#absurd. ridiculous. disgusting

[yangjeongin]

HYUNJIN | 241208 • S-CLASS @ DOMINATE OSAKA

[awesomecooperlove]

👿👿👿

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless��

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[moonmaiden1996]

There's a Dog in My Spot

Astarion catches you in bed with with someone else. Humour

The soft glow of the campfire had long since faded, leaving the world swathed in a serene, quiet darkness. the last embers of the fire softly curling in the gentle wind. The night should have been peaceful—ideal for restful slumber or perhaps something more mischievous.

Astarion had been on a hunt, reveling in the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of finding a particularly robust boar. Its blood was rich, leaving him warm and feeling slightly frisky. Frisky enough to perhaps to indulge in a little rump in your bedroll tonight. He made his way back to camp, eager to spend the night in the company of his beloved partner-in-crime.

But instead of a warm welcome, he found this.

A sharp intake of breath escaped him as his crimson eyes settled on the sight before him. “Absolutely unacceptable,” he muttered, his voice slicing through the still night like a dagger.

You stirred, cracking one eye open groggily. “Huh… what?”

“This!” Astarion hissed, gesturing dramatically toward the foot of your bedroll while tapping his foot with exaggerated impatience. “This betrayal of the highest order!”

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you blinked blearily, trying to follow his gaze. It led you to Scratch, who lay blissfully curled up, tail twitching in his sleep.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice heavy with sleep.

He crossed his arms, looking affronted. “Your furry companion has claimed my spot—right there.” He jabbed a finger at the space beside you. “My place, darling. Mine. I can hardly believe my eyes.”

Still half-asleep, you blinked again. “Astarion, it’s just Scratch. He’s warm, and he was already here when I laid down.”

“That is no excuse!” he declared, his tone sharp and faintly wounded. “I step away for a mere moment—one!—and suddenly, I’m replaced in your bed by a mangy mutt? What’s next? A bear? A snake? Or…” He shuddered dramatically. “Even worse, Gale?”

Suppressing a laugh, you sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not,” he insisted, clutching his chest as though he’d been gravely injured. “I’m simply pointing out the sheer audacity of this situation. And look at him! He doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty!”

Scratch, oblivious to the chaos, let out a soft snore and stretched his paws, clearly unbothered.

Your lips twitched as you fought to keep from laughing. “If it bothers you that much, why don’t you just move him?”

Astarion shot the sleeping dog a look of disdain mingled with reluctant hesitation. “Move him? Me? With my hands? Darling, he drools.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up fully. “Fine. I’ll move him.”

“Absolutely not,” Astarion said quickly, stepping forward as though to stop you. “You’ve done quite enough damage by letting this happen in the first place. I’ll… handle it.”

Lowering himself into a crouch, he reached out, poking Scratch’s side with the utmost delicacy. “You. Yes, you, fur-covered usurper. Off you go.”

Scratch stirred, blinking awake before wagging his tail with unbridled enthusiasm. In a display of canine affection, he licked Astarion’s outstretched hand, earning a strangled noise of horror.

“Ugh! Disgusting!” Astarion recoiled, wiping his hand furiously on his trousers as though he’d been branded. He turned to glare at you, as if this entire ordeal was your fault. “I’ll need to disinfect thoroughly after this.”

Despite his protests, Scratch eventually rose, stretching lazily before padding a few steps away to settle down once more with a contented yawn.

“There,” Astarion said, standing and dusting off his hands as though he’d performed a monumental task. “Crisis averted.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re absurd. You know that, right?”

“Am I?” he asked, sliding gracefully into the now-vacant spot beside you. “Or am I simply a man who understands his worth?” He flashed you a smug smirk, leaning back with all the self-satisfaction of someone who had just triumphed over a formidable foe.

Smiling, you laid back down, tugging the blanket over both of you. “You’re something, all right.”

“Something irresistible,” he quipped, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, nestling against him. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

His voice softened, his earlier indignation melting away as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, my darling.”

Nearby, Scratch let out another snore, causing Astarion to sigh in exasperation. “But truly, the audacity of that dog…”

You only smiled, drifting off to sleep, content in the knowledge that both your vampire and your canine were exactly where they belonged.

Sooooo- What do you think? I am loving writing these cute little fics. As always LIKE.COMMENT.REVIEW. If you have a request make sure to leave anything you want to see.

[planitiautopia]

fucking absurd that the high level of suicides of trans mascs is treated as some isolated thing caused by fragility of our feminine psyche or seen as “they did it to themselves” and not as a direct result of oppression and a failure of communal support. we’re not protected by cis ppl’s weaponised transmisogyny, actually; transphobes don’t want to “save us” by degendering us - they are preventing us from transitioning, taking away our support and autonomy, and killing us all the same. and y’all are helping them by believing their disgusting lies and spreading this shit in the community, literally dismissing and ridiculing us for saying that. do fucking better maybe

[ayaahh00]

It’s so hilarious how men want to play the victim now as feminism reaches more women and we recognize the long history of oppression against us, they’re trying to claim victimhood. Men trying to make “Misandry” happen which isn't real because women address systemic and social misogyny. Women have the right to express disdain and disgust towards their oppressors. And comparing incels, angry hateful revolting men who fantasize about violence and abuse against women to women who choose not to be in relationships and calling them "femcels" is absurd. When they’re faced with facts, they have no real rebuttal so they rely on ridiculous arguments and rhetorics to cope. In a patriarchal world, neither misandry nor femcels exist. The entitlement of men expecting to be treated as victims is both laughable and sad.

[thought--bubble]

Things We Cannot Change

Dark Aemond X (Strong Niece Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 1,938

Aemond (Canon Era) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners & Dividers by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Reader's hair is brown. That's the only descriptor due to the request received, Breeding kink, Targcest, Virginity Loss. Mental abuse, mentions of character deaths.

On your knees.

A place you thought you would never be, but alas here you are. On your knees looking up at the cold, cruel face of your uncle.

Once a boy you played with, read with, considered a friend. Now, he holds the life of your youngest brother in his hands. The only member of your family you have left.

"I ask you, Aemond-" He interrupts you with a cruel chuckle.

"King Aemond, my dear"

You cringe at the title. The war that ravaged both of your families put him on that throne. The thought of all you had lost made you sick.

"I ask you, your grace, to please spare my brother and I. There are so few of valyrian blood left." You keep your head bowed, your knees aching against the cold stone beneath them.

The both of you go quiet, you could still smell your mothers burning flesh, hear her screams as she was scorched and eaten alive in front of your very eyes. All for nothing, you thought. Your entire family is dead for Aemond to be the one to ascend the throne.

Your mother had been executed immediately, no court, no trial, just a woman and a dragon. Aegon II had demanded that you be executed as well, but luckily for you, he did not survive the trip back to the capital. Thus, your younger brother and you had been delivered to Aemond as traitors.

Followers of the false queen is what Aegon II had called you. Worthy of a public execution.

"On that front, we can agree bastard" He places his fingers delicately under your chin and tilts your face up towards him.

"I fear that dragon riders may become a thing that history boasts about if we are not careful in our decisions." He rubs his thumb gently across your bottom lip.

"So you and I shall marry, to preserve the bloodline," you audibly gasp at the absurd statement. You were now a mere strong bastard not fit to be queen.

"B-but your grace, I have been stripped of all royal titles. Surely I am not worthy to marry the King"

"You are not." he says curtly."But, preserving our dragon blood is of higher importance than that of courtly titles." He removes his hand from your chin and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The choice is yours, dear niece. Marry me or face the blade. If not to breed you, I have no further use of you."

You gulp audibly as your eyes begin to well. "I shall serve my duty to the realm your grace."

The betrothal was announced to the realm with mixed reactions. Some houses understand the reasoning others are very upset that a bastard would be queen and not one of their highborn daughters.

All concerns fell upon deaf ears because Aemond knew what he wanted, and he wanted you. As king, he would have exactly what he wanted.

Your life changed very little after the announcement of the betrothal. You were given chambers instead of being in the dungeons, but you were not trusted.

You were escorted everywhere you went, and the incoming title of Queen did little to garner you any respect.

Everyone knew what you were. A vessel to breed valyrian blooded babies and nothing more.

What was worse was the embarrassment.

Aemond made sure to embarrass you at any opportunity. He would have you serve him at meal times instead of servants. Pull his bath for him. Even perform his ridiculous hair care routine. All of it meant to demean you.

You had hoped that after the wedding, he would stop this disgusting showcase and allow you at least a modicum of comfort, but even in that thought, you were mistaken.

After the two of you had been escorted to your marriage chambers and left alone, Aemond ordered you to pour his wine and stand in the corner. Once again, as if you were a servant and the treatment had finally become too much for you to bare.

"I'll take the sword," you say after moments of silence have fallen between you.

"Pardon?" Aemond lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

"I will take the sword, i do not wish to live this way for years and years." You stand with conviction. "I ask only that you spare Aegon so that he might have children in the future."

Aemond chuckles and sips his wine. "The offer has expired, dear wife. You are mine now, to toy with as I please."

"I was kind to you!" The words almost echo throughout the room. The connotation is clear.

"You were." He simply nods and continues to look into your eyes, no clear expression on his face.

"Then why do you treat me like this? Like a-" You search your mind for the words but come up empty.

"Like a traitor? Because you are a traitor. You knew the laws of the world in which you live. You did not at any time attempt to talk my dear sister out of war, did you?" He stands up from his chair and stalks towards you.

"My sister Helaena took her own life, my nephews murdered in the cruelest of fashions." His breath is heavy as he glares at you with his one eye. "You were complicit in their deaths. How should i treat you?"

"As if I lost nothing? You killed Luke. You weren't complicit in it. You did it with your own hand!" You can feel your rage bubbling up in your chest and try to suppress it to no avail.

"You killed Rhaenys and Daemon. There is far more dragon blood on your hands than mine. " You regret the words as soon as you say them, expecting his wrath to be swift and harsh.

He clicks his tongue and looks away from you. "That may be true, but there will not be anymore dragon blood spilled by me. Least of all yours."

He walks toward you but stops when he sees you backing away from him and sighs. "There are things we can not change. The war. The losses we suffered." He continues to advance on you but moves much more slowly.

"Although I believe I can change this, your fear of me."

"I am not afraid." You attempt to sound convincing, yet the shake to your voice gives you away.

"Let me try," He says gently as he gets close enough to cup your face. "This needn't be a marriage filled with fear and hate. We are all that is left of the house of the dragon. Let us rebuild, together"

Your heart cramps in your chest at his words and soft demeanor. This is the Aemond you remember. The boy who was always gentle with you, kind. Not the monster who murdered your brother and countless others in a ruthless pursuit for the throne.

"I have known fear. I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days being the cause of yours." He presses his forehead to yours and kisses the tip of your nose.

"Will you stop? The public shaming?" A tear trickles down your cheek at the thought of continuing to live in this manner. The abuses mounting, the shame unbearable.

"Yes. twill not happen again." He takes your face in his hands and lifts until your eyes meet. "This i swear."

He gently kisses your cheek where the tears have started to fall.

"We have all shed enough tears for a thousand lifetimes." He wipes a tear from your other cheek with his thumbs. "No more."

He pulls you close to his chest, gently swaying from side to side. "Shhh." He tries to comfort you as he strokes your hair.

He very softly brings his lips to yours and whispers. "Let me be more than the monster, I implore you."

You press your lips to him in desperation. Do you love him? No.

Will you ever truly trust or forgive him? Most likely not, but you want to feel something. Anything other than the dull ache that you have carried in your chest since the day Luke died.

If Aemond was aware of your true feelings, he did not let on. He reciprocated your neediness with hungry kisses of his own before lifting you and carrying you over to the bed chamber.

"I always wanted you to be my wife," He admits between kisses. "Always"

You choose not to respond, instead pulling at his clothes. He drops you down onto the bed and rucks up your skirts. Pulling your small clothes down quickly.

"Close your eyes," He whispers huskily, kissing up your inner thigh. You comply with his demands, closing your eyes and turning your mind off. Surrendering entirely to the physical sensations you are experiencing.

He brings his hand to your heat, pushing you open before bringing his tongue down upon you. The feeling is overwhelming at first, and you can't help but cry out.

He tightly grips your thigh as he nudges his nose against your clit, running his tongue along your tight entrance. Never before have you felt something like this and as if your body is controlled by an invisible force your hips buck up towards his face.

He chuckles and grips your hips, holding you in place. "Patience my love, patience" He circles your clit with his tongue, the gentle flicking driving you to near madness.

"Oh gods," you bite your bottom lip as an unfamiliar pressure builds up in your lower stomach. "Aemond!" You clench at the bedsheets beneath you, the breath tight in your lungs as a searing fire moves throughout your entire being.

"Gods!" You arch your back as the feeling hits a peak before dropping back on the bed, your breath coming out in short huffs.

Aemond chuckles as he removes his breeches his hard cock slapping against his stomach. "Im going to fill you with my babes and everything will be better."

He moves on top of you prodding your entrance with the tip of his cock. "Hold onto me, this may hurt for just a moment" He warns, gentleness in his voice.

You head his warning, wrapping your hands around his back, as he begins to push into you, the stretch painful, not excruciatingly so but shocking nonetheless.

"eeeek," you can't help the slight screech that escapes your throat.

"Shhhh, it is alright." He comforts while he continues pushing into you until his hips meet yours.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his breathing labored.

You are ok. The pain, the fullness. It is something, and after so long of feeling nothing, the something, even if it is pain, is relieving.

He thrusts his hips against you, steadily increasing his pace. "You will be with child soon. We will be happy then, " He huffs.

You close your eyes and hold his head to you as he buries his face in your neck gently kissing at the sensitive skin there, and for the first time since the war began you feel calm.

His grip on you tightens as he buries himself to the hilt in you again. "We will be happy. we will" he grunts into your ear as the pressure once again builds up in your lower stomach.

As the two of you reach your peaks together, trembling and smiling you allow yourself to believe.

Even if just for a moment. That he is right. He is telling the truth.

That even after so much death and loss, the house of the dragon can stand tall and be happy once again.

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[bits-and-babs]

𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒 – 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

↳ summary: miguel has an issue with the performance and comfortability of his suit. he feels he's found a suitable solution– but he can't tell you.

↳ pairing: pervy!miguel o'hara x f!reader

↳ content: 18+ MDNI. SMUT. pervy!miguel, sneaking into your home, panty stealing, miguel wears your panties, (m) masturbation, masturbating in your panties, a little dirty talk, imagines p in v sex with reader.

miguel masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Disgust coats Miguel's tongue in a kind of rancid film, his lashes fluttering closed as he tries to breathe through the turbulence of the unhinged thoughts that bounce in his skull. Of all the ideas he'd contemplated to make the suit a little easier to wear, this was by far the most demented.

The delicate, silky midnight fabric of your high-cut thong had sprung to mind late at night, sleep ebbing at the edges of his consciousness and poisoning his ethics. He'd noticed them the last time he saw you, the elasticated straps that framed your hips peeking over the denim waistband of your jeans when you bent over to collect some papers from his office floor. It's as though the image had imprinted itself on his brain's grey, swirling surface and seared into his retinas.

Friends, Miguel he had to remind himself consistently. You were his friend. Friends don't steal other friends' panties.  

Frankly, this ridiculous plot had all come about thanks to the absurd skin-tight suit Miguel consistently afflicted himself with. His excuse for invading your privacy was aerodynamics. The smoother the outline of the suit, the quicker he'd swing from his webbing... Or so he told himself. It was a perfectly reasonable excuse, as far as his bias was concerned. 

The temptation was intolerable. Of course, getting a thong was easy enough– Miguel could buy them from the mall with the excuse of wanting to see an imaginary girlfriend in them or order them online if it embarrassed him too much. But the debauched notion of wearing your panties, the kind you wore and smelt like you, drove him crazier than he could ever admit. 

He hadn't been able to stave off the desire for very long. Some forty-eight hours later, Miguel found himself snatching the object of desire from your laundry basket, blanketed by the pitch blackness of the dead of night. Driven by this repulsive need, he'd retreated to his office almost as swiftly as he had entered your home, careful to conceal evidence of his presence. All items had been placed back neatly while Miguel scoured for your thong, and he'd pulled your bedroom window back to its original position, open just a crack. 

Thoughts of your silhouette, framed only by the panties in his hand and their matching bra, had carried Miguel home. He'd been rock hard by the time he'd stumbled back into the office, practically ripping the lycra-like material from his body to slip the panties on. 

So here he stood, spider-suit a crimson and midnight blue pool at his feet, naked in the mirror beside the panties that barely stretched across his ample hips. His thick, muscular thighs looked even wider when paired with the dainty lingerie and the dark trail of hair that sparsely scattered his lower abdomen looked far prettier when decorated like this.

Miguel's eyes slid over the silky fabric against his smooth, tanned skin. The silk canvas barely contained the base of his cock and his balls, straining over the ample flesh he'd managed to stuff into the already limited, thin cloth. The scalloped straps of the thongs dug into his hips, little diamonte hearts encrusted by the base of the chords– he hadn't noticed them until now, his cheeks warming as he studied them in the mirror. 

The sheer mass of Miguel's frame was far too large for the undergarment, the elasticated waistband stretched across the shaft of his cock, so it rested against his stomach, erect. The ruddy tip of his swollen head leaked creamy pre-cum against his abdomen at the consistent pressure, throbbing weakly when Miguel passed his eyes over it.

"Hng-" he huffed a breath through his nostrils, the sound almost a wheeze. Fuck, he could smell you on them, the musky scent of your sex. Miguel can't contain the monster, his palm tracing over the outline of his cock. The fabric is stretched so thin against his dick that he can see it twitch, the engorged vein that extends across the arch of him evident in his reflection. 

"D-Dios-" Miguel moans softly, watching precum drip from his swollen tip onto the dark fabric of your underwear. Running his thumb over the head of his cock, Miguel smears his spend over the velvety skin and watches the muscles of his abdomen spasm with the intense pleasure that spidered across his nerves. 

"Oh fuck, pretty baby," he whispers, tracing the crescents arches of his nails over his clothed length, babbling to himself as he relishes your scent, imagining tasting you. "Want your pretty pussy on my face..."

Miguel's hand quickly grasps the mirror's frame, his knees threatening to collapse beneath the weight of his bliss. He's drooling precum now, steady dribbles leaking down into the elasticated waistband and trailing across his knuckles. Fuck fuck fuck– would you be as tight as your panties felt on him? Would you squeeze him like this? 

Pushing his thumb beneath the seam of your thong, Miguel lifts the waist of the lingerie upwards. Shuddering breaths heaved from his ribcage, bracing as he lets the stretchy band slip from his digit. 

It snaps back onto his pulsing cock with a 'crack', the stinging sensation from the impact rocking down the length of his spine as Miguel rubbed the flat of his palm across the flushed head. His jaw falls loose, vermillion irises rolling back into his skull.

"Hhah- fuuuckkk– gonna cum-" he choked out into the emptiness of his office, quickly snapping the fabric onto his length again. "Gonna fuckin' cum–"

Miguel's eyelids flutter, almost missing the lurch of his dick. Cum spurts from the tip, splattering across the reflective surface of the mirror, painting ribbons of creamy white across his bronzed skin. It seeps into the midnight blue of your panties, darker blotches oozing into the silk as he rocks his hips into his touch. 

When his exceptional vision finally rights itself, Miguel notes the tearstains that streak down his cheeks, wetness clinging to the ebony eyelashes that frame his dilated pupils. He heaves a shuddering exhale, letting out a hoarse scoff at the rakish vision of himself, smeared in cum and wearing his friend's panties. 

Despite the fizzling arousal that singed the edges of his nervous system, Miguel's mind continued to develop images of you. Forever unsatiated, it conjures the depiction of you sprawled across your bed with your cum stained panties balled up and stuffed in your mouth. Your jaw aching, eyebrows stitched together as Miguel's ludicrously thick cock sinks into your tight pussy. Would you tear up, back arching as you attempt to rock your hips further onto him despite the stretch?

Flopping into his desk chair, Miguel covers his eyes with his palm and feels his ravenous cock twitch under the soiled fabric once again. He was pretty confident he'd never return this thong now...

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[sleepymccoy]

“D’you’ve waterfalls on Vulcan?”

Spock’s chair squeaked. McCoy assumed he had turned and glared at him, but didn’t bother to look and find out. He was stretched out across two chairs over the aisle, feet and arms crossed to keep him somewhat balanced. He had his eyes shut and was pretending he was sunning himself on a gorgeous Georgian day. The smashed shuttle window let the wind in and he could just pretend it was sweet like rotting peach. He was calm and carefree, and not waiting for Spock to give up and announce that they were going to die here. 

“Do ya?” McCoy needled.

“Not to the same height one sees on Earth, but yes.”

“But no oceans.”

“No,” Spock said snippily. “No oceans. Why do you ask?”

“Me?” McCoy breathed. “I’m thinking about water.”

“We have water, are you thirsty already?”

“We have a day’s worth of water, it’s yours.”

The chair at the console squeaked again. Spock sighed. “Doctor, I expect I understand you, and I must be clear that I object. Also, the idea is absurd. Also, I-” Spock sighed. “I am your commander, and I- ”

McCoy opened his eyes and looked over at Spock, which for some reason made him quiet. He wasn’t, as it turned out, sunning beautifully in a hay field. He was in a somewhat uncomfortably warm shuttle stuck on a rock that wasn’t going to cool down. 

And Spock was glaring at him. At least that was always true.

“I insist we split the water evenly,” Spock said unconvincingly. 

McCoy pulled his feet off the chair and sat up. “It’s disgusting in here,” McCoy complained. The slight breeze did nothing to make the shuttle cooler, just reminded him that they were exposed to the hot and dry elements. He pulled his blue shirt off and tugged the sleeve of his blacks up to his shoulder to let his skin breathe. 

“You’re from a desert planet,” McCoy said. “No ocean. Shit waterfalls. And you told me about your kalifey, you know how to survive on minimal water. I can’t keep up with that. I’ll be drinking that litre before you’re even thirsty, and I’ll be dead before your throat starts a-tickling. Without me, you can last the week until the Enterprise gets back. With me… giving it to me is a waste.”

“I am not entertaining this,” Spock snapped. “Go check outside.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “You know I’m right,” he said as he stood and went to the door. “I’m gonna have a walk about, see you in a bit.”

“Doctor- ” 

McCoy shut the door. Spock didn’t follow him out, or lean out the broken window to shout at him. Ah, well, that felt a little bit like permission to bugger off.

The sun wasn’t brutal here, but it was without break. It was a ridiculous situation to be in, really. He and Spock had left the conference early, having agreed that the speakers didn’t know a thing that they were talking about. They had nicked off to have a look at the neighbouring planet which was interestingly tidally locked with the sun. Spock wanted to explore the temperate zone for a couple days before the Enterprise was due back. 

They’d crashed, their radio and stores were destroyed. The temperate zone was weeks of walking away, so staying with the shuttle was sensible. But no one knew they were here and McCoy knew what thirst did to humans and vulcans both. 

There were no clouds. Spock had this hope it’d rain on them, but it wasn’t looking likely. 

Yeah. McCoy was dead either way. Might as well save Spock the discomfort. 

He glanced back at the shuttle, reached his hand out slightly in a vague farewell, and turned to the mountain in the near distance without fully acknowledging what he was doing. Seemed easier if he ignored it, really. 

He started walking away. 

A few minutes into the trek he took his shirt off and wrapped it over his head. Bit of protection from the sun. It had been silly to take his blue sleeves off, really. 

It was beautiful in a stark, dead kind of way. He kept to the rocks as much as he could, avoiding leaving footprints in the sand for Spock to follow. There were some attractive rocky outcrops ahead which he headed towards, partially to keep himself out of direct eyeline once Spock came looking for him and partially because there might be some shade there. 

There was some life in the desert. He bothered these flat lizards. They scuttled sideways like crabs, but their skin was flexible like a lizard. He didn’t get much of a look at them, scared of him as they were. Some small shrubs, grass-like and stiff. Nothing tall though, nothing that’d even scratch his knees. 

He climbed the outcrop steadily. Once slightly over the ridge he sat and looked out at the desert ahead. 

He didn’t like it. 

He didn’t look back.

Spock was likely looking for him by now. Couldn’t tell shit from the sun, but it felt like he’d been walking for an hour or so. Which meant it had probably been half that. His throat was dry. How long was Spock likely to keep his search up? Hopefully not too long. McCoy didn’t love the idea of dying out here, but he liked it a whole lot more than dying knowing he’d taken Spock out too. 

He kept moving, trudging down the rocks. No shade.  

link to the fic

40k words, dubcon aspects, spones romance (and sex) plot <3

[mellowsadistic]

The Magician's Game - Chapter 4

Susie’s New Life

“Come here, little one!” Susie’s mother called. “Come to Mummy!”

Susie immediately got up and abandoned the stuffed animal tea party she’d been forced to play with (“Would you wike some tea, Mister Snuggles?”), hurrying over to her mother as fast she could. Once she reached Mrs Taylor, she felt a sudden weakness in her knees. Against her will, her body did a submissive little curtsey. She lifted up the hem of her silly little frock and flashed her wet, drooping diaper. “Here Mummy,” she said. Normally she was allowed to wear cotton underpants and use the little plastic training potty in the living room, always under supervision, but occasionally her mother changed her into nappies and told her she couldn’t control her bladder. Susie had spent that whole morning dribbling wee-wee into her pants like a dumb baby. Her mother had told her she couldn’t hold her pee, so she couldn’t.

“Good girl,” Mrs Taylor cooed, smirking. Even after months of having her independent daughter back under her thumb, she was still delighted by the sight of the once mature, rebellious young woman reduced to an obedient little lady. She looked especially adorable in her soggy nappy, blushing crimson, her eyes fixed on her sweet little Mary Janes. “Come with Mommy, sweetie. We’re going to your nursery. We need to get you changed into your special dance clothes, okay princess?”

“Yes, Mummy,” Susie said again, with another curtsey. Then she waddled hurriedly after her mother, wrinkling her nose at the horrible, yucky wet feeling of her diaper squishing between her legs.

Once they reached her bedroom, her nursery, Susie couldn’t stop herself scrunching up her face in disgust at the baby-pink wallpaper, the large crib, the changing table, and the childish toys that littered the carpet. She didn’t want to pull a face, but Mummy had told her that was how she was supposed to react to things she didn’t like. No more superior sneers. No more cold stares. Just wrinkling her nose and pulling what Mummy called her ‘yucky face’.

Mrs Taylor turned around to her daughter and lifted her frock up and over her head, leaving her bare-chested. Susie tried to cover her breasts, but her mother smacked her hands away. “No baby. There’s no need to cover your boobies. You haven’t got anything Mummy hasn’t seen before.” Susie’s lower lip trembled as her hands dropped immediately to her side. Her mother slipped her shoes off her feet, leaving her in nothing but her squishy wet nappy and her frilly ankle socks. “What a soggy girl!” Mrs Taylor cooed, probing the discoloured front of Susie’s diaper with her fingers. “You’re Mummy’s widdle pee-pee pants, aren’t you precious? Yes you are! Yes you are! But I don’t think you need a change just yet. That can wait until later. Let’s finish getting you dressed.”

Susie could only stand there like a doll as her mother pulled a ridiculous tutu up her legs and over her nappy. The puffy frills stuck out from her waist, failing spectacularly to conceal her bulging potty pants. Next, a pair of ballet shoes over her socks, and finally a pair of glittery pink fairy wings that slipped into place over her shoulders.

“There we go!” Mrs Taylor announced happily. “Fully dressed! Come and take a look at yourself, cutie.” She led her daughter over to the floor-length mirror and stood her in front of it.

Susie almost started crying when she saw how absurd she looked. An attractive women in her early twenties (as her bare breasts made clear) dressed up like a little girl pretending to be a fairy princess, her wet diaper peeking out beneath the hem of her tutu, letting everyone know she wasn’t even mature enough for toilets. She gritted her teeth and fought to keep her face set. She didn’t want to give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her cry like a baby, but she still couldn’t stop herself from pulling her yucky face.

“Awww, what’s that look for, sweetie?” Mrs Taylor cooed. “Who’s Mummy’s pretty baby? Who’s my pretty little girl?”

“Me Mummy!” Susie blurted. The words spilled from her lips beyond her control. “Me a pwetty giwl!”

Her mother laughed. “That’s right, sweetie! Now let’s go and show you off to Mummy’s friends, and you can do your little dance just like we practiced.”

“Yes Mummy,” Susie said. She tried desperately to keep her feet rooted to the floor, but it was useless. She was nothing but a passenger in her own body when her mother gave her an order. She followed her mother out of her nursery and down the stairs towards the living room. The sounds of conversation reached her ears. Her mother’s twisted friends had been delighted to see Susie ‘put back in her place’.

A chorus of laughter rang out once Susie entered the room, and her lower lip trembled again. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, wishing it would swallow her up and end this nightmare.

“Say hello to your Aunties, princess,” her mother ordered. “Just like Mummy told you to do.”

A big dumb smile spread over Susie’s face at once. She looked up and waved enthusiastically at the five women sitting on the sofas and chairs. “Hewwo Aunties!”

“Awww!” they all cooed in unison.

“Hi baby!”

“Aren’t you just the cutest!”

“That outfit is much more appropriate than all those silly things you used to wear!”

“I could just gobble you up!”

“I’m so glad you’re back where you belong, little one!”

“Little Susie-wusie wanted to show you all the dance she’s been practising,” Mrs Taylor announced. “It’s a bit different from the dancing she used to do when she was out partying at university, back when she thought she was a big girl, but she’s still very proud of it. Go on, sweetie, sing your little song for us!”

Susie tried once more, desperately, to control her body. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t disobey her mother. “I’m a little baby,” she sang, to the tune of I’m A Little Teapot. “Wet and dumb!” She struggled to hold back her tears. “Here is my nappy…” She patted it. “And here is my bum!” She spun around, stuck out her padded bottom, and wiggled it at her mother’s cackling friends. “When… I get… all stinky…” she sang between grunts, sinking down into a squat and straining to fill her diaper just like Mummy had ordered her to do. She felt sick and disgusted at what her traitorous body was doing. The seat of her nappy bulged and sagged. “Here me shout!” she sobbed, getting up and turned back around to face her audience with tears running down her cheeks, her loaded diaper now sagging halfway down to her knees. “Mummy!” she cried. “I did a poo-poo in my pants!”

Her mother’s friends shrieked with laughter and applauded, while Mrs Taylor smiled, darkly satisfied, and pulled her tearful daughter into a hug. “There, there, stinky-bum,” she cooed. “It’s okay. Mummy’s very proud of you for doing your cute little song and dance. It’s only to be expected that you pooped your pants. You might have thought you were a mature, independent woman who was clever enough to go off to university, but now you know you’re just a big, silly baby who can’t even stop herself making yucky messes in her nappy.”

“But you made me!” Susie whined. All her complaints came out in an annoying, whiny voice now, ever since her mother told her that was how she was to complain about things. “I can control myself!”

“Awww, is my widdle Susie-wusie being a fussy-pants?” Mrs Taylor crooned. “I think she is!” Then she leaned close to her daughter’s ear and whispered an order. “Throw a tantrum, Susie. Right now.”

Immediately, Susie lost control of her emotions. “I’m not a BABY!” she screeched, stamping her feet and pumping her fists madly the moment her mother had pulled away. “I wanna go back to college! I wanna go to parties and have sex with boys! I wanna be a grown-up again!” She stomped about stupidly, looking utterly ridiculous in her tutu and fairy wings, her bare breasts and her stinky diaper both jiggling wildly as she bounced up and down like an overgrown toddler. “I don’t wanna be a stupid baby! I’m a big girl! I’m a BIG GIRL!”

Susie tried to calm herself down. She knew this was exactly what her mother wanted – to make her to look like an absurd, oversized two-year-old – but just as it had been for months now, even since the Magician had put her in this state, she was completely unable to disobey her Mummy. Even her little ‘rebellions’ were controlled, only a means to humiliate her further by forcing her to act like the anger she felt at her situation was merely typical toddler fussiness. So Susie could do nothing as her body dropped to the floor and started kicking its legs and pounding the carpet, bawling its eyes out and shrieking that it was a big girl.

“Uh-oh!” her mother sang, glancing knowingly at her friends. “I think little Susie just earned herself some smacky bum-bum time!”

They all laughed, even while Susie continued to scream and shout.

“That naughty girl definitely needs a red bottom!” said one.

“Babies are often like this,” said another. “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that Susie is too. I’m sure a spanking will sort her out!”

Mrs Taylor smirked as she dragged Susie to her feet, sat down in a chair, and pulled her flailing adult daughter over her knees. “Bad baby!” she scolded, bringing her hand down on Susie’s bottom. “Very naughty girl, Susie-poo! This is exactly why Mummy can’t let you grow up! Imagine, still throwing tantrums at your age!”

Susie cried and thrashed as her mother spanked her, alternating between smacking what little of her bottom wasn’t covered by her nappy, and bringing her palm down forcefully on the seat of her baby-pants to make the mess inside squish horribly against her bum.

This was her life now, Susie knew. Toddler activities and tantrums and spankings. No free will. Just a doll for her controlling mother’s amusement. All Susie could do was hope that one day her mother would let her grow up again, or the Magician would take pity on her and undo what he’d done. But Susie had a feeling that wouldn’t be for a very long time.

[missmimii]

Unfortunately I’ve just recently came to the conclusion that tumblr is no longer a safe place, nor an outlet for those who want to keep their identity/anonymity. I find it absolutely disgusting and disgraceful that there is currently people on here, who do nothing but spread misinformation and hate toward those whose soul purpose on tumblr is having a source of joy and acceptance.

The amount of absurd and ridiculous messages have received from people who consider themselves ‘fans’ or a figure in this community, is laughable.

So please, if you’re someone who has mutuals that go by an online alias, and do not feel comfortable sharing their personal info, keep it that way. Not only is exposing or slandering someone’s government name and pictures, extremely dangerous, but it’s also very harmful to that individual.

Stop the hate and childish behaviour.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Heaven is not fit to house a love (like you and I) | Part 5

Word Count: 6k

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Summary: When you first met your boyfriend, it was love at first sight. No, more than that. It was love before you even met. It felt like you had known each other in another life and were meant to find each other again. 

But that's not actually true, is it? You and Beomgyu don't actually know each other from another life, and the dreams you've been having aren't memories of your past life either. That's ridiculous. 

But then why does Beomgyu get so defensive about them? And why does each dream feel more real than the one before? 

A/N: this is the sequel to my series YAMQN but I'm trying to write it in a way that it would be comprehensible to people who have never read YAMQN. The parts in italic are the dreams. 

Warnings: fem!reader, sub!gyu, dom!reader, choking, cunnilingus, fingering, riding, mentions of previous noncon

“Oh my god.” Are the words that stir you awake in the morning. 

Beomgyu returns to the apartment to find you in the same position you had fallen in last night, and he freaks out. 

“Fuck, did you stay there all night?” He asks, and tries to scoop you up off the floor but you push him away. 

“Don't touch me. Isn't that what you wanted?” The raspiness of your voice from sleep adds to the harshness of your words, and Beomgyu frowns. “It's not what I wanted. It's what you wanted.”

“Look at me! What part of this exactly did I want?” You indicate towards your disheveled and miserable state angrily, his reply pissing you off. Was it disingenuous to be mad at him for his ridiculous statement despite you making the very same equally absurd one before him? Maybe, but you’re too bitter and upset that he left you last night to care. “I told you I'm trying to fix it.” 

But Beomgyu is not one to let your hypocrisy go unnoticed. “Wow, that makes me feel so much better. I suddenly don’t care that my girlfriend thinks I’m a disgusting piece of shit.” 

You have no comeback to that because you know there is nothing you can say that would justify your recent behavior, even if unintended, towards him, so you run away, knowing he would chase after you. 

“Whatever.” You push yourself off the ground with great difficulty. It turns out that sleeping on the hard floor curled up in a ball and crying your heart out takes a toll on your body, and your screaming bones and muscles make sure you know that. 

“What, are you giving me the silent treatment now?” He scoffs and you stay silent, proving his point as you make your way to your bathroom. 

Are you using anger to push down the guilt you feel at what you've put him through? Yes, but he shouldn't have left you to your thoughts last night because despite his reassurance that he wouldn't leave, you still couldn't help but spend the long tortuous hours until you fell asleep imagining that his small break away from you would allow him to reconsider everything and lead him to dump the crazy, toxic girlfriend he has that is treating him like a criminal over something he never did. What if he decided it was all too much after all and left you to find someone else who he wouldn't fight so much with–whose friends didn't hate–who wasn't insistent on being friends with a guy he clearly feels insecure about? 

“Come on, just fucking talk to me.” 

Now he wants to talk when he made you go through needless hours of torture in the dead of the night by yourself? 

“I don't have time. I have to get to work.” You tell him, voice almost inaudible from all the shouting and crying you did last night. Honestly you don't know how you're even going to speak to customers like this but you're intent on paying Beomgyu back for what he did to you. 

“Are you fucking serious?” He asks, but you don't reply, just turning on the shower and stepping inside. 

You can see Beomgyu is still outside through the fogged up glass pacing up and down the small bathroom and it brings your heart a sick sense of satisfaction that he's waiting for you–that he's atoning in some way for what he did. 

You take your time, not just because the hot water feels heavenly against your aching limbs, but also so you’d make Beomgyu wait. You can’t make him wait hours like he did to you but this small punishment does slightly placate your resentful heart. 

When you step out of the shower, he's immediately back into it, trying to convince you to stop and talk to him but you ignore him, keeping your mouth shut all through getting ready while he talks your head off. 

“This is ridiculous. Why am I the one begging you to talk to me?” He finally asks and you hold back your flinch as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You have to speak up now. You can’t rebuff him for too long or he might leave again. You cringe inwardly at all these manipulative thoughts filling your mind and prompting you to act in this underhanded way that you never thought you’d behave like before, but you can’t help yourself, finding yourself falling into this toxic way of thinking as if it was something that had always been embedded in a rotten part of your brain you didn’t know existed until it had been unearthed by the stress and pain of everything that has been happening lately. 

“I tried to talk last night but you fucking abandoned me.” You finally shout, shifting the blame onto him again. 

“I didn't abandon you.” He defends himself heatedly. “I needed time to wrap my head around what you're fucking accusing me of!”

“I wasn't accusing you of anything! I know it's just a dream.” You scream as if you could drown out the voice in your head trying to convince you that it was more than that. 

“If you know that then why are you treating me like it's true?” It was his turn to throw out accusations, and this one hit a nerve. 

“Because I can't fucking help it, okay!” Your lips tremble as you tear up. You really don’t know why these absurd dreams and images are affecting you to this extent. “I can't fucking control what my mind choses to spring on me and I can't control what that makes me feel.” 

“Then what the fuck do you expect me to do about it?” He asks, frustrated. You completely understand his reaction. You would be furious and heartbroken if you were in his shoes. He might even be handling it much better than you would have. 

“I don't know, okay? But you leaving me in the middle of the night to deal with this shit on my own is not helping.” You break down, voice turning pathetic and whiny as you cry. Unlike your previous actions and words, this wasn’t intended to sway him into giving into you. You truly don’t know what to do. You don’t want to be having these awful thoughts but you can’t stop them. Still your tears get to him anyway.

“I'm sorry.” He relents right away, always weak when it comes to seeing you cry. “I just needed some time to process it all.”

You scoff through your tears, softer too. “Who are you and what have you done to the Beomgyu I know?” 

He cracks a half-hearted smile. “I guess even he has a breaking point.” 

That is exactly what you’re so scared of–of him reaching that breaking point and leaving you. You give him an equally unenthusiastic smile. “Well, where do we go from here?” 

“Wherever. Doesn't matter as long as we're together.” He says as if he could hear your fearful thoughts and you nod eagerly before he can change his mind. “Together, always.” 

__________________________________

Taehyun knows better than to approach you but he can’t stop himself, not when you look like shit and sound like it too. Due to your rough state, your manager has relegated you to working in the back where you're out of the customers' sight, and that's where Taehyun corners you.

“What happened to you? And don't give me that bullshit you gave the manager about laryngitis.” 

“I don't owe you an explanation.” You sneer, which is useless since he can't see it when your back is towards him. You doubt it would have dissuaded him anyway given his next question. He is like a dog with a bone. He won’t leave well alone. 

“Did he hurt you?”

You whip around to face him, the sneer now turned to a full on scowl. “He didn't. He would never hurt me.”

“You sound defensive.” You almost want to smack the know-it-all look off his face. “God, Taehyun, sometimes it feels like you wish he was abusing me so you have the chance to swoop in and act like the hero.” 

That gets him to frown a little. “I don't need to wish for it when I know he is.”

“He isn't. He would never hurt me. I am the one hurting him. I am the one…” You stop yourself as you feel the tears building up again. You shouldn’t say more anyway. He would just use it against you and Beomgyu. “Whatever. You wouldn’t get it.” 

But Taehyun doesn’t give up that easily. “Maybe I already know.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure you do. 

“He forced himself on you, didn't he?” He says lowly and you’re glad you weren’t holding anything fragile in your hand because suddenly all the strength goes out of your body as an icy grip wraps around your heart.

“W-What?” You stutter, staring at him with a deer-in-headlight look that speaks volumes. 

“I knew it.” His jaw clenches and his hands ball into fists by his sides. “I am going to smash his face in.”

“No. No!” You cry, shaking your head wildly. “He didn't do that, I swear. It's all in my head.”

Taehyun looks at you like you're lost your mind, so you quickly clarify before he misunderstands even further. “It's the dreams. I dreamt he… did that, but he didn't! Not in real life. And when I told him about what he did in those terrible dreams, he was so upset and hurt that I would dream up something so vile about him that he left for the night and I just didn’t handle that too well. That’s all. He didn’t lay a finger on me. He didn’t.”

You were doing your best to clear your boyfriend's name. It was the least you could do now that your stupid dreams have leaked out into the real world to threaten your relationship with Beomgyu and to infect even Taehyun. Yes, you’re responsible for leading Taehyun to come to these revolting conclusions, but even you could never in a million years have been prepared for what he says next. 

“You had a dream about that too?” He asks and you look at him in utter confusion and apprehension, dread building up in your stomach until you feel you won’t be able to contain it anymore. “Too? You had the same dream?”

He nods slowly, his mind visibly working to try to make sense of what he’s saying. “That's why I was worried about that. The dream felt so real, just like the ones you told me about before, the prince dreams. Prince Beomgyu raped you in my dream.”

The world spins nauseatingly around you. How is this possible? How could he have had the same dream you did? You insanity can’t have rubbed off on him to this extent.

“That's impossible. It must be a coincidence.” You shake your head violently, trying to dispel this insanity before it gets forever entrenched into your mind. “Yes, it's a coincidence because I put the image of prince Beomgyu in your head and you hate him so of course you'd dream of something so terrible about him.” You attempt to convince yourself as much as him. 

“Then why did you also have that same dream?” He asks and you shake your head more, making the nausea worse. “Do you also hate him?”

“It's a coincidence.” You repeat weakly but Taehyun appears to believe your weak excuse even less than you do. “Is it?”

You look up at him, and try to conjure up some conviction to defend your love, the love you find yourself hurting once again even in his absence. What the hell is wrong with you? Have you gone insane? You need to get a grip. “Don't tell me you believe the prince dreams are real. I didn't take you for the type to be so superstitious.”

Taehyuns's upper lip curls in disdain at the clear mockery in your voice.“I don't believe they are real but I believe in the psychology behind them. If you truly believe that your boyfriend would never hurt you then why are you having these awful dreams about him? If you truly believe he would never hurt you then why are they affecting you so much?”

“I can't control it.” You cry out, at your wit's end. How do they expect you to answer these questions for them when you can't even answer them for yourself? “It's not my fault.”

Taehyun's sharp face softens slightly. It appears he too is affected by your distress, though he's less lenient on you than Beomgyu. “It's not your fault, it's his. He makes you feel unsafe, that's why you’re having those thoughts.”

You shake your head, denying his accusation  weakly. You're so tired. You don't want to talk about this anymore. You just want it all to go away. “Beomgyu wouldn't do that.”

“Do you truly believe that or are you just saying that because you want to believe it?”

“I–I…” You should believe it. You want to believe it, but something deep inside you is preventing you from doing that and if you could, you swear you'd tear yourself apart to get to it and crush it with your bare hands so you can return to the blissful love you once shared with Beomgyu and never have to think about it again. 

Your gorey fantasy is interrupted by the warm feel of a hand cupping your cheek, and your look up to see that Taehyun had snuck up on you and is now standing right in front of you. 

“Don't hide from it. There is something in there that your mind is trying so hard to tell you but you won't let it because it scares you.” He whispers, his thumb softly caressing your cheek, giving the opportunity for that strange feeling of yearning and affection you hold for him to reignite. How are these men able to so easily look right through you and read you like an open book? “I get it. It's hard to think such things of the person you fell in love with. It feels like a betrayal. It feels like you're doing something wrong, but you’re not. You're just protecting yourself.” 

“He's not–he would never…” You stumble, your thoughts a bloody and mangled mess you can't untangle, but he shushes you with a finger to your lips. 

“Listen to that voice deep in the back of your mind telling you the truth. I know you hear it.” He bends down, pressing his forehead against yours, his lips centimeters away from your own. 

This is dangerous. This is wrong. 

“Taehyun?” You ask, noticing the way his gaze is transfixed on your lips. You see it coming a long time before it happens, and you do nothing to stop it. You do nothing to stop him from pressing his lips against yours. 

In fact, you don't just do nothing, you actively respond to his kiss, pushing your lips against his own, seeking out the alternative he was so clearly offering you. 

He's right. There is something there. You can't even deny it and that scares you. There is something between you as inexplicable as those wretched dreams, and they're all threatening to tear you apart from Beomgyu. 

But you're just as helpless against Taehyun as you are against the dreams, your treacherous body responding to his kisses despite your best efforts--your lips tingling against his slightly chapped ones, your heart clenching around every little hum and moan he breathes into your mouth.  

When he finally pulls back, you're both in a daze.  

"Angel.” He murmurs softly and that triggers something in you–and like muscle memory, you suddenly jump back, freaking out and in turn freaking him out. You seem to have that effect on the men in your life.

No. No. There are no men in your life, only one man. Beomgyu.

“What?” He asks, trying to reach out to you but you step further away, and you can't miss the flicker of hurt flashing across his eyes. 

“Why did you call me that?” You ask and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I don't know. It felt right. Do you not like it?”

No, you most certainly don't like it. You realize it's a very common pet name but this was all just too many coincidences for your liking, and you can't stand it anymore. None of this makes sense and it's making your head hurt. 

"I have to go." You tell him and his face falls. “What? You're just leaving like that?”

Whatever ghost of hurt was there on his face is replaced by stark and jagged betrayal. 

“Yes. This was wrong. You shouldn’t have kissed me. You fucking know I have a boyfriend.” Your voice rises, more at yourself than him. You've really fucked up now. “You know we're having trouble and you're fucking using that to get with me. You're a scumbag, Taehyun.” 

And you’re a stupid whore. This is exactly why Beomgyu wanted you to stay away from Taehyun but you were arrogant and thought you knew better than him and now look where that led you. 

“If you hated it so much then why did you kiss me back? Don't fucking pretend there is nothing between us. I know you felt it too.” Taehyun will not take the blame lying down but it doesn't matter. He's not the one you have to explain yourself to.

“What I felt was shame and guilt for cheating on my boyfriend. I feel nothing for you.” You lie through your teeth. You don't know if Taehyun believes you or not but you know you're hurting him either way and he deserves it. He shouldn't have come onto you during your weak moment. “Go find another girl to fix your intimacy issues.”

You take off your apron and make your way out of the coffee house, ignoring the way your manager is yelling at you to get back or you'll be fired.

“I quit.” You shout back at him. You don't care. Let him fire you. It's not like you can go back and work with Taehyun after this anyway. One of you has to leave and you’re making it easier for the both of you. 

You have to get back to Beomgyu. You have to atone for all you've done. 

____________________

Beomgyu knows that something is off with you immediately. You look worse than you did when you left in the morning and he's asking about it as soon as you come through the door. You know it's useless to lie to him so you just confess, hoping that the faster you come clean, the faster you can move on. 

“You were right about Taehyun.” You say and he immediately becomes angry. “What did he do?”

“I quit my job. I won't see him anymore.” You quickly supply, hoping that would at least placate him a little bit. “You don't have to worry about him anymore.”

But Beomgyu will not fall for such easy tricks. 

“What did he do?” Beomgyu asks gravely and it scares you. Not for yourself but for Taehyun. Yes, Beomgyu would never hurt you but would he hurt Taehyun?

“Beomgyu, you’re scaring me.” You tell him, once again hoping he'd soften just a little bit but it's to no avail. 

“You're only making me angrier.” He tells you and you can clearly tell, so you make a last ditch effort to protect Taehyun. “I'll tell you if you promise not to hurt him.” 

“He touched you.” He states and you shake your head, wide-eyed. Are you really that easy to read? “It was just one kiss.”

“I’m going to fucking gut him.” He rages, storming off towards the door, but you throw yourself in front of him, begging and pleading with him to calm down. “No, no, please, baby. It's over. I will never see him again. It will only be me and you. I swear.”

“That's not enough. He has to pay.” He growls, his fury rolling off him in waves and scorching your skin.

“If you hurt him, they'll lock you up. They'll take you away from me.” You try another angle, anything to get him to back down. 

“When I'm done with him, there won't be a piece of him left to find.” His words almost make your heart stop, and the look on his face makes you think he might actually be capable of doing that, so you try even harder to protect Taehyun. 

Despite the hostility you treated Taehyun with, you do not wish Beomgyu to hurt him. You care for him beyond what makes sense and you won't be able to live with yourself if Beomgyu lays a hand on him. 

“Please, Beomgyu, I'll do anything you want.” You desperately plead, tugging on his shirt like a little child begging their parent not to punish them. “I will never see him again. It will just be you and me, just like you wanted.”

You recognize how insane you sound. If you had seen another woman behaving the way you are right now and saying the same things to her boyfriend as she tries to justify her cheating, tries to prevent her boyfriend from retaliating, tries to convince him he has nothing to worry about by promising to completely and fully devote herself to him… you would shake your head in pity for the poor girl stuck in this tumultuous and frankly scary situation. No, the gravity of what is happening doesn’t escape your notice but you find yourself falling into it no less severely. You just want this nightmare to be over. You want to protect Taehyun and give into Beomgyu and just do whatever the hell he wants so it would stop hurting. 

And you find what you desire when the vengeful look in Beomgyu eyes falters a little bit, and you know you’ve got him. He’s got you. “You'll listen to me when I tell you to stay away from these types of men?”

“Yes.” Your answer is ready on your tongue. You are so tired. “You were right. I shouldn't have doubted you.”

The tension in his shoulders eases a little bit. “You'll forget about those disgusting dreams?”

“I will. I just need you to help me.” You pull harder on his shirt and he takes your hands in his and kisses them. His touch is warm, doesn’t burn as hotly from anger as it did a moment ago. “Of course, I will, baby. I will do anything for you.”

You nod. “I know.” 

He puts your hands on his shoulders and wraps his own hands around your waist, engulfing you, his touch firm but gentle, slightly hesitant as he watches your reaction to his words closely. “You won't hide away from me anymore?”

“No. I'm all yours.” Once again your answer comes readily despite your trepidation. And to prove yourself, you use your hold on him to pull him into a kiss which he happily reciprocates. You can taste the sigh of relief on his lips, feel the rage slowly seep out under your touch as the kiss deepens. 

Beomgyu is horribly lost in the kiss, his tongue chasing your own and his lips desperately latching onto you as if he’d stop breathing if he lets you go. You have a feeling he would stand there for hours, days, weeks, kissing you until you both perish if you don’t intervene. 

He also won’t do anything more, the scare you gave him before having apparently done quite a number on him. So despite you very clearly feeling his need against your tummy, you know he won’t make a move to push things any further. 

So you make the move for him. You let your hand make its way between your bodies to take a hold of his hard member, and immediately he is pulling back with a groan, his head thrown back for a second as a shiver racks through his body from the sudden burst of pleasure after being deprived for so long, before he quickly whips his head back down and gasps out. 

“You don't have to.” He says as if he wasn't giving you the neediest puppy dog eyes you've ever seen. As if he literally wasn’t gasping for air at that small touch. 

You scoff. “If I take my hand off your cock right now, you’re gonna cry.” 

He gulps. “So make me cry. Better me than you.” 

A sharp pang pierces through your heart. Despite how weak he is, how desperate, he still would rather hurt himself than hurt you again. You’re overwhelmed. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just push him to the ground and say, “You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy for you.” He whispers as he watches you take your pants and underwear off. 

“See what you’ve done?” You sling one leg over his shoulder, bringing your pussy inches away from his face and letting him see how wet and puffy you’ve gotten for him. 

He gulps and asks in a shaky voice, “Can I?” 

You cock your head down at him as you play with his hair. “What are you going to do if I say no?” 

Is it cruel to mess with him when he’s this needy? You don’t care. You just want to revel in everything he is giving you. 

“Whatever you want me to do.” Comes his perfect reply and you reward him for it, unceremoniously pushing his face in your pussy. Beomgyu responds immediately–whether he wanted it so much that he was ready for it or he knew that what he would say would get him what he wants, you don’t know and you don’t care to figure out when his wet tongue was prying your pussy lips apart to seek out your dripping entrance, his entire lower face getting covered in your juices in seconds.

“Fuck, baby, how are you so good at this?” You groan, looking down to see him eat you out just as hungrily as he always does. Every time you’re with Beomgyu, it’s always full of passion and love and lust. He treats it like the first and last time he will ever be with you and his fervor is infectious. A sprawling fire licks up your body, sprouting up from where he was devouring your cunt, his kisses and licks so fractic and yet so deliberate. 

Beomgyu doesn’t reply, he just mewls and nuzzles his face into your pussy more. 

“Finger me open for your cock, baby.” 

You swear you felt him almost cum on the spot at the command, but he holds himself back, one of his hands snaking around your body to grab a handful of your ass and spread it open while the other goes under you to press two of his fingers against your entrance. You feel the pads of his fingers swirling around it for a little bit, probably gathering enough of your arousal to easily breach your hole but you were so turned on, you didn’t really need it. 

“Don’t fucking teas–” You don’t get to finish your irritated demand before his fingers plow into you in one go. It takes you by surprise so much so you almost fall, but with his hold on your ass, he is able to keep you in your place, pushing you further against his lewd tongue while his fingers work you open. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You moan, pulling harshly at his hair as he sends you barreling towards your orgasm, his finger pumping in and out of you ruthlessly, repeatedly hitting that spot inside you that has you turning to goo in his hold. “I’m going to cum, Gyu. Don’t fucking stop.” 

As if Beomgyu would even consider it. He fucks you as if he could cum from it, and you think he very well could if you asked him to. But you have other plans for him. 

“Oh shit, right there! Fuck!” You cry out, finally going over the edge and coming over your darling’s face. Beomgyu happily lets you hump his face, getting those last shocks of pleasure before your punishing hold on his hair loosens and your breathing goes from fast and shallow to slow and deep, your eyelids fluttering to a half-closed position while his shines widely up at you. 

He is like a dog begging for his treat, and you’ll be damned if you don’t give it to him. You take your leg off his shoulder, but you don’t put it back down. Instead you press your foot against his chest and push him to the floor. He quickly realizes what you want and compliantly lays down flat for you to lower yourself on him. 

“Do you need it, Gyu?” You ask, shuddering as his clothed cock rubs against your sensitive pussy. 

He nods quickly. “Uh-huh. Need it to survive.” 

You laugh, breathless. He's ridiculous. “Need my pussy to survive?” 

“Y-Yeah.” He whimpers, struggling to hold himself back from just dry humping you. “Would die without it.” 

“Poor puppy.” You take pity on him and finally reach down to pull him out of his pants, the weak gasp he lets out echoing in your own chest. He did so well for you. You’ve hurt him badly and yet he’s still willing to be so vulnerable for you. You can’t believe you almost messed this up and for what? Demented dreams that mean nothing and a guy who is hell-bent on separating you from the one guy who loves you more than anything in the world because of his deranged savior complex? 

You focus on the anger you feel at that to hold the images that are creeping at the edges of your mind at bay as you take in Beomgyu’s cock, feeling it stretch you out even more than it usually does now that you haven’t fucked him in some time. 

And it’s not just you who feels the difference. Beomgyu can clearly feel the way your tight walls drag over every inch of his cock as you dutifully take him up to the hilt. You feel his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he tries to stay grounded and not cum the moment he’s surrounded by your fluttering walls. 

“You okay there, baby?” You tease, grinning at the way he’s holding his breath and the tense arch of his back. You feel bad that your distance has affected him this much, but not bad enough that you don’t start moving just to watch him scramble to keep from cumming. 

“Fuck, fuck, slow down…” He pleads and you laugh. “I can’t possibly go any slower than this.” 

You really can’t. You were basically just swiveling your hips over him. You weren’t even riding him yet and yet he looks like you’re fucking the life out of him. 

It doesn't feel so scary like this, with him writhing under you helplessly. Images still bleed at the corner of your vision from that unknown source, images of Beomgyu decked in flowery silk and expensive jewels but still just as weak for you as he is right now, calling out for his princess as he struggles to hold himself back. 

And as your pace starts to pick up and your defenses get weaker, those images creep closer and closer until they’re blending with the image of him under you right now and become indistinguishable from each other, until your Beomgyu is prince Beomgyu and prince Beomgyu is your Beomgyu. It scares you but it also feels right, and you don’t know what that means. Have you finally lost it? 

But it’s hard to care about your expired sanity with the pleasure pumping through your veins and flooding your brain. As always, Beomgyu cock fits you so perfectly it feels like it was made for your pussy, a shock of electricity spreading from that point of contact to take hold of your entire body, gripping your muscles until you're bouncing on Beomgyu's cock, chasing it further and further. 

“Please, please, slow down! I can't–”

It moves your arm so your hand is wrapped around Beomgyu's delicate throat, pressing firmly on it to quiet his pathetic cries. 

“Shut up, Beomgyu. You can take it. You will hold yourself back and not pop in my pussy like a little virgin before I let you.” 

Tears collect on his pretty lashes as he sniffles and tries to listen to your harsh commands. But you can see how difficult it is for him. Beogmyu is extremely sensitive at the best of times so you just know that he's about ready to combust at any moment right now and it just makes you even more turned on. 

You've never been so rough with Beomgyu, or with anyone for that matter. You've never choked someone before and you probably shouldn't either but you can’t get yourself to let go. You're being so cruel to him but something deep inside you is telling you that he deserves it. 

For what? You don't know. Maybe it comes from that same place where the dreams come from and the thought scares you because that is a place of evil and you shouldn't be acting on it but Beomgyu hasn't even batted an eye in alarm. It's as if he thinks he deserves it too. 

“Princess!” His choked cry pulls you out of your thoughts and you can tell that he is right on the verge of falling.“Please say I can cum. Please? I r-really can't hold it any longer. God, please.” 

He was openly crying now, his sobs partly cut off by your hand around his throat and tears heavily streaming down his face you're sure your image is probably swimming in vision right now from the tears and the low oxygen. He looks pathetic but more beautiful than anyone or anything you've seen in your entire life. How could you possibly be expected to resist God's most beautiful creation? 

Still, you play the part. 

“Whatever. If you cum I won't stop anyway.” You tell him, and he must have taken this as permission because next thing you know his mouth is hung open and you feel his warm seed burst inside you. 

“Fuck.” You look down as you continue to ride him at the same pace, seeing his cum seeping out of your pussy and sticking to both your skin, making obscene squelching noises as you jump on his dick. 

But Beomgyu doesn’t complain for a second. 

You don’t know what is wrong with you. Why are you doing that? And why isn’t Beomgyu making any attempt to stop you? He just lays there and lets you do whatever you want to him. 

“Is this what you wanted?” You ask, tone sharper than you intended. You don’t understand why you’re angry at him when all he wants is for you to love him. 

“I–I… I love you.” He slurs incoherently, his words both not making sense and yet answering your question perfectly at the same time. Beomgyu doesn’t care what happens as long as you’re together. 

“Fuck, Beomgyu…” You curse, your own orgasm not taking long to grab hold of your body, not with his seed filling your pussy and the raptured, devoted look on his face. 

“I love you, princess.” He whispers, barely audible with your hand so tight around his throat as you finally succumb to your own end. 

“I love you too.” Your voice surprises you, your own tears having caught up to you without you realizing it until you hear the pitiful garbled sound in your ears. 

You don't know why you’re crying. Is it from pleasure? Stress? The combination of everything you've been through these past few months? 

You don't know but you know that it feels good to let it all out, your tears getting swept up and washed away by the waves of pleasure battering your exhausted body. 

This orgasm takes everything out of you. You enter a state of complete dissociation, the pleasure and strange but profound sorrow taking turns ravaging your body until you're left limp and spent. 

When you finally regain awareness, you find yourself in Beomgyu's embrace once again. Always in Beomgyu’s embrace. And he is rocking you and whispering sweet gentle nothings in your ear. 

“It's okay, my love. I'm here. I got you. I will never let go.” 

_______________________________

A/N: decided to split the chapters after all since i have not finished the last scene yet and otherwise this chapter would've been very large. the last chapter shouldn't take too long to come out though. in any case, send me your thoughts as they keep me going and as always

[itsclydebitches]

I need more time to put my thoughts in order about tonight's episode, but my initial reaction is that I'm surprised by others' disappointment? I mean, I'm actually not that surprised because coming out stories are intensely personal with viewers all looking for/needing vastly different things from their media, but it just feels like a lot of what (I thought) Ted Lasso was trying to do has gotten lost under specific expectations.

Ted goes off on a long, ridiculous, borderline disgusting story at the worst possible moment? Yes, that's the point. For all my fun TedTrent theories, Ted is (currently) serving the role of the well-meaning, but often ignorant straight man. His function is to both provide the insight and warmth that he's known for - "Actually it does matter to us" - while simultaneously showing how this intensely heteronormative culture would react to a player coming out. AKA messily. If we got a perfect scenario where everyone was accepting and said exactly the right thing, that would undermine the problems the show is trying to acknowledge in the first place. The focus on Isaac's complicated anger and Ted's foot-in-mouth syndrome is just as important to this whole scenario as the club's overall acceptance and the fact that Ted immediately realizes that he fucked up: "I regret that." Ted Lasso is a feel-good comedy, so it's all couched in over-the-top humor, but I thought that was an important acknowledgement: your allies - straight or not, out or not - are likely going to react in cringe-worthy, imperfect ways and the important takeaway there is not that they're irredeemable people who don't love you, but that they're trying and you should gently correct them (as Colin does) and allow them to grow (as Ted does). Despite being an absurd fiction, Ted Lasso is working to write about this in a semi-realistic sense. Instead of a Perfect Coming Out Moment that makes all the queer fans (myself included!) squeal at how ~wonderful~ our beloved cast is for being oh so perfect, we get that realistic awkwardness, misplaced anger, and regret.

We cut away from Colin coming out? Yes, because he's already come out to us. I understand why fans would be disappointed in that, but I don't think it's fair to characterize the show as not allowing Colin to come out at all. That was the entirety of "Sunflowers." Rather than trying to fit Colin's big moment into a locker room halftime, the writers crafted a whole episode where he could grapple with that fear of being outed, be reassured, have a heart-to-heart with Trent, sit together on the monument, go out later in celebration... Ted Lasso made space for all that and, understandably to my mind, didn't want to rehash many of those same beats three episodes later, especially not when we need time to work through the intersection of Colin's story with everyone else. (Because despite this being a queer story-line about a queer man, the show is about the team. Colin's conflict was always going to expand into the rest of the cast.) No, we don't get to see Colin come out specifically to the others, but we did see him come out - both narratively by kissing a man and to Trent - and we see the team's reaction immediately after the fact. Making space for Issac didn't feel like it was cheating Colin to me, or focusing too much on the straight characters, because Colin's story has been a season in the making (plus some details earlier on). To say nothing of the fact that his hesitance about coming out is specifically because he fears the team's reaction... so why wouldn't we grapple with Isaac's negative reaction? We already know Colin's worries, we know what he wants, we see him seeking advice from Trent, we see him reaching out to Issac, we see that failing, and after all that his queer story-line is functionally at a stand-still until something else gives. Issac's explosion is what finally tips the scales.

Idk I don't think I'm explaining this very well because it's late and I only just watched, but I'm of the opinion that Ted Lasso did a lot of work in previous episodes so that they'd have space in this episode to do different work, which is smart. From a narrative perspective, Ted doesn't need to be the perfect ally because Colin already has a supportive queer mentor. "La Locker Room Aux Folles" doesn't need to try to balance Colin's emotional coming out with Isaac's internalized homophobia because "Sunflowers" already gave the audience so, so much, allowing the writers to both keep things on screen for our benefit and then later cut away for the sake of time. As said, stories like these are always going to be a hit-or-miss depending on what each individual fan wants and needs, but I think it's worth keeping in mind that Colin's story is not this single episode; it's all of them combined. Has Ted Lasso really not treated his journey respectfully... or did it just not try to check every queer story-line box in a single episode?

[oldguardleatherdog]

I am being smeared as a "predatory transphobe" to hundreds of thousands of people by Rainbow Passage, a so-called "trans rescue" nonprofit that's covering up its safety failures and misconduct by attacking me and placing my family in danger. Deliberately.

There's a headline I'll bet you never thought you'd see on this blog, and you can be sure I never expected to write it, but here we are. I want you to hear about it from me first before the smear campaign against me poisons your feed.

Regular readers know that I've been fighting for LGBTQ+ civil rights for nearly 40 years, with an emphasis on mobilizing against the "trans panic" sweeping America the past two years, the horrific laws already in place, and the stark plans for eradication laid out in Project 2025. The notion that I'm "transphobic" in any way is absurd. But -

Three weeks ago, YouTube streamer trolls went to the Rainbow Passage website - their unsecured, login-free website - looking for dirt that could bring their operations to a halt. They found my picture and bio listed as a director for the organization.

That was all they needed, and in short order I was the star of several full-length videos and livestreams featuring breathless, jeering takes on my kink life, my history, my family, my age, my AIDS, my September 11th survival (suddenly I was "running the organization" and "hosting 9/11 reenactment roleplays!"), my looks, my unsuitability to be involved with a trans rescue organization, and everything you can imagine a middle-school playground would highlight. At this writing, I've been held out for ridicule, harassment, and threats ("it's time for this dogfucker to be euthanized") to a quarter-million people and counting.

Why?

Because Rainbow Passage failed to implement even the most basic security on that website, despite my multiple warnings in board meetings that this scenario was likely to happen and that we were prime targets for this kind of abuse.

To be honest, everything that the streamers made fun of me for has been said and done to me a thousand times a year for the past 30 years. Heard it all before, nothing new, just the same old "lookit the AIDS-ridden perv faggot old man pretending to be a dog, hurr durr hurr durr!". All those hours of video and they couldn't come up with anything new? These people need better writers.

Here's the issue: Two of the leaders of this sad and tiresome brigade (one named "Blowcockx" or something equally clever, the other one is discussed below) seized on a recent exchange I had with a group of leftist "Trans For Trump" (yep, you read that right) that was mobbing me on Bluesky for objecting when someone referred to Biden as "Genocide Joe". These people were vile and vicious, saying that my gender was "shit beard" and lobbing remarks and insults at me that would make a MAGA blush.

One of the Bluesky mob (who may or may not have been transgender) said, "Prove you're an activist," to which I countered, "Okay, prove you're trans." (Screenshots of my three additional replies referencing "fake trans" to their accusations of my being a "fake activist" and other vomitous epithets, along with screenshots of the posts to which I was replying, can be found after the jump.)

During the mob attack on me and Rainbow Passage. a disgruntled former member of the Rainbow Passage community - a 20-year-old trans girl who had first warned me about the YouTube hijacking and who leaked my personal identifying information and private chats with her to the Twitter trolls and worse - went to Clearsky and harvested my replies without the posts I was replying to, leaked them to the YouTube streamers and Twitter trolls, along with selected portions of our lengthy private chat from Discord, then threatened Rainbow Passage with another attack if they didn't "denounce" me and my replies to the disgusting attacks on me by the Trans Trumpers of Bluesky.

To prove her point, this young trans woman and her girlfriend started a thread about me on Kiwi Farms, where I was the featured post for about a week, and told Rainbow Passage that the same would happen to them - and worse, including the revocation of their nonprofit status with the IRS and the end of their ability to raise funds - if they didn't publicly condemn me for my Bluesky attack replies.

And what did the oh-so-courageous chairwoman and board members who "cared so much" about me, do in response to those threats?

They caved. They capitulated. They allowed a troubled individual with an axe to grind and her little gang of fake-outraged trans shitposters to dictate their handling of a serious and sensitive matter where a former director of the organization and his family were in active danger and under siege. These people, who claim to have the bravery to "rescue" endangered trans people from Texas and Florida, folded like a cheap tissue-paper prom dress, revealing their utter lack of integrity, ethics, or courage.

The statement Rainbow Passage put out, which at this writing has been seen by at least 60,000 people on Twitter alone, is filled with false accusations about my attitude toward the transgender members of the LGBTQ+ community, outright lies about my character and conduct, weirdly characterizes me as a predatory stalker, and warns the general public that I am a bad, bad person who should be avoided and shunned as unfit for decent people in a civilized society. They provide ZERO evidence to support any of their claims against me, their accusations and assertions about me, or their characterization of me as "transphobic."

From my statement below: "Rainbow Passage knew that issuing this statement would intensify the threats, harassment, and stalking of me and my family. They issued it anyway. This statement is a willful and malicious act of violence.

"Rainbow Passage caused a queer elder with AIDS to be featured on a website known for harassing LGBTQ+ people to death and driving them from their homes, while smearing him to hundreds of thousands of people and inciting attacks on him and his family - but they want you to trust them to keep our most vulnerable members safe from harm."

If Rainbow Passage can't and won't protect their own staff (and volunteers, and clients) from harmful exposure to malicious attackers online and IRL, and shifts blame for their failures and lapses of care onto the staff members while caving to threats from random kids, how can they be trusted to keep the most vulnerable members of this community safe from harm during one of their "rescue" missions? If something goes wrong and that client ends up in jail, will Rainbow Passage blame the client for that outcome the same way they're blaming me for their colossal failure to keep their own people safe?

Rainbow Passage's rank AIDSphobia, their calculated smear of a four-decade veteran LGBTQ+ and HIV/AIDS activist, their capitulation to threats from an under-21 trans Kiwi Farms shitposter with an axe to grind, and their hateful, craven, deliberate act of putting my family and me in physical danger, show them to be not only a collection of unwise and uncaring individuals who have abused me and betrayed my trust: The current chairwoman, board, and staff of Rainbow Passage are manifestly and utterly unfit to run this organization. They are not capable of keeping our most vulnerable members out of harm's way, they should not be regarded as worthy of our trust in any way, personally or professionally, and the organization needs to be stripped of its nonprofit status and must cease operations so that a new LGBTQ+ and trans rescue group can quickly be established and get to work.

[Alt text and screenshots follow after the jump.]

STATEMENT OF ANIMAL J. SMITH REGARDING THE RAINBOW PASSAGE SMEAR CAMPAIGN

These allegations are false. Rainbow Passage is deliberately and maliciously spreading lies about me to hundreds of thousands of people on this and other platforms in a calculated smear campaign to cover up their reckless disregard for the safety of their vulnerable clients and their failure to protect them. To date, they have provided no explanation or evidence of "transphobic rhetoric and behavior" on my part. They failed to protect me, a former director of the organization, from sustained and brutal online harassment, threats, doxing, and stalking that began more than three weeks ago and continues unabated with the active encouragement of chair Amy Nicole Check and the members of the board, putting me and my family in danger of being driven from our home and causing major distress and disruption to our lives and health.

On Saturday, April 13th, I received word that the Rainbow Passage website had been targeted by YouTube streamers who had seen a rival say good things about the organization and went to the website to find information that would "expose" Rainbow Passage. The trolls found my name and photograph, then went into my public-facing social media and began streaming about me and my life and work.

In several lengthy videos and livestreams, the YouTube trolls held me and my family up for sustained public ridicule, humiliation, and targeted harassment, spreading to more than a quarter-million people details about my personal life, my sex life, my family, my being a survivor of September 11th, the fact that I have AIDS, and every other aspect of my life and history that they could harvest. Although my social media is largely public by design, the contents were never intended to be stolen and distributed to thousands in a malicious manner designed to damage me.

The only reason I was targeted and humiliated in this way is that I was a director for Rainbow Passage and was discovered when the organization's unsecured, login-free website was targeted - a scenario I had warned them about on multiple occasions. Despite my warnings, no security measures were ever implemented. On Monday, April 15th, I resigned my position due to Check's exploding at me in an unprovoked torrent of verbal abuse during a call that afternoon.

My work as an LGBTQ+ and HIV/AIDS activist over the past 38 years (including ACT/UP, Queer Nation SF, AIDS quarantine initiatives, medical cannabis, marriage equality, and prisoners with AIDS) is well known and has always included advocacy for the transgender community. In fact, I have prioritized trans rights activism in response to the rising tide of hatred toward transgender Americans, and I have received support from people in the transgender community who know me and have seen me in action as an activist and a friend.

After an initial offer of help that wouldn't come for a full week, I said that my family and I were in immediate danger, that this was happening solely because I was part of their organization, and that their security failure was to blame. They then instantly denied any responsibility, blamed me for the situation, and withdrew their offer of help. I have been told that they are aware of the ongoing harassment and cyberbullying being directed at my family and me. They knew that this statement would intensify the threats, harassment, and stalking of me and my family. They issued it anyway. This statement is a willful and malicious act of violence.

Rainbow Passage was threatened by the leaders of these attacks that if they did not "denounce" me they would face the loss of their tax-exempt status and worse. As part of the threat, I was featured on the front page of the notorious Kiwi Farms website, a 4chan-like forum known for driving their LGBTQ+ targets into hiding and to suicide.

Rainbow Passage caused a queer elder with AIDS to be featured on a website known for harassing LGBTQ+ people to death and driving them from their homes, while smearing him to hundreds of thousands of people and inciting attacks on him and his family - but they want you to trust them to keep our most vulnerable members safe from harm.

These liars want you to believe the fiction that a four-decade LGBTQ+ activist is a predatory transphobe. They think you'll fall for the stories they're telling and approve of the damage they're causing. What nerve. Their contempt for me - and for you - has no place in our community or in our lives.

- Animal J. Smith, April 25, 2024

[addict800]

DBH characters: Connor First impression v.s. After playthrough, and hot take(1)

First impression: A handsome, innocent-looking badass. The moment I saw the elevator scene, I knew I was sold: The coin trick showed his level of dexterity and intellect; the flashing blue LED and the little adjustment of his tie indicated the confidence of an android. I can't even tell you how enchanted I was by this opening scene alone. For Connor's looks, the first thing that caught my eye was that tuft of hair on his forehead. Somehow I liked it so much even though I'd never seen anyone with that hairstyle before. At first sight, he was good-looking but appeared to be too young for my liking, almost like a high schooler, plus the somewhat puppy-looking eyes only reinforced it(they're cute, tho), so I imagined his voice would sound like one. Boy did I realize how wrong I was. For Connor's voice, God, his voice... Graveled, deep, but it was neither an old man deep(like Hank) nor a tough guy deep(like Gavin). I wasn't sure how to describe it and still am, but Bryan Dechart's voice was like a fusion of a 20 yo and a 40 yo, making it just enough mature. I never thought a young looks with a sexy voice was such a deadly combination for me, which made me fall in love with Connor in an instant. What an inexplicably sexy boy. For Connor's personality, at first, he gave me the vibe of a level-headed professional who's just trying to get the job done properly during his search for evidence/info in the Hostage chapter, nothing really special. However, from the sharp look Connor gave upon getting shot as he stepped onto the balcony, to the coldness and indifference he showed when Daniel was killed or when Emma was saved, the "handsome young man" became a "cold, sexy mf" for me.

After playthrough: That one serious friend who would say/do something funny without realizing it. As an android designed to accomplish a task, Connor always puts his assigned work first, and I believe that even after he deviates, he'll still be in work mode 24/7 and that his sense of professionalism will remain whether it is about police work or not. Hank probably has to roll his eyes at it, lol. We all know that Connor can be a sarcastic ass if you choose the option:

Connor, being busted by Gavin: I'm going to leave... Connor: Though I'm certainly going to miss our bromance. Connor: Gives a weird ass smile

...But even if you don't have the option to "make" him, apparently, Connor is a hilarious person already(He doesn't even seem to notice):

Connor, mumbling to himself: Hank's password... What would a hard-boiled, eccentric police lieutenant choose? *Wrong password* Connor: Absurd!/Ridiculous!/It's not Hank-ish enough! *Right password being a vulgar one* Connor: Obviously! :) Connor, being caught by the police: (Shit, better come up with a lie.) Connor: If I knew you were coming, I would've brought some donuts.

Here's another funny one that happened after the chasing of Rupert. Connor was reporting to Amanda while walking on the bridge with her in the Zen garden, and it was raining so Connor was sharing the umbrella with Amanda. Here's what happened: *Amanda suddenly stops walking* *Amanda is out in the rain* *Connor keeps talking with her but not holding the umbrella for her again* Me: What a typical guy thing to do lol

So yeah, Connor is that hard-working guy who never loosens up but cracks everyone up at the same time. (...And let's not forget he licked blood for sampling without warning and disgusted Hank every single time lol)

Hot take: Connor is not an innocent baby or a pushover Being a deviant means an android realizes their "want" and has the ability to do as they wish without restrictions of the red walls around them, which doesn't mean an android suddenly becomes an innocent, ignorant newborn. Not to mention a state-of-the-art android designed to be a police detective. Up until Connor deviated(if you chose this path, that is), most of the decisions he made were for the sake of accomplishing a mission: the police work, which included "Warming up to Hank" because he couldn't investigate without Hank; a good partnership only increased the odds of succeeding a mission. Given the circumstances, Connor could even insult Hank or bring up his son's death in order to prevent him from interfering. In other words, Connor was being manipulative during these moments, which was natural considering what his "purpose" was. Another thing that I've noticed is that in many fanfics, Connor is made to be a pushover, a peace-lover, who becomes a lost puppy if people are mean to him. I'm unsure what made these people think this way, but I guess it has to do with the break room scene where Gavin ordered Connor to get him coffee. From the way I see it, when Connor obeyed, it was because "Giving someone coffee" is not a big deal, even though that certain someone hates you. One might think it's pathetic, but Connor simply didn't care as long as this hatred didn't interfere with his missions. The hatred from the general public towards androids was a fact, and it was irrelevant to him, but when it was Hank, his partner, who despised him, Connor had to care because it might compromise their work performance. ...Then again, Connor probably didn't realize that Gavin was putting on a powerplay and not actually thirsty, judging by how he still reached out to try giving Gavin his coffee when the latter walked away, lol. When Connor disobeyed, Gavin punched him and he took it without fighting back. While Connor was probably not allowed to "fight back", the reason why he didn't even block or dodge while being fully capable of doing so was likely because he knew this punch would do zero damage to him, which could be proven by how unfazed he was as he stood back up after Gavin had left. If a baby kicks me in the shin, I probably wouldn't mind, either. But if the assault could actually damage him, and, more importantly, result in hazarding his investigation like when Gavin tried to shoot him in the evidence room, Connor wouldn't hesitate to knock him out. As for why Connor reacted to the punch by bending over like any human would, it was because he was literally designed to "adapt to human unpredictability and integrate into humans", hence reacting like one. Even though androids don't feel pain, it doesn't mean they don't feel anything that comes in contact with them, such as a punch. --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't think I've ever written something this long, lol. Guess I really have lots of love for Connor. Though I didn't mention this in this article, I love Connor not just because of his good looks. It is also about him being smart, able yet lost. It is a realistic side that I find extremely endearing. The next one will probably be about Hank. Will write it when I have the time :)

[maxwell-grant]

So... Thoughts on The Penguin trailer?

I'm trying to reign in my optimism a bit and be a little more cautious, but so far: ahahahah oh man, oh man oh man, I'm really excited for this.

God I gotta get back on my Sopranos watch, I gotta start making time for it again. I mean, it's been a terrific show so far, I'm not just watching it because of this, but out of everything we've seen so far this trailer is the biggest "we're doing The Sopranos" thing I've seen from them yet.

I love the mention of Rex Calabrese here and the recontextualization of his character, and how Oswald views him. For comparison's sake: In Batman Eternal, Rex Calabrese was brought up as a brutal ruler who ripped throats out with his teeth and terrified all the other cops and crime families into obeying him and who understood the natural order through which he was supplanted by Falcone, who was then supplanted by Penguin. But here, he talks about Rex Calabrese as a childhood hero who helped people, who was given a funeral parade as a show of love from the people. That's the kind of person Oz idolizes, the kind of life he wants and is starting to think he will never get to have.

Here's one of the big reasons why this is already the best take on Gangster Penguin there's ever been, and the thing I love the most about this trailer, and something that absolutely defined him in the movie as well: Oswald is completely delusional about what being a gangster actually means.

Oswald here is a guy who had his heart broken in the movie because Falcone, the guy he followed and obeyed and looked up to with every breath, turned out to be a backstabbing piece of shit, with Oswald clearly kept in the dark about the nastier things Falcone got up to. He gets very offended at the suggestion he murdered Annika or that he did the Riddler's serial killer rat maze trap, and in that deleted scene where he tries to pay Selina and keep her from going underground, he clearly wants to be the guy who treats his staff allright and pays them what they need and tries to shield her from the grubby animals downstairs that he on some level finds disgusting (even though they're on his club, and he's providing them with what they want, and he's shielding the worst one of all).

And now he's sitting here talking about his old hero, a gangster from his neighborhood who reached out to people in the street and helped them, who died with his pride in hand and was beloved by his community for it. The kind of guy that Oswald emotionally talks about as someone he wants to be like, as he's getting ready to go to war and shoot and stab and blow up people in a crumbling nightmare city.

This is, in spite of everything, a guy who is very, very preoccupied with being some kind of gentleman, or at least more of a gentleman than the criminals he cavorts with, and a guy whose vision of himself doesn't match the reality of what he does, and a guy who has made a ridiculous cartoon of himself in order to try and forcing that childish idea into reality. This is a Penguin who lives and dresses and acts as an absurd child's idea of a rich and powerful man, except what that entails has changed.

Instead of wanting to be the romantic aristocrat, instead of playing the cultured gentleman thief, this Oswald wants to be the friendly gangster. He wants to be the neighborhood king who runs soup kitchens and helps old ladies cross the street and inspires beaten-down insecure loser kids like him to strive for more, the mafioso who looks out for women and kids and isn't scared of the cops and gets funeral parades for being such a swell guy who just does a little crime ova here every now and then, eeyy, c'maan.

Oswald here has the same dream as Giorno Giovanna, from JoJo Part 5, and he saw Rex Calabrese as the distant mysterious gangster who looked out for Giorno and invisibly kept bullies from picking on him and made the neighborhood treat him decently, who showed him what real power, power to protect himself and others, looks like, and he very clearly wanted to project that kind of fantasy onto Falcone, who is an actual gangster, and thus doesn't act remotely the way Oswald thinks they ought to act.

Oswald here wants to be the Depression-era honorable mafioso, just as outdated and fictional and mismatched a character in our time as the gentleman thief aristocrat was to the 1940s, and to me that feels like the first time anyone's really made Penguin-as-Gangster be a concept worth it's weight and play into makes him so engaging a character. It's just instead of being a burglar and crimelord who reads Raffles and quotes Shakespeare, this Oswald is a Tony Soprano who prays every night to be Don Corleone once he grows up.

And he might even get his chance! Because the way things are going in Gotham, with the city destroyed and in need of rebuilding, with the entire infrastructure crumbled and the mob having lost their figureheads and supply, and Oswald holding one of the few structures not completely totaled, he has the opportunity of a lifetime here to swoop in and play the Capone/Dillinger to this Depression-flavored Gotham.

And I'm really curious as to where he's heading within the show: whether he's going to make this fantasy of his work and be the reasonable flexible-but-unbeatable crimelord and the sole player remaining in town, or whether the downfall of organized crime in Gotham and the rise of the weirdos means that our beloved waddling freak is going to have to come to terms with what he actually is, and grab his colorful suits and his new name and make some umbrella guns to embrace and ride his bizarre awfulness into the sunset.