#and she responded with ‘no i think your just autistic’

[urlocalsadkid-l]

i got called autistic again tonight

[scarletfasinera]

I HAAAAAAAAAAATE when people tell me something and Expect me to react a certain way to it (mad, sad, happy, excited, etc.) and then get openly mad at me when I just respond with "Ok" instead of however they wanted me to react. Girl how are YOUR expectations MY fault

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Its really hard to explain to people that have different...like friend levels or.....hierarchies of how they categorize friends and other people in their lives that I just....don't really have that.

Like if I see you and talk to you a lot then you're on the same level as everyone else i see and talk to a lot, you know? Family, friends, significant others probably (never had one so cant say for sure)......I dont feel any different towards any of those groups than the others. Like the only categories I have are people I like, people I dont like, and people I don't really know and don't have much of an opinion on.

If youre in the people I like category and I see you all the time I have a really easy time talking to you when I see you in person. If I don't see you that often I'm gonna struggle to talk to you.

People i don't like are kinda the same tho? Like if we have to be around each other a lot (like at school or work) then I can still talk to you just fine. I may not WANT to but I CAN.

And then people I don't really know are sort of in the same boat with everyone I dont see as often and therefore struggle to speak to when I see them.

And it can feel really awkward to have friends tell me they have me in a different category than their other friends cuz they expect ME to have THEM in a different (higher, I guess?) category than my other friends but I just don't?????? And I dont know how to explain it to them without hurting their feelings??? Cuz I know that it can. In middle school I did say something of that effect to a friend who considered us best friends and she got kinda hurt by it??? So its at the point where if someone calls me their best friend then its just like "well sure fuck it guess we're best friends" but??????? I dont hold them in any higher regard than any of my other friends???? Or my parents???? My feelings towards them is all the same????? And even if I don't see you for a long time my feelings about you dont change. I'm just gonna struggle to talk to you the next time we see each other.

Like theres no difference between friend, best friend, and family to me. Once you have achieved friend status with me THATS IT. There's no where else to go from there! Except maybe back to not friend but thats difficult to do without going in the "I don't like you" category. And you gotta really piss me off (or make me feel unsafe) to get moved there.

[doja365]

[Unwanted Ransom(Chapter 4)]

Glided Lily Masterlist TW- mentions of the movie Jersey Girl

9 years ago...

I was going to a pool party for my friend's birthday, but little did I know there was someone else that was gonna be there. I bought him some new sneakers he wanted because he never shut up about them. And since, I had hand me downs, I sold them to earn enough money for the sneakers.

By the time I reached the party Daniel, the friend, approached me saying, "Hey, Xerxes thanks for coming, I thought that you were a bit too busy for this."

"Fuck nah men, I wouldn't miss this for the world." I admitted.

Everything was going smoothly until I saw a person, I thought I would never see again...

Damian.

"What the hell are you doing here, freak?" He shouted at me.

"He is my friend what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You have no friends, dipshit."

"You have no mom dumbass."

Before I had time to know what I said, a fist came toward my face. Luckily I missed it, and responded with an uppercut to his cheek. Finally a taste of his own medicine, too say I was proud of me was an understatement. Until I heard,

"Ms. WAYNE".

Fucking cocksucker had to ruin this day. I felt Mr Wayne grab me by the collar and escorted me out of the party. Dennis muttered a 'sorry', but no one was allowed to do anything, so I couldn't ask for help.

At home...

"Ms Wayne what were you thinking!?"

"Before you continue, it's Ms Amala."

"Don't you give me that tone."

"You don't even know my name, you just call me be your last name just with a Ms."

"You attacked your brother"

"My 'brother' slashed me in my fucking arm and you didn't do shit."

"Maybe if you weren't such a bitch to him he wouldn't have."

"I HATE YOU I WISH MOM NEVER MET YOU!!! "

"SO DO I YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU AND YOUR MOM RUINED MY LIFE."

"Go fuck yourself."

With that I ran to my 'bedroom', and no words were ever exchanged between me and both Bruce and Damian. I never gave them the satisfaction of looking at them, or even apologising.

Damian oddly, left me alone, well it sends a message to any bitch in school. I didn't care for their approval, I stopped when I was 7, feeling like it was pointless to care about them.

It never though, stopped me from joining competitions. I won multiple gold trophies, certificates, medals, even participation awards. I have 3 binders full of my achievements, containing pictures with the president of music, and the presidents of the sports I had joined.

But I kept a scrap-book of all my birthdays celebrated either by Alfred, or my friends. I was grateful, but it always felt like a pity-party, I always was the Wayne outcast but the more I say that, people would think I care.

Present Time.

"Xerxes?"

"Nope, nuh uh, wrong person." I reached for Morgan only for my arm to be grabbed by Jason again.

"What the fuck happened to you! I thought you were dead."

"Xerxes Wayne is dead, you can either address me as Jinx, Jennifer, or Ms Stark."

"Xerxes-"

I raised my eyebrows and cleared my throat at the rage of hearing a name, that was made to be neglected.

"Jennifer, we have been looking for you."

"Oh please"

"Bruce and Damian found your old trophies."

"I thought I told Alfred too clean up."

"The point is we miss you."

"You left me to rot with those people, the point is, now I have a life. You guys never cared about me, I was almost sent to military school for defending some autistic kid."

"Princess, I-"

"No, that ship sailed a long time ago" I ran to Morgan and carried her to our limousine, I never looked at Jason because even though he was the one that actually brought a bit of life to that place, he left us alone.

For now...

At the Wayne Manor...

Jason's POV

"Father we've got to bring her back, she is with the enemy."

"Damian, let's calm ourselves-"

"HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO BE CALM!!!"

"We are gonna bring her back soon Damian."

"She's not gonna come back", was all I could let out. I could feel the pointed glares of everyone, even demon spawn's stare pierced.

"What do you mean? She's our family, look at us who wouldn't want this?" Dick asked me, holding his veneer pride, but truly masking guilt and confusion.

"We weren't there for her, she left us when she had a chance." I was irritated to admit it, but it was true, our little bird flew the nest and we were to negligent to realise it.

"We have to bring her back, right?" Tim, was obviously the most idiotic out of all of us, because he decides to think we are picture perfect.

"We can't live on false hope Tim." I screamed with all emotions just completely bursting forth.

"WE WILL BRING OUR SISTER BACK!!!" and with hearing that, I immediately punched Damian, to be honest, a bit too hard for my liking. The demon did deserve it, depending on how you ask.

"Jason, calm down, she'll come to her senses and come back." hearing Bruce say that, before I react I felt something sharp pierce my neck, and slowly I lost consciousness, when I turned around I saw Cassandra murmur, 'sorry'.

Then everything became black

Taglist....

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz

[just-antithings]

Anti-ism is psuedoscience and a moral panic rolled into one

One of the most dangerous things about therapyspeak leaving the intended audience is that now antis feel fully qualified to tell survivors how they should and should not be coping, even to the point of attempting to override/contradict the advice of certified therapists.

I've had antis tell me the fiction I enjoy writing is retraumatizing myself, that I am doing harm by writing it; when I responded that actually, my therapist signed off on the stories I wrote (even when I mentioned the specific phrase "consensual nonconsent"), they said that my therapist doesn't know what she's talking about since she sanctioned my coping mechanism and explicitly labels her practice as kink-positive. Antis are attempting to make me, a survivor with mental illness that could ultimately be fatal if I leave a psychologist's care, disregard the advice of the medical professional supervising me when they have no certification at all. This could, if I were a more vulnerable person, be dangerous for not only my trust in my therapist, but it could sabotage my treatment as well.

They are using what amounts to little more than memes, based on misinformation, that use a few intelligent-sounding phrases that very rarely apply the way they think they do, as a wedge to attempt to assert themselves as authorities who can, with certainty, dictate the appropriate course of treatment for a total stranger, including telling them to disregard the therapies administered by a trained professional.

In other words? Antis are frighteningly similar to anti-vaxxers, who took medical terminology they didn't understand, applied it to shaky cause-effect logic models, started a moral panic, used statements generated by that moral panic as a citogenesis-fueled proof their initial starting of the moral panic was justified, damaged the doctor-patient relationship of millions of total strangers, jeopardized the healthcare of those strangers who now believed their doctor to be incompetent for following accepted medical best practice, and fomented dangerous fringe political ideologies that coupled themselves to other conspiracies based on rejecting commonly-acknowledged practices.

"Vaccines cause autism! Narrative therapy that implements any form of controversial kink causes retraumatization of the writer, reader, or both, and starts the writer on an inescapable slippery slope to becoming an abuser themself! It's better to be dead than autistic! It's better to suffer feelings of shame and/or isolation in silence than it is to use fiction to put a voice to your feelings! Your child is vaccine-damaged from thimerosal and is getting sick from virus-shedding! Your fiction caused me to groom myself and you're a porn-addicted monster for not facing your trauma the proper way! Your doctor doesn't know what's good for you, I do! Only I understand how your body/mind work and what treatment is appropriate for you! Your doctor has been manipulated by Big Pharma/kink supporters! The empirical-study-informed best practices for pediatrics/psychology are what's wrong, not me, whose research is carefully informed by TikTok videos and Twitter posts carefully formulated to cause amygdalar growth to keep me afraid so I will continue to engage with fear-mongering content that causes my politics to shift towards the alt-right, who coincidentally also push narratives based in fear, not in medicine! I am being perfectly logical here!"

Antis fundamentally reject empirical medicine just the way anti-vaxxers do. They just seem to get a free pass on it since it's "only" mental healthcare they are sabotaging, and few people acknowledge it as something as legitimate and lifesaving as other medical care.

[aloeverified]

i love all of @gin-juice-tonic's trans stan twins comics and i've centered all my gf beliefs around them, but i can't stop thinking about how funny it would be for stan to be a trans man and ford to be a trans woman.

imagine you're stan and you've been disowned for about ten years and haven't seen your family at all since, and during that time you've found and lost yourself more times than you can count, but you've finally settled on the fact that you're a man and it's time for you to transition. and then as soon as can finally start testosterone, your twin brother wants to see you ASAP.

and so you're stressed out the entire way there, not just because your brother seems to have gotten into some trouble, but because you have no clue how he's gonna react to you now being his brother.

only for him to not even notice or say a single thing about your new wardrobe that still has some of the tags from when you shoplifted it or about the scruff on your chin that you've been pretty proud of.

no, instead he's going on about the fbi and people who want to steal his skin or something.

and so everything happens the same way, and stan has essentially gotten the life he's always wanted: everyone thinks he's his genius brother, he's still in contact with his family (though stanford didn't exactly call home everyday so neither does he), and he's a man — and not one person doubts it. except he's not the man he's always wanted to be because he doesn't have his brother beside him throughout it all, becoming a man with him.

and then stanford comes back and is impossibly autistic and bitter so he just assumes stan went through the process of transition (assuming he used some gender changing potion he found noted about in the journal) just to further steal ford's identity.

and stan explains, no, you fucking idiot, i've been a man for thirty-something odd years and you just didn't notice because you were too busy being insane. and so yeah, that's how stan's whole coming out goes.

and ford just responds with, "oh. yeah, me too. she/they is fine."

[elisabethdeep-blog]

Gotta make a post about my best DunMeshi neurospicy boi

Lotta content out there about Laios' autistic traits but where o where is the Senshi rep?

Senshi's dedication to Dungeon trophic systems makes Laios' special interest look like a well-thumbed pamphlet. (Granted Senshi has had significantly longer to cook; Laios is a baby).

Senshi's limited emoting is baked-in to his character model- that thousand yard stare, most of his face occluded by his habitual helmet (masked, even...... How many folks pine for covid masks obviating the need to manage their faces constantly?)

He overheard someone mention his special interest and Walked Right Up to a Group of Strangers to brazenly asplain them a thing. Marcille makes a bridge-mending bid regarding the mosses in the scorpion hotpot (after her previous truculent outbursts) and he totally deadpans her, because he didn't even notice.

He is VERY COMMITED to his ethical position on dungeon ecology. More than once he's disrupted Marcille Right at the point of release of a spell, after she's been chanting for like a paragraph, because she's going to contravene some principle of his.

Also

Speaking of Marcille, he demonstrates some pretty rigid, black-and-white thinking around magic, that doesn't seem internally consistent. He's repeatedly reanimating magical constructs (golems), an explicitly controlled magical act, but is Very Very reluctant to submit to being charmed with WaterWalk; his spoken reasoning about this just doesn't hold water.

Oh and he's totally neglected his personal hygiene for basically ever. He's averse to cleaning up for the sake of being bespelled, but other than magic, seems fine with getting the salon treatment. This isn't a Toph Beifong 'protective layer of earth', he's just forgotten to care about not being covered with monster gore.

PDA? The fellow has one (1) social skill, namely, he exercises any discretion on opening his mouth to argue. But that holds him back exactly NONE when he decides he's done listening. The first time we see this is gathering Mandrakes, when he doesn't SAY he's done with Marcille's opinions, but he Does just go ahead and exercise his damn autonomy. a MUCH stronger example is when Chilchuck is guiding them through the trap rooms. Senshi gets roundly (and rightly!) chewed out by Chilchuck, and his response isn't the sensible 'sorry Chilchuck, maybe I could walk more directly behind you so I can more closely match your steps', but to BRAZENLY DANCE ALL OVER THE TRAP FLOOR! the only reason that doesn't kill the whole party is The Plot. It's not even that he doesn't appreciate Chilchuck's skill- he just don't like getting chastised! Same with Anne the Kelpie! Senshi's gonna do what Senshi's gonna do! He WILL not be rushed, he WILL not be chastised, he WILL not be directed! How do we think he came to be living in a dungeon all by himself in the first place!!

AND THE BREAD!

THIS IS NOT THE DEMAND OF A NEUROTYPICAL DWARF

Look there's more. After Chilchuck's impassioned and heartfelt plea, Senshi suggests they should return to the surface because they're 'low on seasoning'.

He's a dwarf who turned his adamantium shield into a cookpot.

He can meticulously maintain his mithril cooking knife but not his axe.

He responds well to other characters meeting him halfway but initiates few (no?) such bids himself. There's rarely any guile in Senshi, and when he is being shifty, he's Bad At It- and again, usually its in service of demand avoidance, like when he capitalises on Marcille's toilet break to reanimate his golems.

Senshi is the monomaniac that society has spent Decades trying to iron out of my wrinkly brain.

I hope to see him also find a place in the neurosparkly constellations.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi!! I have a one shot request (I hope I’m in the right place lmao)

What about a autistic (fem)reader who is super smart and seems to notice things about the case that the others haven’t and every time she tries to state her thoughts a rude sherif cuts her off/infantilising her and Emily defends her

Honestly my brain stopped at the thought of Emily, I need more of her 😔🫶

-anon ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

fem plus size autistic!reader, wc: 517.

a/n: i have had this finished but sitting in my drafts because i was too lazy to post it, but here it is! i hope that i was able to capture what you were looking for right! :] this can either be read as platonic or romantic!

cw! asshole elders :/

You have been spoken over and shut down for the past hour, twenty minutes, and thirty seconds. 

You hated being silenced, but one thing that trumps that was being infantilized. You worked hard to get where you were now, and you hated being treated like a child just because your way of thinking was different from your peers. 

You have saved thousands of people and you’ll be damned if you continue to be treated like this.

“If you look closely, you can see that the area that these women were killed in must hold some kind of sentimental meaning to our unsub.” You grab the black marker and go to draw the inevitable triangle on the printed out map before you’re stopped by the sheriff.

 “Hold it now, sweetheart. Don’t just go markin’ up stuff.”

“I beg your pardon?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m sure the area these women were killed in was just pure coincidence, so we don’t wanna risk coloring in the paper just ‘cause you think you know somethin’.” He spoke as if he knew more than you did like he was the one with the degree, his tone absolutely rolling in condescension. 

“I’m sorry but –” You try to say but the old fart cuts you off. “I’m sure you are –”

“Excuse me, sheriff, but I’m afraid Special Agent _______ made a great point.” Emily was quick to come to your aide, emphasizing the words ‘Special Agent’ just to reinforce her point.

You could see it in her narrowed eyes, and everyone else’s really, that she was about done with the Sheriff’s embarrassingly large ego. You send her an appreciative – albeit shy – smile, and she gets up, her eyes trained on the map as well. 

“She’s right, because if you look here,” She points to the first crime scene and motions for you to draw a mark. “And here,” Her finger trails down to the second location and you follow close behind. “And here.” Her path finally ends, and so does your black ink. 

There it was, just like you had first thought, a perfect triangle connecting them all.

“The most important thing should be right –” You finish her words and color in a big circle in the middle. “Here.” Emily sends you a proud look and it threatens to weaken your knees.

“I mean… I suppose that makes sense.” The man grumbled before leaving with his tail between his legs. 

“Thank you.” You say quietly. The conversation was meant to be kept between the two of you. Of course you loved and trusted everyone on your team, but Emily was your comfort person, and she made time to understand you.

“No problem,” She responds back. “Everyone was done with his shit anyway.”

“Still, thank you.” You pressed the conversation, because you don’t really think she realized the gravity of the situation, of your appreciation. 

For most of your life you had never been given a voice, and having someone stick up for you and even paving the way for you to make your point known was something that no gratitude could give.

[theorahsart]

I'm updating again on the whole 'Peter Mcfee emailing me' thing, because: he asked why I was interested in Frev/Robespierre, and I decided to be completely honest/possibly look like a fool, and explain in detail my opinions on Robespierre possibly being autistic, alongside my personal experiences as queer person living in a time of upheaval.

Much to my surprise and delight, Peter has replied with so many interesting things to say!

He said he's very interested in the autism hypothesis, because his grandson is autistic. He has a historian friend who's "a great authority on portraits of Robespierre" (Marianne Gilchrist, I haven't heard of this person) who apparently also strongly believes in the idea of Robespierre being autistic. He linked to their bluesky account, so maybe I should try get in contact one day to have some more interesting discussions~

In his words on his personal opinion on the topic: "I’m not so sure but in any case, I think that many/most people who are passionate and brilliant about something are somewhere ‘on the spectrum’."

Because I mentioned my books being banned as another reason for being interested in Frev, he had this to say, which I also found very interesting (I dont know how to rephrase it, so just gonna copy n paste):

"I guess one of the banned books was your memoir on asexuality and that made me think of the advising I’m doing for a PhD student in Turin. She’s particularly interested in Robespierre’s distinctive masculinity, which was responded to in such polarised fashion among men and women. One key dimension of that was his sexuality and probable celibacy and why that might have been the case."

[siswritesyanderes]

i mightve asked this before, in which case go ahead and ignore this lmao. which characters would be the best vs worst when handling an autistic darling?

Oooh, this is a cool question! I would say it depends on the particular symptoms the person has, so I'll go over some symptoms and which yanderes would respond best vs. worst.

avoidance of eye-contact

Obviously, shy, autistic, or autistic-coded yanderes would work really well with this (and other) symptom(s). Your Donatello's, your Newt's, arguably your Peter Parker's. Also, yanderes who are able to sense when their darling's attention is on them supernaturally or just out of sheer social aplomb. Elves, for example, would be great with someone who doesn't like eye contact, because their body language conventions differ as a result of being able to communicate mentally.

Roxanne Wolf would be distinctly bad for this, based on her need for attention as demonstrated in Help Wanted 2. But she's also not beyond reason when it matters, as we've seen in Ruin DLC, so I'm sure communicating about it is on the table.

sensory reactivity

Okay, I think Dr. Strange would very specifically be bad for this, because his movies are all swirling kaleidoscopes of magic that would definitely be sensory overload in real life, and I have mentioned before that I don't see him as a considerate yandere. If anything, he might enjoy inducing sensory overload for the express purposes of making his darling require comfort, care, and isolation from others.

On the other hand, and maybe a weird pull for this, but Zafrina from Twilight would be great. Alec, too. Both have powers that would be super helpful when darling is overwhelmed.

Druig is able to just make everyone nearby shut up, which he would employ liberally.

food sensitivity/pickiness

Yanderes who enjoy cooking could go both ways on this. I could see some being offended by negative feedback and some taking it as being gifted with the challenge of meeting their darling's standards. Teruteru from Danganronpa and Esme from Twilight would both probably be good about receiving feedback and making changes. Super eager to please. Esme more so than Teruteru; he might get offended at first.

Rich and royal yanderes would delight in someone picky. They would love to be able to send food back with new, highly specific orders because darling doesn't like grapes with soft spots. Your Tony Stark's, your Byakuya Togami's, your Toph Beifong's, your Coriolanus Snow's.

Ralph from DBH would be a problem. He has a very weak grasp on what humans eat and a very high sensitivity to negative feedback. (Wait, he's just like me...)

resistance to changes in routine

This one would be a problem for yanderes who feel a need to go on adventures and trips with their darling. Which isn't necessarily the same as adventurous yanderes. Some adventurous yanderes might enjoy the idea of their darling staying behind at home keeping to a comfortable routine. But the ones who want their darling along on the adventure would be problematic. The Doctor, for example. Especially Eleven; he gets bored easily.

Whereas I think a lot of superheroes would like the idea of keeping their darling sequestered away, living predictably and comfortably. Clark Kent, Steve Rogers, Druig...The only catch is that some of them (Druig) would probably be a bit condescending about it.

I think Daycare Attendant would be great for routine. Coloring time, snack time, naptime, same time every day, sign them up! Also condescending, but they genuinely can't help it because it's how they're programmed.

Technically, Phineas and Ferb keep to a very specific routine, albeit a pretty tiring/potentially overwhelming one.

sorting things

This would be great for the disorganized genius character type. A Bruce Banner, if you will. An organized genius probably already has a system and might have trouble with someone sorting things differently than they have them. A distinctly slovenly character probably wouldn't mind either way.

hyperfixation

Yo, Queen from Deltarune would be the best for this. She would create an inescapable palace of the thing darling likes. Swatch and the Swatchlings would be involved.

stimming

There might be a problem if the yandere is easily distracted and needs to focus on something else. The main one I can think of who fits that description is Percy Jackson. That's not a distaste thing; just a pragmatic issue. Yanderes who experience sensory overload might also have an issue with it. My first thought was Queen Elsa.

On the other hand, Leo Valdez would love to make little stim toys for his darling. Donatello, too.

[sageluvsjoel]

A Different Kind of Miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic!daughter

Requested HERE

part two here

masterlist

summary: Joel faces challenges understanding his daughter’s differences, but learns how to connect with her in meaningful ways.

genre: fluff, slight hurt to comfort, post outbreak

wc: 1.5k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

Jackson was the kind of place that made Joel uneasy. The sense of safety, the quiet that settled over the town at night, it was almost unnatural. He had grown too accustomed to danger lurking in every corner, too used to living with his guard up, waiting for the next threat. But here, in this community, there was peace—a foreign concept after two decades of nothing but violence, death, and loss.

At first, he didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t sure if he deserved it, honestly. But then, you came along. And with you, came the greatest miracle of his life—a little girl, his daughter.

Joel had never imagined being a father again. Hell, he hadn’t even wanted to be. Losing Sarah had gutted him, left him a shell of a man who had given up on the idea of family, of love. But then you’d walked into his life, unexpected and undeniable, and before he knew it, the two of you had a daughter. It was like the world had found a way to give him a second chance, something he never thought he’d get.

At first, Joel was terrified. He was older now, more worn down by the world, but you’d reassured him. Together, you’d raise her. Together, you’d be the family he thought he’d lost forever.

She was his little miracle. But lately, Joel found himself… confused. Worried, even. She wasn’t like other kids. At first, he didn’t think much of it—every kid was different, after all. But as she got older, there were little things he couldn’t ignore anymore. She rarely looked him in the eye, didn’t babble like Ellie or the other kids her age. Sometimes, she’d play alone for hours, completely immersed in whatever world she’d created for herself, but if he tried to change her routine, she’d fall apart. Meltdowns that he didn’t understand would follow—her little body shaking as she screamed, inconsolable.

He hated it. Not her, never her, but the helplessness he felt every time it happened. He was used to fixing things, solving problems with his hands, with action. But this? He didn’t even know what it was, let alone how to fix it.

It was a cold morning when you first brought it up, sitting on the porch outside your little house in Jackson, your daughter playing quietly in the yard. She was lining up her toy blocks in neat, perfect rows, just as she always did. Joel watched her, sipping from his coffee mug, his face set in that familiar frown.

“Joel,” you said softly, your voice careful. “Have you… noticed anything with her? I mean, I know you have, but I mean… more than just being quiet?”

He grunted, not taking his eyes off your daughter. “She’s just a kid. They’re all different. She’ll grow out of it.”

You sighed, placing your hand on his. “I don’t think she will. I’ve been reading about… autism. I think that might be what’s going on.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he turned to look at you, his expression hard to read. “Autism? What the hell’s that got to do with her? She’s fine. She’s just—she’s just young. All kids act weird.”

You shook your head, your eyes gentle but firm. “It’s more than that, Joel. The meltdowns, the way she lines things up, how she doesn’t respond to her name half the time. I think she’s struggling, and we need to help her. But first, we need to understand what’s going on.”

He pulled his hand away, rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know, alright? I’ve been through a lot of shit, but I don’t know anything about this. This is… I don’t know what to do with this, alright? I can’t fix it.”

You reached for his hand again, and this time, he didn’t pull away. “Joel, she doesn’t need fixing. She’s perfect just the way she is. But she does need us to see her, to understand her. And you know what? We’ll figure it out together. We don’t have to do it alone.”

Joel let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. He wasn’t used to feeling like this, like there was something he couldn’t control. He hated it. But he couldn’t argue with you either. He trusted you, more than anyone in this world, and if you thought something was going on, then maybe… maybe you were right.

That night, Joel lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your soft breathing beside him the only sound in the room. His mind raced, thoughts swirling around his daughter, around the word you’d said—autism. It wasn’t something he understood. Hell, he hadn’t even heard of it before the outbreak, and back then, his world had been so small, revolving around work and raising Sarah. He hadn’t thought much about things like that.

But now, it was different. He had to understand, because this was his little girl, his miracle, and he’d be damned if he let her struggle without doing everything in his power to help her.

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

The days turned into weeks, and Joel found himself paying more attention to the things he hadn’t noticed before. He saw the way she flinched at loud noises, the way she covered her ears when there were too many people around. He saw the way she fixated on certain toys or routines, how any deviation sent her spiraling into a meltdown that left her exhausted and him feeling helpless.

But he also saw the little things. The way she smiled, just for a moment, when she was lost in her own world. The way her tiny hands carefully placed each block in a perfect line, her focus so intense it almost made him laugh. She was so different from anyone he’d ever known, but she was also so her—beautiful, smart, and his.

One evening, after a particularly rough day of trying to get her to wear a new pair of shoes, Joel sat on the porch, his head in his hands. The frustration had gotten the better of him, and for a moment, he’d snapped, raising his voice in a way that made her cry. He hated himself for it, hated the look of fear in her eyes, the way she’d flinched when he yelled.

“I don’t know what to do,” he muttered as you sat down beside him, rubbing his back gently. “I don’t know how to help her.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, your voice soft and understanding. “It’s okay, Joel. It’s hard. But you’re doing your best, and that’s what matters. She knows you love her. We’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on him. But then, from inside the house, he heard a small voice.

“Daddy?”

It was soft, almost hesitant, but it was there. His heart leapt into his throat, and he stood up, walking into the living room where his daughter stood, her blocks in her hands. She looked up at him, her big brown eyes full of uncertainty, but there was something else there, too—something he hadn’t seen before.

“What is it, baby girl?” he asked, his voice as gentle as he could manage.

She didn’t answer right away, but she held out a block, offering it to him. It was such a small gesture, but to Joel, it felt like the world shifted. She was reaching out to him, in her own way, trying to connect.

He knelt down, taking the block from her hand. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “That’s a good one.”

For a moment, she smiled, just a little, before turning back to her toys. Joel stayed there, on the floor, watching her, his heart swelling with a mix of love and pain. She was different, yes. But she was also perfect.

That night, as he lay in bed beside you, he whispered into the quiet, “I’ll learn. I’ll figure out how to be the dad she needs.”

You smiled in the darkness, your hand finding his. “You already are.”

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

The weeks and months that followed weren’t easy. There were still moments of frustration, of helplessness, but Joel found himself changing. He learned to meet his daughter where she was, to understand her needs instead of trying to fit her into a mold she didn’t belong in. He learned to listen, not just with his ears, but with his heart. And slowly, bit by bit, he saw her blossom.

One day, as the two of them sat together on the porch, Joel handed her one of her favorite toys, a small wooden horse. She took it, studying it carefully before turning to him with a small, soft smile.

“Thank you, Daddy.���

And just like that, everything was worth it. Every struggle, every moment of doubt—it all faded away in the face of that simple, precious moment.

Joel Miller had spent his whole life fighting, surviving. But now, with his little girl in his arms, he realized that this—this was what he had been fighting for all along.

A different kind of miracle.

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[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

I have no clue how this guy hasn't divorced his wife. If my partner looked at me with disgust about anything that wasn't literally disgusting, I'd be googling "divorce lawyer."

by Sam Williams

A week ago, my wife and I went to John Lewis to look at air fryers. As we entered the store, I put on an FFP3 mask because of Covid. My wife looked at me in disgust and said, “Oh, you’re wearing a mask?” I replied, “Yes. There’s a lot of Covid around, and I don’t want it. Do you?”

She responded, “Well, the trouble is, I’m not wearing a mask”.

I said, “Yes, I can see that. I wish you would. The trouble is, every time I’ve caught Covid, it’s been from you. I’m disabled with long COVID, and every time I get reinfected, it makes me really, really ill”.

So here’s my question: does my wife not care?

I want to use this piece to spark a debate about who we are as people. Are we kind and virtuous, or are we selfish and indifferent? Writing an article about what stops people from wearing masks, while I live with the pain caused by my wife not masking, feels like an oddly meta activity.

That’s right, folks: it was probably my wife who gave me Covid in the first place. Although, to be fair, neither of us knew about masking or long Covid back then.

The case for masks amid rising Covid I need people to wear masks or ensure clean air so it’s safe for me to go out—especially in healthcare settings. Yet, most people refuse. I asked my wife why she doesn’t wear a mask, and she said, “There’s no point, because nobody else does.”

I understand the futility in her statement. Many people don’t wear masks simply because they don’t care or because they think Covid is over.

If my wife were a cruel or unkind person, it would be easier to accept her refusal to wear a mask. But in my experience, even many kind people—even those on the political Left—can be cruel when it comes to disabled individuals.

Although my wife has struggled with my disability, she is generally a kind person. In my autistic brain, it seems perfectly logical that she should wear a mask to protect me from airborne viruses. Yet, logic loses when it comes to personal choices and disability.

Misconceptions about Covid and masks People think Covid is “just a cold.” Some even believe masks themselves make you ill. I think people don’t mask because of ableism and because they’ve been conditioned to associate masks with the pandemic itself.

It’s the same conditioning that leads them to blame lockdowns and vaccines for Covid, rather than recognising these measures were designed to mitigate its spread.

When people see me in a mask, they’re reminded of the acute phase of the pandemic. My presence confronts them with an uncomfortable truth: their refusal to mask contributes to the deaths and disabling of others. It reveals they may not be as caring as they like to think.

I wish more people would remember the Covid dead and choose to wear a mask to prevent further loss of life.

Why people don’t mask The biggest reason, I believe, is a failure of public health communication over wearing a mask. The government declared Covid “over,” and most people still trust what they’re told. Many would resume masking if asked, but the government is too afraid of the right-wing media and too indifferent to disability to make that request.

Then there’s the pervasive idea of “health supremacy”:

The belief that only people with pre-existing conditions get long Covid.

The notion that a “healthy” immune system can fight off the virus.

The argument that we don’t need vaccines or other preventative measures.

Some even suggest that “living your best life” and going out for brunch are more important than protecting loved ones. The low mortality rate of Covid is used as justification, with a dismissive attitude towards the elderly and those with long Covid.

Many fail to consider the quality of life endured by those with long Covid or the rising number of children affected. Parents, it seems, don’t care enough about their kids, or they’re unaware that long COVID in children has doubled in the past year.

There’s also peer pressure and groupthink. No one wants to stand out by wearing a mask. “If it were really unsafe, wouldn’t everyone else wear one? Wouldn’t the authorities tell us to mask up?”

When I do convince others to wear masks, it’s usually a flimsy surgical one—barely adequate protection.

The personal cost of not wearing a Covid mask If we continue as we are, everyone will eventually develop long Covid. Those who still mask are only delaying the inevitable because we’re so outnumbered.

I know people who’ve lost friendships and family connections over masking. Others restrict their contact with loved ones to stay safe. Some have even been lied to by family members about masking.

And all because people must have brunch.

It feels grossly unfair to be forced to choose between family and health. For me, it’s not just about Covid. With a weakened immune system, other airborne viruses are just as harmful. Every cold or similar illness sets me back by months.

The fatalist in me whispers: stop masking. If no one else is wearing a mask, why fight it – just let long Covid take me. Every reinfection only worsens my condition.

A systemic failure The government—New Labour or otherwise—has shown little interest in preventing the spread of Covid or developing treatments for long Covid. The societal denial of this reality is overwhelming.

Until we build a society and government centred on community and care instead of selfish individualism, we’re doomed. Is thinking of others really too much to ask?

If only long Covid weren’t an invisible disability. If it caused something visible—like the loss of a limb—perhaps people would be forced to act.

The point of wearing a mask: not just for Covid Here’s why masking matters:

It reduces your viral load if you get infected.

It sets a good example for others.

It shows courage and strength.

It protects vulnerable people, including the disabled, chronically ill, and immunosuppressed.

It proves you have empathy and intelligence.

[cripplecharacters]

Alright, so long story short, my oc has a autism service dog (who is kind of also her familiar) and is a witch. What can I do to make this character realistic?

(sorry if this is vague, I have no other idea how to express this.)

Hi asker!

The most important thing would be to do research on service animals and how they specifically help people.

First, service animals are also a huge investment, both in terms of time and in terms of money. Owner training is expensive, but so can a professional trainer. Someone who gets a service dog via a charity will still be on the hook for things like food and vet bills. This means that someone who doesn't have enough time or money might not have a service dog because they're a pretty big commitment. They're not generally a first resort, because while they are very useful and can really help many people, they are also an alive being. And anything that's alive needs more care than things that aren't. Dogs have to eat and poop and pee and that needs consideration; and they can get sick, distracted, develop allergies to foods, and whatnot while machines can't. So thinking about how your character navigates these things will help them feel more realistic.

Not that you have to include or even know every detail of how they paid for training or how many hours they spent on it! But just knowing the general idea will be good.

Second, what tasks does the dog do to help your character? Basically, what does she need help with that the dog can do?

The International Association of Assistance Dog Partners has a list of tasks a service dog could perform for psychiatric conditions; it mentions depression, anxiety, and PTSD specifically but are not exclusive to those. From that list I'm including a couple that could be relevant to an autistic character, although it's in not exhaustive.

Bringing medication

Summon help from designated people

Assistance leaving an area by finding the exit

Providing deep pressure therapy to calm/ground handler

Help 'unfreeze' handler from dissociation or similar

The organization Ella's Animals also has a list of tasks a service dog for specifically autism could do; again, not exhaustive:

Providing deep pressure therapy to calm/ground handler (mentioned again!)

Trained tactile stimulation to ground handler

Behavior interruption, like of harmful stimming

Alerting handler of something they're not responding to

"Buffering" in crowds

Retrieving items

Alerting of elopement (NOTE: tethering and body-blocking are sometimes mentioned as something a service dog can do for autistic handlers, particularly children. But generally speaking, this shouldn't be done. It can be dangerous for the dog and the handler.)

You'll want to think of what tasks your character will generally need from their service dog, and while you don't have to describe them all in great detail, mentioning them when relevant will be pretty important and make your character feel more real.

Also, depending on your character's witchiness, too, you could add a little flair. Like maybe your character needs extra assistance after they cast spells because it's overwhelming, or they had to train the dog to recognize what they look like when they're casting spells so the dog doesn't interrupt!

I hope this helps!

– mod sparrow

[olderthannetfic]

A fandom friend is convinced there's something wrong with me and I must have self-worth issues because normal people with healthy self-esteem and self-image wrote OCs as a kid that were self-inserts. I didn't, I wrote characters who were basically whatever I thought was cool at the time (which changed a lot over the years) and into something weird to add flavor to them. So instead of my Arab, ADHD AFAB self writing Arab ADHD AFAB OCs who shared my interests, I'd have a white autistic guy whose special interest was geology and who also loved basketball (I hate sports), or a black agender kid who had some symptoms of schizoaffective disorder, was really into art and art history and loved sweets. One character would be cool like my dad, always witty and ready to say a cool one liner, and another would be cool like my mom, calm, controlled and never responding to haters. None of them share much in common with me. And my friend is convinced this is a mental health red flag, because normal people and even abnormal people always write OCs who are like themselves, idealized versions of themselves, or otherwise are some degree of self-insert.

The more I think about it, the weirder I feel for not doing this. It feels like I didn't do fandom correctly, but also, maybe she's right? Maybe there is something wrong with not putting myself into my narratives. Why wouldn't I put myself in my fics if I liked myself? It's really unsettling to think about but I think I've realized she might have a point.

Then I thought of you. You've been in fandom way longer than either of us (we're both teenagers, for context) and you know a lot about fandom and psychology. So I figured if anyone could tell me what this says about me, it'd be you. What does it mean if you never wrote any OCs with self-insertion components and just kind of wrote random things instead? Does it mean anything bad?

--

Your friend is a moron.

'Fantasies about self' vs. 'no fantasies about self' is a major division among people. It's not just a page on the asexuality wiki about sex fantasies but an entire axis of interest. Hang around slash/BL fandom in particular and you will find a metric fuckton of people who never self-inserted.

Self inserts make my skin crawl.

It is a feeling of visceral disgust that was always there. How can anyone like that? Don't ask me to. Don't tell me about it. Ew, ew, ew, ew. It's like a mild form of dysphoria it's that bad sometimes.

Tell your friend to stop using Wattpad as the litmus test for normalcy.

Some of us were always more AO3.

[dragcnbreak]

I just know Mike would be SO SWEET to an autistic little reader having a meltdown… I know that man would immediately turn off the lights and silence any noise and put u under a weighted blanket and he’d give u the best hug of ur LIFE,, I’m going feral

OH NONNIE YOU KNOW HE WOULD OMGS he’s autistic too so he knows exactly what to do and let me write a drabble about this

◞♡࿐

Unfortunately, it wasn’t your day. Everything seemed to go as wrong as it could have. You woke up late for work, your shift was abysmal, and you hadn’t eaten a single thing. Your mood was horrible, a reflection of the day you were having.

So when you got home, which was where your two favorite people were, everything was just too much. Abby sat on the floor drawing while watching the television and Mike was cooking dinner. The cacophony of smells, sights, and sounds were so nauseating.

You began to tear up while also regressing, dropping your keys which made you flinch. The simple tears grew to sobs while you settled into a small age, catching the attention of the Schmidts.

Abby ran over to you and asked what was wrong, unknowingly making the meltdown even worse. Mike, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. “Hey Abs, why don’t you go draw quietly in your room?” He whispered to her, coming over to you. “But I want to help!” She reasoned, watching as you fell to the floor softly.

“I don’t think you can help right now. You know how sometimes you get overstimulated?” Abby nodded. “That’s what’s happening right now. There isn’t much you can do. So please, go shut off the television and go to your room.” She almost responded but looked at you and then instead nodded at her brother. The TV was eventually shut off and Mike then could hear his sister’s door close quietly.

He turned to you and then looked around the room, assessing what triggers there could potentially be. So, he closed all the blinds, turned off the lights and the stove, put the half-cooked food away in the fridge, and bent down next to you.

“Is it okay if I talk to you?” Mike asked softly, changing his position so he was sitting instead. You hesitated before you nodded, beginning to rock yourself back and forth slowly. “Is it okay if I touch you?” He then asked. You took longer to think about this question, unsure if you would like it. But eventually you nodded again.

Seeing your head move up and down, Mike put his arms around you. He squeezed, knowing you liked the pressure. You only sobbed more, enjoying the feeling while also getting used to the lack of things happening around you. “I’ve got you, baby, you’re okay.”

◞♡࿐

mike is so gentle and kind and he’s definitely had meltdowns before and so has abby so he knows what to do and he just wants you to feel comfortable and safe and T_T

[svgvru]

꒰ ✮ 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥 '𝟮𝟯 — 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗞 𝗢𝗡𝗘!

𝗗𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗧! humiliation + "you've made a bunch of men pay hundreds for a piece of pussy? and its not even good!" ꒰ mei mei x dom,m!reader ꒱: ceo!reader, hair pulling, rough sex, p in v, slight dacryphilia, mentions of sex work, humiliation / degrading obvi, reader is hung ꒰ and an ass man ꒱ , slight dehumanization ꒰ its like 2 lines ꒱, oral ꒰ f!receiving ꒱, p in v. her outfit. DO NOT FOLLOW WHAT IS WRITTEN IN THIS FIC, the reader is not an admirable or morally sound person. ꒰ 5.7k+ ꒱

"𝘉𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴, 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘴." — 𝘍𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘩 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺. the poster lazily rested against the wall of your grant office. a "motivational quote" for those who walk into your office. yes, the quote was true, but at what cost should you build your own dreams?

a loud groan leaves your lips as you roll your shoulder, your body strangely tense as you sit in your office chair, attempting to cognitively read the contracts sitting on your desk. sipping on your coffee you hope and pray that your buisness partner, satoru gojo, doesn't come bursting in your office for the 5th time this week. he'll send useless mail, terribly delivered and made jokes, and fake motivational speeches. not to mention his mouth never. stops. moving. granted, your sure he's just lonely, or autistic, maybe both. (the call might be coming from inside of the house!)

despite how annoying that stupidly gorgeous man may be has been right the past few days. "your shoulders are tense as hell. their like rocks!" your tense, ridiculously tense and stressed. when you sarcastically questioned him about what you should do to relive the tension, he genuinely responded with, "i don't know. maybe go to a club, fuck a stripper! maybe you just need some good pussy," gojo says bluntly, "take out your frustrations!" his voice turned weird in the last phrase, but you ignore it and sigh. "im not going to a fucking club, don't have time for the tabloids."

however, now as you sit at your desk, swaying side to side in your "rolly chair" as gojo calls it, you think that maybe he is right. a stress reliever could help. but not from a stripper.

well, maybe a... with a huff you pick up the landline that leads to your assistants office. hearing his voice on the other side of phone. "i need you to book something for me..." you speak looking a picture you pulled up on your phone while waiting for his response.

the day slowly ended, and gojo—without fail dropping in to say hi! and make penis jokes instead of working like the ceo he is. along with making jabs at how "terrible" you looked, due to the tenseness. and after he left, do did the sun. the day had thank fully ended and you could collapse onto the soft mattress that is your bed. the material allowing you to sink into it and give your body comfort it hasn't felt all day. you look at the moving ceiling fan, thinking to yourself about your appointed the upcoming saturday. "mm, she's expensive, but apparently her pussy's good," you mumble to yourself, "lets hope i didn't waste my money..."

sleep quickly overcame you that night, despite the massive intakes of coffee you had. it seems the days of overworking yourself had drawbacks. you really should listen to nanami's hypocritic words. and saturday could not come faster!

finally, day off from the stressful work environment. just you, a book, and that sex worker you booked later that night. a yawn leaves your lips your lips as the words on the paper start to become wonky, and you swear you've read the same paragraph 3 times. "time for a nap, huh?" you stretch before bookmarking the page you were on, setting the book down, and curling up on the couch to take a long and well needed nap. i feel like a teenager "catching up sleep" on the weekends...

after the world went black for who knows how long, something in the back of your brain compels you to get up, a nagging feeling that you normally get before a meeting. you sit up to see what time it is, and you understand that nagging feeling. because you do in fact have a meeting, with "mei mei," according to your assistant.

your not an idiot, you've delt with this before and briefly glanced at her. she's pretty popular, but her prices are high, you'd need money to book her. seems its time to meet the celebrity, huh?

in a little under 45 minutes you sit in the backseat of ijichi's car, resting your head on the head rest with your eyes shut, waiting for the the car to stop at its destination. Cursed2, the hotel that you were scheduled to meet up at. you wondered what your chauffeur thought about his boss hooking up with someone. however, you knew he wasn't going to say a thing. he was there to do his job and nothing else. after a moment of calm, you open your eyes and look out of the window, seeing how the streets are lit up in the darkness of the night sky. the car slows as it turns and you see the giant sign that says "CURSED2" on the window filled building next to the car.

moments later, ijichi opens the door for you and closes it behind you. "thank you," you mumble to him with a nod, pulling on the lapels of your coat. "no problem, sir. enjoy your night."

you step through the sliding doors and into the lobby, waiting patiently at the front desk for an employee. when a woman in dark blue and khaki pants shows up, you notice how beautiful and awake she looks for someone doing night audit, you suppsed it fits for the rich air of this hotel. "i have a reservation," you state your name rub the back of your neck, slowly rolling it. the woman soon pulled up your reservation on her screen and handed you a thin keycard with a seemingly knowning smile. "room 369, sir. it seems you have a visitor aswell."

"oh, thank you," you chuckle to yourself and take the card before walking to the elevator, resting against the railing with a small smile. DING! you look at the two doors slowly opening and step out of the moving room. following the signs you end up at the room '369' which you find ironic, but maybe its your dirty mind at work.

the woman in the room hears the click of the door and smiles to herself. you step in the door with a sigh, looking around the room, impressed with the lengths they went to in decoration. then again, this is a suite in one of the most expensive hotels in the area. shrugging off your coat, you hear rustling and look up in the direction of the sound. your eyes are focused on the woman before you, her light blue hair was falling elegantly on her shoulders, partially covering the dark purple lingerie set she had on. the floral pattern lining the lace of her bra and panties, a garterbelt suspender was over the panties which stopped just under her bellybutton, the garter belts connect to the matching thin stockings she was wearing that went just below her mid-thigh. covering most of the set was a dark purple satin shawl. a smile immediately comes to your face at the sight of her, ideas festering in your mind. oh, that's being ripped off.

"your late. you know that's extra," her smooth and sultry voice fills your ears as she leans against the doorway to the bedroom. "im aware," you smirk and turn your eyes towards your coat as you tug off the second sleeve and set it on the coat rack. "you know, you are an expensive woman to book," amusement and intrigue is caked in your voice as you slip of your "church shoes" and step into the common area of the suite.

a noise of amusement leaves her throat, almost a chuckle, but not quite. "well, you'd pay for an expensive contractor with good quality, wouldn't you? mr. ceo?" you hum and step towards the kitchen, "i suppose i would, yes." you grab the soap and throughly wash your hands before drying them and walking towards her. you stop a few inches before your reach her and carefully grab her hand, kissing her knuckles lightly, your eyes focused on her face. "i apologize for my lateness," you mumble against her skin, your eyes lock with hers as the two of you can see the "intense" intention behind eachother's eyes. "oh? ever the gentleman mr.?" she whispers your last name, smiling at the twitch of your lips against her knuckles.

you sit up and smile. "i pride myself on being one. now, what exactly is the price for my lateness? it was only 5 minutes," your voice is soft and smooth, attention entirely trapped on her. the woman before you hums, "yes, but its my time you know? and unfortunately, i don't own a multi-billion dollar company. a 2,216 yen up charge."

ignoring her little quip, a whistle leaves your lips. "alright. your other prices?" she smiles and turns around, walking into the bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed, you follow suit and sit next to her, pulling on the front of your collar before unbuttoning the top three buttons. she gives you a look but doesn't comment on it, only beginning to talk about her pricing. "stillll expensive," you reach into your pocket and fish out your wallet. she chuckles and stands moving to stand in front of you. "you shouldn't book if you can't handle the woman," she responds as she moves, earning a look from you. your eyes trained on her, lips twitching her as he hands touch your cheek.

"trust me—i know how to handle a woman," an intrigued smile finds its way to her face, smiling a bit more as you kiss her palm. her hands gliding along your shoulders and neck, her eyes focused on the check your signing in your hand. once you sign your signature you lift it up and show her the price before setting it on the nightstand along with your wallet.

her eyes drift to the check, eyes sparkling a bit at the amountodf zeros before she turns her attention back to you. "oh? and what all are you expecting for that?" she slowly straddles your lap, thumbs rubbing lightly against your jaw. "a strip tease?" mei grins. "it's extra," you say the words with her, earning a chuckle from her lips. "no, i don't want it," your voice is still calm, although your hands are resting on her sides, feeling her figure through the satin shawl, fighting the urge to speed up this process.

"awh! that's a shame," she fake pouts, one of her hands palming your semi—erection through your pants, hands skillfully unbuttoning and unzipping your pants to grasp your cock. "and i thought the client was the desperate one?" you tease with a smile, your eyes on her face. "i only wanted to...speed up the process. your—friend here seemed so suffocated in these pants. i only wanted to help," a fake pout is sported on her face as she pulls down your boxers, expression changing slightly when she sees your cock. her hand gently grips it, the small smile on her face growing as she brushes her thumb against the vein on the underside of your cock. you watch her reach for a bottle in the nightstand and pour it on her hand.

"oooh? i haven't had cock any this heavy in a while," she comments, eyes trained on your fat tip as she slowly begins to stroke your cock, "i do hope you know how to use it."

her eyes snap back up to yours, her hand moving in a rhythmic motion. "i told you, i know how to handle a woman," the both of you can hear the change in your voice, it's somewhat deeper, filled with more desire. "grower, huh?" she comments with a smile, locking eyes with you before. your hand gently grabs her wrist, stopping her from further pumping your hard length. her eyes snap from her wrist to your eyes, tilting her head a bit to the side without a word. "as much as i appreciate these services of yours, that's not what want," your thumb gently brushes against her wrists, pressing lightly against her pulse, your other hand sliding the satin velour shawl from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. "i want your pussy."

your words are blunt and expresses what you want to her. some clients wouldn't even start with that, let alone let her "play" with them like she is with you. your...different. "oh?" her favorite word. her eyes sparkle a bit while looking into yours.

she feels the hand holding her wrist release its hold, slithering in the gap of her thighs to yours, your fingering pressing up against her pussy. both of your eyes follow the movement of your hand before the two of you lock eyes once more. "a buyer should be able to test how good their product is, yes?" you watch in amusement when her jaw feathers and her lips twitch.

your hand leaves from under her to join your other hand, lifting her up and setting her back down in the middle of the bed. "i didn't receive an answer," your voice is a whisper, but she can hear a sort of warning in it. "yes," she says somewhat sarcastically. she sees you smile, and feels your hands trail from her hips, down her thighs, smoothly uncliping the garterbelt from the stockings, sliding the stockings down as you go. "someone's experienced," you hear her comment. you hum, "i did tell you that."

lifting her hips up with one hand, you unclip the garterbelt suspender and throw it on the floor. your hands rub and squeeze the bare skin of her thighs, moving to squeeze her hips. "it's a shame you hide such a beautiful body under these stupid clothes," you mumble, your grip tightening slightly as you convince yourself not to rip off the no doubt expensive set she has on. "stupid? i got all dolled up for you and you think its stupid?" your fingers hook underneath the thin fabric of her panties, rubbing the underside of the fabric. "its in the way, and im fighting against ripping it off," you lock eyes with her and whisper, "but, because these panties are so cute i'll fuck you with them on. your bra, ehhh, not so much."

a smile is plastered on your face as one hand caresses the triangular gap in the fabric of her pants, just beneath her bellybutton, feeling that she's shaven clean with a hum. your other hand slides up against the curve of her back, undoing her bra with one hand and tossing it onto the floor aswell.

your hands move to her free breasts. your hands squeeze them gently, thumbs ghosting her nipples, as you smile at the breath she intakes. "sensitive nipples? that's a sight," you grin. your touch is soft and gentle, not a word leaving either of your lips as it seems your just admiring her body. "your quite gentle for someone who just wants to check his product," mei's voice is soft, but salty as she speaks. "you don't have to be rough to check a product. you should be glad im being gentle," your fingers gentle glide along her skin and rest above her panties, "besides, i have to make sure you don't break."

"your very confident in your abilities," her sultry voice fills your ears and you smile. your thumb glides over her pussy through the panties, finding her clit immediately and pressing lightly against it. "mm, when was the last time someone made you cum?"

her legs tense when your thumb teases her clit through the fabric. "f—four months," she stutters slightly as she speaks, looking away when she does. "four?" you repeat her words with a chuckle, "damn, how long have you been faking orgasms." she watches your eyes go to the ceiling, seemingly thinking about something but she can sense its sarcastic. you look back down at her. "well, i guess im making you cum four times." you pull her panties to the side and lightly touch her pussy, sliding a finger in between her folds.

"really? you really are confident," she chuckles, which turns into a small moan when you start rubbing against her clit. you smile and take your fingers from her cunt before grabbing the bottle of lube and pouring it onto your fingers. your eyes catch the expression she gives you, seemingly almost surprised. "what? im not fucking a dry pussy. i'm rude, but not that rude."

your fingers push her panties to the side and tease her pussy, swiping your thumb lightly against her clit. "aw, has something i've done got you turned on?" you question when you feel her slick pooling on your fingertips, "or is it something ive said?" the drop in your voice makes her thighs twitch, the slight twinkle in your eyes makes her questionable. although, whatever thought she had in her head was lost when you shove a finger into her, hooking it in her cunt. "oh, fuck," she breathes out, her hands automatically flying to your arm, "thick cock and thick fingers, huh?"

a chuckle leaves your lips at her little comment, although its hard to take her seriously when blush is creeping onto her face, the tips of her ears already pink, matching her peach skin. "mhm," you hum and slip a second finger in.

your fingers caress her walls, occasionally pressing lightly against that gooey ribbed spot in her cunt. her eyes become half-lidded from your languid movements, seemingly being relaxed from how gentle you are despite your previous suggestive words. her hands are still gripping your arm, although her grip has gotten weak, her hands sliding down to rest against her body. "enjoying the treatment?" you question. she hears the amused attitude in your voice and simply glares at you before she feels your fingers pump faster, clearly waking her up from whatever trance she was previously in. her thighs jolt when your free hand pulls back her clit hood. you whistle, "such a pretty clit."

the fingers in her cunt pump in and out in a fast pace, curling against what you find out is her g—spot based on how her eyes rolled when you pressed against it. one thumb holds her clithood back while the other rubs gentle circles against her bare clit. "i don't understand how some men can't find the clit," you frown, keeping your eyes on her glistening cunt that's taking your fingers so well, "it's quite easy."

it irritates her. your lax personality as if you aren't knuckles deep in her pussy. the entire night, you've spoken as if you know everything, as if you know her body. and at at the moment, she swears you do. but no matter how much you irritate her, the feeling of pleasure is going to outweigh the irritation. your fingertips curling against her g—spot, making her lashes flutter and her eyes glossy. "oh, ah...ngh—! awh!" the sounds that leave her mouth are pitiful, whatever image she usually has been thrown out of the window despite one of her hands coming to clamp over her lips.

you smile at her state and decide to ring an orgasm out of her as you roughly rub her exposed clit while curling your fingers against the ribbed spot in her cunt. your eyes watch hers widen and cross. her pussy clamps around your fingers and her thighs desprately shake, the blush moving to her chest as she creams on your fingers.

her eyes are low-liddled, focused on how you lick your lips at the sight of her drooling cunt. "one," you whisper, locking eyes with her. "oral alright with you? i brushed my teeth," you grin and partially show your teeth, "and i already payed you handsomely, sorry—beautifully. that's included, no?" her eyes have an annoyed-like tint to them, but she nods. "you may." a hum of satisfaction leaves your lips as you lean down and press your lips her pussy, your fingers still making languid movements. your lips kiss her clit ever so slightly before licking a long stripe up her cunt. your lips wrap around her clit and suck lightly before leaving a trail of kisses from her clit to her vagina as your fingers slip out.

your lips feel her spasming hole, begging for something to feel it. "desperate slut," you mumble, teasing her pussy with your tongue. one of your fingers is pulling her panties to the side as you kiss and kitten lick her pussy. your mouth moves to devour her before the two of you hear a pop! you glance at your still hooked finger, one of which no longer has a string of purple in the hook because it snapped. "ah, ill buy you another set," you shake it off and toss her panties to the side, smiling at the unamused expression she had, "ill buy the whore more than one if she truly wishes."

she should have known you were trouble. someone who would risk his career for some pussy, was someone to be a bit skeptical of. and the little flags went off in her head everytime you spoke with that soft and smooth voice. however, not much could be thought about how she missed many of your true attributes when your making out with her cunt.

your movements aren't sloppy, they have technique in them, but it feels like its too much. like your devouring her. mei's legs attempted to shake vigorously around your head, although your hands keep her thighs pressed to the sheets at you eat her out. her hands fist the sheets when she cums on your tongue, listening with tears swelling in her eyes the slurping and gulping as you refuse to waste her release. she hears you sigh and watches you sit up, seeing you lick your lips. the same grin finds its way to your face as it seems your dead set on keeping your words true. "two," you chuckle, eyes watching her face. "mm, tears in your eyes suit you. i would slap you, it'd make you prettier and you deserve it. but, im not going to."

she then realizes your personality, how cruel you could be if you wanted to, and how serious you actually are about your words. you really are about to make her cum four times?!? her eyes drift to your neglected cock. your hard. the tip leaking precum onto the sheets in between the two of you. "oh? did you think i was joking?" you chuckle and reach for your wallet pulling out a condom before ripping it open. "when i say something, i mean it."

you scoop up her hips and turn them to the side, making her turn her body aswell so she's resting on her stomach. then, your hands pull her hips up, pulling her ass into the air, bare and smooth. "pretty everywhere, huh?" you mumble and gently rub and squeeze her ass with a smile. she hears you pull the rubber on your cock before she feels the tip press between her folds. you feel her tense when you presss the tip into her pussy, slowly but surely stretching her out. "oh, fuck," she breathes out, her walls stretching to accommodate your size. she's not sure how, but you seem impossibly bigger inside of her than in her hand. and you can tell by the look in her eye she wants to beg for it to be overwith. your hips smack her ass, a smile on your face as you watch the recoil.

as you move to pull out slowly, you feel her pussy tighten around your cock as if to keep it from leaving her cunt. she hears you chuckle, "aw, aren't you a desperate whore?" you hear the squelch of her pussy when you slide out, only to slam roughly into her. "haven't had dick this big in a while, huh? don't want me to leave?" you coo, the sarcastic undertone in your voice evident to her ears. and she understands that feeling she got from you when you first walked in the hotel room.

she hears you hum, as you begin to state your thoughts outloud. "mm, maybe i should put you in a full nelson? mating press? or should i just rail you like this? i could humiliate you more, make you sob?"

you watch her lips open and press the back of her head into the pillows. "ah, that was a rhetorical question," you snap your hips against her ass. your pace increases, a frown on your face as you do. "aH! ngh—! oooh, f—fuck," her moans fill your ears. and despite how pretty they sounded, it didn't make you happy. mei looks back as far as she could, questioning your furrowed brows in her head. you sigh, slamming your hips harshly as if you were trying to punish her for something, her eyes roll as you do. and alarm covers her when you suddenly stop, right before your tip touches where it's needed. "you know, i expected better..." you switch hands and bury your fingers in her light blue hair. curling your fingers around the strands you yank harshly and pull her head up towards you, forming a deep arch in her back as the movement of your hips comes back to life, hard and heavy. you know the pathetic whimper she let out as her embarrassed as the other hand slides down her skin slowly, fingertips resting gently on her clit. your voice moves to a husky whisper with your next words. "you've made a bunch of men pay hundreds for a piece of pussy? and its not even good!"

either the words or the sound of your voice turn her on as she moans and he pussy clenches tightly around you. although, her little moment of "bliss" doesn't last long as your free hand moves. your thumb pushes back her clithood before clamping down on her exposed clit, meeting with your index finger. she practically screams as you do, hips convulsing, tongue lolled out, and her pretty brown eyes rolling to back of her head when she creams on your cock. you just pinched her clit.

"shh," you shush her, fingers still clamped on her clit. "we're going to get a noise complaint." a cruel smile is presented on your face as your practically torture her. "close your mouth, your gonna attract flies."

graciously, you let go of her clit, glancing down at her pussy seeing it puffy and red from your previous abuse. "three," you whisper in her ear and press against the buldge your cock makes in her stomach. "i've wasted my money. and im sure as the money whore you are, you know how irritating it is to waste money on misleading information..." the hand holding her hair lets go to move to her neck. your hand tightens around her neck, giving a non-threatening squeeze. the other hand goes back to her clit, lightly making small circles, constantly stimulating it. "i should get compensation for the terrible service i've received, yes?" you press and rub up on her clit to accentuate your words, her body jolting as you do. your hand massaging her neck, fingers pressing under her jawline. the tears that were swelling in her eyes spill and stream down her cheeks. she looks so, pretty whorish. it fits. and the fact that you've managed to bring this strong woman to tears makes your cock twitch inside of her.

when her shaky jaw doesn't prompt an answer, so you answer for her. "i'll take that as a yes," you push her torso back onto the sheets, "so from now—until i say so, your my fleshlight." you harshly smack one of her ass cheeks, rubbing the reddened skin to soothe it. your words are complete with a smile as you run a hand along her back, forcing her to arch deeper when you press. flexible too? i guess that makes up for something.

a sob racks her frame when you slam into her again. mei swears your cock is penetrating her womb, minutes away from planting your warm seed into her. never has she let a man use her like this. abuse her, like this. it was humiliating. but fuck, her pussy felt good. you were someone who could actually pull orgasms from her, not someone who'd rub her left lip assuming it was her clit. she couldn't help but curse and allow you to fuck her until her pussy was molded to your cock. no one is ever going to satisfy her like you have. you know it and she knows it, despite how cloudy her eyes are. you've ruined her for another man. her brain turned to mush and womb inviting for your big cock. something in her dared to say you've tamed her. and perhaps it was right, because her body obeyed whatever command you issued.

a snap from your fingers woke her up. her cloudy, brown eyes looking back at you. to which she notices, your still fully dressed. you've never taken off a piece of clothing, but she's buttass naked taking your cock like a slut. "pay attention. my compensation isn't going to matter if you can't remember me fucking you near brainless," you smile happily as you say it. as if that's a normal thing to say to a person. she only nods and sobs again when you drive your cock into her pussy.

your hands grab roughly onto his hips. thats going to leave a mark, mei thinks to herself before she realizes what your doing and lets out a strangled moan. your pulling back on her hips roughly, moving her body so she becomes impaled on your cock, over and over and over again. "when i say something, i mean it." your words echo in her head as you really use her as a fleshlight, her face roughly rubbing back and forth against the sheets from your movements. mindless moans leave her lips as she hears herself. not her voice, her pussy. squelching and slick while it takes your cock like a champ. she can feel her previous orgasms rolling down her inner thighs while you fuck her. and despite her not being able to see it, she knows there's a thin white ring at the base of your cock from her. "oh...a—aH! nngh! awh, fuck!" her voice is high-pitched. and she's panting like a dog.

she hears you groan as you speed up the pace. yanking her hips back to meet yours, overandoverandover again. she feels drunk, as if she's consumed too much wine while she takes you. its been years, since she's ever been cock drunk like this. eyes wide and tears rolling over the bridge of her nose and onto the pillows. years since she's drooled over a cock. since dumb and whorish sounds like she's making now, have ever left her lips. she was—a woman providing for herself in this harsh economy. now, she's the whore that everyone calls her out to be.

"fuck," you hiss as the slapping of wet skin fills your ears, paired with her dumb moans. her pussy is so, inviting. you could fuck her for hours and never get tired of its warmth wrapping around your cock. you could practically feel the stress melting off of you and into her gummy walls. all the weight you had resting on your shoulders was being taken out her body. the gentleness and gentleman air you has before was gon and replaced with a tense, lust-filled one. "oh, fuck. take it. ah, take it like the whore you are," you whisper with a hiss, jaw feathering as you degrade her. you were impossibly close, and that fucked out expression she had on her face was not assisting.

"mnh, shit—" you groan and slam her ass flush against your pelvis, making her cunt swallow the entire length of your cock. she's sure she has in imprint of your cock on her tummy. the musk of sex filled the room, as she tightens around your cock. you swear she could break it off from the grip, but that only helped solidify your orgasm. she came for the fourth time that night with a cry. not even ten seconds later you follow suit.

your jaw goes slack as you throw your yes back a bit, eyes rolling as your balls tighten and empty a load into her, well, into the condom you have on. she hears a chuckle leave your lips as you look back down at her. your light pants fill her ears, to her, you don't even sound tired. what type of stamina could you have? "four," you state with a smile, licking your lips with the silent wish that you could see your cum spilling from her cunt and onto the sheets. her ass remains in the air, thighs glistening and pillow soaked with drool snd tears. you hum and slide the condom off, carefully tying it in a knot before tossing it in the trash. your lips part to speak before you hear knockknockknock! at the room door.

pulling up your pants you leave her a mess on the bed and walk to the door, answering it with an amused smile, knowing exactly what the person on the other side is going to say.

its the beautiful woman that was at the front desk, except now blush was evident on her cheeks and she seemed a bit more timid. "yes?" you question, leaning against the door frame. "ah, sir. we're getting some noise complaints, coming from this room. so i ask you to, uh—er, tone it down? please?" she chuckles nervously, looking anywhere but at your face. you respectfully bow. "i apologize, we'll be quiet from now on," you say calmly and smile sweetly as if you weren't fucking a bitch dumb a minute ago. the employee nods, sweat dripping down her forehead before quickly walking down the hallway.

"i told you to knock it off," you say and close the door before walking back into the bedroom, seeing her now resting on her back, fingertips lightly tracing where the buldge from your cock was. "miss it?" you chuckle, "well too bad." you pick up the phone and call what she assumes is your driver as you grab your wallet, leaving the check where it is. she gives you a weird look and you smile. "what? whores don't deserve aftercare, especially after that terrible service." you smile and grab a washcloth, wetting it with warm water and tossing it over her lap. "your leaving, so soon?"

"hm?" you turn to her and smile. "oh, i have a meeting tomorrow, darling. can't stay here, i came for the pussy, that's all." you walk into the common area of the suite and grab your coat, about to slip on your shoes before something crosses your mind. you walk back over to the bedroom doorway. "oh, you can give my office a call. we can meet up and discuss what set you want to replace that one. look forward to seeing you." you wink and walk back. she hears you slip on your shoes and open the door, the heavy room door making a thud! when it shuts.

"asshole."

꒰ n: AFTERCARE IS IMPORTANT. DO NOT FOLLOW WHAT IS WRITTEN IN THIS FIC. i went overboard omg. but this is some good smut, okay. i think. idk y'all tell me in october. i promise yall im not an ass man lmao. however, we're going to ignore the risk of STDs in this fic. they don't exist!! 🙏🏾 ꒱