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chubby-bun-bun · 15 days ago

Text

untitled (part 6)

He helps you deal with a problem in his own thoughtful way—unconventional (and illegal) it may be.

nav: one, two, three, four, five, six (current) or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mentions of death, descriptions of a panic attack, problem-solving the n109 zone way

There’s nothing quite like dragging someone into your nonsense—especially when they always let you get away with it.

After that impromptu Frostlight holiday hangout, the long-overdue coat-and-sweater handover felt far less nerve-wracking, even during the meetups that followed. Over the past few weeks, you’ve managed to whisk the busy fruit vendor away to some of the most random spots the city has to offer.

Sometimes, your plans are scenic: the aquarium, park strolls, cozy cafes, trendy restaurants, and curated museums. Other times, they’re chaos incarnate: amusement park rides, escape rooms, and that one rage room session sparked by your urge to send your manager to the afterlife. While Sylus’ schedule frequently takes him out of the city doing whatever it is that in-demand fruit vendors do, you’ve come to appreciate the effort he puts into showing up whenever he can.

(You’re yet to successfully pay for anything. No matter how sneaky you try to be with the waiters and cashiers, he always seems to be one step ahead, swiping his card before you can even reach for yours.)

Funny enough, the more time you spend together, the less you view him through rose-tinted glasses. You've grown to look past his conventional looks and genuinely enjoy his company—especially his deadpan tendencies and razor-sharp wit. That doesn’t mean you’ve stopped obsessing over your appearance before hanging out with him, though. You still agonize over your outfit, fuss over your hair, and polish every detail you can catch in the mirror before stepping out of the house. You can’t help it. But in many ways, you’ve also grown comfortable enough to be yourself around him and bother him with your shenanigans.

Like so.

[You] You sent fruit man a link. [You] let’s go ୧(•ᴗ•)୨ [fruit man] Now why would a kitten go to a cat cafe? [fruit man] Visiting your colony mates? [You] because i said so [You] LETS GO

And so, here you are at the cat café you frequent, gently petting the resident caracal you've grown so fond of.

The café staff often marvel at how calm he is with you, noting that while he doesn't harm anyone, he tends to hiss at every guest and employee. No one else seems to have managed to break through his haughty exterior like you have. Now, the giant feline is practically putty in your arms, its massive paws kneading biscuits into your thankfully jean-covered thighs.

You tell Sylus as much, smugly stroking its floppy ears.

“Well aren’t you comfortable?” he drawls, glancing at the cat.

“He sure is!” you coo, planting a big, fat kiss on its fluffy head.

You miss the way he narrows his eyes at the feline. “Your drink’s getting cold,” he says, pointing at your neglected cup on the table. “Shouldn’t you finish it while it’s warm?”

You hold the caracal’s face, its big, round eyes tugging at your heartstrings. “Yup!”

You continue cooing at the cat, massaging its ears. Sylus scowls.

“This café seems to have quite the selection of pastries,” he comments airily, head tilted back as he skims through the barely readable menu above the counter. “Do you have any recommendations?”

That perks you up, snapping your gaze back to him and pausing your petting. “I think they have some seasonal goods this time of the year! I’ll take a look for you. Stay here.”

With that, you get up, sneak in another scratch under the big furball's chin, and take your leave. Once you’re out of earshot, Sylus smirks at the cat, who hisses at him.

“Know your place, little one.”

He’s met with another discontented hiss.

As your eyes trace the elegant cursive of the overhead menu board, you absently note the familiar chime of the café door. Your focus flits from brownies to croissants, savory dishes to frothy lattes, until a featured seasonal s’mores cookie catches your attention. Your mouth waters. Maybe Sylus would like this?

The decision is cut short when you’re abruptly shoved against the counter, the edge biting into your abdomen. A sharp yelp escapes you as pain blooms, forcing your palm to press against the throbbing spot. Rattled, you spin around.

“Excuse me—“

The words die on your tongue.

Standing before you is a man in a crisp white button-up, the sleeves rolled neatly above his forearms. He must be important—if the expensive-looking suit jacket draped over his shoulder is anything to go by.

But it’s not the over-gelled hair, the tacky accent color of his suit pieces, his inability to use his inside voice in a small café, nor his apparent lack of spatial awareness that has you frozen in place.

This is the guy that killed your family.

You're sure of it.

You can’t be mistaken. How can you be mistaken?

That smirk—cocky and insufferable—has been seared into your memory since the day you sat in that cramped police room, papers shaking in your hands as his lawyer delivered their settlement offer. You’ve never fully remembered the details of that day, but the sinister curl of his lips as he shook your hand would haunt you till the day you die.

He’s talking. Laughing. With a woman at his side and a man on the other. Maybe they’re his colleagues? You’re not sure.

You’re going to be sick.

Ears ringing, you hold a hand out as you move to the café’s door. The dull gleam of the sun registers faintly, along with the jagged pattern of the sidewalk bricks and the discarded, empty cup beneath a bush. As you stumble outside, the cool air bites sharply, unforgiving against your exposed skin.

Then you’re in the alley, doubled over by the dumpster, heaving until there’s nothing left but bile and ragged breaths.

What are you doing?

You know time doesn't stop. It never has, and it never will—not even in the face of mortal loss. The world doesn’t get to pause for your grief; people will still go to work, teachers will still hold their classes, the sun will still rise, and people will still find joy and laughter in their everyday lives. Death is inevitable and universal. Some face it sooner, some in ways more cruel than others—but in the end, it claims everyone.

You know this. You know this.

So why does it feel like your graduation day all over again?

You don’t know how long you’ve been hunched over, knees and palms pressing painfully against the rough concrete. Gradually, the ringing in your ears begins to subside, and you slowly discern the distant garble of words behind you and the grounding hold on your back.

“...You’re okay. I’m here, sweetie. Come back to me. You're okay.”

Large, calloused hands cradle your jaw with careful tenderness, gently guiding you to meet a pair of worried scarlet eyes. The moment your unfocused gaze regains some semblance of clarity, he lets out a slow exhale, the cold air puffing around him.

“There you are,” he murmurs, smiling slightly.

“...Sylus?”

He traces a finger along your cheek. “Did something happen?”

The spell breaks, and a wave of heat rises up your neck as you finally register your form on the ground, your unpleasant mess just beside you. Worse, you’ve inconvenienced him. And for what? For some overreaction to a man you had already agreed to settle things with?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you say with a shaky laugh, trying to push yourself up. But your knees give way, and you collapse back onto the ground. Shuddering from the impact of the cold, wet concrete, you flash him an embarrassed smile. “I, uh, might need a few more moments.”

Without a word, he lifts you by the armpits, a startled squeak escaping you as he effortlessly cradles you in his arms. He gently guides you to sit on one solid bicep, then scoops up your fallen bag with his free hand. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck.

“Wait—”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he says as he begins his trek toward his parked SUV. “You’re not obligated to explain yourself to anyone.”

Your breath catches. He opens the door to the passenger seat and carefully lowers you onto the plush leather. Leaning down, he meets your gaze, his forearm resting on the roof’s edge.

“But know that you don’t deserve to have your feelings or experiences downplayed—especially not by yourself.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Sylus settles into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life as he starts the drive, presumably toward your house. He must be thinking that a familiar, comforting place would be best for you right now.

A wave of guilt washes over you for cutting your time together short, especially since you were really looking forward to surprising him with that s’mores cookie. But the words won’t come, lodged tight in your throat.

By the time you reach your neighborhood, the sky has darkened. Just as he pulls up, ready to open his door, you reach out, placing your hand on his forearm.

"Sylus, I..."

Your voice falters.

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his, his fingers brushing over yours in a gentle caress. He doesn’t rush you. No hint of impatience. Just a quiet, comfortable presence, giving you the space to breathe and find your words.

Slowly, you tell him everything.

Keeping his earlier words in mind, you tell the facts as they are, your emotions as they unfolded. You describe the accident, how it happened, and the events that followed—the pressure to accept the settlement offer, the intimidation. You talk about the loneliness that set in, the growing distance between you and those you once felt close to, all because their happiness became too much to bear. How the world kept moving, while you felt trapped in the same place, stuck in time.

You talk about how you saw the driver again in the café earlier, how it resurfaced all those unpleasant memories and unearthed emotions you’d buried. Despite his advice on not minimizing yourself, you let an apology slip for letting things get to you and cutting your hangout short as a result.

You don’t tell him, but his presence in your life—albeit unexpected and fairly new—has done wonders in pulling back the heavy darkness weighing you down. You hope the depth of your gratitude comes across in the way you hold his hand, gripping it tightly, like it’s the only thing keeping you from sinking.

“Wow, I feel much better,” you finally say, laughing shakily at how silly your earlier reaction seems now. You squeeze his hand gently. “Thanks for listening to me, Sy. I really appreciate it.”

You miss the way his eyes flash at the nickname.

You watch as he examines your reddened eyes and watery lashes, his expression unreadable, before squeezing your hand in return. “I’m just honored that you trusted me enough to share that with me.”

You muster a grin. “I promise to make up for earlier. I've been dying to try this new recipe I found. How about a box of experimental cookies?”

After a brief pause, he lets out a low chuckle. “As long as it’s edible,” he says, lips curling into a smirk, effectively dissipating the lingering tension.

You give his arm a soft whack. “You’re gonna regret it when they turn out actually good!”

He sighs, gazing at where you swat at him with faux pity. “What, with that little kitten pat?”

After a few rounds of bickering—with you insisting that it was not a little kitten pat—you finally exchange your goodbyes. Stepping out of his SUV, you wave cheekily, heading toward your doorstep. He returns the gesture, his wave a little slower, as he waits for you to reach the door.

As soon as you turn your back, the bright scarlet in his eyes dulls to a dangerous crimson hue, black-red tendrils barely contained within a closed fist.

—

You stare up at the building in front of you, mouth agape.

At least eight stories high, its grandeur is impossible to miss, even amidst the notable luxury shops and high-end establishments of the uptown plaza. Massive windows stretch across the facade, their panes glinting like polished gems in the late afternoon light. At its center, a grand arched entrance commands attention, flanked by twin marble columns with gold detailing. The architecture is reminiscent of those vintage and timeless mansions you always see on royalty-themed documentaries.

Discreetly, you pull out your phone to scroll through your conversation with Sylus, double-checking the maps link he sent.

[You] sy!! [You] the cookies turned out pretty good!! [You] i wanna give you some [You] should we meet up?? [fruit man] Congrats on the successful outcome of your baking experiment sweetie. [fruit man] When do you want to hand them over? [You] i was thinking today if it’s ok! they taste best while they’re still fresh [fruit man] I might run late due to a meeting. why don’t you head here while theres still light out? [fruit man] We can go have dinner after. [fruit man] fruit man sent you a link. [You] oooh is this the place you’re staying at? [fruit man] Its an old guest lodging I run. [fruit man] Its convenient for whenever I have business in Linkon.

You stare at the screen incredulously, then glance back up at the towering behemoth before you. This is the old guest lodging he was talking about? You’re no lodging connoisseur, but you’re pretty sure this is a five-star hotel.

Deciding not to question it further lest you get a headache, you square your shoulders and step inside.

Immediately, you feel like an outsider as you pass through the elegant interior, your gaze flitting between the extravagant glass chandelier and the plush velvet sofas in the vast lounge area. Even the guests moving about look like they own at least three vacation homes around the world, like they spend their weekends at the golf club for fun.

A staff member approaches to greet you, her gloved hands neatly clasped as she dons an excellent customer service smile.

“Welcome to the Noir Manor! Do you have a reservation?”

“Um, no." Crap, even your voice sounds out of place. "But I’m here for Sylus?”

Her eyes widen. She reaches into the pocket of her work skirt and pulls out a small notebook, swiftly scanning its pages. She reads your name aloud, her eyes flicking to you for confirmation.

“That’s me, yes,” you say, fingers fiddling with the handle of your wooden picnic basket.

Without missing a beat, she pulls a walkie-talkie from her breast pocket.

“Attention, over. We’ve got white dove in the lobby. Please be advised. Over.”

She then tucks the device back and turns to you with a more genuine smile.

"Mr. Sylus is currently in a meeting on the top floor, but he’ll be finishing shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable in the lounge area in the meantime."

You don’t need to be told twice. The wide lobby space and high ceilings are starting to make you feel claustrophobic. After relaying your thanks, you beeline for the single sofa chair at the farthest end.

You’re content enough just admiring the impressive architecture and interior design of the place, but strangely, hotel staff keep coming up to you every few minutes, bringing fresh pastries and tea. They also keep bringing in soft throw pillows, helping you settle more comfortably in your comically large seat. The attention has you mortified—both from the employees and the guests casting furtive glances at the table they brought over, laden with your private snack spread.

Desperate to shake off your nerves, you scan the room again, your eyes immediately locking onto the massive widescreen TV mounted on the pillar near the lobby desk. It’s muted, but the bold headlines and auto-generated captions on the news report are more than enough for you to follow along.

You barely make out the words flashing across the screen. Something about the new CEO of a prominent national bank chain drunk driving down the highway and crashing into a streetlight pole. The family has apparently urged the local police to investigate for foul play, citing the unnaturally high speed he was driving. An image of the driver flashes on screen.

You stand up abruptly, your pulse hammering in your ears.

It's the guy at the café.

Your family’s killer.

He’s dead.

“There better not be a missing cookie in there,” an amused voice says from behind you, making you jump.

Sylus. He’s wearing a patterned maroon button-up. Normally, the exposed collarbone beneath his inner white shirt would have you looking away, heat rising to your cheeks. But you're too stunned by what you’ve just learned to even register it.

Your thousand-yard stare has him frowning. He rests a hand on your shoulder, the other tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“Everything alright, kitten?”

Words catch in your throat as you weakly point a finger toward the TV, the report now showing a live interview with the former CEO—the driver’s father. Apparently, they’re filing for bankruptcy by the end of next year’s first quarter and are asking for prayers during their difficult time.

You don’t see Sylus’ face, your eyes drifting in and out of focus on the gold pendant of his necklace. Instead, you feel him gently guide your head against his chest, a hand softly patting your back in a soothing rhythm.

“If anything, he had it coming.”

The vibration of his voice hums against your ear, and you exhale, your eyes fluttering shut. "It just feels surreal, I guess," you mumble, your hands hanging limply at your sides. "I mean, I just saw him, what, two weeks ago?"

A brief silence hangs between you before he pulls back, carefully cupping your cheeks and guiding your bleary gaze to meet the intense scarlet of his.

“How about showing me what you've made for me? I've been looking forward to tasting it with you all afternoon.”

You nod absentmindedly, allowing him to guide you to the private elevator concealed behind the lobby desk. With your bow-adorned basket in one hand, he flicks a finger over his shoulder. Instantly, the staff moves with practiced ease, swiftly tidying up your previous spot in the lounge.

As the elevator doors close and begin their ascent to his office on the top floor, he gently coaxes you out of your dazed state, sharing stories about a fishing excursion he recently took up north. He laments his lack of catch during the three-day trip, especially since it was supposed to be the prime season for a rare species in the area.

Had you been more present, you would’ve noticed that, despite his apparently horrendous luck, he seems awfully chipper.

note: i'm 6 parts in and i still can't decide on a title 🧍‍♀️

nav: one, two, three, four, five, six (current) or: read on ao3

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex, @midiplier, @wisteriaflowersss, @euclase0, @leighsartworks216, @keyiswatching, @goldenbirdiee, @delaythings, @datura109, @iloveboysinred, @everythingistaken00, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @blueberrysquire, @mourning-into-dancing, @bookfreakk, @everywherenothere, @vvhira, @laidenbreecatchall, @kyushii, @lucifer-says-hii, @sylus-crow, @carmelves, @nishayuro, @comatosebunny09, @withering-dream, @rmjace2, @tinnyrabbit, @socutesotall

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus fluff #sylus hurt/comfort #sylus comfort #sylus angst

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boolger · 4 months ago

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A lapdog at a farm - chapter 1

AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147

Maybe support me on kofi?🥺👉👈

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

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The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work.

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had.

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road.

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate.

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive.

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion.

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left.

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look.

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

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It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another.

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything.

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction.

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John.

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

next chapter ->

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embracing-the-ineffable · 6 months ago

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Beware clickbait accusations

Hi fandom, here's what happened yesterday: A reporter named Rachel Johnson, who is the sister to Boris Johnson and a big terfy supporter of JK Rowling, released a 4-part true crime podcast featuring two women accusing Neil Gaiman of SA. Yesterday. The day before the UK elections. This post explores the possible political links in more detail.

CW: this post is free of graphic details, but if you follow these links, there may be explicit descriptions of sex, kink, and bdsm, plus mentions of mental illness and suicidal thoughts.

I want to believe and support survivors, and I also want to base my thoughts and actions on facts. I thought the xitter livestream commentary from Not Becky for all 4 episodes was very insightful. There's also a first episode transcript without extra commentary. (Edit: released after I wrote this post: the full audio plus transcripts for all four episodes of the podcast are now available to download here, or you can read all four transcripts in your browser.) I have since concluded (pending more time to think and read and learn, or any new information, of course):

This seems like the worst kind of clickbait, an unjustified mess that will hurt everyone involved (except possibly a few politicians who might benefit somehow, we'll see). The evidence the "reporters" present directly contradicts their accusations. They're counting on people reading headlines and not digging any deeper.

They tried to make something sinister where there was apparently consent and a caring relationship. Have they exploited one or both of these women? S, in particular, is described as vulnerable and with a history of unspecified mental illness. They have all of the message history between S and Neil, and her messages make the sexy stuff between the two of them sound enthusiastically consensual. There are even messages (multiple!) where she specifically says everything was consensual. Here's one:

They're playing horror music in the background to try to make us feel horrified, even as S reassures us that things were consensual. It's emotional manipulation by the reporters.

The times S sounds upset during the interview are the times she talks about Neil leaving her behind or not paying attention to her. Not the times she talks about consent violations. Her stories during the interview are inconsistent, and they contradict her messages with Neil and with others. Maybe we'll get better information from a more reputable news source, or maybe not, I don't know. I also don't know why anyone who cares about her would have advised her to do this interview.

Then they tracked down lots of other women who know/have dated Neil and they all had glowing things to say, except one other lover from 20 years ago, K. She described some bad sex, and then pointed to a time in their 2-year relationship when she felt something wasn't consensual and he thought it was. And after their breakup, they continued to text and flirt, for decades.

This podcast "exposé" feels like explosive clickbait with political ramifications. The evidence here doesn't support a pattern of poor conduct so much as establish Neil as a fellow well-meaning human with imperfect judgement. That doesn't mean the accusations are all made up; intimate partner violence is complicated, and the responsibility for checking in and getting regular enthusiastic consent from partners is very real, especially when kink or bdsm are involved.

I don't know what the right balance is here between supporting survivors, thinking critically, assuming good intentions, and waiting for better information, but I feel confident that this podcast alone is not enough to condemn anyone aside from the irresponsible journalists who inflicted it on the rest of us.

PS/edit: I'm tagging my relevant posts (mostly reblogs) with #ineffable grief, and you can see all of them here.

#neil gaiman #clickbait #think critically #ineffable grief #be kind #intimate partner violence #mental health #Irresponsible journalists #uk politics #good omens fandom #good omens

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mydadleft471 · 6 months ago

Text

For The Love Of A Daughter

Summary: After getting caught looking for food to feed your daughter, Lord Messmer takes pity on you and extends mercy.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Slight warning for descriptions of violence and death.

This was requested by anonymous! I'll link the request here. This was SO MUCH FUN. I've never really wrote anything involving young children before, so I'm going off of the scant interactions I've had with some younger family members. I've also never wrote for a GN! reader. It was easier than I thought lmao. Thank you for the request anon!

I'm really considering making this a series tbh! If you'd like to see more, please let me know! I could've spent the whole day writing but I need to go eat lmao. (I've been writing for 2 hours help)

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time and it makes me so unbelievably happy that I'm able to write things that make other people happy. Hope everyone enjoys!

Your lungs were on fire.

You hadn’t stopped running from the moment you entered the Land of Shadow. A few Tarnished once accompanied you, but they had been slain and you had no choice to move on for your sake and hers.

The little girl carefully strapped to your shoulders was maybe about 4 years old. You’d found her in the rubble of an old village in Caelid accompanied by two corpses, most likely her mother and father. Her sweet green eyes pierced yours and you knew you couldn’t leave her there. You were never much of a fighter anyways. Your hands were gentle and steady and your nerves did not hold strong in the throes of battle.

She only had one thing with her: a golden locket with a piece of folded paper inside with the name Jasmine written on it. You were unsure if that was her name or her mother’s, but you called her that. You found it fitting for her.

Currently, you were running from a pack of armed men all wielding the same unnatural fire. You had carefully snuck up to a dark looking castle in search of any food you could find, when suddenly, guards had honed in on your position and you ran for it, not knowing if they would be kind to you and your child.

Booking it straight for a charred town, you tried to maneuver your way around its buildings to confuse the men chasing you. After randomly choosing directions to turn and heading down a few alleyways, you found your way to a staircase. You squeezed yourself down into it, hoping that you were out of sight to go unnoticed.

You heard the thundering of footsteps approach your position and you held your breath. Jasmine began to squirm from where she was attached to your shoulders, so you quietly repositioned her in your arms. Her little hands meekly clutched your arm; it had been two days since she had last had something semi-filling.

You froze as you heard the sound of clanking metal approaching you. A man ducked down and his eyes found yours, your heart nearly stopping. He shouted to alert the other guards and they soon surrounded you. You couldn’t see them, but you heard so many footsteps. You were found.

“Come out, or we’ll drag you out.”

Slowly, you slid yourself from your hiding place, clutching Jasmine to your chest defensively.

“Please, I beg of you, let me go. She’s hungry. I was looking for food, that’s all.” Your voice wavers at the sight of so many weapons.

“Lord Messmer will decide your fate. You will come with us.”

With your head hung low, you follow their orders. They search you for any possessions you might have, which is basically nothing but a half-empty waterskin and a dull dagger, and confiscate them. They eye Jasmine, looking for anything she might be hiding, but they don’t dare touch her. Mercifully, they allow you to hold her as they march you back to the blackened castle you ran from.

You make your way up what must be a thousand stairs and your legs ache from the amount of walking you’ve done. Slowing down causes a guard to firmly grab your shoulder and keep you going at a brisk pace. Jasmine hides her face in your shoulder and you try to calm her by rubbing circles into her back. You would promise her that it would be okay, but you can imagine her parents promising that same thing, and now they were dead and she was being carried into an unknown place.

If it came down to it, you’d beg for her to remain safe and allow them to kill you.

Finally, the guards stopped you in front of a large metal door. It was intricately decorated and instilled true fear into you. This must be where Lord Messmer resided

“You will show respect at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or we will put you to the sword.”

You merely nod in response, not willing to test how quickly they would kill you.

The doors open with a protesting creak and the metal slides against the stone floor with an unnatural sound. It grates your ears and you cover Jasmine’s to save her from the awful noise. Two guards flank your shoulders and tap your shoulder, signaling for you to move forwards.

The room is lit with a few candles shimmering in the stagnant air. It smells like sulfur and blood. The guards stop you and push down on your shoulders, and you kneel. Jasmine stays in your arms, small hands wrapped tightly around your neck.

“My Lord, we’ve found an intruder. They were scouring around the castle and fled when seen. They say that they were looking for food for their child.” The guard barks out.

You keep your head down, terrified to look up.

“A child, here?” A new, lower voice cascades across the room sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“A child does not belong in the Land of Shadow. Thou hast endangered them.” He doesn’t sound pleased. “Prithee, tell me thy reasoning for bringing one so fragile here.”

“I found her in Caelid, My Lord. Since then, we’ve been traveling with a group of Tarnished and our path led us here.” Your voice shakes as you speak.

“‘Tis not thy child in thine arms?”

You shake your head. “No, My Lord. She was in a ruined village, surrounded by rubble and rot. I couldn’t leave her there.” Your heart stings at the painful memory.

“Intriguing. What reason didst thou have to come to my castle?”

“As your guard said, My Lord. She is hungry. Food is not easy to come by here.”

“Dost thou remember when last she ate?”

“Two days ago was her last full meal. Since then, we’ve been living off of rowa fruits.”

Silence is your response, until you hear heavy footsteps approaching you. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug Jasmine tight. She trembles in your arms.

“The child has a name, I presume?” His voice is only a few feet away from you now.

“Jasmine, My Lord.”

He sighs. “How was thee treated by my men?”

“They didn’t take her away from me, My Lord. They never hurt us.”

He lets out what you assume is a sigh of relief. Something thumps against the ground making you jump. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the hilt of his weapon. You remember other Tarnished referring to Lord Messmer as the Impaler, and you shuddered in fear.

“Thy only crime is trespassing, but do not thinkest me heartless. Thou art forgiven, and I shall extend mercy unto thee.” His tone changes as he addresses one of his men. “They shalt be taken to comfortable quarters and attended by female staff only. Shall any man lay a hand upon the child, they shalt be killed immediately, without mercy.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The guard leaves the room quickly, probably thanking his lucky stars for permission to exit the room.

“Rise. Thou needn’t stare at the floors any longer.” His voice softens as he speaks to you.

With shaking legs, you do as he asks and you spare a glance in his direction. He towers over you, serpents coiling around his slender frame, and you notice he has one eye that glimmers a brilliant gold. His great spear is held firmly in his right hand.

“Thank you. Truly.” You do your best to bow in your current state. Without adrenaline, you’re extremely shaky. You almost collapse, but a serpent gently coils around your waist and holds you up.

“I shall have food sent to thine quarters immediately.” You can almost hear worry in his voice.

You nod and mindlessly pat the serpent holding you up gently. It nuzzles into your palm.

As if on cue, a female servant with deep brown hair enters the room and you see a smile work her way onto her face at the sight of Jasmine.

“Is this who you would have me attend to, My Lord?”

“Yes. They are exhausted and have been without proper food for days. Ensure they are looked after.”

The woman places a hand on your shoulder and the serpent withdraws itself from your waist. You feel extremely unsteady, but the woman is stronger than she looks.

“Come on now, love. Let’s get you some food.” She hooks your arm over her shoulder and wraps her other arm around your back.

Slowly, she guides you out of the stagnant room and towards your quarters. She keeps you upright and doesn’t allow you to sway.

“Lord Messmer has taken pity on you, truly. Usually, trespassers are not dealt with so lightly.” She explains to you.

You don’t desire to dwell on what your fate could’ve been, so you quickly change the subject. “Do you have a name?” You ask her and she smiles once more.

“Sianet. A pleasure to serve you.”

You reach your room and Sianet gently helps you inside, settling you on a large, extremely comfortable bed. She goes to shut your door, then grabs a large pitcher of water. She helps you drink, the cold water a welcome luxury.

“Would you like some, little one?” She holds out the glass to Jasmine who keeps her head tucked into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. You should drink some water. It’s cold.” You keep your voice steady and she slowly raises her head. Her eyes quickly scan around the room and she looks at Sianet.

“Hello, sweet thing. Do you have a name?”

You prepare yourself to answer for her, as Jasmine really only speaks to you, but you’re shocked when she replies on her own, her voice a meek whisper.

“My name is Jasmine.”

Sianet smiles wider, her white teeth almost blinding. “That’s a lovely name, Jasmine. Would you have some water for me?”

Jasmine nods and grabs at the glass. Sianet helps her drink, tipping the cup back slowly. Once she finishes drinking, the glass is put beside the pitcher on the table next to your bed.

“Your dinner should be ready soon. While we wait, shall I draw a bath for the little one?”

Jasmine’s eyes light up and she nods furiously. Sianet laughs and makes her way to the corner of the room, beckoning for her to follow. Jasmine looks at you with wide eyes.

“Can I follow her?”

“Go on. You stink.” She giggles and launches herself off your lap, toddling off after Sianet.

You flop unceremoniously onto the bed and shut your eyes. You had been wandering for so long that you almost forgot what a proper bed felt like. You remind yourself that you’re safe, even if only for a little while. You can relax and rest. You’ve earned it.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. You hear Jasmine and Sianet talking in the next room, so you make your way to the door yourself. Opening it, you are surprised to see Lord Messmer himself. His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like a greeting.

“What can I do for you, Lord Messmer?”

“I came to ensure thy room was to thine liking.”

You smile at him. “I’ve never stayed somewhere so beautiful. I have no complaints, My Lord.”

His eye twinkles and he peers around you to look inside the room. You silently berate yourself for your horrible manners.

“My apologies, My Lord. Would you like to come in?”

“I shalt not invade thy privacy. Where hast thy child gone?”

“She’s currently taking a much needed bath. She’s okay.” To confirm your words, Jasmine lets out a delighted squeak. The corners of his lip turn up in a small smile.

“Sianet: is she to thine liking as well?”

“She’s very attentive and sweet. You don’t need to worry.”

He clears his throat. “Thy room is guarded well. If thou have need for anything, thou must only ask.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I hope you know how much this means to us.”

“‘Tis no matter. ‘Twould make me a monster to not attend to thee, especially the child.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but… why are you helping us? Sianet told me that trespassers are usually not dealt with in such a manner.”

His expression falters a little. You worry you overstepped.

“Thou did not hurt my men. Thou did not invade my castle with ill intent.” He pauses, looking away from you. “And it hath been countless moons since a child has inhabited the Land of Shadow.”

“I see.”

Silence encompasses you both, and you take in the details of his face. He has strong cheekbones and a proud, regal nose. His golden eye shimmers in the dim candlelight around you.

“I shalt not bother thee any longer. Give my regards to thy child, and if thou hast need for anything, I permit thee ask.”

“Thank you, Lord Messmer. I’m lucky to have met you.”

His eye widens and a peaceful smile finds itself on his face. He looks handsome like that, you think to yourself.

He bows slightly and leaves you, his serpents coiling themselves around him as he gets further from your door. You shut it and sigh, returning to your bed. The mattress envelops you in a comfortable embrace, and you swear you could fall asleep now and not wake up for a few days. Exhaustion clings to your nerves and bones, and your eyelids grow heavy. You shut them and find yourself immediately succumbing to slumber.

“Wake up! Food’s here!” You’re rudely awoken by Jasmine bouncing excitedly on the bed. You groan and sit up, your body creaking in protest at the sudden movement.

“Alright! I’m up.” She giggles and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand.

Yawning, you do. Rubbing your eyes, you notice that Sianet is carefully arranging a table of food. The smell makes your mouth water. Jasmine runs to help her, her skin now cleaned and clothed in a new dress. Her little feet pad across the marble floors and you don’t remember ever seeing her so excited.

“Sleep well?” Sianet asks, turning her head to meet your gaze.

“Better than I’ve ever slept before. Until someone interrupted.” Jasmine giggles and runs behind a chair, hiding from your teasing.

“I am glad.” She dusts her hands off on her apron and stands back. “Your dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Sianet.”

You make your way over to the table and sit down in one of the chairs. Just like your bed, it is extremely comfortable. Before you is a large spread of meats, fruits, and a few desserts. You had been given a bottle of wine to indulge in if you so desired. You can’t remember a time when you had so much choice in what to eat.

Jasmine is lifted into her chair by Sianet, which has been outfitted with a booster seat, and her eyes go wide at the amount of food. You see her gaze immediately lock onto a small tray of chocolate.

“You can’t have just chocolate for dinner, Jasmine.”

She scowls. “You’re right. There’s not enough.” You laugh and shake your head.

“If you need me, say something to the guards. I must go and ensure you have clothes. A bath has been drawn for you already.”

“Thank you, Sianet. We appreciate it.”

“Thank you for giving me a bath.” Jasmine has already stuffed a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” She bows her head and takes her leave.

You and Jasmine have your fill of whatever you want. You indulge in some chocolate and a glass of wine and eat until you’re completely full. You imagine this is how Messmer lives each and every day.

You could get used to this.

You make an effort to clean up your plates and stack them so they can be easily taken away and Jasmine makes her way over to the bed. Once you’re finished, you sit beside her.

“Will you tuck me in?”

“Of course.” You pull the soft blankets up and over her, folding them delicately so she can keep her arms out. She smiles and wiggles, getting comfy.

“Mother used to tuck me in every night.” She never spoke of her parents, so this was surprising to you. “She had long hair and a pretty smile. But that’s all I can remember.”

Your heart pinches painfully. “I’m sorry, little one.” You grab her hand and squeeze it.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t really remember your mother.”

“That’s okay. I have you.” She smiles at you and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You finally know that she’s safe and fed and warm, unlike so many other nights. She is protected by a demigod in his home. Nobody can touch her. She can finally be a child.

“You will always have me,” you promise.

She shuts her eyes and you gently stroke her hair. The brown shimmers in the candlelight. You wonder if her mother had brown hair. When you found her parents, you were so worried about Jasmine that you never looked at them hard enough to remember. Maybe that was for the best.

You rise slowly from the bed to not disturb her sleep, and gently tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was extravagant. Marble floors and tiles and a large candelabra hung from the ceiling, painting the room in a serene glow. The bath sat full, the water still steaming with some petals gently floating on the water. The room smelled like vanilla.

Undressing yourself, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Bruises litter your body like constellations and scars are forever etched on your flesh. You’ve grown skinny, far too skinny, from not eating. You prioritized Jasmine’s food over yours. You did not want her to grow up malnourished.

Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you step into the water and sit down, your body relaxing into the water immediately. The warmth permeates your skin and soothes your bones. The tub is big enough for you to full submerge yourself if you so choose, and you do. The only noise you hear is the gentle swooshing of water. It’s almost like being in a void. You remain under the water until your lungs quickly remind you that you need to resurface for air, and you do. Your hair now wet, you shampoo and condition it, leaving it soft and silky smooth. You choose a purple soap sitting on the edge of the tub and thoroughly lather yourself in it, basking in the lavender scent.

You remain in the water until it begins to chill, and you step out. Drying yourself off, you notice a silk robe hanging on the rack by the door. It is much too large for you, but you don’t really care. You take it and wrap yourself in it. Once more, you look at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognize who stands there. They have soft hair and smooth, clean skin wrapped in fine silks. You remind yourself that it is, in fact, you who stands there.

Making your way out of the washroom, you smile as you see Jasmine still sleeping soundly in the bed. The fireplace nearby roars and you begin to extinguish a few candles. Gently settling into the bed beside Jasmine, you lay a kiss to her forehead before shutting your eyes and returning to St. Trina’s domain once more.

Little did you know that Messmer himself had ignited the fireplace and brought you one of his robes. He doubted that he’d tell you. But he’d be a liar if he said seeing you in his robe didn’t make his heart flutter in his chest.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring x reader #elden ring messmer #he's a softie i swear #poor boy is having thoughts

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sundrop-writes · 4 months ago

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Eager Little Puppy

Isaac Lahey x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

You offer to help Isaac relax. He agrees, thinking that you have something entirely different in mind. But when he finds out what you have planned, he really can't bring himself to mind.

(Or - you fuck Isaac's brains out to help him relax.)

Isaac Lahey x GN!Reader. Friends with Benefits. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 2,700

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic; the reader character is completely gender neutral - there is no mention of the reader's genitals and no description of what kind of genitals the reader has, and the only pronouns used to refer to the reader are you/yours; use of Y/N; most of the fic focuses on Isaac and acts the reader performs on him; there is dom/sub dynamics - the reader is more dominant and Isaac is more submissive; there is a slight passing mention of Isaac's abusive past (and how it makes him stressed out, so he is eager to use sex and submission as a way to relax and ease his mind); marking kink (the reader giving Isaac love bites and hickies); anal fingering - Isaac receiving (mention of Isaac being an anal virgin before this); oral - Isaac receiving; praise kink (reader praises Isaac and he loves it) - the reader calls Isaac 'good boy', 'pretty', and 'puppy'; lots of dirty talk; use of a dildo on Isaac (anally); passing mention of blood (the reader licks Isaac so hard that he bleeds and then licks it); Reader swallows Isaac's cum - I think that's it?

A/N: Just another random fic I wrote while on hiatus because I can't get enough of my baby Isaac, and I feel like he would love being called by the nickname Puppy (and that is now forever what I refer to him as in my head). He just looks like such a puppy lmao. He has big puppy dog eyes, he's constantly looking to others (like Scott, Erica, and Derek) for guidance and validation, he's eager to follow even though he's strong and could be a leader. He is an eager little puppy lapdog and I love him so fucking much. I just wanna pet his hair like a sweet little puppy and praise him and also fuck his brains out. Hence, this fic. Anyway, if you're a fellow Isaac lover, I hope you enjoy this fic!!

...

When you had suggested ‘relaxing’, Isaac thought you meant taking a bubble bath, some candles, aromatherapy.

Perhaps reading a book curled up in bed with some gentle music playing in the background. You seemed like the type of person to enjoy those things. He had no clue what relaxation even was - it’s not like he had a lot of time to relax, going straight from his father’s house of horrors to Pack life with Derek, nearly being killed every other week.

Of course, that was exactly why you had suggested this.

You and Isaac had been friends for a while, flirting back and forth for even longer, and fooling around for only a few short weeks. He knew that you cared about him a lot, and he was grateful that you actually thought about these things. That you actually considered the toll that stress took on him.

He just had no clue what he was getting himself into when he agreed to a ‘relaxing’ evening with you.

He certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

Being laid out on your bed, completely naked while you were still mostly clothed, the lights delightfully soothing and dim, the covers so soft against his skin while you took him on the ride of his life. His body was covered in your spit and teeth marks, sharp suction spots where you had latched on and made him moan. Unfortunately the marks were already healing, making you regretful and even more determined to make him remember you by the distinction of your touch alone.

Still, you dug your teeth in, providing the perfect little bite of pain to go with the pleasure, especially now as your fingers well-lubed fucked up inside of him - making your impression in his previously untouched hole for the first time. You pushed your fingers deep inside of him, fucking him with precise, certain movements while your mouth worked on his cock.

He felt like his mind was slowly melting between his ears, every single known thought escaping him - but he had a distinct feeling that’s exactly what you had wanted. Because now he couldn’t worry, he couldn’t stress, he couldn’t even spend a single moment thinking about anything that had been plaguing his mind for the past few months. He couldn’t even be insecure about the whorish moans he was letting out or the way he was angling his hips toward you, silently begging for more.

This was entirely relaxing.

You moaned around his dick, encouraging him - causing him to let out another loud moan.

It made you smile internally, feeling that in the way his body gave in to you, the way his needy hole flexed around your fingers, opening up to you but clenching slightly - telling you how badly he wanted more, needed more, even without words.

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop, causing him to let out a shuddering moan of disappointment as the now spit-slick sensitive organ was exposed to the cool air. His dick fell against his stomach, smearing precum against the smooth, porcelain skin there while you eased another finger into his greedy hole. Now, fucking three of your fingers in and out of him, something that made Isaac part his thighs and wiggle his hips down into your touch, of course - desperate for more, even unconsciously.

“That’s it - such a good boy for me.” You purred, grinning down at him.

He was so pretty like this.

His face dropped back against the fluffiness of your pillow, his eyes fluttering closed and his mouth gaped open as he let out the prettiest soft sounds. His lips were swollen and spit-glossed from where you had kissed him, something that made him breathless and wrecked. His nipples were puffy and swollen from where you had bitten and worked them, making him so frenzied and frantic, his stomach heaving with little breaths, desperate to get air into his lungs as you continually punched it out of him by fucking your fingers up into him.

His long, thick cock gently bobbed against his stomach, leading down to a nest of blond hair that covered his heavy balls, smeared wet with the lube that you were fucking him with.

Somehow - even in such a sinful state, he looked so damn angelic.

He was severely enjoying the thickness and the rhythm of your three fingers, you could only imagine how much he would like what you had for him next.

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” You couldn’t contain the praise, not when he was this good, not when you felt the affection swelling up inside of you. He let out a loud, rattling moan at this, and you knew that you had struck gold. “Such a pretty boy. You like it when I remind you how fucking good you are, huh?”

“Please,” Isaac choked out, his throat clearly dry and strangled from all the moaning he had been doing. “Please - more.”

You locked eyes with him, and saw nothing but glassy, empty headed pleasure swimming there. And while his needy body flexed tightly around your fingers, you knew exactly what he was begging for - like a fish on dry land gulping desperately, you knew exactly what he was struggling for.

More of your praise. Something he likely didn’t even know he had wanted before this, now lighting his body on fire. Now something he was desperate for more of - something he would likely need to survive from now on.

“You want more, pretty boy?”

You teased him, gently skimming your thumb along the underside of his cock, tracing a thick vein that made his muscles jolt. He nodded his head frantically, breathing thickly again, his eyes falling shut as his head fell back once again, eagerly waiting for you to comply.

“Yeah? You’re gonna get everything you want. Cause you’re such a pretty boy - you deserve it all. Such a good boy, such an eager little puppy-”

The nickname was something you had teased him with before. When you had found out that Derek had turned him, you insisted that if Derek and Scott were well-trained, full-blown wolves, then Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were just ‘puppies’. Newbies. It was something meant to taunt him, belittle him. But you had always seen the spark in his eyes when you said it.

And now, feeling the way his hole clenched around your touch, feeling his hips fuck down against you, seeing the little pulse that shifted his cock as a bit of precum leaked out - you had known that you were right.

Isaac was just an eager puppy waiting to be fucked.

“Please, please!” He gasped out, whipping his eyes open and looking down the length of his body at you. “Hnng, I need it!”

He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was begging for - it was pure static between his ears, a senseless TV signal that only became slightly clear when your voice cut through the snow.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay, puppy.” You said, smoothing your free hand across his stomach, purposefully avoiding any contact with his cock. “I’ve got you.”

He reached out and grabbed your wrist, and your chest swelled with just how sweet he was - how loving and affectionate, even when he was clearly desperate to be fucked.

“Such a sweet boy,” You continued to praise him, petting that hand across his torso, reaching to gently flick his nipple, exhausting more moans from him as you did this. “Such a sweet little puppy, aren’t you? Just an eager little thing desperate to be fucked, huh?”

Isaac’s moan in response turned into a little howl of disappointment as you pulled your fingers out of him completely. You were almost hurt by the way his lip quivered and his brows furrowed - you would have been more upset if you didn’t know that you had something better in store for him.

“Y/N-” He began to argue, his voice absolutely sour, but you cut him off.

“I’ve got you.” You told him firmly, leaning in and kissing across his chest, ending this by laying a kiss on his mouth, causing your clothed body to roughly brush against his cock for a moment - which made him whine. “I’m gonna take good care of you, puppy.”

He let out another guttural moan at these words, and watched with wide, curious eyes as you reached to your nightstand. His eyes widened when your hand came back with a cock - a six inch, bright blue, veined dildo. He felt a slight twist of anxious intimidation in his stomach at the thought of taking the object inside of him, but it was quickly washed out by pure need when his hole clenched around nothing and he realized how terribly empty he felt now that your fingers were gone.

“Do you trust me?” You asked, reaching for the lube that you had dropped on the bed beside him earlier, slicking up the cock with more than a healthy amount.

“Yes.” Isaac told you honestly.

“Good.” You grinned at him. “Cause this is gonna be so good for you, baby.”

You then put it between his thighs, using one hand to tease the tip of the lubed up dildo along his slightly gaped hole while you reached your other hand, still very wet with lube, to his cock. You took a good grip on him and began slowly jerking him off while you eased the first few inches of the cock into him.

Isaac let out a loud moan, tossing his head back, his thighs tensing as he was already overwhelmed with pleasure. It was just a hint of what was to come, but it was so good to be stretched open around something so thick, something that filled him up so well.

It was just a slight burn in his muscles as his body ached to accommodate something thicker and wider than your fingers - but there was a feeling, something deep in his stomach that was aching and curious for more. His cock was slowly warming up with pleasure as you touched him, turning his brain into even more of a soup as he gripped at the sheets beneath him and prayed that this feeling would never have to stop.

“More!” He cried out, angling his hips further into your touch.

“Such a greedy puppy, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice edging on mocking as you sped up the pace of your hand on his cock, easing more of the dildo into him, indulging in the beautiful sounds he let out. “Just can’t have your pretty hole filled fast enough, can you?”

Isaac let out a moan in agreement, and you pushed forward until the last of the cock was finally inside of him, leaving him furled around the base and gripping it tightly, echoing out a pretty gasp as he was fully filled.

The six inch dildo wasn’t huge, but it was the biggest (and only) cock he had ever taken inside of him, so it made him feel absolutely full. It made him feel like he was being split open in the best way possible. It made his mind melt right down to liquid butter, made his cock pulse with pleasure in your hand. Isaac felt a sense of bitter cruelty when you closed your grip around the base, making his dick throb harder and ache.

“Good?” You asked, clearly meaning to check on his well being.

Isaac wanted to voice a complaint about you not making him cum fast enough, but he knew that wasn’t what you were asking about.

“S-so good.” He choked out, trying to angle his hips back and fuck himself on the cock.

“Good.” You replied, a wicked grin forming across your lips. “Now you’re gonna get exactly what you need. You’re gonna get your dumb little puppy brains fucked out,”

Isaac didn’t even have a moment to question these words before you were pulling the dildo out of him slightly and fucking it back into him as hard as you could muster. This started a brutal, rough pace of hammering the toy between his thighs, not even giving him a moment to feel empty before he was full again - something that would have been painful if not for his incredible healing abilities and the pain tolerance that came with it. No, this wasn’t painful - this was just bliss.

Pure, mindless bliss at your hands, having his hole fucked at such an intense pace - something he always needed but never knew to ask for.

And then, your mouth was on his cock again.

He let out a purely inhuman sound, a deep growl that dissolved into a whine like the puppy you accused him of being when you took him down to the base all in one go, smothering his cock in the impossible sauna wet heat of your mouth in seconds.

You only relented your pace of fucking the fake cock into him for a moment to concentrate on not gagging on his impressive seven inch thickness, giving a few hard gulps around the tip of his cock as it settled in the back of your throat. Something that drove him absolutely insane between the pressure of your throat on his dick, smothering him in wet heat, and the feeling of the fake cock fucking into his asshole, filling him up so good, wetness smearing between his thighs, making him feel so perfectly raw as you continually fucked him.

You pulled off his cock and replaced your mouth with your hand, kissing along his hip, digging your teeth in and leaving another harsh bite that would heal too soon for his liking. Isaac had a passing thought about getting a tattoo of your teeth marks on his skin, but it was drowned out by you licking up the bit of blood that sprouted there before you began talking again, your voice a bit more rough than before from having his cock nestled so tightly in your throat.

“You like getting fucked and filled, puppy?”

You purred against his skin, your voice full of spit, so perfectly syrupy. Isaac didn’t have a moment to even contemplate answering, not with the barrage of sensations overwhelming him, quickly drawing him closer to his orgasm.

“You like having your pretty cock sucked while your needy little hole is filled up? Hmm? Are you gonna cum like this? Are you gonna cum from being fucked like the needy little puppy that you are?”

One of these days, that nickname was going to kill him.

“Please, Y/N, please!” He chanted out, his breath barely making it back into his lungs every time the force of you fucking the dildo into him forced a sharp moan out from between his lips. “Please, ‘m gonna cum, please lemme cum, please-!”

Him asking for permission to cum was the thing that truly drove you insane.

“Cum for me, puppy.” You told him, reaching to sweep the tip of his cock back into your mouth, eager to taste him.

You continued to fuck him hard through it, creating a beautifully sloppy sound in the room as the thick plastic toy destroyed him, fucking into his needy hole utterly relentlessly. It was only a moment later that he came, his shaking thighs stiffening and his back arching off the bed.

You were barely able to hold him down as he shoved more of his cock into your mouth, shooting thick spurts of cum across your tongue and down your throat, so perfectly driven mad by all the sensations you had delivered to him. You sucked him through it, not stopping until you were satisfied that you had every single last drop of his release.

When it was over, you popped off his cock, and he was still panting, desperate to catch his breath when you eased the dildo out of him - causing a gentle moan from him - now slightly disappointed at the feeling of being empty and wondering if he would ever be the same again without that fullness inside of him. You put it aside to be taken care of later and crawled up Isaac’s body, draping yourself over him to capture his mouth - causing an odd delight to him as he tasted himself on your tongue.

“Well,” Isaac sighed against your lips. “That is one hell of a way to relax.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh at this.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. So if you are going to comment, please comment about the body of the material that has been written.

I would love to write more about Isaac in the future, and I do have another smut fic for him in my drafts, so if you're an Isaac lover, definitely follow me and look out for that. And go to my Teen Wolf masterlist for more non-smutty stuff about him that is currently there. But for now, this is a singular, closed off story and there will not be a follow up to it. I hope you have enjoyed it if you have read this far, and thank you so much for reading!

#sundrop writes #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey #daniel sharman x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf smut #teen wolf fanfiction

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goldfades · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐈'𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄; 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄; 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "heyy, i saw you were wanting requests for blurbs so like i was thinking maybe paige x fem!reader where they had lost the game they were playing and she was just in such a bad mood so when they got home reader took it upon herself to help paige relax but instead of paige being top, shes a bottom because she just wants to clear her mind yk?"

─ word count | 1.3k

─ warnings | NSFW under the cut, read at your own discretion! smut with lots of plot, hurt to comfort, mention of paige being a perfectionist, description of self-criticism, paige being sad:(, not really much of a power dynamic but reader taking care of paige, just oral!

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous @plushkhiii @ilovepaigebueckerss @ajcuteee @vi0lentb3rry @paigeszn @brynsreads @delicateray and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

THE ENTIRE GAME had been bad.

Bad was really an understatement, it went terrible. The other team kept talking shit and fouling you but the ref didn't call it half the time. The team was being pushed to their limits, both physically and mentally. Every foul, every uncalled play, it was like adding fuel to a raging fire. The air in the gym felt heavy with and frustration bubbled just beneath the surface for every player on your team.

Coach Geno's voice echoed across the court, urging the team on, but even his unwavering support couldn't erase the tension that gripped the team.

The entire team was quiet in the locker-room, it was a horrifying loss ─ probably (hopefully) the worst of the season. You and Paige drove home in silence and you could feel the tension come off her body, her muscles tense as she drove.

Paige's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white with tension as she navigated the streets. You stole a glance at her from the corner of your eye, noting the furrow in her brow and the tight line of her lips. It was clear that she was taking the loss hard, just as you were. But beneath the disappointment, there was something else brewing, something unspoken that lingered between you.

Paige always took everything too personal ─ every loss felt like a personal failure rather than a team failure. She repeats every missed shot, every botched play and every uncalled foul in her head over and over again until she went crazy and you hated seeing her like this. It wasn't just about the loss on the scoreboard; it was about her own high standards, the relentless self-criticism that always threatened to consume her.

As the car rolled to a stop at a red light, you reached out and gently took Paige's cold hand in yours, interlocking your fingers with hers. She glanced over at you, exhaustion evident in her expression.

You wanted to ask if she was okay or at least prompt her to talk but she would talk when she needed to, she didn't like it when anyone pushed her to. She needed time to herself, to recollect her thoughts and come back stronger than ever.

The sight of your apartment building came into view, and Paige pulled into the parking lot with a sigh of relief. She unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car, the cool evening air washing over the her. You followed suit, locking the car behind you as you made your way up to your apartment.

Inside, the familiar warmth enveloped you, a welcome contrast to the chill of the night air. You turned around and took off your shoes and as you looked up, you saw Paige's gaze linger on you. Before you could process anything, she was pulling you into a tight embrace as her head fell on your shoulder.

You were slightly taken aback but you quickly wrapped your arms around her instinctively, pulling her close as you felt the weight of her exhaustion and disappointment pressing against you. Paige's embrace was tight, as if she were clinging to you for dear life, seeking comfort in your touch.

She usually wanted to either be alone or take out her anger in other ways but she felt different this time. This loss felt different, there was something distinctly vulnerable about her, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings.

"I'm sorry," Paige mumbled against your shoulder, her voice muffled but filled with sincerity. You pulled away and held her face in your hands as you met her eyes, hurt evident deep in them.

You frowned. "Why are you sorry, baby? This isn't on you, we weren't prepared for their aggressiveness and we didn't plan for them to come out that way. We were blindsided, we couldn't have seen it coming."

Paige didn't respond as she mirrored your frown. You suddenly realized that Paige probably didn't need a lecture (you both got enough from Geno tonight), she just wanted some comfort and reassurance. You released her face from your hands and pulled her back into a warm embrace, holding her close as you let the silence envelop you both.

She pulled away as she sniffled, letting you hold her as you pressed your forehead against hers.

With a gentle smile, you brushed your thumb across Paige's cheek, wiping away the stray tears that lingered there. "It's okay, baby," you murmured, your voice soft and reassuring. "Let's get in bed, okay? I'm gonna make you feel better,"

Paige nodded slightly, her lashes still wet with unshed tears. She leaned into your touch, finding solace in your warmth. With a deep breath, she allowed herself to be guided by you, trusting in your comforting presence.

You gently led her towards the bedroom, your arms wrapped protectively around her. . Once inside, she settled onto the bed as you sat next to her. She immediately pulled your lips against hers, her hands finding yours and gripping them tightly. The tension in her body gradually melting away as she closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in your touch.

She hummed against your lips, her touch a mixture of longing and desperation, seeking comfort in your body. You deepened the kiss slightly as she leaned back on the bed, letting you take control.

You pulled away slowly as you both caught your breaths, your hand moving to brush her hair out of her face. "Can I take care of you?"

She responded with a slow nod of her head as you sighed, pulling her lips in for a short kiss before you moved in between her legs. You slid off her shorts slowly as her breath hitched, her gaze remaining on your face. Your fingers ran against her cunt as her head fell back, letting herself get lost in your touch.

You watched her carefully as your tongue gilded against her wetness, taking in her every reaction. You couldn't believe she was letting you do this, she never liked giving up her control in any aspects of her life, especially in your relationship. But right now, she just wanted to be taken care of and she knew you could do it.

She looked breathtaking, the way her mouth was slightly hanging open and the way her breath hitched every time you touched her ─ god, you were so in love with her. After a few moments of teasing her slightly, you began focusing your tongue on her clit.

That was when she let out a whine that echoed through the walls of your bedroom, making your own core begin to pulsate. You closed your eyes, relishing in her taste and the way her legs wrapped around your head. Her hand gripped your hair (of course she still found a way to be control, someway) and began grinding against your face, as you continued your attack on her clit.

You didn't even need to use your fingers and Paige was already cumming on your face as she let out the sweetest moans you'd ever heard. You let her ride her orgasm on your face, moaning against her cunt as she came.

"Oh fuck," she cried out as she gripped your head before letting go. Paige caught her breath as she moved her legs from your shoulders, letting them fall on the bed.

Paige sat up, pulling your lips into a sloppy kiss as her hand found yours. She pulled you into her lap, her touch gentle yet firm as she guided you onto her lap, your bodies fitting together seamlessly.

With her hand still entwined with yours, Paige pressed closer, her lips moving against yours with a sense of urgency. She pulled away as she gazed into your eyes, a small smile beginning to play on her bruised lips.

"I love you, so much." Paige whispered as she lovingly gazed into your eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"I love you too," you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath but filled with the depth of your feelings.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #ncaaw #ncaa wbb #ncaa women’s basketball #wcbb #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers fic

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bfpnola · 1 year ago

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IMAGE DESCRIPTION ADDED. REBLOG THIS VERSION AND THANK YOU @lab-labrava FOR WRITING IT!

ID: An infographic from the Instagram account @letstalkpalestine consisting of 10 slides. Image 1: The title page of the infographic. The text says: "Let's talk Anti-Zionist Jewish History." A smaller subtitle underneath the title says: "Jewish solidarity with Palestine until today." End ID.

Image 2: The infographic continues to the next panel. The text says, "As long as Zionism has existed, so has Jewish resistance to it. While today the majority of Jewish people and communities worldwide still have a Zionist connection, more and more Jewish people, especially from the younger generation, are unlearning Zionism & speaking out. Swipe to learn more about just part of anti-Zionist Jewish history - since there's more than we can fit in 10 slides." A semi-transparent image is overlayed in the background, of someone holding up a sign that reads: Jews for Palestine! #Free Sheik Jarrah. End ID.

Image 3: Icon of a location tag next to the words Eastern Europe. In large, blue text is the word "The Bund" and the subtitle describing what it is, "A Jewish Socialist movement, established in 1987." The following paragraph says, "Opposing Zionism from the start, its 50-year tenure saw hundred of thousands of members across Eastern Europe advocate for workers' rights and cultivate a Yiddish culture." Location tag and the title, "North America." The paragraph says, "After mass immigration to the US in the early 20th century, [American Jewish Labor groups] (highlighted in chalky blue and bold white text) criticized Zionism for its colonial, nationalist, and bourgeois nature." Next to this text, is a circle with women protestors holding up signs. End ID.

Image 4: The title, "Middle East and North Africa." The paragraph states, "In 1945 a group of Iraqi Jews founded the Anti-Zionist League. They recognized Zionism as a form of colonialism linked to Western Interests. They hosted events and published pamphlets throughout the Middle East about the difference between Zionism & Judaism. They warned that Zionism is dangerous to Arab Jews, forcing them to split their Arab and Jewish identities, and urged the UN to create a unified Palestinian state.

Image 5: The panel is titled, "Anti-Zionist Jewish figures." A faded image of Hannah Arendt's visage is in the background. Overlayed on top, the following paragraphs discuss her. "Before 1948, several prominent Jewish leaders and scholars came out in opposition to political Zionism. Writers like Hannah Arendt turned against the Zionist movement and opposed a Jewish state. They correctly predicted a dark future if Zionism continued on the same path in Palestine. End ID.

Image 6: The day after the Deir Yassin Massacre in 1948, when Zionist militants wiped out the Deir Yassin village & its inhabitants, Albert Einstein wrote: "When a real and final catastrophe should befall us in Palestine the first responsible for it would be the British and the second responsible for it the Terrorist organizations built up from our own ranks. I am not willing to see anybody associated with those misled and criminal people." The former paragraphs are imposed against a tan, parchment fragment, in typewriter font, and the letter ends with Sincerely yourn, Albert Einstein, both his signature and typed name. End ID.

Image 7: Titled "Anti Zionism Today." Blue sketchy image of someone's hand gripping jail bars breaks up the following paragraphs which say: Jewish solidarity with Palestinians is growing around the world, including even some Israelis who take the basic step of refusing Israeli military service. As punishment, Israel imprisons these conscientious objectors — but unlike Palestininas, they have a fair trial & often severe relatively short sentences of a few months . This is a first step towards solidarity and has the real consequence of depriving the occupation state of its soldiers. End ID.

Image 8: Titled "Israel's Crackdown on Jewish Anti-Zionism" Behind this text are a picture of handcuffs. In the corner is a picture of Jonathan Pollak. The following text says: Jonathan Pollak is a Jewish Israeli and long-time anti-Zionist activist. Israel has detained him several times, most recetly in January as he protested with Palestinians in Beita, (a Palestinian village) for allegedly throwing stones. Jonathan has been violently attacked for his activism. In 2018, Jonathan was slashed across the face by settlers who ambushed him outside his workplace. Earlier, in 2005, Israeli soldiers shot a tear gas canister. directly at him, causing internal bleeding in his brain." End ID.

Image 9: Semi-transparent image of an umbrella behind the title text is "Jewish Anti-Zionism isn’t one ideology. It’s an umbrella movement that encapsulates multiple communities and beliefs towards decolonizing Palestine. Some motivations or Jewish anti-Zionism include: 1. Pursuing millenia of Jewish tradition as a diasporic community 2, Detachibng religious and cultural tradition from political nationalism. 3. Socialist visions of a Jewish Society. 4. Believing in the right to self-determination for Palestinians Standing up to Zionism is: 1. Standing up to apartheid and colonization. 2. Standing up for a liberated, equal, and just Palestine from the river to the sea.

Image 10: An ending quote, and call to action, by the Anti-Zionist League. It says: "Jewish Men! Jewish Women! Zionism wants to throw us into a dangerous & hopeless adventure. Zionism contributes to making Palestine uninhabitable. Zionism wants to isolate us from the Egyptian people. Zionism is the enemy of the Jewish people. Down with Zionism! Long live the brotherhood of Jews and Arabs!" --The Anti-Zionist League. End ID.

#israel #jewish #jews #jumblr #palestine #resources #history #resistance #genocide #instagram #ethnic cleansing #activism #zionism #anti zionism #socialism #colonialism #colonization #judaism #free palestine

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toruro · 1 year ago

Text

— ✧ cry for me

i want you to cry, cry for me (twice)

pairing: lee chan x reader

description: in which you're holding back tears in a cute little restaurant because you spilled wine all over your lap, and chan is holding back a raging boner.

a part of the crybaby series (can be read as a standalone)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), fluff, ft mingyu for a second

tags: tattooist + tattooed chan, crybaby reader, established relationship (they're so cute it's disgusting), dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), wall sex, petnames (baby, crybaby, princess), chan has a chest tattoo and i think that deserves it's own warning

w/c: 5.1k

a/n: i am a woman of my word: i finished it tonight! thank u to @rubyreduj iand @gyuswhore for looking this over for me when i thought i was going crazy. anyways, i hope u guys missed me actually writing. writer toruro is BACK!

Pretty and short satin skirts are saved for nights like these. Under the dim glow of the moonlight and stars, the soft fabric falls loosely over your soft thighs and the beautiful curves of your hip. The cool night breeze pinches at your skin as you shuffle toward your boyfriend, hugging his arm that’s already linked with yours even closer to your chest.

Chan hums when you press your cheek against the cool leather of his jacket, “What is it baby?”

“‘m cold,” you mutter, pressing your legs together in an attempt to preserve what little warmth you have left. In hindsight, wearing this skirt probably wasn’t a good idea knowing that it’d be on the chiller side tonight but still, you couldn’t help but want to doll yourself up.

“Here,” Chan says, and you nearly whine when he pulls his arm away, but the complaints die on your tongue when he takes off his jacket and slips it over your shoulders, leaving him in his short-sleeve shirt.

“But—” you protest, running your fingers over his bare arm and frowning, but Chan cuts you off before you can speak further.

“Wear it baby, it looks nice on you,” he says casually, holding his arm out so you can wrap yourself around it again and hold him close. You feel warm, partly because of the protection that Chan’s jacket provides but mostly because of the way your body flushes with heat at his affectionate words.

The two of you are standing outside of this restaurant that you’ve been aching to try for ages, waiting for your names to be called in. As you settle back into his hold, Chan pulls out his phone holding it at an angle so the both of you can read the messages on the screen when he scrolls through your friends’ group chat.

“You wanna go to Jeonghan’s place tomorrow?” you ask, noticing Jeonghan complaining about being bored since Jihoon never leaves his room. Chan nudges your head with his own affectionately before shrugging.

“I’ll go if you go.”

You frown. “Well do you want to?”

“Baby if you want to, then I want to,” Chan says with a chuckle. “And anyways—”

“Chan! Table for two!” the voice of the hostess from the entrance of the restaurant calls out, and the two of you perk up. Chan raises a hand and nods, gently tugging his arm out of your grasp and instead slotting your hand in his, pulling you to follow after him inside.

The hostess greets you kindly, and you’re thankful that indoors is much less cold and much more inviting as she takes you to your table where you and Chan sit across from each other.

“What were you saying?” you ask as you settle into the seats, slipping off Chan’s jacket and handing it to him.

He only holds his hand out, palm facing you, and shakes head with a smile. “Keep it. Anyways, I was saying that I’ve been meaning to talk to Jeonghan for a while since he said he wanted to get a tattoo done.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at that as you carefully drape his jacket over the back of your chair, scooting forward. “No way! Jeonghan always told me he’d never get a tattoo ‘cause he’s scared of needles.”

Chan laughs and his eyes light up. “Didn’t you say you were scared of needles? Look at where you are now …” he murmurs, eyes glossing over the little crescent moon on your arm, and then the small star that he had the privilege of pressing into your wrist just a few weeks earlier.

You shift in your seat and shyly nod. “Yeah but … that’s different. I think I might’ve chickened out of the last part if—” Your breath hitches in your throat and you stop yourself from finishing what you were about to say. If he hadn’t fucked you in that tattoo parlor right there and then, is what you both are thinking.

Chan grins at the way you grow flustered at his words before changing the topic. “I like this top, is it new?” he asks, eyes glossing over the blue, knit shirt that you put on for him just an hour earlier.

“Yeah! I got it to match the skirt—I’ve had this one for a while though, but it didn’t look nice with any of my tops I had until now, so I was really excited to finally get to wear it,” you tell him with a grin, hands smoothing over the satin and brushing over the plush of your thighs. Your stomach fills with a wave of giddiness when Chan smiles at you and nods.

“I’m glad. You look really pretty,” he says, reaching over and grabbing your hand. His gaze doesn’t falter, eyes on you as you continue to tell him about how you thought the shirt was sold out when you found it online you cried (Chan remembers; you called him with choked sniffles at midnight and almost hung up right away out embarrassment but he assured you that it was okay), rubbing a thumb over your skin as you speak.

You two fall into conversation naturally after that, waiting for your food to come as your fingers intertwine and sit in the middle of the table comfortably. The waiter starts off with your drinks—a wine for you each—before bringing out the appetizers.

Things go smoothly as they always do: the food is amazing and the setting is perfect, Chan’s hand grazes over yours ever so often and his eyes are on you in a loving gaze—everything’s going great, actually.

So maybe that’s why you let it get a little to your head when you hear the clanking of glass against glass.

It happens so quickly—the sound reverberates through the room and you blink once and then twice, looking down to find the growing wet spot on your cute little skirt. The feeling of wine against your skin hits you next, and when you look to your right and see the apologetic look of the waiter as he scrambles for the glass on the ground, it sinks in.

Fuck, and there it is again—that ugly feeling that clogs your throat and the furious blinking of your eyes as you try your best (you really, really do try your best). Chan knows it all too well, the way you press your lips together and try not to quiver as you reach down and try to help the waiter.

“What the hell man?” Chan exclaims, standing up from his seat in an instant to walk over to you, his eyes set as a hard glare on the waiter as he observes the growing stain on your precious little skirt.

The waiter stutters for a moment, reaching forward to dab a napkin over your lap, but your boyfriend stops him midway, swatting his hand away. “Watch it—” Chan peers closer at his name tag as he snatches the napkin from the waiter’s hand, “—Mingyu. You’ve done enough.”

“I-I’m sorry,” the waiter, Mingyu stutters out, holding the dropped wine glass behind his back as he shuffles away.

Chan glares at him hard as he presses a hand against your back, and if your vision wasn’t already so blurry you might have been intimidated by how intense the gaze was. Instinctively, you turn your face towards his figure as you feel other customers’ eyes over the little scene unfolding at your table. “C-can we go?” you ask him quietly.

It doesn’t take him more than a second for Chan to turn to Mingyu and mutter, “Just get us the check. We’re leaving.”

Mingyu nods bashfully and scurries away, but you don’t really notice because you’re chewing down on your lip as your boyfriend pats your back and leans down to watch you apologetically. Fuck, you feel so pathetic for crying over this but you can’t help it! You really can’t!

You’ve been looking forward to this night for so long and have been planning this outfit for even longer, and now that both your night and your pretty little skirt are ruined, you swear you can’t stop the tears from falling.

Chan hates it when you cry. Well, that’s a lie. It’s a fickle thing, really—the anger that bubbles up inside of him whenever he sees your eyes red and brimming with tears isn’t directed at you—fuck no—but rather whatever (in this case, whoever) caused it in the first place.

So yeah, you could say Chan hates it when you cry, but then again, he finds it cute when you call him, sniffling over your favorite croissant being sold out at that cafe down the street you always go to. He hates when you waste tears over things like this, but he also knows you can’t help it, and there’s something oddly endearing about the way you always lean in to his touch for comfort. After all, you’re his sweet girl, and he loves all of you; the parts of you that cry over seeing a kitten struggle to cross the street and the parts of you that sob when he’s shoving his cock into your warm cunt.

All of it, he loves all of it.

So maybe that’s why Chan can’t help but get a little bit lost in your puffy, glossy eyes when you look up at him and silently beg for some comfort. He knows it’s an innocent gesture, and when he runs a hand down the side of your cheek and you nuzzle into his palm, he almost feels guilty for the way his cock begins to strain against his pants.

You’re just so cute, and Chan swears he can’t control himself. He can’t ever control himself when it comes to you.

Using the napkin he snagged from Mingyu just moments earlier, Chan leans down and swipes over the wetness on your thighs, soaking up as much of the red liquid that he can. It’s kind of hard to think, honestly. He watches your tears mix with the wine on your lap, and while his fingers brush over the plush of your thighs, he starts to lose himself entirely.

Stop! Stop! Stop! Chan tries to tell himself because really, he should be focusing on taking care of his sweet, sweet girl and wiping away her tears but here he is trying to not think about the massive hard-on he’s got going on beneath his pants.

Mingyu stops by with the check, frantic with more wipes as he cleans up the ground as Chan pays the bill. You quietly slip on the same leather jacket Chan gave to you just half an hour earlier as he helps you get up from the seat, cringing at the way your wet and stained skirt feels against your legs.

With his hand closed around your wrist, your boyfriend leads you to the exit but you keep your head down bashfully. You feel the gazes of other customers on your back as you two make your way out of the restaurant, and the cold night air is a stark contrast to the way your body burns with embarrassment.

Once finally outside and standing by the parking lot, Chan takes a moment to look at you. You’re still biting down on your lip like it’s the only thing you know how to do, eyes trained to the ground as you tighten your fingers around him instinctively. He senses something is bothering you—something other than the fact that your meticulously planned outfit was ruined on such a whim.

Nightly zephyrs pulse against his skin and Chan glances down at your slightly shaking legs, realizing that they are now wet and exposed and probably feel colder than ever. “C’mon baby,” he urges, tugging you towards his car, “Let’s sit inside.” Silently, you comply and follow behind him, slipping into the passenger seat and sighing contently as you escape the chilliness of the night.

He watches you as you click your seatbelt on, sinking into the seat when that familiar clenching of your jaw and furious blinking of your eyes takes over your features. “Oh baby,” Chan coos, shuffling closer to you so he can plant a hand on the back of your neck. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks as you bury your hands in your face in a fruitless attempt to muffle your sniffles.

“I—” You stop because your voice comes out all ugly and distorted. “—I was s-so excited for tonight,” you admit honestly, calming down a little as Chan’s hand runs up and down your spine soothingly. “And then I just—I ruined it.”

“Baby, what are you talking about?” your boyfriend asks, tapping your cheek so you finally look up at him. Your cheeks are a little puffy and your bottom lip juts out in a pretty pout, and Chan brushes a thumb over the wet skin. “You didn’t ruin anything—it’s all that prick Mingyu’s fault. We can go to my place and still have fun,” he suggests, and although he means it to be a thoughtful gesture—something like takeout and ice cream—he can’t help but fantasize about some other definitions of fun.

“But—”

“No buts baby. Except, maybe yours,” Chan tells you with a playful wink, his heart swelling when you manage out a giggle between your harsh breaths. He starts to pull himself away from you when he senses a lightening of your mood, and so slowly, he starts the engine.

You settle into a comfortable silence as he starts the drive back to his place, and even though he’s mainly focused on keeping a smile on your face, Chan really can’t ignore the relentless ache in his pants.

After all, how could he when you insisted on keeping his hand on your thigh? “Wanna feel you,” is what you said when you guided his fingers to settle over the soft flesh, and Chan has half a mind to think it’s in an innocent gesture—his sweet girl just wants to keep him close—but he also knows you.

Chan knows that beneath all the soft whimpers and hot tears is a girl far more observant than you let on, and he’d be stupid to think you didn’t notice the tent in his pants earlier.

Maybe he’ll make you pay for that, he thinks as he parks in front of his apartment building, but when you shyly slip out of his car and keep your head hanging low as your eyes glaze over the big red stain on your skirt, Chan thinks otherwise.

Again, he can’t ever control himself when it comes to you.

Any thoughts Chan might have had about teasing you until the world’s demise wash away when he closes the door behind him as you both walk into his apartment. He knows you get a bit needy when you’re upset but still, he wasn’t really expecting you to turn around and sink into his arms the second the lock clicks shut.

Your cheek is pressed into his chest as your arms circle his firm torso, and from above, Chan can see that your eyes are pressed shut. The base of your stomach is pressing into his crotch and fuck, he can’t tell if you intentionally shift against him because your face looks so sad but then again, there’s no way you’re doing this without thinking.

Still, Chan shoves away the filthy thoughts that he really doesn’t think he should be having and wraps his arms around your shoulders, placing a hand on the back of your head. You’re not sure how long you guys stay like that, and despite the ache that burns between both of your legs, it’s a comforting few moments—his fingers in your hair as you pull him closer to you.

You need a distraction, you’ve realized. Something to really cry about.

Being with Chan over the past few months has taught you that, in the best way possible, your tears really mean nothing unless they’re falling because of him. Maybe it’s the thought that prompts you to finally pull away and pout up at him.

“Channie,” you whimper and fuck, Chan knows those eyes. You know he does.

“What is it baby?” he asks, gazing down at you so intensely that you know he isn’t even bothering to hide his lust anymore. He holds your cheek with a hand, thumb stroking over your soft skin for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours.

Chan kisses your breath away. Teeth nipping and sucking against yours as your tongues melt in a hot mess when he presses you into the wall. Looming into you from above, his grip on your face remains tight as he guides you deeper into his mouth, crotch pressing into your lower stomach.

It’s dizzying, almost. Kissing Chan always is.

It isn’t long before you’re pawing at his chest as you struggle to keep up with his intensity. Your palms ache for his skin, and having your fingers run up and down his firm arms just isn’t enough. When Chan pulls his lips away, your eyebrows furrow and your bottom lip juts out into a pout.

“Off,” you mumble, weakly tugging at the hem of his shirt, and usually Chan would play with you a little longer, make you beg a little harder, make you really work for it, but he feels that you’ve already suffered enough.

Swiftly, he pulls the tight shirt over his head, revealing the firmness that lay beneath the fabrics, and fuck, you think you might just pass out on the spot—you’ll never get sick of seeing him like this.

“Like what you see baby?” Chan chuckles, but he already knows the answer from the way your eyes zone in on the symmetrical pattern that adorns his upper chest.

“Always …” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your body close against his as you start to place kisses all over his skin. Shy and sweet is what your lips feel like, skitting over his chest as Chan watches you in admiration; your tongue traces over the dark curves, eyes fluttering shut as if you’ve already got it memorized by heart (you probably do).

His hands start to thread in your hair, pressing against your scalp until he’s fisting the strands and tugging your head back. Chan’s mouth meets yours in a hot mess—your own saliva’s already smeared all over your chin and cheeks, and the mix of tongue against tongue and teeth against teeth is only adding to the sloppy kiss as he backs you into the wall.

“Baby,” he whispers into your mouth before beginning to trail rough kisses down your jawline and over your collarbone. He sucks blotchy, red marks into your soft skin, fingers kneading at the flesh of your waist when you start to press your lower half into his. “Baby, you drive me fucking crazy.”

You wanna scream and say ‘ditto’ but the only sound that escapes your lips is a choked moan when he shoves a thigh between your legs and presses against your core. The ache is like a fire, burning through your veins and blooming all up inside of you, making your tummy tumble and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you clamp your bottom lip between your teeth.

Grinding against him, your skirt rides up your thighs revealing the pretty white, lace panties hidden beneath, and Chan’s breath hitches in his throat. Something buzzes in his head and it’s like a rush in his ears—his hands shoot out and are all over your tits.

Gripping the soft flesh over your pretty little shirt and matching lace bra underneath, and soon you’re scrambling to get all this fabric off of you. “So pretty baby, so pretty,” Chan breaths out when he steps away from you a little, dropping his knee as you toss your shirt and bra to the side. He grabs your chin and uses his fingers to squish your cheeks together as you look up at him dreamily. “You’ll suck Channie off, right baby?” he coos, and you feel your legs grow weak at the sickly sweet touch to his tone.

“Yeah-huh,” you pant, inching closer to him as you start to drop to your knees, hands immediately making their way to the waistband of his dark jeans. Chan doesn’t help you with the belt—he enjoys watching you fumble with the leather, pouting when it doesn’t come out as easy as you’d like.

Once you finally work your way around it, you’re unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down to reveal the bulge that strains against his boxers. Without a second thought, you lick his cock over the fabric, eyes lazily looking up at Chan who watches you expectantly.

“You know what to do baby,” he tells you, and so you comply, hooking your fingers under the elastic band and tugging his boxers down. When his cock springs out, it lightly slaps against your cheek, precum smearing all over your already wet cheeks.

Chan thinks you look so beautiful like this, shiny cheeks marked by his heavy cock that starts to make its way between your lips with the guidance of your hands. Soft fingers play with the base of his length as you swipe over the tip your shy tongue and fuck—you look so hot when you stare up at him like that, like you don’t know all the depraved things Chan wants to do with you.

You start off with kitten licks—lapping at the precum that’s dribbled all over the pretty, prominent veins that adorn his cock, and pressing your tongue flat against his bulbous tip. Chan runs a hand over your hair, resting his palm against the crown of your head at the end and gently pushing you forward.

You whimper as you start to take more of his length into your mouth, the underside dragging against your tongue, and you move one hand up to wrap around the base of where your mouth can’t reach, using the other hand to cup his balls.

“Jus’ like that,” Chan mumbles, watching you struggle to take him deeper, shoving his fat tip to the back of your throat as far as you can, tears pricking in your eyes, before pulling back to take in a heaving breath. “Good job baby,” he urges you on, when you open your mouth again, taking him down your throat again.

Your jaw aches as you repeat the motion, tears dripping down your cheeks, over your chin, and onto your soft thighs. Every time his cock pushes to the back of your throat, a few more drops fall, and soon Chan starts to take the lead, directing the movement of your head with his grip on your head.

And it feels so fucking good, the way he’s a got a firm grip on you, the way his cock stretches your mouth open so nicely—so you can taste all of him—the way he’s muttering curses amidst the murmurs of praise; “Yeah baby, feel’s so fuckin’ good.”

It’s got even you rolling your eyes to the back of your head and all you can think is Chan, Chan, Chan, and he can think about is you, you, you—and suddenly, he’s pulling his length out of your mouth so quickly it has your vision going white.

“Gotta cum w’me, princess,” Chan instructs over the rush in your ears, grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you to your feet. You’re slightly light-headed, stumbling forward from all the movement, but Chan catches you gently with a soft chuckle. “Easy baby, easy,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand over your head and kissing your aching lips softly as he once again presses you into the wall.

You make out sloppily for a few moments, your arms wrapping around his neck, tongues melting into each other as Chan tastes himself on you. His hands are playing with the zipper of your skirt, and with a soft gasp into his mouth, he pushes them down to pool at your ankles. “Leg up baby,” he tells you, tapping your hip with one hand so you get the message.

Hastily, you lift your thigh, involuntarily groaning against Chan’s lips when his big, rough hand plants itself on the underside of your thigh, helping you wrap your leg around his torso. His cock’s prodding right against your leg now, and you swear you can feel how painfully hard he is, swear you can feel him straight up throbbing against you.

“‘m so wet Channie,” you sigh helplessly, slotting one hand between your parted legs and swiping your fingers over the slick that drenches your thin panties. With slippery hands, you mindlessly reach for Chan’s cock, gently nestling the thick length against your clothed core.

“Oh fuck,” Chan groans at the contact, jutting his hips further into yours to increase the friction. His pelvis is flush against yours, and the stimulation of his skin against your clothed clit along with his cock sliding right by your folds is dizzying. “Makin’ a mess already, huh?” he says, shoving the fabric of your panties to one side to reveal your dripping cunt.

Quickly, his fingers are all over you, sliding between your slickness and thumb rubbing circles into your clit until you’re whining and fuck—Chan hardly gets to stick one finger into your tight cunt before you’re almost on the verge of tears again—

“Channie, need your cock now,” you cry out, hands pawing at the tattoo over his chest. “Can’t wait—need it no—oh.” The last words die on your tongue when Chan shoves his fat tip inside you. “Oh Channie—feels s’full,” you moan, your head falling back and hitting against the wall as he continues to slide his full length against your walls.

“Yeah princess?” he mutters, leaning forward and kissing your shoulder blade after he fully bottoms out inside of you. Your cute little cunt is screaming from pleasure, erupting flames all over your skin as you struggle to adjust to his size. Chan can see it, the way you’re already trembling, standing leg quivering as you try your best to not crumble into him, try your best to not give in right away.

You always look so cute trying when you know you’re gonna fail anyways.

Without warning, Chan drags his cock out slowly, and when you look at him with those glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but slam right back into you with a force that throttles you against the wall.

“Fuck,” you whimper, running one hand up Chan’s arm, tracing the curves of his biceps before finally gripping onto his shoulder tightly.

“You feel it princess?” Chan asks you softly when he drags out of you again before pressing you into the wall with another harsh thrust.

“Yeah-huh,” you nod dumbly, using your free hand to run your palm over your lower stomach. “Feel you all the way here Channie,” you moan when he shifts inside of you so his cock is hitting you even deeper. “Fuck!” you cry out when his pace starts to speed up, the tears that lingered in your lash line already starting to drip down your face.

“My pretty baby’s crying already …” Chan coos with a mocking pout, grip on your waist tightening so much you feel you’ll have bruises the next morning. “That’s it princess … cry it out—I know you wanna,” he eggs you on once he leans in, fingers ghosting by your earlobe.

“Can’t help it,” you choke out, finally letting the soft sobs pleasure erupt from your throat, head falling against Chan’s shoulders. “Feel so good Channie—can’t help it—’m sorry, I—”

“Shh,” Chan hushes you with a particularly harsh trust, pressing so close to you that his pelvis is once again bumping against your clit. “Don’t apologize … you look so pretty … pretty crybaby. That’s what you are, aren’t you? My crybaby?”

“Ye-yes!” you mewl when your legs start to shake more rapidly.

“Yeah … yeah—fuck,” Chan huffs when you clench down on him, and your walls are so tight around his length that you’re starting to wonder just how much longer you can hold out for.

“Can’t have anyone seeing you like—fuck—like this,” he moans, gripping your thigh tighter and tighter as he starts ramming into you so fast it’s punching the air straight out of your lungs. You’re wailing into his skin now, teething at his neck as your whole face is covered in a hot and sticky mess, fingers running all up and down his chest.

“Only thing you should be crying over is me, okay baby? You got that?”

“Uh-huh,” you whimper, fingers sinking into his skin as you feel that familiar wave of pleasure well up in your stomach. “Only yo—oh fuck, Channie ‘m gonna cum s—fuck!” you gasp out, hiccuping over your own tears as the waves crash down.

Your legs go limp as Chan’s cock drills into your warm cunt, the combined arousal dripping down your thighs and onto the floor (you’ll have to clean the ground later). His fat cock is battering against your tight walls roughly, fluttering walls pressing down on every vein, every curve of the length.

“There you go princess, cum f’me,” he grunts as he secures one arm around your waist, digging your back deeper into the wall so you don’t fall over as he starts to ride out his own orgasm against your pulsing walls.

Watching your blown out eyes and swollen lips, tear kissed cheeks and disheveled hair, Chan feels his own eyes rolling to the back of his head when your overstimulated pussy clamps down on him, squeezing out every last drop of cum. Painting your walls white, the sensation of Chan’s cum filling you up has you whimpering and mewling into his neck as he starts to loosen his grip.

“Fuck princess … made such a mess,” he mutters, looking down at the sticky mixture that rests where his softening cock meets your cute cunt.

“Hmm,” you hum, letting your wobbly legs drop to the floor once his cock flops out of your slippery, cunt, nuzzling into his tattooed chest. Giggling softly, you wrap your arms around his torso and look up at him with a lazy grin, “I forgot why I was crying earlier.”

Chan smiles, holding your cheeks with both his hands to press a chaste kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.”

crybaby series masterlist

a/n: thank u for reading, i hope u enjoyed >_< pls feel free 2 leave comments / rbs if u did! i know i took horrendously long 2 pop pt2 of crybaby :[ I'M SORRY guys not 2 ramble but i have been in a writing slump recently and this is the only thing of decent length and decent quality that i have produced in the span of two months so c: i am happy w how this turned out! i'll try my best to get the 3rd and final part of the series a little bit quicker, but no promises :3

taglist pt1: @synthetickitsune @ixayjun @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @hipsdofangirl @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @whippedforjihoon @seokchannieworld @nishloves @woozarts @ellesmoon @blurryriki @maknae00 @hanniebanggi @peachyaeger @shoulietaro @1004luvangel @dnylwoo @dollyhaes @gyulune @wonranghaeee @tsukkisboo @cheolism (strike through could not be tagged)

#lee chan x reader #lee chan imagines #lee chan smut #dino x reader #dino smut #dino scenarios #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #📝 writing

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trulybetty · 1 month ago

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honey, it's cold outside

pairing: jackson!joel x reader word count: 2,243 warnings: just domesticity, no descriptions of reader, use of a nickname, no y/n, soft & cozy post tlou season one joel estimated reading time: 11 minutes summary: christmas eve in jackson and joel is looking to be anywhere but alone, not that he would tell you that - but you know joel. ao3: linked

x. honey masterlist

honey, it's cold outside.

The snow had started to come down sometime in the afternoon. Soft and light at first, barely sticking to the ground, too warm for it to settle. However, by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, the darkness of the evening closing in, down with it came the temperature, dropping considerably. That was when it had started to come down thick and heavy. It now blanketed Jackson in a still, quiet kind of peace. The kind that made the world feel a little smaller, like it was just you, the house, the storm beyond the frosty windows and that the world, maybe, hadn’t fallen apart.

Joel had come over earlier that afternoon, mumbling something about fixing the creaky hinge on your front door. You knew better though. Lately he’d been even more restless than usual since Ellie had moved into the converted garage at the back of their house—claiming she needed her own space from ‘the old man’. Despite the fact that being still so close it was almost debatable if it truly was independence. Especially considering she raided the fridge still on a daily basis. She was acclimating to life in Jackson at such a fast pace. He missed her, but he’d never say it outright, not unless you pressed. Even then, if so, it would be a grumbled confession, his voice low, rough as gravel.

By the time Ellie and Dina had left for the Christmas Eve gathering at the main hall, stopping by briefly to see if either of you wanted anything, Joel was still at your home. Shoulders stiff under the weight of a now damp jacket, boots tracking melting snow across your entranceway. You didn’t mind. He’d made himself useful, fixing the creaky hinge on your front door, tightening the screws on the loose leg of your kitchen table, fixing the shelf underneath the bathroom mirror and finally putting the stubborn kitchen drawer back on its track. But now he seemed to linger, standing awkwardly in the living room like he wasn’t sure whether to stay and find something else to fix or leave.

“Joel,” you called, soft but insistent, from the couch where a fire Joel had insisted on starting earlier, crackled low in the hearth, “Sit down. You’re making the place look untidy.”

His face flushed as he hesitated, always cautious, always trying to gauge whether he was overstepping. The once urge to account for threats in a life before Jackson, replaced by a lingering uncertainty in a world that had begun to feel like home again. Eventually, he relented, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door, his boots followed next—slipped off and placed near the fire to dry. Before he could choose the old worn leather armchair across from you, you tapped the space on the couch beside you. The cushions dipped under his weight, drawing you closer to him than you’d planned, not that you minded. His warmth radiated, a welcome contrast to the cold pressing against the windows trying to find its way in.

For a while, you both sat in companionable silence, watching the flames flicker and dance, listening to the occasional groan of the wind against the house. You could see through him like an open book, you didn’t miss the way his hands flexed now and then, restless even in the stillness.

“You could’ve gone to the main hall with Ellie,” you said, breaking the quiet.

Joel shook his head, his lips twitching like he was attempting to fight a smile, “Crowds ain’t my thing.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, a wry smile on your lips that you made no attempt to hide, “Could’ve fooled me. You’re the most popular guy in Jackson.”

That earned a soft huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “Not sure that’s somethin’ to be proud of.”

“You don’t fool me either, you know,” your voice was gentle, more teasing than serious. “I know you don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He didn’t answer, at least not right away, but you knew Joel well enough to let the silence stretch out before you. Eventually, he sighed, long and slow, and dropped his head against the back of the couch.

“Guess not,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

You reached out, resting your hand over his, his fingers twitched under yours but didn’t pull away.

“Stay,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

With his head still resting on the back of the couch he turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. So very much Joel. His hand, still underneath yours, flexed as his calloused fingers turned and intertwined with yours, before giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

The dishes clinked softly as you carried them into the kitchen, balancing a stack of plates, cutlery and glasses while Joel trailed behind, muttering something under his breath about how you didn’t have to fuss. He had said he didn’t want dinner—he’d come by to fix the hinge, nothing more, already overstaying his welcome at your insistence—but you’d caught the way his eyes had lingered on the roast chicken and vegetables as you’d prepared what you’d said was your own plate, knowing exactly how this conversation was going to go. And when you had insisted, placing the plate down at the table, he’d sat down and eaten without protest.

Then he’d had seconds.

“You know, for someone who wasn’t hungry, you sure made a dent in that chicken,” you called over your shoulder, setting the plates in the sink.

Joel grunted, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite an agreement but wasn’t denial either, “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

You glanced at him, standing there in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as if he were trying to take up less space. His face betrayed him though—a flicker of something softer in his eyes, like maybe he wasn’t used to being fed because someone simply wanted to.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you said, rinsing the plates under warm water. “Not hungry actually means two servings.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk breaking through his normally guarded expression, as he pushed himself off of the doorframe and headed over to the sink where you stood. Gently, he nudged you away with his hip as he took the dish from your hand and continued washing them. “You’re funny,” he said with a pointed look telling you to sit down when you attempted to dry the plates.

You rolled your eyes as you took a seat at the now steady kitchen table, “Just calling it as I see it.”

The conversation between the two of you was light, easy in a way that felt rare. Joel had a way of being in the room without really letting himself be in it, like he always had one foot out of the door. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the snowstorm hemming him in or the warmth of the fire lulling him into a sense of ease, he certainly didn’t look like he was in a hurry to leave.

You watched as he finished with the dishes, drying his hands on a towel before he put everything away, needing no direction from you—now familiar with where everything was kept.

“You want to sit back by the fire for a bit?” you asked, “or are you still pretending you’re here for that hinge?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting to the window where the snow continued to fall, thick and relentless. Finally, he nodded, the motion small but enough.

Joel had stayed, as you knew he would, his body sinking deeper into the couch with every passing hour. His arm slowly found your shoulder, pulling you close until you were nestled against him, the warmth of his body a comfort alongside the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear. You talked about nothing and everything—the state of the roads, how quiet Jackson felt with most people at the Christmas Eve gathering, and Ellie’s recent streak of stubborn independence. Joel had smiled at that, a wry, tired kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“She’s doin’ alright,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Better than I was at her age,” he paused, “all things considered.”

You didn’t press him. Joel didn’t like to linger on the past, even if it was woven into every line on his face, every guarded word. You cherished any piece of it he shared, keeping space for it and letting the silence fill the gaps in between. You offered him what you could in return: a soft place to land, a steady presence so he didn’t have to put as much effort into maintaining the solid defences he had built up.

When you had suggested heading to bed soon, he had hesitated, his hand holding the arm of the couch like it was an anchor, “I should probably head back—”

“To an empty house?” You tilted your head, your voice gentle but firm, “Did you say Ellie wanted to spend the night at Dina’s place? Plus there’s the small issue of the blizzard outside. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

He sighed, long and slow, but didn’t argue. There was something in his eyes—a weariness you’d only seen on him when he thought no one was looking. It wasn’t just the snow keeping him here, he could have made the short walk home easily, and you both knew it.

The fire had burned to embers, casting the room in flickering shadows. The snowfall outside had softened, but the cold still crept through the walls with the dying heat unable to stave it off. Upstairs, your bed waited, the sheets warm and heavy.

Joel followed you without question, quiet as ever, but you caught the softness in his gaze as he took your outstretched hand. He seemed lighter, like the weight he carried every day had been set down, if only for a little while.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the storm outside, but thin enough that the glow from the strings of lights that adorned Jackson could still be seen. You returned from the bathroom, face clean and clothes changed, to find Joel stood by the edge of the bed. You weren’t sure if he was waiting for you or if he was testing if the familiar fragile thread of tension had truly been left behind.

You climbed under the blankets first, patting the spot beside you with a quiet smile.

“C’mon, Miller. Bed’s not gonna bite, can’t promise about me though.”

He snorted softly at that, unbuttoning the plaid shirt he wore, leaving him in a soft tee and worn jeans. He climbed into the bed, it wasn’t the first time, but it still felt new, tender. Joel shifted hesitantly, his body stiff as he lay on his side, his back to you. It wasn't a matter of ignoring you, but rather a well-ingrained means of survival—facing the exit and keeping his good ear alert for any potential danger. You didn’t need an invitation. Sliding closer, you wrapped an arm around his waist, your forehead pressing lightly between his shoulder blades. He stilled for a moment, then let out a breath that sounded almost like relief, his hand moving tentatively to rest over yours where it lay against his stomach.

“Alright?” you murmured, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m alright.”

The moment stretched, the sound of the wind outside fading into the background as your breathing fell into rhythm with his. His body feeling solid against yours, bringing warmth that chased the lingering chill away.

After a beat, you broke the silence, “Don’t think about slipping out—everything will still be there tomorrow if you stay the night. Sleep, if just for tonight.”

“You always this bossy?” he asked after a while, as if this was a new revelation, his voice a quiet rumble.

“Only when you’re being stubborn,” you shot back, your tone light. “Which is… most of the time.”

He huffed out a laugh, the sound low and genuine. “Fair enough.”

You smiled against his back, the curve of your lips just brushing the bare skin above the collar of his shirt. This wasn’t perfect—nothing with Joel ever was—but it felt right in a way you couldn’t quite explain, nor felt the need to solve. Holding him like that, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, it was easy to forget it all. Just focus on the quiet, the warmth of your bed, that there was only you and Joel. And for that night? That was enough.

The rhythm of Joe’s breathing slowed and evened out, his body melting against yours as if he’d been waiting for this—someone, you, to hold him steady. To remind him it was okay to let go, even for a little while, so you held him a little tighter, your legs tangling under the blankets.

The smokey scent of the put-out fire from downstairs lingered, and the house creaked again as the wind pushed against it, only making the space between you and Joel feel cozier. You closed your eyes and listened to Joel’s faint snores, the ones that he would swear he didn’t make, as you fell into sleep—there in the quiet glow of the night, everything felt whole.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #jackson!joel #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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autismaccount · 9 months ago

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I've reached 35 responses! They're very interesting, but the sample size is still small, and I don't think it's at all representative of the Tumblr autism community. If I can't reach at least 100 responses, I don't think I'll be able to analyze Tumblr community views on support needs in depth. I'll still post descriptive statistics for the overall sample, but I won't have the statistical power to do anything else.

I'd really appreciate if everyone could help by taking the survey and reblogging this post to their followers!

As a reminder, the survey is meant to understand how people use support needs labels. For example, what makes someone low support needs and not moderate support needs? The survey also helps show what the community is like in general in terms of demographics and experiences!

A summary of the current survey results are under the Read More. Again, especially if a community that you're in is under-represented, please help by spreading the survey link! I'd especially love to hear from more people AMAB, racial/ethnic minorities, people who are not yet diagnosed or were diagnosed as adults, and higher support needs individuals!

Age: Most participants are young; 60% are under age 25%, and 20% are under 18.

Gender: Over half of the sample is AFAB nonbinary, almost 1/3 is trans men, and almost all of the remainder (14%) is cis women. Only 2 people who are AMAB have taken the survey.

Race/Ethnicity: Non-Hispanic White people are very over-represented, making up 82% of the sample.

Diagnosis: 57% are professionally diagnosed, 20% are informally or soft-diagnosed, and 14% are seeking a diagnosis. Only 9% are neither diagnosed nor seeking a diagnosis.

The most common diagnoses are ASD with no level (33%), level 1 ASD (25%), and "mild autism" (13%).

16% were diagnosed before age 8, 24% between ages 9 and 15, 32% between ages 16 and 18, 12% between ages 19 and 25, and 16% over age 25.

Autism Support Needs: The most common self-identified support needs label is "low-moderate" (43%), followed by low (23%) and moderate (14%). Most would benefit from but do not need weekly support (31%), only need accommodations and mental health support (17%), or rarely need any support (6%).

Autism Symptoms: On a severity scale of 0 (not applicable) to 3 (severe), the average is 1.7 overall, 1.8 socially, and 1.7 for restricted-repetitive behaviors. The most severe symptom is sensory issues (2.1), and the least severe are nonverbal communication and stimming (both 1.5).

83% are fully verbal, and 97% have no intellectual disability.

38% can mask well enough to seem "off" but not necessarily autistic. 21% can't mask well or for long.

Most experience shutdowns (94%), difficulties with interoception (80%), meltdowns (71%), alexithymia (71%), echolalia (69%), and autistic mutism (66%). Very few experience psychosis (14%) or catatonia (11%).

Self-Diagnosis: 20% think it's always fine to self-diagnose autism, 29% think it's almost always fine, 31% think it's only okay if an assessment is inaccessible, 71% think it needs to be done carefully, and 11% think it's okay to suspect but not self-diagnose.

15% think it's always fine to self-diagnose autism DSM-5 levels (including if the person has been told they don't have autism), 15% think it's fine as long as autism hasn't been ruled out, 21% think it's almost always fine, 18% think it's only okay if an assessment is inaccessible, 36% think it needs to be done carefully, and 36% think it's okay to suspect but not self-diagnose.

26% think it's always fine to self-diagnose autism support needs labels (including if the person has been told they don't have autism), 29% think it's fine as long as autism hasn't been ruled out, 37% think it's almost always fine, 29% think it's only okay if an assessment is inaccessible, 43% think it needs to be done carefully, and 6% think it's okay to suspect but not self-diagnose.

Disability: 71% feel disabled by autism, 17% feel disabled by another condition but not autism, and 11% are unsure.

Comorbidities: The most common mental health comorbidities are anxiety (68%), ADHD (62%), and depression (56%).

The least common mental health disorders are schizophrenia spectrum disorders (0%), bipolar disorders (3%), tic disorders (6%), substance use disorders (6%), personality disorder (9%), and OCD (9%).

The most common physical health comorbidities are gastrointestinal issues (29%), connective tissue disorders (29%), autoimmune disorders (24%), neurological disorders or injuries (24%), and hearing/vision loss (24%). All others are below 20%.

Overall Support Needs: When considering comorbidities, the most common self-identified support needs label is moderate (37%), followed by low-moderate (31%) and low (17%).

#autism #actually autistic #actuallyautistic #level 1 autism #level 2 autism #level 3 autism #low support needs #moderate support needs #medium support needs #high support needs

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satellitespinner · 10 months ago

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✼ mommy issues .. (one)

a/n: oh did you think this was gonna be a cute lil fluff fic? nahh it’s sad city down there!! be careful..

content warnings: ANGST panic attacks.. hurt (no comfort.) joel is dead. ellie’s a lil sad :/// ellie’s a lil anxious… ellie’s a projection of me.. ANYWAYS. reader and ellie are kinda the same but different ??? swearing ofc.. reader is very much okay with being a lesbian ! and she’s on good terms with the baby fawtha cause what! ellie is not fond of children apparently?? she also might be autistic.

wc: 2k.

taglist: @flowersforvi @diddiqueen @ellslvr @saturnsdrafts @3lli3l0v3r @williamssgirl @liasxeatt @adelaide013 @a-little-bit-of-everybody @elliessweetheart @pedropascalsbbg @ellies2missingfingers @nelzooo @r3starttt @jaeminpookie @onlinelesbo @tphmnv @p4ison1vy @pascals-doll @snowy-vee @diddiqueen

ellie grew up around masculinity, thats why people assume she is the way she is. but ellie can assure that her brain would work the exact same way if she had a mother.

plus, she had joel. that was really all she needed. she still knew how to be a woman. it’s not like she grew up without a mother and didn’t know anything about herself.

2 WEEKS AND 4 DAYS AGO..

ellie sighed and threw the white stained towel over her shoulder. fuck she muttered under her breath as she read yet another email.

ATTENTION STUDENTS!

You will all be required to purchase the following textbooks in order to complete the course - They will help immensely in the upcoming exam. I recommend reading carefully and thoroughly.

Sincerely,

Prof Morgan.

all 5 of the books linked in the email were over $150.00 each. how the fuck was she supposed to work that out? all while paying her own tuition, rent and utilities.

“yo, williams!” her manager jesse yelled, interrupting her calculations.

“breaks over.” he snatches the towel from her shoulder and makes his way back into the kitchen with it in tow.

she scoffs and shoves her phone back into her polyester pocket. jesse’s head pops back into the room “oh and” he starts before turning to her. “you’re training today” she scoffs and lifts herself off the chair.

“is that even in my job description?” she follows him out of the kitchen once again.

“sure it is, i just described it to you.” he winks, ellie huffs.

the sky had dimmed by the time ellies shift was over. skating home was gonna be a bitch.

“you need a ride home?” dina places a hand atop her shoulder, a helpful smile on her face. ellie really wanted to say no. she’s been asking for help from others so much lately.

“no, uhh- i’ll get home t’night. thanks dee.” she nods as she grabs her skateboard from her locker. have the trucks always been this lose?

“no, i insist.” dina presses. she pulls out her keys and throws her bag over her shoulder.

“let’s go, my child.” she giggles at the nickname. ellies shoulders relax.

“thanks again, i really appreciate it.” ellie said, her tone laced with genuine gratitude. dina dismisses her with a hand flick. “don’t even sweat it.” she bragged. “now get goin, it’s late.”

ellie pushes the car door open with a steady grip on her skateboard. her smile falters as she waves dina off.

she unlocks her door with a trembling hand, she hated being alone.

the picture of her and joel neatly placed beside the coat rack mocked her as she placed her skateboard down in its dedicated spot. she stared into the picture until the colors morphed into one big glob.

the loss of not just a parent, but her only parent cut her deep. she could barely lift her head for the first while, nevermind go to work. she should be proud of herself! but she isn’t.

how could she be? she felt like everyone else in her life was doing so much with themselves. dina had a kid for fucks sake! dina had a whole kid and ellie couldn’t even get to class on time.

“fuck.” she muttered as she placed her keys down. bills upon bills were flooding the kitchen counter. tears burned at her eyes, blurring her eyesight.

i look so pathetic right now. she thought. a slight chuckle leaving her throat at that.

she tried to blink back the tears but she couldn’t, they just kept coming.

her silent whimpers quickly turned to snotty sobs as her chest heaved in and out involuntarily. she placed a heavy hand on her heart as she slid down the kitchen cabinet. soon enough she found herself completely breathless and wailing.

she eventually calmed herself through deep breaths and a cold glass of water. as she does through every panic attack, although the melancholic feeling always lingered.

after joels death ellie could never find herself truly happy. especially not in an environment where he was everything, everytime she turned around she was reminded of the man who wasn’t even her real father.

nothing was really hers.

she made her way down the dark, dusty hallway to her bedroom. desks adorned with pictures of her and joel. she ignored them this time.

she stripped of her uniform and took to the shower. the water burning her skin till it turned red. she scrubbed harshly at her scalp and body. she smelt like grease. gross.

the after shower feeling made her feel a bit better. she grabbed her toothbrush and rinsed it before wiping a glob of colgate toothpaste on the bristles and shoving it in her mouth.

ellie chased sleep for what felt like an eternity. her damp hair scratching at her neck was definitely a part of the problem.

thank god she didn’t work saturdays..

the first 30 seconds of ellie’s day were complete bliss, usually. but not today.

today ellie woke up to the obnoxious sound of a child crying. she decided right then and there that the universe hates her and wants her to die. (but she thinks that about everyone in her life..)

she scoffs and walks over to the curtains, her own padded feet already annoying her.

she peeks out the curtain only to be met with a u-haul and an suv parked in the driveway next door.

new neighbors, how wonderful. and they had a whiny kid! perfect.

she continues watching out the window until she sees you hand off the kid to its father. her eyes follow you until you step into the u-haul and start dragging boxes out. that’s when she sighs and decides to get ready for the day. even though she doesn’t want to.

your entire life you were desperate to be equal. to be taken seriously. you craved maturity.

you spent your entire childhood chasing adulthood. you were desperate to grow up. you didn’t know it then, but you would regret it.

the one thing you didn’t regret, was felix. the baby that you got out of your last relationship. that was before you realized you were very much a lesbian..

“cmon baby, just put your shoe on.” you struggled against the child in the backseat as he wailed. the sound was excruciating.

“please- can you just let mommy put your shoe on?” you gritted as you attempted to shove the shoe onto her other foot.

“no!” he screamed, almost directly into your face. that was it.

“you know what? fuck it.” you muttered the last words under your breath. truthfully you already weren’t setting a good example, but hey! let not say fuck infront of our kid!

you gave up on the shoes and shushed him gently as you undid his seatbelt from his car seat. you placed him in the arms of his father, tossing the shoe into his dinosaur covered backpack.

he slowly came down from his tantrum as he placed his head on his dads shoulder.

“you sure you don’t need me to help unpack?” your ex asks, unsure of leaving you behind with an entire house to furnish.

“yep! i’m good!” you smile. you gently kiss your baby’s forehead before shutting your car door.

the father nods in response. “just text if you need and we will be here. isn’t that right felix?” he asks the child who nods profusely.

“of course mama!” he shouts causing you and his dad to laugh. “well alright then!” you rush, it was still early but you were eager to get to your gardening before dark.

you watch as your ex buckles the kid in and situated himself in the car, before pulling out of the driveway he rolls down felixs window.

you blow kisses as the pull out of the driveway and take off to ‘the old house’ in your sons words.

as soon as the car is out of sight you make your way over to the U-Haul.

you’re so focused on getting this last box out of the truck that you don’t even feel the presence creep up behind you.

“hey did you need some hel-”

“what the fuck!”

you jump in fear before turning around. being faced with a red headed, green eyed girl.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry.” she apologizes calmly. an awkward look on her face as you stare at her wide eyed.

you chuckle lightly before putting your hands on your hips. “it’s alright, hon.” you reassure.

you two just awkwardly stare at eachother for a few seconds before ellie finally speaks up again.

“i saw you struggling. did you want some help?” she asks. her eyes drifting to the box filled with gardening tools.

“oh that would be amazing!” you said before wiping the sweat of your forehead.

ellies eyes follow a droplet of seat down your neckline all the way down your cleavage. she finds herself licking her lips

before you introduce yourself.

she darts her eyes back up to your own, praying that you didn’t see her blatantly check you out. “i’m- i’m ellie.” she jumps over her words.

since when did you not know how to speak, idiot? she internally face palms before walking over to pick up the box.

“where do you want this?” she asks with a grunt as she steadys the box in her arms.

“just over here” you direct, letting her follow you as you walked over to the side of the house. she follows you and sets the box down with ease. she jokingly wipes the dirt off of her hands before nodding and starting to walk off.

“oh sweetie! i don’t wanna be a bother but would you mind helping me with one more thing?”

you must’ve been magic because somehow you swindled ellie into helping you with almost everything, and she was totally fine with it.

currently you were both at your kitchen island, laughing over a bottle of wine.

ellie had confided in you about school and you had rambled to her about what it’s like to be a mother.

“yeah, i mean- besides pregnancy it’s not all that bad.” you admit. ellie’s face shifts at the mention of pregnancy.

“i don’t know if i could ever have a baby inside me. i think i’d like- die.?” she questions. “not that i would of course” she giggles. your face becomes a look of confusion.

“no boyfriend? or just not one for kids?” you ask. you totally forgot that it’s very possible for her to be-

“i’m a lesbian” she answers and takes another sip of wine. her eyes watching your face for any negative reaction.

you clap your hands over your mouth quickly. now it seems obvious.

“i am so sorry, that totally slipped my mind.” she laughs at your attempts to redeem yourself.

“it’s totally chill, don’t worry.” she reassures, a smile on her face.

“i am too, actually.” you admit, it was your first time admitting it to someone other than yourself of your now ex husband.

“oh i was just gonna ask if that was your husband out there earlier.” she fidgets with the rings on her fingers as she asks.

“well, ex. it’s not easy to find a baby sitter that actually takes care of my kid these days.” you admit to her. she ponders for a slight moment before speaking up again.

“well, if you’re looking. i’m usually free during the day, i work nights most of the time.” she offers up. she wasn’t really sure why. she wasn’t even a fan of kids.

“really?!” it looks like your eyes had bulged out of your head. “god that would be amazing! i’ll pay you!”

ellie didn’t hear anything besides ‘i’ll pay you’ that’s all she needed to know.

“yeah of course. i’ll take him.” she confirmed.

that night ellie left with your phone number and a smidge of hope in her heart.

#˚ ༘♡ ⋆ mommy issues¡fic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟizzie writes!?#ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x you #ellie x dina #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x reader fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us

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pinkypromisepascal · 5 months ago

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Handiwork - Jim Hopper x fem!reader

summary: Hopper shows up with a nasty cut so you lend a helping a hand and patch him up.

content: MDNI ofc, friends to lovers, subby!Hop, Hop has a hand kink, just minor descriptions of the cut, handjob, cum eating (oops), no physical description of reader except for pretty hands and jewelry

author's note: I had so many people look at this, thank you so much @strang3lov3 @umnitsa @endlessthxxghts @ievutebebe for looking at this and helping me work this out! Also I know the moodboard and title say fem!reader but technically this can be seen as gn!reader too, fem!reader's just my default mode.

word count: 2.6k ao3 link: here

You got home from work four hours ago, ready to bask in the comfort of your small home in Hawkins. Despite the beautiful sunny weather outside, you find yourself more comfortable on your couch with a big cup of your favorite tea and a new book you've been dying to read.

You haven't moved an inch in the last hour, too engrossed in the book's plot. A sharp knock at your door pulls you out of your thoughts. You have no clue who it is, but you don't wanna be rude and ignore the person, so you get up with a tired sigh and open the door, only to find Jim Hopper looking down at you, pressing a bloodied tissue to his head.

"Hop, hi, I-... wow, what happened?"

Jim looks at you, his blue eyes kind and warm as always when he's with you. "Might have gotten into a little brawl at the bar," he admits sheepishly with a little eye roll.

You step aside and let him in. "For good reason at least?"

He shrugs, "Just had to handle a drunk guy and you know... some glass broke." You take a look at him, peeling the tissue away just enough to look at the cut going diagonally from his left eyebrow. "Thought you might come in handy, I'm out of gauze," he says dryly, "And I really don't need a hospital bill right now."

Fair enough, you think.

He wordlessly follows you to the bathroom and just lets his eyes follow you as you gather the supplies you'll need. He notices the ring on your index finger, the one he got you for your birthday a few months back. He'd never admit to it, but he's always been a little fascinated by your hands. And that fascination has gotten stronger over the last months. He never really thought about hands that much, what they might say about people, but he's watched yours take care of El's scraped knee, watched them pet stray cats, seen those fingers wrap around a bottle of beer at his place. When he looks at his own hands, he just thinks of them as burly, callused.

But yours? They’re soft, gentle, even in the most mundane of tasks.

He snaps out of his thoughts when you clear your throat and turn around again, putting stuff on the vanity behind him. You cock your head and chuckle, "Need you to get a little more on my level, big guy." It takes a second for him to get the hint, but then he puts the bloodied tissue aside and sits down on the toilet lid, legs spread so you can step between them. You nod approvingly and can't hide a little smirk at the height difference between you two. Neither can he.

You grab a small towel and hold it under running water for a second before gently dabbing at the cut, cleaning the dried blood. He hums and closes his eyes. "Sorry," you mumble, your other hand tilting his head a little to get a better look at the cut. He feels the rings on his skin and suppresses a noise in his throat. The corner of his mouth twitches, "No, 's the cold that feels nice." "Enjoy the cold, only gets worse from here," you quip and snort when his eyes snap open. "Just some antiseptic and a few stitches, you can handle it. You're in good hands with me." "Hm, never doubted that," he retorts and closes his eyes again.

You pat the wound dry with another and then reach for the antiseptic, putting some of it onto a sterile gauze compress and then gently holding and dabbing it against the wound. He hums again and clears his throat in discomfort. "Ah come on, you've had worse," you tease softly. He smirks again and nudges your leg with his, "Shut up." "You shut up."

He feels a shiver down his spine when you carefully touch the area around the cut, checking for swelling or signs of infection. He slowly takes a deep breath, careful so you don't notice his tension. He feels the blood rushing through his body, his thoughts running a mile a minute. “You’re always so gentle with your hands,” he mutters softly, and you thank him bashfully. You mumble something, asking if he’s still good. When he opens his eyes, he catches your gaze, your eyes still warm despite the cold white light of your bathroom.

"Hope I'm not ruining your evening plans with this," he suddenly says. You put the compress aside and scoff, "Please, we both know I don't have plans. You're basically my highlight of the day." He cocks his eyebrow, immediately squinting as he feels the pain from the currently bad side of his face, "Oh really?" You smile proudly at him, "Mhm."

His heart skips a beat. If only you knew the effect you're having on him right now. He hasn't always felt for you like this, recently things have just been feeling different. He feels more at ease with himself. He's trying to allow himself a little more fun again, a little more peace. And in all the years he's known you, he can't remember when your presence hasn't brightened his day. You've always been the highlight of his day.

He smiles at you, and you realize your hand is still on his cheek like before. You pull away and take a deep breath, "Okay, so... stitching's gonna be a bitch." Hop just shrugs, "Someone told me I've had worse, so I think I can handle it." You laugh and nudge his belly with the back of your hand, "Can't be in too much pain if y'keep making bad jokes." The shiver runs from his spine between his legs. Jesus Christ.

He's drifting off again, gone in his thoughts about you, about your hands, your hands on him while you're so close to him, so focused on your task. He's sure you can hear how wild his heart is thumping in his chest, or feel the fluttering of his pulse in his neck where your hand is resting again, keeping his head in place and occasionally tilting it towards the light. And he hopes you don't look down. Anything but that. He's dying to move, to let his hands feel yours, feel them on his body, eagerly exploring him.

You say something, but he doesn't hear what, he's too far gone, imagining what it would be like to feel those heavenly hands wrapped around his co— A snap in front of his face brings him back yet again.

"Sorry, what?" You tut, "What's got you so distracted today? Did you hit your head during that fight? I was asking if you feel any pain." He suppresses a groan, then swallows and only replies with "No." Somehow the pain only makes him crazier for you. "Good, then you're all done," you say with a smile and start putting the supplies back.

Jim tries to shake off his thoughts without making his head throb too much and gets up, now leaning with his lower back against the vanity, right next to you. "How many times can I come here 'fore you start charging me?" You chuckle to yourself at first, and his heart skips a beat again. As you look at him, you only now notice his busted lip and grab the still damp towel to wipe the dried blood off, standing between his legs, then wipe your thumb along the spot. "You're free to show up here anytime, big guy," you smile, and he's sure you don't mean to sound so sultry. Maybe it's his mind playing tricks on him. Still, there's no more denying the near painful strain in his jeans now. He's hoping you don't feel it, almost embarrassed about it. Any move to adjust himself will just draw your attention to it.

"Much appreciated," he replies smugly as you look at him. Everything about you is just—

"You seem awfully tense, you okay? Feeling dizzy or something?" He cocks his head slightly and bites the inside of his cheek, crossing his arms in front of his big chest. "Little headache," he lies.

You smirk at him, "Hm, little headache or maybe something else bothering you?"

Before he can ask what you mean, he feels your hand press against the outline of his cock, making him draw in a breath.

Jackpot.

You can almost see his thoughts racing behind his gorgeous eyes. You close your hand around him, just a bit, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He's uncrossed his arms, his hands gripping the vanity's edge as he stares you down. Your eyebrow cocks up, challenging, daring him.

Your heart's beating in your throat, and you can feel his body heat. Part of you doesn't know if what you're doing is wrong, if you should talk about what's happening or just stop right here and never speak of it again. This is definitely crossing a line and you don't know how things will be after. Yet another part is screaming at you to keep going, and you think he feels the same.

"You need me to take a look at this, too?" You ask, your voice suddenly quiet, a new undertone to it that Hop hasn't heard from you yet. You're getting cocky. He risks a quick look down to where your hand is, smooth against the raging boner that's been straining his pants for at least fifteen minutes now, the ring he gifted you staring back at him. Oh, fuck. He clasps his big hand over yours and looks into your eyes again. God, yes. There's a glimmer in your eyes that almost undoes him then and there. "Don't look at me like that," he mutters.

His mind is racing, blood rushing through his body. He bites back a groan when you move your hand beneath his, your fingertips reaching his belt buckle. "What's wrong with how I look at you?"

He ignores your question, you're just teasing him right now, enjoying how he's losing himself. "You're what's distracting me. You and your damn hands." "My hands?"

He nods slowly and swallows. His body is screaming for some friction, some relief to the craziness that is this situation. You move your hand again and he lets it go, never breaking eye contact. You unbuckle his belt, popping the button of his jeans open. “You don’t have to–,” he starts, but you tut him. "What is it about my hands?" You ask innocently as you shove your fingertips behind the waistband of his boxers, slowly dragging them and his pants down just enough to wrap your hand around him. He breathes out with a hum as you oh so slowly drag your hand along his length, eyes fluttering close.

"This okay?"

He huffs out a laugh, not daring to look at you right now, his grip on the vanity tightening, "Yeah. More'n okay." "Now tell me what's so interesting about my hands that it's got you rock hard like this, Hopper," you say, and he can hear the damn smile in your voice. Your thumb wipes over the tip before you drag your hand down again, picking up the pace just a bit. He shakes his head and opens his eyes again to look at you. Oh, you're enjoying this a lot. His jaw tightens as he tries to find the right words. "Shut up," he grunts. "Aw, come on," you insist with a cheeky smile, "Just wanna know what goes on in that dirty Chief of Police mind of yours. What more is there when just my hands got you like this, hm?" You tighten your grip for a moment, and his belly tightens, keeping him from making a sound.

You murmur sweet nothings, encouraging him to indulge in his thoughts. His gaze drops down to your hand stroking him. “Your rings, fuck–” He loses his words as you twist your wrist just the right way, his knuckles turning white as he’s gripping the edge with all his power. “Oh, do you want me to take them off? Are they uncomfor–?” “No,” he replies, hips slightly moving towards your touch, a low groan rumbling in his chest, “Keep’em on.” “You like how they feel?” You ask. He takes another deep breath, focusing on just letting your hand work him. “Like how they look on you. ‘Specially that one,” he rumbles and you know which one he’s talking about. You bite the inside of your lip, but the smile still spreads as you look at him. “Hm, wonder why,” you muse, picking up your speed, urging him closer to the edge. He clears his throat hastily, “Don’t play stupid, you fucking know why.”

You stroke him faster, noticing his breath faltering a bit. One of his arms slings around your waist, pulling you closer to him to lean his forehead against yours, cussing under his breath. His hooded gaze bores into yours with such a carnal need and longing, almost making you lose momentum. Your free hand drifts up his torso, toying with the top button of his shirt and slowly popping it open, letting your fingertips lightly dance over his warm skin. Jim’s hips buck into your hand again and his eyes flutter close, he’s drawing in a sharp breath. “Tease,” he growls, followed by a short, breathless laugh. You chuckle softly, “What’s the matter, big guy?” He looks at you again, a light sparkle in his eyes, “Matter’s that I– hm, won’t be able t’stop myself ‘f you keep this up.”

“Then don’t.”

He scans your face for any signs of hesitation and just finds that maddening smile of yours again. His legs and belly tighten. His other hand cups your face and smashes your lips together for a heated, bruising kiss. His mustache scratches against your skin and you whimper at feeling him nip your bottom lip. Your body freezes momentarily, and you’re only brought back to reality by Jim’s hand wrapping around yours, tightening your grip around him even more, and moving your hand with his. “Just like that,” he hushes into your mouth and with a few more quick strokes the tension in his body finally snaps. He’s kissing you again, muffling his broken moan, tongue swiping over your lip.

You keep your fingers wrapped just below his tip, changing the grip in small pulses. Your thumb swipes over the sensitive head, making him shudder through his release, his warmth coating your hand and shirt. Your other hand is resting above his racing heart, beating so fast you’re worried he’s gonna be dizzy. He slowly tears his lips from yours, his thumb wiping softly over your cheek.

His eyes flick down for a second and his face flushes. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. Usually have better manners than that.” You look down and snort, tugging at your shirt, “Ah, this old thing’s seen worse.“ You smile as you bring your glistening fingers up, “As for these…”

Jim watches breathlessly as your tongue darts out to lick over each digit, releasing each with a wet pop. “You‘re enjoying yourself a lot right now,“ he notes with a smirk, smoothly tucking himself away. An innocent shrug is the only answer he gets. He rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance and clicks his tongue.

You grab his face to pull him in for another kiss. He can taste himself on your lips, feeling the blood rush through his body again, his fingertips tingling with eagerness to touch you. His hands drop to the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping beneath, shoving the fabric up your torso. You raise your arms, letting him go all the way till he tosses your shirt aside, lips immediately locking together again. You chuckle.

“Not done with you yet,” he hums with a content sigh, “Time for payback.” “Careful with that, big guy, you’re still hurt.” He pecks your lips and smirks, “Thought we’d agreed I’ve had worse?”

I'm a slut for feedback so don't hold back and tell me how you liked this! Like, comment, reblog, slide in my asks, whatever you prefer! Thank you for reading, I hope you're eager for more.

#jim hopper x reader #pinkysfics #jim hopper x fem!reader #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper smut #stranger things fanfic

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hello-gloomy · 3 months ago

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Metal Bambi pt 2

Megatron x Gen!reader

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Description: Finally returning to the Nemesis, Megatron remains distracted by thoughts of you, after some convincing from friends he acts on his thoughts.

Warnings: Maybe OOC characters. Slight cursing, Mentions of anxiety and panic. Starscream cameo, being called a pet. Knockout cameo, Optimus cameo.

A/N: Since the first part went so well I give you a part two my darlings please enjoy.

Words: 2,004

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As the docking doors closed with a hiss of pressurized air behind him, he returned to his bipedal form with a slight roll of his shoulder pads. He linked up to the coms and notified Soundwave and Shockwave of his return. Strolling through the grand halls of the Nemesis, he finally arrived at the chamber where his dearest confidants were currently residing. The metal doors open and quickly shut behind him. Shockwave spares him a glance while Soundwave shows emojis of a map and a question mark on his screen. Megatron sighs slightly as he waves his hand dismissively to him. He explains what happened, leaving out details of the little organic that helped him earlier.

"Audials show signs of distraction," Shockwave pointedly while putting down whatever intricate piece of machinery he had been tinkering with earlier. His crimson optic looked at the battle-worn mech. Megatron crossed his arms over his chest plate while the other two mechs in the room glanced at each other before looking back at Megatron, expecting him to share whatever was weighing on his spark. Finally, he broke and told them about the human with a light tone, describing the defiant look in your optics when he threatened you initially. Soundwave took the initiative to start researching you when Megatron told him your name. After pulling up some files, he transferred the information to a data pad and handed it to him. He thanks him and leaves, heading back to his berth room. Sitting on his berth, he looks at the information on you and pictures of you; it makes his spark clench slightly at the photos of you smiling beside cars that you repaired, covered in dirt and sweat but still proud of your hard work; he doesn't know how long he spends looking at all the photos of you until he hears a know on the door. He lays the device down and approaches the door to answer it.

"Prime?" Megatron says with a question on his glossa, wondering why he came to see him instead of just messaging through coms.

"I did message you," Practically reading his mind. "You didn't answer, so I came looking for you." Megatron moved to the side to let him into his room, closing the door behind him. Optimus sat at his desk while Megatron took his prior seat earlier.

"You were out for half of a deca-cycle with no check-ins," Prime explains to him. "I was about to go look for you." He jested slightly. Megatron just rolled his optics in return and picked up the data pad again to look at more pictures of you while remembering the sound of your voice. They sat silently for a few kliks before Megatron relayed the same story he told Soundwave and Shockwave earlier. Optimus nodded along to Megatrons words; holding his helm in his servos, he weighed his following words before he spoke.

"Why not visit the human?" he suggested to Megatron while raising an optical ridge. They're probably wondering if you're also alright, considering it's been a few cycles." He explained further. Megatron put the datapad back down again and held his helm in his servo while thinking deeply. He runs a servo down his face plate while sighing, hating to agree with the Prime. He nods in response; he claps Optimus on the shoulder pad and walks back to the docking hangar. Megatron sends a quick message to Soundwave and Shockwave, letting them know of his location before transforming and flying back to the forest where your home is. The sun is setting by the time he gets there, and he sees you round the corner from behind your house; you meet his gaze with shock written along your little face. He stands still, taking you in, noticing that your clothes had changed from the last time he had seen you. You regain your senses, smiling brightly, and run up to him.

"I was starting to think I had imagined you." You quip while looking up at him; he crouches down on his pedes and brings his servo to cup your face gently. He stares at you, studying your face; it feels different from looking at pictures of you. He suddenly picks you up, and you let out a yelp, holding him tight from fear of being dropped.

"Where are we going?" you ask quickly. "Back to the Nemesis," he responds simply. So, is it a person or a ship?" You're starting to panic a bit because of how fast this is moving, considering this is the first time you've seen him in days.

"WAIT, WAIT." You shout. He stops immediately and raises you to his face plate. He hums, waiting for your explanation for your panic, a slight worry in his red eyes.

"Let me pack an overnight bag, at least. I get anxious sleeping in new places." You bargain, your brain yelling at you about how stupid it is to go with a strange robot alien you saved a while ago. Still, curiosity always gets the better of you, and you feel like you do not have much of a choice with him anyway, so you'd rather be comfortable on your space excursion. He walks you back to your house and sets you down in front of the door.

"Two Kliks."

"Five minutes, I need to pack a blanket and a pillow along with toiletries." You respond sternly, wondering how long the original time he gave you was. "I feel like this is the first time you've even had a sleepover with a human anyway." You continue with a pout, and he huffs a laugh in response. He shoos you off, and you dash inside to grab your most enormous bags to stuff everything you need. You pack a comfort item and some food and drinks just in case. You smack the door open and drop all your bags on the porch. You notice he moved, looking around your house and peeking inside your shed at your car. You smiled at his curiosity for your life; he looked back in your direction, and you waved him over. He raises an optical ridge at all the bags at your feet, and you stick your tongue out in response. He transforms back into a plane, and you admire his form before his cockpit window pops open. You toss all your bags in the back and shuffle into the front seat, getting comfortable. You reach for the seat belt to buckle in, but he beats you to it, snaping it around your form and shutting the opening.

"Ready?" He probes gently, and you rub the wheel in response and nod before quickly giving him a yes, not knowing if he could see your face while he was like this. His engine hums, and you take off into the air, entering the atmosphere. You look out at the window down, admiring the scenery from up above, pressing your hand to the tinted glass, watching as your house and the forest get smaller until you're in space and approaching a ship that's even bigger than Megatron. The dock doors open, and you land inside as the oxygen returns to the bay.

"Leave your bags in my subspace for now. You can unpack them when we arrive at my berth room, " he tells you as the cockpit opens to let you out. He unbuckles the seatbelt around your body. You hop out and look around at the black and purple walls of the Nemesis.

"You aliens sure like purple." You quip while twisting your head around to take everything in.

"Just the Decepticons, " he quips back, which makes you whip your head and stare at him in shock, for him responding to your teasing for once. He looks back down at you after notifying the others he is back.

"Lord Megatron, I finished- what the frag is that…" Another 'Decepticon' walks in, stopping when he notices you standing by his 'Lord.' Megatron crosses his arms and quietly sighs.

"Why do you have an organic? " he asks, scrutinizing your form. "It's none of your concern, Starscream." "Send me the files when you can, and I'll look over them later." He bends down, scoops you into his servos, and walks away from a horrified Starscream.

"Lord Megatron, you're overdue for a check-in. I'll schedule you for one- is that a human?" Great, another one. Megatron sighs for the both of you. "I didn't know you were adopting a pet." The red robot in front of the two of you teases while peaking at you. You pop your head through Megatron's hands to snap back at the red bot.

"Who the fuck are you calling a pet hoe." Megatron's optics twitch slightly at your response, and the red robot laughs.

"My apologies. I'm Knockout. I hope to see you around soon. I'll send you the times for your appointment, my liege." He walks away with a smile and a shake of his helm. Megatron returns to the walk to his quarters. You enter the room, and he pauses suddenly, wondering whether to put you on his berth or desk for your safety. He chooses the latter, sets you down, and takes out all your bags for you. You start shuffling about, taking in his room and finding a nice spot to set up your temporary bed.

"There are other areas for you to bathe and relive yourself on the ship, and I'll show you them later." He tells you as he sits at his desk, watching you set up your temporary abode.

"So there have been other humans here." You prod gently, and he nods. When you are done setting up your sleeping spot, you turn around and walk up to where he's sitting. Just stare at him, and he returns your stare. He lifts up his servo and starts gently poking your sides, and you start giggling at his touch. He smiles gently at your laughter; Megatron stops poking you after a little bit and tells you that he has some paperwork to do and you are free to do as you please while he finishes. So you decide to use him as a jungle gym until you get tired or bored, whichever comes first. He finishes up and notices that you have stopped climbing on him. You are lying against his arm while on your phone.

"Why don't you get some recharge?" Megatron suggests while moving you to your bed. You nod and go to change clothes but notice he is still watching you.

"Turn around. You're not watching me while I change." You pout while motioning with your hands. He narrows his optics but complies with your demands with a huff. You quickly change and let him know you are done; burying yourself under the blankets, he dims the lights and lays on his berth. You lie quietly for a while, then move to tossing and turning. Finally, you sit up and drag your blanket and pillow to the edge of the desk.

"Megatron? Are you still awake?" you whisper, shouting to him, not wanting to bother him but still hoping to get his attention. He sits up, saying, "Yes. What's wrong?" He gets up and approaches where you are standing. You fidget for a little, then explain yourself.

"I can't sleep, " you tell him quietly, messing with the edge of your blanket. Can I sleep with you, please?" You pleaded with him slightly, hoping he would be sympathetic. He picks you up, walks back over to his berth, and lays down, placing you on his chassis, close to his pulsing spark. You shift around for a bit and finally sit still after getting comfortable. You lay quietly for a bit before you look up from where you're lying in his direction.

"Goodnight Megatron." You whisper to him, hoping he's still awake to hear it.

"Goodnight, Y/n." He murmurs back, going into his most calming recharge in a while.

#fanfic #x reader #part two #knockout transformers #transformers x reader #tfp megatron #megatron x human reader #megatron x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #tfp decepticons #knockout tfp #tfp #tfp fanfic #tfp optimus prime #tfp megatron x reader

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space-mango-company · 10 months ago

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Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune part two #baron harkonnen #baron vladimir harkonnen #house harkonnen #house atreides #giedi prime #austin butler #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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