend thinks I might have it, I'm not convinced though.

His response? That's an interesting theory. It would be difficult to test for especially in this country, but that's no reason not to try treatments and see if they are helpful. He adjusted his medication recommendations immediately based on this suggestion. He's researching an elimination diet to diagnose my food sensitivities.

I casually mentioned MCAS, something routinely dismissed by doctors with female patients, and he instantly took the possibility seriously.

That's it. I've reached peak male privilege. There is nothing else that could happen that could be more insane than that.

I literally keep having to hold myself back from apologizing or hedging or trying to frame my theories as someone else's idea lest I be dismissed as a hypochondriac. I told the doctor I'd like to make a big list of every health issue I have, diagnosed and undiagnosed, every theory I've been given or come up with myself, and every medication I've tried and my reactions to it - something I've never done because I knew for a fact no doctor would take me seriously if they saw such a list all at once. He said it was a good idea and could be very helpful.

Female-presenting people are of course not going to be surprised by any of this, but in my experience, male-presenting people often are. When you've never had a doctor scoff at you, laugh at you, literally say "I won't consider that possibility until you've been cleared by a psychologist" for the most mundane of health problems, it might be hard to imagine just how demoralizing it is. How scary it becomes going to the doctor. How you can internalize the idea that you're just imagining things, making a big deal out of nothing.

Now that I'm visibly a man, all of my doctors are suddenly very concerned about the fact that I've been simply living like this for nearly four decades with no help. And I know how many women will have to go their whole lives never getting that help simply because of sexism in the medical field.

If you know a doctor, show them this story. Even if they are female. Even if they consider themselves leftists and feminists and allies. Ask them to really, truly, deep down, consider whether they really treat their male and female patients the same. Suggest that the next time they hear a valid complaint from a male patient, imagine they were a woman and consider whether you'd take it seriously. The next time they hear a frivolous-sounding complaint from a female patient, imagine they were a man and consider whether it would sound more credible.

It's hard to unlearn these biases. But it simply has to be done. I've lived both sides of this issue. And every doctor insists they treat their male and female patients the same. But some of the doctors astonished that I didn't get better care in the past are the same doctors who dismissed me before.

I'm glad I'm getting the care I need, even if it is several decades late. And I'm angry that it took so long. And I'm furious that most female-presenting people will never have this chance.

#transgender #queer #transmasc #lgbtqia+#trans man #sexism #medical sexism #feminism #male privilege

17K notes · View notes

kosher-salt · 7 months ago

Text

Just saw a post that was basically "Hey off of the internet people usually aren't so crazy antisemitic and most of my day to day interactions as a visible Jew are normal, everything is gonna be ok" and I'm making a new post to not derail, but...

I'm super glad, obviously, that this is the case for many of you. But I do think we should be ringing the alarm bells. Because while you enjoy your grocery trips and post office in relative peace (as you ought to), here is a VERY incomplete list of things I have dealt with in the last 11 months.

-assaulted on my way to class, followed, spit on repeatedly (magen David necklace)

-professor took me outside of class and told me I needed to denounce my Judaism (I mentioned in passing my dad's family in an anthropology class)

-same professor refused to accept my final paper for reasons that did not match up with paper, email full of dogwhistles

-same professor told everyone to attend the protests and "teach those zionists to know their place" she is a Black Latina young professor. Yep.

-another professor straight up refused to accept any assignments that mentioned Jewishness (they were assignments about our families). Gave a student who submitted nothing except a picture of a Palestinian flag full marks. Failed me. I am an all As student, btw. Forced to drop.

-the chair of the anthropology department threw my complaints wabout said professors away without due process. His social media is full of blood libel.

-had to miss my finals as I could not physically get to them due to the protests

-followed and harassed in stores

-synagogue was vandalized multiple times

-called a kike while things were thrown at me

-protestors stood outside of my apartment patio with final solution signs

-new apartment, away from campus: friends of roommates harassed me constantly, to the point I could not use common spaces. Roommates told me that's his right because it's his "political view." He didn't even live there.

-new roommate moved in, less than 48 hours before she attempts to stab me, after learning I eat kosher style. "...kosher? kosher?! FUCK YOU" stab stab, etc. Bitch that was my good knife.

-the other roommates tell me to gtfo of the home I'm renting, keeping my rent ("you people can afford to lose money") and destroy a good portion of my belongings while cursing to me random nonsense about Israel. The police took 25 minutes to get there. We live in the middle of the city.

-fun fact: I had never mentioned my political stance to these people and it's not on my face-out social media (very bare bones profiles)

-been disbelieved by everyone I told this to including the police, my school, the leasing company, and my now ex best friend of 7 years

-cursed at in a store when I asked if there was a kosher section

-told nobody likes Jews because we bring down the vibe and have a victim complex. My knuckles are healing just fine after that, btw, thank you for asking! She is not.

I don't know how to request the 7th off from my school without basically incriminating myself with a threat of violence. There is no world where I just sit there when a classmate says "happy October 7th."

Hope this helps.

#jumblr

2K notes · View notes

fuckitupfelix · 9 days ago

Note

Hear me out,

A soft spoken hero reader. He's mainly for damage control and healing. He is well liked by the public and even gets cutesy nick names and edits on the internet.

And jealous Mark, who's slightly possessive over reader. But it never goes beyond thoughts because the reader is his own person.

But the variants obviously have to have different thought processes and morals. It would be interesting to see how they react to this universes version of reader.

(You can choose the variant(s) because I really suck ass at remembering their names.)

never letting you go.

invincible x male reader

chars: full mask, no goggles, mohawk, sinister mark variants

warnings: canon compliant violence + mild suggestiveness (no goggles, mohawk, sinister) + straight up cannibalism ? (sinister)

mainstream mark has liked you for a while. the two of you have grown close during his time as invincible— mainly due to him absolutely wrecking himself every time he fights and you're the one healing him— but he's grown fond of you over time. you both like seance dog, even though it took him months to squirrel that information out of you; you're always so quiet, so soft-spoken and nervous and shy. but now he knows you better, and you've warmed up to him.

you jokingly scold him more when he comes to you for stupid little injuries, and you send each other memes and edits that you find of your hero personas. he really cares about you, and he'd never want you getting hurt. thats one thing that never changes; even across universes.

full mask!mark

when he came during the invincible war, he had two people on his mind; debbie and you.

when he finds you he's absolutely pathetic

-> im talking practically on his knees, clutching at your waist, fingers digging into your sides (only slightly)

he was so convinced he'd lost you forever, but now that he finally had you back? oh he's never letting you go..

very gentle with you. he knows you aren't technically as fragile as a normal human, but compared to a viltrumite? you're like glass to him

used to HATE when you healed him because it fatigued you so much with how many injuries he bore

he lost you once. he's not losing you again.

you're out in the city, doing your best to help anyone that was unlucky enough to get caught up in the carnage. the amount of times you expected to pull out people and only got detached limbs made your stomach churn. you've been at it for a while when you notice mark descend next to you, his suit dripping with blood.

"mark...?" you murmur, eyes wide. without hesitation, your hands are on his shoulders, placing your forehead against his as you wait for your healing powers to work. a subtle but warm blue light envelops you both. "are you okay? you look... terrible."

he doesn't respond, instead leaning into your touch. he wraps his arms around your waist and lets his head dip into the crook of your neck. "god, its been so long..." he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck. you tense up at his choice of words— this isn't your mark. fuck.

you stop your healing slowly, and try to gently peel yourself away from this.... imposter.... but his grip tightens on you almost immediately. "please, [name].. i can't believe its you." he almost whines into your neck, pressing soft kisses into it. "i know im not your mark, but let me bring you home with me. i'll keep you safe. I promise. i'll be a better boyfriend than your mark is."

"mark and I... we aren't..." you trail off, but he gets the hint, and immediately shoots up into the sky, cradling you flush against his chest.

"shhh, my love, it's okay," he murmurs, even though you hadn't made a sound. "i'll take care of you, i promise. you and mom are coming home with me. this time I'll keep you safe."

no goggles!mark

he's absolutely obsessed with you

in his universe, you used to heal him no matter how badly he got hurt

-> the healing process hurt equally as much at the actual fighting, your powers working overtime to set his broken fingers back into place and regrow adult teeth in a matter of minutes

-> yeah he got off to it. he would sometimes let himself get a little more beat up just to see you

stalked you back in his universe! he's got your daily schedule and mannerisms memorized, down to what mugs you prefer

you haven't even stepped foot out of the kitchen when mark comes in through that window with loose bolts— some things really don't change, even across dimensions. you hear the window creak, and you turn to see him there. you know this isn't your mark; his mask and suit are slightly different, but also his expression. he looked too.. calm. too cheerful.

"hey, mark," you murmur, your voice dying in your throat. there's a solid chance he's going to hurt you, you think. your grip on the counter behind you tightens. "what're you doing here?"

before you can blink, he's floating inches away from you, bringing his hands up to cup your face tenderly, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. he leans close, inhaling your smell; fresh laundry mixed with mild rosemary. just like his [name].

"hey, you," mark coos, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your nose. he sounds too happy; too giddy. "missed ya sooo much, babes."

this isn't your mark. your mark is touchy, yes— but he knows his boundaries. his touches are arms thrown over shoulders, loose hugs, and light shoulder punches. not this. not tight squeezes on your shoulders, wet kisses across your face, or thighs rubbing against crotches. definitely not.

"we aren't dating," you whisper, gently curling your hand around the one holding your face, carefully peeling it away from you. mark snorts at that, and grasps the hair on the back of your head, gripping tightly. "sorry."

"well, in my universe, we are. isn't that good enough, [name]?" he giggles, and he pulls you so your lips crash against his, but its softer than you'd expect. it was almost sweet, if not for the intense grip on the back of your head. you bring your hands up to push against mark's chest. he chooses to ignore that, pressing you harder against the counter, forcing his tongue into your mouth and nibbling on your bottom lip.

"mark," you mumble against his lips, finally shoving him off of yourself, ignoring the little flip your stomach does. "i need to go help people."

"come on, i'd end up killing more people than you could save," he groans, letting his thumb trace over your bottom lip. "actually, I think you're saving more people staying with me here, dont'cha think? come onnnnn, [name]. don't you wanna keep all those people safe?"

mohawk!mark

hates how nice you are. like actually loathes it, and he tells you that

-> always talking about how you should be meaner, how you're a little pussy. his version of you doesn't take it to heart as much anymore

prob one of the few variants that won't be extra gentle with you because of your powers

-> "im not even being rough— you can just fix yourself later, stop bein' a crybaby."

definitely mocks you whenever you cry but licks the tears away anyways

he finds you when you're looking for your own mark. you tried calling him, texting him, asking cecil if he knew. nothing. then mark comes along, hovering over you with a nasty grin on his face. only... he's got the sides of his head shaved. of course you find a knockoff and not your actual mark..

you hold your hands up in a placating manner, as if you were dealing with a feral animal; you were, in a sense. except this was a more unpredictable situation.

"finallyyy," mark groans, floating down closer to you, arms crossed. "i was starting to think they didn't have you in this universe." he then pins you to the ground, his hands trailing and groping every inch of your body as he practically straddles you. "fuckin' missed this," he grins.

you tense up, and try to knee him in his crotch. he winces a little, spitting out a curse, and his thighs tighten around you. "come on, cutie, don't be a bitch," he scoffs, staring down at you. he grabs you hair, yanks your head up, and then proceeds to smash it down into the pavement. a strangled yell leaves your lips, your hands pawing pathetically at the pavement beneath you as a blue light circles around your shoulders. your head is throbbing, and you can feel a small sticky puddle forming under your head. you resist the urge to throw up.

"why're you.." you grit out weakly, hand grabbing at mark's thigh, nails digging into the flesh.

"awwwh, is little [nickname] tryna heal himself?" mark laughs, grabbing you by your throat and wrapping his hand tighter and tighter, pressing you down into the pavement. "you know only I can make you feel like this, yeah? i know you like it, so quit fucking struggling and be a good boy, hmm?" he coos, leaning down and messily smashing your lips together.

sinister!mark

uses you as his chewtoy. deadass

you're less of a romantic partner, more his property

-> if he's badly hurt and needs medical attention, he goes to you. if he needs sexual relief, he goes to you. if his teeth ache and he needs something to gnaw on, he goes to you.

keeps you close to him whenever he does anything; he can't have his property getting damaged, now can he?

finds you and your powers very interesting.. keeps you like a little science specimen

-> he talks down to you all the time, and he always expects an answer. nods or little noises won't cut it.

you're trying to help people, attempting to heal the people you just dug out of rubble. there was one more person you had to bring, but when you turn around, you see a floating figure clad in yellow and black, and wearing a cape. you've been at it for hours now; long enough to know this mark is fucking dangerous. even if he is anything like your mark, the chances of him being actually nice are.... pretty slim.

"ahhh. i was wondering when i'd find you. this is cute, trying to save all these people?" mark hums, hovering just in front of you. he smiles. its unnerving.

"mark. hi." you say, trying to keep your voice steady. you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. keeping your breathing consistent, you continue. "it's, uh, good to see you."

he doesn't bother acknowledging what you said. "you really think you can help these people? why?" he scoffs, and in an instant, he darts behind you. the warm blood splattered on your back processes faster than the screams. you turn around slowly. there he stood, atop the corpses of the civilians you had just struggled to save, his arm poking straight through a person's chest.

"m-mark—" your voice dies in your throat when mark turns to look at you. he hovers over, the metallic smell of blood filling your lungs. his feet finally touch the floor. he rolls his shoulders, muscles flexing.

"i told you. it's pointless. you're more useful for other things." he chuckles, his crimson-soaked hand squishing your cheeks together with one hand and grabbing you by the waist with the other . he tilts your head an uncomfortable amount, and bites down into your shoulder. he shoves your head into the crook of his neck to muffle your pained scream, but the sound still cuts clean through the silence. He moans at the taste of your blood, his teeth ripping off a chunk of your flesh. he runs his tongue over the newly formed crevice in your shoulder, lapping the blood up.

"go on. heal it." he says, digging his tongue into the wound. your hands dig into his back, clawing at the fabric of his cape and suit, your yells of pain barely muffled by his shoulder. you can feel your knees buckle underneath you, and your head feels heavy as you try and heal yourself. it's not working as fast as you'd hoped— you're long since exhausted from working for hours saving the now corpses behind you.

"god, are you even trying?" mark scoffs, and his hands dig into your side, fingers piercing the flesh by your ribcage. "come on, pet. you can do better than that," he sneers, dragging his nails down and through your skin.

the writing blurbs are so uneven im so sorry :< if you want me to do other variants lmk!! I might continue this with shiesty and viltrum mark at some point...

#(⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆ lix writes !!#x male reader #x reader #invincible x reader #invincible variant x male reader #invincible x male reader #mark grayson x male reader #no goggles mark x reader #mark grayson x reader #sinister mark x reader #full mask mark x reader #mark x reader #mohawk mark x reader

629 notes · View notes

bbokicidal · 8 months ago

Text

"Are you serious...?" - Angst! [Hyung Line SKZ]

Notes : These are all obviously fictional situations, the red flags are just based off of habits we know they have (like Chan's need to be needed, Changbin being blunt/honest.) This post isn't me saying I think they have these red flags, it's just a fun angsty prompt I wrote down. If you don't like it, scroll and don't read.

If people like this - a maknae line will be written! If not, prolly not lol.

Warnings : Angst with no comfort, red flag behavior - some of these aren't even that bad or could be misunderstandings but still.

Maknae Line | "Good Luck, Babe." Part Two!! Here!

BangChan - Brushing off/Having the wrong priorities

One time, it was him forgetting a dinner date - the next, he was staying at the studio late when he was supposed to be meeting your parents for the first time. You let it slide because ultimately you understood that his job took up a lot of his time, and honestly? It wasn't easy to forget about but he had a tendency to take care of you and make up with it by quick gestures before he left the apartment or when he came home; Soft back hugs, quick cuddles before he fell asleep, or kisses in passing. Lately, however, he's been slacking. He'd begun to shrug you off any time you'd touched his arm or hand, nudging you away while he typed on his laptop. He'd tip his head away from yours while laying in bed together or he'd sit further away on the dressing room sofa.

The tipping point was when he was getting ready to go on stage and was standing in wait for the others to be ready. There was still five minutes and Chris looked a bit jittery, so you figured a quick hug or kiss would help ease his nerves. However as soon as you approach and reach to touch his arms, he steps back and keeps his eyes trained on his phone. You reach again, hesitant, and his brow furrows as he maneuvers to the side to get away. "Don't touch me."

Your lips pop apart in surprise. "...Are you serious?"

He looks over, eyes briefly wandering your face before he reaches to fix his in-ear and walks away to the door, disappearing around the corner and leaving you standing there alone. Even the soft touch of Felix's hand on your back as he passed by was warmer than anything you'd felt from Chris in the last two months.

Lee Know - Keeping secrets / Prioritizing Privacy within himself

Minho had a very, very bad habit of not telling you things. In this instance; That he was leaving for tour in two days.

A world. fucking. tour. The only reason you didn't know about it was because you hadn't been out of your home in the last few weeks unless it was for a quick coffee at the cafe or to grab lunch with a friend. Work was heavy during this time of year and as someone who worked remotely, you often spent grueling hours in your office on your computer - hunched, tired, head pounding and back sore.

So you would think that when you entered your bedroom one evening after just finishing up sorting files in your office, you'd be happy to see your boyfriend already there. And you were for a moment, until you realized he was packing three rather large suitcases full of his clothes and necessities. He looks to you, then away, wordless.

"Are.. you.. moving out, or something?" You breathe in a laugh, eyes wandering over Minho as he folds a t-shirt and tucks it into his suitcase with the others.

"No. I have to bring all of my luggage to the company building tomorrow so they can have it at the airport when we leave for Australia."

"Australia?" Your brows quirk. "When -- Why --"

"Tour." He stops his movements to stare over at you, a hint of irritation evident on his face. "We're going on tour for six months."

"Six--" You breathe out, eyes widening. "Six months. And you didn't think to tell me?"

Minho moves to drop a pair of pants in his suitcase. "I would've told you if you could handle the news, maybe. Every time I mention leaving all you do is whine and pout about how long I'll be gone."

"I get upset, yes, what girlfriend wouldn't be upset that her boyfriend is leaving for a week or two? But six months, Minho, I --"

"Don't start." He all but huffs out the words, shutting you up immediately. Minho turns away to continue folding items of clothing on the shared bed and as you watch him do so, you stand and have to wonder if you want to be there when he returns home from the tour.

Changbin - Not knowing the difference between being rude and being blunt

He didn't seem to understand when to stop. Changbin had a tendency to be honest, sometimes to a fault, though you never seemed to complain about it because most of the time it wasn't a big deal. He called Jeongin out for saying the wrong word when singing, or blatantly threw people under the bus when a joke was taken too far.

And he was like that with you, too. He would be honest with you when you asked his opinion of something - was the shirt unflattering? Were you being too loud? Was your makeup bad today?

He'd lay it on you point blank. Yes, the shirt fit a little weird. Yes, you were being a bit loud in his ear. And yes, your eyeliner was going in two different directions. Criticism that was asked for. But when it wasn't asked for? Oh.

"What is your problem?" He bites as he follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. "We have ten minutes, just wear the damn dress and put your shoes on. We have to go."

Your huffs mix with stifled sobs as you rip open your dresser drawer and dig for other options, hands shaking and eyes teary. "You just told me the dress looks ugly, Changbin. I'm not wearing it out if you don't like it--!"

"What does it matter if i don't like it? It's your body, wear what you want!"

"You're my boyfriend!" You retaliate, frustrated. "I want to look nice for you and -- for the group, and I want you to like what I wear, obviously!"

Changbin lets his eyes roll before he turns out of the bedroom doorway and down the hall. You pause to watch him go, listening as he bites about how he doesn't have time for this and needs to leave for the group dinner. You stand in front of your dresser in shock as the door to your apartment slams shut, leaving you in silence and all on your own.

Hyunjin - Being too cocky / Making you feel inferior

It hadn't happened before now, and you weren't sure why it happened at all. But it did.

You'd approached to gently hold onto your boyfriend's arm as he talked to an older idol - someone he looked up to and had just done a collaboration video with. You'd only come up to tell him that the food was delivered and he could have dinner before his stage, but the look he gave you when he finally turned his head was .... wild.

No words were needed. The way his eyes directed to the side you stood at before falling as if looking you over and then immediately looking away; The way the smirk on his lips only widened and his tongue pushed at his canines as he redirected his gaze elsewhere. The soft scoff that left his lips. The way his arm slipped away from your hold in clear nuance that he didn't want you touching him.

It made you feel like less. Like he was pretending he didn't know you - Like he wanted you to bug off and disappear from his line of sight.

Hyunjin had a tendency to put on a confident, bold persona when he was on stage and at first you thought maybe that was why he was acting this way. It was lingering in his body from the dance video he'd just filmed with the other idol and eventually, it would wear off.

But as he turned from you and lifted a hand to fix his hair, he talks to the other as if you're not even there at all. And you have to wonder if it's a persona for the video, or a side of him you had just experienced for the first time. Now you could only hope it wouldn't happen again.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagine #bangchan x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #leeknow x reader #skz angst #stray kids angst

2K notes · View notes

lizardsfromspace · 8 months ago

Text

There was lots of concern about AI and deepfakes spreading misinformation this election cycle, so let's check in on that!

A lot of right-wing accounts are trying to prove that Kamala Harris' crowds are fake - that all the photos of them are generated with AI. We'll get to that, but let's look at the most...amusing example first.

There's lots of people pointing at an image of a crowd that's obviously been generated with AI, due to extra arms and gibberish writing.

So obviously someone generated this image with AI. Who was it and why? Well, we can actually find the origin pretty easily. It was...

A right-wing satire account. Who put "unexcited Kamala Harris crowd" into a AI image generator to make a "wow, crowds are electric!" joke.

An image their own side generated as satire is now being spread by the right as something Harris/Walz created as proof they're doing the thing they're doing. Incredible. Just a masterclass

Now let's look at the dark stuff.

By and large, AI isn't being used for hoaxes. AI is being used as a excuse: people aren't being tricked by AI images, they're being tricked by accusations real images are AI.

So this hoax went around recently...

This image is old. It spread in 2017, it spread in 2020, and now it's spread in 2024. The Harris/Walz rally wasn't even in the Phoenix Convention Center, or in Phoenix. But it's now a core part of the "no one's attending their rallies!" campaign going on now

This may seem strange if you experience the news by non-conservative media, where you can't escape stories of Kamala Harris filling up massive stadiums & of Trump rallies full of empty seats. All evidence in reality points to Kamala Harris being extremely popular and to Trump's campaign faltering.

But in MAGA land, Kamala Harris' crowds were generated with AI.

Their claims: the crowd isn't in the reflection, and uh, the arms look weird. But also that there "aren't any other images".

But? There are? There was a livestream of that very plane landing (starting at 25)!

They're subjecting what they think is The Only Image of this rally in long Youtube videos and on Twitter and TikTok, and just...don't realize there's full, uncut, commentary-free video of it that was broadcast live. So why don't they realize that?

Well, I did a search for this rally on Fox News' website and guess what? They reported it exactly twice: once a interview with her while leaving that slammed her for "not taking press questions" enough, and a few clips of the Palestinian protestors at it, but not many, bc if you don't follow the far right they're trying to frame Kamala Harris as, like, a radical pro-Palestinian (or, as they say, "pro-Hamas") activist who wants to destroy Israel which, uhhhhhhhh

But another thread I found debunking this, by a former Trump-voting evangelical conservative turned critic of the same, gets at the heart of it

People who said AI and deepfakes would be used to mislead the right were missing how misinformation actually works. Fox News et al don't suppress information by confusing the audience with misinformation; they suppress information by never letting them see it in the first place. They know that they have a captive audience who doesn't watch non-right-wing news (unlike the left, who are constantly aware of what's going on over at Fox).

They can just never mention or show Kamala Harris' rallies, or do so only in close-up, and they can frame Trump to only show shots where a crowd has gathered & make it seem like that's the norm, and their audience just has no chance to find out the truth. They're so propagandized that they just accept that there are no other images of that Kamala Harris rally, because, well, they were told there weren't, and would the news personalities they trust really lie to them?

And if any stray bits of reality float into the bubble, well, it was just AI. You know, how they have AI these days? AI's most important role in all this isn't as a vector for misinformation, it's as a rhetorical device for claiming real images and video are misinformation. You don't have to make images full of people with weird hands if you can get people circling real people's hands in red and pointing at it to prove reality was made in a computer.

These people don't know how popular Kamala Harris is. They don't know she's polling eight points higher than Trump. They don't know Harris is leading in right-wing biased polls. They're being told she's hiring actors at rallies, that her crowd photos are generated by AI, that Trump rallies are popular and hers are desolate.

This only likely to increase as we near the election because, well, Trump '24 is a shitshow. His campaign started out less popular than '16 or even '20, he picked maybe the worst VP pick in history, and he hasn't made a single effective attack on Harris/Walz. They were banking on facing Biden, and then on a chaotic open convention, but instead everyone closed ranks around Harris, and she instantly became the most popular Democratic candidate since 2008. We are cruising towards Trump/Vance not only losing, but losing in the closest thing to a landslide that's possible in our current system.

They're already laying the groundwork for, in the likely case of defeat, playing the "she stole the election!" card. Last time it was ad-hoc, because Trump thought he'd win. This time, they're already making "all her rallies are fake, all of her supporters are AI, they've already rigged it against Trump" a key strategy, and, I have to assume, their primary strategy as it gets closer to election day and the polls get worse. They've always lived in a bubble, but now it's a bubble designed explicitly to cause another January 6th. By claiming real photos have weird hands, and must totally be AI

#politics #uspol #misinformation

1K notes · View notes

unacknowledgeable · 4 months ago

Text

Serial killer reader x yan!Batfam (bc who doesn’t like seeing reader finally go batshit crazy?)

This idea has been bouncing around my head for a while, so Imma toss it out here. A slim layout of it and testing the waters ig lol

WARNING for disturbing imagery, animal abuse, broken bones, mentions of child neglect (obviously)

Reader arrives at the manor at the ripe ol’ age of 8, near fresh off the crime scene of their mothers murder

None of the transition is handled well, which, its Gotham so what do you expect really, so no real systems are put in place to help this child not only deal with a brand new environment, but also having just watched your mom brutally murdered in front of you

Bruce is already 5 years deep into batmanning shenanigans, with Dick 4 years into being robin

Since you weren't as obviously volatile as Dick was when his parents were murdered, Bruce didn't really see letting you in on the nightly activities as necessary

You never really pushed hard for a relationship with Bruce, believing that he was distant because you were not a choice, unlike Dick.

Your mom used to get like that, sometimes. she’d always been truthful about you being an accident, would close herself off for awhile, but at least she always came back, or she use too

You had Alfred, sure, but his experience with grieving children mostly involved allowing them to swear vengeance on all crime sooo, he’s more of a “I'll try to solve your problem, even though what you're needing is someone to comfort and listen to you”

But you can't really fix the problem of a very dead mother

So you’re never really given a space to process, and it definitely festers

So what is a small child left to do with no real outlet for the terrible things they've witnessed? Well… recreation is a start.

You were left to your own devices quite often, and the manors grounds are so so big, so it's easy to see how you got away with your… activities, for awhile

Squirrels, birds, frogs, any animal small enough to fit into your tiny little hands, all met their end by them

It isn't until you’re a few years into your new school, that you catch a bird and show your classmates just how fragile and “cute” its bones were, and the funny little tweets it made when you snapped them

And your friends try to stop you, saying its wrong and mean, that the tight grip you have on the bird is "hurting” it, that you’re crazy and horrible

So you decide to just show your friends how wrong they are, that it's just a game

Soon, the teacher comes running over at the sounds of shouts and screaming, and finds a child with a broken arm, and a robin with a broken neck

With the reader stood above them, yelling that their friends aren't playing the game right

……………………………………

Alfred is the one who comes to get you, as Bruce is busy with something and he’s just absolutely beside himself, how did this happen? How hadn't he noticed anything?

He rushes through the necessities, assuring that all damages will be paid for, agrees to have you transferred to a different class then the boys whose arm you broke instead of being expelled (the wonders of unimaginable wealth)

The drive back to the manor (manor, not home, never home) is quiet, the silence is suffocating, for both of you,

You’re mostly confused, you never really hid your “games” while at the manor, at least not on purpose, you'd just always wash up before going inside, not wanting to get anything dirty

And Alfred is angry, mostly at himself, he prided himself on his ability to see everything, to always know, but this? He was completely blindsided.

So yes he's angry, not really at you, but you don't know that, you can only see the slight shake of his shoulders, the white knuckled grip on the wheel, the frown pulling his wrinkled face and the furrow of his brow

And all you hear is the quiet, ”Never do such a thing again”, as the car pulled up the driveway to the manor

That very night, Bruce brings Jason to the manor

And the urgent conversation Alfred planned on having with Bruce fell to the wayside

That's some of what I’ve got so far lol, there's… a lot more honestly. The brain worms are hard at work. Hope you enjoyed!

#yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam #yandere dc #gender neutral reader #gn reader #platonic yandere batfam #Serialkiller!reader #Tw:animal abuse #idk what else to tag

767 notes · View notes

coquettepascal · 2 months ago

Text

brave girl

summary: you decide to try something new when you believe you're home alone. joke! you aren't home alone. at least joel is willing to help.

tags: 18+ smut, joel miller x afab!reader, dbf!joel (it's mentioned twice,) pillow humping, f!masturbation, sexual frustration, getting caught, crying, insecurity, anxious!reader, softdom!joel (kind of idk,) soft!joel, neighborly!joel, tooth rotting sweetness, clit rubbing, kind of size difference-y, praise, nicknames like baby, sweet girl, sweet one, brave girl, etc.

a/n: yayy i wrote a fic !!! this is VERY birthday girl adjacent btw so if you liked that you'll like this (and vice versa!)

wc: 2.2k (not beta read)

You know this isn’t how he wants you.

No guy willing to fuck around with his best friend’s daughter wants it to be like this, where she’s sniffling and crying into his shirt, pushing herself not to squirm away from him. The normal idea of this would be for him to meet you at a beach, or a barbecue, or something else summer-y and sexy, and then you’d fuck and then oops-wait-you’re-his-daughter!? That’s how this should be, right?

But no, instead you’re in the midst of your semester off, and sure you had met Joel a few times over the holidays when you came down to visit your old man, but you didn’t think this would be happening.

Joel shifts behind you, reminding you that the position you’re in sucks for him. You’ve heard him complain about his back before, and now the ridge of your twin size bedframe is digging into his spine. You wish you had the energy to move or help him, but your eyes are bleary and your body is frozen from anxiety, which is better than the embarrassment of earlier. Thinking about the humiliation… a flash of hot red runs up your neck at the memory.

You had been trying something different. After scrolling online for a little while on some forums, you made the decision to try humping your pillow. Penetrative sex wasn’t something that felt good for you, and rubbing your own clit gets boring after the fourth night in a row. So yes, you decided to desecrate the pillow you’d been frustratedly tossing and turning on for the past week.

It had started out okay. And literally just okay is how you would describe the experience. After being excited at the idea all night last night, and into the morning before your dad left for work, you had basically jumped onto your pillow the second the door clicked shut. Your flimsy undies were supposed to work as some sort of extra friction, and they kind of did, but eventually you just resorted to rubbing yourself while you were hunched over your pillow. The friction just wasn’t right, your pillow was too soft and there was nothing to truly rub against so it just frustrated you more. Your anger peaked when you realized that you had been all excited for no reason and you quickly lost steam on the jerking-off part of your morning, resorting to huffing and puffing into the pillow which pissed you off so bad.

But when he had found you, or rather, just opened the door, you were crying.

For whatever reason, you felt embarrassed about the pillow situation. You’re how many years old and you can’t make yourself come? Fingering yourself feels “weird” so instead you humped a pillow? Shame quickly overtook your frustrated feelings and you ended up crying into your sheets, clit abandoned and fingers slightly wet. Maybe you just weren’t meant for something like this, maybe you just weren’t meant to have sex or be sexy. What kind of girl were you? Surely a broken one, surely a stupid one. Nothing could feel worse than this self-created humiliation.

Except, obviously, Joel finding you.

“Are you oka– woah,” is what he had said before slapping his free hand over his eyes. Joel was annoyingly quiet sometimes. Without his work boots clomping beneath him he was a quiet guy with quiet movements so long as he was on carpet, so you had no clue he was in your house. He wasn’t there last night, so what the hell was he doing there now?

A little yelp had left you as you tugged your shirt down and shoved your pillow back to its rightful spot on the bed in a flurry of movement. Blush pink had crawled onto your face and shameful red snuck up your spine, seizing your neck to stiffen your posture.

“What are you doing here?” You had asked, a guilty lilt to your tone.

Joel was standing there, clearly also flustered, with his hand still over his eyes.

“Your dad kept sayin’ he’d fix the cabinet in the upstairs bathroom but he didn’t,” Joel begins to explain, his hand dropping from your door knob. “He’s back at work now and I uh— It’s my day off so I figured I’d lend a hand. Then I heard you crying or uh, something.”

You decide to stare into the bottom corner of your room, beside Joel’s feet.

“I was crying.” It isn’t a lie.

Joel nods, almost takes his hand off his eyes, then decides to keep it on.

“Why?”

And you probably shouldn’t have answered honestly. You should not have told Joel that you were crying because you feel like your pussy is broken, or maybe that your brain’s broken, and that you haven’t come in weeks because you keep getting so in your head about it. But you did, and that wouldn’t have been so bad. Would it have been bad to vent to your dad’s friend about how you can’t bust a nut? Yes, always. But it’s worse because it’s Joel, Mr. Fix-it-Felix himself, who just has to help everyone.

But you didn’t exactly say no when he offered.

So now, you’re here, with your body cradled between his thick thighs, the denim of his jeans scratching at your lower back while one of his arms cradles the upper part of it. Joel said it was fine for you to put all your weight on him, and so you did. Your head rests on his shoulder, eyes focused on the aging, freckled, skin of his neck.

You had warned him you’d probably keep crying, but he said it was okay.

“You bare under the shirt, baby?” Joel asks softly. Your head nods your answer, eyes burning.

The shirt is draped between your thighs as your knees are propped up but apart. Joel’s hand comes down and hesitantly hovers there, fingers just brushing the fabric before cupping you through the fabric.

“Can I touch underneath?” He asks.

It takes you a second. Humiliation is still coursing up and down the lengths of your arms in little waves of tingles that tickle weirdly. Can Joel touch underneath? You barely know how okay you are when you’re touching yourself, can you really handle him doing that?

“I don’t know,” you admit.

His chest moves heavy underneath you, a steady beat of up and down that reminds you of those automatic baby rockers. Joel doesn’t move his hand from where it is on you, and he doesn’t look down at you either, thank God. The anxiety, the unsure tension in the room, it’s stunting you from getting what you need. You don’t know what you can and can’t handle, you don’t know your body anymore. Something about this situation, which is already twisted, is only made worse now. Both of you know that much, but Joel seems to know more.

“Do you want to know?”

His voice is quiet still, a rumbling noise that still shudders with nervousness as he says want, like he knows you might say no. Joel is someone you can stand saying no to, you know he’s faced greater disappointments than not helping his best friend’s daughter get off. But, you don’t want to say no. You don’t want to say no, but you don’t want to say yes either.

You just want it to happen.

One of your hands, the one that was reached up to clutch onto his shoulder, trembles as it comes down to guide his hand underneath. Your shirt drapes still, allowing you some modesty, a shield from his eyes.

“‘M not shaved,” you say apologetically, your voice tight from tears. His hand is just sitting there, motionless, and that sense of frustration is back. You don't want this from him, if you wanted something still you'd go back to humping your pillow.

Please, you want to say to him, please show me this can be good, that I can feel good still. Take me somewhere I can't.

He's too hesitant, gently cupping over the somewhat trimmed hairs. Deep down you know why he's hesitating, he feels bad about this, but you're already crying so what's the use in anxiety?

“Joel,” you say his name like a reminder, even though you're just as scared as he is. He responds quickly, nodding and saying “yeah, sorry,” before his hand is finally moving.

“M just gonna start like this, okay sweetie?” His voice swims in your ears, quiet as you rest yourself against his chest again. Joel's movements are slow, practiced, as he rubs just over your lips, applying pressure to your clit in a gentle way. Everything he does is him testing the waters, making sure it's still okay.

“Are you scared?” he asks.

And no, not exactly. You aren't scared of anything in particular, you're just overwhelmed, but that's a lot of words and you can't find the words to put together a sentence right now. You hum something similar to a “kinda” and luckily he gets it.

Finally, he sinks a finger deep enough to actually feel how needy you are. A puff of breath leaves him, and maybe he’s surprised at how wet you are considering how scared you are. Another weird noise escapes your chest as you push your face higher, nose to his adams apple as you try to disappear beneath his jaw. Slowly, he begins to rub over your clit. It’s only one finger, a little overwhelming, and you squirm at the pressure. “Too much,” you complain.

Joel, thankfully, doesn’t seem insulted by this, and instead eases up with the pressure. Your knees start to close together subconsciously, everything in you feels so conflicted and you don’t know if having Joel Miller help you was the best idea. But then he starts talking.

“Don’t want you to focus on my hands, sweet one,” he says. It isn’t self deprecating, but more of a suggestion. “Want you to focus on me, okay? It’s just me.”

Your eyes, which had previously been squeezed shut, open. You can see the freckled, tan, skin of his neck. It’s bumpy, and you can see little hairs that stray from his normal beard pattern. There’s a birthmark just below his collarbone that you’ve seen before when his shirt’s neckline slides the wrong way, so you must be tugging on his clothes in some way. You focus on that spot as his voice continues to lull your mind.

“It’s just me, right? Just Joel, you know me, hm?” He asks. It’s as if he wants to keep you in the moment, to keep you as awake as he seems to be. Joel’s head settles down more, his bristled chin resting on the top of your head as his hand works a little more intensely.

You barely even recognize that you’re still crying as you let out a soft “uh-huh.” Big, hot, tears are rolling down your cheeks as you cling to him. His wrist is warm as it rests between your legs, his hand even warmer, but you try and listen to his words.

“Yeah, it’s just Joel. I’m just helpin’ you for a bit, okay baby? You gonna let me help you?” It’s working. You can feel your stomach tightening, and even as tears still spill out, you’re nodding yes. If there were any words you could get out of your mouth you’d tell him yes, yes please help me, but unfortunately nothing will come out. Joel isn’t doing anything specifically technical with his movements here, just rubbing your clit slowly, using any of the wetness that leaks out of you to his advantage as he talks in a smooth tone.

“You’re doing so good, so perfect. You just keep focusin’ on me, alright? I’m right here, I’m holdin’ ya,” he reminds you. Your eyes shut for a moment again, and your hands that were flopped beneath his bent knees are now gripping at your sheets. He notices you squirming and tilts his head down so his cheek rests on your head now. Against your back is his chest, his heart thumping beneath his skin at a steady beat. If he is hard, you don’t know, but you don’t care either. He’s helping you right now, this is about you. It’s about you, tucked under all his warm, soft, body. It’s about how he feels so safe for no reason, and how he’s encouraging this. It’s about how he’s fine with you crying, that he isn’t pulling away or asking if you’re okay. Joel knows it’s okay because he’s making it so, he’s grounding you with words and setting fire with his hands. “Just me and you, me and my brave girl,” he says.

It’s probably the softest orgasm you’ve ever been brought to. A choking feeling crawls up your chest, choking your noises while rushes of blood bloom up your body to your head. It leaves you dizzy, breathless, boneless, and nearly deaf. You can barely hear what Joel is saying, but he’s definitely realized that he’s helped you plenty. Your chest is heaving as he presses a kiss to your scalp, mumbling words about how brave you are, how pleased he is. It’s the first real orgasm you’ve had in a really long time, and maybe he knows, because he doesn’t make you move at all. Joel lets you lay back on him, removes his hand and adjusts your shirt so you’re covered again.

“That’s a brave girl now,” he murmurs softly, “you just rest now.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader smut #dbf!joel #tlou joel miller #tlou hbo #ellie writes

477 notes · View notes