#forced ​infantilisation

[mossangelll]

yandere!viktor x reader

machine herald controlling you you to the point of infantilisation⁉️

this is probably on the fringe for a lot of people but the idea of a yandere going to such extremes because they “know what’s best for you” and experiencing such a dehumanising loss of agency scratches an itch for me

tw: forced age regression, uncomfortable dynamics, forced drugging, toxic behaviour

“Do you want the crayons or the storybook, hm?” he holds them up to you in either hand, “Speak up for me. I know my darling can do it.” If you didn’t know any better about him and the horrific things he’s capable of, you would honestly believe the gentle cadence paired with his own unique twang was calming and paternal.

What a sick fuck.

He had that smarmy grin plastered to his face as he watched you in silence, waiting for a response that obviously would never come. After all, he made you a makeshift pacifier that was strapped inside your mouth using soft fabric that also wrapped around your hands. He took your voice and mobility all in one fell swoop and you were helpless against him.

“Aw, poor little thing. You must be tired, eh?” His cold metal hand comes to press against your forehead, thumb easing away the tension etched there.

He hoists you up with ease from where you were sat at your miniature table and carries you over to a large mattress in the corner of your room, what he’s lovingly dubbed your “crib” due to the child-friendly gates surrounding it, and places you amongst the sea of soft plushies and pillows.

He sits down next to you on the edge of the bed and smooths the stray hairs that have come out out your immaculate hair do, one he did for you, of course. He wants to be a reassuring presence for you but as you lay before him, you feel bile rise in your throat.

The frustration continues to well up and your eyes burn with unshed tears until you can’t hold them back anymore and you sob. But even your cries come out muffled and you’re not able to truly express the anguish that rages inside of you, a freedom that is your birthright.

Why, out of everyone, did you end up with this psycho that treats you like a child?

Viktor lets out a soft gasp and immediately crouches down by your side. “Shh darling, everything will be ok. Seeing you like this makes me very upset, you know.” He coos but the wide smile he doesn’t even bother to hide tells a different story.

He leaves you for just a moment, fearful of what kind of accidents you could get into in his absence, he once said. You rolled your eyes at the time, still fighting for your independence with venomous words and sharp rebuttals, and was promptly punished for your disobedience. It wasn’t the first time and definitely won’t the last, but now you’re more accepting of your position with Viktor’s - better to make your life easier by giving into his unusual desires than be punished again and again and again until you finally learn your lesson.

He comes back with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, cooled just enough that it wouldn’t burn your mouth.

He pulls a vial full of a pale yellow liquid out of his pocket and drops two splashes of it into your drunk before giving it a good stir. He does this in plain view of you, knowing that there’s nothing you can do to stop him. Though your untrusting gaze cuts right through him, he continues on not caring about what you think is “moral”. He scoffs at such black and white thinking; you don’t have the knowledge and power he does, so how could you ever care for yourself the way he can?

“Drink up, darling. You’ll feel right as rain in no time.” He doesn’t give you the option of declining as he’s quick to pull out your pacifier and press the mug against your lips, cradling your head forwards so you don’t choke.

The hot chocolate is rich and velvety, smooth and indulgent with a slight edge you’re not quite able to place. Something of his invention, no doubt. Viktor often forbade you from eating too many sweets so this was clearly his way of placating you, baiting you into being on your best behaviour.

It’s unnerving, the way his curious amber eyes stare into yours with no intention of looking away, as if you were a perplexing equation he needed to find the solution to. You were simply something he needed to fix, a small stepping stone that meant nothing in his greater plan to solve humanity’s suffering.

Your head feels cloudy as you slowly fall into a smaller version of yourself, one that’s scared of the dark and cries whenever Viktor leaves.

You hate that he’s reduced you to a shadow of your former self, forcing you to act like a child while you frantically grip onto the disintegrating remnants of your past life. You hate the way your eyes start to flicker as drowsiness engulfs each of your senses - you especially hate feeling like you’re rolling over and simply allowing him do as he pleases, but as much as you wish to protest and scream you’re rendered still by whatever concoction he spiked your drink with.

Either way, he would probably get some depraved enjoyment out of you having a tantrum, since it only goes to prove that you need him to look after you and you’d rather not supply him with more fodder for the fire.

Viktor begins to hum a childhood song from the undercity but when the melody reaches your ears, it’s dampened like your head is submerged deep underwater.

He reaches for your hand which you limply grab onto with what little strength you have left, “There, there, little one. Close your eyes and sleep. You’re safe here.”

And sleep you do.

masterlist

[princess-charlie-of-hell]

"Charlastor shippers are the worst, they make Charlie cheat on her gf with Alastor and make Vaggie be abusive towards Charlie so they are misogynistic and lesbophobic, R@dioapple is are not toxic like them"

Please i saw thousands of R@dioapple fics where Lucifer cheats on Lilith with Alastor and they are made look like the good guys while Lilith is written as the bad guy for being upset . Fics where they completely erase Lilith existence as Charlie's mother and make Alastor Charlie's biological father despite her being older than him

I saw thousands of fics from R@dioapple where Charlie is reduced to nothing more than a plot device so that Alastor and Lucifer are forced to get along(even there the only reason it works out is Charlie) . Or fics where they make her a literally child so that Alastor can get to be her "perfect step-father". Humans R@dioapple aus where most female characters like Charlie, Vaggie, Velvette and Emily are children too while everyone else is an adult.

Saw fics where they turn either Alastor or Lucifer in "Uwu babies" who need the other one to protect them from whoever the bad guy is. Feminized them so much that the only thing connecting them to their Canon counter part is the name.

R@dioapple shippers, which steal Radiobelle art or Fan children, keep invading Lucilith/Charlastor/Radiostatic art to write how much better their ship is or use the fact that RA got "merch" (pullover where they are fighting🙄)and use that to claim that is going to be canon to hate on people who don't ship it

So don't tell me that Charlastor shippers are the worst, most toxic and misogynistic shippers in the fandom, when they exist! Like there are many nice and great people who ship R@dioapple but for me most of this fandom I see consists of toxic fujoshis

[faunusrights]

i love talking to @voidstrider and creating rwby aus together because boy have we concocted the most RANCID non-con force-masc of weiss schnee ever put to discord text chat

[yeyinde]

continuing to the ancient mage narrative:

"s'for your sake." he'd say it, words clipped into some song of finality, but at the same time one that's desperately trying to be convincing.

to whom? himself.

he repeats it to you again and again which becomes more confident as time passes on and each time you go out, something bad just pointedly happens. your friend dying protecting you from some mystical beast? hm. getting lost in the misty forest, all alone, hungry and tired? hm, how funny, you were sure that was the right path just a few days ago.

as time bleeds, these kinds of things continue, which leads into a spiral. is price right? he's too paranoid—

another terrible thing happens, and your doubts turn into whispers you find yourself believing.

okay, maybe he's right—

is he?

you try again, and yet as you step foot into town, and seeing them call you names and wanting to see your head rolled of the guillotine, you reluctantly turn to price yet again.

he's right.

but don't worry, price is here for you. he'll protect you.

the sound of the chains echoes across the empty room. a lock clicks into place, and you find yourself in the tower.

"it's not so bad, sweets." johnny would tell you. "you have us."

"where's price?"

they don't say anything, but soft whispers that get exchanged at dawn—

"christ, price. the whole town?"

"it had to be done."

dgmw. i love that i get first peek at this masterpiece honestly, but you should absolutely post this. it's too good to be a shared ask.

but gaslighting, grooming, and general manipulation are some of my favourite things in writing/romance, you know? and Price sacrificing everything/everyone you love for the "greater good" (aka his own happy ending) is just incredible. he's def the type to the burn the world for his family or those he considers his, and by the time you realise what actually happened, it's much too late.

plus, once the outside forces are gone, and there's nothing standing in his way that could possibly cause a wrench in your relationship or take you away from him, i doubt you finding out about his machinations even bothers him anymore. what are you gonna do? leave? where would you go?

and the power dynamic makes things even better because there is literally nothing in this world that can stop him from getting you back in the end.

incredible. i love this au so much, op.

[capsie]

people who censor "sexual assault" as "shreksual assault" should be hanged

[cadaverer]

i've been lurking in the transandrophobia tag for a few months now and i still don't get why people hate that term. so far from what i've gathered the arguments against it are all narrow-minded, ignorant or balancing on very specific double standards:

-a refusal to acknowledge the effect that being socially perceived as both a woman and a "freak" has had on transmascs

-a general blindness to the lives of trans men in the global south

-refusing to take things like fgm, honour killings or forced pregnancy seriously

-choosing to listen to cis people over trans men

-a general weirdness around intersex people - i first started paying attention to transandrophobia when i noticed that a lot of the red blogs on shinigami eyes seemed to be people who were just intersex.

-two slightly confused camps, people who claim trans men cannot experience misogyny and people who claim that trans men "just" experience misogyny (therefore the term "transandrophobia" isn't needed)

-people who for some reason think its a good idea to associate trans men with sexual assault <- as if trans men aren't already seen as sexually perverse by the general public

-posts that for some reason exclude trans men even though trans men are affected by whatever is being mentioned, eg. i saw a post about jkr that only mentioned trans women when jkr hates all trans people and the thesis of her original shit essay was the "epidemic" of "girls" seeking to transition

-similarly to above, a common argument against transandrophobia is "well [x] doesn't just affect trans men," but i constantly see things labeled as "transmisogyny" even though they affect pretty much every trans person (jkr's antics, being considered a sexual predator, various anti-trans laws).

-"joke" posts that boil down to "we should kill all transmascs" - i haven't ever seen a "joke" post from the """transandrobros""" even remotely close to this

-"transandrophobia truthers" simultaneously being called MRAs and TERFs

-constant lies about the transandrophobia tag. from what i've seen any transmisogyny gets shut down very quickly but all anti-transandrophobia posts say its rampant with transmisogyny which is just. not true unless you believe the term "transandrophobia" is inherently transmisogynistic, in which case thats just a circular argument.

-transandrophobia is "stealing" language from transfems - this is just how language works.

-"you're misgendering yourselves" and other stupid "gotchas"

-"theyfab" "tboy" "tme" and other ways of quietly dehumanising/infantilising transmascs

-ragebait

[queer-scots-geordie-dyke]

People who think they're being progressive in advocating for total hijab bans in response to harsh and repressive forced veiling laws in countries like Iran and Afghanistan can't seem to understand that forcing hijab and banning hijab are two sides of the same oppressive coin - patriarchal systems infantilising women, deciding they know what's best for them and taking away their right to make their OWN CHOICES.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ I’ll think for you

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ yandere, manipulation, dependency, power imbalance, forced domesticity, isolation, a tiny bit infantilisation, this is me getting yall slowly used to dark content

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They shaped you to be exactly how they want

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You used to be so independent. So opinionated, so decisive. A skilled hunter of the Deep Space Hunter Association, Graduated top of the academy. And now?

You’re a delicate little thing wrapped in lace and pearls, sitting in Rafayel’s lap at a velvet booth in the most exclusive restaurant in the city. His hand strokes slow circles on your bare thigh, keeping you calm as your wide, pretty eyes flit nervously over the menu.

Not because you can’t read it. But because, “Raffy,” you whisper softly, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, “…I can’t pick..”

He beams. Oh, you sweet, helpless thing. “Mm, my baby wants the saffron lobster risotto,” he murmurs against your temple, curling a lock of your hair around his finger. “You always get pouty when the rice is undercooked anywhere else, remember?” He tucks the menu away without you even touching it. “And we’ll share the strawberry mille-feuille after. No cherries. I’ll kill them if they bring cherries again.”

You nod obediently, letting him order for you, your fingers fidgeting with his sleeve like a lost child. You don’t even notice the way the waiter looks at you with pity. Or is it fear?

Rafayel doesn’t mind. He lives for this. For your dependency. For the way you look to him like he’s your entire world, because he is.

You don’t shop anymore unless he’s there to tell you what’s pretty.

You don’t eat unless he feeds you the first bite.

You won’t even open the curtains without asking him if it’s okay today.

And when you’re home, swaddled in your frilly little outfits, toddling after him barefoot in your designer slippers, asking “Raffy, can I put ribbons in my hair today or are we staying in?”, he nearly collapses from how cute you are.

You can’t function without him anymore. And he made sure of that. Sure, It took a while to get you to this state but he managed.

Rafayel hums softly as he spoons the first bite into your mouth. “That’s it, sweet girl. Good, isn’t it?” His smile deepens when you nod happily, your lips still parted a little for another bite. “See? You don’t need to worry about anything. Just let Raffy take care of it all.”

His voice is so soft, so gentle. But beneath it is that familiar edge of obsession.

If you ever did try to choose something without him now,

If you ever said, “I think I want—” instead of “Raf, What should i—?”

he’d smile at you just the same.

But the look in his eyes would turn terrifyingly cold.

Because you’re his. Utterly, helplessly his.

And he won’t let you survive without him.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•��‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

Your life is so easy now. No stress, no pressure. Just floating through luxury in silk nightgowns and diamonds, curled up in Zayne’s lap in the garden pavilion or lounging in the marble tub he has drawn for you daily at 7pm sharp. He handles everything. He decides everything.

You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything anymore.

And he made sure of that.

⸻

You’re out for dinner with him, very rarely, only when he says it’s safe enough, and you’re clinging to his arm, face half-hidden in his shoulder as the waiter approaches.

“Have you two decided?”

You blink at the menu like it’s written in another language. You didn’t even read it. You looked at Zayne the moment you sat down, your hand resting lightly on his thigh under the table, eyes wide and waiting.

He glances down at you briefly, one of his hands sliding protectively behind your back. “She’ll have the roast duck. Glazed, no herbs on the skin. And the red wine reduction on the side, she doesn’t like it poured over.”

He doesn’t ask you. He knows.

You give a little hum and lean into him, relaxing instantly. “Thank you, Zaynie…” you whisper against his collarbone.

The waiter leaves. Zayne stays silent for a moment, sipping his drink, then gently shifts your chair a little closer to his. Always keeping you within arm’s reach. Always watching you.

“You didn’t even glance at the menu,” he murmurs, tone unreadable.

You blink up at him like a kitten caught doing something wrong, but you can’t tell if he’s displeased.

Zayne watches the way you shrink slightly, how your lips pout just faintly. His hand reaches under the table and settles possessively on your thigh.

“…Good,” he says after a long pause, his voice soft and deep. “You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that anymore.” He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lips ghosting across your cheek. “You’re not built for decision-making. Let me handle it.”

And you do. Always.

You wake up when he tells you.

You eat what he places on your plate.

You wear what he’s laid out on the bed each morning, with the jewelry box open for you like a princess.

When you feel anxious, you bury your face in his chest and ask softly, “Zay, what should I do…?” — and he holds you like you’re breakable, whispering, “Just follow me. That’s all you ever have to do.”

He’s spent years making sure you rely on him so fully you wouldn’t last a day without him. And the way you smile when he decides everything for you? Like being cared for is the only thing you’ve ever known?

Zayne would never admit it aloud, but he lives for that look.

You’re not just his housewife. You’re his porcelain doll, the soft and helpless girl he locked away from the world just to protect and control.

And he loves you like that.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

It’s subtle, with Xavier.

So soft you don’t even realize how deeply you’ve sunk into him, how utterly dependent you’ve become.

You don’t remember when it started. When your “What do you think, baby?” turned into “I don’t know unless you tell me.” When your curiosity, your opinions, your sense of direction, all slowly dissolved into him.

Now, you’re just his. A sweet, soft-spoken housewife who waits by the window for him, dressed in his favorite pale colors, your hair styled just the way he likes, your entire world revolving around when he comes home.

You don’t even know what you like anymore unless Xavier whispers it in your ear.

⸻

You’re out with him, rare, but he allows it. Only in quiet, secure places. Tonight, you’re seated across from him in a secluded booth at a lantern-lit garden café in the upper rings of Skyhaven.

There’s a pretty dessert menu in front of you. You tilt your head at it like it’s written in another language.

“Xavi,” you murmur softly, tugging at his sleeve with both hands, “…what do i want?”

He smiles at that. Not in mockery. Not in amusement. In devotion.

“You want something warm,” he murmurs gently, sliding the menu away and taking your hand, long fingers threading through yours. “Something gentle. Not too sweet.”

He strokes his thumb along your wrist as he places the order. You lean forward, pressing your cheek against his hand as if to say thank you for thinking for me, again.

You always look to him before making any move. You won’t even stand up without asking, “should I follow now?”

He picks your dresses.

He braids your hair in the morning.

He brushes your teeth for you when you’re sleepy.

And when you’re nervous about anything, even something as small as picking the scent of the room diffuser, your first instinct is to turn to him and whisper, “What would make you happy…?”

And he always gives you an answer. Always, so quietly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to guide you.

Because you’re his pretty housewife. His soft little wife who doesn’t need to think. He’s the one who bears the burden of decision. You just have to smile, stay close, and let yourself be loved.

“You’re happiest when you let me think for you,” he whispers against your temple one evening, as he tucks you into the massive bed in your penthouse. “Don’t worry, sweetheart… I’ll never let the world confuse you again.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You don’t make decisions.

You don’t even pretend to anymore.

You flinch when someone asks you, “Paper or digital receipt?”

You hesitate in boutiques, waiting for Sylus to tilt his head before stepping toward the display.

Even at home, you sit quietly beside him, legs tucked under you, waiting for him to decide what you’ll eat, wear, watch, or do.

Not because he forbade you.

But because he’s so perfectly, ruthlessly conditioned you not to.

⸻

Tonight, you’re seated beside him at a private luxury tasting hosted by an ally syndicate. Glittering cityscape behind you, violins playing faintly. You look divine in the dress he chose. The one with the daring back and delicate sleeves that makes you look more like a prize than a wife.

A waiter steps forward. “And for the lady?”

You blink, clearly startled. You hadn’t been paying attention, just tracing lazy shapes on Sylus’ thigh, face resting against his shoulder.

Sylus doesn’t even let you speak.

He lifts his wine glass without looking at the man. “She’ll have the truffle risotto. No onions. She won’t touch it if she smells even one.”

The waiter hesitates, eyes flicking between the two of you. Sylus gives him a single glance, cold, razor-sharp. That’s all it takes. The man practically bows and disappears.

You blink up at Sylus. “I didn’t even realize I don’t like onions…”

He smiles, so smug, so fond, so terrifyingly pleased. “You don’t. You used to pretend you did. For appearances.”

You didn’t even remember that.

But Sylus did. He remembers everything. He’s constructed your new life down to the minute. You don’t have to know anything. He’s already decided what you should.

And it’s so easy to let go.

⸻

You once stood against him as a force. A powerful figure with opinions, ambitions, sharp edges. Took him a while to break you down but now you’re a perfect little thing in designer heels and soft perfume, standing half a step behind him and gripping his sleeve like a doll.

And he loves it.

“You used to challenge me,” he’ll murmur while brushing your hair, voice velvet-slick. “Now you ask me which hand to wear your rings on. How far we’ve come, my little bride.”

You’d never survive without him. Not because you couldn’t try.

But because he made sure you wouldn’t want to.

Why would you?

When Sylus gives you everything you could ever want, except freedom?

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You’ve been his since you were four years old.

Even then, Caleb was the one who brushed your hair, tied your shoes, and chose which dress you wore on school days. Even when he was just six, he took responsibility for you in a way that was unnatural. Fierce. Obsessive.

So now, as his wife, you don’t lift a finger without him.

You don’t have to.

Because Caleb has spent every waking moment of his life making sure you wouldn’t know how.

⸻

You’re seated beside him in the Skyhaven Officer’s Club, plush and extravagant, your legs swinging beneath the table, perfectly dressed in the soft pearl chiffon gown he picked out for you. His gloved hand rests on your lower back, keeping you steady and close.

The menu sits untouched in front of you.

“Baby,” he says lowly, voice calm, “read it.”

You blink at him, lashes fluttering. “I don’t know what I want,” you murmur shyly, fingers twisting in your lap.

“No.” His purple eyes cut to you sharply. “You don’t make decisions. I do.” He places a single gloved hand over the menu, slowly sliding it toward himself. “But I want to see if you even remember how.”

You go quiet. Embarrassed. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

He stares at you for a moment longer before softening, sighing under his breath. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, low and satisfied.

He orders for you. Cuts your food into bites for you. Swaps your glass of water when he sees the condensation has made it too cold. When the waiter brings a side dish that has even a hint of spice, he narrows his eyes and says, “My wife doesn’t eat that. Fix it.”

And you, so sweet, so dependent, you look up at him after every bite like you want praise for just chewing. It makes his chest tighten. He lives for this.

You ask him what to wear.

You ask if it’s okay to sit on the balcony.

You even ask if you’re allowed to use the pink lipstick he bought you.

He trains you into this kind of helplessness. Not through cruelty, but through constant, overwhelming control. Quiet discipline. Every time you make a decision on your own? He gently corrects you.

“Pips, that’s not your job,” he’ll say, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Your only responsibility is to look pretty and wait for me.”

And you do. You really do.

He’s raised you into this. His good girl. His housewife. His soft little thing that wouldn’t know how to breathe without him reminding you.

And that’s exactly how he wants it.

[mychemicalromanceyaoi]

something that I think might be missing a bit from discussions about transandrophobia (specifically when it comes to saying that it's just transphobia/misogyny, or that the only oppression trans guys face is being erased or infantilised) is that this literally is not the case for a lot of trans guys. transphobes do not see me as a "soft feminine confused stolen daughter", they see me as a predator trying to take their daughters from them. I am harassed and threatened out of the women's restrooms I'm forced in to, they think my testosterone makes me angry and violent, they think I am converting their "daughters" to transgenderism, they think I'm transitioning to perv on their sons. it's important to talk about the harm that invisibility and infantilization causes, but do not act like the oppression that trans men face stops there.

[mulloey]

high on it

stoners!bffs!nomin x innocentish!fem!reader

words: 3.7k

warnings: heavy dubcon, very much bordering on noncon, forced intoxication, drug use (weed), manipulative nomin, mean doms nomin, they’re very condescending, infantilising language, they are not good people. reader does end up enjoying it but absolutely cannot consent in this state. this is dark content by design. i’m not your babysitter and i’m not responsible for your triggers nor for what content grown adults consume. hate is deleted and blocked. also: unprotected sex, mentioned double penetration, sir kink, pet names, praise and degradation etc.

—

“One more.”

The blunt presses against your lips, demanding access again. You shake your head weakly; pathetically. “J-Jeno,” you hiccup. “Enough, please.”

He doesn’t respond, as you knew he wouldn’t; just grips your jaw between long fingers and pries your lips apart with force. “Open.”

“Come on, pretty.” Jaemin’s voice is softer, a gentle presence behind you. His words are whispered, lips grazing playfully along the back of your neck and trailing across your skin like he’s trying to get a taste of you. “You said you wanted to feel good, didn’t you?”

You did. You do. You do want to feel good, of course you do—the problem is that you don’t feel good. Not at all.

You feel…terrible, really. Too much. Sick. Dizzy. Dazed. Your limbs are weak and fuzzy and your head is like a deadweight on your neck, too heavy to hold up on your own. It all feels wrong.

They don’t care, though; they like it, in fact. That much is plain.

They like it because it gave them a reason to pull you down into Jaemin’s lap, cooing over how weak you are, how precious and perfect you look with your eyes wide and your body limp and helpless.

And when you start to squirm again as Jeno swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, it gives Jaemin a reason to tighten his grip on you until it’s almost painful; to snake his arms around your waist and let his hands wander closer and closer to where they’ve been dying to go all night. All night, every night, for longer than they’d ever care to tell you.

The movements are slow now; careful, like you’re a tiny animal he’s trying not to spook. It’s overly cautious, he knows that—he could do pretty much anything right now and you’d do nothing but take it—but he’s always had a weakness for you. A good thing, perhaps; a softness to temper Jeno’s harder side. A balance to keep them both in check when it comes to you. Strictness without abject cruelty and kindness without undue leniency.

Like this though, his softness is purely out of kindness. Being fairly fucked up already you hardly seem to notice his hands on you; don’t feel or understand the heaviness or the possessiveness behind his touch enough to form your own opinion on whether you actually want it or not. And if you do—well, you’re tripping. Who’s to say what’s real and what isn’t. All they’re doing, as far you’ll be concerned tomorrow, is taking care of you like they always do.

“Open your mouth,” Jeno says again. His posture has tightened now, body tense. Restraint weakening. “Don’t be a brat.”

The whine you let out is guttural; you hate when Jeno calls you that word, when he scolds and chides you like a little kid. It always makes you feel so small, so embarrassed and ashamed.

And it’s even worse at times like this; when it seems to do something else, too. Something that can’t be soothed no matter how much you squirm on Jaemin’s lap, seeking a relief that doesn’t come to a discomfort you can’t place.

Hjs hold on you tightens again, and his grip feels a little more protective now. It probably is, actually; he more than anyone is familiar with Jeno’s quick temper and heavy hand and he doesn’t want to see you on the receiving end of it tonight. You’re too tiny and precious and pliant in his lap to allow that. “Ay, Jeno, she’s not a brat,” he tuts. “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s just a little dazed, aren’t you baby? Natural for a first timer.”

You nod your agreement, bobbing your head back and forth; you don’t realise you haven’t actually stopped nodding until Jeno grabs your head firmly and holds you steady in his hands. He looks…enthralled. “Fuck, you’re out of it aren’t you?” He says. His tone has softened just enough to satisfy the other man. “Little baby. Can’t handle anything. Do you even know what I’m saying right now?”

You pause for a moment, mulling it over then nod again, just once this time. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Jen, I feel weird.”

“Oh I know,” he croons. “Why don’t you have another, baby, you’ll feel better.”

Another? Feel better? You doubt that, somehow. Before you can think to reply, though, the blunt is pushing at your lips again, even firmer now. Still you try to resist it, stubborn to the end; there’s a noise of frustration, then Jaemin pinches your nose just enough to restrict your breathing until your mouth finally opens of its own accord, desperate for air and the blunt finally slips inside.

“Good girl.”

After a few more seconds, a few deep breaths guided by Jaemin’s quiet, murmured praise, it’s over; Jaemin takes his hand off your nose as the blunt is pulled away, and you can finally breathe again, unimpeded by smoke or substance. He pats your back soothingly, rubbing small patterns while you cough and splutter in his lap. “Poor darling,” he mutters. The excitement in his voice is unmistakable.

It doesn’t take long—a few minutes, maybe—for it to finally take hold. On a beginner like you the effects are delightfully obvious; eyes drooping further, body relaxing and sinking deeper into Jaemin’s hold and you stop squirming too; any ability or will to resist still lingering in your little body now finally flushed out. Now there’s nothing left but them. Their voices, their touch; their whims.

You’re not certain how you feel right now—distant, maybe? Detached—not relaxed, but not scared either. Just…

Soft lips press against your crown, breathing you in. The thoughts fade out as quickly as they came. “Poor girl,” Jaemin mumbles. “Can’t even think straight. You really are easy for it, huh?”

“How do you feel?” Jeno asks. “Can you talk?”

It takes you a moment to respond and even then your words are slow; slurred. “Yeah, I— yeah.”

“I think she’s done, Jen,” Jaemin says; he nibbles at the top of your ear, dragging his tongue down to your neck and nipping at the soft skin. “She’s shaking.”

“Shaking?” Jeno echoes, raising an eyebrow. His gaze flickers down to your hands, gripping Jaemin’s forearm and, yes, shivering just as he said. “Oh princess,” Jeno smiles. “You’re gone.”

Jaemin laughs from behind you, deep and familiar; he grabs your waist to turn you on his lap and adjust your position so you’re perched sideways, allowing him to grab your chin and turn your head to face him. His fingers dig into the skin of your waist, possessive and painful but the only thing you’re even faintly conscious of is the way he’s looking at you.

Completely and utterly crazed.

“Look at you,” he coos. “All drugged up. That feel good, honey?”

You blink, dumbfounded—you don’t even know what you want to say, let alone how you’d go about saying it. Your head is a mess, thoughts blurred and hazy and falling into each other and their voices and hands feel strange and foreign; touches distant on your skin and permeating beneath it at the same time. You’ve never felt anything like this. You didn’t know this was a feeling you could feel, so faintly and powerfully at the same time.

“Oh dear,” Jeno smiles. “Silly girl forgot her words already.” He grabs your face and pulls you forward so your forehead is pressed up against his; inescapable. “Say ‘yes sir, it feels good.’ Can you do that?”

You nod, swallowing dryly. “Yes sir.” Your gaze is locked on Jeno even as you’re speaking to Jaemin, as though your words will fail you the moment you look away, and your eyes are glazed over and empty and dumb. “It feels…feels good.”

“Oh, good girl,” Jaemin says. He pats your butt fondly, squeezing the flesh just firmly enough to make your breath hitch. “Answering me so politely. Such good manners. Doing so well, isn’t she Jen?”

Jeno grunts, fingers combing through your hair. “She is,” he says. “Should be rewarded.”

“What are you thinking?”

He’s silent for a moment; his eyes graze over your body and linger on your chest; on the flushed skin that rises and falls with each slow, laboured breath.

Then they go lower—to your little legs perched on Jaemin’s lap; clenched together like you’re desperate to keep them shut—like you’re trying to keep a secret from him. He doesn’t like that. He wants to know—to see, to touch—everything.

His hands come to rest on your knees and your eyes widen a little at the contact but you say nothing; just stare down at him with parted lips and pliant limbs as he slowly spreads your legs.

He almost wishes it was summer, so you’d be wearing those slutty pink pyjamas that you like to pretend cover your ass properly—but this blue silk number is sweet enough for him too. They’ll have it off of you soon, anyway.

“Jen,” you mumble; faintly aware, apparently. “What are you—”

“Shh,” he soothes. “Be a good girl, stay still now.”

His hand trails upwards towards your core; your breath stutters and you’re squirming a little, whining softly but he just ignores you. His hand stops just short of your pussy, squeezing and pinching at your thigh while Jaemin’s hand trails downward again; he fingers at the hem of your pyjama pants, trailing across the skin of your tummy hidden just beneath them. “So soft,” he murmurs. “So good. You like it when we touch you, honey?”

Maybe if you were sober you’d try and deny it, but in this state you—and they—know you can’t. Because their touch feels good; feels warm and comfortable and familiar even though you’ve never quite experienced it in this way.

You’ve cuddled them before, of course; you’re a touchy person, so are they and you’ve spent many a night curled up in their arms while they run large, soft palms up and down your back. The feeling of Jaemin’s fingers on your neck isn’t new, either; when you’re particularly stressed or irritable he likes to push them into your skin, rubbing at the tender flesh and fingering at your pressure points until you calm down. Even your ass is no stranger to it; Jeno in particular always seems to find his way towards it, from soft squeezes while you snuggle against his chest to accidental brushes as he walks by to a painful swat when he thinks you’re misbehaving. He says it’s not serious, that if he really wanted to punish you he’d be turning you over his knee and spanking you properly, but it hurts all the same.

And if you were a little less dumb maybe you’d see the way his eyes flash when you cry out at the pain—or the way his palm twitches at his side, desperate for more.

He’s not stupid, though—he knows you spook easily, knows you’re closed off and hesitant and he has enough composure not to break and scare you off and ruin everything they have planned for you.

Everything he does, with you in particular, is measured; planned out to the letter. He knows when to push you and when to stop.

He doesn’t stop now. He lets his hand brush across your clothed pussy, light enough that he could claim it’s accidental and he hears you gasp softly; feels your body tense at the sensation. “What, baby?”

“Jen,” you mumble. “I—”

“Hm?” He raises an eyebrow, trying to appear firm but he can’t stop the smile pulling at his lips; this is exactly how he’s always wanted you. How he knew he could get you—tiny and pliant and desperate no matter how much you try to hide it. “I’m trying to give you your reward, remember? Don’t you want it?”

“No I do, I just—”

“Jeno is trying to do something nice for you.” Jaemin’s voice is crooning, one hand gripping your jaw to force you to look into his soft but stern eyes as he speaks. “Are you being ungrateful?”

You shake your head, tears brimming again; you’re not ungrateful, of course you’re not ungrateful—you’re just high and confused and you don’t understand what they’re doing or what they’re planning or why you so desperately want more of it. They must see you starting to break; must know your composure is weaker than normal in this state because they soften quickly, stroking your flushed skin as Jeno slides your pyjama bottoms down your legs.

The chill hits you at once, cold but not quite biting but Jeno’s hands are warm as they rub up and down your thighs with feather-light touches. His pupils are a little dilated, lips parted slightly and he looks…you don’t know. You don’t know if you need to know. If you need to know anything now.

“Pretty panties, baby,” Jaemin says. He sneaks his hand around your waist to press against the thin material, right on your clit and you squeak in surprise. He raises an eyebrow, all innocence. “What’s wrong, pet? Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, it— I like it.”

He hums. “Want more?”

Yes.

“Let’s lie her down,” Jeno says. He doesn’t wait for either of your agreements before lifting you off the other’s lap and setting you down on your back, splayed across the soft couch. So far beneath them and so out of it, the sight of them standing above you, looking down with intense, predatory eyes, is as intimidating as it is thrilling.

Jeno is the first to move; he straddles you without word or fuss, cupping your head in his hands and pressing his bulge against your clothed pussy. The sensation makes you squirm, even more intense than the feeling of Jaemin’s finger earlier and the sight makes him laugh quietly. “Desperate,” he scoffs, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is rough and messy but there’s a tenderness behind it that could only come from them; could only come from your two best friends who have always done everything for you. They’ve never denied you anything—even things you didn’t even know you wanted.

Already you scarcely remember how scared and unsure you were earlier, how wrong it all felt. How could you remember, when the feeling of him on top of you, hands and lips trailing across every inch of your skin with fervent desperation, feels so right?

And more than that—he feels big too.

You’ve never been a particularly sexual person; you’ve only ever had sex with boyfriends, and even then, it was much more for them than for you. You assumed you were just asexual or something; that sex just wasn’t something you’d ever enjoy or crave and it’s a fact you’ve made peace with over time.

But now. Here. With them. You can’t think of a time you’ve ever wanted something more.

Your body is responding of its own accord; your hips lift up to press harder against Jeno’s bulge and your hands reach pathetically for him, wrapping around his waist with an iron grip. He grunts, a satisfied sound and tilts your chin upwards with a long finger. “You want me?” He breathes. “Say it.”

You just moan, already too overwhelmed to talk but the feeling of a hand in your hair, yanking your head back painfully, sobers you slightly. Jaemin’s eyes are stern, staring down at you from above. “Jeno asked you a question,” he says. “What do we do when someone asks us a question?”

You swallow, flushing slightly; this isn’t the first time you’ve been chided for this. “We answer,” you whisper. Just as they taught you.

“Good,” he says. “Answer him, then. Nothing happens until you do.”

You nod, mumbling your apology and he releases his grip; you turn back to Jeno and force the words out from your tight, scratchy throat. “I want you,” you say. “Please, Jen.”

“Good girl,” he smiles. “There’s those manners. Jaemin, why don’t you get behind her? We’ll wanna keep her still if she starts squirming.”

“I’m sure she knows better than that,” Jaemin says, the warning obvious in his tone, “but good idea. Greedy little sluts need a firm hand sometimes, don’t they? Especially stupid, drugged up little sluts.”

You’ve never heard him speak like this; even Jeno raises an eyebrow, taken aback. Jaemin fixes him with a look in return that almost seems challenging. “What, Jen?” He smiles. “Think I can’t be tough like you? I know exactly what she needs.”

“I’m not complaining. Let’s get her settled now.”

You let them sit you up—though you’re unsure how much resistance you could put up even if you didn’t want this now—and Jaemin’s body is a warm presence behind you as you sink back into it. “Hey, pretty baby,” he mumbles, lips pressed against your crown with returning softness. “Be good for us, yeah? We’ll look after you.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Nana, please.”

“Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Tonight you’re gonna call us sir, okay bunny? Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” The word feels natural on your tongue now and the pleased noise he makes is a reward in itself.

“Good girl,” he says. “Fuck, so good. How long’s it been since you got your little pussy filled?”

Your heart could jump out of your chest now; entire body buzzing and blurred. Your breath stutters. “A while, sir.”

Jeno grunts. His voice is hoarse, breaking under the weight of you—of his need for you. “Bet you’re tight, huh?” He rasps. “Better be.”

“Take her panties off,” Jaemin says, all authority. His thumbs trace small circles on your hips, soothing and electrifying all at once. “Sweetheart,” he mumbles. “D’you want us both in your pussy, or d’you want me in your ass?”

You blink. “My ass?”

“Whay, you never done that before?” Jeno asks. You shake your head and he laughs. “Cute. We’ll have to try it. You’d take it, right? Like our good girl?”

“Of course she will,” Jaemin answers for you. “We’ll both have her pussy for now, though. She’ll need her asshole trained if she’s never done it before. Wouldn’t wanna hurt her, would we? Not our little girl.”

“Course not,” Jeno smiles. “We’ll stretch her out some other time, then. I’m not feeling that patient today.”

You feel Jaemin’s smile against the skin of your neck as it stretches into a grin. “You think I am?”

He doesn't reply; just yanks your panties down your legs, dangling the soaking material dangling from one of his fingers like a trophy. “There,” he hums. His gaze turns back to you. “Gonna be good?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” he purrs. “Keep those legs spread for me. You’re gonna make us proud now.”

“Close your eyes,” Jaemin whispers. “Jeno’s a bit big, don’t look, hm? He’ll be inside before you know it. Breathe with me, baby.”

The feeling of Jeno’s cock prodding against your entrance makes you jolt, gasping slightly but Jaemin’s grip is as firm as it is comforting. He keeps talking, soft words you barely understand as the other pushes in and fuck, Jaemin didn’t lie—Jeno is huge. Stretching you so far it feels more like splitting. You’re whimpering, faintly aware of the tears welling in your eyes and you’d be a little worried that he’s actually hurting you were it not for numbing, dizzying pleasure pulsating through you as he finally starts to move. Everything feels good, feels present, feels alive and feels right. Even the pain of the stretch fades so quickly that you can’t help but feel like you were made for this; for him. For them.

“Fuck, good girl,” Jeno groans. He’s obviously just as affected, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to get ahold of himself. “Jesus Christ. How are you not a fucking virgin? I feel like I’m—fuck, like I’m breaking her, Nana.”

“You’re not,” Jaemin says. He presses a kiss to your cheek, listening to your soft, sharp gasps as his friend fucks into you harder. “Look at her squirming like she’s trying to take you deeper. She fucking loves this shit. Don’t you, baby?”

By now Jeno’s fucking you so hard you can barely think, let alone answer; the noise you make is somewhere between a moan and a sob and he laughs, mocking, and slaps your cheek. “Don’t go dumb yet,” he says. “Need you to feel every fucking inch of me. Need you to know exactly who’s fucking you. Tell me, baby, tell me who’s breaking you like this.”

The tears are falling freely now, sticking to your flushed cheeks, the pleasure and pain and the feeling of their attention and control almost too much to take. Not to mention the foul, filthy words coming from their mouths like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They’ve never spoken to you like this before; never even hinted at a proclivity for that sort of thing. They like to tease, sure, but this isn’t teasing; it’s degrading, objectifying, and the way Jeno thrusts into you with every word makes you somehow feel like this is how they wanted to treat you all along.

And what’s worse, what’s even more humiliating, is how electrifyingly right it feels to be treated like this. How it lights you up; like this isn’t just how they wanted to treat you but how they were meant to; how you always needed and wanted and craved to be handled.

You’re sobbing their names, over and over like a prayer and you don’t know if you could stop even if you wanted to. Nor do you know exactly what it is you want; what you want beyond them, them, them.

“Jeno.” It feels like every time you speak your voice is smaller and weaker and more strangled.

“That’s it,” he grins. “Yeah. I’m doing this to you. We are.”

The next thrust is the deepest yet; he holds it there for a moment, dick pressing against your cervix, relishing in the way your cries get louder and more desperate. “God,” he moans. “Perfect. Perfect pussy. Shit, Jaem.”

Jaemin’s grip from behind you has tightened immeasurably, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. The feeling of his bulge pressing against your lower back tells you he’s going to be just as difficult to take as Jeno; you let your head fall back to rest on Jaemin’s shoulder, eyes closed and he wraps his hand around your neck, warm and firm.

“There we go,” he coos. His grip tightens, just heavy enough to notice; it feels steady and comforting and warning all in one. His voice drops. “Now. Are you ready for both of us?”

—

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Dress up- Yandere dollmaker x fem reader

Contains- infantilisation, prolonged captivity, dollification, dubcon, Dacryphilia, physical abuse,

“Do you like your new dress?” He asks softly, a hand holding onto your shoulder as you look at yourself in the mirror. You don't enjoy your reflection anymore, unable to come to the dissonance of who you are in your mind versus who you are now, the hollows under your eyes and the purple bruises are not you. Just a blank slate for all his desires, a mannequin to dress up.

“I didn't realise before how much blue compliments your skin tone. I must order some more styles in this shade, it's a rather summery colour don't you think so?” There's a slight lift at the end of his world, an air of desperation, for you to speak back to him. “This isn't made from any of my offcuts either, I had it ordered special with you in mind. I thought that you deserved something sweet and nice now that the weather is warmer.” He flickers at the hem, making sure no stray pin has been left in.

“You look so lovely.” More forceful now, ever so slightly as he pulls the pleats to lie perfectly against your waist. He doesn't like to be forceful, you need to remember this, remind yourself over and over. He doesn't want to play with a doll. If he wanted to do that he'd have been content with his porcelain prizes that sit on the shop floor downstairs, littering the shelf with their rosebud lips and human hair wigs.

You never could afford one of those dolls, more masterpiece that toy, but you'd look at the soft cloth ones or the wooden dolls. Horsehair or bald with baby bonnets and flat painted eyes rather than the glass ones. Still the same level of tenderness in each flick of the brush. You'd watch in front of the windows on your way home, too scared to go in at your big age, scared if you saw the prices you'd give up your hard won wage on something that can't keep you warm or fed. But you'd still stare as though there was some magic within them.

“I've made a bonnet for you as well.” His voice tears you out from your memories. You used to have one nice hat for going out or on Sundays, made do with a shawl for most of the week and now you have a bonnet for the sun you'd never get to see again. He reads the expression on your face as he ties the ribbon under your chin.

“Perhaps we could go for a walk one day and you can wear it then, though I don't think this is much of a bonnet. I'm used to making it on a much smaller scale."He's throwing you a bone, making an offer that you know he doesn't want to fulfil. Is that how desperate he is for any input from you? To offer up the outside? Giving you more than the attic windows?

“I was working for a milliner.” the words feel foreign on your tongue, sand between your teeth. “I could try to help.” Pinpricks, your fingers covered in pinpricks stitching silk around buckram, fastening rosettes and feathers for women who'd never care to know who's blood went into their fake roses.

“Right” he mumbles half to himself, “you were, I remember. Always trudging through the snow every morning and evening.”

Was it really summer now? How can two seasons pass with you trapped within these four walls? Over half a year since he decided you'd be the perfect doll to keep. And yes you've not been cold or hungry since then, but you'd give all the warmth to shiver beside your sister's small body again, you'd let her take the quilt without any protest, you promise this to some all knowing God who saw you here and turned his head. Suppose they must all think you're dead , coppers wouldn't do anything. Missing girls never matter when they come from your end of the earth, they'd just say you ran off with some boy who doesn't exist. Not that you were lured into a toy store, a false promise of a cloth doll for your sister.

“My first proper wage was meant to go to that doll,” you don't know where the words come from, a whisper crawling from your throat begging to be heard, to have your pain said out loud even if it's to the perpetrator. “I just finished my apprenticeship and was gonna start making more.” you can't stop yourself from continuing “I could have worked hard, perhaps have a shop of my own. Been respectable and proper.”

There's a flicker or resignation in his gaze, realising what your talking about. That November night you wandered in, half frozen from the cold and asked him how much a cloth doll was. How you paled slightly when he told you the price of it but nodded anyway and asked if it could be painted to look like a person.

“nine shillings a week,” he lifts your chin up to stare you down with his dark eyes. “You were working ten hour days for nine shillings a week.I saw you every time, early morning and late night when you'd stare in my windows as you'd go to and fro. Looking like you'd keel over if a harsh wind hit you, and now look at you.” he pushes you closer to the mirror so that you almost hit against it.

“I look after you,I take care of you, all you need to do in exchange is just be good to me, be nice and sweet. Am I asking too much?” His voice is low, not too angry to reason with yet but it's dangerously close to that line, so you shake your head and say no. Say that you're sorry, that you forgot yourself. Until his grip lessens and you can breathe properly again.

And you look at yourself, dressed like a little girl, hair forced into ringlets and spots of rouge on your cheeks. It's obscene almost, he's never taken you when you're all dressed up. Preferring to strip you to your underthings first before he pins you beneath him, but that doesn't make this feel any less filthy the way you belong to him like one of his dolls. Part of you dosnt know if he wants you to be flesh or porcelain.

He's threatened you before, one night when he caught you halfway out the kitchen window. He'd grabbed you by the hair and dragged you back up to the attic, throwing you on your bed. Belted you then and there like an angry father would, there was strands of your hair ribbed in his hand from how tightly he yanked you about. Hissing that he should cut all your hair off and use it for his dolls. That you're not deserving of looking like a pretty young lady if you're gonna act like a disobedient whore.

You know girls who worked beside you, who didn't have the luxury of family to make up for meager wages. None of you spoke of the girls who'd have bruises under their necklines who'd come in with a black eye. You only looked away and gave guilty thanks that wasn't you. Not so high and mighty now are you to give self-righteous pity where its not wanted.

You're crying, why are you crying? He enjoys your tears though, you as he might to pretend otherwise you hear how his breath gets heavy and stilted.

“Come now little thing,” he mumbles with reverence as your eyes go wide and well up your face blotches and blooms shades of pink, how you practically gasp for air as he wipes your face with those delicate hands of his, “There's no need for waterworks you know I'd never stop loving you.” a pause as he kisses your temple, as though you'd crack from it, “I'd never stop doing what's best for you.

And it's easier to pretend to nod as he unhooks your dress and discards that bonnet alongside it on the floor. As he leads you limply to the bed, as he pushes you past the brink over and over again til there's no sobs left in you. As you lay there spent with cum dripping down your thighs, clutching that cloth doll like a lifeline.

[genderqueerdykes]

Can we please have a discussion about the infantilization  of asexual people, a lot of people talk about the “cold mean heartless” asexual stereotypes but not enough about the “silly guy who doesn’t know what sex is and loves garlic bread and acts weirdly like a child”

Like, I’m 25. I know what a penis is, and if I ask you what something sexual means it’s not because I’m asexual it’s because I have low empathy and impaired social skills and don’t really read between the lines.

I actually had someone who thought asexual people couldn’t experience sexual arousel at all, motherfucker literally asked “wait what would happen if you were to take viagra since asexual people can’t get horny???”

Maybe I’m being a bastard and am making a situation out of nothing, but it just… bothers me? I am a adult, I don’t experience sexual attraction, I am very much on the “repulsed” spectrum and don’t want sex and will never have sex ever. But I’m a 25 year old man (possibly agender, adult nevertheless) it kind of feels dehumanizing.

Sorry for bad English, English is my 2nd language

it's exhausting like. it's very insulting to assume an asexual person is literally closed off from or innately repulsed by the very concept of sex and sexuality existing. ace people are going to have an understanding of sexual health to a degree by virtue of being a person. it's really weird to treat asexuals like closeted sheltered babies who don't know anything about the world, especially things they may not like. it's very infantilising as you've mentioned

asexuals should not be questioned or forced into acting like they don't know anything about sex at all, or are repulsed by the existence of sex and sexuality. most ace people are aware, they just may not want to talk about it. it's exhausting. i understand where you're coming from, it's ridiculous. people are so rude when it comes to asexuality

[aro-absol]

Thinking of that post about nonpartnering aromantic people and the cost of living... for me, as a full-time wheelchair user who needs care, there's a whole other layer to it.

As a wheelchair user, I can not just live in any flat. I need enough space to maneuver my chair, as well as a accessible bathroom, including a grab bar on each side of the toilet and a stepless shower that fits a shower chair. Not to mention the kitchen - if I want any independence in making food for myself, I need to be able to reach not only the fridge but also the cabinets (meaning cabinets at a pedestrian's eye level are a no-go, which consequently means I need a bigger room for the same amount of storage space). If I want to participate in any of the actual cooking, I also need a roll-under stove and sink. That all means I need a bigger flat than a non disabled person, as well as the extra requirements I just mentioned, plus a step-free entrance.

That already excludes most of the more affordable flats - those are often old, small, and at the second or higher floor without a lift. So, just because I'm physically disabled, I need to pay more just to life somewhere. And because I'm nonpartnering(?), I won't have a second person to share these costs with.

However, a lot of living arrangements specifically made for disabled people count on disabled people being not partnered.

An example: I'm trying to move into my first real, own flat in the near future. I recently found an apartment complex that was specifically made for physically disabled people and has always carers present that you can call on whenever you need help with something (on top of the scheduled care you can book separately). This sounds great for me because I don't really need all day one-on-one care, but too much care to just have someone come over two or three times a day. Now, it's still not clear if I'll rent a flat there for a number of different reasons, but if I'll live there, I'll have to be living alone. And not just for a short while - I would need to make some alterations to live there, so it would only be worth it if I live there long-term. Besides, moving out of that flat again into a normal flat without such an on-call carer system in place would mean I'd need more planned care again, and I'd need these additional costs to be covered first.

Similarly, people who are institutionalised or live in group homes are also expected to be single.

I think that captures the kind dichotomy of disabled people's struggles with amatonormativity pretty well. On one hand, we're under even more pressure to partner up than non disabled people. We're expected to find someone to help us cover the extra cost and provide the care we need (all while seen as undesirable in society). This creates a dependency of the disabled partner in regard to the non disabled partner, which can trap the disabled partner in the relationship.

On the other hand, if we need to rely on outside help because we aren't partnered or we need more support than our partner can provide, we are forced into a structure that doesn't have space at all. Suddenly, we're not only exempt from amatonormativity but are actively excluded from taking part in adult dating. (Not to mention that sex with a disability is still a taboo topic, but that would be too much to discuss here.) This does not only make many disabled people unhappy, it also plays a role in our infantilisation and dehumanisation.

We can't win.

[ghostboyravenight]

i'm sorry if this is a really basic question, but while i understand that transmisogyny is oppression that results from the intersections of being trans and being a woman, how does the intersection work with transandrophobia? i saw a post some time back that said there's no cis equivalent to transandrophobia so I am struggling to understand where the intersectionality comes in for you guys, sorry again if this is rude i really respect trans men and your contributions to the community

Hi! I appreciate the question!

Basically, I think looking at the type of oppressions trans people face as having cis equivalents is already counterproductive. For example, there’s this idea that transmisogyny is simply the intersection between hatred for trans people and hatred for women (hence, trans + misogyny) but this simplifies the reality of what transmisogyny actually is and diminishes the experiences of trans women/fems.

It isn’t so much that they’re being targeted just for being both trans and women; they’re being targeted for being trans women. It’s an entirely seperate axis of oppression, that yes may have some overlap with what cis women face (though you could also say that transandrophobia contains some overlap with what cis women face) but overall it’s a specific type of oppression that trans women experience as they navigate through the world based on their existence as trans women.

So you could say that transandrophobia is an equivalent of that, rather than trying to connect it with cis equivalents. Because we’re not cis! We are trans men, and how discrimination can manifest against us is what transandrophobia aims to describe. It’s things like forced pregnancy as a way of detransitioning us, loss of reproductive rights, TERF ideology that spreads around the idea of “rapid onset dysphoria” and paranoia around “young, confused girls” being coerced into transitioning, which leads to the restriction of gender affirming care for trans youth. These don’t have a cis equivalent, even if our infantilisation may come from a place of misogyny (but thus intersects with the transphobia of violently misgendering us).

Furthermore, when it comes to intersections, it also depends what intersections we’re referring to. When people say there’s no cis equivalent to transandrophobia, they’re most likely comparing us to the white cis men in power, which in turn means viewing all trans men as white.

Meanwhile, Black cis men and other men of colour do experience discrimination based on the intersection of their race and their manhood. There is an entire history of Black men in America being lynched in the name of “protecting” white womanhood, and the hypermasculanisation and vilification of Black men and moc leads to high rates of police brutality and incarceration. These are the types of intersections that tmoc have to face, alongside their transness, which is why so many discussions of transandrophobia are led by Black trans men and other tmoc (with the term itself being coined by a tmoc).

I think these discussions of transandrophobia and transmisogyny are being impacted by this idea that our oppressions need to be based on equivalent oppressions that cis people face, because this is still an attempt to force us into a cis binary. Intersectionalism isn’t as simplistic as black and white boxes. It is messy and complicated, and has many different overlaps in many different identities and many different cultures/countries/ethnicities etc., and the best thing to do is simply to listen to the lived experiences all trans people (because I haven’t touched upon the specific types of oppressions that enben and intersex people face, which also can’t be put into boxes of cis equivalents).

Hopefully this answers your question as best as possible, but feel free to ask any follow up questions!

[falling-star-cygnus]

i couldn’t resist the pull of a new indie animated cartoon, life is hard and i am but a weak soul

✨Ramshackle✨ by Zeddyzi -> why it’s amazing and why you should watch it :D

she’s a mood fr

No.1: Vinnie is usually the first to panic

while none of trio are 'in charge' -nor should they be- Vinnie does take the lead more often than Skipp or Stone do {these two also tend to look at her before taking action, which is actually adorable} so it's pretty cool to see she's not oblivious to dangerous situations like her archetype tends to lean into -> also Stone's totally contemplating breaking the window to get away from the pageant zombies

No.2: Stone is super protective, despite acting like he's not

but he does it in a way that doesn’t come across as thinking the other two are incapable, it’s more like: you totally could’ve dealt with that, but im right here so you don’t have to

No.3: Skipp isn’t helpless, nor is he treated as such

this is really awesome bc trios typically have that one character that’s really bright and bubbly but that’s also often infantilised by both their peers and the fandom -> Vinnie and Stone are totally confident in his feral capabilities though, and apart from briefly scolding him when it was necessary- they don’t treat Skipp like a child {which is an extremely refreshing change of pace}

No.4: ✨FOUND FAMILY✨

you got the black cat, doberman, and orange cat all in one with these silly guys! + stone's small smile when they fist bump, my heart!

No.5: The black cat is a softie

surprising absolutely no one, Stone has a hard time saying no to his family. that's not to say he can't express a boundary, like how he feels about physical touch, but he does let Vinnie and Skipp cling to him for brief intervals -> he also is already accepting that Maggot's going to be a fixture from as soon as the other two are leaving the alley way

all in all, this pilot does a mind-blowing job of portraying archetypes in a new and refreshing way that doesn't feel forced -> the animation style is beautiful, the characters are multifaceted and complex and it walks the line between silly and badass perfectly

definitely go watch the pilot on youtube!

and if you enjoyed this, let me know if there are other things you want me to analyze or give my thoughts on :D

[jaehyuuni]

heat

smut 18+ (mdni), jaemin nct x afab!reader

cw; porn with plot, stepcest, slight infantilisation, nicknames (slut, bitch, baby + more), degrading, pussy eating, blowjob, loss of virginity, jaemin lowkey being a bully, dirty talk

wc; 4,646

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it was hot.

so unbelievably and unbearably hot.  you’d woken up in your bed, the sheets slightly damp from your own sweat and cringed. after staring at the ceiling for a few minutes having been too tired and lazy to move, you let out an annoyed groan before forcing yourself up and out of bed.

it was mid morning already, so you decided to get ready. you’d stripped out of your pyjamas and temporarily put on underwear - a matching black set with some lace, nothing major - to sift through the racks of clothing in your closet which only frustrated you further, the heat already having made you moody.

acknowledging your awful attitude, you decided it would be best to have a drink and cool down so you left your room and headed downstairs into the kitchen.

once you entered the kitchen you headed straight to the cabinet and reached for a glass, you placed it on the marble counter and bent over to open the freezer as you wanted to grab some ice to put into your drink.

unbeknownst to you, your step-brother jaemin was watching you from the stairs. he’d just woken up, his black hair tousled from sleep, poking up in all different directions, he ran his long fingers through it to try and smooth it over, all while he kept his eyes on the curve of your back down to your ass in your flimsy panties.

your parents has divorced at a young age, and instead of causing you pain it relieved you. you’d watched them bicker throughout your childhood and you knew they were bound to split, so when it finally happened you’d already mentally prepared. your father gave up his custody and left you in the care of your mother as he moved abroad to focus on his career.

after that your mother stayed single for years to come, too cautious to love and trust again … until she met jaemins father. they fell in love and after a year and a half of dating they got married, this led to you and your mother moving into your step-dads house. suddenly your life had been turned upside down, you didn’t even have a chance to protest, but you sucked it up, as long as your mother was happy so were you.

since you moved in at the awkward age of fifteen you’d never really seen jaemin as your brother as you hadn’t grown up with him like a real sibling - even while he was as irritating as one. you’d only call him ‘big brother’ when your mom and stepdad were around to please them since they were heavy on playing a perfect family. it was exhausting at times.

even now, three years later, jaemin had continued to play the role of an irritating older brother perfectly in front of your parents. he’d tease you relentlessly and have moments of protectiveness like a real brother. he’d steal your food, enter your room just to flex his biceps in the mirror and lecture you on topics he perceived himself to be more knowledgeable on… despite the fact he was only a year and a few months older than you, meaning he was in college while you were still in your last year of high school.

he was more of an asshole and an inconvenience in your eyes as whenever an important football game was on, he’d invite his sleazy buddies over to the house and make you his errand girl, forcing you to fetch cold beers from the fridge for him and his friends while they snacked and watched the game, talking and laughing obnoxiously loud. you hated the way his friends eyed you up and you were more than pissed when you heard how they’d talk about women. you’d complained to your parents about it but they’d just brushed it off, excusing it as him trying to include you in his activities and being a typical guy.

and while you liked to stay adamant on the fact you’d only ever seen jaemin as an annoying roommate living in the same house, there were moments where you struggled to believe that internally. times where he’d come home after a gym session, his white tank top sticking to his defined abs, his muscular biceps, the droplets of sweat that travelled from his hairline and slid down his adam’s apple, the loose grey sweats that hung off his hips revealing a glimpse of his v-line and a subtle outline of his package… you told yourself it was only natural to find it attractive, after all you (sadly) did like men.

jaemin moved closer to the kitchen, where you were sipping on your water, keeping his eyes locked onto your almost naked body, he entered the room and let out a loud grunt to get your attention. reasonably, you were alarmed and snapped up to see where the sound came from, when you saw jaemin in his pyjama shorts and a loose old t-shirt, you realised your attire was inappropriate “oh shit— you scared me jaemin…” you held your hand to your heart “um, sorry, i didn’t think anyone was home, i thought you were at work today” you murmured an apology about your state of undress.

it was true, you’d assumed you’d be alone majority of this weekend since your mom and stepdad had booked a night at a hotel in the town over so that they could spend time together as a couple. jaemin had a part time job at a gas station nearby where he usually worked on the weekend or after his college classes, so you’d assumed he’d be out as well. you didn’t mind, you were actually looking forward to some freedom and alone time, but of course, you’d never get that. 

“well i’m not” he yawned, snatching the glass you’d filled with ice and water, taking a large swig for himself, wiping his glistening forehead “parents forced me to take time off work this weekend to babysit you” he snickered, his eyes roving over your skin now that he was closer and had a better view “you really should be more careful walking around like that though, what if someone broke in, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, of course they forced him to stay back and ‘babysit’ you, since you were the youngest in the house you were babied a lot, which seriously drove you up the wall. you were eighteen now, not a child anymore, you certainly didn’t need to be looked after, jaemin knew that too but he found the way your mom and his dad would fuss over you hilarious.

 “you can go to work, you know i’m more than capable of surviving a weekend home alone—“ you scoffed “and what are the chances of that ever happening? be so fucking serious jaemin.”

“i’ve already taken the time off, dumbass, i can’t just waltz into work now” he took another gulp of your water “chances are low but never zero…” he shrugged, he knew it’d never happen but he just wanted to get under your skin “and how can i trust that you’re capable of being left alone when you walk around like this?”

you could feel your eye twitch in annoyance “stop drinking from my glass, i already used it and that’s gross” you grabbed the glass and poured it out into the sink because if you couldn’t have it, neither could he - you were petty like that “and like this? i already told you, i thought i was alone, i was planning on putting a t-shirt on as soon as you scared me” you turned on your heel to retreat back to your room.

however he grabbed your wrist with his huge calloused hand “i never said i minded” he smirked at you “it’s just… super slutty isn’t it? you sure you weren’t gonna invite a guy around - or maybe you purposely wanted me to see?”

you ripped your wrist away from him, your jaw slacking slightly at his bold comment, yes, he’s been rude to you… but he’s never been this rude “what the fuck jaemin? no, its not, it’s really hot and all women’s underwear is like this, if you’ve got a problem go complain to whoever designs it— and i already said like three times, i thought i was home alone” 

he laughed finding your reaction amusing “chillax… i was just messing with you, i know all your underwear looks like that”

you paused “hold on… what?”

“oh come on, don’t tell me you’re that naive…” he grinned at your clueless expression, your doe eyes staring into his, waiting for him to explain himself “you don’t think i’ve ever been in your room when you’re not home?”

in that moment, you wanted to slap him “why would you go into my room when i’m not home? that’s a total violation of privacy!” you snapped at him.

“it’s really not that deep” he looked down at you and grabbed your chin, forcing you to continue looking up at him “i know you’ve snooped through my room before— when i’m out… or in the shower”

you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, you had no idea that he was aware you’d gone into his room before. you’d only done it a handful of times… when you’d lost an item of clothing and wanted to check it hadn’t got mixed up with his laundry… or that one time where you were horny and something possessed you to take one of his shirts, you were about to argue when he continued “you thought i didn’t know about that, huh?”

“it was like, one time!” you protested, knowing you were wrong for doing it and couldn’t argue so you deflected “plus you’re the one going through your little sisters bras and panties! i didn’t go through your underwear, that’s weird—”

he cut you off and you swore you could’ve seen a flash of anger his eyes, it caught you off guard, you’d never actually seen him get mad before “you’re not my little sister, you know that!”

“fine, stepsister, it’s still wrong!” 

“how is it wrong? we aren’t even blood-related, don’t kid yourself, i know you’ve never seen me as a brother” he said through gritted teeth “you only ever call me that when our parents are around, hell, this whole time you’ve only ever called me jaemin!”

you pushed him away after his grip on your chin started to become painful and started slowly backing up “wha… what’s wrong with you?” you muttered, baffled by the whole situation, you knew this was deeper than he was making it out to be.

“nothing!” he yelled, stalking over to you “maybe i’m just tired of holding back! maybe i can’t, not after seeing you strut around the kitchen in such little lacey pieces, i’m still a guy!” he ranted, inhaling and exhaling heavily… it seemed this had been weighing on him for some time, you’d bumped into the sink and he cornered you in, both hands on the counter each side of you so you couldn’t escape.

it was silent besides the sound of breathing, you were surprised, you had no idea what to say, what could you? things were tense as he basically just admitted he had some sort of attraction to you… “jaemin i…” you began, but you stopped when you felt something poking you “wait— are… are you hard right now?”

he looked away before you could see the subtle blush dusting his cheeks “of course i am, how could i not be when you look like that…”

you laughed at him, you’d never seen him look so embarrassed “that’s pathetic, oh my—“

he let out a low growl and harshly pressed his boner against your lower back “it’s your fucking fault, parading around like a whore— the only thing that’s pathetic is you touching yourself while wearing one of my unwashed t-shirts, bet the smell turned you on, right? yeah, nasty bitch, i saw that—“

he’s never spoken to you like this before, it was degrading and what was worse was that you actually liked it… you let out a whine, feeling a little wet and ashamed at the heated memory and him pressing his clothed dick against you “why were you even watching—?”

he let out mocking huff and gripped your hips tightly “how could i not when your door was opened a crack and you were moaning and whimpering like a dog?”

“well look who’s pushing up on my like a dog in heat now?” you mumbled, glaring up at him.

jaemin swiftly turned you around so you were arching over the sink, he gave your ass a curt slap, snickering at the cute yelp you let out, he then moved his hand to the band of your panties, his fingers lightly brushing against your abdomen and slivering into your underwear, he swiped his middle finger through your slit making you shiver. he then retracted his hand, looking at your arousal glistening on his finger “you’re wet like one, so i suggest you shut up” he then sucked the liquid off his finger, stunning you.

“jaemin—! why would you do that?”

“it’s hot as balls, i’m thirsty, and somebody poured my drink down the sink” he said suggestively.

“firstly it was my drink—“ you began, but he interrupted you.

“look, i want this, you obviously want this… as much as you try to hide it— why don’t you just let it happen” he looked at you, waiting for you response, he wanted to make sure you were okay with this before he started.

you wont lie, the taboo aspect scratched and itch for you, as guilty as it made you feel. but you were undeniably attracted to jaemin and he was undeniably attracted to you… what was the real harm?

“ugh… fine, let’s do it… i want this too…” you reluctantly admitted, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“cute…” he murmured while petting your head, hoisting you up into his arms, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms over his neck “alright, my room?” he asked while carrying you up the stairs like you weighed nothing.

you thought about it for a few seconds “your room, i don’t want my bed to get messy” you explained honestly, making him laugh softly.

“you’re such a princess… well good, i didn’t wanna have to move all your stupid plushies off your bed, i’m too impatient for that right now” he replied, kicking his bedroom door open and dropping you down onto the his bed. his sheets smelled like him, it was strangely hot.

“they aren’t stupid, you are, idiot” you mumbled to yourself, propping your body up with your elbows as you watched him pull his shirt up and over his head, giving you a divine view of his abs that were carved by his dedication to the gym “wow…” was all you could muster in reaction to his figure.

he rolled his eyes “and you say you’re grown and capable, yet you still have stuffed animals on your be—“ you tossed one of his pillows at him before he could finish his sentence.

“quit being a dick and bring yours here…” you scoffed.

“damn, such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” he teased, stepping out of his boxers, now fully naked. you knew he was a decent size, but you had no idea he was packing this much, he was long, thick, veiny and his tip was a pretty shade of pink  “here it is, you ready for me?”

“there’s no way that’s fitting—“ you blurted out, thighs automatically shutting and rubbing together, he snickered at your reaction and moved over to the bed.

“it’ll fit baby, we’ll make it fit perfectly into that sweet cunt of yours, now, let me see it. strip” he ordered as he pat your thigh.

biting your lip, you shimmied out your panties and undid your bra, tossing both garments onto his bedroom floor “fuck, so perfect” his words slipped out as his placed his hands on you, groping your soft skin, he settled on your breasts, fixated on  how supple and smooth they were. he started to play with your nipples, gently at first, rolling them in his fingers before becoming harsher, tugging and biting on them as your face twisted in pleasure, your lewd moans only egging him on.

“jaem…” the nickname rolling off your tongue in that adorable tone “i want it… want it right now”

“what is it that you want lil sis?” he asked, the nickname made your hole clench around nothing, it felt so wrong but so right which was torturing you, he knew what you wanted, it was just the sadistic part in him needing to hear you beg before he could give you what you wanted “tell your big stepbro what you want…” he coaxed.

“want you… want your” you let out a whimper as he abruptly began flicking your tiny clit.

“want my what? c’mon, be a good girl, i cant help you unless you tell me” he rubbed your inner thigh with his free hand, the other still busy bullying your clit, making you squirm in pleasure.

“i want your dick, give me it now—“ you squealed, feeling his tongue lick a stripe from the bottom of your pussy to the hood of your clit, you added on a meek and shaky “please?” in hopes of encouraging him to grant your wish. 

“i’m getting to it baby, just gotta loosen up this virgin hole, alright?” his words muffled as his tongue delved into your slit, licking and sucking you up, your thighs clamped around his head, and if it wasn’t for his strong arms keeping them in place, his head would’ve been crushed.

“how… how did you know i was a virgin—?” you asked, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to talk, the sensation of his mouth against your core taking over.

he laughed, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin, making you let out a whine “you’ve never brought any boys over… and the way you react to my touch, it all screams virgin— silly girl…” he said affectionately, making you feel warm and fuzzy “i’m gonna slip a finger in, that okay?” he asked, stroking your hair to soothe you.

at this point, you were desperate to have anything stuffed inside your pussy to relieve the ache, the want and the need you were feeling “yes, mhm, just— please, hurry” you pleaded and he delivered, his middle finger circled your desperate, twitching hole before sliding in snugly without much effort thanks to the fact you were drenched.

soon a second finger entered and after seeing the sexy, fucked out expression on your face, he decided to move his fingers, first in and out to try and loosen up how tight you were “hng— ohmygod, ‘s so good jaem, so good…” 

once he saw you had adjusted to two fingers he stretched you to fit a third one in preparation to take his cock, now roughly being pushed in and out of you, he even started to curl them inside you to hit your g-spot “yeah? it’s good, baby?”

he said smugly, feeling you clench down on his fingers in a way that made even more blood rush down to his dick “you gonna cum baby sis? cum on your big brothers fingers, c’mon, i know you can…”

his dirty talk only helped speed up your journey to orgasm and you could feel something coming over you, coiling up and then it snapped, you messily came all over his fingers, he pulled them out and shoved them in your mouth to muffle your loud moans as he watched your hole flutter around nothing, he’d never wanted to fill something so badly.

you stopped sucking his fingers and sat up, watching your legs shake subtly “that… that felt so good— i’ve never cummed like that before” you looked at him in awe, you couldn’t believe he’d made you finish that quickly, his fingers felt way better than your own.

he licked his lips at the sight of you, reaching out to ruffle your hair with his large palm “you’re so pretty like this— all sexed up… wet my tip for me baby” he instructed (only saying the tip because he knew you’d never be able to take more than half of his massive cock) he moved to lay down on the bed and you moved in between his legs.

for a few long seconds you were faced with his dick, staring at it with innocent curiousity - you’d seen them before in porn but seeing it in real life was so different, it had a smell and a unique texture “just start with the tip, open wide and try not to touch it with teeth, it’s okay” he reassured you.

you nodded and pushed your hair behind your ear, he got the hint and held your hair up for you, you then licked the tip and continued to give it little kitten licks before you gathered some saliva in your mouth and let it drip down onto his hard on, you loosely wrapped your soft small palm around his cock and jerked him off as you sunk your mouth around his tip, hollowing out your cheeks as you bobbed your head up and down.

you started to wonder if you were doing it right when he let out a low grunt “oh fuck, just like that, doing so well for me” he grabbed your head and started to push you down his length, chasing his own pleasure as you struggled to take him. 

when you gagged on him, he let you come back up for air “you sure you a virgin? the way you give head is not beginner level…” he pulled on your cheek teasingly.

“i haven’t had sex before or given oral or what not…” you murmured, a little flustered as you went back to giving him top, your hand more firm on the length you couldn’t reach with your mouth, you felt the tip reach the back of your throat and you choked slightly but continued to suck him off, his hand guided you to squeeze his dick harder.

he started letting out low, sexy moans and curses before he pulled your head away from his throbbing cock, he was on the verge of filling your mouth, you gave him a perplexed look “what was that for? was it not good anymore…?”

he quickly shook his head “nah, just didn’t wanna cum in your mouth, i wanna fuck that pussy now” he admitted, switching the positions and pushing you down onto the bed harshly, he moved in between your legs “lift your hips for me” you obviously did as he said and he propped you up but putting some pillows down “that good? you all comfy?”

“yeah, i’m fine, just give me it now, i’ve waited too long…” the innocent pout as you said those words drove him crazy, he’d never been so horny in his life.

“right, you asked for this…” he aligned his rock hard cock with your slippery folds, teasingly running his tip along them before he eased himself into you, the way your fingers gripped the sheets and you bit down onto your lip to stifle your moans, your eyes all cute and glossy.

“go… go all the way in stepbro—“ you whined, your sense all clouded by your lust.

jaemin on the other hand could’ve cum at the nickname, you referring to him as stepbro while it was just the two of you alone for the first time and in this situation… it was something out of his own pervy fantasies. he shamed you earlier for masturbating while wearing on of his shirts knowing that he had masturbated with your lacey pink panties that he’d swiped straight from your drawer wrapped around his girth, his hand jerking less and less consistently as he reached his peak, cumming and soiling your previous pristine underwear, which he’d then hid under his bed.

he harshly thrust into your cunt, making you take his entire length in one push, the moan that ripped out of your throat was pornographic and the prettiest thing he’d ever heard “fuck, fuck— stay still” you gripped his shoulders as you adjusted to the foreign object buried in your warm hole, which was throbbing and clenching at the new feeling.

“shit, i lost control, i’m sorry” he cursed, staying completely still as he looked down at you, your eyes squeezed shut, it was such a wet dream come true for him, he still couldn’t believe his baby stepsister was below him, stuffed with his cock.

“it’s alright, i was the one asking for it… you, you can move now” you said softly after a few seconds of becoming used to the sensation, he toyed with your clit as he slowly moved in and out of you, he could feel your walls gripping him, sucking him in and pushing him out… it felt better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“such a beautiful little cum dump aren’t you?” he said slapping your cheek lightly, you stared at him with such big trusting eyes it aroused him, which reflected in the way his dick twitched inside you. he continued his movements which further pushed you to orgasm.

“big bro— i’m.. gonna cum—“ you whimpered, pawing at his chest like a puppy, you could be so needy, he’d tease you about this later.

“i got you, you can cum baby, i’m close too” he sped up, utilising his stamina to give you faster and harder strokes, his hand attacking your poor clit, you let out a scream as you convulsed around his length, your whole body shaking and twitching as the pleasure rushed over you.

feeling your walls squeeze his cock tipped him over the edge too “fuck, i’m cumming baby, cumming—“ he warned you, his white hot ropes painting your insides making you feel oddly fully, after a few seconds of riding out his high he pulled out, swiping some cum that was leaking from your cunt and letting you taste it, he laughed when you recoiled at the taste but swallowed anyway “it’s not gonna take like frosting, dumbass… stay here, i’ll go get a towel to wipe you down”

being to tired to talk you just gave a thumbs up, laying lazily on his bed, all spread out, staring at the ceiling as the realisation hit you, you’d just fucked your step brother.

jaemin came back with a towel and wiped down your puffy folds, purposely brushing over your swollen clit just to hear you whine again “mhm, watch it…” you complained.

after recovering you both got dressed, you put on your underwear you’d tossed onto the floor earlier and he let you wear the t-shirt he had on earlier while he threw on his boxers and some basketball shorts, not bothering to put on a t-shirt “i’ll give it back to you after i wash it” you said referring to the t-shirt he was letting you borrow.

“don’t bother, keep it” he hummed which made you whip your head over to him, confused on why he was being so chill “you’ll want it later when you touch yourself to the memory of what we just did, right?” he snickered, watching you grow flushed.

“oh shut up—! if i’m horny i’ll just come here again, i won’t need to use my own fingers or wear a stupid t-shirt…” you blurted out.

“mhm, that’s right, if you get horny again, you can just come to your big stepbro, i’ll take care of your needs… little sis” he smirked smugly, already imagining your second time together. he kissed the crown of your head lovingly, not in the way a family member might, rather in the way a romantic partner would.

you felt hot again.

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note; lol, my first time writing on tumblr and smut in general… pls be nice i have no idea how this works. pls let me know if this was good and sorry for any spelling mistakes i may have missed. thx 4 reading <3