#sorry if some things dont make sense lol

[tisajest]

I'm bored so imma share my ethnicity headcanons for the batfam. If you want the tldr version just read the bolded text lol

Bruce - WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) American, Irish, and Dutch Jewish

The Wayne family has been in Gotham for centuries and has stayed mostly WASP, the few exceptions before Martha were French, German, or Dutch typically. Martha comes from Gotham's Kane family and it is an Irish Jewish family that was established over a century ago. Her mother was from a wealthy Jewish Dutch family that fled in the early stages of WWII.

Dick - mostly French Sinti (Manouche) and Mexican Calé Romani, but also has Hungarian Boyash and British Romanichal Romani ancestry, English, WASP American, Hungarian, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Indigenous Mexican, West African, and North African. Looks like a lot listed out like that but it really just comes from being from a nomadic culture and from the Americas. He just considers himself Romani, Sinti/Calé if pressed. You won't get the whole "I'm 1/8 Italian" thing from him.

Dick's mother (Mary) was from France and had a lot of French/other Western European ancestry as well as her Sinti ancestry. Her family was culturally and ethnically Sinti Romani and had been in France primarily for centuries. Her mother was a dirty blonde with more Eurocentric features and her father looked more Mediterranean and had more Romani features.

Dick's father (John) was culturally Mexican Calé Romani because of his Mexican mother (Maria Perfecta). Her family has been in Mexico for a long time, having immigrated primarily in the 17th and 18th centuries. As such, she also had some Indigenous Mexican (primarily from Central Mexico, so Otomí, Purepecha, Nahua, Cora (among others but those were the first examples that came to mind)), West African, and Iberian ancestry, as well, primarily. Her family mostly stuck to Central Mexico, some distant lineages went either North or South.

John's father (William Grayson) also had Romani ancestry because his father, William Cobb, was Boyash and Romanichal. Cobb's mother was the daughter of Hungarian Boyash immigrants and his father immigrated from London. Grayson was disconnected from his Romani heritage, however, and was raised collectively by Haly's Circus as a multicultural orphan. Grayson's mother was Amelia Crowne, who came from a wealthy WASP American family. Due to the disconnect from his father's side, most of John's Romani cultural practices come from his mother.

Bonus: just for funsies I had Dick be born in Brazil, he's not Brazilian ethnically nor culturally, but he does speak Brazilian Portuguese and has Brazilian citizenship. Haly's also picked up a Brazilian performer around the time Dick was born. They were the honorary uncle/nephew duo of Dick's early childhood and he made sure Dick grew up speaking Portuguese correctly (John was born in Portugal and spoke conversational European Portuguese). Thus, Dick has Brazilian, American, Mexican, and French citizenship.

*I corrected some spelling errors in this section (Caló (language) to Calé (people), Senti (1 typo) to Sinti) and corrected some details that I missed in my late night writing this post (I added "more" before "Eurocentric features" bc I feel like I was implying that Mary's mom looked like a more typical white woman, which isn't the case. I also added "and had more Romani features" after Mary's father's Mediterranean description bc I feel that I implied he didn't look Romani at all, just Mediterranean, which also isn't the case. Yes both had more mixed features but both were still solidly Romani in appearance)

Jason - Irish, Italian, Greek, WASP American, French Canadian, and Anglo-Australian

Jason's father (Willis) was born to a single teen mother in Gotham. She was the granddaughter of Greek immigrants, descendant of Irish immigrants a little further back, and has general WASP-y American ancestry as well from having been in the Northeastern US for centuries. She likely also has Dutch, German, French, and Indigenous American ancestry as well, but those are generations removed and irrelevant. Willis's father was never in his life, but he had French Canadian grandparents on his mother's side and WASP American on his father's.

Jason's mother (Sheila) was the granddaughter of a WWII vet and an Australian war bride on her mother's side. Her grandfather was the son of Southern Italian immigrants and her grandmother was an Anglo-Australian primarily, with 1 Irish immigrant grandfather. Sheila's father was basically just WASP American with a somewhat recent German immigrant grandmother.

Despite being the whitest mfer, he was a polyglot from an early age because he was always out interacting with his community. So he is very conversational/fluent in Puerto Rican Spanish (has been mistaken as Puerto Rican as a result, too, and this was him when he was told he wasn't actually Puerto Rican lol), knows quite a bit of Yiddish, Cantonese, Tagalog, and other languages. He picks up languages quickly.

Tim - German, WASP American, White Cuban (mostly Spanish, French, and Chinese)

Tim's father (Jack) is mostly WASP American and German, as his mother's parents were German immigrants. The Drake family is a more recent addition to Gotham's elite, but the ancestors had been in the Northeast (New York and north New Jersey specifically) for generations.

Tim's mother (Janet) is the daughter of Cuban immigrants, both parents having left Cuba as children. Janet's mother (Emilia) was mostly of Spanish and French ancestry, her family were Cuban elites that were able to recover their wealth in NYC. Janet's father (Alfonso) was biracial, his father was Spanish and his mother was mostly Chinese. His family was also very wealthy, but lost most of it in the exile. They had to rebuild their business in Miami.

Tim speaks Spanish, but not nearly as fluently as Jason. Janet mostly spoke English to him. Tim grew up mostly monolingual, the languages he speaks later are learned through study primarily. His Spanish, thus, is a mix of Cuban, Mexican (Dick), Textbook, and Puerto Rican slang and profanity (Jason).

Cass - Han Chinese (mainland China (South) and Malaysia), Malay, Irish, and WASP American

Cass's mother (Lady Shiva) was born in Malaysia to a Malaysian Chinese mother and a Chinese immigrant father. They moved to Guangzhou when she was very young. Her Malaysian Chinese mother had some Malay ancestry as well, but she was primarily Chinese.

Cass's father (David Cain) is the son of a Northern Irish immigrant and WASP Americans. That's about all I got, I don't give a shit about him lol

Damian - Arab (specifically Jordanian circa like half a millennium ago; Palestinian and Yemeni), Han Chinese, Miao Chinese, plus Bruce's ethnicities above

Damian's mother (Talia) was half Arab and half Chinese from both parents. Her father (Ra's) was born in what is now Jordan to parents from the region, one of which (his mother) was Han Chinese originally from Western China. His father was ethnically Southern Levant, Palestinian/Jordanian. Talia's mother (Melisande) was the daughter of an American mother with a Palestinian father and a Yemeni mother. Melisande's father was the American son of parents from Yunnan, he was Miao.

See Bruce above.

Duke - African American, Gullah, (maybe Mandika, it depends)

I don't fully understand what's going on with his bio dad (Gnomon), so Imma just ignore him and just do his mother. If he's an immortal metahuman, he's Mandinka from Senegal. If he's a non-human immortal being, then he's that ig.

Duke's mother (Elaine) is Gullah. She was born and raised in Georgia and later moved to Gotham, but she was very connected to her community and culture. She raised Duke in the Gullah culture at home, as well. She also taught Duke the Gullah language, it's his first language. As Duke grew up, the home became more bi-cultural (Doug is a Gotham native, so not Gullah and thus had different traditions and culture to share).

Steph - Scottish, Polish, Lithuanian, and Black

Steph's father (Arthur) is originally from Chicago, his father was the son of Scottish immigrants and his mother was the daughter of Polish immigrants.

Steph's mother (Crystal) is a native Gothamite, her father was unknown to her (he was mostly WASP American, but he did have a black grandmother) and her mother was the daughter of Lithuanian immigrants.

That's about it, I didn't include Alfred bc I just see him as ethnically English, maybe some Celtic ancestry (Welsh/Cymry and/or Cornish) and from the South of England.

Anyway, those are my headcanons! Let me know what you think if you want.

[objectosexual]

I'm glad more of Tumblr is becoming more accepting of objectums + a lot of people are realizing that they're objectum themselves, but it really does feel like the current "in" thing right now so I hope this support for us continues even when people get tired of the eroticism of the machine

[yellllowstar]

slowly I'm recovering the beauty of discovery

(creature by half•alive)

(textless + timelapse below cut)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you say they can’t put telepaths in marvel rivals, yet we have some very credible leaks that jean grey and emma frost are gonna be in the game soon.

that being said, jean has telekinesis (and the phoenix force) and emma has her diamond form. telepathy is all charles has, lmfao. odds are pretty low for him, but maybe not zero if they give him telekinesis!

if yall have me say he got psionic blasts one more time i am going to scream HE HAS MORE THAN TELEPATHY . LIMITED BUT HE HAS IT <- he has gone against sentinels and disabled armies with it before HE CAN FIGHT I PROMISEEE

and technically they did give him telekinesis in krakoa (and very weak telekinesis sometimes before krakoa) so .... not my fave move but he does have that ...... and ig they give him a gun sometimes ........ last resort type shit but he has options ..

[radioroxx]

ok hi tumblr. thought. while i understand that technically yes people have all the freedom to assign clover a gender + pronouns based on personal headcanons… i dont really get WHY people do it

dont get me wrong im all for a little fun and for messing around with pronouns, but… isnt it more fun to let them keep the they/them?? whats the point of taking that away?

iiii dunno. i just think its strange lol

[pmpwbrrs]

I'm pretty much in love with your off string au could you ramble more abt it .,. I'd be extremely happy to read it

Im glad you like it and thank you for reminding me that I wrote this, and giving a reason to ramble <3!! Sadly i don't have anything to really add? But I'll say what i kept to myself i guess!

I keep remembering about one of the things ghostlycoze said.

—

—

I actually REALLY like this idea. I don't think ALL iterators are gonna have this problem, because not all iterators, i like to think, associate themselves with their puppet? And they are all different. But i love thinking about how some of them look up at the sky, and see endless heavy clouds produced by their still giant, powerful colleagues(family? friends?), while they are here, small, and so vulnerable. I like to think that that the longer they stare at the bottomless, grey sky, the more they can't tear the eyes away. How they feel their new heart beating faster now, and it makes them nauseated and more stuck in this moment – because this heart is beating like a mouse's. So fast, they can feel it, they can hear it, in their neck, in their chest. And it's foreign. The sky is foreign. The choking dampness of the air is foreign, the wet cold soil is foreign. THEY are foreign. Can they be even considered an iterator? How? They are not even the same person, how can they still call themselves an iterator?

What have they done to themselves?

I don't think some iterators even manage to handle this. I think some of them, with no way of returning to a previous live, take an easy way out. Or at least risk it – after all, they don't know what the Cycle thinks of not only iterators, but of an abomination like them.

For some of them this is not freedom. For some of them, freedom is impossible to obtain, even when they have risked it all and threw away everything that made them who they were.

Or maybe, for some of them, at some point – standing in the cold, wet soil, becomes a sort of relieve. Perhaps, for some of them, the damp air and the now rumbling, endless sky, become more welcome. Maybe it's better for them, than what they were before. Maybe they'll get used to this, even if it's so hard it makes their head heavy, and their breath quickened, and even when they are not what they were, and never will be. Maybe as they breath in, they'll be reminded that they are no longer stuck because they've been given no other choice, but they are stuck on their own accord. Maybe that makes them ecstatic. Or, yet again, scared, or regretful. Or guilty. It depends on an individual. But overall, it's hard for all of them. And not all of them can or wants to deal with this.

–––

I also remember I was thinking about «what if Pebbles is saved only in Saint's era?». But the more I thought about it, the more sad and existential I became, and I never got around to drawing anything, because the idea of slowly losing yourself and all your memories terrifies me.

I think, if Pebbles is saved in Saint's time, there is no way to bring him the way as he once was. It's just NO WAY, i can't believe it. His whole body had fucking giant TEARS in it, there wasn't a single place left of him, his neurons are now squashed by 574020 kms of rot, 30942 kms of metal and dead organic and his flesh, and 2933892 kms of snow, he's a home for fauna and flora now. He will never come back. MAYBE some neurons will help?? But i don't think they will, or that they should help as much as they helped Moon.

Pebbles cannot recover fully. Of course, care and patience and not being in his corpse will help, slowly, but still not a whole lot.

I wonder how Moon would feel about him. How everyone would feel. And mainly, how Pebbles would feel.

I already somewhat explored the idea of Pebbles losing his memories. It was an animatic about his life flashing before his eyes, but wrong and twisted, and he can't remember the names of the people he cared about, but he feels guilt and shame, and in the end he gets ascended (right now animatic is abandoned).

But... If he's off string....

Imagine how painful it is to look in the eyes of a person and know that you did something horrible to them, but you can't remember what it was, and you can barely even remember who this person is. All you know is that you love them, and that you have hurt them. How would their forgiveness feel? Would Pebbles feel weird relief? Confusion? Grief? Will it even help?

Will he feel anger and an inexplicable sting of pain when they look at him with pity? How would he feel if he saw people's hope when they think he might remember something, but he just can't?

I already said that "iterator off string is not even the same person", but in the case of Five Pebbles in Saint's time, I think it applies to him even more. He's not the same person even before he gets out.

How would he feel being so small and fragile, but being aware of it, now? How aware is he, really? Has he even agreed to go off string? Could he agree? How would HE feel about the stuff I said earlier? The sky, the snow under his feet, the freezing, biting wind?

I don't like making things all dark and gloomy and no hope FOREVER only SUFFERING though. I think there are ways to help Pebbles and to heal. For all of them, really. Sure, as I said, I like to think there's not much you can do to help FP, but there are ways. And in the end, even though he doesn't have his memories, and he's scared and confused, and he's weak and small, and he's in pain, and he feels cold – he's with people he loves, and who love him. I think it's beautiful. And I think it's an improvement on rotting away in the snow and listening to the same tune until the end of time. And now he gets warm much more often.

–––

That's pretty much it? I didn't think about off string that much. I GUESS there are also some fanfiction i wrote, but ehh + I'm shy about my writing + it's russian and needs translation + it doesn't focus the on a dread of being off-string and all that, so I'm not gonna show that.

A lot of people left really interesting thoughts in tags on this post with nsh though, so I recommend you to check them out, they are lovely <3

[icewindandboringhorror]

examining a seemingly normal image only to slowly realize the clear signs of AI generated art.... i know what you are... you cannot hide your true nature from me... go back where you came from... out of my sight with haste, wretched and vile husk

[2leggedshark]

I want my art to be weirder (I'm afraid of people expecting "normal" art from me because of what I make most often and them being upset with me if I deviate from it)

[thegospelofjudas]

i genuinely cant tell if i am disasterously ignorant of movies/tv/pop culture Or if i'm just hanging around w/ people who have very different interests than me

[431989]

more resident alien posting. predictions... spoilers so beware

well. i'm upset that the shows going to have a difficult time having more serious scenes now. and that's probably what it's going to try and set itself up for.

i reaaaally would have loved to see this show do something ACTUALLY different and good. by different i mean in terms of writing and not necessarily drifting from source material. yes i'm still sour over last ep, but i wouldn't be AS sour if everyone on the show didn't treat harry and asta's relationship as "mother and child." and also if the show didn't take such a nose dive into the type of comedy it's putting out.

ALSO? IN A RECENT INTERVIEW? Sheridan going on to state that harry would lose his first """love""" (more like lust. awesome that a show trying to teach human emotion gets those two things mixed up) and then realize there's love everywhere or something? why does this feel like "weird" people are forever left to the role of outcasts. already fucked it up once i guess the guy's trying to fuck it up more. could've just left it at "he'll lose his first love, then he will have to reconcile with his feelings." but he had to drop in that last corny bit.

like. the show's source is already good. i don't understand all these decisions they're making to try and make it seem "unique." and now to get numbers back they're dumbing it way down. WHICH. BY DOING SO. HOW ARE YOU GOING TO HAVE YOUR DRAMA? like how am i supposed to take anything seriously in the show. i *could* in season 1 and parts of season 2, but now it's just whatever. it's too goofed up for me to care. and now people who love the goofy won't give two shits about whatever message you want to drop or plot you want to develop. i dont give a shit about the greys!!! i dont care what theyre doing!!!! who gives a fuck if theyll blow up the earth. none of the characters really care anymore either. oh well!!!

also, predictions kind of. i'm not trying to say this will be the be all end all but it certainly could be a turn the show takes. in one of the issues of the comic (suicide blonde i think), harry is investigating the "suicide" of a woman. by the end of the issue, he catches up with her ex-lover and ex-roommate. they were both ladies. and the girl who died had a drinking problem btw. and was constantly seeing boys. i'm all for gay couples on screen as a gay guy myself but it'll feel so cheap to pair darcy and asta together despite the way theyve been played on screen. maybe its doable. i don't know. but i genuinely could care less considering the overall tone of the show's drifted more towards a sitcom than anything else. i think the small handful of 40+ year old gay wine moms would probably love it, but the vast majority of viewers wont. either they'll hate it and say it's forced diversity (there's already people saying that about the gay couple on screen this past episode) or it'll be another nothing moment to a further nothing story. if anything it'd feel one step removed from tokenization, considering they see harry as a manchild. ableism! show's trying to seem fucking wholesome but they can't be bothered to care about their nd viewers. like "haha look we have a main gay couple!!! what do you *mean* our show has rampant ableist tropes, we have a gay couple!"

i'm just so bummed. the show's cornered itself into a sitcom so meaningful moments aren't a thing anymore. plus the comparison of harry to a child is really getting at me. like he's a grown man as a human, and hes a grown alien thing as an alien. it's such a big slap in the face to any person who cherished the witty and unique story telling of the first season... like.... i don't know.... people who would've been fans of the comic too? i have small gripes about the comic, but at least it takes itself more seriously. but the show runners haaate the people who read the comics. why? i dont know. well maybe i do know. probably seen as too nerdy and weird for their idea of the show's viewerbase. despite the fucking basis of the show being weird and nerdy.

they couldve done the darcy asta thing better if they do go down that road. i'm just saying i wouldn't be surprised. they already scared off everyone who would've cared for something like that, so i don't know how they'll manage to find an audience that cares. everything in s1 was so organic and felt real!!!!! now its just!!! nothing!!!!!!!!!!

im also thinking about the fact that after posting that one resident alien drawing i did, i've had to block tons of people because they're freaks. loud and proud conservatives. man this shit sucks.

[thesingingrevolution]

i’ve always loved hetalia spain and i remember when i got into hetalia in 2017 i used to go crazy asking my best friend who’s argentinian but grew up in spain about stuff related to spain that i heard in his character songs so im finding texts from years and years ago where we’re talking about cosechas and the fiesta de San Fermín 😭

[khanjarangel]

AN INTRODUCTION TO "The Loving River", AKA Nazya's story!!

this story takes place in a historic setting in iraq, no specific years (for now) so everything here is subject to some change in the future.

this post is just an introduction to the main stuff and characters in the story! (all under cut, and fair warning, its a lot)

Shanya Al-Malaika:

shanya is a 29 year old poet, going by the pen name "Ta'abata Sharan" and taking on the image of a man so she can comfortably write about her love for nazik, and to be taken more seriously in the world of poetry. she is the mortal daughter of the goddess shaahida, also referred to as "The Witness", and ill be explaining more about her and her lore later.

to make a long story short, shaahida never wanted a child, and so shanya's coming into the world was a complete accident, and to shaahida, a shameful mistake. with that, she sends off newborn shanya to live with her aunt, saabira, another goddess, this one referred to as "Patience". saabira had a mortal husband and five mortal children with him, so the choice to send shanya there was easy. shaahida was sure saabira, with all her patience and knowledge of children, would be able to take care of shanya better than shaahida ever could. but of course, if she was going to give away shanya like this, shed have to gain something out of it too. she slashed baby shanya across the mouth with her divine nails, drawing blood, and leaving a scar. a tie between them both, stronger than their familial connection. wherever shanya was, shaahida would be able to keep watch, and when the time comes, shaahida would be able to use shanya as the vessel for her plan (which i'll discuss later,, maybe.)

shanya lives with saabira's family for most of her life in dhi qar, where she meets nazik, a girl around her age, and eventually, falls for her. the two are worlds apart though, for while saabira prefers to live humble and poor despite her divinity, making shanya live as a young sheep herder, nazik came from a wealthy family. middle upper class, to be exact. one day, however, nazik leaves dhi qar suddenly, and without much explanation, leaving shanya all alone. what made it all worse was this coming directly after a major fight/argument between the two. (this is insanely simplified, for a lot of stuff happens between them here.)

shanya continues to live with saabira, until the age of 16. when one day, as she on the carriage of saabira's oldest son, shaheen, she began to tinker with the oud guitar he always had with him. she strummed a few notes and smiled to herself, preparing to play a small tune. the carriage soon hit a bump, and the oud, with all its heaviness, slipped out of shanyas hands and fell off the carriage, tumbling down into the nearby river, and breaking. shaheen went off the rails at this, screaming at shanya about how expensive the oud was, and going as far as slap her and push her out of the carriage, telling her to walk home instead. its then, when shes trying to walk home, in the most vaguest in terms, she ends up dying. very unfortunate, and a horrible look for shaheen.

shaahida oversaw all of this. she was angered, not as a mother would be for a daughter, but a creator to a vessel. she transforms her own body to shanyas likeness, and makes it, in a way, a vessel for shanyas spirit to reside in for the time being. making daughter and mother, one and the same.

after saabira realizes what had happened, shanya's death, shaahida's work, she is frightened, and she does not tell shanya of what had truly happened to her. instead she grabs her and takes her towards kirkuk, where hashim, her uncle, and saabira and shaahidas brother, resides. hashim the god, also referred to as "The Punisher". after learning of what had happened to shanya, hashim takes her in, almost like his own daughter, and he is the one who teaches her of poetry and art and whatnot.

it is also hashim who sends 29 year old shanya out of kirkuk and to baghdad, along with her cousins, the twins jamil and jameela (also saabira's children), to gain more knowledge and more inspiration after she finds herself in a writing block. and that is where shanya meets nazik again after so long, which kickstarts the main story.

Nazik Al-Khafaji:

nazik is the 30 year old eldest daughter to jasim al-khafaji and his university sweetheart, nadeen. young nazik worked in a library with her mother until she was 14, before becoming a 'healer' or a doctor later into her adulthood. she has a younger brother, azra, only 4 years younger. nazik's mother had been a worshipper of saabira, one of the saabiroon, and as such, nazik aligned herself with that sect of worship too. and when push comes to shove, as an adult, nazik realizes she had been blessed by saabira with the power of healing. specifically, healing people with her own blood, something she couldve used much, much earlier.

jasim's family was quite a rich one, and yet, he distanced himself from them and went against his own family's wishes by marrying nadeen, and as such he did not inherit much of their wealth at all, and all the wealth naziks family did have came entirely from his own hard work and businesses in gold selling and jewelry making. nazik's family was originally from baghdad, however after jasim's falling out with his family, they packed their bags and moved to dhi qar when nazik was 6 and azra was 2, which is, of course, where nazik met shanya.

nazik quickly found herself enjoying shanya's company, and even introducing shanya to her brother, for a chance to get the girl to step out of her shell and meet new people, for nazik had noticed how lonely shanya seemed to be, with how all of her cousins were decades upon decades older than her, and having no free time to spend with her at all. nazik found herself skipping many of her classes to be with shanya, almost getting caught by her father many times, but she simply could not get away from her. in her free time she brought shanya books to read with her, though most of the time she sat by and listened to shanya play the oud, yes, the one she often borrowed from shaheen. nazik hadnt realized it, but she had fallen for shanya, hard and deep. one day, after returning home later than she should, after spending a night with shanya, she came back to find her mother dead. nadeen had been sick for years now, but nobody had expected her to die so suddenly. naziks life changed overnight. in the morning, she went to visit shanya one last time, a meeting which resulted in a huge useless argument, before nazik ran off, going home to finish her packing. that night, her, her brother, and her father took a carriage all the way to baghdad. she left shanya with no last goodbye, no last hug, and that is her one regret, though she does not blame herself.

jasim never quite made up with his family, his parents however begrudgingly gave him an estate to own in baghdad, which they settled in. as an adult, nazik was practically the only one working in the house. jasim had given up on life and on fatherhood after nadeen's death, forcing nazik to mother her own brother, and to grow up faster than she shouldve. and while jasim was useless, azra picked up traveling as a hobby, untied and free of all burdens, he was almost never home, and always off doing his own thing outside of iraq, leaving nazik to labor on her own, completely oblivious to the exhaustion she was facing, for she hid it all from him.

nazik, of course, has her own set of people in baghdad, and one of them was a pen pal, jameela, who she did not recognize as shanyas cousin, and whom she had urged to come to baghdad to meet. jameela had of course come to baghdad with her twin brother jamil and her cousin shanya. however, shanya and nazik would not stumble upon eachother until much, much later after shanyas coming to baghdad.

Shaahida (Al-Malaika):

shaahida, the witness, was the second born goddess from "The Creator", coming only after her eldest sister, huda, "The Gift". sources speculate she was born from The Creator's left eye, to bear witness over humanity, and to help her brother, hashim, the punisher, who was born right behind her, in trials, so he may adequately punish both mortals and their divine siblings alike.

of course it must be explained that The Creator is the one true god of the universe, having created it all with humans and all. in their divine eternalness, they split themselves into 99 different pieces, and the one last 100th piece would be created when all 99 pieces set aside their differences and finish their business on earth, and come together to create a new "creator". which is to say, the 99 lesser gods created were much weaker in comparison to The Creator, having a limited set of skills, and being very close to human like with their feuds and problems and personalities. some say there is no way all 99 of them would ever come together to become whole again, for each of them held such wildly different ideologies, and often butted heads with eachother. sometimes mortals wonder if they truly did come from one beings.

each god has their own set of followers that follow certain rules for worship. some gods have easier rules than others, some want all the worship, some want none. while, worshipping one god means you believe in the existence of the 98 remaining, it does not necessarily mean you believe in their coming together again to be one, and it does not mean you believe in them coming from one being. those beliefs depend on the individual and the family they hail from. there is however another religion made from these using all these factors (believing in all gods, their coming from one being and their eventual unity) called "Istiqbal", in the way that its followers await the future for the 'inevitable' unity of these gods.

that being said, shaahida was never one to love her job. as the witness for the punisher, she did not last long. she kept it up merely 3 millennia before giving it up, opting to wander the world meaninglessly for a few couple of centuries, before settling in a temple and watching people worship at her feet all day. along the way, she found herself obsessing with a mortal girl, a girl named batool, and a worshipper of hers. she possessive as much as she was obsessive, and batool did not by any means hate the attention. until one day, when she revealed to shaahida that was to get married to a man soon. of course, that angered shaahida greatly, and with her anger came eyes on them, and the public soon found out about their situation. it was not homosexuality itself that was forbidden, but the act of mingling with mortals at the time was. hashim came, with his divine punishment, and stoned them, though whether he truly wanted to or not was debated. some even said he had someone else come and punish them in his stead. shaahida was hung up and stoned for a whole year, before her mortal lover which of course died before her. after her punishment, shaahidas reputation was tainted forever. humans misunderstood the punishment, thinking it for homosexuality, and quickly forbid it. which, in turn, made shaahida a symbol for homosexuality, and specifically, lesbian love. she would gain a few followers for this, though not many, and all worshipped her in secret. for the next few centuries or millennia, shaahida wandered aimlessly amongst the earth in a disguise, though she did not dare get close to any mortal during that time.

until one day, it suddenly became allowed to get with mortals. a lot of time had passed, and most of her siblings had slowly but surely been becoming more lax on many things. it was frustrating, to think that if her and batool's love was delayed a few mere centuries, it wouldve blossomed to fruition.

shaahida let herself out again, and began to mingle once more with the mortals. she met a writer one day, a man who calls himself abd al sahib. without knowing of her divinity, he spoke to her of his want to write a book about the witness. she smiled, thinking it was flattering. the two got closer, though she did not love him in the way she loved batool, nor in the way lovers loved eachother. he however, was obviously in love and head over heels. and he was not stupid, he soon learned of her divinity and her being the subject of his book, which only made him get closer to her. a series of events unfolds, many that were out of shaahidas control, and she finds herself bearing a child, a mortal child, shanya. for the first few months she had not truly processed it, until one day abd al sahib pointed it out, grinning with pride at the fact that he had impregnated her. her actions next had been a long time coming, she had enough. she killed abd al sahib, which, of course, was a sin. for gods could not murder their subjects and humans in general. it was fine however, for she hid all the clues. and when she brought shanya into the world, she was disgusted. not specifically by shanya, but the events that led up to her birth.

she sends shanya away and goes into hiding, hoping hashim would not find this out.

she loses herself completely in this loneliness and new found hopelessness she has dug herself into, and thinks the only way to get out of it and to be free is to simply become the new creator, to end the world prematurely. and maybe shanya was simply a tool given to her by the world to achieve this.

with that, her loneliness is broken only slightly, and only briefly by her meeting a new woman. nadeen. they got close over a short period of time in baghdad, before shaahida realized nadeen was already married, and already had a few month old daughter. it was shortly after this realization did nadeen leave for dhi qar with her husband and daughter, and shaahida never had much of a chance to see her again. and there she returns to solitude.

.

.

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and thats all for now! this is barely even half of the story, but again, its just intros, and it's already so long so i dont want to add more. i know not many will read all of this anyway so ive only written this for myself so its easier for me to see the info of my own story here. anyway! heres some art for the characters mentioned!

nadeen (left) and batool (right)! this is all i have for now! if youve made it this far, tysm for reading!

[themyscirah]

WE GOTTEM BOYS

[syluses]

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[mooooonnnzz]

I saw your earlier post on Platonic fics and Im a sucker for them so here u go : father figure stanford headcannons maybe takes place after he comes back from the portal, reader is an adventurous spirit that works at the shack and maybe secretly helped stan get his brother back? Idk im just throwing things here lol

You Know I Love You Still

Stanford x daughter!reader

💗 stanford dad hc!!

💗 i literally saw the request it and started writing and got a lil carried away 😭 its like half story half hc? if that makes sense

💗 requests r so open rn! i def dont have any fav requests… (anything platonic or familial will be the first ones i write i LOVE those types of requests)

💗 the age of the reader is young like 16/17? ik that lowkey contradicts with the time line but wtv STANFORD DAD HC!!

💗 it’s a little bit of everything? like it’s not only just reader and stanford, the twins r also included in some scenarios and also stan

💗 a big happy family 😭

💗 fem reader gulp i completely didnt realize until i was done that i used she/her when referring to the reader

💗 next fic will use gender neutral pronouns I SWUEAR!!

💗2k words

💗 i apologize for rhe misspell and mistakes i didnt catch in advance

Working together with your Uncle Stan to build the portal to bring your dad back to the right dimension was tiresome. Nights were sleepless and many of them were spent in the underground lab, where you and Stan did everything possible to assemble the portal. Trying to keep such a secret away from the twins and Soos was unexpectedly hard. The knowledge of hiding someone so vital to you and to your Uncle Stan was weighing down on you and him. Then came the day where his awaited arrival was promised. You could barely sleep that night. You thought of so many different possibilities and scenarios of how you would greet him. Would he remember you? Did he ever miss you? Does he even love you?!

The next day came in like a tornado and before you knew it, you were protectively standing in front of the button; trying your absolute hardest to prevent the twins from pressing the button.

“Why do you guys want to stop the portal so badly!” You yelled over the loud swirling wind that emitted from the portal. “Because it’s dangerous!” Dipper retorted, using his arm to shield him from the debris whizzing past him. “G-Grunkle Stan isn’t who he says he is!” Dipper said, stepping closer to you.

“Whatever you guys saw or heard isn’t what you think it is! Please, you need to believe me.” You begged, your eyes brimming with tears. You’ve worked so hard to get this portal up and running and you weren’t going to let Dipper or anyone stop you from being able to see your dad.

Soos came up from behind and wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry, dude.” He picked you up and took you away from the button. “Soos, no!” You thrashed around his hold. You pound your fists against his arms, hoping it’ll loosen his grip on you but nothing you did worked. No matter how much you begged and fought against him, he didn’t budge. He just held you closer to him, muttering ‘I’m Sorry’ under his breath.

“This all stops now!” Dipper raised his hand, palm flattened out, ready to push the button when Stan appeared at the doorway. “Don’t touch that button!”

He’s hunched forward, hand leaning on the frame of the doorway as he pants. Relief washes over you upon seeing Stan. Silence fills the room for a minute and all you can hear is your heart hammer against your ribcage. Stan walks towards Dipper, beckoning him to not press the button.

“If you just let me explain—“ He’s cut off by his watch repeatedly beeping. Suddenly the ground begins to shake.

The portal powers up and the circle enlarges. The electricity spazzes and travels throughout the room, creating streaks of electrical power. Your feet lift off the ground and soon everyone’s floating up in the air. The wind is fierce and it’s whipping through every direction, pushing you towards the wall.

Dipper yells at Mable to turn off the portal before it causes anymore damage. She tugs herself closer to the button using a stray cable and while she wraps herself around the neck holding up the button, Stan is begging her to listen to him and to not press the button. He’s soon tackled by Soos who pushes him away from Mable. They all fight with each other and you’re watching with a bated breath.

The portal pulses with power, sending you back first into the wall. Stan and Dipper bicker back and forth and Mable is torn with the decision of either believing her brother or her Grunkle. She lowers her hand, eyes closed and you're almost convinced she’s going to press the button when she lets go of the button. She floats up with her arms raised. “Grunkle Stan, I believe you.” She says.

“Mable, are you crazy?! We’re all gonna—!”

The world flashes white and you're immediately knocked out. You awaken to yourself plummeting face first down to the floor. You groan, pushing yourself up with one hand and the other wiping off the dust on your face. Looking around you can see your family scattered around the room, each of them slowly waking up from whatever happened and stumbling back to their feet.

Your head quickly whips towards the portal and your heart lurches into your throat upon seeing a figure step out of it. He stands still, staring straight ahead as he takes off his hood and goggles. And what hid behind them was your father.

After the initial shock of meeting the one behind the three books and the reveal of him being related to Stan was pushed aside, you presented yourself with the help of Stan. “H-Hi, Dad.” You awkwardly greet yourself.

His eyes stop on you and he freezes, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly ajar. He takes a minute to process the absurdity of the situation before he’s snapping back to consciousness. He blinks once, his mouth stuttering as he finds the right words to say. He then blinks again, stepping a cautious step towards you. Your name softly spills out of his mouth and your heart soars hearing your Dad finally utter your name again.

You take a step forward and then another and another until you’re face to face with him. Being closer to him allowed you to see how much he has aged since the last time you saw him. “Dad…” You whisper, throwing yourself into him.

A light wheeze escapes his mouth from the sudden impact of your body crashing on him. Once he recovers, his arms are quickly wrapped around you, hugging you with so much warmth and love you almost sobbed right then and there.

He snuggled his face against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent he missed so dearly while he was away. “We have so much to catch up on.” You say so quietly that he almost lost your words if it wasn’t for you being directly near his ear. He hums in affirmation, cherishing the long awaited reunion with his daughter.

“I feel like this is another part where one of us faints again.” Mable says in utter disbelief at the scene that unfolded in front of her. “Ohoh!” Soos laughed out. “I’m so on it, dudes.” As if on command his eyes roll to the back of his head and he faints flat on his back.

HEADCANON TIME!!

• You weren’t really expecting to talk to him much due to Stan wanting to talk to his brother, but after their fight, he came looking for you. When he found you, you were sitting on the couch that was outside on the porch. You were reading a book you recently purchased from the bookstore. Nose deep in your book, you failed to realize Ford standing beside you. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trench coat. Quietly he asked, “Is there room for one more?”

• The night was spent with the two of you getting to know each other. From your favorite color to your favorite show, what food you like to eat and so on. Ford wanted to fully understand and know you as a person. He wanted to make up all the years he lost with you.

• The next day, you awoke to the smell of your favorite breakfast food being cooked. With haste you pushed your blanket off of you and slipped on your slippers and sped off into the kitchen where Ford was buttering the pan. He looked over to you and flashed you a smile. “I made you your favorite.” He said, motioning over to the table where he laid out your breakfast. “You didn’t have to do this.” You scratched your cheek, a small laugh of surprise leaving you. “I’m just doing what I always dreamed of doing.” He shoveled out his breakfast onto his plate using a spatula. “How’s the food, kiddo?” He asks, placing the pan and spatula on the dirty side of the sink. “Actually pretty good for someone who hasn't been in this dimension for over a decade!” You jest, taking another delicious bite from your breakfast. Ford jokingly rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and sat down on his chair. “Already poking fun at me.” He said, shaking his head.

• Stanford knew he had to focus on his projects, he had so many things he left unfinished that he'd been dying to get his hands on the minute he stepped foot into his dimension. But he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from you. He loved seeing you interact with the twins, he loved watching how pieces of his personality shone through you. Like the way you’re so meticulous with where you put things, or how you were forever curious about the things around you, and even the abundance of questions you’d mutter to yourself as you discovered something new. That’s all of him right there, in front of him and he couldn’t grasp such a thought that you were his!

• He finds himself gazing upon baby photos Stan took of you when you were younger. Even if he’s angry at his twin currently, he’s forever grateful that he documented such beautiful memories in a scrapbook. “Y’know, I used to tell stories about you to her.” A shriek leaves Ford. He jumps forward, the scrapbook tumbling down his lap and onto the floor. “You idiot! Be careful.” Stan sneered, kneeling down to the floor to pick up the scrapbook. “Stanley!” Ford leans his head back, trying to regain his composure. “You scared me!” He says. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Stan waves him off, grabbing the scrapbook and tucking it in between his arms. They stand in awkward silence, eyes darting around the place uneasily. “Did…” Ford starts, shattering the silence. “Did she like the stories you told of me?” Stan smiles fondly, nodding his head. “She loved them. She thought you were some stupid amazing superhero, no matter what I told her.” Ford furrowed his brows. “Wait, what do you mean by no matter what you told her?” Stan nervously laughed. “Hey, why don’t you keep looking at these photos! Wait here, look at this one. Haha! She’s trying to eat her toes, isn’t that adorable?” “Stanley.”

• Outings between the two of you were very common. He loved being tugged around the town of Gravity Falls by you as you pointed at various different shops and locations. You told him the reasons why you hated them or loved them, and some were tied to stories that happened within the summer. He seriously questioned how you and the twins survived so many times where you were just so close to death. The mall was a place where you and him resided the most. With the money he took from Stan, he paid for almost everything you wanted. Entering the shack with so many bags was a shock to everyone. “Woah! Did you buy the whole mall?” Mable jokes, grabbing one of the bags to help you with the load. “Basically,” you laughed, instructing Mable to rally Soos and Dipper to have a little haul of what you bought. Stan watched with a raised brow as you stumbled into the living room with Mable following closely behind. “Where did you get all the money to buy her all of that?” Stan asks. “Just stole some money from some hobo.” Ford said, walking into the living room to join in on the haul. Stan didn’t understand what he said and opened the cash register. When he saw all the money he had stored the day before gone, it all clicked.

• Adventures out in the woods is a must. Gathering the twins and your dad, all four of you venture out into the woods in hopes to find something new. “Why couldn’t Grunkle Stan tag along with us?” Mable asked as she kneeled down to pluck a flower from the dirt. “Because he’s being a wet towel.” Dipper muttered, scribbling down a rough drawing of the flower Mable was picking in a book you bought him. “So what kind of anomalies you three stumbled upon?” Ford questioned. You and the twins began to dump everything onto him, from when you started seeing them to when Dipper and Mable came. Ford couldn’t truly focus on what they were saying, mostly because it was a jumbled excited mess of words, but partially because he was astonished with the trio in front of him. They went through so much and yet they’re still so headstrong. He could definitely see a little bit of him in Dipper and Mable.

• Stan would find you and Ford fallen asleep on the couch or in his lab, all huddled up together and completely knocked out. Snores filled the room and he found it amusing that you and him both snores the same. Videos and photos were definitely taken by Mable.

• Ford would tell stories of his adventures in another dimension to you. Stemming from how he started from the ground up to him getting banned from many other dimensions for stealing parts. “You’re not so different from Uncle Stan,” You laughed, shaking your head. “What! It was only a few…hundred dimensions.”

• There’s times where you’d wake up in a cold sweat, afraid that your Dad finally coming back was just a painful dream your brain played on you. But when you would get ready to find him, you’d step on his stomach or back. “Ough!” Ford groaned out in pain. Being suddenly woken up from his sleep, he sat up, looking around confused. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor?” You sat back down on your bed, pulling the blankets over you. “Is there a problem with me sleeping on the floor?” Ford asks, looking at you with squinted eyes. “No, no.” You laid back down on your bed. “Go back to sleep. I’m better now,” You say, somewhat amused with Ford sleeping on the floor beside your bed. “Goodnight, I love you.” You brush your fingers playfully across his face to annoy him. He shoves your fingers away from his face, huffing out. “Goodnight,” He shuffles to his side, looking up to you with a small smile. “I love you more, kiddo.”

[ivysprophecy]

I'll Be Damned

an: ummm @kimoralov3 gave me a request and we both decided i needed to write it immediately. sorry if its a little whorish LOL. the actual request is from a tumblr post TAGGED HERE AND I WILL TAG THE CREATOR @wttcsms i wanna make sure credit is given where its due. also i got SO CARRIED AWAY the longest thing ive ever written LOL and i started this so long ago i think the original post got deleted, whoops.

warnings: talks about conservative/strict/religious upbringing, purity rings, mentions of weed, loss of virginity, protected sex, mentions of not being on contraceptives, religious talk, mdni 18+, oral fem!recieving

word count: 4373

you were no saint, that much was certain. god knows if your parents knew you were alone in a boys room with said boy theyd have your head on a stick.

especially if they knew that boy was jj maybank.

your parents werent bad people by any means, they knew not to judge someone based on things out of their control. but in their defense jj had made some questionable choices.

but that was part of his appeal. his charm was his impulsivity, his wit, his knack for excitement.

how he'd decided youd be good friends you have no idea but you couldnt be happier that he had.

or else you wouldnt be sitting in his bed at the chateau with him as he smoked a joint and watched whatever sit com you were currently binging together.

"can I ask you something?" he blurted out of nowhere, his eyes still trained on the small television screen.

your head whipped in his direction at his cautious tone, "shoot," you said curiously. why did he sound so worried?

had you done something wrong?

"whats that ring? on your pinky finger..." he motions with a nod of his head down to your hand that was sitting in your lap, "i know you said its a family thing. does it have a meaning or something?"

oh boy. i hate this talk.

"its uh... its a purity ring... my dad gave it to me at my confirmation last year," he almost choked on his own spit.

"a- a purity ring? i know you said you were religious but damn- i thought those were some kind of fallacy..."

"im so proud of you! you just used 'fallacy' correctly in a sentence!" you said with an exaggerated sense of excitement hoping to change the subject.

you hated being judged for your ring. you saw the looks from boys when they saw it, if they knew what it was. girls teasing you for being a prude.

when in reality it wasnt much of a choice. rationally, you know having sex wouldnt send you into the fiery pits of hell. rationally, you knew that in your faith, heaven was created for sinners who had earned forgiveness and preached love and prosperity and worshipped God. but irrationally... what if your parents were right? your faith was important to you, a key part of how you were raised. you didnt want to become a disappoint by giving into temptation.

but late at night when a certain blond snuck into your thoughts... you wanted to give in. badly.

"i wasnt judging you, i was just a lil shocked alright? i didnt know you were that serious about all that," hed held up his hands in defense trying to calm your nerves on the sensitive subject.

"honestly?" you turn to face him with a shameful look on your face, a pink hue covering your cheeks perfectly, "sometimes i dont think i am. or- that my values and beliefs dont really line up like that."

"what do you mean?"

"just that. i dont think purity matters THAT much ya know? and forgiveness is there for a reason. that having sex doesnt mean im not a good person. right?"

jj chuckled lowly, "mama if that were true id be considered down right satanic."

you couldnt hide your laughter after his comment either. hes just so infectious. clearly with the way thoughts of him had been invading your mind lately.

"its not just that- then the insecurity comes along with it, even if i changed my mind everyone already knows about it. no guy would ever wanna sleep with me. unless its some kind of weird kink thing and i dont think my religion should be fetishized-"

"are you kidding me?"

"um... no? im not really comfortable with that-"

"no- mama-" jj shook his head in his hands, "there are plenty of guys that would wanna sleep with you. not just for some creepy kink."

"name one," you said seriously. because seriously, who the fuck would wanna sleep with you? not a single person has ever shown real interest in you ever-

"me."

shut the fuck up. he said that so confidently?! hello?!

your eyes widen with shock, "p-pardon?!"

"i didnt stutter right? i said pretty clearly that i want to have sex with you-" you clamped a hand over jj's mouth instinctively. praying that john b hadnt heard his friends loud proclamation across the hall.

"i heard you the first time!" you whispered, your tone stern.

jjs eyes gestured to the hand on his mouth as if to say 'move please so i can speak'. part of you didnt want to move your hand, partially because of what he might say, and the other because touching him kinda felt nice. in anyway you could.

haphazardly, you decide to remove your hand from his face, your face still showing your disbelief.

"why are you so confused? you asked a question and i answered it-"

"because i- well i didnt expect that from you. and i dont need a pitty fuck if thats what youre trying to say because thats even more pathetic."

"okay none of that- no maam," jj interrupts me shaking his head, "im not gonna listen to you talk about yourself like youre completely undesirable. because thats so fucking unbelievable."

his face, on rare occasion, is utterly serious. oh my dear god he really did wanna sleep with me...

lord if this is a test i want to assure you this not a battle you wanna give me. im not your strongest soldier because i will fold faster than a lawn chair.

"youre serious??"

"do i look like im jokin? do i have a mic in my hands? is there an audiance i dont see? cause im not a fucking comedian. im being for real."

what are you supposed to do now? like actually? do you kiss him? no one prepared you for what to do in this situation.

"okay listen- you look pretty freaked out. im not saying we have to or anything im just saying... ive thought about it ya know? youre gorgeous and were close so i just thought maybe youve thought about it too."

well here goes nothing, "i have. thought about it i mean. a lot."

"oh really?" that made jjs brows quirk up and a smirk plaster across his face. he always has to be so smug, "is that so?"

"dont do that!"

"do what?" he questioned.

your cheeks flush in embarrassment, "make me feel like this is so easy. because it isnt."

"but it could be," jj pauses the tv before looking directly in your eyes, meaning business, "you just said that this is what you want right? im right here offering it to you so whats stopping you?"

you took a deep, shaky breath at his words. you really didnt wanna sound like a crazy person but being scared of sex was normal right? especially with your best friend of all people.

there were so many reasons not to do this.

"honestly? im scared. scared of what that would mean for us, scared of actually doing this. scared of... a lot of things. im a chicken. a big fat crazy chicken."

he couldnt help but laugh at your words. thinking 'what the fuck is she on?'

and part of him knew hed have to talk you off the ledge if you were gonna do this, but hes willing to work for it. work for you.

"mama listen to me. we can be whatever the hell you want us to be, youre my girl whether we're just friends or my head is between your legs. and as for the other part- id never ever hurt you m'kay? if you wanna do this i promise id go as slow as you want. you set the pace, ill be gentle. but im not trynna make you do this."

oh my god jj maybank just gave you 'the speech'.

and youre sitting here with all of your clothes still on.

"and lets say i do... wanna do this... you really want this? like this isnt out of pity or curiosity or anything?"

"maybe im not making myself clear. y/n. i wanna have any and every part of you that you'll let me."

holy shit okay... yeah okay. this is really happening.

you try to scramble for the words caught in your throat, "okay.. h-how do i do this? what if i do it bad?"

"youre not gonna 'do it bad'," he chuckles through his words, one of his hands sliding onto your thigh, "look ill guide you through it okay? we'll go slow... i promise."

"that sounds...nice."

"i sure hope so," he chuckled softly, "otherwise we wouldnt be doing it... and if you wanna stop just tell me okay?

all you could was nod and watch as he moved so he was hovering over you and you were laid flat against his bed.

"i need to hear you say it mama..." his face was so close to yours you could barely muddle up a whisper in response giving him a small 'yes' before finally feeling his lips press into yours.

it wasnt anything like you thought it would be. it was... gentle, sweet, tender in the most romantic way.

but you could tell he was holding back...

your hands found the nape of his neck and quickly pulled him closer, needing more of him. wanting him to show you what its really like, not some pussy foot version.

his lips travelled further down to your jaw... to your neck... to your collar bone...

"can i take this off?" there was a small tug at the hem of your shirt, his eyes pleading with you, begging even.

you sat up almost immediately, helping him pull it over your head, and just like that his eyes were glued to your chest.

the pink on your cheeks intensified to a red at the sight, at first you were thinking of the worst case scenario. that hed changed his mind, the they didnt look right, that you werent as appealing as hed assured you.

his hands instinctively reached out but he stopped himself, unsure if he was moving too fast, doing too much.

"gorgeous..." his eyes were wide with excitement, raw and unfiltered. the inside of his mouth salivating at the sight of your braless body. "can i touch you? please god- ill pray if it means i can."

the laugh that escaped you was just as unashamed as his pleas, "yea. yea jay you can touch me," you wanted laugh more. aware that hes being considerate of your feelings but it was almost stupid how badly you wanted this.

he quickly pulled his shirt over his head before diving back in to kiss you, his hands gently kneading at your breasts. you were a bit disappointed you didnt get to ogle at him like he had you, but youd seen him without a shirt enough times at the beach to satisfy curiosity.

"jj-"

his head whipped up so fast from trailing gently little kisses across the swell of your breasts, a worried expression crossing his face. "you okay baby? need me to stop?"

"no- no i just... you can keep going. i need more. i need you..." your breathing was heavy as were your eyes.

"you sure? im just trynna go slow and make sure youre okay. wanna take care of ya."

"im okay jj... i promise. this is what i want," you meant what you said too. there isnt anyone else youd want to do this with.

he gave me a look, once more chance to back out, before letting a deep rooted sigh out. sounded more like relief than anything.

his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your shorts giving them a firm pull, "these need to go. now."

and he didnt have to tell you twice, within seconds they were unbuttoned and being pulled past your knees and being thrown across the room with abandon.

the giggle that escaped your throat was involuntary as jj pulled you buy your ankles further down the bed so the back of your knees were hanging off the edge of the bed.

"jj! what are you doing??"

"m gonna eat, fucking starving. now spread your legs f’me. wanna see that pretty pink pussy," jj knelt to the ground, threw my legs over his shoulders with urgency, looking down and admiring the view before him. “you’re so fucking perfect…”

you didn’t think someone just talking to you could elicit a moan from you, however jj was always there to challenge you. like right now.

he was peppering small kisses down the inside of your thighs, along the curves of your hips, avoiding where you need him most trying to make you feel appreciated.

he’s doing a good job too.

his thumb gently glides over your sensitive clit with a featherlight touch making me shake with need, the other hand holding your hips against the mattress as you feel his lips finally capture your core and his tongue starts lapping at the bundle of nerves.

your hand flies to his hair gripping it tightly between your fingers eliciting a groan that vibrates through you as his tongue continues to skillfully pull every sound from you and send shocks through your body

theres a feeling of something toying with your entrance delicately, looking down to see him staring up at you with a needy, hungry look in his eyes. you gasp at the feeling, your eyes widening with a nervousness and desperation.

"'s just my finger baby, relax. it wont hurt i promise," he tried to reassure you gently as you nodded.

"feels good... keep going. please."

"yes maam," he smirks up at you before diving back into your slick folds, simultaneously ever-so gently pushing his finger into you beneath his chin.

was it normal to feel so full from just a finger?

holy shit what is it gonna feel like when hes actually inside you??

you tried your best not to think about it to avoid psyching yourself out and just trying to enjoy the feeling. your walls flutter around him and he can feel how close you are already with his finger pumping in and out of you painfully slow as he curls it inside of you.

his face his practically dripping with you when he looks back up at you, "hows it feel mama? talk to me."

your face is scrunched in pleasure as you shake your head quickly, your hands back to gripping the cotton sheets beneath you, "cant," you answer bluntly, out of breath as his finger works your mercilessly. it was the honest truth, the feeling making it hard to think straight, or at all really.

"oh cmon now i believe in you. tell me how good it feels... think you can handle another? youre so close gorgeous, let me help you get there..."

you practically squeal as he presses the second digit into you, the stretch a delicious sting that borders on uncomfortable. but the slickness greatly helps with the discomfort easing it almost instantly as jj keeps his pace consistent, your hips bucking off of the bed as you come apart on his fingers, your juices dripping onto his palm.

"holy shit mama that was so fucking hot... youre so tight," he presses small gentle kisses down your thighs as he talks you through your first orgasm. his forehead resting on your hip as he gathers himself.

it feels like the lack of oxygen has made you dizzy and oddly relaxed from feeling so breathless.

jj maybank just made you come.

jj maybank just gave you your first orgasm.

oh lord am i gonna have to ask for your forgiveness until the day i die. i might die right here right now.

"pretty mama i need you to say something... kinda scaring me," you lift your head off of the pillows to look down where he lays on you, his fingers lightly tracing patterns across your stomach.

"sorry," you run a hand over your face taking a deep breath, "just kind of... i dont know. calming down."

god even his laugh made you quiver.

"we can take a break if you need it- do you want me to grab you a water or someth-" you quickly shut him up by leaning down to kiss him

"i wanna keep going.. jj that was... eye rolling, moan eliciting, mind boggling-ly good. im okay i promise."

"youre killing me here baby-" he looked up at you as his hands roamed your body slowly and aimlessly. feeling comfortable in such a vulnerable state with her. "are you sure?"

you lean to the side diving into the drawer next to his bed where you figured hed have a condom lying around, you guessed correctly.

"stop asking me that, i know youre trying to be sweet but i already told you i want this. im not changing my mind. im not on birth control for obvious reason but-"

a groan from his lips interrupts you, the sound more like a struggled, suppressed moan. his head falling into the crook of your neck. looks like someone has a breeding kink. shouldve guessed it by that nickname.

"ill do whatever you want mama but youre literally naked holding my condom in your hand. im losing self control quickly."

you giggled softly, "youre okay with just the condom?"

"im okay with or without it. god, ill be perfect as long as im inside you."

it was your turn to moan this time as he takes the foil from you, ripping it open between his stupidly cute canine teeth, grinning from ear to ear as he rolls it on almost effortlessly.

watching him you realize it was the first time you could really drink in the sight of him... and how big he was.

"jj- i dont think-" you go to protest before he kisses you softly. so fucking soft for you in every way except for one.

"we'll make it fit," thats the only thing he says before he positions his body to loom over you, your hips meeting each other. his eyes light up and he reaches behind you grabbing an extra pillow. "lift your hips for me baby... good girl."

he adjusts the pillow under your hips comfortably, his hands gripping your hips to lower you then running down your legs to wrap them around his hips.

"i read somewhere that makes it better- for you. i dont know im not a chick. does it feel okay? are you okay?"

you could melt from his words, jj wasnt always great with telling people how he felt but he does one better. he shows them, shows you. always thinking of you and your wellbeing.

"its perfect jay, thank you," you smile up softly at him, "youre perfect."

the blond blushed at your words, placing one hand next to your head so he leans over you to whisper in your ear, probably to also hide how flustered that made him.

"ill go slow i promise... its gonna hurt a little but ill stop when you need me to. and if you wanna stop all together thats okay. youre in control baby. 'm at your mercy."

your hand reaches for stability, finding it tugging at the roots of his blond mop as his hand reaches between the both of you to align him at your entrance. the folds still slick from just moments ago.

hes pressing soft wet kisses to your neck, moving his hips forward just the smallest bit so his tip barely pierces your hole. you suck in sharply as you feel him, feel the pressure, the sting.

your gasp must have scared him, he lifts himself from you to look down at you with concern.

"you okay mama?"

all you can do is nod in response trying to keep your breathing steady. frankly, you didnt think youd be this tight. obviously hes not the size of your ultra big tampons but still. you were a bit naive.

"just let me know if you need me to stop... but you gotta relax or it wont fit. trust me, ill go easy on you but you gotta breathe babe. let yourself relax... im right here."

you nodded again, maybe it was lame but you were so focused on how he felt against you, you could barely speak.

taking another deep breathe you urge his hips forward with your ankles wrapped around them, and the sting intensifies as his tip finally goes inside of you, and you were already clenching around him.

hard enough that his arms wobbled for a slight second.

"shit mama, youre so fucking tight," he sighs in ecstasy, "jesus- stop clenching around me or ill blow like a two pump chump."

that got a chuckle out of you, even though he was completely serious. the sting goes away slowly, and you press kisses down his neck to calm yourself. you wanted your lips on every inch of his body.

"keep going," you begged, your voice abnormally high and breathy.

"there you go baby, made it through the hardest part. see? its not so bad... im right here baby."

he moves his hips forward again, and you felt another inch push into you. god how did you already feel so full?

and then another inch. and another.

how fucking big is he?

"jesus jj- so full... 's too much-" you whine, your hands clinging onto his shoulders, your polished nails pressing into his skin.

"need me to stop?"

you thought for a moment before shaking your head, "no.. need more. feels so good."

and with that he pushed himself all the way to hilt, fully pressed inside your sopping wet cunt. you moan loudly, forgetting john b is just down the hall in the living room.

jj presses his lips to yours, capturing them so your tongues meet in the middle, making every thought poof from your head. youve dreamed of this moment so many times and you know youre lucky that the first time feels just as good as the fantasy, if not better.

"move, jay i need you to move... please for the love god move your hips."

he moaned into your ear before pulling back and push back into you, again and again, setting a steady pace that was safe for the both of you. safe for you because he didnt want to hurt you, and safe for him because he didnt want to come in the next two minutes.

with your head thrown back on the bed, jj begins pressing kisses across your jaw, down your neck, focusing on the sweet spots he found before. making his way down to your collar bone, your chest rising and falling drastically as he continues to pump in and out of your swollen pussy.

and finally he makes it to your breasts, beautiful and full and ready for some attention, hips lips latch around one nipple while his free hand rolls the other between his fingers teasingly.

"so fucking perfect, so fucking mine," he grumbled against your chest before switching places. he pulls off of you with a pop, a sudden idea popping into his head.

his hips fastening their pace as he looks down at the ring on your finger, before taking your hand in his, and pulling that purity ring off.

your eyes widen as you watch him carefully, watching to see what he will do as he inspects it. or at least trying to as his hips slam into yours.

he takes his necklace off, and hooking the ring onto the string before tying it back onto his neck and leaning forward back the way he was. hovering over you, and now your purity ring, thats no longer needed, dangles in front of you like a taunt.

"dont need that," he whispers in your ear quickening his pace as he feels you clenching around him, so fucking wet for him you can hear the pornographic sounds of wet skin slapping against each other. only adding fuel to your fire, "wear it so everyone knows who you fucking belong to. youre mine, y/n. say it."

oh god.

"yours," you can barely speak without moaning, "yours jay."

he slips a hand between you, his thumb working your clit perfectly as he pounds into you pushing you to the edge of another orgasm.

"yea. youre mine? coming around my cock baby, youre squeezin me to death, you gonna cover me in your cum? yea?"

you squeal at the feeling, his words, everything, this is so perfectly overwhelming. you moan, almost scream, coming again just like he said.

and hes not far behind you, driving into you before you feel him twitch inside of you, spilling into the condom shuddering around you, trying not to collapse on you.

"holy-"

"shit," you chuckle finishing his though as another ripple passes through his muscles, he pulls out and you instantly feel empty, squeezing to find something that isnt there anymore.

he lays next to you with a very satisfied smile on his face.

more like a smirk really.

"ill be damned," you smile deliriously, turning to look at him, "jj that was... i couldnt have had a better first experience. seriously..."

"glad you enjoyed it mama," he wraps an arm around you pulling him into a chest as he starts to breathe normally, his heartbeat still racing though. "you okay?"

"im perfect jay... i loved it."

"well id be happy to be of service whenever youd like-" he teases.

you slap at his chest playfully, moving to wrap a leg around his before realizing how sore you were. and soaked. he sits up almost immediately seeing your hesitation.

"let me get something to clean you up..." he grabs his boxers pulling them back on to grab a warm wet cloth from the bathroom, crouching to clean you carefully and gently.

girls at school werent lying, aftercare was arguably the best part.

he treated you with such care and so much love that it didnt matter whatever anxiety you carried from what just transpired, you were happy you did it. even if it was with your best friend.