#that's my working title what do you think
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My roommate tried to commit suicide after the election results came in. I found out because his parents arrived at our apartment after he screamed at them that they were to blame for Trump in power and the fear and rejection he felt.
I, dealing with my own shit, said the world sucks. Anyone trying to convince you otherwise is lying. I regret it, and we’re both in a better place finally. It took a lot.
His parents arrived, I called him to come home, called our other bestie to sit on the phone as he also came over, muted, and proceeded to chew out his parents for an hour on why their trans nb son felt this way.
That I, a woman who is about to have VP in her work title, can pay my bills, and the anthesis of what people see when they think queer, leftist (not a democrat), chronically ill. I have the privilege of looking heterosexual in my relationship, even though my partner is nonbinary. I look like I’m not sick, despite the serious medications in my system to keep me looking this way. I am a white woman in a male dominated field. I fight for what I can, especially in my field. And should I hide and take up less space? His mother told me absolutely not.
And I said but you voted for him. You voted for a man who has allowed people, that day, to openly discuss how the world would just be easier without chronically ill people.
You voted for a man who doesn’t believe in transgender rights, the rights for your son to exist.
The argument/lecture ended when his mom told me she didn’t come for a political lecture, and I told her to get the fuck out of my house as she would not be conducive for keeping her son alive.
Weeks later, after he went through a voluntary psych hold, she and her husband called me deranged and many other terrible things. At the time, I was still a go between for them, which was the final straw.
I informed them to never ask me how their son is doing again and blocked them. If they come to our house, I will call the police for trespassing.
Everything I’ve seen since Trump took office has obviously supported what my roommate and I knew and feared. It’s taken everything in me to not unblock his mom and just send her news links and reblock her.
Ain’t no way Trump just said the government would establish two genders: male and female, in his inauguration speech, and people are still trying to say that queer folks have no need to be scared 😭 fucking losing it
#us politics#donald trump#lgbt#lgbtq#transgender#lgbtqia#politics#queer#trump#I won’t do it#but I will keep telling Alex I want to#it would be so satisfying#it would backfire so hard#i’m not gonna do it#i’m just thinking about it#my roommate is doing really well
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Animalistic (Logan X Reader smut)
Title: Animalistic
Word Count: 2079
Warning: Smut, slight exhibitionism (if you squint), kitchen sex, oral (f and m receiving), PIV sex, multiple orgasm (f)
Fandom: X-Men/X-Men Movies
Pairing: Logan X Fem!Reader
Rating: Mature, Explicit
Request: I need someone to write a Logan Howlett x reader where reader can communicate with animals and she finds out she can also hear logan’s thoughts (bc that man IS an animal lets be real) at first she doesn’t realize who’s /what’s thoughts she is hearing but gets closer with logan and realizes it’s him when he starts thinking about her
Tags: @grapejollyrancher @pinkiemme
Summary: You’re a mutant who can communicate with animals. Lately you thought you’ve been going crazy, getting images and feelings when there were no animals around. One night you wake from a weird nightmare and find Logan in the kitchen. You soon discover that the nightmare was Logan’s and that you’re not going crazy, but that you can communicate telepathically with him. Smut ensues.
A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I’ve had lots to do with work and personal life. I also got sick five times since September. I also made it so the reader can see his thoughts more than hear them – you’ll see how it works out.
Work:
From a young age you could communicate with animals. You got feelings and flashes of images from them. You discovered it first with your friend’s dog. Whenever you were over there you felt happiness radiating off of him and glimpses into his mind. When the dog was hungry you would get images of kibble and feelings of hunger. You would always be the first to know when the dog needed to go outside and use the bathroom.
When you were a young adult your parents discovered your abilities and sent you to live at the Xavier institute. You loved it there. Mostly because it was quiet and there was very little animal activity. You studied there for a little while and then became an animal sciences teacher.
When a man named Logan and a girl named Rogue came to the institute things began to get more complicated. You would feel angry, agitated, or afraid for no apparent reason. You would get images – no memories that weren’t your own. You thought you were going crazy. You were too scared to even tell the Professor.
One night you woke after a terrible nightmare. Too afraid to go back to sleep, you trudged down to the kitchen and found Logan there.
“Hey, Y/N” He said, “What are you doing up? It’s almost midnight.”
“I could ask you the same thing, Logan” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You suddenly felt parched as if you hadn’t drunk anything all day.
“Touche” Logan opened the fridge. He grabbed a soda out, opened it and chugged the contents. Your feelings of thirst were suddenly gone. Weird.
“I had a nightmare and I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” You finally admit to your friend.
Logan let out a mirthless laugh, “You and me both, bub. Wanna talk about it?”
“I…I don’t want to sound crazy,” you said. Pulling at the hem of your nightgown. Logan looked over at you with an unreadable expression. Flashes of male hands sensually roaming a female body went through your mind.
“You could never sound crazy,” Logan said.
“I don’t know about that,” you let go of your nightgown’s hem and crossed your arms across your chest. You looked away from Logan and felt a heat wash over you as you got glimpses of a man kissing a woman’s breasts.
“Try me,” he responded drawing you out of your visions.
“Okay, well, I was in this lab of sorts and my body was hooked up to these wires and tubes and stuff. And I was submerged in water or something and I was in pain. Lots and lots of pain. I looked over to a man, Stryder, I think, and get so angry at him I want to kill him, but I don’t. I don’t know why I don’t. But I pull all the tubes and wires and stuff off my body and start to run but then feel a sharp stinging pain and then I woke up,” You looked back up at Logan whose eyes were wide.
“Stryker. His name was Stryker,” Logan said quietly.
“Yes, how did you…” You trailed off.
“Because that’s my nightmare. My past,” he threw the bottle of soda away.
“What? How… Why?” You stuttered.
“I don’t know, Y/N.” Logan said, “Let’s go to the professor in the morning and see if he knows what is going on.”
“No! I’m not crazy. It was just a coincidence. Must be,” You shrugged.
“I never said you were,” Logan held out a hand to calm you. He licked his lips and you received flashes of a man undressing a woman with a similar nightgown to yours. You felt wetness pool in your panties.
Could it be? No, you thought. It can’t be him.
“Quick, logan, what are you thinking right now,” You spoke up.
“What? I don’t see – ” He began.
“Just tell me.” You interrupted.
“I…Y/N, I don’t see how this is relevant.” His face turned bright red.
“You’re thinking about me, aren’t you.”
“Well, I am talking to you.”
“But you’re thinking of me in a different way than just talking to me, aren’t you Logan? You’re thinking about fucking me, aren’t you.”
“What are you on about, Y/N?” Logan cleared his throat.
“I think I know why I had your nightmare. I can communicate with you like I can with animals, can’t I?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan denied it but you knew deep down that it was true.
“Stop lying, please. Ever since you and Rogue arrived several months ago, things have been different for me. I thought I was going crazy and just seeing and feeling things without an explanation. But it’s been you this whole time, hasn’t it.” You said without taking a breath.
“I suspected a little after we first met. I could feel you in my mind.” Logan sighed, “But it was all just suspicions. I didn’t know for sure, not until just now when you told me about the nightmare.”
“So, what were you just thinking about, Logan?” You stepped towards him while maintaining eye contact.
“Princess, I think you know.” He cleared his throat.
“I do. But I want to hear you say it,” you closed the remaining gap so that he was inches away from you.
“I was thinking how damn fine you look in that fucking nightgown.” He purred, “And I was wondering how you would look without it.”
“Well, there is only one way to find out, isn’t there” you smirked and looked up at him through your heavy eyelids.
In a flash Logan’s mouth was on top of yours, kissing you hungrily.
“My room.” You said between kisses.
“No. Here.” Logan growled while his fingers grazed the hem of your nightgown and his mouth moved to your neck. You let out a moan and your hands roamed his chest over his white t-shirt.
“We’ll get caught, Logan,” you whined.
“If anyone is up past midnight, they deserve to catch a show.”
You would have cared more but the ache you felt for him was too strong. You nudged his lips up to yours and bit onto his bottom lip.
“Oh, look whose got the animalistic tendencies now.” Humor shone in his eyes.
You giggled and went back to kissing him. Logan ran his large hands up your thighs and hooked them onto your nightgown hem. He took the hem and lifted. You complied and he took the nightgown off your body and threw it to the floor. He then moved onto your soaked panties. WHen he saw the pool of wetness in them, he grinned.
He took some time to look at your naked body. To soak your beauty in. When he had enough of the view he ran his rough hands over your soft breasts, toying with your nipples. He brought his lips down to your breasts and pressed a kiss between the two.
“Ya know, I’ve wanted to do this since I met ya, princess.”
You smirked at him and removed his shirt, “Really? Is there anything else you’ve been wanting to do?”
“Well, yeah, a couple of things, actually. Now that you ask.”
You put your hands on the buckle to his belt and pull it. It releases, “I see. Care to share with the class, Mr. Logan?”
He put his hands over yours and pulled his belt off, tossing it onto his shirt. He popped the button of his jeans and undid the zipper. Then the thought of you sucking a long thick cock came into your head. Logan smiled at you. You returned it and got on your knees. You pulled down his pants and boxers, allowed him to step out of them and then looked up at your daunting task. He was huge. While a little above average length, he was very girthy. Your hand couldn’t fit around him on its own if you tried. You lifted your lips to his cock and gently kissed the tip of it.
”Fuck,” He let out a gruff moan, “y/n.”
The corners of your mouth turned upwards as you took him into your mouth. You moved your mouth forward and back while you found his eyes locked onto yours. His eyes worshiped you even from this position. Soon you felt his cock twitch in your mouth. Logan pulled back and he slipped out of your mouth.
“Princess, if you keep it up, I won’t be able to fuck you the way I can smell you need it. Now get up here and kiss me.”
You obeyed. His cock was squished between the two of you. Logan pushed you back into the counter, lifted you up, and sat your bare ass on it. You yelped at the cold granite counter top. Logan stopped in his tracks and looked at you with concern.
“I’m okay, just cold,” You reassured him.
“Well, let's fix that,” he smirked and knelt down on the floor in front of you. Logan steadied his rough calloused hands on your thighs and bent his head toward your core. You felt a warm wet tongue lick a strip up to your clit. You sighed in pleasure. He worked his tongue and lapped at your clit as he hummed against you.
“Fuck, you feel so good, Logan.”
You could feel the scruff of his trim beard tickle the insides of your thighs as he smiled. You ran your hands through his headband tugged gently. He inserted a finger into your pussy and you gasped, not ready for him to do that so quickly. He worked his mouth and his fingers in unison. You squirmed under his touch. Logan added a finger to your pussy and you swore, “fucking hell.”
“You good, princess?” he said into your pussy, making brief eye contact with you.
“Yeah,” you said breathily, “keep going, Logan, please.”
You didn’t need to ask him twice. He dove back into your core and licked in circles at the bud of your clit. You moaned and tried to squeeze your legs together, but Logan’s head and other hand stopped you from getting too far. You could feel the knot in your core tightening and tightening, it was not that far off from bursting.
“I’m close, Logan, Really close.”
“I want you to cum on my mouth, princess,” he said gruffly against your core before returning to his pleasurable assault on your clit.
Your hips involuntarily bucked up and you cried out Logan’s name. Pure bliss radiated throughout your body. Logan returned to his standing position and brought his lips to yours. You could taste your sweet juices on his lips.
“Are you ready to take my cock, y/n?”
You nodded, unable to speak yet. That was all Logan needed for him to pull you to the edge of the counter, line himself up to your entrance, and push his way into your soaking core. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he started to buck his hips slowly. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He hit your g-spot once, twice, and three times. You moan his name loudly and scratch your nails down his back. In return he pulled your hair not too gently but not enough to really hurt you.
“y/n,” he growled, “do that again and I might just finish before we’re done”
You drew him in deeper with your legs. He grunted. Your hands roamed his entire body. His one hand toyed with your boob while the other was a steady constant on your back.
He shifted you to hit your g-spot again. And you shouted out in excitement. The knot in your sore was tangling again.
“Logan, I’m close.” You whispered into his ear.
“Me too, Princess.” He thrust into you to punctuate each word.
He sped up slightly. The knot came undone and you came on his cock. His moves became erratic. And he was not too far after you to spill his seed inside of you. He stayed inside you for a moment as the two of you hung onto each other and panted.
When you pulled apart he looked you in your eyes and spoke softly, “come to bed with me, maybe company will stave off the nightmares?”
You nodded, still unable to speak. Slowly, the two of you dressed and went up to his room.
You fell asleep in his arms and slept the night away without any more nightmares.
#fanfic#x reader#xmen#xmen fanfiction#smut#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#logan howlet smut#logan x reader#logan wolverine#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fanfiction#wolverine#wolverine smut#wolverine x reader#logan howlet x reader
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Pink Matter - Sevika x F!Reader (18+)
One shot | Part 2 soon??
Contains: 18+, sickfic, slight modern!au, smut, explicit content!!, NSFW, mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, established relationship, no use of y/n, nicknames of 'baby girl, sweet girl, etc.' mentioned, dom!sevika, strap ons, oral!s e x reader recieving, rough, vaginal s e x
Word Count: 3.6K
a/n: the Sevika brainrot got too much so here we are lol . hope you enjoy !!
cross posted on AO3
title inspired by Pink Matter by Frank Ocean
Sevika likes you even when you're sick. Because there is no other grown woman or man she'd allow to perspire on her sheets and take up all the space on her mattress on an early Saturday morning when she's finally free from work and Silco's nagging. So yeah, she likes you all right.
You don't usually get sick often, especially with her watching over you to make sure you're warm during Zaun's freezing weather.
Your sweat-coated skin soaks through the double layer of navy blue sheets on the bed. It turns the blue almost black and Sevika can only think about how her shit – the one pair of sheets she probably owns – is definitely close to fucked up. God, you are so lucky she doesn't want you to die from whatever you contracted after fucking around all night during the misting rain, laughing and dancing high off your mind from the cheap weed Sevika bought off her coworker. That mixed with what the people called “Shimmer Juice”, you were half out of your mind for the night.
“Baby get the hell inside,” Sevika had told you last night, but all you did was smile at her. That blinding ass smile full of white teeth and crescent shaped eyes that made her heart start thumping a little faster in her chest. Fuck. She really was in love with you.
So of course, now you were running a fever and swaddled in whatever blankets she could scrounge up around her room. Sevika likes you like this though, fading in and out of consciousness.
Snoring softly and muttering small words while grasping at whatever body part of Sevika you could reach to keep you warm. You get super clingy when you're sick, one of the only times you are completely super sweet and malleable instead of talking back to Sevika like she won't put you in your place the next moment, but your freak ass is into it so she has to calm herself down another way to not give you exactly what you want. Still, she smiles at your petty actions. Helps to know you really want her in every single form.
She decided to run a few errands while your younger form slept, grabbing soup ingredients – Does my love prefer celery or corn? – bottles of water and a thermometer that she's never bothered to keep in her home before. The things my baby makes me do, she thinks as she puts her things into her grocery basket.
When she gets back and puts the groceries away she expects for her baby to still be sound asleep but instead you seem a bit off. Hair splayed out everywhere with your chest rising and falling heavily. A flush in your cheeks that's still so visible even with the color of your skin, tinted a steady red even in your sleep.
Sevika wondered if you were having a nightmare, thrashing and moving in your sleep like you do when your dreams get really bad, fighting more than just sickness.
But instead, your whole body is trembling, your hips unconsciously grinding into the sweat-stained sheets. Sevika walks closer, watching you move your body further into the bed, soft little groans escaping your plush lips. She stills as you mutter a soft cry for her. “Sevika…” She holds her breath, slowly approaching the voice. “Sevi, please.”
Sevika smirks to herself, touching a hand to your warmed skin shaking your awake. “Get up, sweet girl.” She had to take your temperature now before giving you any water. You startle with a groan, whining like you always do. Some nonsense about a “-middle of a good dream. ruin everything.”
“Open your mouth for something other than running it baby.” Even though you're slightly annoyed from being woken up from such a nice dream, you do as instructed, mouth wide and hinting for more than just a thermometer.
Sevika felt a twinge in her pants. Her desire to slide her strap down your awaiting throat was just too tempting. Instead, she cups your jaw, and sticks the thermometer tip under your tongue. You glare and let out a soft whine of disappointment. “Tease,” you mutter.
Sevika rolls her eyes at the petulant behavior and pulls out the thermometer at the beep. “101.4, Told your crazy ass to sit down last night and now here we are,” she scoffs. “Sit up and drink some water.”
You groan and turn your head away, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. “Don't want to.”
Sevika sighs, sliding her warm fingers over your sweat-soaked hair, small pieces threatening to curl at the nape of your neck. They feel nice as they start to comb at your scalp. “Listen, you've been playing housewife all week, cleaning and cooking all nice for me, let me take care of you now baby girl.”
You groan again, weak hands gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it off of you. You sigh into the pillow, words all muddied and unclear. “Speak up baby, I'm not straining to hear you.”
You take a deep, labored breath in, and turn her head towards Sevika, cheeks getting all hot. “Said you want to, so take care of me.”
Her eyes narrow at you, “What do you think I'm doing?”
“No Sevi, I need you to fuck me. Please.”
Sevika grips your chin, hard, probably could leave a few bruises if she tried hard enough. You twitch under her touch, ultra-sensitive from the fever. “You're outta your mind right now. You need to rest ”
You bring a hand to Sevika’s thigh as she hovers over you, grasping with more strength than you probably needed to have. “I need it, please. I'll be good.”
Just the thought of your body loose and desperate sends a rush straight to the older woman's crotch. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Fuck me, Sevika.” Your voice was exhausted, but eager, wide eyes staring endlessly into her own dark grey ones.
She watches the quickened rise and fall of your chest as she goes to take off her vest and her pants. Of course she's commando. Of course. The thing you're waiting for is less than 5 steps away, tucked in the nightstand drawer. Sevika is quick to grab the strap-on and fasten it around herself. It's a beautiful deep shade of purple and thick and practically gleaming as she steps closer to you. You scramble out of your sleep shorts and t-shirt to feel her presence even closer.
“Gonna slick me up baby? Get me ready for you?” She asks as she sizes you up. Her eyes are dark, hungry, for you.
You nod dumbly. So ready to suck her off like you've done times before.
She drags her metal hand along your lower leg, up your shaking thighs, over your awaiting ass in your underwear, and up to your back. You twitch at the cold of the metal, too much sensation from such a small gesture. Simply Sevika’s touch – gentle strokes across the skin – was overwhelming.
Sevika gently tugs on your jaw, testing how pliable and easy you promised to be. She was met with no resistance as your mouth opened with ease, “doing so good already baby.”
Sevika stepped closer, hovering over your face, sliding in her strap until she hit the back of your throat with no resistance. You were too tired for a reflex, too tired to choke. Fuck, she could do anything she wanted to you right now and you wouldn't even flinch. Something dark coiled in Sevika's stomach, if she was a better person she would've ignored your pleas and doped you up with enough medicine to tire you out but she wasn't an entirely good person, and you liked her that way.
Sevika worked your mouth, it's as if she could feel the warm back of your throat every time she bottomed out. But the small quiver of breath on the straps cockhead was a reminder that you needed to breathe.
Tears welled in your eyes, and Sevika had to fight coming right then and there. She wanted to fill your throat, make you keep her strap warm as you swallowed every last bit of her. The only fight you had was an involuntary gasp for air. Sevika held you there for just a second longer, slowly sliding out of your mouth, warm and wet. As Sevika’s strap head passes your lips, you groan, trying to get Sevika to put herself back where she belongs.
Sevika replaces the emptiness with her fingers, laying them on your tongue instead. “Not now baby girl.”
Sevika hovers over you, staring at your parted lips, watching your eyes flutter as sweat drips down your brow. She lowered her hips, slowly dragging her strap along your entrance. Sevika’s other hand traveled down to the leaking pussy between your thighs, mouth watering at the wetness. She thumbs your clit slowly as she grasps your ass with her metal hand.
You gasp at the soft friction, pushing your hips up to meet Sevika, breath heavy. “Need you Sevi, please.”
“Keep your hands up. Just like that.” You cross your arms above your head as you ache to touch Sevika back. Your skin is hot and flushed and you feel like you'll explode any second that your girlfriend isn't touching you.
“Hurry, please.”
“Patience pretty girl,” Sevika warns. Your whines were cut short by Sevika’s mouth meeting your own. The kiss was rough, more teeth meeting lips and gasps than anything else but it was perfect. Just like her.
Sevika pulls away and watches her baby's head lift off the pillow to chase her, falling back almost immediately with a huff. You let your hands move from where they lay against the pillow crossed to pull Sevika back down into a kiss. Desperate.
Pulling away again Sevika pins your wrist to the mattress with a growl. You stare up at her, eyes shining with tears but overfilled with lust and want. Fuck. “You don't listen for shit, girl. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”
Sevika kisses along your jaw and neck, soft nips and bites that you wanted to feel more of. Wanted them to bruise. To show everyone who you belonged to. But all you can do is whine and mumble out whispers instead of words.
“Use your words, baby.”
You choke on your words. “M-more. Please.”
Sevika leans back down, crashing her lips into yours. “You want more?”
You groan into her mouth. “Please, anything.”
Sevika pulls away, spitting into your mouth, hungry and aching. “Swallow. Want you to remember that taste.” You swallow greedily, heart pumping as Sevika kisses down the soft skin of your stomach, inching closer to your cunt.
She smirks at the sight, you already so desperate for more, as she runs her fingers up and down your warm entrance. You moan at the sudden intrusion, rocking back onto Sevika’s hand as she slips a finger in, all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the heat and the way you're clenched so tight around her.
“Another please, Sevika.”
One finger quickly becomes three, and you can't even flinch at the rushed invasion, just blabbering and moaning as Sevika's thick fingers slam into your pussy. Your hips rock against Sevika’s hand as you can do nothing but wordlessly whimper and beg for something.
Sevika hits that special spot in quick little pumps, bringing your muted cries to loud gasps.
“Almost there, baby.” Sevika tells you, her ability to hold herself back from jumping your bones entirely is slowly starting to crumble.
When she deems you prepped enough, she takes her fingers away and slides them into her mouth making you moan. She licks her fingers like it's nectar as she sucks them into her mouth.
Finally, Sevika settles between your trembling thighs, the color a hue she's always loved from all the time you spent tanning in the sun with no worries in the world.
A gentle groan passes by your lips as Sevika sucks a mark into the flesh of your legs, nipping along the skin turning it into a pinkish red that will soon blossom into a deep purple. She grazes her teeth along your inner thigh, biting down hard. She trails her fingers up the backs of both your legs, settling on your ass and grabbing at the soft flesh, sending a shiver up your spine.
You mewled, begging. “Need you please.” You could feel Sevika smile into the mark she made on your thigh, turned on beyond relief at your begging. “Just a little longer baby.”
Giving you a pat on the head, she lowers her awaiting mouth to your weeping cunt, though you're already close even from her thick fingers inside of you. You moaned at the contact, gripping the sheets as Sevika licks you up clean. You resist the overwhelming urge to clutch at her hair as she works you out, but you promised not to move your hands. You'd listen this once, just for her.
She works her tongue over your swelling clit, swirling her tongue, and moving back down. She ate you like a pro, taking you deeper in her mouth, breathing in the smell of her girl and the tickle of your hairs along her face. Whether you had a bush or shaved for some occasions, she was very appreciative of the effort, regardless of how you presented yourself to her.
She fucks you with her tongue and only adds in a single finger. Pistoning faster as she works at your clit. It's all too much too soon and she pulls off to lick you up again, fingers still angled over your sweet spot, when she hears a loud cry. You've already cum. Making the sheets stain a darker shade of navy blue.
“W-what the fuck?” You say more to yourself than anyone else. The fever makes you even more sensitive, even the littlest bit of stimulation making you come, it's insanely embarrassing to your already dwindling ego.
“Think you can do one more?” the older woman chuckles. You just shake your head nervously, tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “No more.”
Sevika's eyes harden, grasping your hips and digging her nails in. The clutch of her metal fingers into the flesh of your hip leaves you reeling – knowing it's gonna bruise later. “If I tell you one more, then it's gonna be one more.”
He slicks up her glistening strap with whatever lube she had on her dresser already half empty, and positions her above you. She lines herself up, pushing slow yet unyielding into you. You can't help but scream as Sevika pulls out and slams her strap into you, purposely missing your sweet spot just to make you beg for it.
You try and bite your arm to quiet your whimpers, it was embarrassing wanting her so bad, wanting her dick, her strap, inside you so bad. Sevika reaches up, grabbing your face until they drift to your throat. “You can be loud, baby, let me hear you.”
She fucks you slow and deep, wanting to savor every second you're so pliant underneath her. Your mind is quieted by the fever, now, basically delirious. She uses just enough pressure against your throat to let you breathe, already labored and erratic.
It feels like your whole body is on fire. Only filled with thoughts of Sevika Sevika Sevika. Those words chant themselves over and over in your mind like a mantra.
Sevika places your legs over her shoulders and enters again with no hesitation, fucking into you even faster. “Touch yourself sweet girl. Wanna see you cum again.”
You whimper. “Sevika, I don’t think-”
Sevika puts a finger over your mouth. “You don't get to tell me no princess, you wanted this, remember?” It was mocking, less a question and more a statement. Of course you remember, it's burned into the back of your mind.
Your weak hand reaches for your clit to give it at least a little bit of stimulation. But there's no strength left in your body to bring yourself to come again, your grip was nothing more than a soft coaxing. Tears fill your eyes from frustration, from pleasure, a sharp mixture of both.
With a laugh, Sevika slaps your pathetic hand away and brings her hand to your clit herself. Sevika continues to stroke you, angling her hips to hit even deeper into your tight pussy. It's all too much and all you can do is sob.
Sevika moves her vacant metal hand from your hip to your throat, choking you properly now. Sevika’s pace quickens, folding you in half with your thighs against her sticky chest, thrusting as deep into you as she could. Your eyes began to roll, chest heaving from a sob but no words can escape her lips.
“Please don't stop, please.”
You barely have time to process what’s happening before Sevika folds you in half again. You love the way the older woman makes you feel when she's caged over you. You're not overly short or tall, but you still feel so small in comparison to Sevika’s more broad-shouldered frame. You feel your body shake as Sevika sheathes herself back inside fully with one single thrust. You barely manage to take it, body tightening around her cock reflexively. It's basically an extension of her at this point.
She lets her hand slither from around your neck to your boobs, fondling them as she fucks you harder. You scramble against the sheets with sweaty hands and weak fingers, trying to get away from the pistoning dick tearing you apart. Sevika is so big inside of you, he can hardly feel anything else.
She kisses you and it feels like heaven all over again.
Feels like you're drowning in pure bliss. She keeps fucking you through it, making you cum over and over again, watching as your body writhes in agony and overstimulation. It almost hurts, so fucking much, but it feels so so good. You love that Sevika isn’t afraid to handle you roughly – isn't afraid to slam her hips forward like she wants to destroy your guts with each thrust – but she isn't afraid to truly make love to you either, all nice and slow. Here, your mind finally has the ability to finally shut off and you can submit yourself fully to the older woman.
When Sevika finally comes it's like you can practically feel the strap swell inside of you.
Sevika pulls out with a groan, as if it really is her own cock and not a toy. Something about it has your stomach swirling into knots again.
She licks her lips. “Not done with you yet baby.”
Sevika grabs you by your waist and flips you over, shoving your face deep into the mattress.
“Fit around this cock so well baby girl. Bet you're wishing it was real huh?”
You can barely process Sevika’s words, only letting out a jumbled, “only yours Sevi” before your mind is clouded by a thick sheen of tears, sweat, and cum. You can't count how many times you come before you pass out from the fever and from working your body so hard.
————
When you come to, the first thing you feel is emptiness. The emptiness of your cunt and the bed as Sevika is nowhere to be seen. It triggers something in your chest and he can't help the sob that gets stuck in her throat. You want to call out for her, cry, something, but your throat is wrecked and raw.
“Sevika?” you push out, voice weak from exertion.
After a few moments of silence, you hear the floorboards creak near the bedroom door. It's Sevika with a bowl of something in her hand and a bottle of water. She smiles at you, her lopsided smile glistening against the window light and it's all too domestic.
“You aight Bambi?” The special nickname makes you want to jump her bones all over again. Her voice is soft as if speaking any louder would frighten you. But you're strong, already feeling better from your nap. You just nod, reaching an arm out towards Sevika's approaching figure to motion her to the space on the bed next to you.
There’s different sheets this time, a creamy grey color and you wonder how long you were out cold so that she was able to replace sheets right under you.
“I'm right here baby hold on.” He grabs the thermometer from the nightstand, motioning for you to open your mouth again.
“98.9” she says after the beep. She cracks a wide smile, “fucking miracle my strap is huh?” You can only roll your eyes, “don't get too cocky, Sevi. I was right after all.”
Sevika wraps you in a hug, breathing in the faint smell of sex, and the smell of your shampoo. “Eat your soup and if you're good I'll let you sleep with it in.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, grinning larger than life. The little gap between her teeth has your heart melting as you kiss her softly.
“I love you so much Sevika.” She presses your foreheads together and holds the sides of your face with her hands.
One kiss to your left eyelid, one kiss to your right lid, another to the tip of your nose, and finally another one your lips as she clutches you tighter. “I love you too baby.”
You eat your soup with a hunger you've never had before in your life. You go to sleep very happy that night, stomach full and pussy full as she spoons you as you both fall asleep.
~~~~
#sevika fic#sevika#sevika smut#sevika x reader#sevika x you#sevika arcane#arcane sevika#arcane smut#arcane x reader#arcane x female reader#sevika x female reader
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Please please do a lando x ex!reader. Angst because hey’d broken up when she fell pregnant but he wasn’t ready. And now seeing her pregnant in the paddock is doing stuff to him. Eventually he can’t take it anymore and he fucks her…hard.
Burning By Design
pairing: Lando Norris x ex girlfriend reader (m/f)
rating: explicit
word count: 4,7 k
tags/warnings: smut, angst with a happy ending (maybe, maybe), toxicity, 3rd trimester pregnancy, unprotected sex (not recommended by author!!), rough sex (p.i.v.), pregnancy fetish (if you squint), 2nd person POV, past tense, no "y/n" or OC names used
a/n (header): title by shame. apologies for the wait. i have study related work. this might be as fast as i get. anyway, i really enjoyed writing this and am hoping for more requests - head to my pinned post :)
At first, he could not believe what he was seeing.
It was almost too stupid to process.
Perhaps, the A plot of a sitcom he had not consented to be part of. Perhaps, a form of divine intervention punishing him for blasphemy and pride, firmly guided by its own self-importance. More likely, a parasitic thought coming up from the basement of his mind to taunt him before the sprint. They like to wake up when there is light upstairs, when he is finally doing well again.
It immediately became clear that it wasn’t a dark daydream playing tricks on him, however. Nightmares are bold and unsparing, certainly not afraid of little Lando Norris. Certainly wouldn’t hide their face at their eyes meeting, wouldn’t try to scurry away.
As much as it irritated him, made him lose track of what he had planned before the race, he couldn’t let you run. Couldn’t let you get away with showing your face around the paddock again, putting yourself at risk of getting caught by the cameras before he could give you a warning.
Lando didn’t have time to think about the consequences of the gossip that would ensue thanks to your caprice. He almost sprinted to you, capturing your arm in a firm grip.
“Hello?”
It rang loud in the heat of the moment, prompting the closest heads to turn to face the two of you.
“Lando,” you replied, volume low and tone as calm as you could muster, avoiding catching another glimpse in his direction.
You heard him exhale sharply behind you, hand travelling to the back of your neck, pressing on first vertebra he could feel beneath your skin. Continuing to walk, Lando led you to a quiet corner near the public bathrooms. He leaned in, breath ghosting past the shell of your ear. “May I ask exactly what brings you here of all places?”
His bratty tone triggered you even more than you had anticipated. You swallowed, keeping your expression stone cold. “I’m here to watch some racing. You know, one of the most normal things a person could be doing around here.”
He clicked his tongue, and you could sense him examining every detail of your appearance. Your parted lips letting a jagged breath escape. The oversized crewneck attempting to hide your enlarged belly, reminding him of the times when you used to borrow his clothes. Sunglasses to prevent you from being recognized, playing the same role as the unseen tint to your hair, arranged carefully with the intent to cover up the tattoo behind your ear - “I♡”, a Roman numeral. Lando couldn’t decide which detail hurt him the most.
“I see. Right after I lost the championship, which makes it all the more interesting, of course,” His words were laced with passive aggression, hand squeezing the skin around your spine. “So interesting you couldn’t, like, be satisfied with a screen… I mean, are you even allowed to travel, for fucks sake?!” He pressed a finger into the firmness of your belly.
You jerked away, finally turning to glare at him. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you mumbled, pulling down the hem of your sweatshirt. “Yes, I should be able to do so until week thirty-six. I’m healthy.”
Lando gave you a slow nod as he examined you, chewing on his lip. He seemed tense and somewhat worn out, the end of the year fast approaching, but it was the same man you had had on your mind for months. His eyes were soft and lively, with him sporting some light stubble on his face, same as when you had your last proper conversation; thick hair and eyebrows, a wild mess of curls you wished you could grab a handful of, even at that moment.
“Good,” he replied softly. “That’s a relief, then.”
You let out a cold laugh. “As of you give a fuck, suddenly.”
He straightened his back, drawing closer to you again. “It is still my baby,” he retaliated with a muted whine.
“In theory only. Which should be a relief to you. Now you have all the time in the world to be second.”
Disregarding your protest, Lando pulled you against himself, snatching away your sunglasses so that nothing was shielding you from his stare. “You bitch…!” He shook his head, almost as a warning. “Unlike you, I can be proud of myself.”
“Yeah...? Well. I ain't one to be controlling somebody's opinions. Good for you, Lando.”
No matter how well-intended your statement was - or wasn't -, it didn't fly with the boy in question. “I think you’ve said enough for today,” he gripped your arms tighter. His reply was full of contempt, with Lando making it clear his will to listen was much the same as his remaining respect for you. “I know why you’re here. You think you’re about to witness my downfall or something, that I’m getting weak. That you have a chance to embarrass me by any means possible.”
There was growing intensity to his voice, persistence. Lando didn’t process arguments like others would. He liked having an equal opponent to bounce off of, someone who could take his jabs and bite back. All because a part of him loved being bitten, torn down and mocked, so he would have a chance to see the vehemence in your eyes, hear the words picking him apart - so obsessed, so captured by the dance between you.
And sometimes, it hit just right, the soft spot on his underside that made him lie back and revel in the pain. It was the easiest thing to do. Give up the fight.
This didn’t seem like one of those days, however. Lando really did appear to be standing stronger after Vegas. There were urgent flames starting to appear in his gaze, accented by the orange color of his suit. He was hell bent on proving you wrong. Judging by the way his hands lingered on the sides of your belly, they would have been all over you had you two been in private.
You kept your cool, raising an eyebrow at him. “That sounds like a lot of work. You must be mistaken. I’m minding my own business; you are the one trying to insert yourself back into it.”
“Your business? Like you are going anything except fuck all.”
“Yes, very serious business. I need to find a good man to support me and my baby. There should be plenty around here." Pause. "Still, I can’t be picking just anybody.”
Lando was cut off mid inhale. He looked over you with near disgust, his grip tightening as thoughts of someone else possessing you clouded his mind. It was always too easy to rile him up that way. Make him reveal many of his least sufferable qualities, intensify the competition he was always part of, with both others and himself.
“Ah-hah. Who do you have eyes on, then?” he kept presssing, tongue running over his lips. “Tell me.”
You ran over some names for a second. “Lewis.”
He let out a laugh with a note of played up cruelty in it, flashing his teeth. “Shut up. That’s way out of your league.”
“Okay. Then, hm. Why don’t you tell me who would piss you off the most?” you mocked. “Always beefing with men with way more integrity than you. Like a spoiled little chihuahua.”
You pulled at his waist, which was molded perfectly for your palms, until your stomach was pressed against the solid muscles under his suit. As you looked up, his eyes were already on yours.
What a waste of a pretty face he was.
“Well, who? Oscar? Max?”
His cheeks grew redder at a rapid rate. “Don’t drag them into this. They’re both happily taken.”
“Yeah? And did that stop you from leaving?” You smirked, keeping your ground. “No. As I said, being a real man isn’t for everyone.”
Lando's eyes darkened. “All that talk, it’s funny, you know that. I’m sure you do, yet you’re quite shit at admitting you’ve messed up. Don’t look at me like that…” he snapped at the face you made.
“All this anger can’t be good for your body.” His fingers were back on the side of your belly, stroking gently. “All that… freaking idiocy. You chose to bang a guy at the highest point of his career – so far. A guy who wasn’t even twenty-five then, a guy who’d just won his first race. And for what? For me to leave everyone behind? You had a fucking chance; you had a chance to abort-”
“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to push your money into my face. Crying about how I was trying to trap you? Seriously?”
“Okay, whatever excuse you had,” he scoffs, laying his hand on one of the arms holding his waist. “But don’t come to me pretending like I fucked everything up. When you let yourself get pounded by guy who isn’t even a real man…”
“Lando…”
“And you loved it.” His voice had gotten close to a whisper, gaze softly studying your wide-eyed expression. “You were obsessed… I shouldn’t be surprised you kept the baby, you always wanted a piece of me, right?”
He smirked. “You still are, are you not? You missed me, it’s why you came. Just say it.”
Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. A fuck-up. Even a fool like him could see right through you.
His words were dirty, and they cut you deep. You could never forget those days, the pinnacle of your love him for him. How he had held you as they were snapping him with white light, bleaching the red flags in the distance into a warm pink that took over your eyes.
You had made love that same night, and you had been careless. You had said too much, things too strong to ever take back. He hadn’t understood, but you were sure he could remember everything.
It was all your fault, falling too deep, too soon.
“No,” you denied his claim, voice cracking.
“Yeeaah. Still obsessed with little old me…” he reached forward to pinch your cheek, grinning as if the battle had already been won. There was hunger in his eyes that made you flinch. “You want me the way I used to be. When nothing mattered as much as you.”
He could read what was on your mind through your eyes. The mirror of the soul.
Stupid fucking idiot. If only he were as dumb as people liked to think.
“Yes…”
It was almost inaudible. “Say what?”
“Forget it, Lando. Just… forget about me. I’m sorry, I made a m-”
There was the soft pad of his finger pressing on your lips.
“Shhh…”
Lando smiled at you like a wild animal he’s managed to tame, a beauty he could take all to himself now.
You closed your eyes, expecting what was coming.
He replaced his finger with his lips when he was an inch away and pressed hard. His exhale was absorbed by your skin as he pushed you closer to himself with his palm on the back of your neck, not letting you escape. He didn’t hesitate to wet your lips with his tongue, try to part them while you held on, freezing at the sensation of a hand having reached for your breast.
You let out a sob and felt him grinning against you. His teeth nipped at your lip, impatient and commanding, bruising the delicate skin. You refused to open up.
Lando pulled away just far enough to inhale, clawing at the bra under your clothes that was preventing him from feeling your skin.
“What? You literally just showed me that I was right. You pathetic fucking girl.”
This mockery was delivered the form of a quiet purr, teasing but insisting you to stay. At that point, nothing could hide you from Lando’s obvious arousal, the struggle that was your haughty, self-defeating mind making adrenaline flow through his body, much like rivalry between drivers. But you were more gorgeous than any shining trophy or livery, so enticingly vulnerable, a canvas he could see his own work displayed on.
His eyes were impossible to meet. If it were feasible, you would have had him kiss you with them. Burn your skin with the intensity of his gaze, then sooth you with the dreams he held in them, the coolness of light and his beautiful shade of green. Scar you with the batting of his lashes until you lost the ability to bleed for anybody else.
“Lan, we can’t.”
“You’re fucking crying…” he pointed out, his chuckle low and deep, wiping any sincerity from your words. “Yeah, we can. We will.”
You swallowed. You had never felt so feeble yet so willing to be. “Take me somewhere. Touch me, please, I need you--”
A dirty smirk formed on his face, despite which you let him tug you to one of the toilets, refusing to acknowledge the setting and directing all of your attention to his lips. After he locked the door, you were pressed against the wall in an instant, one of his hands moving up to your face and the other struggling to pull up the layers covering your stomach.
Lando’s look was utterly lewd as your swelling lips wrapped around his index and middle finger, sucking all the way up to his metacarpals as you squeezed his wrist with desperation. Your pupils, wide and glimmering in the low light of the room, were firmly focused on the veins on the back of his large hand, with Lando helping you roll up his sleeve to reveal them running further down his forearm.
You did not have the guts to face his insufferable grin. “Crazy, it’s all yours,” Lando laughed, conceited and mocking, reveling in the shameful thirst in your eyes. He looked down at his fingertips exploring the curve of your exposed belly, following their path with filth written all over his face. It was as if he’d discovered a muse, unexplored fertile land to roam and sow full of sin.
“Fuck,” he cursed, reaching lower to undo your jeans. You let Lando’s soaked fingers slip out of your mouth as your breath hitched, whimpering when his hand pushed aside your panties for a more enticing view.
He ogled at your clit peeking through an unshaved bush, flushed warm pink and begging for his touch. His finger went to brush past it, making you gasp and bend, and disappeared between the soaked lips of your pussy.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, glancing up with a bright, teasing flame in his green eyes, a look that understood the obscenity you were about to fall in the arms of. “For me.”
The word was accented in a manner that made your cheeks burn red in shame. You didn’t think you could admit to the disgraceful act of falling for him again, accept the way your body was reacting to his voice, his touch, his presence. He had you in full control, all but on your knees begging to be taken.
“How does that make you feel, huh?” Lando was grinning, his hand leaving your heat to undo his collar and pull down the zipper of his racing suit.
Your teeth were gnawing at your bottom lip unconsciously, heart about to leap out of your chest in a plea it was unable to scream.“Uhm… I-I missed this…”
“Missed what?” Lando asked with feigned innocence. “This?” He guided your arm to the bulge nestled in his uniform, pressing it into your open palm. A laugh escaped him as he batted his eyelashes at you with a pleased smirk plastered all over his face. “To think it made you into this,” he drawled as his other hand trailed from your baby bump up to your chest, cupping one of your tits and squeezing hard. “Am I being stupid or have they gotten bigger?”
“Yes to both,” you sighed as he began removing your top and sweatshirt, sliding them over your head. Your clothes and bra were tossed on the floor without care as Lando’s pupils grew wider at the sight of your enlarged breasts and areolas. There were darker stripes forming on your tummy and visible veins painted your chest, which made you flush under his gaze as you looked down. “You fucking ass.”
Lando did not let that fly. His hand wrapped around your neck, with a finger supporting the chin lifting it up to face him. “Was that one of your wishes right there?”
“No,” you gulped, raging need taking over your brain and making you unable to consider your own words. Your clit was silently throbbing and walls crying out in pain, begging for a hard dick taking you and stretching them out. “P-please… I need it in my pussy, Lando.”
He let out a breathless chuckle, with a low sound resembling a moan escaping his throat. “Ohhh. You’re begging, and I didn’t even have to ask. Fucking begging for my cock…”
Lando said these kinds of things not only to rile you up further, but also to help convince himself that they were somehow – miraculously – real. Earlier that day, he could never have guessed what he, what you would come to – and he would have done anything to make it happen. Your words and the sight of you were raw power, adrenaline flooding his veins, a vain delicacy for his horny and famished body.
His hands were trembling in anticipation as he wrestled out of the top half of his suit, letting it hang limp around his legs, and pushing his bottoms just low enough to free his aching dick. You stared at it with all thoughts but one wiped from your head while he rushed to peel off his skin-tight shirt, letting it fall from his fingers as he looked over you with a smirk.
This was between you, him, and whatever devil had gotten the better of you. It had really come to that. Throwing away everything you had convinced yourself of to feel his flesh against yours, to taste the rush of blood you had been missing for oh so long.
He leaned in to kiss you again, every bit of his body buzzing drunk with lust, his tongue warm and sticky against your lips when he moaned inside your mouth. “I hope he or she is asleep. I wouldn’t want mini me to witness the shit I’m about to do to you.”
Pulling down your undone jeans with your underwear and guiding himself in with the other hand, Lando entered your weeping pussy, curse words and groans erupting from his throat as soon as he’d felt the heat inside you.
“Oh my fucking God,” he exclaimed in a choked cry, “you – oh my dear, my God, you…”
You two were complete and unsalvageable wrecks. The only thing you could do was hold onto your belly for dear life as he began thrusting in and out of your oversensitive cunt, nails digging into one of your ass cheeks and pulling to spread you open wider. In return, your hand flew to squeeze one of his pecs, capturing his nipple between your fingers.
Lando was unceremoniously loud, with your own moans ringing out almost inaudible among his sounds and the wet noises filling the small space. “Ah, shit. Fuck. You’re, like… hotter inside. So, so fucking tight…”
Your hormones were rushing through your blood in silent triumph as he pounded you, each of his veins and the head of his dick bringing a distinct detail of the sensation. It didn’t take long before you were sore, so incredibly sensitive and weak against his raging body that you were trapped in a tight embrace with. You yelped and clawed as he hit your cervix, causing him to crush your shoulder in a death grip, startled.
“Fuck, are you alright?” Lando blurted out as he stopped, appearing dazed from the lack of air.
“Just spare my uterus, okay? The baby adds pressure from the inside,” you panted, leaning your head against his flushed, sweaty chest. “I feel like you’re crushing him, we’re too close into each other. Is there a…”
“You want me to take you from the back?” Lando breathed, running his fingers down your back with a dirty grin. “Oh, hell yes.”
You were bent over the bathroom sink, your arms folded to prevent you from slipping off the tiny surface, with Lando behind you with your hair wrapped tightly around his right hand as he groped one of your heavy hanging breasts with the other. He was obsessed with the sight, muttering such filth that it made you unable to open your eyes, to face the mirror mere inches ahead of you.
“Look at me.” His tone was derisive as he managed to stammer in between moans, tugging ruthlessly on your hair. You swallowed, turning your head to the side. “In front of you.”
Lando had, quite frankly and unfortunately, never looked as sexy before. His sweat soaked skin glimmered in the low light casting shadows that brought out his defined muscles and the cartilage in his throat accented with each gulp. His mullet had been turned into a wet, untamable mop of curls resting on the top of his head. Slick with tears, the almost girlish lashes framing his eyes appeared longer and thicker, unmistakably enviable.
Best and worst of all, despite of what had happened, despite the time that had passed, he was still yours. He fucked you like it meant something, cried out like it was the only thing that felt right, painted scars and bruises on your back as a reminder of your helplessness for him. One you will never cease to feel.
“Pathetic,” Lando mocked right in your ear, having laid the upper half of his body on top of yours, face buried in a heap of hair. “You’ve always been so fucking miserable for me.”
You responded with the loudest cry you could ever wish to let out, muted by his large hand covering your mouth, so overtaken by him that not a single cell of your body would have fought back. He expressed his approval with a deep thrust, showing you gratitude by moving his fingers to your swollen clit, swiping up and down with tiny, rapid movements.
“I love you. Fuck, I-… I need you so God damn bad. …I’m going to cum, I’m not stopping—"
He parted his fingers, letting you respond with a moan. “Yeah… Please, please just fill me, fill this pregnant fucking pussy…”
Your breath hitched as you cried out obscenities to your man, much like the filth that resulted in him getting you pregnant in Miami some months ago. Filth you could never abstain from, filth you could chant for hours as long as you were with Lando, merging your bodies as you were once again proving nothing on Earth was stronger than the material tying you together. You felt yourself growing weaker, unable to contain the pool of sensitivity having overtaken your intimates.
“I’m coming… Oh, Lando, holy fuck…”
Lando could feel your pulse through your cramping walls as you came, tightening around him again and again, milking his cock right inside you. He unloaded with a deep, tortured groan, whimpering as each wave of his orgasm punched him in the heart. It was everything he could ever have wanted and more. Your pregnant body warm and snug against his, crying out his name in love, so dependent on him it could be broken with one touch.
“Oh, my…. You’re just perfect,” Lando heaved, straightening his back, all shaky and weakened by the amazing finish you had gifted him. You watched his reflection he pulled out, slowly and with care, watching his cum trickle down between your folds all the way to your abused clit. He cleaned his softening cock by wiping the leftover filth off against your bush, praising you with a worshipful caress of your curves as he stuffed himself back inside his suit.
A yellowish liquid was leaking from the breast he had taken in his hand. Lando stopped you in your tracks, leaning down to bury his face in between your tender boobs, his warm lips and tongue not shying away from making you clean.
You gasped. Lando was purring, holding you tight in his powerful arms. Looking.
He had wrecked and built you back up, all just to blow everything you were into bits again. Made you a mess. A goddess. A hopeless starving animal. All to himself, in his own eyes.
In that moment, he had all of you to worship and adore. And he wanted to believe he wasn't stupid enough to let you slip away anymore.
“You may feel free to call me any names you want for leaving." He began after a long, soothing pause. "I am, admittedly, a huge fucking idiot.”
Still panting , you looked into his eyes in the mirror, your spine crying out in pain as you attempted to stand up straight. His words had you wanting to laugh. “Really, Lando?”
“…Is there a problem?”
Hugging your belly, you suddenly registered feeling cold. He rushed to pick your discarded clothes off the floor, offering them to you. You stared. “I dunno. Isn’t it funny how it took one good fuck for you to want to repent?”
“I-”
“I know you missed me. But I’m more than what I used to be, much more, and I don’t think you’ll be able handle it. It’s as you said.”
Lando gripped your garments in his fist as his jaw muscles tensed. For a moment, he considered saying something he’d regret. “I know. I need some time to think. A lot, maybe."
"But I’ll be keeping you close in the meantime, yeah?”
He stopped you from grabbing your underwear yourself, instead motioning you to stretch out your arms so he could dress his woman with his own hands. This Lando was more gentle than any version of him you could remember.
His palm was warm and protective against your abdomen, rubbing soothing circles as he helped you pull your pants up again. ““He”, you said?”
How hard he was trying. Not a winner amongst men, but it was him. One you wished you would never have to move on from.
For a vulnerable girl, it was easy to fall again.
You sighed. “Yes. For the record, I haven’t decided on anything yet.”
Lando’s eyes lit up as he grinned. “I kind of wish he was here already. He would really… love… watching me drive.”
His smile slowly disappeared as panic set in. “Oh god. I’m such an idiot.”
“Oh really? Haven’t we discussed?” you smirked, watching as Lando hurriedly put his racing suit back into shape. “In any case, don’t use this information to rear-end a Williams or a VCARB before the end of the season. This stays between us for now.”
“Okay, damn,” Lando pushed your shoulder playfully, adjusting his collar in the mirror and making sure his mullet wasn’t looking too shabby. You snuck your hand inside his hairdo, messing it up again. You had to. “Fuck you. This is all your fault. That pussy was so good I lost track of time.”
You lifted an eyebrow. “Weak.”
Lando turned to you one last time before unlocking the door, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. You didn’t have to wait for each other to lean in. It felt longer than a lifetime while you were kissing and shorter than a moment after he pulled away, your fingers still lost somewhere between his curls. His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings as he gave a look to the brightest, smallest facet of his family.
“I gotta sprint, dear.” He gave you puppy-dog eyes. “You’re staying, I hope.”
You nodded. Lando reached for the hand in his hair, squeezing it in one of his. “Come watch with my mum! She can't stop asking me questions. Please.”
“But-”
“I want her to know. Don’t hide it. I ought to be a man.” He grinned, lifting your interlocked fingers up to his lips.
Perhaps a ring was too early. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps it would never happen.
But in that moment, a kiss was more than enough.
For that weekend, he would stay.
“I’ll do you proud, okay? Let’s go.”
That weekend, you felt like you were doing to be alright.
🧡 a/n (footnote): as you may know, in the sprint following the events of this fic, he returned the favor to oscar by letting him pass, which made many people warm up to him again. he would have made me very proud :) i hope this was at the very least not terrible, as i haven't finished a proper chapter or oneshot in quite a while. i literally never like my own works after finishing, so please let me know what you think! any corrections are welcome! i strive for accuracy and studied lando's speech quite a bit while writing. thank you for reading and have a good one loves!
#lando norris#ln4#lando norris smut#lando norris angst#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#formula 1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#idk whether i should laugh or kill myself#anon request
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I think theres a couple adjacent conversations happening here, at least one about the ADL and one about goyims response to the ADL.
What I want to say is, I understand the idea of appeasement, and its possible thats what the ADL are going for, or perhaps theyre trying to not paint a target on their backs for musk and the president who unfortunately have a lot of power between them (which could be wishful thinking thaflt there isnt already a target there).
Re 'branding musk irredeemable' and his apparent auschwitz tour with ben shapiro, it seems to me that we're past that. He didnt get up and do a big sig heils as "first buddy" (which is a wtf title but the point is he feels incredibly powerful right now), to agree to walk it back. Hes got the power and hes not hiding or pretending, his is loudly declaring allegiance. I think then it stops being the ADLs job to try course correct him, its too late for that, and it is now their job to look at the spade and identify the spade and say "ALERT. THATS A SPADE. ALERT".
By instead calling it 'an awkward gesture' and hoping for UNITY with the guy doing the sig heil, theyre going "lalalala no spade here lalalalala" and as their mission to my understanding is identifying and combating antisemitism, this is a moment of major failure for them. You can work towards unity with all kinds of people with all kinds of differences, but you cant play nice with nazis or fascists, as their targets, and hope they'll change their minds. Maybe sometimes with some people on an individual level but this isnt as individuals this on the international stage. This isnt your brother your aunt your cousin sounding a little faschy and you can help them, this is elon fucking musk as empowered by president trump. Mr blood money billionaire and the president rapist.
It doesnt mean the ADL has never been correct, will never be correct, and are entirely untrustworthy altogether, as AOC seems to be stating, thats also an absurdity. It does mean that for many possible reasons, they have made what looks like a massive misstep. I *hope* they have good reason and I *hope* its part of some larger plan of damage control. I dont know though. Im not sure I believe anyone is playing 4D chess its just comforting to think *someone* has things under control. The ADL mightve just been panicking and I cant entirely fault them for that. We dont always make the best choices when we are afraid.
Guys... the ADL said, and I quote (quoting manually because fuck nazi twitter I'm not embedding it and I can't be arsed to screencap, google for confirmation if you want),
"This is a delicate moment. It’s a new day and yet so many are on edge. Our politics are inflamed, and social media only adds to the anxiety. It seems that
@elonmusk
made an awkward gesture in a moment of enthusiasm, not a Nazi salute, but again, we appreciate that people are on edge. In this moment, all sides should give one another a bit of grace, perhaps even the benefit of the doubt, and take a breath. This is a new beginning. Let’s hope for healing and work toward unity in the months and years ahead."
Bull. Fucking. Shit. That was a nazi salute, done to the crowd and then a second time to the flag. By a guy who's said a lot of antisemitic shit and sympathized with/endorsed nazis up to and including AfD in Germany.
The Usual Suspects are eating this up and talking about how this proves people talking about "antisemitism" are just trying to defend Israeli war crimes and don't care about Diaspora Jews.
You've seen the stuff I reblog; we're in a "broken clock sorta right twice a day" situation. While I disgree with them strongly on a lot of things (far more than I did sixteen months ago), I think they're right about one thing here.
We can't trust the ADL anymore. If they refuse to acknowledge Musk's fucking sieg heil, we cannot rely on them to reliably fight antisemitism anymore.
I understand why they may feel the need to make compromises to have continued access to the halls of power and avoid being institutionally attacked... but while those compromises may protect them it leaves those they exist to protect high and dry.
Stay safe everyone.
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This is about Neil Gaiman's work - this is NOT about the rape accusations, but it is about the aftermath of them. I wanted to make a post for some times now about works you could read that were similar to Gaiman's works if you wanted to go see something akin to his fictional world without directly supporting him. Which would have been a VERY easy post since Gaiman kept listing everywhere the works that influenced directly or indirectly his own novels and creations. But I realized other people were already doing this, so I just thought "Heh, let's not bother with this".
And then I randomly stumbled upon this post which is trending on Tumblr. And this post got me a little mad. Because while I do agree that several of the facts in there should be more well-known and more talked about... I also think this post is quite unfair in its depiction of how Gaiman acted towards his inspirations.
People are currently screaming that Neil Gaiman plagiarized stuff by "taking huge inspiration from things and not crediting people". Except... he did credit people. It's just that his fans never bothered to go look for what inspired him. I was there back in the old days - so I saw exactly how it went. Don't start telling me Neil Gaiman purposefully stayed "silent" about the works that inspired him - I clearly saw how people were just apathetic. Myself when I compiled lists and made posts about all the works that preceeded Neil Gaiman or that he explained were his inspirations for things, people didn't bother and had no interest... but when I made a list of Gaiman's work suddenly everybody reblogged. Whether Gaiman plagiarized or not is not the thing I want to talk about today - but I want to HEAVILY criticize the way people are saying "Neil Gaiman never said he took X from X" when in fact, he did, and people were just too lazy to do their research. (Or, if you take the "Gaiman is a villain " angle, Gaiman counted on the fact people would not bother to read the original books and he won his bet!)
I am deeply sorry for this rant but it is a little trigger for me, since I have been studying and exploring the "chain" of inspirations and rewritings throughout literature and the fantasy genre (half for university work, half for personal hobby), and I have seen people literaly ignore all the bibliographies given to them under titles like "If you want to read more of the sort". [For example the original post talks about how Martin was very honest about how he took inspiration from Druon's book series. Fair. But nobody is talking about how he indeed kind of "plagiarized" Memory, Sorrow and Thorn. A lot of people don't know about this series, despite said series having literaly almost all of ASoIaF's supernatural - in fact, the reason Martin seems to be under-using his own supernatural creations, like the White Walkers, is precisely because they don't come from his mind and they are just a copy of Williams' Norns and he seems to not really know what to do with them. But that's a talk for another day.]
EDIT: I realized the post got very long, so all my personal objections and my argumentative points against the post I linked above will be under a cut. And if you want a conclusion to my long rant below the cut, it is this one: You can shit all you want about Gaiman, but at least get your facts right. It is not because someone turns out to be a bad person that you must feel the need to blast cultural misinformation. Heck, I will directly compare it to how the entire Internet wished and wanted Rowling to have "plagiarized" Gaiman's Books of Magic, because of their similarities, only for Gaiman himself to point out, no, it was not plagiarism, it was just a set of similarities and coincidences due to both works coming from a same British culture with a specific background in children literature and fantasy works. It just happened that people didn't know anything outside of Harry Potter and Gaiman's works and so assumed it was the only two pieces of a much vaster puzzle...
Yes, Neil Gaiman is very derivative. Yes he is very imitative. But he never hid it? He always said he was, he always pointed out the works that influenced him, he always listed the stuff that he based his own works upon - down to sometimes helping these works come out of obscurity when they were too forgotten (like the Lud-in-mist novel?). People are doing a "surprised Pikachu face" today but... he never hid his derivatiness. In fact it was a certain part of the "charm" people found in his work back in the days. He never hid anything, it's just that a lot of people didn't want to see it or didn't care about it...
Gaiman posted an entire page on his blog for American Gods (back in the early days of Internet, he had a blog to follow his writing process for American Gods, weeks after week, you can still find it somewhere) listing the three dozen of books that inspired him/that he took elements from/that he learned stuff from. People can accuse him of having plagiarized Zelazny's work in American Gods because of one scene - Wednesday having Shadow drive into the "Backstage", which is a rewrite of the "driving to Amber" scene from The Nine Princes of Amber. But the accusation of "plagiarism" becomes a bit muddled when you know that A) Gaiman has been screaming for years about how the main source of inspiration for American Gods were all of Zelazny's mythological works and B) He literaly dedicated American Gods to Zelazny, first page you open.
When does an homage becomes too much? When is plagiarism allowed? Is taking after public domain a bad thing? What are the moral consequences of your work overshadowing your source of inspiration? These are questions I am not wanting to answer today and this post isn't about them - plus things are even more complex when you remember Gaiman was one of the most fervent defensers and advocates of fanfiction, reacting positively to it and encouraging people to do it a lot ; as well as one of the main celebrities on Tumblr to warn people to NOT send him fanfics so that it wouldn't cause legal troubles of potential plagiarism.
Anyway, my actual angry rant is below.
I/ Tanith Lee and Sandman
The post that got me angry starts with Tanith Lee. I do agree that it is a shame Tanith Lee is not more talked about and didn't receive as much fame as she deserved. I do agree that Neil Gaiman's work was heavily inspired by Tanith Lee's writing. I do agree Gaiman's work overshadowed Lee's own (for a long time I didn't know she was the first one to do a vampiric Snow-White twist, before Gaiman's own). However I have to recuse the idea that Sandman is a rip-off of Tales from Flat-Earth.
It doesn't help that the person who made this original claim clearly doesn't know very much about either Lee's Flat-Earth or Gaiman's Sandman (with easy to debunk claims like how "Delusion" is one of Gaiman's Endless - no, the character does not exist). For example the poster rightfully compares how the top-dogs of the supernatural pantheon of Lee's Flat-Earth are the Masters of Night, Death and Delirium, wth the Master of Night's physical appearance echoing Dream of the Endless' appearance... However the comparison stops there, unlike what the poster tries to claim, because the Master of Night is a demon who rules over hatred, fear, curses and malevolence first and foremost - and is this world's equivalent of Satan/Iblis - and is not a personification of dreams, imaginations and sleep like Morpheus. Also, unlike what the OP claims, the Demon Princes are not like the Endless, "eternal entities beyond gods" - on the contrary, it is shown by book one the Demon Princes CAN be killed, and that there are gods who are a distinct species far above the Demons.
It is also incomplete to try to claim that having Dream and Death be siblings is a "proof" of Tanith Lee plagiarism... Because Gaiman is very explicit in his narrative of how Dream and Death are transpositions of the Thanatos & Hypnos/Thanatos & Morpheus twinship present in Greco-Roman mythology (Ovid's "Gates of Horn and Ivory" are literaly there in the first issues). Plus, since we do have the original manuscripts and the proposition draft Gaiman sent to DC (it is in the bonus of collected editions and in companion books), we know Gaiman originally had just three Endless in mind, Death, Dream (who was a reshape of DC's Sandman super-hero), and Destiny (who pre-existed in DC's universe), Delirium only coming far later.
That being said, I am feeling very sad for Tanith Lee through the testimony of her friend - how, again, she had trouble becoming a recognized author despite her work being very influential and frequently talked about for the fantasy genre (all the fantasy manuals and guides and encyclopedias of France list her among the authors to be read), and I do feel her distate for Neil Gaiman's work vampirizing hers is very justified. But to jump into saying Sandman is a copy-paste or a full on rip-off of Flat-Earth is unfair and very limiting. Flat-Earth was one of the inspirations of Sandman, but it doesn't own "everything" to it.
Plus, the OP also gets very angry at how Gaiman "never" talked about Tanith Lee and ... you know how I got to learn about Tanith Lee, and how I got encouraged to read her? Through Gaiman's Tumblr blog, where he regularly listed her as part of the authors that inspired him/the fantasy authors he enjoyed/the authors he encouraged others to read. I saw her appear like five different times on his Tumblr, and without him I probably wouldn't have started getting curous about her. So he did talk about her and he did present her as one of his inspirations and favorite authors... At least on Tumblr, and for several years.
II/ Coraline and Thief of Always
The comments mention Coraline and the Thief of Always as possibly being another "plagiarism" of Gaiman... I remember when Neil Gaiman was asked on his Tumblr about how similar Thief of Always and Coraline were, and he simply answered with the fact he and Barker had a similar thought process and came up with akin works though very different in the results.
You could say it is a form of copy or plagiarism (though Gaiman at least did an effort to make Coraline the almost opposite of Thief of Always in several ways). But I will have to point out that that Neil Gaiman and Clive Barker know each other, and that it has been reported, talked about and evoked a lot of times how they hanged in the same circles, with the same people, and exchanged thoughts, and talked about their mutual creations. We know Gaiman talked of the early Sandman issues when they were created with Alan Moore and Clive Barker, while Moore talked of his creation of From Hell. We also know that a part of the Sandman's universe was indirectly created by Barker - as Gaiman explained the idea for naming Desire's domain "The Threshold" came from a story Clive Barker had planned but never wrote, exploring the puns "threshold" could offer.
To my knowledge Clive Barker never claimed that Gaiman plagiarized him or stole from him with Coraline? But I might be wrong.
III/Other details
The comment about the "Lovecraft and Doyle" comparison is clearly taken out of context, because it was literaly about a story which WAS a literal Sherlock Holmes meets Cthulhu fanfiction, "A Study in Emerald". The commenter seems to think this comment applied to Gaiman's entire work? No it does not.
I don't know anything about the Lenny Henry situation, I will have to look for this.
#neil gaiman#tanith lee#clive barker#plagiarism#whole cans of worms are being opened everywhere#this is just the rant of the day#sandman#sandman comics#tales from flat-earth
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John Munch (SVU) x Reader
All four ex-wives drove him nuts but none had the pleasure to witness the rare and irrational John Munch. Years after the divorces, after long forsaking the idea of true love on top of being elbow deep into the shit that was the SVU… He might’ve thought himself incapable of the feeling weren’t for you. He believed himself to be the ideal cop; the perfect lieutenant, though he had little love for the title. He knew when to care and when to hold back, he could be withdrawn and simultaneously comforting. He denied entry to the ghastliness of every case, every grim day, and left it on the doormat.
Or so he thought.
“You’re trouble for me, sweetheart,” John recalls mumbling into the crook of your neck, smiling like a schoolboy because of a damn hug. Your open arms were an invitation he wouldn’t dream of denying, perish the thought. He’d never dabbled in drugs but right then and there, he suddenly understood how people could get addicted. Your infectious joy, your beaming smile, your sparkling eyes; all unfailing every time you saw him. Every part of you was so soft and warm, a dream to someone so cold and hardened. You smelled so good that you made him forget the scent of crappy coffee and stale rooms.
How was he, a starved man, supposed to live without you now that you’d shown him what it was like to feel full?
He couldn’t.
In all fairness he made a great attempt to not be overprotective, to leave his (metaphorical) badge at your door. He also warned you in advance, way way back when he was dissuading you from pursuing him and fooling himself into thinking you two would never work. “I can’t shut this off,” he said exasperatedly while tapping his temple, as if it was explanation enough. Truly, John was frighteningly good at his job. He knew all too well the ins and outs of a perverted criminal’s mind. Logically, he knew that even if your apartment was three feet off the ground and was pad locked to the nines and installed with security cameras, if someone wanted to break in they would find a way. He knew there was only so much he could do.
Again, you made him irrational.
“Move in with me.” He blurts out to the darkness.
On the verge of praying that you’re asleep, John’s almost grateful to receive silence. Yet his heart beats wildly against your back like it wants you to wake up and shout yes. To his continued horror, you roll over with your eyes wide open and a smile toying at your lips.
“Are you asking me for cop-related reasons or because you want me to?”
Despite the question, your tone edges on excitement.
Refusing to take his hands off you, he gives a noncommittal shrug, “Can’t it be both?”
Somehow with the gentle glow of the moonlight blocked by a dark cloud and his lack of glasses, he could sense your mirth slipping away.
“One matters more than the other, John.”
“Oh no, you sound serious.” He teases. Boy, he could kick himself really. Deflection, like old habits, die hard. Before you could debate if you wanted to roll over and go to sleep to avoid this talk, John tightened his arms around you and bit the bullet. “Sweetheart, you already know that I’m wrapped around your finger. There’s nothing I want more than for you to live with me— yes, partly because I think I can keep ya safe better than your useless cameras. But mostly ‘cause I love you, and I wanna start and end the rest of my days with you.”
This time he didn’t have to leave the admission in the air for long. Your squeezing hug was an immediate anchor he craved, just as much as your smile he could feel against his chest.
“You love me?” You squeaked.
He breathes out a laugh.
“Stupidly.”
“Madly?”
“Irrationally. Irresponsibly, foolishly, beyond all reason— I’m runnin’ out of synonyms. Any more of this lunacy and they’re gonna lock me in the looney bin.”
You snorted, reaching for his cheeks and holding him so tenderly that his heart ached. Gently, you kissed his lips and lingered against him. The moment was impossibly perfect, straight out of a fairytale he would’ve scoffed at before meeting you.
“I love you like crazy, too. I’d love to move in with you.”
John sighed in relief, tucking your head back against his chest and kissing the top of your head. The previous heavy weight on his heart dissipated at your agreement, leaving him relaxed once again. A smile pulled at his lips when the thought of living with you settled in. Someone should really look into this whole “love making people irrational” thing. Ideally before it kills him.
~
i love this old man, it’s a fudging crime there’s 10 fics for him
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HEY I finally managed to put my thoughts together and write this and damn why so much? Half of this is pure nonsense and emotions you can skip reading I'm just glad to read and this day too yuhu
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED AT THE END
oh shit today I read the chapter slower BUT how else? DAMN I WROTE TWO SHEETS OF A5 PAPER writing down any thoughts that came to my mind and putting together what had already happened in the past days (I hope I can now figure out what I wrote because it would be a shame not to understand)
The end of the world, aliens who want to take over the earth? DESTROY? Brainwashed cultists, SECRET SOCIAL SCIENCE BRAINWASHED MAYBE ENTIRE COUNTRIES? Okay, the last nonsense of a skunk
Damn, I knew that the emphasis on what card MC had in the previous chapter meant something, I knew it! And his behavior, he's a cultist for sure. (I remembered the meme "Are you somehow connected to the darknet?" "I'm not just connected, I control it" repeat what you said-)
And now, having seen Dickhead's behavior and the sand in Duke's suit, Cas' behavior in the past, I definitely remain with the theory that "MC IS DEFINITELY NOT PART OF A SECT AND IS NOT BRAINWASHING EVERYONE ELSE, WELL, THAT CANNOT BE" sarcasm.
what's next, oh yeah, a sudden warming in the fall. (I don't remember if it was the beginning of fall or the end, so I'm not sure) warming? abrupt? what is already happening with the sun? or is the earth itself also under the influence? Or a way to catch up with the atmosphere and I see complete fuck-up in everything..
Red Dawn (let's ignore the fact that it's a sci-fi/action movie, I don't think it's related) Do they by any chance have horizons that light up red in the morning? Then it would be possible to somehow connect the weather, the title, and what's happening together.
bodies disappear. from coffins.. in general they disappear leaving only sand. Either the body leaves or ALIEN CREATURES EAT THE BODY SOMEWHERE ABSORBING FLESH BONES AND ALL THEREBY REPRODUCING. Oh no I'm not sure about any of these options but the last one didn't sound too tasty
Let me get back to the main topic that worries me the most? MC is a fucking cult member, I'll bet three boxes of pineapple pizza on that and oh my god he obviously has an effect on those around him, but does he do it on purpose? Yeah, maybe..considering he has something to hide judging by the last chapter. If he influences others then it turns out he's already infected too? Infection? Fuck, if he's not a meta or a skilled manipulator/psychologist then that's the only option left in my head. And how does he infect?..maybe food or subconsciously and does he infect or just subjugate the general idea? It hasn't dawned on me yet. And again we'll get back to the pink card that's been tormenting me since the day before yesterday (I'm losing track of time). Do they give it to cult members? How do cultists somehow stumble upon a bank? Does it serve as a designation between them? So there are a lot of questions and thoughts..
damn, I still have so many thoughts in my head that I have no one to express, but it seems to me that if I continue to express everything I think or notice in one breath, I will be closed down in Arkham (it's good that it's anonymous)
Sorry for such a huge amount of nonsense that I write lately, I'm just a damn fan of this work, I miss reading exactly this in my life, your works are like a breath of fresh air in this pile...neglected...
Keep up the good work, damn I can't wait for the fifth day (to say whether I was right or wrong to myself..and then here too)
Honestly I really don't mind, and feel really honored and flattered that a little idea of mine has sparked this much thought!!! It really sucks that I can't comment on anything JUST yet... but I will say that I'm unsure if I should use a surprised pikachu face or something like that.
So...
#talking daydreams#yandere batfam#the red dawn#okay but seriously i love this!!#i will say you're extremely close and will find out just how much on Day 5 :]#these have honestly been a joy to read!
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— Get To Know Your Mutuals
I was tagged by @lubdubology, @flowersforbucky, @kedsandtubesocks, and @always-andromeda - thank you! 🥺💖 I loved reading more about you all!
what's the origin of your blog title? saradika is mando’a for little flower, and I thought that was cute! (and then eupheme is a greek goddess of praise/acclaim, I thought it sounded pretty & would be a fun name for a blog where I get to chat about how much I love the fics I’ve read! 💖)
favorite fandoms: my current faves are TNBF 😏💕, SDV, PPCU 💖, DP+W, TLOU, Marvel/X-Men - anything I’m writing for, really!
OTP(s)/shipname: ghoulcy, poolverine, characters x my friends OCs
favorite color: soft pastels and earth tones
favorite game: gosh so many - I am always down for a farming sim, but right now I am loving SDV, BG3, FO4, and anything animal crossing
song stuck in your head: ragged wood by the fleet foxes
weirdest habit/trait? cracking my knuckles
hobbies: writing!!! reading, crafting, napping
if you work, what's your profession? want to keep it vague but it’s a lot of spreadsheets and supporting sales
if you could have any job you wish what would it be? I would love to do anything creative - number one would be an author but I’d also love to be a ceramicist or crafter. OR a combo bookstore/coffee shop/art gallery owner!!
something you're good at: getting things done under pressure
something you're bad at: lots, but mostly letting my shyness /anxiety talk me out of reaching out/doing things
something you love: friends ideas & their fics, my partner, my cat, and time with loved ones
something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: lord of the rings for sure, fallout lore, animal crossing - any of my fave games or movies really
something you hate: being too warm (you know, on top of the recent political changes and also a number of things on here)
something you collect: omg too many things to list - right now I have a little collection of calico critters, and I also love tamagotchi and pretty books (and sometimes squishmallows!)
something you forget: that I don’t need to be constantly doing something, that it’s okay to slow down and take a break
what's your love language? gift-giving but in the me-giving-you-gifts way, and quality time
favorite movie/show: anything regency/victorian (esp p&p, emma, jane eyre, and north & south), when harry met sally, lord of the rings, fallout
favorite food: pasta & boba tea 🧋
favorite animal: cats!
are you musical? I would not say so
what were you like as a child? independent, quiet, always reading,
favorite subject at school? art and english, for sure
least favorite subject? math, it’s never come easily for me
what's your best character trait? thoughtfulness?
what's your worst character trait? non-confrontational - I’d rather chew my own arm off, thanks!
if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? that I could afford to work part-time
if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? I think a fave author like Austen or Tolkien, or Fred Rogers
recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): I have an on-going rec tag on both blogs, I would so suggest any fic shared with them!! 💖
(no pressure tags 🏷️💖: @citrus-moonlight, @tarabyte3, @celestianstars, @tarrenterror25, @moonlight-prose, @zoe-creates, @zloshy, @elflutter, @ozarkthedog, @sceletaflores, @vellichormybeloved, @obiknights, @avocado-writing and you, if you see this!!)
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— the things we do for love
itoshi sae x f! reader
summary: sae has always been stoic, always appearing uncaring who only gives a shit about football. yet, his team noticed how he wears his heart upon his sleeve when it comes to you
warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical and spelling errors.
— dating a football superstar only meant frequent days apart from each other, and today is much like any other. because the european league began, sae leaves for germany, the host country for the season. it has been three days since his flight, and he’s already itching for you to get your work done and fly over as soon as possible. he can’t possibly start a season without you, right?
alas, your career as one of the most successful businessmen in spain caused your delay for this year. there is much to take care of with the month of love coming up, and you’re preparing an upcoming fashion line submitting to the theme. sae didn’t want to pressure you into going. after all, fashion is your passion and soccer is his. he wished to be as supportive as you are to him, and that meant refraining from whining like a little kid when he can’t get what he wants immediately.
however, as he stared at his phone screen displaying his last message left with no response for about five hours now, he couldn’t help but feel a little down. have you been so busy that you can’t even take a quick peek at your phone?
sae put the device down the bedside table, turning his back on it in an attempt to sleep it off. that, too, led to nothing but uncomfortable shifting left and right. he can’t sleep not knowing what’s happening to you right now. you haven’t even responded to a simple “did you eat dinner yet?” question. frankfurt and madrid have the same timezone, meaning it’s just as much 23:39 as it is in madrid.
what the hell are you doing at this hour?
buzz!
barry allen just lost his title as the fastest man alive with how sae immediately turned back and snatched his phone from the table, eager to see a message coming from you.
michael kaiser: coach called us down the luxury suite.
curse his annoying narcissistic teammate for getting his hopes up.
with reluctance, sae rises from the bed and threw on a loose pair of sweatpants and his favorite sweater. given that he’s dating you who quite literally dominated the fashion industry in most european countries already, every article of clothing sae used to have were replaced by your designs. not a single one was salvaged, and he preferred it that way. it felt like he walks around with a piece of your everywhere he goes.
if you can’t always be there, your creations most certainly are.
as sae goes down the to meet at the lounge, a few soccer fans boarded the elevator with him and began striking an unwanted conversation. it’s not helping that he’s already in a sour mood because of a certain someone still missing in action. it took a lot for him to stop himself from snapping a snarky comment or two in respect of you. “be nice” in your ever-so sweet and loving voice rang in his head repetitively.
“good luck on your match tomorrow, sae!”
“let’s take a picture!”
“what do you think of tomorrow’s match? will it go well?”
he sighs, “if my girlfriend happens to magically appear, then yes, it’s a sure match.”
sae has always been open about his relationship to the public, mainly because he hates the thought of people thinking he’s still up for grabs when he’s irrevocably yours to begin with. you, thankfully, had no problem dealing with the paparazzi and thousands of interviewers going through hell on earth just to get something out of you.
after what felt like forever, the elevator opened and allowed him to step out and meet his team at the luxury suite reserved for their team meetings. it took him two knocks for the door to open, only to reveal kaiser with a smug smirk on his face.
“aren’t you punctual?”
“you called me over,” sae sighs, walking right inside to see only three more of their teammates with them, “i don’t see coach anywhere.”
“right, i might have lied about that.”
“what—“ sae turns, an string of vulgar words ready to shoot themselves right towards their annoying centre forward, when he was halted by the sight of you closing the door with a gentle smile carved upon your lips. “—the hell…”
“surprise!” you giggled, holding your arms out for him. sae didn’t need to be told twice to bolt right into your warmth, wrapping you in a tender embrace that evoked a thousand unvoiced thoughts expressing how much he missed you. “wow. we’ve only been apart for three days, querido.”
“demasiado tiempo, mi vida.��� it’s too much time, my life. sae didn’t know whether or not he should be happy that you’ve finally arrived. partly happy because this is indeed a pleasant surprise, but partly not because what if something happened to you as you’re traveling and he had absolutely no idea? he would hate himself to death if something were to happen to you.
and as if you knew what he was thinking, you carefully leaned back to look into his teal hues. he can stay in that moment forever and never get sick of the sight. “i’m here, and i’m alright.”
indeed, the fact that he’s able to hold you so close to him is enough proof to ease his worries away. he should have known you’d pull things like these even after three years of dating. you always knew how to keep him wrapped around your finger.
oh, the things we do for love.
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(Cross posted on Wattpad)
Prev - Next Chapter
“H-hello?” A voice called out to them. Viktor and Y/N turned to each other, to which the white haired woman stood up first.
A small figure came into view, two children huddling together. One with dark brown hair that trailed down to the floor, and the other with fluffy blonde hair and sky blue eyes.
“Hi, there…” Y/N knelt down with a soft smile.
“Is… They said a healer was here. That they could create miracles. The Heralds of Zaun.” The older child said.
The Heralds of Zaun. That was a new one. Y/N had many titles, The Queen of the Underground, Princess of Zaun, and The White Reaper to name a few in fact. But… The Heralds of Zaun felt different.
The older child pushed the younger one forward slightly. “My sister, she’s sick. And I don’t know what to do. I thought…” The older child dug into her pockets to bring out a small sack of coins. “Maybe if you had this you could heal her.”
An image flashed through her head, coloring over the two as something familiar seemed to wash through her like a dam breaking. They looked so much like Powder and Vi…
Y/N took the coins from the ground, thinking for a moment before handing them back. “We work for free.” She said softly, “May I see your sister?”
The older child pulled the little girl forward. She was pale and gaunt, clearly sickly with lumps covering her arms and legs. Y/N held out her hand to the little girl. “What’s your name?”
“Her name’s Sandy.” The older girl said, still a bit hesitant.
“Nice to meet you Sandy, may I see your hand?” Y/N asked. Sandy slowly put her hand out for Y/N to check, the white haired woman breathing in and out before clenching her hand slightly for control.
“Where’s Mama?”
“She’s… She’s not coming back, Sandy… She’s not coming back…”
Y/N’s breath hitched, pulling away from the girl and opening her eyes. Sandy, the frail girl who had large lumps and a sickly expression, was now full of life. The same markings as all the other people they've healed replaced the shimmer markings and her pale face was a bit more full.
Sandy blinked softly, slightly confused as she turned to look at her sister. “Am I better now?” She asked.
Her sister nodded, smiling bright as she turned to look at Y/N with watery eyes. “Thank you…” She said, “Thank you so much!”
Y/N nodded, “Let’s get you two a place to stay here, alright?” She offered, “If you take a left from here, you’ll find a woman. She’ll help you out, alright?”
The two nodded, leaving the area with smiles. Y/N nervously picked at her nails, a habit she never knew she had until now.
Viktor watched her with starstruck eyes, sparkling brighter than normal at the sight. How could she be so beautiful? So amazing? So broken yet so kind? How could someone be like that?
As Y/N stood next to him, the quiet tension between them seemed to stretch for an eternity before Viktor suddenly asked, “Did you ever want to be a mother?”
The question caught Y/N off guard, her eyes widening slightly as she turned her gaze toward him. Her brow furrowed in thought as she considered her answer.
“I’m not really sure,” She admitted, her voice soft but honest. “I’ve always taken care of kids younger than me. But… I don’t know if I could be a good mom.”
Viktor nodded thoughtfully, his expression contemplative. He shifted closer, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her head gently onto his shoulder. “Mm,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“I thought I told you that.”
“Well… It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten.” Viktor admitted, slightly ashamed by his answer.
Y/N looked up to the sky, the sun shining down on her. She never thought that the Underground would be like this. To be able to grow things, to have the sun warm her skin. “I wanted to be a ballerina.”
“Really?”
“Of course!” She chuckled, turning to look at Viktor with a grin. “I would’ve danced on stage and the whole of Piltover would know my name…”
“Can you still dance?” Viktor asked. Y/N paused, her eyes widening slightly. She looked down at her hands, tracing the faint markings as she swallowed.
“I… I’m not sure actually.” Y/N said, her smile growing bittersweet as she looked to the ground
“Could you dance for me later? I’m sure you’d be beautiful.” Viktor tilted her head to look at him. He paused, her eyes were so mesmerizing, so glorious, so breath-taking he couldn’t help but stare, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”
Y/N looked up at him with a soft, almost shy smile. “Not that I remember,” she replied, her heart fluttering at the sincerity in his tone.
Viktor’s lips curled into a small, tender smile as he gazed down at her. “Well, you are,” He said, “You’re so bright, it almost hurts. It’s when you look at the sun for too long. You can’t quite look at it directly, but its light is everywhere. It’s hard to ignore.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Then it’s a good thing you can always stare at the moon,” Y/N teased, her voice light with affection.
Her lips brushed over his hand as she pressed a gentle kiss to it, and the sensation sent an electric jolt through Viktor’s chest. A rush of warmth spread through him, and for a moment, everything else in the world faded into the background. How could he possibly be lucky enough to have her?
“Eh…” Viktor chuckled, his voice tinged with a playful warmth. “The sun’s light is what makes the moon shine, though.”
Y/N smiled up at him, her fingers gently tracing the lines of his face. “You still shine, though,” She said softly. Her hand moved to brush the strands of his long hair from his face.
Her fingers lingered on the delicate strands as she observed him. “You know, there’s a bit of white in your hair,” She remarked with a smile, tracing the soft strands with her fingertips.
Viktor gave a small laugh, his eyes twinkling. “And there’s a bit of black in yours,” He pointed out.
She smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair once more, savoring the softness of it. “A piece of us,” She whispered, her heart swelling with emotion as she gazed at him. Then, with a gentle smile, she asked, “Have I… Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
Viktor froze at her words. His breath hitched, and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of confusion and disbelief flickering across his face. “Why?” He asked quietly, almost as if the word itself had slipped out before he could stop it.
Y/N pulled back slightly, her brows furrowing as she processed his sudden question. “What?” She asked, her voice tinged with concern. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”
Viktor’s expression became more serious, his voice soft but strained. “How could you love me?” His eyes darkened with a trace of guilt. “I’ve done so many… Horrible things to you. Things I can’t take back.”
Y/N’s heart clenched at the pain in his voice. She reached up to gently cup his face, her touch warm and reassuring. “I’ve done many horrible things to many people… You can’t go back in time, Viktor,” She said softly, “But I really do love you.” A soft smile curled at her lips as she kissed his hand once again. “Love peels back our biases, Viktor.”
Viktor let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions. He leaned forward, his lips brushing ever so gently over hers. “Are you… Serious?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, filled with disbelief.
Y/N smiled, her eyes filled with warmth and certainty. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she whispered back, her fingers softly brushing against his cheek.
And just like that, something inside Viktor shifted. The weight that had been pressing on his chest seemed to lift, and in its place was an overwhelming sense of peace. He stopped running from his feelings, stopped being afraid of what might happen, stopped questioning everything.
All that mattered, all that existed, was her. Y/N. She wasn’t just a fleeting memory, not a distant dream, but someone real and tangible. She was right here with him, and that was enough.
His hands came up to rest on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Her hands cupped his face, fingers gently brushing over his features, and a sense of completeness washed over him. This was her dream, and now it was his too. Their love, their connection, it was something rare and precious.
Y/N’s hands trembled as she pulled away from the kiss with a soft laugh, a few stray tears slipping down her cheeks. She was overwhelmed, but in the best possible way.
Viktor wiped the tears from her face with a tender smile, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, and more.
He pulled her back into his embrace, kissing her again, deeper this time, with a passion that matched the emotions swirling inside him. It warmed him, filled him, and left him breathless.
He had been so consumed with his work, with Hextech, with the never-ending demands of his world, that he had never truly considered what it might be like to just… Be.
To simply exist in this moment, with her. To feel this way. To be perfect, not because they were flawless, but because they fit together. They complemented each other in every way.
They were two pieces of a puzzle, intertwined, connected. And nothing else mattered. The world outside could keep turning, but at this moment, it was just them. Together. Perfect.
_____________________________________________________
‘Dancing bears, painted wings…’ The words looped endlessly in her mind like a haunting melody, tugging at her soul with bittersweet nostalgia.
Y/N winced slightly, her hand lifting to her temple as fragmented images flickered behind her closed eyes. Jinx’s mischievous grin, Vi’s determined gaze, Vander’s steady presence, Claggor and Mylo’s laughter, and Ekko’s youthful exuberance. The faces of her past chased her, clinging to her psyche even though she had broken all ties with them.
No matter how far she ran, the ghosts of those bonds followed.
The song didn’t help either. Something in her head stubbornly played it over and over, the melody weaving through her thoughts. But the worst part wasn’t the song itself, it was the insistent urge to dance, to move as she once had.
She glanced down at her leg, the sleek, mechanical limb peeking out beneath her long skirt as she shifted her weight. It was strange, no matter how much time passed, to see it there, gleaming with a mix of hextech innovation and magic.
It worked seamlessly, but it wasn’t the same. Not like it had been before. Unlike Viktor, who was transforming into something entirely new, she was caught somewhere in between. Half old self, half something else.
“Are you alright?” Viktor’s soft, accented voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She turned to him, smiling faintly, her expression practiced but genuine enough to soothe his concern. “Just a small headache,” She said, pouring water into the potted plants beside her. “Must’ve been something that happened earlier.”
Her hands moved with care. She could wield magic with precision, yet she chose to water the plants by hand, stubbornly clinging to the simplicity of it, even if she wasn’t particularly good at it.
Viktor stepped closer, his eyes watching her intently before he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was brief but grounding, a reminder that he was there with her.
This was what she had dreamed of once: waking up with Viktor, tending to a quiet, shared life surrounded by the vibrancy of nature and the soft hum of hextech advancements. And yet… Something felt wrong. Off.
Her smile faltered as she returned to her task, her thoughts wandering.
She still dreamed of them. Jinx, Vi, and the others. In her nightmares, they weren’t just memories, they were vivid, painful, and unrelenting. She felt the weight of their absence as though pieces of herself had been left behind with them.
Unlike Y/N, Viktor didn’t hesitate to use his magic. He placed his hand against the trunk of a small tree, and immediately its leaves stretched upward, unfurling toward the glass ceiling above them. The branches twisted and reached out like they were alive.
Viktor turned back to her, his expression contemplative. “Can you still dance, Y/N?”
The question made her pause mid-motion, the watering can trembling slightly in her grasp. She hadn’t dared to ask herself that. Could she? Could she still be the dancer?
“I’m not sure,” She admitted carefully, lowering the watering can. Her voice wavered with vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show. “I could… Try?”
He nodded, his movements deliberate as he crossed the space between them. His arms wrapped around her waist, gentle but firm, as he pulled her close. She could feel the warmth of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding her in the moment.
“Show me, mojí drahoušek…” He murmured, his voice low and tender. “I would like to see…”
Y/N smiled at the endearment, a spark of confidence returning to her. “Of course, my love.” She replied, her tone lighter now.
taglist: @night-fall-moon @cyberwears @g0ul666 (If you'd like to be added tell me in the comments!!!
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helping hand (Hamburger Helper)
jaime lannister x m reader
𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ dw about the hamburger helper its a joke
𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.14k
cw: handjob, frotting, spit, sub Jaime, dubcon, swearing
Jaime is stressed. Actually, Jaime Lannister is stressed, because all his troubles seem to stem from his house duties.
Jaime knew that his father, Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, seasoned army commander, war winner, and expert at giving disappointed looks was likely to strip him of his titles and send him back to Casterly Rock to continue the family line if he so much as made a single mistake, even going as far as taking back his words of disowning him, now that his little brother, Tyrion, was a very persecuted criminal. A breeding mare, he would be, because as much as Jaime hates to think about it, he is a one-handed knight who lost his sword hand.
If there's something he has, it's his cock, and it works; but he can't say it stands proud anymore, because his secret sister-wife Cersei denies him so much as a hand and he is nothing but blisteringly loyal to her.
So here he is, sexually, emotionally and physically frustrated, without his usual duties to fulfill like flaunting his sword.
The only thing that's not Lannister about his troubles is actually Tyrell, or rather, the cocky knight his new to-be-in-laws have brought with them from Hightower to become part of the King's Guard, you.
Already, you think yourself a God not to be fucked with, the second coming of Ser Meryn Trant, not for the asshole's skill but for his arrogance and blatant discourtesy.
What you have over Ser Meryn is actual skill as a swordsman, something you are right to be proud of, if you weren't so arrogant about it. Then there's your looks.
The Tyrells and Hightower love to be pretty. Margaery is a good match for his son already, despite what Cersei says, she is pretty on the outside as well as the inside. Loras, the Knight of the Flowers, is a popular bachelor, even though he has apparent, different tastes, he knows how to use his looks to fool a girl for his house duty. Olenna, though old, still decorates herself with the finest dresses and jewelry, almost as if it is second nature to her.
Naturally, you must be pretty too. You're not a Hightower kind of pretty, though, you're handsome, more rugged, scarred. You wear the Tyrell colors, their embroidery, their style, and yet you remain in Jaime's eye different.
It's too bad you're an asshole. He might've been good friends with you.
Jaime doesn't know why he's thinking about you while he's doing this. Initially, he'd just screwed his eyes shut to try to empty his mind and think of better things.
He tries to drift his attention towards what he usually likes, another's soft hands he's proud to have kept soft; long, flowing, and wavy blonde hair, emerald green eyes; but then he finds himself thinking of you again.
Rough hands that might just feel good on him, short hair, narrowed, mocking eyes, and another mocking smile to accompany them. Then muscles beneath armor, then muscles beneath nothing, then sweat and that sword hand wrapped around your sword and then imaginatively, wrapped around his cock.
And it's getting him off.
Imagining the hand he's got around him is yours is a filthy, guilty pleasure he'll never admit to, but it only helps that it's his left hand, because it feels foreign.
"Need a hand?"
Jaime jumps. His eyes snap open and he flings his hand away, only to sloppily pull up the sheets of his bed to cover himself decently.
"Just what are you doing here?" He asks, because he knows you've heard of knocking.
Evidently, you spy on the fact he hasn't gone soft. You continue taking steps forward. "I asked you a question first."
Jaime steels his dignity to speak next, "Jerking off is a one-handed thing, I'm afraid."
"Not going to take my so very kind offer?" You only stop nearing when you get to the edge of his bed.
You look down on him like you're in some position of power over him, even though he has all levels of seniority on you, because that is how you are. Cocky and arrogant and self-entitled.
Jaime sits up, but you push him back down, placing a hand on the unlaced front of his sleeping tunic, on his chest. His weak flesh hand comes up to fight yours, clutching at your wrist. His gold-plated, heavy hand is useless, and thus though he may not surrender, he cannot push you away.
You suddenly place your other hand beside his head, making him jump pathetically, but he is unable to go elsewhere as you lean down to whisper, "Let's not pretend that you do not fancy me, Kingslayer."
Your hand plays the part of a seductress, pushing his tunic loose around the top to caress at his hairless, toned chest. A warm touch, and he was right: a rough one too, the pads of your fingers are calloused.
"You swore an oath when you joined the King's Guard."
"You did too."
Jaime clicks his tongue at your audacity, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. You only return a smirk, that damned smirk, audacious and playful.
And then the seductress trails a path down the line between his pecs, down his sternum and abdomen, slipping below the covers to do so.
Jaime doesn't fight this time, in fact he lets go of your hand, and you can tell it's because he wants it.
His narrowed eyes change expressions, from an angry glare into a look that tells you he's watching you.
They only narrow further when you lift his tunic to trail your fingers not around his cock like you know he wants it, but down his happy trail. You take your sweet time swirling the short, thick hairs around your fingers in circles, thumbing at the end of the trail and the beginning of the tactile, trimmed bush. You switch from your whole hand to two fingers, tracing down the messy, crooked trail until you're almost at the base of his length.
Jaime is about to complain about how you edge right around it, but then you're suddenly grasping the base in one full hand.
He gasps.
Rough, is his first thought. Rough because of how tough the palm of your hand is, calloused and worked, and rough because you spare him no mercy in how tight you grip him.
"Softer, ass–" Your eyes silence him, that smirk again, you're in control of his pleasure. Jaime sighs, "please."
The pleasure lighting up in your gaze brings him no pleasure, not until you move your hand and, "Shit."
He tries to keep stoic, biting his lip to keep his mouth closed. It's a fight in it of itself, one he can fight. Though he has lost his swordsmanship, he has not lost the discipline and endurance that come with it.
However, the simple motion of your hand makes him want to roll his eyes back, even though you're barely doing him any good.
Already an electric shock fires through his body. His left hand feels foreign, yes, but it is slow and the fog of pleasure forming in his mind would make it sloppy. Your hand is perfect; actually foreign, big and motivated.
Jaime hasn't been the best swordsman in Westeros in a long time, and so he finds that he is losing his patience. The sexual frustration and this very moment are evidence of it, because he finds pleasure in all of it.
When your face leaves his view, it makes his eyes refocus. He looks down at you as you lean over his cock and not take it in your mouth, but let your spit drool over it.
"Fuck."
It's a sight, the new asshole of the Red Keep pleasuring him willingly, eagerly at that.
You spread the drool over his length evenly, but then only pay attention to his tip, thumb pressing against the slit and swirling.
His hand finds the back of your neck, an outward, sudden thing through the fog of pleasure and unmediated strength. "Don't make this impersonal, at least."
"If you can sit a while, darling."
Jaime rolls his eyes, but sits back and waits.
He's seen your body before, your boundless muscles and scarce scars, but of course he hasn't seen your cock.
You don't make a show for it, but his anticipation only makes things feel slower as he watches you undress. Just the faulds and scale groin guard, and then your pants and underwear, and the wait is much too long.
He reaches out to help, but you push his hand back against the headboard roughly. Jaime scoffs, and you only laugh in turn.
"Asshole."
You take your time, and Jaime takes his to watch. He bites his lip at the sight of your V line, but he focuses more on your hairy happy trail, lets his eyes follow it down the more you expose.
Your cock slaps your abdomen when you finally free it, and Jaime has to bite back an exclamation when he sees it.
He hadn't noticed, but precum had been dripping down his length as he watched. You press the tip of your cock against it, against his, collecting and spreading the pre around the both of you.
Jaime groans.
"Is it personal now?"
"Uh-huh." Jaime huffs breathlessly, eyes glued to what you're doing to him.
You straddle his legs and slowly press your cocks together lengthwise. He has no time to dwell on the size difference, before you're wrapping your hand around the both of you at the same time.
Jaime's breaths grow to match the pace of your hand, slow for now. His eyes close.
"Jaime."
"Hm?" Lazily, they open once more, only to widen when you part his lips and keep them open with your thumb at the corner of his lip.
Drool gathers at the bottom of his mouth forcibly, and he can't do much about it, not until you tell him to spit into your hand.
With his mind truly lost now, he obeys, and you soon spit into the same hand and use the mix to continue jerking the two of you off.
It's disgusting, a mix of your spit and his that will soon be accompanied by both of your seeds.
There's a wet squelch each time your hand reaches the top again, and that's disgusting too.
It's disgusting, but a part of him feels like he's missed this. A foreign hand, a sexual partner, pleasure like he's never had before, and he could only ever want more.
It's disgusting, but it's so fucking good.
Jaime's hips buck into your hand, wanting more and only more.
You're not selfish, either. The attention you pay to his cock makes it swell all the harder. It's almost as if you're servicing him, and only him.
When you add more spit into the mess, right on the tip of his cock, he yelps. His hand reaches for your wrist, and yet it does nothing to stop you.
He can't stop the moans from spilling from his mouth anymore, a steady "uh uh uh".
The coil in the pit of his stomach turns and turns, coiling and making him clench his stomach. He's close, so very close.
More pre weeps from the tip of his cock, and you swirl your finger around the tip, spreading it around.
Jaime's eyes focus once more on the movement. He winces, "Please."
But you're an asshole and he's forgotten that.
You wrap your hand around the both of you weakly, languidly dragging it up and down your cocks. It's not enough for him, not after how mind-blowing you were, not while he knows how mind-blowing you could be.
In a spurt of determination, Jaime's hand wraps right around yours.
No longer weak, his left hand guides the movement again, rough and fast that has his reactive hips bucking in tandem too.
You're very clearly amused but he does nothing about it.
No, he's in control now, doesn't need you.
Jaime chases after his pleasure, as he deems he rightfully deserves. He uses your hand like a vessel, a puppet, just to get off.
Hips bucking, pre and spit squelching, tip swollen red; it's instinctual, animalistic, the way he chases to snap the coil in his stomach with no regard for his energy.
When Jaime finishes, it's his first in a long time, and it has his entire body going limp.
His cum washes over the both of your lengths, but he's already got his eyes closed when it does. He doesn't know when you finish, only that it's later.
"Do I get a thank you?"
Jaime opens his eyes and looks at your now clothed body, then at his cock. His spit, your spit, his cum, yours. His nose turns up.
"No."
#tricksh0t#backsh0t#x top male reader#got x reader#game of thrones x reader#got x male reader#game of thrones x male reader#got x top male reader#x dom male reader#jaime lannister x male reader#jaime lannister x reader#jaime lannister x top male reader#jaime x male reader#jaime x reader
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There are so many 'I'm querying' posts about in writing spaces and I feel for every single one of you. I could not do what you are doing. It sounds like hell.
Specifically, I'm confused by 'comp titles'.
Not to say I don't understand what they are, or even why they exist (easier to market a thing by comparing it to other popular thing), but I am confused by them nonetheless.
I don't see a reason for making the author figure this shit out. Are we supposed to be writing with other things in mind? Writing to genre is one thing, but you want me thinking of other specific titles in my genre while writing or editing?
Because no.
No.
You do the comp titles. Read the damn book and say what it reminds you of. There's no reason the author should be doing this. We're not marketing to ourselves here. We know what's in the book. We know what we were trying to say (to some extent).
If you want to sell it, as is your job, then you do the comp titles instead of asking new authors trying to pitch to you, to query to you, to beg on hands and knees for your help selling their book to do the work for you.
Read the synopsis you insisted be sent. Does it appeal? Does it remind of anything already out it could maybe be compared to?
The use those things as comp titles, represent the author and help them sell the fucking book.
I just...why. Why are authors expected to do everything? What does an agent even do, or a publisher? Aside from helping you get a cover, setting up a distributor for ebook and print and getting brick and mortar stores to maybe carry your book.
Do they still offer an advance? Do they market the book? Do they set up meet and greets or signings? Do they set up a website for you? Help you grow a fanbase that might want to buy future books?
Or are you expected to keep your bills paid and self fed on your own, holding a second job that pays actual money while building a social media presence so you can market your writing yourself and include the publisher and agent name as often as possible?
What do they do?
I'm genuinely curious.
If you are with a traditional publisher, or have an agent, could you let me know? I've never even tried, as the 'pros' in certain writing forums said my work was 'unmarketable' and no one would touch me.
But from all the troubles I see from others, I have to assume it's worth it, so...how, how is it worth it?
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WIP Wednesday - The Suncatcher
Thank you @annoyingcloudearthquake for tagging me! I've been working on this fic for actual years now, since the end of season 3, and I'd really love to finish it as a sort of thank you now that the show is ending. Unfortunately it's one of those fics that has grown out of control and has multiple main characters, alternating povs and is nowhere near done but I made fun little moodboards for each character to help motivate me to finish and thought I would share them and a little snippet with each. Fair warning the story was inspired by my niche obsession with Cirque du Soleil and an odd fascination with Las Vegas.
Summary: When a wealthy group of investors decides to save a struggling Las Vegas hotel, The Suncatcher, former performers Owen and Tommy are asked to revive their first Cirque show and turn it into the must-see attraction on the iconic strip. Together they recruit a misfit group of artists who deserve a second chance at the high-flying circus life and are determined to put on the best show they can even when they run into obstacles around every corner.
Neon - A Night in Las Vegas TK Strand - The Visitor - Aerial Straps/Duo Straps Artist
'The sun sets and a first time visitor falls in love with the heart of the city itself '
He passes Jonah’s door and moves towards the kitchen, stopping again when he hears voices.
“So what do you think?” To TK’s surprise it’s his dad’s voice. He didn’t even know his dad was in town.
“I think-I think you ask very good questions Owen Strand.” His mom answers. “I mean I have complete faith that he could do it, physically he’s there, mentally he’s there – “
“But – “ His dad asks and the long pause that follows makes his gut twist uncomfortably. But what?
“Emotionally I think he’s getting there,” Gwyn finally says, “Alex may have set him back a little bit.”
Alex? Why would they be talking about Alex? Why were they talking about him at all?
“Doing a show would get him out of New York, might be good for him, a way to move on?”
“Yes, but to do a show in Las Vegas of all the places, and a love story at that, especially this love story.” His mom reasons, pouring out all her concerns at once.
He hears a small amused scoff from his dad. “He’s a grown man Gwyn, surely he’s come to terms with the divorce by now.”
“I’m sure he has but it’s a bit more complicated than that, he’s always loved love but it’s never been very kind to him in return.”
“Maybe this time it will be.” Owen urges. “It’s an opportunity to start over, to try again.”
There is a long pause. TK debates whether he should round the corner to the kitchen, back track to his room or stay put in hopes of more information. His dad was talking about a show. It had been a long time since he performed although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get back at it. Nothing really compared when your old day job title could be simplified to circus performer.
“He always did love Neon, it would be nice for him to have that back.” Her voice is wistful now but his gut clenches once more at the name.
Neon. As is Neon, Neon. The old Cirque show he’s spent hours of his young life absorbed in? The show where his parents fell in love both in real life and in front of the audience every night? They wanted him to be a part of that Neon.
“So you think I should ask him?” Owen asks.
“I think you already did, good morning TK.” TK flinches. She knew he was there the whole time. He’s not surprised, his mom always could see through walls, but damn does he wish he could have had a minute longer to process everything.
#you get one guess for who plays the 'heart' of the city#wip wednesday#911 lone star#tk strand#tarlos#911 lone star moodboards
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get to know your moots
Thank you for the tags @ace-turned-confused, @beefrobeefcal, @sp00kymulderr --- what's the origin of your blog title?: Escaping reality one run-on sentence at a time. Easy. I use run-on sentences in the fiction I write to escape reality. 🫡
OTP(s) + shipname: Idk. Like, Gordon Brittas and Laura? So I guess like.. Laurdon? Arthur Morgan and Sadie Adler? Me and Pedro Pascal. Maldro, if you will.
favorite color: Orange. A very specific orange too. Tangerine Tease. Pantone #17-1349 Do I know that # by heart? Of course I do.
favorite game: The Sims, Red Dead Redemption 2, Assassins Creed Valhalla, the noises that Balatro makes when my husband plays it.
song stuck in your head: "Never Run Away" by Kurt Vile.
weirdest habit/trait?: Too much self reflection here. Maybe the way I say certain words? Breb, birb, chippies. Or like do I just mention I'm freakishly good at multiplication? People make fun of how high pitched my sneezes are. I also will run a mile to avoid a moth. (besides @mothandpidgeon)
hobbies: Writing, baseball, cooking, losing the PS5 media remote.
if you work, what's your profession?: I'll just paste my normal Mallory tagline. I sell toys for a living, that should tell you enough.
if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: Probably like the secret girlfriend/wife of a 49 year old Chilean born actor. Or interior designer. Sometimes I dream of going back to school for it.
something you're good at: Tossing something in the air and catching it over and over. Losing the PS5 media remote.
something you're bad at: Not feeling overwhelmed by laundry. Not losing the PS5 media remote.
something you love: When I find the PS5 media remote quickly.
something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: Baseball, my favorite music, Jimmy Stewart, Disney World.
something you hate: MOTHS (sans @mothandpidgeon), weird 70's fabric that's itchy, Freddy Krueger, the lack of Martian Manhunter in DC properties.
something you collect: Lapel pins, action figures, tchotchkes, cool picture frames, Joey Votto cards. I own four Disney Cuddleez (Wicket, Grogu, Figment, Donald) I think that's a lot for a woman in her 30's.
something you forget: To leave my car sunglasses in the car.
what's your love language?: My Scottish ass is definitely not answering physical touch. Acts of service and giving/receiving gifts.
favorite movie/show: 28 Days Later/Anything Smosh has done the past few years.
favorite food: Sandwiches. Your girl loves mayo.
favorite animal: Otters, birbs, quokkas, cats (though my husband is allergic to them), Schnauzers.
what were you like as a child?: So many of my toddler photos include me, mouth wide open, sans pants... lookin' like a terror. Though, my parents say I was very well behaved (until teenagedom) sooooo I guess wacky but within the rules allowed.
favorite subject at school?: English, history and art. I really loved earth science.
least favorite subject?: Math once algebra entered my life.
what's your best character trait?: Good question. I think I've very good at reading people and adjusting myself to help to improve their mood. I'm incredibly empathetic.
what's your worst character trait?: Impostor syndrome. Being incredibly empathetic.
if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?:
if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: Groucho Marx and Marquis de Lafayette. I think they'd get along WONDERFULLY.
recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): I think about The Road Not Taken by @guiltyasdave often. It's so gorgeous and haunts me in the best way possible.
No Pressure Tags: @ohheypedrito, @mothandpidgeon, @schnarfer, @devineconjuring, @secretelephanttattoo @sawymredfox, @almostfoxglove, @maggiemayhemnj, @yourcoolauntie, @yopossum @hellfire-state-of-mind, @justagalwhowrites, @thelightsandtheroses, @bitchesuntitled, @jennaispunk
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WIP Wed!
From a Sotha Sil x Lorkir fanfiction that's way on the back burner lol. Since I made that thing about Sotha Sil the other night, here's the fiction where my thoughts stemmed from!
Tagging: @ladytanithia @dirty-bosmer @hircines-hunter @sanza-17 @fujisakisan @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @theoneandonlysemla @sulphuricgrin @sanza-17 @ijiwaruuma @pocket-vvardvark
Title: "From One to Another"
Lorkir woke up with the sun hitting her face. The rays of light from the clockwork city working as her natural alarm clock. The sounds that greeted her ears were the chirpings of machines given songs by her own voice. Echoes of secrets passed from one to another. The sheets underneath her body were warm, no doubt from the heat coursing through her blood. She stared out the window, face melancholic and heart empty. Facing the reality of what she had lost, the wishweaver turned away from the window and rolled to the other side of the bed, expecting it to be cold and vacant.
“Ah, I see you’ve finally awoken.”
But…much to the God’s surprise…it wasn’t? “Sothalis.” She sat up, blanket languidly falling down her bare shoulder.
Sotha Sil sat there in a pair of bedrobes (funny, she didn’t think he had bedrobes) with a cup of tea in his hand and a book with a title she didn’t recognize. The bronze mask that was on his face last night was now removed, only the metal arm remained permanently attached to him, seamlessly integrated into his dark skin. When the light caught the side of his face, the glow was almost too striking to witness. “I didn’t think you would take so long to wake up, considering you have no need of sleep in the first place.”
Still speechless, Lorkir opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Feeling terribly awkward, she blushed and covered herself with the blanket. “I…well…”
“My, to think I’d hear you speechless, I’m almost disappointed.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be next to me when I woke up.” Lorkir quickly replied.
“I must leave some room in my countenance for surprises. At least, in cases like these where I am allowed.” Sotha Sil found amusement in his own statement, the corner of his mouth up turning into an almost smile.
Lorkir had no idea where to go from here. For the first time in a while she was at a loss. The fluttering of her heart demanded that she cuddle up next to Sothalis, enjoy a quiet morning in peace while he continues to read his book and she reads along over his shoulder. However, knowledge of her predicament suggests that the wisest course of action would be that she carry on like before. She had done what she came to do, initially, and so she has no reason to stay.
But how badly she wanted to stay.
“Love is the greatest cloud over the mind. No matter how the sun shines how and how the seas rise, the clouds remain ever stagnant, until not even love itself can be seen…” Lorkir tilted her head at the quote. Sotha Sil lightly smirked and turned to face her. “Something Vivec told me once. Though what inspired the words was a situation far different from your own.”
“I can imagine… -~-;” Lorkir sighed. Making her decision she shifted over to Sotha Sil’s side of the bed. She towered over him, naturally. But despite the size difference she was able to get comfortable. Sotha Sil made no effort to stop her, nor relaxed in her embrace. He simply remained as he was, focused on what he was reading. The text on his lap were his own journal entries. He was looking over schematics, various concepts and dreams meant to be given reality through his machines. His passions. Some of his ideas were perfectly viable, others stretched into mad conjecture. But the witch God felt the intensity, the desperation with each stroke of ink on the paper. Her heart pounded for the soul that was so poisoned by its compassion. The very scent of the false God choking her lungs yet intoxicating her like wine. “Anything I can help with?” Lorkir, perhaps callously, offered.
“There might still be some use for you yet.” How it hurt for him to say what she wanted to hear.
When Sotha Sil finished his tea they rose from bed and got dressed, Lorkir taking in the beauty of his body before it was covered up by his attire. Sotha Sil knew she was staring, and gave a chance for her to act on her desires before he tied the sash around his waist. But, as he predicted, she fled from his gaze when he met her eyes. When he reached for his mask, however, something happened that he did not predict.
“Wait.” A plea, not silent, but concise. Sotha Sil turned around and met her eyes once more. They were almost fragile, the emotion so perfect on her face because of the light that shined through her fractaled eyes. Lorkir came close to him and put her hand on the mask, slowly pushing it back down to the table. She knelt down on one knee so she could meet him and stroked his face with a gentle reverence that was too raw to verbally express. Despite the intensity of her passion, his expression remained the same. Lorkir studied his face, committing every detail to memory, as he had committed his clockwork city to his own memory. Finally, after a time, she leaned in and kissed the side of his face that was normally covered by his mask, now vacant of cold metal and instead soft and warm with living flesh. “...Sorry.” She took a step back, now returning to full height.
“Does a gift giver apologize for giving gifts?” He replies.
“If the gift is forced upon them is it still considered a gift?”
For that split second, Lorkir saw regret in his eyes. But it was gone as soon as he adorned his mask. “Will you be at my side today, as you have been? Or shall you depart?”
Do you want me here? It was on the tip of her tongue, but Lorkir couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I’ll stay a while. Not so long that I’ll make your clockwork disciples nervous.” the God teased.
Sotha Sil chuckled. “I believe you already make them a great deal nervous.” He opened the door to his bed chambers and they left for the day.
Lorkir did say she would be at his side, but she had developed a routine of flying around the clockwork city during the morning. The beautiful gears shimmering in the light while petals from apple blossom trees were carried by the wind. It was a picture perfect sight, and the God enjoyed basking in it greatly. The sight of a dragon flying around the city brought great terror the first time it happened, but now there was only slight unease instead of fear. A positive progression, she supposes.
Finding her favorite spot near the top of one of the towers, Lorkir landed and discarded her dragon avatar. She felt a chill as her feet touched the metal, before fully laying down and staring up at the turning sky.
Absolutely beautiful. And how easily she was lulled by it.
Sotha Sil worked in the heart of the city, locked away in his laboratory. What he was attempting was nothing short of extraordinary and required a delicate hand and quiet mind. To craft a new imperfect took immense concentration, building off of what he had learned previously. Yet despite his complete focus on the task, his desire separated itself from him. A separate entity that stood behind him, beckoning his mind to stray from the task at hand.
His mind should not be consumed with her.
Lorkir, the God of Covetousness, the Wishweaver, the White Dragon and Bane of the Firstborn Son. She was the source of horrors written in stone yet untold by word of mouth. She represents all forms of temptation, of folly, her mere existence meant to unravel any heart. And Sotha Sil cannot allow his heart to be unraveled. From the moment he saw her approaching in the distance he knew a great doom would threaten the role he was now compelled to. Every stolen whisper, every freely given smile, every glance in desire is a crack in a carefully constructed mirror that he has built for himself. Lorkir knows this, in truth, he knows that she does. And yet she lurks like a shadow, mouth open and wanting, begging to be fed by him. And, though he cannot admit it, how badly he is tempted to allow himself to be consumed. “I have made the gravest mistake someone in my position can make, and I knowingly continue in it…” Seht rubbed his forehead, exasperated with his own lingering weakness.
“Seht, I have prepared your tea, as you have asked.” One of the Clockwork disciples entered into his chambers bringing the camomile tea with honey per his request. A look of worry was etched onto the Dunmer’s face, since the great Sotha Sil rarely asks for refreshments.
“Thank you. It is much appreciated. Now, go and seek out Lorkir. I suspect she has fallen asleep somewhere in the city. Wake her up, and inform her that I request her presence.”
“Yes, Great Seht.” The disciple scurried away.
#skyrim#tes v skyrim#oc#elder scrolls#elder scrolls oc#fanfiction#eso#morrowind#tribunal#sotha sil#dunmer#lorkir#lorkir doesn't even exist yet in the fanfiction but she won't leave me alone#snow white is lorkir#snow white#snow white ldb#wip#wip wednesday#elder scrolls online
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