#''TO BE OR NOT TO BE'' IS ENOUGH BY ITSELF

[monzabee]

viva las vegas - mv1 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Max celebrate his win in a way you’ve never done before.

Pairing: max verstappen x reader 

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, having sex tipsy but there is consent?, manhandling, unprotected sex (are you even surprised at this point), oral (fem receiving), sex (duh), cursing, cockwarming (oops), minors dni!!

Request: “Hey babe! I’m obsessed with your last Charles piece, I’ve been wanting to read something like that for such a long time and you did it perfectly 😍🥹 I was wondering if I could request kind of the same concept with Max Verstappen? Like he always is pictured as a tough guy and stuff, but when you see him in videos he’s kind of a goof, so I imagine the first time he’s intimate with his gf they’d both laugh and have the sweetest time together” 

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! is this my best work? no but it is something i managed to get done for the first time in like a month so here it is!! finishing this fic was a journey within itself, but i can honestly say that it was also kind fun? also, i saw a picture of max in his suit from vegas and that just inspired this whole thing, so i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Max is buzzing with life, quite literally, you can feel him practically buzzing the whole time he’s trying to take you back to your hotel room as fast as possible. It’s most likely due to the amount of alcohol the two of you have consumed after the race. Honestly it is pure luck that you found your way back to your room, given your current state, but instead of joining you when you jump on the bed, revelling in its comfort, he chooses to stand at the end of the bed as he watches you with an entertained smile on his face.  

“What?” you ask, a laugh washing through you as you raise yourself on your elbows, “Why are you looking at me like that?”  

He lets his eyes wander over your figure, his smile becoming more boyish as he lets it widen on his face, “You look pretty,” he murmurs, bending down so he can lower himself over your body better, “have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?” 

“Um, yeah, Maxie,” you giggle as you point out, “you’ve been telling me that the entire night.” Using your hands as support while raising yourself more so that you could be face to face with him, “I think you look pretty too, you know?” 

“Yeah?” Max murmurs, cradling your jaw in one of his hands, his thumb quick to caress the apple of your cheek, which causes you to lean into his touch. “What if I wanted to kiss you, would that be okay?” 

The smile you offer him in return is sweet, the way your eyes seem to shine at the offer of feeling his lips against yours makes his heart beat faster in his chest. “Yes, please.” Your voice is softer, almost comes out as a whisper due to you suddenly feeling out of breath.  

And who is he to deprive his girl? 

He doesn’t waste any time pressing his lips against your awaiting ones, in fact, the movement of his lips are rushed, if not almost desperate. It's as if he can't get enough, as if he's afraid this moment might slip away like sand through his fingers. The taste of alcohol lingers on both your lips, and normally you would be weirded out about it, but you realise it only adds to the intensity of the kiss you’re sharing with Max. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as he deepens the kiss, and you find yourself responding eagerly. You let him take control, mostly because it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in his kiss. He’s lost in it too, if you had to guess, because the way his tongue is fighting over yours for dominance is so different compared to the way Max usually kisses you. You whine at the loss of his lips when he reluctantly pulls away, and if he wasn’t already hard, the sound makes Max’s cock instantly harder. His head is thrown back, eyes closed as he lets out a groan, and he has to stop himself from pulling you in for another kiss. But you clearly have other plans as you drag your lips down towards his jawline, leaving kisses in a random pattern until you reach that one specific point on his neck that absolutely drives him crazy.  

And you know it’s only a matter of time until he stops you, again, as he has done for the past whatever months of your relationship. It’s not that you are not attracted to each other, because the attraction is as clear as day, and you have done stuff – not sex, but stuff. You’re not sure Max does that, but you also don’t want to be the one who pressures him into having sex with you if he doesn’t want to. Unbeknownst to you, the same goes for Max, who thinks you’re not ready to have sex with him and wants your first time together to be as special as possible.  

So no, you’re not surprised as he gently peals himself from you, causing you to whine again at the loss of him, but instead he gives you a small kiss on the forehead as he mumbles, “Why don’t you take a shower? We’ll go to bed after that.”  

“Is that your way of telling me I smell?” You ask in a playful tone, and he responds to you with a roll of his eyes. “What if I don’t want to go to sleep?”  

“No?” He asks, actively searching your expression for any sign of discomfort or reluctance. “We’ve had a long day, are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep?” The look you give him in return for his question is enough, and he knows this, but he also wants to actually hear the words, so he points, “Use your words, liefje.” 

A puff of breath leaves your lips in annoyance, but, nonetheless, you give him the best puppy dog eyes you can muster as you whine, “Please Maxie, you know what I want.”  

“Do I?” He muses, pulling you onto his lap as he ghosts his lips across your jaw. “I don’t know what you mean.”  

“Maxie,” you drag out his name, whining as your attempt at rolling your hips against his thighs don’t work. “You are being mean.”  

“Oh, baby,” he mockingly copies your pout, “I’m sorry. Can I apologise with a kiss?” To make his point, he presses a couple of soft kisses along your jawline.  

“Will you kiss me the way I like?” You ask, slightly out of breath, but his agreement that comes in the form of a hum makes you smile mischievously. His lips trail more kisses towards the neckline of your dress, and eventually through the valley between your breasts that is exposed by the lack of fabric. And you have every intention to let him have his way with you, you really do – after all, he won another great race. But a part of you also knows that making him suffer, even if just a little bit, in the process is so much more fun. So, just as he’s about to free of your breasts from the bustier of your dress, you quickly move away, slipping from his hands, trying your hardest not to laugh at the bewildered expression on his face. “On second thought, I think I’m going to take that shower after all.”  

“I—what?” Max mumbles, his slightly swollen lips pulled in a pout, and you can’t help but give him a small kiss.  

“I’ll see you after my shower, Max Emilian.” Sauntering over to the bathroom, you make sure to add an extra sway to your hips – and the sigh that Max leaves cause the smirk on your face to grow. 

It’s pure torture for Max to wait until you come out of the shower. Not that he doesn’t think about just joining you, especially after the show you just put on, but that would be giving into what you want – and though Max is a generous lover, he is also stubborn. He is more than happy to give you what you want, as long as it is on his terms. And so, he waits patiently, until you come out of the bathroom, a robe draped over your body, and he can’t help himself but let his eyes roam over your body.  

“How was your shower?” Max asks, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, a wolfish grin curving up on his lips. He rests his hands behind his head, relaxing onto the pillows behind him. He watches you give him a shrug, the soft-looking material sliding of your shoulder slightly as you collect your hair onto your shoulder. “Are you giving me the silent treatment, pretty girl?” 

There’s a coy smile on your face as you shake your head, once, twice, as your teeth press down on your bottom lip. Max wants nothing more than to release your lip, pull you into his lap and have his way with you, but no. No, because Max is nothing if not disciplined. “Come here,” he asks, straightening up in his place. You, being the ever-loving girlfriend you are, oblige his request. “That is a nice robe,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he grabs the towelette belt with the tips of his finger, “is it as soft as it looks?” 

“Mhm-hm,” you nod, “do you want to feel it?” 

“Do I want to feel it?” Max muses, “Sure.” His arms wrap around your middle so quickly that you don’t realise he’s pulling you into his lap at first. But he positions you with your legs on the either side of his. “You’re right, liefje, it is very soft.” His hands roam on your body over the soft material, but soon enough, his hands dipping underneath it to feel your skin. His eyebrows shoot upwards, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips, “No underwear?” 

“Well, I just came out of the shower, Maxie.” You give him an innocent look, shrugging once against as you rest your hands against his shirt-clad chest. “The shower pressure was great, you should’ve joined me.”  

He lets out a noncommittal hum, his hands roaming on your bare skin, revelling in the softness. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” He’s methodical as he slightly shifts you in his lap, tearing a gasp from the back of your throat. That gets a satisfied smile from him, “Something wrong?” 

“N-no,” you mumble, shifting again to get the same feeling, but his hands still you in your place. “Maxie,” you whine, silently pleading with your eyes.  

“Am I being mean again?” He asks, attentive eyes fixed on you, “I would offer to make it up to you with a kiss, but you seem to find ways to evade me when I do.”  

“No,” you whine again, lips pouted in disagreement. “I promise I won’t this time.”  

His eyebrows shoot up again with amusement, “Oh, yeah? Shall we test that theory, pretty girl?” The smile you give him is shy, but the way you nod is nothing short of coy. With a satisfied sound leaving his lips, he quickly presses his lips against yours. You sigh into the kiss, immediately, when you feel him deepening the kiss, more than happy to surrender yourself to him and let Max take the lead. Though, that doesn’t necessarily stop you from attempting to relieve the pressure between your legs by rolling your hips against his thighs. Your efforts, however, prove to be useless as he stops the movement before you can actually relieve any of it. He slowly pulls away, pushes a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear and tuts – condescendingly, you might add – “Slow down, liefje, I think I’ve had enough speed for one day.”  

Groaning at his words, “But Maxie,” you whine, dragging out his name as you let your hands wander on his chest over his shirt and receive a warning look from him in return, “I promise I’ll be good, please just fuck me.”  

“Baby,” he coos, his fingers working quickly to unfasten the belt of your robe and push the offending clothing off your shoulders, “I literally just told you to be patient, no?” 

You ignore the raised eyebrow, the look of faux-disappointment, and even the way his fingers grab your waist because you’re too busy trying to get him out of his shirt, suddenly feeling too exposed as you sit on his lap naked. “Please,” you whisper against his skin, peppering kisses across the column of his throat as your hands make their way inside his shirt, “I’ll be patient next time.”  

“I’m suddenly realising that I spoil you very much,” Max mumbles, pulling his head back to get a look at you.  

Pulling back as well you give him a mischievous grin, “Maybe, but you’ll give me what I want this time as well.”  

“Yeah?” He asks, “Why?” 

“Because I think I’m getting your pants very messy right now.”  

Max can’t help the groan that escapes past his lips, his eyes quickly following yours as he takes in the ‘damage’ your wetness has caused on his jeans. He takes a moment to assess the damage, drags his eyes up to look at you when he notices the way your eyes stay fixed down, as your nervously bite down on your lower lip. He loses all the composure he managed to muster up, and he finally gives in, quickly pushing you off him onto the pillows on the bed. The squeal that leaves you is followed by a string of giggles that leave your lips, and when Max looks at you, he takes in the darker look in your widened eyes.  

“I was going to be patient; I can’t believe you’re making me not be patient.” He mumbles, taking off his shirt and the rest of his clothes before starting to leave kisses on your feverish skin as he slides down your body and places himself between your thighs.  

You open your legs wider to accommodate his body, a breathy laugh escaping past your lips. “You mean, impatient?” 

That earns you a nip on your upper thigh and a warning look, but instead of commenting on your quip, he lowers his face, keeps his eyes locked to yours and gets to work. And it’s not that you and Max haven’t done stuff – because it’s the opposite; although you haven’t had sex, it’s safe to say that the two you have explored every option bordering on sex. But how he’s acting right now is much different than the way how he is usually with you. His movements are almost rushed, and the way he drags his tongue through your folds is just enough for your eyes to roll back as your moans fill the room.  

Normally, he would be extra careful and make sure he is being gentle with you; but right now, he’s just trying to savour you before he loses all his composure. A choppy gasp leaves you as you feel his fingers enter you – two at first, and the way he pumps them in and out of you makes breathing harder. The speed of his fingers matches his tongue, and for a moment, you think you’re going to pass out. With his free hand, he blocks any type of movement you try with your hips; his palm sneakily presses down on your lower stomach to keep you in your place, but it’s jokes on him because if anything, it just makes you feel even better, and you’re not shy to let him know just how much he’s making you feel good with your moans.  

“Max,” you say his name in a breathy whimper, fingers threading through his hair to guide him, “fuck, I’m so close.” You can practically feel the way his lips curl up, and suddenly, everything about his actions gets faster. His fingers are pistoning in and out of you in an unforgiving pace, in sync with his tongue that works your clit just the same. So, it’s no surprise when you find yourself coming on his tongue as his name leaves your lips for the umpteenth time like a prayer.

The smirk he gives you when he pulls himself from between your legs is sinful – he looks absolutely debauched with the way his lips glisten with your release, and he wastes no time before coming up, and capturing your lips in yet another bruising kiss. But this time, you taste yourself on his tongue and this time it makes you lose the whatever little resolve you’ve had left. So, you hook your leg around his thigh to push him next to you on the bed as you practically throw him next to you on the bed.  

Though he has other plans.   Of course.  

So, as you’re trying to fight the seventy-kilogram-something driver into staying under you on the bed, he has no problem manhandling you into rolling on your side. And as you’re pressed flush against his chest, you turn your head backwards to breathlessly whisper, “You promised, Max.”  

“And I am a man of my word, aren’t I?” He retorts, his hand that is splayed on your thigh positions it so that it’s bent towards your stomach, “Just needed to get you ready.” You can’t help the guttural moan that escapes you when you feel him pressing the tip of his cock into your entrance. The pleading look you give him must’ve worked, because this time it’s his turn to let out a guttural moan as he pushes himself into you. There is no sign of his mood from mere moments ago as you feel his hands caress your bare hip, an entitled smirk on his lips as he asks, “Out of breath?” 

“Fuck you,” your response comes out as a breathy laugh as you’re pushing your hips closer to his to take him deeper.  

“Lifje, you are fucking me.” Max giggles into the crook of your neck as he pushes himself in fully. You would be furious with him if it didn’t make you laugh also, and although the laughing decrease, the smiles remain on both your faces as he starts slowly moving his hips. 

It’s sweet, unbelievably sweet, considering the sexual tension that was in the room an hour ago, but the way Max is fucking you can only be described as sweet. His hands caress every part of your body that he can reach – your thighs, to your hips, to your stomach, to your chest and then wraps one of his hands around your throat; not in a way that is rough, but in a way that he can still keep you still as he captures your lips for another kiss. The movement of his hips is languid, almost lazy as drive into you, but he still manages to hit all the spots along the way. Breathy chuckles are exchanged when he pulls away for you to organise your breathing, but your smiles still stay on, even when he raises your bent leg and rests his on his own leg. The new angle makes your moans get louder, your hips to move against his faster, and you can feel your orgasm approach speedily.  

But Max is so in tune with your body that he knows what’s coming (or rather who) before you get a chance to actually have to say anything. His hand slides down your body so that he can press his fingers to your clit and move them in tight circles, and as if it was possible, his you can suddenly feel him fucking you even deeper. “You are going to come for me pretty girl, I can feel it.” He murmurs into your skin, and all you can offer as an answer is a nod and an affirmative whimper as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Come on, give it to me, come on my cock.” And though he is not the most verbal person to ever exist, except for when he’s in the mood to be an absolute yapper, his words urge you to let go of the feeling that has been starting to brew in your stomach.  

Your hips start moving to meet his in choppy movements as you seek any and all kinds of pleasure to reach your high, and he meets your every move with increasing intensity of his own. “Max, yes!” Your exclamation hits his ears as he hits that one particular spot, making you instantly become lax in his arms as he guides you through your orgasm. His name spills out from your lips in constant repetition, “So good, so good,” you keep mumbling in breathless whimpers, trying to press yourself further into his body.  

With all things considered, it doesn’t take Max long to reach his own high following your own, since you insistently move your hips in a way that makes you take his cock even deeper when he’s helping you ride your orgasm. So, when you hear him groaning your name in the crook of your neck and feel him spilling himself into you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he croaks out, holding your hips in place with his hands splayed on your feverish skin. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

“How am I supposed to know, dummy?” You ask, throwing your head back to get a good look of his dishevelled state, “Why do you look so good after mind blowing sex?” 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, pulling you with him as he lets himself fall back on the bed, “genetics?” 

“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to find a comfortable position on his chest as he is still inside you, “remind me to send your mother a flower arrangement when we get back, or something.” 

A deep blush covers his cheeks, as if he hasn’t been fucking you for the past hour or so, as he stammers, “I– I mean, yeah.” This time, it’s your turn to give a non-committal hum, followed by a satisfied sigh as you snuggle him closer and close your eyes. “Just go to sleep, baby, we can deal with it in the morning.” 

“’Mkay,” you mumble, feeling his hand draw soothing circles on your back. “But you’re still gonna fuck me tomorrow, right?” 

This gets another loud laugh from the driver laying down under you, and both of you know that he’s going to do just that when you wake up in the morning. 

[scuderiahalf]

wild child — daniel ricciardo

pairing. platonic!daniel ricciardo x verstappen!f1a driver!fem!reader

summary. your uncle has another thing coming if he thinks you’ll idly sit there and take whatever he throws at you. alternatively, the story of how jos verstappen got his shit rocked by a sixteen-year-old girl. 1.6k

warnings. description of injury, referenced physical violence, themes of domestic and child abuse, mention of jos verstappen

.

Daniel watched with a wary smile as you joked around with your Prema teammates across the way. Dino said something that had Ollie covering your ears while jokingly scolding the other boy. You elbowed Ollie in the side and pointed at Kimi, probably complaining that you were less than a year younger than the Italian.

You were acting completely normal. Everything seemed fine and normal and totally cool. You gave no hint that anything was out of the ordinary, that anything was wrong. You smiled just as you always did.

But Daniel couldn’t ignore the swelling of your cheek, the bruise under your eye, the split of your lip.

Prema’s statement about the state of your face had said that you had gotten into a physical altercation that you had not instigated and that the perpetrator had been dealt with as necessary. Daniel had a really bad feeling about who said perpetrator was.

The VCARB driver wet his lips. He had to say something. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t. You needed to know you had people you could go to. You needed to hear it spoken plainly. He needed to extend a hand, whether or not you took it.

This wasn’t something he could sit in regret with. Daniel already regretted never saying anything to Max, never asking the important questions back when Max had still been skinny and ruddy-faced.

Daniel still didn’t know the full story there. He’s sure if he did, he should never be allowed in a room with Jos Verstappen ever again.

Daniel hated to see history repeating itself. He hated seeing Jos look at you like he looked at Max, like you were some prized race horse purpose-bred to win. Like you could win the Formula One World Drivers’ Championship and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Daniel didn’t know everything about Max and his father but he knew how Max acted, knew how he thought of himself, knew how his childhood still affected him today.

Daniel didn’t want that for you. If he could help you in any way, he had to try.

He caught you in Red Bull hospitality later in the weekend, when you were separated from the other Prema kids and eating lunch while scrolling on your phone.

“Y/N/N!” he greeted you with false enthusiasm. “Can I sit with you?”

You just smiled amusedly. “Knock yourself out, Ric.”

You and Daniel had always gotten on.

Before you got serious about racing and moved to Holland to live with your uncle, Daniel had only heard mention of you as Max’s favorite cousin. Starting two years ago, you had been making more and more appearances in the paddock as your relocation to Europe had given Max easy access to take you on field trips to various Grand Prix.

You had been uncharacteristically funny for a fourteen-year-old. Not in a mean or sarcastic way but genuinely funny with jokes and stories always ready to go. Daniel had liked you from the first time you had met.

Now, you were sixteen and you looked so much older but when Daniel looked at you, all he could see was that scrawny fourteen-year-old kid who had to have ten kilos of lead welded to her seat to meet the karting weight requirement.

Every time he looked too hard at the cut on your lip or the persistent redness of your right cheek, he felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt that funny, lovable little kid, or the young woman you were becoming who was still so full of life and humor.

“Daniel? You good? Do I have something on my face? Besides the obvious.”

Daniel forced out a laugh. “No. No, you’re fine. I was just wondering… How did you get that shiner?”

“Lost a fight with a revolving door. They’re vicious creatures, I tell ya.”

Daniel didn’t laugh. He barely managed a polite smile.

“Wow, tough crowd—yeah, it was Jos. I know that’s what you’re asking.”

You had always called your uncle that: Jos. Just Jos. Never Uncle Jos. Or Oom Jos, or however it would be said it in Dutch.

Your verbal detachment from your uncle didn’t make it any easier to stomach the thought of the man hitting you. Was this the first time? Had he done it before? How often? How severely? How had no one noticed?

“Y/N,” Daniel started, trying to approach the subject as gently as he originally planned, “You know you have so many people who care about you and would never want to see you kept in an unsafe environment? You have people you can turn to if you need help. Max, me, the people at Prema—“

“Did Max not tell you what happened? I figure he would have told you the story already. It’s pretty hilarious, in hindsight.”

What about this situation could ever be construed as hilarious? Daniel would admit he had a bad habit of making everything into a joke but this was a step too far, even for him.

“Y/N, I’m being serious. If Jos is hurting you, it has to be taken care of.”

“Believe me, I took care of it.”

Daniel just looked at you.

“Max really hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

“So, I made that post about pride month on the first, right? Just ‘happy pride month’ in the caption of my insta post? Well, Jos decided that he wouldn’t have that under his roof and when I called him a ‘homophobic wife beater,’ he slapped me. Backhanded me, actually.”

Daniel was still failing to find even the slightest bit of humor in your story.

“So, I beat the shit out of him.”

Daniel blinked. “You what.”

“I beat the—I don’t know how else you want me to say it.”

“I’m not understanding…”

“He put his hands on me, so I rocked his shit. Kicked him in the dick. Slammed his face into the kitchen counter and broke his nose. Probably bruised a rib or two.

“He’s at home nursing his pride, I’m pretty sure. I’ve been staying with Max in Monaco ever since. It’s a real ‘you should see the other guy’ situation.”

Daniel thought he was having an aneurysm. His brain couldn’t decide if he should continue to insist that you could leave your unsafe home life or if he wanted to feed into the inarguably hilarious mental images of Jos Verstappen getting beat up by a sixteen-year-old girl.

The internal battle must have shown on his face because you said, “You can laugh. It’s pretty funny.”

No. No, he needed to be an adult and not feed into your interpretation of the events being funny. It wasn’t funny that Jos raised a hand to you. It wasn’t funny that you had to defend yourself from a grown man you were meant to be able to trust.

But then Daniel couldn’t stop imagining a semi-cartoonish version of your uncle curled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose as you stand above him, laughing maniacally with a foot on Jos’ side like a big game hunter.

“It’s not funny,” he barely managed to get out before he started laughing along with the triumphant caricature of you in his mind.

The you that sat across from him grinned. “No, it is 100% funny. He obviously didn’t know anything about me whatsoever if he thought I’d just let him get away with that. He started that fight, and I ended it.”

Daniel just laughed harder. You grinned even wider.

“No—it’s not funny! I swear, it’s really not.” Daniel collected himself as best he could, tried to look at you seriously. “Y/N, you can’t keep living with him. He can’t keep managing you.”

“I know. Prema’s already worked it out. They’ve found me a new manager and I’m staying with Max; he’s helping set me up in an apartment in his building.

“My mom is furious. She had to be escorted out of the hospital when she flew in to talk to Jos. She might have broken his nose a second time. I don’t know. I wasn’t there, unfortunately. Jos isn’t allowed within a hundred meters of me until I’m 18.”

That guilty, worried part of Daniel that had started festering as soon as he had read Prema’s statement about your altercation finally laid itself to rest. Everything was handled. You were safe.

“Y/N, I—“

Daniel didn’t really know how to put into words just how relieved he was. He didn’t know how to say how much he cared about you, how glad he was that you had gotten out of what could have been a terrible situation.

“I know.”

Luckily, you understood. Daniel didn’t have to stumble over the words. That was another thing about you that Daniel adored: you were intuitive.

“I’m talking through it with my therapist. But I’ll be fine. I feel fine. I’m not going to let Jos ruin me before my career’s even really started. I’ve still got a season of F1 Academy to win.”

Daniel had a feeling you were telling him this not because you needed someone to talk to but because you knew it was what he needed to hear. Relief settled even further onto his shoulders.

“Spoken like a true Verstappen,” he joked.

“My last name is L/N.”

“You still belong to the Verstappen clan.”

You giggled. “I hail from House Verstappen.”

“Exactly. Just like Game of Thrones.”

You fall into easy laughter alongside Daniel.

You were laughing. Your bruises would fade and you would remain unchanged. You would race later that day and continue leading your championship just as your cousin led his.

Ultimately, you were undamaged. You were safe.

And you also had one hell of a story to write a memoir about in thirty years.

[dr0wnme0ut]

𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰

Synopsis: Tired of living a rough day to day life, you can’t help but wish for an escape from it all, not knowing someone was listening to your wish.

Pairings: Peter Pan!Heeseung X Female!Reader

Warnings: DARK CONTENT. YANDERE. NONCON. ALTHOUGH THIS IS A PETER PAN AU, NO ONE IS UNDERAGE. IF YOU TRY TO COME FOR ME FOR THAT SHIT, I WILL CUT YOUR TOES OFF. cursing, alcohol, manipulation, angst?, blood

Word Count: 8.5k+

Author Note: This is random, I know, one tiktok edit sent my brain into overdrive and I was able to spit this out in three-ish sittings. Which is why it wasn’t on my WIP, consider this an unhinged gift to you. Special thank you to my bestie for helping me come up with certain scenes and giving me delicious ideas!! Enjoy it, baby bats!

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. YOU CAN HIT THE BACK BUTTON AT ANY TIME MIND THE WARNINGS.

NSFW WARNINGS BELOW

NSFW Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (female rec), vaginal and anal fingering, spit, double penetration, anal, squirting, cream pie, choking, praising, shadow fucking (lol don't question it)

*not 100% proofread, if you see a mistake, no you didn't*

You sigh loudly as your old car tires squeak loudly when your car comes to a stop in front of the rustic log cabin your best friend Lisa had rented for the weekend. She insisted that the four of you spend the weekend away from the city in a “lovely” cabin in the middle of a forest to destress from the hectic day to day life you were all experiencing. With the way your boss had been treating you lately, this was much warranted. 

“Finally! We’ve been waiting for you, we haven’t started without you.” She grins from the porch waving her hands dramatically over her head.

“I had to finish a report for my boss before I could get on the road,” you explain, taking the duffle bag from your passenger seat. She engulfs you in a tight hug, the vanilla scent of her shampoo comforts you immediately letting the stress of work melt away. She had always been like a sister to you, her presence alone made her a safe space for you.

“Well, none of that matters now, you’re here! Come on, Jennie set up the fire pit in the back. Let’s crack open a bottle of wine!” 

She leads you inside the small cabin and shows you an empty bed to place your duffle on. The cabin itself is much nicer on the inside than its standoffish appearance from the outside. The walls were painted in deep chestnut brown with framed pictures of woodland animals. Four twin size beds lined the four walls, each bed with a fluffy pillow and clean folded quilts. A small kitchenette sat in the back, with an even smaller bathroom next to it. 

The smell of the burning wood from the fire pit swirled around the cabin, Lisa gestures to your bed “grab a blanket and come sit outside.” 

The fall weather of the day was beautiful, the sky was gray and the temperature was perfectly chilly making it perfect firepit weather. Jennie and Jisoo smile widely as you walk outside, immediately wrapping their arms around you when you get close enough to them. The last time all four of you had been together was months ago, work mostly keeping you from one another.

“Finally! I’ve been counting the days for this trip!” Jennie happily dances back to her chair. Four large chairs were strategically placed around the large metal fire pit that was burning. 

“Sorry I’m so late guys, I had to finish a report for my boss.” You sigh, sinking into the chair and wrapping the quilt around your lap.

“That boss of yours works you way too hard, I’m surprised you were able to get this weekend off.” Jisoo shakes her head pouring red wine into four wine glasses. 

“I had to request it weeks ago, and remind him every day this week.” 

She hands you the wine glass, “I don’t know how you put up with him. He is way too demanding, and he doesn’t even pay well.”

“I’m an assistant guys, I have to stick it out if I want to move up in the company.”

“We never see you anymore though,” Lisa pouts, sipping on the delicious red wine. 

“I know, I hate it. I really miss you guys,” you frown at the three women you have been friends with since childhood. “Sometimes I wish I could leave it all,” you smile softly, swirling the drink in your glass. “Could you imagine? Running away from work and all of the stress of the city? Never worrying about a job, rent, bills, love. Just run away and disappear.” 

“Sounds like Peter Pan syndrome,” Jennie giggles.

“No, Peter Pan was a kid that didn’t want to grow up. I like being an adult.” You lean your head back against the chair and stare into the gray sky as more dark clouds roll in. You sigh and close your eyes, “I like having adult money and doing adult things. I’m just saying, it would be nice to walk away from it all sometimes. I wish I could just stay in a place like this, away from everything.”

“I’ll cheers to that. No more work talk, babe. This weekend is all about relaxation!” Jisoo smiled holding her glass out about the flame of the pit, all of you followed her lead and clinked your glasses together giggling. “Cheers!”

The loud vibration of your phone woke you from your slumber, searching for it you're immediately blinded by the obnoxious light of the screen. Squinting your tired eyes you see it’s 4:00 am, not only that, but it was your boss calling. The cabin was filled with the soft snores of your friends. Not wanting to wake them, you quietly wrap the quilt around you and tiptoe to the backdoor and sneak out. 

Standing outside you reluctantly answer the phone, “Hello? Mr. Kim?”

“I need you to come into the office, right now!” His voice was so loud that you had to take the phone away from your ear. 

“What? Sir, I’m on a trip, remember? I’m an hour away, I can’t..” A sudden gust of cold wind knocks the quilt off of your shoulders leaving you in the floor length sleeveless white satin nightgown you had slept in. The quilt pooled around your ankles, “This isn’t negotiable. I have an emergency meeting and as my assistant you are expected to be there. You need to be at this office in two hours or I’ll have you back in the mail room.”

Before you could protest he hangs up the phone leaving you dumbfounded. The trip Lisa had been planning for weeks was now ruined, because of you. Could he do that? Could he really send you back to your interning days of sorting mail? Tears brimmed your waterline, fuck, you need to pack up and wake the girls. 

A snap of a branch catches your attention, picking up the quilt and wrapping it around your shoulders, you look in the direction of the forest where the sound came from. It was still dark out, the only light coming from the porch light and the moon. All you could make out were the outlines of the trees right in front of you, it was pitch black beyond that. 

Using the flashlight from your phone you shine it toward the trees trying to make out what could've made that sound. Calm down, it’s a fucking forest. There's animals, go inside and pack your shit. 

“Are you lost?”

A sudden deep voice makes you drop your phone with a gasp. Grabbing your phone from the ground in a rush, you clutch the quilt closer to your body as you shine the light around you in search of the voice. The deep voice laughs mockingly watching you spin in circles in search of him.

“Up here.”

Hesitantly, you lift your head in the direction and see a figure crouched on a tree branch, his elbows are on his knees as he rests his chin in between both of his hands. The darkness makes it hard to see his face. The branch he was perched on had to be at least 40 feet in the air with no smaller branches leading up there, how the hell did he manage that? 

“I-I should get inside..”

“Don’t be afraid, darling. You called for me.”

“Excuse me?”

He stands from his crouched position and steps off of the branch. “WHAT ARE YOU-” your voice stops in its tracks watching his body gently float down from the branch and landing on the ground in perfect grace. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck and starts walking toward you. 

Stepping closer to you out of the darkness you can finally see him. Silver ashy hair swoops across his forehead and around his ears, the moonlight highlights his defined jaw, prominent nose, and adams apple as well as his soft honey skin. His lips are plush and pink, with a small playful smirk stretched across his perfectly white teeth. His brown eyes capture yours and hold them. He’s in black slacks, a white button up collared shirt and a black vest to top it off. 

“You called for me last night. Don’t you remember, darling?” He steps closer to you with each word he speaks. His eyes still hold yours, you don’t know why you’re not running from this stranger. Something about him is holding your feet to the ground, his presence brings an unexplainable wave of comfort around you. He reaches his hand out and gently strokes the hair away out of your face and tucks it behind your ears, your face instinctively moving toward his warm hand. 

“I don't know what youre talking about, I don't even know you…” you whisper.

He smiles a little wider and cups your cheek in his hand, using his thumb to rub circles on the apple of your cheek. 

“You do, kind of.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m Heeseung, but fairy tales call me something else. Do you know what they call me?”

“No…” 

“I’ll give you a hint.” He has a playful gleam in his eyes as he removes his hand from your face and takes a step back. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls his balled fist out presenting it to you. You lean in closer as he unravels his hand and a ball of light and fluttering wings hovers in his large palm. 

A bug?

The fluttering subsides and a tiny figure sits in his palm. A small man sits in his palm in a green jumpsuit, he shakes the sparkles out of his wavy platinum blonde hair and smiles brightly at you as the translucent wings on his back twitch in excitement. 

Your mind is starting to question the reality of this. Not only did this strange man just float in midair, but now he keeps a pocket sized human looking bug in his pocket. There's no way any of this is real, you had to be dreaming, or still drunk from last night's wine. 

“Do you know who I am now?” He smiles watching the little fairy fly around and land on his shoulder in excitement. Your brain flashes with scenes from childhood movies and books and you can’t help but think, why does this little blonde bug look like the boy version of…

“Tinkerbell…” you whisper the last part out loud. 

The little fairy leaps off his shoulder, backflips in the air and flies around you in joy leaving traces of sparkles and light in his trail. He stops in front of your face and uses his tiny hand to boop you on the nose. He makes excited squeaking noises and flies back to Heeseung’s shoulder.

“He would rather be known as Tink by the world. But, his name is Sunoo. Most fairies are boys, I don’t know where they got the idea that he was a girl from.” He smiles watching the fairy pout and make dramatic faux crying faces on his shoulder. “So, darling. Who does that make me?” 

This isn’t real, there’s no way this could probably be real. If Sunoo was “Tinkerbell” then that meant in this very not real hypothetical scenario, Heeseung had to be..

“Peter Pan..” you whisper. 

His grin widens, he bows, placing his right hand over his heart, “at your service.”

“That’s not possible. Peter Pan is a little boy, a child. It’s a kids story, this isn’t..this can’t be real..”

He chuckles at your disbelief, “fairy tales tend to get misconstrued as they pass down. But, I’m very much real.” He says spinning in a circle lifting a few feet off of the ground to show his abilities. 

“I suppose the lost boys are real too,” you laugh in disbelief rubbing your hand over your face in an attempt to wake yourself up from the dream you must be having.

He smirks and reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a beautiful wooden ocarina. “As a matter of fact, darling.” He places his lips on the opening and blows into the instrument as he plays a few notes. He stops playing the small melody and smiles in the direction of the woods seeing the tall tree branches shake. One by one, different men drop from the trees and float gently onto the ground and start making their way toward you. 

“Darling, these are the lost boys,” Heeseung gestures to the four men as they stand in front of the two of you. 

Sunoo flutters around excitedly and swirls around the four boys. All four of the men were undoubtedly attractive, but nowhere near as beautiful as Heeseung. They were all in the same black and white attire, standing tall and proudly looking between you and Heeseung. 

“This is Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon.” He smiles pointing to each boy as they give you a small formal wave and taking a bow when their name is said. 

“This…this is not happening.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes in faux annoyance, “well, I guess I’ll have to make you believe this is real.” He grabs the phone from your hand and tosses it off to the side into a pile of leaves on the ground, “hey! I need that! I have to go-“

“Shh, darling. Let me show you something.” He smiles warmly, placing his index finger over your lips. Before you could protest his arms snakes around your waist, letting the quilt fall off of your shoulders again. He smirks down at you as he presses your body harder against his, “relax, darling. I’ve got you.”

His body is firm against yours, he’s warm and you instinctively melt into his touch. Your body starts to feel weightless as you feel yourself being lifted off of the ground. You watch the leaves on the ground become smaller and smaller and a surge of panic courses through you as you cling onto Heeseung to make sure he doesn’t drop you. You bury your face into his neck and squeeze your eyes shut to avoid looking at the height he’s taking you. 

He presses his lips into your hair and places a small comforting kiss into it, “darling, relax. I got you.”

You're being lifted higher into the air as he starts to lead you into the dark forest with the lost boys and Sunoo flying close behind. You bury your face further into his neck as you feel him pick up speed, the wind is howling in your ears and your hair is whipping against your shoulders. Your stomach drops like you’re on a rollercoaster and you feel like you might get nauseous from intense motion sickness. 

You hesitantly open your eyes and see the trees speed past you as he flies you deeper into the forest. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a pair of white glowing eyes staring at you, you gasp and press yourself harder against Heeseung. He rubs your back soothingly, “I’m not going to drop you.” You blink and the eyes are nowhere to be found, maybe it was an owl?

You feel Heeseung start to slow down and you look at the ground as you feel your bodies start to float gently to the ground. The ground is cold and wet beneath your bare feet, you look around and see you’ve landed in a small opening in the forest. There's two long logs placed around a makeshift opening for a campfire. The lost boys sit around on the logs as Sunoo blows a puff of green smoke into the campfire opening and a small fire blazes.

“Come, sit with us.” Heeseung gestures toward the fire. He leads you to the log closest to the flame, you sit as he rubs your arms soothingly helping you warm up from the chill of the early morning. 

“Heeseung?” You ask, looking at him nervously. “Yes, darling?”

“What did you mean when you said I called for you?” 

He smiles slightly and looks at you with adoration, “you said you wanted an escape. That you wanted to run away from your life. I heard you, and I’m here to give that to you.” 

“How? I have to work, Heeseung, I can’t just stay in the forest with a bunch of strangers.” 

“Darling, stop worrying about the things that don’t matter right now. Just for now, just for this moment, forget it all.” 

Everything in you is screaming to run away, that this couldn’t be real. But looking into Heeseung’s eyes gave you an unexplainable feeling of comfort. The way he smiled at his friends with the cute wrinkle of his nose. His big doe eyes that held warmth in them, everything about him was inviting. Even the smell of the forest and morning dew on his skin had you yearning to be closer to this mysterious stranger. 

“So, how much do you know about me?” He asks with curiosity beaming in his eyes. 

“I don’t remember a whole lot from the animated movie,” you giggle shyly under his gaze. “But I loved the one with Jeremy Sumpter, have you seen it?” You ask curiously.

He smiles warmly, “I’ve seen every movie version of me. Is that one your favorite?”

“Yeah, it had me swooning as a kid. It was so obvious how much Peter loved Wendy, I hated that they didn’t end up together.” you admit fiddling with your hands in your lap.

His smile widens as he watches you twitch nervously, “what was your favorite part?”

You meet his gaze and he sees your eyes light up as you answer without hesitation, “the fairy dance scene of course!”

Of course it was 

He stands up and extends his hand to you, you take it without question as he pulls you to a standing position gently. He wraps one arm around your waist and takes your other in his hand, in a waltz position. Sunoo flutters around the two of you in swirling motions causing falling shimmers of light to cascade around you two. Your feet leave the ground again as he brings you closer to his body.

“Are we going to dance?” You smile excitedly watching as he brings you high into the sky. The nervousness about flying before was no longer present as excitement bubbled within you to live out a fantasy of yours. 

He starts to slowly spin you in circles, Sunoo stays flying around you sprinkling more of his pixie dust on you so you don't need Heeseung’s full support to stay in the air. Every childhood dream you had watching that movie was becoming reality and you couldn't stop the stupid grin that took over your face. You stayed looking at Heeseung to avoid looking at the height he was taking you, you didn’t want anything to ruin this moment. 

As you reach the height of the treetops he stays hovering the two of you there as he brings you closer to him, still slowly turning you in circles. The sunrise was starting to break through, painting you in orange and red hues, he couldn’t help but stare at you admiring how the sun highlighted every notable feature on your face. 

He had been waiting for this moment for so long. 

He smiles watching you giggle as he continues to dance with you. Spinning you in circles, and even dipping you a time or two. The way he glided you along the treetops effortlessly and hummed a small melody only added to the magic of it all. Sunoo stayed close by, adding the dust and sparkle to keep you glowing in Heeseung’s arms. 

He spins you a final time bringing your back against his chest as he carries your weight so you can watch the full sunrise. The sunrise above the treetops was unlike anything you had ever seen before, somehow everything looked brighter and more vivid. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back on his shoulder feeling the warmth of the sun's rays take away the chill from the cold morning wind.

“Can I just stay here?” you whisper into the sky, feeling truly free for the first time. No thoughts of work, no thoughts of stress, just pure bliss and pure freedom that you’ve never felt before.

A cheshire grin creeps on his face, his hands run along your lower abdomen as he places his mouth against your ear “Forget them, darling. Forget them, all. Stay with me, where you’ll never, never have to worry about anything ever again.”

You smile, “Never is an awfully long time…” you giggle feeling his lips ghost over neck and shoulder. He doesn’t comment as he lets you bathe in the morning light for a few minutes before bringing you slowly back down on the cold ground. 

The lost boys smirk watching Heeseung twirl you one last time in the air before letting your feet touch the ground again. Sunoo flies around Heeseung and squeaks out little sounds, “right now?” Heeseung responds. Sunoo flicks his wings in annoyance and Heeseung sighs. “Stay put, I need to check on something.” He kisses your cheek and follows Sunoo a few feet away behind a large tree, leaving you alone with the other boys. 

They all stare at you curiously as you take a seat on the log next to Jake. “So, do you guys stay around here?” You ask, trying to break the tension.

Jake doesn't say anything but he leans closer to your face and studies every feature intently. “Boy, you really do look a lot like her.” He realizes that he said the statement out loud and immediately backs away with wide panicked eyes. The other lost boys shoot him a glare and look between each other. 

“I look a lot like who, Jake?” you ask curiously tilting your head to the side. 

“No one, sorry.” He quickly stands up and walks away from you avoiding the stares from the rest of the boys. Heeseung watches him from behind the tree with a hard stare and clenches his jaw, he pauses for a few seconds and starts to chase after him.

“What’s going on?” You ask Jungwon. The three boys look at each other nervously. “I don’t know, you would need to ask Heeseung.”

Heeseung and Jake don’t return for a while, you wait impatiently for his return to demand to know about Jake’s odd statement. When he finally does return he has a hard glare on his normally soft face and notably, Jake isn’t with him. 

“Heeseung, what’s going on? You’re not telling me something.”

“Darling, stop worrying.” He shakes his head running the back of his hand against your cheek. 

You push his hand away, “stop. Tell me the truth. Please.” The happiness and freeness you had felt with him was washing away and you were facing the reality of the hard truth. Heeseing is a stranger, and you don’t know anything about him, let alone trust him. 

He studies you for a moment and looks at the boys and gestures his head in the direction of where he came from, signaling for them to get lost. Sunoo lands on Heeseung’s shoulder and sits with his legs crossed nervously. 

“I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time, darling.” He sighs rubbing the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. He looks at you with his soft doe eyes and sighs, “I knew your mother.”

“My-my mom?”

“She called out to me, too. She was so sad about her life, just like you.” He pauses, letting the memories of him taking your mother out of her college dorm window and flying above the downtown skyline replay in his head for a moment. 

“And I thought she was the one, we had such a fun adventure together.” He smiles a bit remembering how she opened up to him as they sat atop a bridge and watched the busy city life traffic. “But, when I told her to stay with me she said she couldn’t. She said she was pregnant…and getting married..to your father.” 

You slow blink at him processing each sentence. This was the first you were ever hearing of this, come to think of it, your mother read you Peter Pan books as a child. Your mind begins to wander back to those moments, now noting that sometimes she wiped her eyes during reading and stared at the drawings of Peter Pan. As a child, you never questioned why she reacted that way but now the pieces were connecting like a puzzle, and it was making you sick. 

“I was so mad in the beginning. I grew to despise her. I told myself I was going to kill her for breaking my heart. It took 19 years to track her down..” he scoffs, dropping his hand from your face and walking in a circle around you, like a lion stalking its prey. 

“But, to my surprise, what did I see when I found her? I saw you, darling. And then I realized why everything happened the way it did. She was never meant to be mine, you were.” He stops in his tracks remembering seeing you on your mothers couch though the glass patio door. The dagger he had in his hand fell to the floor as he placed his hand gently on the glass as if it was you, so desperate to touch you. 

“I spent almost twenty years miserable and hating her, only to find out that she wasn’t my true love, she was just a container. She was brought into my life because she was carrying you. It was you all along.” He spoke softly looking at you, his hands went back to cupping your face gently.

“Wait, Heeseung. You’re confused, I don’t know you. I don’t love you…” You shake your head breaking from his grasp. All the new information became overwhelming, your chest was tightening and it felt like water was rushing into your ears making you dizzy with loud roaring sounds. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again, his big eyes narrowing and turning dark. “You will learn to love me, darling. Do you think all this was a coincidence? How do you think your friend knew about this place?” A small humorless smile tugs at his lips. 

“I know Jennie, I’m still looking! I think I found a cute little beach villa but it’s four hours away. I just need something a little closer.” Lisa sighs into her phone as she types on her computer in search of a weekend getaway spot. 

A knock on her office door startles her, “hang on Jen, I think my boss is here.” She places the call on mute and puts the cell in her drawer out of sight. “Come in.”

A tall man with silver hair walks in with a friendly smile on his face and a black briefcase in hand, “I hope I’m not intruding on you miss. I heard you could help me with a little problem.”

Lisa furrows her brows at the strange man, “um, sure? I’m sorry sir, what exactly is it that you need my help with?” He walks to her desk and places his briefcase on top of the wood and opens the locks. “I just need you to look at this.”

She stands from her office chair and watches him open the case, he pulls out something in his fist and presents it to her. “Can you hold this for me?” Normally, she would ask a hundred and one questions to this stranger but there's something unexplainable about him that she trusts. 

She opens her hand and the man smiles as he drops Sunoo into her palm. Her eyes widen and before she can form a response Sunno blows a puff of pixie dust in her face. The dust covers her face and her dark eyes glaze over with green hues as she sits back down in her chair and stares straight ahead. Heeseung walks behind her desk and searches for the cabin on her computer, once he pulls up the address he pulls up the booking information and leaves it on the screen.

He places his lips by her ear and smiles, “you found such a lovely cabin for you and your friends. Make sure to book it immediately, and make sure she is there, no excuses.” Lisa nods as she still continues to stare mindlessly ahead. He grabs his briefcase and nods to Sunoo as he walks to the office door. Sunoo puffs another small cloud of dust into her face and quickly follows Heeseung out of the office. 

Lisa blinks slowly and shakes her head from the foggy feeling that filled her brain. What the hell just happened? Looking at the computer she smiles at the cute little cabin that she must have found when she spaced out. She quickly grabs her phone from the desk drawer to unmute Jennie.

“Hey! I found it! It’s the sweetest little cabin ever! It’s only an hour away! I need to call Jisoo and Y/N, we have to go. No excuses.”

You felt sick to your stomach, this was all him? This was all a trap? For what, for you? “I want to go home.” You start walking in a random direction to put distance between you and Heeseung. He lets you walk a few steps away before he leaps into the air, landing in front of you blocking your path. “You’re not leaving me, you’re coming home with me.”

“Heeseung, this is ridiculous! I have a job, my friends are probably worried sick about me right now. I can’t stay in some stupid fantasyland out here with you!” You retort angrily as you shove him away from you. 

“You can and you will, I’m taking you to your new home.”

Sunoo flutters around the two of you and stops in front of your face. “Do it.” Heeseung commands the fairy. Sunoo pouts at you apologetically and cups his tiny hands in front of his mouth and blows out a puff of dark green sparkling smoke directly in your face. 

You step back as the smoke fills your lungs making you cough aggressively, knocking the wind out of you. You kneel on the ground clutching your throat gasping for fresh air. The choking sensation gets quickly replaced by a numbing feeling that has your eyes dropping and limbs tingling. You look at Heeseung with pleading eyes as he watches you falter to the ground further, you notice a familiar pair of white glowing eyes behind him before letting sleep take over your body. 

Waking up in a foggy haze, memories start to resurface in your mind, what a weird fucking dream. Trying to turn over a sudden sharp pain stabs into your wrists forcing your eyes open in a panic. After blinking a few times you take notice of your ankles and wrists tied to four wooden bed posts, not only that, but they were tied with vines. Vines that were laced in greenery and sharp thorns. If you struggled against them they would cut into your skin, blood was already starting to drip out of the wrist you tried to move.

“Sorry about that, darling. Sunoo’s fairy smoke isn’t really used on humans and we might have used too much on you. I’m so happy you’re awake now.” Heeseung smiles from the corner of the room. 

“Heeseung please, let me go, I want to go home.”

“This is your home, darling, I’m your home.”

“I can’t stay here, my friends and family will come looking for me.” You start to let your tears spill, this all felt hopeless, it was becoming clear he wasn’t going to let you go. 

“Darling, even if they did look for you, they could never find you here.” He taunts playfully as he gestures around the room you’re in. He steps closer to you as he removes his vest and tosses it aside, he unbuttons the first two buttons of his dress shirt as he steps closer to you. His fingers tap on your bleeding ankles, he runs the tip of his index finger along the bottom of the satin of your nightgown all the way up, stopping right at the top of your breasts. He traces the delicate lace that lined the top of the gown watching your nipples pebble from the action, he smirks, taking a handful of the fabric in each hand and tearing it down the middle exposing you to him.

“Heeseung! Stop!”

He rolls his eyes and tears another piece off of the fabric and balls it up. He grabs your jaw and forces your mouth open as wide as it could go with his fingers and shoves the fabric into your mouth gagging you. “Normally, I’d love to hear what you sound like when I fuck you. But if you’re going to be screaming nonsense at me, I’d rather not hear you at all.”

Trying not to pull on your limbs to stab yourself further on the thorns, you look up at him helplessly. He straddles your waist and starts to place wet open mouth kisses along your jaw and down to your neck, gently letting the tip of his tongue trace every vein. He takes the sensitive skin between his teeth and starts sucking harshly until it’s sure to leave a mark, his mark. You hate how much your body reacts to his touch, you don’t want this, but the uncomfortable stickiness growing between your legs speaks a different story. 

You try to cry out but it's muffled by the fabric in your mouth. “You’re so beautiful, I’m so happy you’re finally home.” He mumbles into your soft skin. He kisses all the way down your body and stops above your clothed core. The way the vines had your legs spread open for him and had given him the perfect view of your clothed cunt. You looked so fucking perfect like this for him, all helpless and spread for him like a prized dessert. He bit his bottom lips as he ran his hand over the simple cotton fabric, he had been dreaming about seeing your pretty little pussy all swollen and needy for him, he wanted to see your tiny needy hole gaping and begging for him. Like your nightgown, he rips the fabric down the middle. He discards the torn fabric and places a loving kiss on your belly button as he lays flat on his stomach between your legs. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long, darling.”

His face hovers above your core for a few seconds inhaling your scent before he spreads your folds apart and spits a wad of his saliva directly on your clit to help aid his movements. He uses three fingers to spread his spit around your clit as he watches your body shudder under him. You close your eyes and bite down on the makeshift gag as he applies more pressure to your clit. You hated how good it felt, and you hated how you could feel your arousal slowly start to seep out of you as you clench around nothing. 

He notices 

He smirks watching your body react to his touch, he stops rubbing your pussy and replaces his fingers with his mouth desperate to finally have a taste of you. You start panting heavily as you try to keep your legs from shaking to avoid being stabbed further by the sharp thorns. His warm tongue skillfully laps against your clit and sucks the nub into his mouth as he slips two of his thick fingers into your wet core. 

His eyes immediately close as he lets your clit go with a pop of his lips and slurps the arousal that’s leaking out of you around his fingers, not wanting to waste a single drop onto the sheets. His perfect nose is buried hard against your clit as he licks and sucks messily desperate for more of your sweet arousal to leak out so he can satisfy his insatiable thirst for you. He had never tasted anything so sweet before, and he knew he was going to spend hours everyday with his mouth attached to your cunt.  

Your legs try to close but the thorned vines dig further into your skin making you cry out in pain. He continues to suck on your clit as his thick long fingers explore inside your walls to prep you for his cock. He hums around you sending the vibrations straight to your lower belly, your thighs trembling around his face. He lifts his head up and stares at you with hooded dark eyes, “can you cum for me, darling?”

You whine around the gag feeling his fingers fuck into you faster and deeper, the pain in your wrists and ankles fading around the pleasure from your forced building orgasm. You can’t help the moans that try to escape your gagged mouth as you feel your orgasm building. He latches his mouth back onto your clit and sucks the sensitive flesh between his perfect teeth harshly. Your back arches off the mattress as your forced release gushes out of you soaking his entire hand and the lower half of his face. 

He moans around you as he continues to suck on your now swollen clit and finger fuck you through your orgasm. He finally stops his movements when he hears you squeal behind the gag from the overstimulation as you try to wiggle away from his mouth and fingers. He watches you pant heavily as you stare at the ceiling desperate to catch your breath. Your limbs were shaking against the restraints and blood was staining the sheets under you. He left small kisses along your wet inner thighs, “Do you want to know what else is real about the fairy tales, darling?” He smiles against your skin. 

You look down at him between your shaking opened legs and watch his gaze shift to the side of the room where a figure emerges. Your eyes widen as they flicker back and forth between Heeseung and Heeseung? The figure that emerged from the side of the room looked like a carbon copy of the man in between your legs, down to the attire. Fear and confusion make your entire body tremble in fear, you start crying again as the other Heeseung makes its way toward you two.

The other Heeseung wipes your tears off of your cheeks, “don’t cry darling. I’m going to take care of you.” The Heeseung between your legs speaks as he gets on his knees. The mysterious Heeseung figure doesn’t speak, he just stares at you with dark, curious and lustful eyes. But something about them felt strangely familiar. Heeseung stands up from the bed and starts to unravel the vines around your ankles as the other one works on the ones that are wrapped around your wrists, never making a sound or saying a word. 

The relief was immediate, feeling the thorns being removed from your delicate skin. You start to reach for the wadded ball of fabric in your mouth but the Heeseung clone grabs your bleeding wrists and keeps you pinned to the bed with one of his hands. He strokes your face with the back of his free hand but the actions feel anything but soothing or comforting. 

The real Heeseung stands and starts to remove his clothing piece by piece, while never breaking his eye contact with you. Heeseung makes his way back to the top of the bed and the clone pulls you into a sitting position, they exchange a silent look and the replica maneuvers you more forward so Heeseung can lean against the headboard. He beckons you with his finger and the other one lifts you effortlessly so that you’re hovering above Heeseung’s awaiting cock. You weren’t a virgin, but the generous size of him would surely have you struggling around him. 

He taps his fingers on your lips that are wrapped around the drool soaked fabric, “if I pull this out will you be good? I don’t want to hear any nonsense. I just want to hear your pretty sounds.” 

You nod aggressively and make a muffled sound around the fabric, “if you start acting out I’m going to gag you again. Understand?” He asks. You nod again, he grabs the wet fabric and pulls it out as you whine lightly and flex your sore jaw from the uncomfortable open forced position it was in. “Now, just relax and let me take care of you.” 

He grips your hips and helps the clone guide you onto his length. The swollen mushroom tip forces its way inside of you, your forced arousal helping aid it further. You could feel every vein of his length as they both slowly slid you down onto him. Your mouth was open in a silent pained gasp as you stared at Heeseung with wide, wet, and pleading eyes. He watched you with his bottom lip between his teeth, relishing in the feeling of how tight you were around his aching cock. You started to tense and clench around him at the halfway mark, resisting to take him any further but the clone grabbed your shoulders roughly and pushed you down the rest of the way in a fast motion with no room for adjustment. You try to wriggle off of him but Heeseung’s grip on your waist is firm. 

You were fully sitting on him as you fell forward on his chest sobbing uncontrollably, the stretch was painful, his fingers did nothing to prep you properly and you could feel him all the way to your belly button pulsing and throbbing inside of you. Heeseung grabs your face off of his chest and forces it back so he could slip his tongue inside your mouth, desperate to taste all of you. The figure stays behind you as it lifts your hips up and down on Heeseungs cock like you were some kind of fuck doll. 

The figure starts kissing your shoulders and neck as Heeseungs stays exploring the inside of your mouth, licking every crevice and swallowing all of the spit you can’t swallow. The figure stays moving you in an up and down motion, you whine in pain but Heeseung swallows the pained sounds with his tongue. He pulls away from your mouth to latch it onto your right nipple and takes the left one between his fingers. The figure forces your back against its chest to give Heeseung better access to your chest. 

Heeseung looks up at you with your nipple between his teeth, he wants to hear more of you. He pinches the other and twists it painfully causing you to gasp and whine loudly. You place your hands on his shoulders to try and pry him off of you but the figure stops you and forces your arms back at your side. Heeseung releases your nipple and places a wet kiss in between your breasts and smiles darkly at you when he feels you clenching around his cock, more of your arousal leaking out around him and dripping down his balls.   

He shoots a glance at the figure behind you and you feel your body being pushed forward. Your breasts hit Heeseung’s bare chest as the figure behind you maneuvers around you behind you and you feel its hands roam over your bottom and spread your cheeks. You try to shoot up but Heeseung has his arms wrapped around you keeping you in place, he feels your pussy clenching harder around him and he groans. 

“I’ve never done that before!” You panic trying to squirm away but they have a firm hold on you keeping you in place, “I told you if you spoke nonsense again, I’d gag you.” Heeseung scoffs, before you can respond he shoves three of his fingers into your mouth up to his third knuckle. You cough and choke around the digits, the clone uses the distraction to spit on your puckered hole before swirling the spit around the opening and pressing his thumb inside. You can’t move out of their grip and are forced to remain still around the uncomfortable intrusion as its thumb wiggles around inside of you, you continue to cry around Heeseung’s fingers in your mouth.

The figure slips its thumb out and coats two of its other fingers in your dripping arousal and slips them into the tight opening scissoring you open further. You cry out again and squeeze your eyes shut in pain. Heeseung feels you clench harder around him causing his already painfully aching cock to throb uncomfortably inside of you. He looks at the figure behind you again, clearly giving him another order, it retreats its fingers and lowers the slacks it's wearing and frees its cock out. It strokes itself a few times using its precum as lube. 

You look at Heeseung with desperate pleading eyes knowing what was about to happen. “Be good for me, darling.” He kisses your wet cheeks and nods to the figure. You suck in a deep breath as you feel the other Heeseung line himself up to your tiny hole and start to push itself inside of you. You scream around Heeseung’s fingers as it continues to slide its way inside of you, ignoring the flailing of your legs and body until reaching its hilt. You scream until it hurts, Heeseung places kisses on every part of your skin he can reach trying to soothe you from the unbearable stretch. You pant heavily against Heeseung’s fingers while obscene amounts of drool drip down your neck and onto his chest. 

The stretch and pain was unlike anything you had ever felt before, it burned, it was blistering hot and it felt like you were tearing and bleeding around the both of them, but the pressure. The pressure was the most unbearable. “You’re doing so good for me, darling.” He hums lifting your head so he could kiss around his fingers and lightly lick at the drool spilling out of your mouth. They don’t give you anytime for adjustments or comfort as they both start to move inside both of your holes. 

They set a rhythm together, one pulling out as the other would enter in, in continuous vigorous thrusts. Heeseung finally removed his fingers and slipped his tongue back in your open mouth and licked comforting strokes against your tongue as you continued to cry at the excruciating pain. He reached down between you and started to rub circles on your swollen clit, making you whine as you clenched around both of them. The more you clenched around them, the more painful it was, forced to feel the full size and hardness of them. 

The figure behind you grabs you from Heeseung’s mouth by the throat and pulls you against its chest making you look up at it while it continues to fuck your ass. Heeseung places both of his hands on your waist, he’s gripping you so tight he’s leaving his nail marks into your skin as he bounces you on their cocks faster. You stare into the eyes of the figure behind you as something strange begins to happen. 

The brown eyes of the figure start to glow and they glaze over into white bright orbs, like the eyes you had continuously seen in the forest. The figure slowly starts to morph out of its skin and a black faceless apparition takes its place. Your mouth drops open as color drains from your face as the apparition continues to drill into you. Heeseung covers your mouth before you can scream, “the fairy tales were right about one thing, darling.” He grunts as the shadow continues to rut you harder on Heeseung’s and its cocks. “I have a mischievous shadow that likes to play.” 

The shadow continues to hold you by the neck forcing you to stare into its white glowing eyes. You cry and squeal behind Heeseung’s hand that’s covering your mouth feeling them thrust into you mercilessly. The sounds go straight to the tip of Heeseing’s cock, as he hits your cervix with each painful punch of his thrusts, going deeper and deeper inside of you, both of them. 

“I’m going to fuck you like this every day, darling.” He pants as his brows scrunch in pleasure, he was so fucking close. The shadow tilts your head down so you’re forced to look at Heeseung. “You’re all mine, I’ve waited for you for hundreds of years.” He looks deep into your eyes as he rests his sweaty forehead against yours, you can see the deranged psychotic look in his eyes as he speaks. The shadow reaches around and starts rubbing your clit at an inhumane pace making it hard to breath and your legs shake and tremble. You sob and shake your head behind his hand, you didn’t want this, you didn’t want this life. 

Heeseung watches you intently as your eyes become wild the harder the shadow rubs your clit, your eyes roll to the back of your head as you scream against his hand as your gummy walls clamp around Heeseung’s cock and a gush of liquid sprays out of you, the force of it was almost enough to push his cock out of you. He groans loudly and ruts harder into you chasing his own high, not even caring about the shadow anymore, his movements are sloppy and desperate before his hips stutter against you and he lets out a primal groan from deep within his chest.  Thick and hot cum fill your womb, it feels like an obscene amount and you can feel your lower belly expanding from the weight of it all. Nothing about Heeseung was human. 

The shadow pulls out of your other hole when Heeseung removes his hand from your mouth, it lifts you off of his softening cock and lays you onto your side next to Heeseung. You can feel both of your holes pulsing and gaping around nothing, you feel disgusting as you sob into your bloody shaking hands. Heeseung wraps his arms around you from behind you and pulls you closer to him. “I love you.”

Your cries start to slowly die down as you watch the shadow fly around the room before exiting the large open window. You squint your watery eyes as you try to see the outside view, you can only make out lots of emerald green treetops but the sky, the sky was what was confusing you. It was lilac, no sunlight, no darkness, just a lilac sky with white clouds and fairies flying around leaving traces of their light. This wasn’t the sky you were used to, this wasn’t the scenery you were used to. Heeseung kisses your bare shoulder from behind you and follows your bewildered gaze to the window, “welcome home, darling. Welcome to Neverland.”

Every like/comment/reblog gives Peter Pan Heeseung a smooch!

Perm Taglist: @pockettwinzz @emi-en @alvojake @idkdykilr @lilyuwon

@jooniesbears-blog @youresolivlie @richasdiary @jeoncarla008 @parksunghoonsgf

@criminalyun @melonvrs @onlyuyu @paralyzedparadiseonmytongue @ilyjxdz

@skzenhalove @aceheexx @heeshlove @itgirlalisaa

[renthony]

Nimona: a Story of Trans Rights, Queer Solidarity, and the Battle Against Censorship

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

The 2023 film Nimona, released on Netflix after a tumultuous development, is a triumph of queer art. While the basic plot follows a mischievous shapeshifter befriending a knight framed for murder, at its heart Nimona is a tale of queer survival in the face of bigotry and censorship. Though the word “transgender” is never spoken, the film is a deeply political narrative of trans empowerment.

The film is based on a comic of the same name, created by Eisner-winning artist N.D. Stevenson. (1) Originally a webcomic, Nimona stars the disgraced ex-knight Ballister Blackheart and his titular sidekick, teaming up to topple an oppressive regime known as the Institution. The webcomic was compiled into a graphic novel published by Harper Collins on May 12, 2015. (2)

On June 11, 2015, the Hollywood Reporter broke the news Fox Animation had acquired rights to the story. (3) A film adaptation would be directed by Patrick Osborne, written by Marc Haimes, and produced by Adam Stone. Two years later, on February 9, 2017, Osborne confirmed the film was being produced with the Fox-owned studio Blue Sky Animation, and on June 30 of that same year, he claimed the film would be released Valentine’s Day 2020. (4)

Then the Walt Disney Company made a huge mess.

On December 14, 2017, Disney announced the acquisition of Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc. (5) Industry publications began speculating the same day about Blue Sky’s fate, though nothing would be confirmed until after the deal’s completion on March 19, 2019. (6) At first it seemed the studio would continue producing films under Disney’s governance, similar to Disney-owned Pixar Animation. (7)

The fate of the studio—and Nimona’s film adaptation—remained in purgatory for two years. During that time, Patrick Osborne left over reported creative differences, and directorial duties were taken over by Nick Bruno and Troy Quane. (8) Bruno and Quane continued production on the film despite Blue Sky’s uncertain future.

The killing blow came on February 9, 2021. Disney shut down Blue Sky and canceled Nimona, the result of economic hardship caused by COVID-19. (9) Nimona was seventy-five percent completed at the time, set to star Chloë Grace Moretz and Riz Ahmed. (10)

While COVID-19 caused undeniable financial upheaval for the working class, wealthy Americans fared better. (11) Disney itself scraped together enough to pay CEO Bob Iger twenty-one million dollars in 2020 alone. (12) Additionally, demand for animation spiked during the pandemic’s early waves, and Nimona could have been the perfect solution to the studio’s supposed financial woes. (13) Why waste the opportunity to profit from Blue Sky’s hard work?

It didn’t take long for the answer to surface. Speaking anonymously to the press, Blue Sky workers revealed the awful truth: Disney may have killed Nimona for being too queer. The titular character was gender-nonconforming, the leading men were supposed to kiss, and Disney didn’t like it. (14) While Disney may claim COVID-19 as the cause, it is noteworthy that Disney representatives saw footage of two men declaring their love, and not long after, the studio responsible was dead. (15) Further damning evidence came in February of 2024, when the Hollywood Reporter published an article quoting co-director Nick Bruno, who named names: Disney’s chief creative officer at the time, Alan Horn, was adamantly opposed to the film’s “gay stuff.” (16)

Disney didn’t think queer art was worthy of their brand, and it isn’t the first time. “Not fitting the Disney brand” was the justification for canceling Dana Terrace’s 2020 animated series The Owl House, which featured multiple queer characters. (17) Though Terrace was reluctant to assume queerphobia caused the cancellation, Disney’s anti-queer bias has been cited as a hurdle by multiple showrunners, including Terrace herself. (18) The company’s resistance to queer art is a documented phenomenon.

While Nimona’s film cancellation could never take N.D. Stevenson’s comic from the world, it was a sting to lose such a powerful queer narrative on the silver screen. American film has a long history of censoring queerness. The Motion Picture Production Code (commonly called the Hays Code) censored queer stories for decades, including them under the umbrella of “sex perversion.” (19) Though the Code was eventually repealed, systemic bigotry turns even modern queer representation milestones into battles. In 2018, when Rebecca Sugar, creator of the Cartoon Network series Steven Universe, succeeded in portraying the first-ever same-sex marriage proposal in American children’s animation, the network canceled the show in retaliation. (20)

When queer art has to fight so hard just to exist, each loss is a bitter heartbreak. N.D. Stevenson himself expressed sorrow that the world would never see what Nimona’s crew worked so hard to achieve. (21)

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

While fans mourned, progress continued behind the scenes. Instead of disappearing into the void as a tax write-off, the film was quietly scooped up by Megan Ellison of Annapurna Pictures. (22) Ellison received a call days before Disney’s death blow to Blue Sky, and after looking over storyboard reels, she decided to champion the film. With Ellison’s support, former Blue Sky heads Robert Baird and Andrew Millstein did their damnedest to find Nimona a home. (23)

Good news arrived on April 11, 2022, when N.D. Stevenson made a formal announcement on Twitter (now X): Nimona was gloriously alive, and would release on Netflix in 2023. (24) Netflix confirmed the news in its own press release, where it also provided details about the film’s updated cast and crew, including Eugene Lee Yang as Ambrosius Goldenloin alongside Riz Ahmed’s Ballister Boldheart (changed from the name Blackheart in the comic) and Chloë Grace Moretz as Nimona. (25) The film was no longer in purgatory, and grief over its death became anticipation for its release.

Nimona made her film debut in France, premiering at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival on June 14, 2023 to positive reviews. (26) Netflix released the film to streaming on June 30, finally completing the story’s arduous journey from page to screen. (27)

When the film begins, the audience is introduced to the world through a series of illustrated scrolls, evoking the storybook intros of Disney princess films such as 1959’s Sleeping Beauty. The storybook framing device has been used to parody Disney in the past, perhaps most famously in the 2001 Dreamworks film Shrek. Just as Shrek contains parodies of the Disney brand created by a Disney alumnus, so, too, does Nimona riff on the studio that snubbed it. (28)

Nimona’s storybook intro tells the story of Gloreth, a noble warrior woman clad in gold and white, who defended her people from a terrible monster. After slaying the beast, Gloreth established an order of knights called the Institute (changed from the Institution in the comic) to wall off the city and protect her people.

Right away, the film introduces a Christian dichotomy of good versus evil. Gloreth is presented as a Christlike figure, with the Institute’s knights standing in as her saints. (29) Her name is invoked like the Christian god, with characters uttering phrases such as “oh my Gloreth” and “Gloreth guide you.” The film’s design borrows heavily from Medieval Christian art and architecture, bolstering the metaphor.

Nimona takes place a thousand years after Gloreth’s victory. Following the opening narration, the audience is dropped into a setting combining Medieval aesthetics with futuristic science fiction, creating a sensory delight of neon splashed across knights in shining armor. It’s in this swords-and-cyborgs city that a new knight is set to join the illustrious ranks of Gloreth’s Institute, now under the control of a woman known only as the Director (voiced by Frances Conroy). That new knight is our protagonist, Ballister Boldheart.

The film changes several things from the original. The comic stars Lord Ballister Blackheart, notorious former knight, long after his fall from grace. He has battled the Institution for years, making a name for himself as a supervillain. The film introduces a younger Ballister Boldheart who is still loyal to the Institute, who believes in his dream of becoming a knight and overcomes great odds to prove himself worthy. In the comic, Blackheart’s greatest rival is Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin, with whom he has a messy past. The film shows more of that past, when Goldenloin and Boldheart were young lovers eager to become knights by each other’s side.

There is another notable change: in the comic, Blackheart and Goldenloin are white men. In the film, both characters are men of color—specifically, Boldheart is of Pakistani descent, and Goldenloin is of Korean descent, matching the ethnicity of their respective voice actors. This change adds new themes of institutional racism, colorism, and the “model minority” stereotype. (30)

The lighter-skinned Goldenloin is, as his name suggests, the Institute’s golden boy. He descends from the noble lineage of Gloreth herself, and his face is emblazoned on posters and news screens across the city. He is referred to as “the most anticipated knight of a generation.” In contrast, the darker-skinned Boldheart experiences prejudice and hazing due to his lower-class background. His social status is openly discussed in the news. He is called a “street kid” and “controversial,” despite being the top student in his class. The newscasters make sure everyone knows he was only given the chance to prove himself in the Institute because the queen, a Black woman with established social influence, gave him her personal patronage. Despite this patronage, when the news interviews citizens on the street, public opinion is firmly against Boldheart.

To preserve the comic’s commentary on white privilege, some of Goldenloin’s traits were written into a new, white character created for the film, Sir Thoddeus Sureblade (voiced by Beck Bennett). Sureblade’s vitriol against both Boldheart and Goldenloin allowed Goldenloin to become a more sympathetic character, trapped in the system just as much as Boldheart. (31) This is emphasized at other points in the film when the audience sees Sureblade interact with Goldenloin without Boldheart present, berating the only person of color left in the absence of the darker-skinned man.

The day Boldheart is to be knighted, everything goes wrong. As Queen Valerin (voiced by Lorraine Toussaint) performs the much-anticipated knighting ceremony, a device embedded in Boldheart’s sword explodes, killing her instantly. Though Boldheart is not to blame, he is dubbed an assassin instead of a knight. In an instant, he becomes the most wanted man in the kingdom, and Queen Valerin’s hopes for progress and social equality seem dead with her. Boldheart is gravely injured in the explosion and forced to flee, unable to clear his name.

Enter Nimona.

The audience meets the titular character in the act of vandalizing a poster of Gloreth, only to get distracted by an urgent broadcast on a nearby screen. As she approaches, a bystander yells that she’s a “freak,” in a manner reminiscent of slurs screamed by passing bigots. Nimona has no time for bigots, spraying this one in the face with paint before tuning in to the news.

“Everyone is scared,” declare the newscasters, because queen-killer Ballister Boldheart is on the run. The media paints him as a monster, a filthy commoner who never deserved the chances he was given, and announce that, “never since Gloreth’s monster has anything been so hated.” This characterization pleases Nimona, and she declares him “perfect” before scampering off to find his hiding place.

It takes the span of a title screen for her to track him down, sequestered in a makeshift junkyard shelter. Just before Nimona bursts into the lair, the audience sees Boldheart’s injuries have resulted in the amputation of his arm, and he is building a homemade prosthetic. This is another way he’s been othered from his peers in an instant, forced to adapt to life-changing circumstances with no support. Where he was so recently an aspiring knight with a partner and a dream, he is now homeless, disabled, and isolated.

A wall in the hideout shows a collection of news clippings, suspects, and sticky notes where Boldheart is trying to solve the murder and clear his name. His own photo looks down from the wall, captioned with a damning headline: “He was never one of us—knights reveal shocking details of killer’s past.” It evokes real-world racial bias in crime reporting, where suspects of color are treated as more violent, unstable, and prone to crime than white suspects. A 2021 report by the Equal Justice Initiative and the Global Strategy Group compiled data on this phenomenon, focusing on the stark disparity between coverage of white and Black suspects. (32)

Nimona is not put off by Boldheart’s sinister media reputation. It’s why she tracked him down in the first place. She’s arrived to present her official application as Boldheart’s villain sidekick and help him take down the Institute. Boldheart brushes her off, insisting he isn’t a villain. He has faith in his innocence and in the system, and leaves Nimona behind to clear his name.

When he is immediately arrested, stripped of his prosthetic, and jailed, Nimona doesn’t abandon him. She springs a prison break, and conveys a piece of bitter wisdom to the fallen knight: “[O]nce everyone sees you as a villain, that’s what you are. They only see you one way, no matter how hard you try.”

Nimona and Boldheart are both outcasts, but they are at different stages of processing the pain. Boldheart is deep in the grief of someone who tried to adhere to the demands of a biased system but finally failed. He is the newly cast-out, who gave his entire life to the system but still couldn’t escape dehumanization. His pain is a fresh, raw wound, where Nimona has old scars. She embodies the deep anger of those who have existed on the margins for years. Where Boldheart wants to prove his innocence so he can be re-accepted into the fold, Nimona’s goal is to tear the entire system apart. She finds instant solidarity with Boldheart based solely on their mutual status as outsiders, but Boldheart resists that solidarity because he still craves the system’s familiar structure.

In the comic, Blackheart’s stance is not one of fresh grief, since, just like Nimona, he has been an outsider for some time. Instead, Blackheart’s position is one of slow reform. He believes the system can be changed and improved, while Nimona urges him to demolish it entirely. In both versions, Ballister thinks the system can be fixed by removing specific corrupt influences, where Nimona believes the government is rotten to its foundations and should be dismantled. Despite their ideological differences, Nimona and Ballister ally to survive the Institute’s hostility.

The allyship is an uneasy truce. During the prison break, Nimona reveals that she’s a shapeshifter, able to change into whatever form she pleases. Boldheart reflexively reaches for his sword, horrified that she isn’t human. She is the exact sort of monster he has been taught to fear by the Institute, and it’s only because he needs her help that he overcomes his reflex and sticks with her.

Nimona’s shapeshifting functions as a transgender allegory. The comic’s author, N.D. Stevenson, is transgender, and Nimona’s story developed alongside his own queer journey. (33) The trans themes from the comic are emphasized in the film, with various pride flags included in backgrounds and showcased in the art book. (34) Directors Bruno and Quane described the film as “a story about acceptance. A movie about being seen for who you truly are and a love letter to all those who’ve ever shared that universal feeling of being misunderstood or like an outsider trying to fit in.” (35)

When Boldheart asks Nimona what she is, she responds with only “Nimona.” When he calls her a girl, she retorts that she’s “a lot of things.” When she transforms into another species, she specifies in that moment that she’s “not a girl, I’m a shark.” Later, when she takes the form of a young boy and Boldheart comments on it, saying “now you’re a boy,” her response is, “I am today.” She defies easy categorization, and she likes it that way.

About her shapeshifting, Nimona says “it feels worse if I don’t do it” and “I shapeshift, then I’m free.” When asked what happens if she doesn’t shapeshift, she responds, “I wouldn’t die-die, I just sure wouldn’t be living.” Every time she discusses her transformations, it carries echoes of transgender experience—and, as it happens, Nimona is not N.D. Stevenson’s only shapeshifting transgender character. During his tenure as showrunner for She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (Netflix/Dreamworks, 2018-2020), Stevenson introduced the character Double Trouble. Double Trouble previously existed at the margins of She-Ra lore, but Stevenson’s version was a nonbinary shapeshifter using they/them pronouns. (36) While Nimona uses she/her pronouns throughout both comic and film, just like Double Trouble her gender presentation is as fluid as her physical form.

Boldheart, like many cisgender people reacting to transgender people, is uncomfortable with Nimona. He declares her way of doing things “too much,” and insists they try to be “inconspicuous” and “discreet.” He worries whether others saw her, and, when she is casually in a nonhuman form, he asks if she can “be normal for a second.” He claims to support her, but says it would be “easier if she was a girl” because “other people aren’t as accepting.” His discomfort evokes fumbled allyship by cisgender people, and Nimona emphasizes the allegory by calling Boldheart out for his “small-minded questions.” While the alliance is uneasy, Boldheart continues working with Nimona to clear his name. They are the only allies each other has, and their individual survival is dependent on them working together.

When the duo gain video proof of Boldheart’s innocence, they learn the bomb that killed Queen Valerin was planted by the Director. Threatened by a Black woman using her influence to elevate a poor, queer man of color, the white Director chose to preserve the status quo through violence.

Nimona is eager to get the video on every screen in the city, but Boldheart wants to deal with the issue internally, out of the public eye. He insists “the Institute isn’t the problem, the Director is.” This belief is what also leads the comic’s Blackheart to reject Nimona’s idea that he should crown himself king. He is focused on reforming the existing power structure, neither removing it entirely nor taking it over himself.

Inside the Institute, the Director has been doing her best to set Goldenloin against his former partner. Despite his internal misgivings and fear of betraying someone he loves, Goldenloin does his best to adhere to his prescribed role. As the Director reminds the knights, they are literally born to defend the kingdom, and it’s their sacred duty to do so—especially Goldenloin, who carries Gloreth’s holy blood. This blood connection is repeated throughout the film, and used by the Director to exploit Goldenloin. He’s the Institute’s token minority, put on a gilded pedestal and treated as a symbol instead of a human being.

Goldenloin is a pretty face for propaganda posters, and those posters can be seen throughout the film. They proclaim Gloreth’s majesty, the power of the knights, and remind civilians that the Institute is necessary to “protect our way of life.” A subway PSA urges citizens, “if you see something, slay something,” in a direct parody of the real-world “if you see something, say something” campaign by the United States Department of Homeland Security. (37)

The film is not subtle in its political messaging. When Boldheart attempts to prove his innocence to Goldenloin and the assembled knights, he reaches towards his pocket for a phone. The Director cries that Boldheart has a weapon, and Sureblade opens fire. Though the shot hits the phone and not Boldheart, it carries echoes of real-world police brutality against people of color. Specifically, the use of a phone evokes cases such as the 2018 murder of Stephon Clark, a young Black man who was shot and killed by California police claiming Clark’s cell phone was a firearm. (38) The film does not toy with vague, depoliticized themes of coexistence and tolerance; it is a direct and pointed allegory for contemporary oppression in the United States of America.

Forced to choose between love for Boldheart and loyalty to the Institute, Goldenloin chooses the Institute. He calls for Boldheart’s arrest, and this is the moment Boldheart finally agrees to fight back and raise hell alongside Nimona. When Goldenloin calls Nimona a monster during the ensuing battle, Boldheart doesn’t hesitate to refute it. He expresses his trust in her, and it’s clear he means it. He’s been betrayed by someone he cared about and thought he could depend on, and this puts him in true solidarity with Nimona for the first time.

During the fight, Nimona stops a car from crashing into a small child. She shapeshifts into a young girl to appear less threatening, but it doesn’t work. The child picks up a sword, pointing it at Nimona until an adult pulls them away to hide. When Nimona sees this hatred imprinted in the heart of a child, it horrifies her.

After fleeing to their hideout, Nimona makes a confession to Boldheart: she has suicidal ideations. So many people have directed so much hatred toward her that sometimes she wants to give in and let them kill her. In the real world, a month after the film’s release, a study from the Williams Institute at the UCLA School of Law compiled data about suicidality in American transgender adults. (39) Researchers found that eighty-one percent have thought about suicide, compared to just thirty-five percent of cisgender adults. Forty-two percent have attempted suicide, compared to eleven percent of cisgender adults. Fifty-six percent have engaged in self-harm, compared to twelve percent of cisgender adults.

When Boldheart offers to flee with her and find somewhere safe together, Nimona declares they shouldn’t have to run. She makes the decision every trans person living in a hostile place must make: do I leave and save myself, or do I stay to fight for my community? The year the film was released, the Trans Legislation Tracker reported a record-breaking amount of anti-trans legislation in the United States, with six hundred and two bills introduced throughout twenty-four states. (40) In February 2024, the National Center for Transgender Equality published data on their 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey, revealing that forty-seven percent of respondents thought about moving to another area due to discrimination, with ten percent actually doing so. (41)

Despite the danger, Nimona and Boldheart work diligently against the Institute. When they gain fresh footage proving the Director’s guilt, they don’t hesitate to upload it online, where it garners rapid attention across social and news media. Newscasters begin asking who the real villain is, anti-Institute sentiment builds, and citizens protest in the streets, demanding answers. The power that social media adds to social justice activism is true in the real world as it is in the film, seen in campaigns such as the viral #MeToo hashtag and the Black Lives Matter movement. (42) In 2020, polls conducted by the Pew Research Center showed eight in ten Americans viewed social media platforms as either very or somewhat effective in raising awareness about political and social topics. In the same survey, seventy-seven percent of respondents believed social media is at least somewhat effective in organizing social movements. (43)

In reaction to the media firestorm, the Director issues a statement. She outs Nimona as a shapeshifter, and claims the evidence against the Institute is a hoax. Believing the Director, Goldenloin contacts Boldheart for a rendezvous, sans Nimona. From Goldenloin’s perspective, Boldheart is a good man who has been deceived by the real villain, Nimona. He tells Boldheart about a scroll the Director found, with evidence that Nimona is Gloreth’s original monster, still alive and terrorizing the city. Goldenloin wants to bring Boldheart back into the knighthood and resume their relationship, and though that’s what Boldheart wanted before, his solidarity with Nimona causes him to reject the offer.

Though he leaves Goldenloin behind, Boldheart’s suspicion of Nimona returns. Despite their solidarity, he doesn’t really know her, so he returns home to interrogate her. In the ensuing argument, he reverts to calling her a monster, but only through implication—he won’t say the word. Like a slur, he knows he shouldn’t say it anymore, but that doesn’t keep him from believing it.

Boldheart’s actions prove to Nimona that nowhere is safe. There is no haven. Her community will always turn on her. She flees, and in her ensuing breakdown, the audience learns her backstory. She was alone for an unspecified length of time, never able to fit in until meeting Gloreth as a little girl. Nimona presents herself to Gloreth as another little girl, and Gloreth becomes Nimona’s very first friend. Even when Nimona shapeshifts, Gloreth treats her with kindness and love.

Then the adults of Gloreth’s village see Nimona shapeshift, and the word “monster” is hurled. Torches and pitchforks come out. At the adults’ panic, Gloreth takes up a sword against Nimona, and the cycle of bigotry is transferred to the next generation. The friendship shatters, and Nimona must flee before she can be killed.

After losing Boldheart, seemingly Nimona’s only ally since Gloreth’s betrayal, Nimona’s grief becomes insurmountable. She knows in her heart that nothing will ever change. She’s been hurt too much, by too many, cutting too deeply. To Nimona, the world will only ever bring her pain, so she gives in. She transforms into the giant, ferocious monster everyone has always told her she is, and she begins moving through the city as the Institute opens fire.

When Ballister sees Nimona’s giant, shadowy form, he realizes the horrific pain he caused her. He intuits that Nimona isn’t causing destruction for fun, she’s on a suicide march. She’s given up, and her decision is the result of endless, systemic bigotry and betrayal of trust. Her rampage wouldn’t be happening if she’d been treated with love, support, and care.

Nimona’s previous admission of suicidal ideation repeats in voiceover as she prepares to impale herself on a sword pointed by a massive statue of Gloreth. Her suicide is only prevented because Ballister steps in, calling to her, apologizing, saying he sees her and she isn’t alone. She collapses into his arms, once again in human form, sobbing. Boldheart has finally accepted her truth, and she is safe with him.

But she isn’t safe from the Director.

In a genocidal bid she knows will take out countless civilian lives, the Director orders canons fired on Nimona. Goldenloin tries to stop her, finally standing up against the system, but it’s too late. The Director fires the canons, Nimona throws herself at the blast to protect the civilians, and Nimona falls.

When the dust settles, the Director is deposed and the city rebuilds. Boldheart and Goldenloin reconnect and resume their relationship. The walls around the city come down, reforms take hold in the Institute, and a memorial goes up to honor Nimona, the hero who sacrificed her life to reveal the Director’s corruption.

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

Nimona originally had a tragic ending, born of N.D. Stevenson’s own depression, but that hopelessness didn’t last forever. (44) Though Nimona is defeated, she doesn’t stay dead. Through the outpouring of love and support N.D. Stevenson received while creating the original webcomic, he gained the community and support he needed to create a more hopeful ending for Nimona’s story—and himself.

The comic’s ending is bittersweet. Nimona can’t truly die, and eventually restores herself. She allows Blackheart to glimpse her, so he knows she survived, but she doesn’t stay. She still doesn’t feel safe, and is assumed to move on somewhere new. Blackheart never sees Nimona again.

The film’s ending is more hopeful. There is a shimmer of pink magic as Nimona announces her survival, and the film ends with Boldheart’s elated exclamation. Even death couldn’t keep her down. She survived Gloreth, and she survived the Director. Though this chapter of the story is over, there is hope on the horizon, and she has allies on her side.

In both incarnations, Nimona is a story of queer survival in a cruel world. The original ending was one of despair, that said there was little hope of true solidarity and allyship. The revised ending said there was hope, but still so far to go. The film’s ending says there is hope, there is solidarity, and there are people who will stand with transgender people until the bitter end—but, more importantly, there are people in the world who want trans people to live, to thrive, and to find joy.

In a world that’s so hostile to transgender people, it’s no wonder a radically trans-positive film had to fight so hard to exist. Unfortunately, the battle must continue. As of June 2024, Netflix hasn’t announced any intent to produce physical copies of the film, meaning it exists solely on streaming and is only accessible via a monthly paid subscription. Should Netflix ever take down its original animation, as HBO Max did in 2022 despite massive backlash, the film could easily become lost media. (45) Though it saved Nimona from Disney, Netflix has its own nasty history of under-marketing and canceling queer programs. (46)

The film’s art book is already gone. The multimedia tome was posted online on October 12, 2023, hosted at ArtofNimona.com. (47) Per the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine, the site became a Netflix redirect at some point between 10:26 PM on March 9, 2024 and 9:35 PM on March 20, 2024. (48) On the archived site, some multimedia elements are non-functional, potentially making them lost media. The art book is not available through any legal source, and though production designer Aidan Sugano desperately wants a physical copy made, there seem to be no such plans. (49)

Perhaps Netflix will eventually release physical copies of both film and art book. Perhaps not. Time will tell. In the meantime, Nimona stands as a triumph of queer media in a queerphobic world. That it exists at all is a miracle, and that its accessibility is so precarious a year after release is a travesty. Contemporary political commentary is woven into every aspect of the film, and it exists thanks to the passion, talent, and bravery of an incredible crew who endured despite blatant corporate queerphobia.

Long live Nimona, and long live the transgender community she represents.

_

Like this essay? Tip me on Ko-Fi, pledge to my Patreon, or commission an essay on the topic of your choice!

_

Notes:

1. “Past Recipients 2010s.” n.d. Comic-Con International. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://www.comic-con.org/awards/eisner-awards/past-recipients/past-recipenties-2010s/.

2. Stevenson, ND. 2015. Nimona. New York, NY: Harperteen.

3. Kit, Borys. 2015. “Fox Animation Nabs ‘Nimona’ Adaptation with ‘Feast’ Director (Exclusive).” The Hollywood Reporter. June 11, 2015. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/fox-animation-nabs-nimona-adaptation-801920/.

4. Riley, Jenelle. 2017. “Oscar Winner Patrick Osborne Returns with First-Ever vr Nominee ‘Pearl.’” Variety. February 9, 2017. https://variety.com/2017/film/in-contention/patrick-osborne-returns-to-race-with-first-vr-nominee-pearl-1201983466/; Osborne, Patrick (@PatrickTOsborne). 2017. "Hey world, the NIMONA feature film has a release date! @Gingerhazing February 14th 2020 !!" Twitter/X, June 30, 2017, 3:16 PM. https://x.com/PatrickTOsborne/status/880867591094272000. ‌

5. “The Walt Disney Company to Acquire Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc., after Spinoff of Certain Businesses, for $52.4 Billion in Stock.” 2017. The Walt Disney Company. December 14, 2017. https://thewaltdisneycompany.com/walt-disney-company-acquire-twenty-first-century-fox-inc-spinoff-certain-businesses-52-4-billion-stock-2/.

6. Amidi, Amid. 2017. “Disney Buys Fox for $52.4 Billion: Here Are the Key Points of the Deal.” Cartoon Brew. December 14, 2017. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/business/disney-buys-fox-key-points-deal-155390.html; Giardina, Carolyn. 2017. “Disney Deal Could Redraw Fox’s Animation Business.” The Hollywood Reporter. December 14, 2017. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-deal-could-redraw-foxs-animation-business-1068040/; Szalai, Georg, and Paul Bond. 2019. “Disney Closes $71.3 Billion Fox Deal, Creating Global Content Powerhouse.” The Hollywood Reporter. March 19, 2019. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-closes-fox-deal-creating-global-content-powerhouse-1174498/.

7. Hipes, Patrick. 2019. “After Trying Day, Disney Sets Film Leadership Lineup.” Deadline. March 22, 2019. https://deadline.com/2019/03/disney-film-executives-post-merger-team-set-1202580586/.

8. Jones, Rendy. 2023. “‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

9. D’Alessandro, Anthony. 2021. “Disney Closing Blue Sky Studios, Fox’s Once-Dominant Animation House behind ‘Ice Age’ Franchise.” Deadline. February 9, 2021. https://deadline.com/2021/02/blue-sky-studios-closing-disney-ice-age-franchise-animation-1234690310/.

10. “Disney’s Blue Sky Shut down Leaves Nimona Film 75% Completed.” 2021. CBR. February 10, 2021. https://www.cbr.com/nimona-film-abandoned-disney-blue-sky-shut-down/; Sneider, Jeff. 2021. “Exclusive: Disney’s LGBTQ-Themed ‘Nimona’ Would’ve Featured the Voices of Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed.” Collider. March 4, 2021. https://collider.com/nimona-movie-cast-cancelled-disney-blue-sky/.

11. Horowitz, Juliana Menasce, Anna Brown, and Rachel Minkin. 2021. “The COVID-19 Pandemic’s Long-Term Financial Impact.” Pew Research Center’s Social & Demographic Trends Project. March 5, 2021. https://www.pewresearch.org/social-trends/2021/03/05/a-year-into-the-pandemic-long-term-financial-impact-weighs-heavily-on-many-americans/.

12. Lang, Brent. 2022. “Disney CEO Bob Iger’s Rich Compensation Package Revealed, Company Says Bob Chapek Fired ‘without Cause.’” Variety. November 21, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/film/finance/bob-iger-compensation-package-salary-bob-chapek-fired-1235439151/.

13. Romano, Nick. 2020. “The Pandemic Animation Boom: How Cartoons Became King in the Time of COVID.” EW.com. November 2, 2020. https://ew.com/movies/animation-boom-coronavirus-pandemic/.

14. Strapagiel, Lauren. 2021. “The Future of Disney’s First Animated Feature Film with Queer Leads, ‘Nimona,’ Is in Doubt.” BuzzFeed News. February 24, 2021. https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/laurenstrapagiel/disney-nimona-movie-lgbtq-characters.

15. Clark, Travis. 2022. “Disney Raised Concerns about a Same-Sex Kiss in the Unreleased Animated Movie ‘Nimona,’ Former Blue Sky Staffers Say.” Business Insider. https://www.businessinsider.com/disney-disapproved-same-sex-kiss-nimona-movie-former-staffers-say-2022-3.

16. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

17. St. James, Emily. 2023. “Mourning the Loss of the Owl House, TV’s Best Queer Kids Show.” Vanity Fair. April 6, 2023. https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2023/04/loss-of-the-owl-house-tvs-best-queer-kids-show.

18. AntagonistDana. 2021. “AMA (except by ‘Anything’ I Mean These Questions Only).” Reddit. October 5, 2021. https://www.reddit.com/r/TheOwlHouse/comments/q1x1uh/ama_except_by_anything_i_mean_these_questions_only/; de Wit, Alex Dudok. 2020. “Disney Executive Tried to Block Queer Characters in ‘the Owl House,’ Says Creator.” 2020. Cartoon Brew. August 14, 2020. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/disney/disney-executives-tried-to-block-queer-characters-in-the-owl-house-says-creator-195413.html.

19. Doherty, Thomas. 1999. Pre-Code Hollywood : Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930-1934. New York: Columbia University Press. 363.

20. Henderson, Taylor. 2018. “‘Steven Universe’s’ Latest Episode Just Made LGBTQ History.” Pride. July 5, 2018. https://www.pride.com/stevenuniverse/2018/7/05/steven-universes-latest-episode-just-made-lgbtq-history; McDonnell, Chris. 2020. Steven Universe: End of an Era. New York: Abrams. 102.

21. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2021. "Sad day. Thanks for the well wishes, and sending so much love to everyone at Blue Sky. Forever grateful for all the care and joy you poured into Nimona." Twitter/X, February 9, 2021, 3:32 PM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1359238823935283200

22. Jones, Rendy. 2023. “‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

23. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

24. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2022. "Nimona’s always been a spunky little story that just wouldn’t stop. She’s a fighter...but she’s also got some really awesome people fighting for her. I am excited out of my mind to announce that THE NIMONA MOVIE IS ALIVE...coming at you in 2023 from Annapurna and Netflix." Twitter/X, April 11, 2022, 10:00 AM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1513517319841935363.

25. “‘Nimona’ Starring Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed & Eugene Lee Yang Coming to Netflix in 2023.” About Netflix. April 11, 2022. https://about.netflix.com/en/news/nimona-starring-chloe-grace-moretz-riz-ahmed-and-eugene-lee-yang-coming-to-netflix.

26. “’Nimona’ Rates 100% on Rotten Tomatoes after Annecy Premiere.” Animation Magazine. June 15, 2023. https://www.animationmagazine.net/2023/06/nimona-rates-100-on-rotten-tomatoes-after-annecy-premiere/

27. Dilillo, John. 2023. “’Nimona’: Everything You Need to Know About the New Animated Adventure.” Tudum by Netflix. June 30, 2023. https://www.netflix.com/tudum/articles/nimona-release-date-news-photos

28. Reese, Lori. 2001. “Is ‘“Shrek”’ the Anti- Disney Fairy Tale?” Entertainment Weekly. May 29, 2001. https://ew.com/article/2001/05/29/shrek-anti-disney-fairy-tale/.

29. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 255. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

30. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

31. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

32. Equal Justice Initiative. 2021. “Report Documents Racial Bias in Coverage of Crime by Media.” Equal Justice Initiative. December 16, 2021. https://eji.org/news/report-documents-racial-bias-in-coverage-of-crime-by-media/.

33. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

34. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 259-260. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

35. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 7. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

36. Brown, Tracy. 2019. “In Netflix’s ‘She-Ra,’ Even Villains Respect Nonbinary Pronouns.” Los Angeles Times. November 6, 2019. https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2019-11-05/netflix-she-ra-princesses-power-nonbinary-double-trouble.

37. Department of Homeland Security. 2019. “If You See Something, Say Something®.” Department of Homeland Security. May 10, 2019. https://www.dhs.gov/see-something-say-something.

38. University of Stanford. n.d. “Stephon Clark.” Say Their Names - Spotlight at Stanford. https://exhibits.stanford.edu/saytheirnames/feature/stephon-clark.

39. Kidd, Jeremy D., Tettamanti, Nicky A., Kaczmarkiewicz, Roma, Corbeil, Thomas E., Dworkin, Jordan D., Jackman, Kasey B., Hughes, Tonda L., Bockting, Walter O., & Meyer, Ilan H. 2023. “Prevalence of Substance Use and Mental Health Problems among Transgender and Cisgender US Adults.” Williams Institute. https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/publications/transpop-substance-use/.

40. “2023 Anti-Trans Bills: Trans Legislation Tracker.” n.d. Trans Legislation Tracker. https://translegislation.com/bills/2023.

41. James, S.E., Herman, J.L., Durso, L.E., & Heng-Lehtinen, R. 2024. “Early Insights: A Report of the 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey.” National Center for Transgender Equality, Washington, DC.

42. Myers, Catherine. 2023. “Protests in the Age of Social Media.” The Nonviolence Project. February 11, 2023. https://thenonviolenceproject.wisc.edu/2023/02/11/protests-in-the-age-of-social-media/.

43. Auxier, Brooke, and Colleen McClain. 2020. “Americans Think Social Media Can Help Build Movements, but Can Also Be a Distraction.” Pew Research Center. Pew Research Center. September 9, 2020. https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2020/09/09/americans-think-social-media-can-help-build-movements-but-can-also-be-a-distraction/.

44. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

45. Chapman, Wilson. 2022. “HBO Max to Remove 36 Titles, Including 20 Originals, from Streaming.” Variety. August 18, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/tv/news/hbo-max-originals-removed-1235344286/.

46. Iftikhar, Asyia. 2023. “Netflix CEO Slammed by LGBTQ+ Fans over Cancellation Comments: ‘They Are NOT Allies.’” PinkNews. January 24, 2023. https://www.thepinknews.com/2023/01/24/netflix-ceo-ted-sarandos-cancelled-shows-lgbtq-fans-reactions/.

47. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

48. “Wayback Machine.” n.d. The Internet Archive. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://wayback-api.archive.org/web/20240000000000.

49. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

[androdragynous]

Please forgive how horrifically this was recorded (the screen reader mutes itself in recordings, which made it entirely useless for this post, which required a second camera) but I wanted to show people what alt text Actually Does for screen readers because I think a lot more people would take the time to add it if they knew why.

This is how the default screen reader function built into my phone "reads" an image, one without alt text and one with.

(I can't add alt text description to videos, it seems, which feels a little ironic given the post.)

When the first image, without alt text, is selected by a screen reader, it just reads out "photo".

When the second image, with alt text, is selected, it reads out the alt text - in this case, "A blurry picture of a gray tabby cat sitting on a white carpeted floor.".

Being able to use alt text is far easier on screen readers because the image is a larger object to select - descriptions in plain text below an image are still helpful, but require enough vision to accurately select, and enough vision to know they're an image description to begin with.

So please, when possible, add alt text to photos, art, and screenshots you're uploading! A lot of phones can copy text from images now, which is how I add image IDs to other people's text heavy posts - there's really no reason to post a bunch of text heavy screencaps and not at least copy and paste the text into the alt text, and it makes a huge difference for accessibility.

Thank you! ^w^

[fos-tis-zois]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

you were still in the early stages of dating nanami kento, but it was enough to know that the serious and stoic sorcerer had managed to steal your heart. Discovering a side to him which came out only in front of you did things to your heart you didn't know was possible. He had made you smile and blush uncontrollably, much to your embarrassment, from the first date itself. He was so gentlemanly that you did not know how to act around this man. But the unforgettable happened on your fourth date. That was the first time you saw him blush, and your heart skipped such a beat that discovering his little love languages became your life goal.

It was a crisp evening, and you had arranged to meet Nanami at a quaint café he frequented. He was waiting for you at the entrance, dressed impeccably in one of his many sexy suits. But today, his tie was slightly askew. As you approached him, you couldn’t help but notice the minor imperfection in this usual perfectly made man and it made your heart smile.

“Hi, Kento,” you greeted him with a warm smile, standing on your tiptoes to reach his tie. “Let me fix this for you.”

Your fingers gently adjusted the tie, and as you stepped back, you were greeted with the most endearing sight. Nanami’s cheeks were a deep hue of red, and his usually composed eyes were struggling to meet yours. You could hardly believe that such a small gesture could elicit such a reaction from him.

Ever since that evening, it became your mission to uncover more ways to make your perfect man blush. You discovered that surprise homemade lunches were one of those ways. One of your biggest love languages was cooking for people you love. Since Nanami always had little gifts sent to you, you thought of taking a cute bento with a freshly baked mini baguette sandwich filled with tender roast beef, crisp lettuce, and a touch of mustard. It was introduced to you by him because of your shared love of good bread and you thoughtfully wanted him to have a version of yours. 

“The life I have doesn’t grant me much care” he said with a faint blush on his face, with a mixture of love for you but the pain his life has given him that it made your heart cry for him. Kento appreciated quality, and when you packed him a meticulously prepared lunch with all his favorite foods, his appreciative, shy smile made your heart flutter. You were determined to make him feel loved, for all he does for everyone.

Nanami is used to being the protector, so you insisted on taking care of him, even in small ways. He would laugh lightly with a rosy blush and hug you from behind as you insist adamantly in front of your big man that you will handle dinner and all he needs to do is have some wine and tell you about his day.

“You’re too good to me”, he would say in your ear, kissing your earlobes. “You deserve this and so much more, my love” you kiss his cheeks as his head sinks deeper in the crook of your neck..

Planning spontaneous dates showed you another side of him. A visit to a cozy bookstore, or a surprise trip to a quaint café during his lunch break would bring out a softer, more relaxed Nanami, whose rare, genuine smiles made your heart skip a beat. He would show you the books he likes a lot, telling you how he’s been looking for their first editions, while you take mental notes to gift him those books later. Taking him out for his lunch breaks also sometimes showed you how stressful his job was, as he vented about his annoying co-worker and the insane morals of the higher ups in his profession. 

“I have never had such ease talking about my life to someone, y/n. Thank you for being here for me." Kento's gratitude often showed in the form of a rosy blush. You longed to tell him what you would do to bring this smile and contentment on this man’s face. 

Leaving heartfelt notes for him became a habit. You’d slip them into his briefcase or jacket pocket, knowing that he’d find them during his busy day. His texts thanking you were always sweet and sometimes accompanied by a shy confession of how much he loved your notes.

But the easiest way to make him blush was simply by being genuinely happy. Your laughter and joy, especially when caused by something he did or said, never failed to bring a blush to his cheeks and a soft, pleased smile to his lips.

Every little discovery about what made Kento blush was a victory for you. It wasn’t just about the cute reactions; it was about understanding the layers of this complex, wonderful man who had become such an important part of your life. And with each blush, you fell more in love with him, knowing that beneath his stoic exterior was a heart that beat just for you.

hopefully first of manyy nanami fluffs. please reblog if u liked it! suggestions and comments are always always welcome! 💖💖💖

nanami art by artist @/xiaoshy_otp on twitter banner by @anitalenia

[netherfeildren]

FABLE OF THE DOG : 3. Little Freak

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1, Chapter: 2,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Rough Sex; Size Difference; Spanking; DD/lg Dynamics; Dom/Sub Undertones; Forced Orgasm; Dirty Talk (like really forreal); Small Boobie Rep; Biting; Over Stimulation;

A/N: really sticking my finger in the father wound and wiggling it around in this one :))))))

Word Count: 10.3K

Read on AO3

3. Little Freak

You pull your sticky fingers from the damp bed of your underwear, the not enough little orgasm you’d been able to rub out still pulsing hot and cold through your cunt. 

Horrible man—you’ve never wanted anyone or anything as badly as you want him to need you. And no, not a wanting sort of thing, not a wanting sort of desire—that’s not what you’d demand from him. It’s specific, this thing: it’s that you want him to have no choice in the matter, you want him to be forced, to see no other recourse but you because that’s just how necessary you feel to him. 

You want there to be no thought, no compunction in him—only you. 

Even more, because lies are worth nothing here in your own mind in your cold bed—

—You want him to love you. 

The way your father never did. The way no man ever has, not really. 

Face buried in the dark for a moment, you groan softly before sliding belly first off the silk bedding onto your knees, pushing yourself up off the floor unsteadily. You toe your boots off and then step tiptoe on the end of each sock to pull them from your feet. It’d not been a lie—you’re not drunk, limiting yourself to only one tonight, and no liquor, because you knew you needed to be able to focus on the taste of his tongue when you inevitably got your hooks in him, hoping, knowing he’d take your bait and follow, but now, it’s a wholly different sort of buzz zinging through you. 

All him. All man. All Joel.

He’d been flavored of smoked whiskey and mint, a hint of tobacco, and you wish you could’ve been more faithful in your pursuit of enjoying the chewing of the leaves he always has, you’d tried for years but couldn’t bear the texture, the green gnashed between your teeth, earthen and organic. It’s not for you, your tastes veering to something hotter and sweeter. But you’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and every endeavor at a connection, no matter how small, had always seemed like a valiant one. 

Stupid birthdays. Disgusting leaves of mint. Dead fathers and daughters and all the different ways we hurt each other. 

Stumbling coltish and uncoordinated, newly birthed down the staircase, you push your way out the back door. He’ll have gone to bed now, you know they’re going up the mountain early tomorrow morning to check on one of the herds, but you’re desperate for one more second of him, being spit out of the house of your dead parents, hunting for the last hint of his presence riding on the fresh air off the Tetons and all this land that’s all yours now. 

You veer left then right, a zigzagging dance across the green lawn until you’re far enough away from the house it’s like you can pretend to ignore the ghosts you’re readying to exorcize. One knee hits the ground hard and stinging, limbs loose and strengthless, you feel the stab of a little rock against the curve of round bone beneath easily broken skin, catching yourself on a palm, another too hard scrape and then you’re rolling over into the grass, settling on your back to look up at the stars. 

There are so many, an infinite number of lights winking like watchful eyes back at you, and you wonder at the sort of childhood that lends itself to laying in the grass like this beside a parent that loves you and wants you and carves space in their life for a child they'd forced into the world. It should be some sort of crime, you think, immediate execution sort of barbarity, to have a child and not love it the way it demands. 

Back of your hands open at your sides, palms to the watching sky, you close your eyes and imagine what it’d be like to have the hand of a father holding it, one that would want you—not a mother because what is she in reality to you but an imagination figure you can’t even truly conjure up? That much of a stranger is what she is—such an alien thing you can’t even bother to dream her. 

Drawing your knees up, you press your bare heels into the earth and the wet placket of your panties is ice cold and sticking uncomfortably now, breeze against it. You shouldn't be thinking about this shit, but you think you might cry anyway, sucking in too fast breaths, forcing them out in attemptedly slow little puffs through your nose. A wave of sudden grief, then a plateau, the nauseating up and down of it all. You should be thinking about him, about your victory tonight, about making him so angry he can’t help himself, about what’ll come next—his skin. But that’s the thing about him, Joel, isn’t it? Always has been—the incongruous, make-no-sense feelings he’s always pulled out of you since you’d first set eyes on him, fourteen years old and tender and so alone you didn’t even know there was another way to be but abandoned. 

A laugh then—huffing and sardonic and again, incongruous, because now you really are crying. Tears leaking back, hot and fat to pool in your ears and salt the earth beneath you—unloading your grief into the grass as if God were beside you. Nothing will grow here again because of you if you’re not careful, and that’s the next worry—

If he never needs you the way you’re demanding of him, you won’t be able to stay here. 

You won't be able to live here and love him and not have him, and you could force him, perhaps, in your own ways. But you’ve done so much of that your whole life—forcing unloving men to look at you and take you into their arms when they’d never really wanted to give you the thing you’d always wanted most. 

The tender truth: it would be so much better if Joel decided to need you because he wants to, because he can’t fathom another way than just that. 

And you don’t think you’ll ever be able to live with anything else besides such. 

Another forced out laugh again—just to feel the feeling of it, go through the motion, mountain air a roundabout gust in your lungs, then to your left:  “What’re you laughing at, weirdo?”

Ellie, long and loping and beautiful, come to your rescue. She throws herself down onto the ground beside you and doesn’t even have to ask a thing about it when she places her rough hand in your soft one. 

Working girl, mover of mountains, changer of lives. 

Ellie has always known how to know you, and it has always been an incredible comfort. 

The two of you lay there for a few quiet moments. Friendship as an entity has always been a strange thing to you who have never understood love in a non-transactional way. But the thing that Ellie has always given you, it has always been an incredibly straightforward sort of understanding, simple—that of one abandoned child to another, perhaps. 

“Are you drunk?”

“Why’s everyone always fucking asking me that?” Said with another laugh but of the real sort this time, despite the bite in your voice. 

“You’re a hazard. What can I say?”

Undeniable. “Oh, shut up.” You dig your nails into the back of her hand, trying to scratch her but probably ruining your manicure instead, she squeezes your knuckles in sideways, hurting you way more than you could manage her. A yelp, and you say, “You know what I’m excited for?”  

“What’s that?”

“Skijoring.”

“Fuck no, dude. I almost died last time.”

You snicker, “Yeah, that was the fun part for me.”

Elbow to the ribs, and, “Asshole,” she laughs. And then you’re quiet again together, still gripped by the hands, and it’s the sort of comfortable only two girls who’ve been together since they were truly girls can be. 

“You see Cassiopeia?” She points her finger way north. 

“Do you think I should stay?” You see it, and easily, and you know if you were somewhere not here, it wouldn’t be so simply found. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Because of Joel.” It isn’t a question. You’ve never said it with words to her, but she’s always known. 

You hum instead of answering, can’t say it out loud anyway just yet. “So you finally asked her.” Dina, she knows what you mean.

And Ellie hums now in turn too. The both of you are so fucked up. Can’t say a thing out loud. 

“And?” 

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

Ellie groans loud and long, baying goat, and you tell her so, which gets another knock to the ribs. “Turn around and don’t look at me so I can tell you.”

You roll over towards the mountains and feel her face the house where she doesn’t see ghosts like you do. 

“But you’re not allowed to say anything—just say okay. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think—well, you know…,” she gruffs, voice dipping low and dropping off before she can say the words out loud again also. Everything’s a secret code here, even the stuff that shouldn’t be.

“You think?”

“You’re such a fucker. I know.”

You hum again but the good and happy sort, pressing your lips together to keep the misty eyed smile at bay. “Okay,” you say back just as low and just as gruff. 

“S’why I think you should stay,” she adds. “If I can find happy here, so can you.”

“I’ve never been able to before.”

“But you’re different now.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah—can see it, you know. And this place is different now too—will be different.” 

“I was afraid to come back for such a long time. It seemed like the worst thing in the world.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before she says: “You’re not supposed to be afraid of your father.” A very obvious thing—or at least it should be. 

You feel her turn to look at the back of your neck, and you peer over your shoulder at her and when your eyes meet, she looks so sad, like she’s so sorry for you but without the pity, and you do understand what it is she’s saying despite never having had that fearless experience. 

“Aren’t you?” A shrug of your shoulder and a helpless laugh but also maybe with real humor accompanying it. Because yes, you’re not supposed to be. You always were anyway. It’s funny in an impossible to understand way. 

A beat and then, “Can I say something fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

“He isn’t here for you to be afraid of anymore.”

Funniest of all, you’re the most sad about this. And what you don’t say to her, perhaps for shame or that child’s feeling of having done something wrong but not necessarily understanding what that wrong is—sometimes it’s inevitable, missing the monster. 

“Maybe you needed him to die.” Yeah, fucked up. You’d already thought the same thing and were chock full of guilt for it. “Maybe it was like—like I don’t know. It was never going to be the way it should have between you, but now you can remember him, fuck, I don’t know—different. Not that you wanted him to die, but now the reality of him isn’t here for you to see, so you can just remember it all however you like or not.”

“So I should lie to myself?”

“Why not? There are worse things you could do. There are worse things you do do.”

You snort. “Is this what your method is?”

“Yeah. Like—like sometimes, when I’m so happy I can’t believe it’s me feeling it because she makes me that happy, Dina,” she says her name with love, “I pretend nothing from before was ever the way it was, and it’s only here and now and me and Dina and the ranch and there was no shitty, abandoning father and no dead mom and no nothing and only Joel is my dad and it’s all always been okay.”

Joel. 

At the center of everyone’s happy dream, why is it always him? 

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try it.” She reaches behind her back then, pawing at your hip until you give her your hand again, and you were wrong. She’s changed too. She can say things now. She’s always had those too perceptive eyes and that too big heart, and she’s changed now in a way that makes her not afraid to let it out and use these things anymore. 

You tell this changed Ellie now: “You know that like— that like… I don’t know how to say it. When a person’s life seems like it should be perfect, and you have everything. Everything should be good, right—but it’s just not. Your parents should be kind, they should be loving. They should be attentive and give a shit what happens to you, and it probably seems that way to the whole rest of the world except for the people that have to witness the humiliation behind closed doors, but it’s really just not, and then they probably look at me and wonder how my life could be anything but rose colored, and it all just seems a little silly and empty. Doesn’t it?”

“Nah—don’t know. My life was always shit before I came here and found Joel and Dina and all of them and you. And I'd seen enough to recognize what you were and how it was. Nothing ever looked rose colored to me—just looked like more shit.” You laugh again out loud now and for real, squeezing more tears out over your hot cheeks when she joins you in the sad hilarity as well. 

When her voice is finally steady from the belly laughs again, she says, “It’s a grief pyramid, we’re all just going around hurting each other in the name of our ghosts and call it an excuse, an offering to their memory and act like it’s okay. But it’s fucked up. That’s why I decided to stop. I stopped pushing her away, I told her—well, you know. I told her.”

“Say it, loser.” You bump your butt into hers. 

“Not to you—leave me alone.”

Say it, say it, say it, you sing. 

“I love her, fuck off.” And a little clog of emotion sticks wetly in your throat.

That’s the real question, honestly: How do you make someone love you? How do you make yourself into someone people can love?

“It’s a grief pyramid,” she repeats. “You have to choose to stop adding to it.” And she’s quiet again for a long time, and you can’t fathom how it is one stops building onto something they’d been born into. You think on it so long the feel of her palm clutching yours starts losing itself to sleep in the grass and the breeze comes off the mountains like a blanket over the two girls who’d become women before them until she says again, “Anyway, that’s usually the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid.”

-

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nope. You’re definitely doing something.” He angles the phone away from her prying eyes, trying to shield his shame with the palm of his hand. 

“Mind your own damn business, kid.”

“Is that an Instagram account?” Ellie howls like a banshee, Tommy coming up behind him to reach over his shoulder to try and rip the phone out of his hand. He holds it out of his reach. 

It’s just that he couldn’t help himself. He’d heard the boys all talking about it on the ride back down after their long day of work—your Instagram page—as if he knew what the fuck that was. He’d had to search it up on the internet when he’d gotten a moment alone in the bunk, cracking open a beer, muscles exhausted from the hard ride and having to haul a heifer out of a bramble she’d gotten herself caught in, he’d realized it was a thing young people put photographs and such on, a social media thing. But when he’d gone to search your name, it’d told him he’d needed to make an account of his own. Growling in frustration, he’d slowly made his way through the process, too big fingers punching at the too tiny keys of the stupid phone you’d forced on him. 

“Can you shut up and just show me how to work this thing. And stop your goddamn howling—Dina’s gonna think she’s dating a hyena not a girl.” She slides into the seat next to him, taking the phone from his grip to finish setting up the account and type in your name, a deck of pictures loading up for him to hunt through like a vandal. Photographs of you in all sorts of different places, draped in fine clothes and jewels and your fucking perfect ass right there for everyone to see. 

Oh my God.

“How many people can see this shit?” He asks Ellie, angling the phone back towards her. 

“You’re so nosey, man,” she chastises. “Thirty-seven thousand followers.” And a long, impressed whistle from Tommy who he’s going to punch in the face after he’s done with this. 

He swallows hard. “What’s that mean?”

“That thirty-seven thousand people are following her and looking at her pictures, Joel,” his brother says. “Man, how fuckin’ old are you?”

“Yeah, you’re not that old, Joel. Come on.”

“Go away now. I’m busy,” he tells the both of them, going back to doom scrolling through your pictures. One’s of you in barely any clothes at all, an itty bitty orange bikini, hands on your ass and sand where his tongue should be.

Joel feels insane again. 

“Pervert.”

“Joel… I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think there’s steam comin’ out of your ears, man.”

“Fuck off.”

Blessedly, they leave him to suffer in peace after a while, and thank Christ for that because eventually, the ex-boyfriend shows up in the scroll of pictures too. There for everyone to see in posts dated several weeks back—even one of the two of you kissing, you on his lap, fuck that. Good looking, shiny-boy sort. Joel’s left eye twitches at the sight of the sort of man he has never been, could never be for you, someone of your caliber. 

The memory of your cunt grinding against him last night flashes through his mind and his cock throbs once and hungry. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, adjusting in the suddenly too tight seat of his jeans. 

A clusterfuck is what it is—this sudden melding of the memory of the girl-child you used to be, the one that up until only recently lived in his mind, good and golden, and the woman you are now. With both figures meeting together with all the characteristics he’d always admired in you, your kind heart, your honesty, your generosity. You’ve turned out to be an exceptional woman, and it’s difficult to let the distant perception from before meet the lust he feels for you now and grapple with it without feeling sick to his stomach about it all.

It’s all an inevitability though, anyway. He knows this just from the rewind memory play of last night, the taste of your mouth and the little sounds you'd made for him, because of him, the way your hips had rolled over his lap desperately seeking. 

You’re ending up on his cock one way or another—inevitable. 

He’s never claimed to be a good and honorable man—never played the part of one either. He’s not about to start now. 

Clicking on the picture of your sun bronzed ass in the tiny bikini again, he imagines himself biting and eating it, shifting his legs restlessly, taking another long pull of his beer. Tapping twice on the image, he tries to zoom in to the apex of your thighs—he’s going to hell, he’s so fucked up, doesn’t matter—when a little heart appears in the center of the image. He clicks it again and the heart appears once more, refusing to zoom into what he wants to see up close. Fucking piece of shit phone and fucking Instagram—frustrated and hard and pissed off at the fact he’s yet to see you all day, he locks the phone, slamming it face down on the kitchen table, and downs the rest of the can. 

If he doesn’t get a hold of himself soon he’s going to burst, gut all twisted up into a hot knot of coal. Sick with jealousy and anger and lust, aggressive, the taste of your sweetness ringing in his ears and the sound of your moans on his tongue—his head is not on straight and he better get it fixed quick or all this pent up frustration is going to come out with teeth to take a chunk of flesh out of you. 

Groaning loudly, he lets his head fall back, thumbs digging into the sockets of his eyes until he sees stars and not the sight of your slick swollen mouth made that way by himself. He wonders if you slept well last night, if you thought of him, if you’d made yourself come the way he’d ran home to the little foreman’s cabin Kelly had given him years ago, to do himself. Jumping in the shower to jack his leaking cock to the image of what it would’ve been like if he’d been brave enough to pull that flimsy little tease of a thong to the side, let his cock out and force it inside of you, make you take it until you were crying and coming so hard you’d never think to even look at another man again, much less kiss him. 

He should’ve hit that fucker harder. He should’ve kissed you longer. 

He needs to force you to take all of those goddamn half naked pictures down. No one should get to look at you like that except for him, and he doesn’t give a fuck how insane he sounds. 

Outside, he can hear the cowboys hooting and hollering at something, egging each other on louder and louder, the scuffle of them shoving each other and horsing around. He sighs once and long, too tired to deal with their shit right now. All he needs is an evening of peace to get his head on straight and relax and will his boner down for a few hours. He’s acting like a goddamn randy teenager, walking around hard and aching half the day. 

Heaving himself out of the chair, back hurts, he grabs another beer before he’s pushing the bunk door open to the sight of half the team huddled together and peering around the corner of the bunk towards the house. 

“The hell’s got y’all clucking like a bunch of hens?” He asks, coming around them to stop dead in his tracks when he lays eyes on what it is that’s got them all worked up. 

That same ass he’d just been trying to zoom in on, right there in the flesh for the whole ranch to ogle at. Stretched out on one of the sun loungers from the deck, dragged out into the center of the lawn with a little table set up next to you. You’d even gotten someone to scrounge up a huge umbrella, a misting fan spinning lazily, spitting a damp sheen of water every few minutes, a drink and a speaker playing some girly song, whole goddamn set up for all of these fuckers to stand here and take an eyeful of your perfect ass. 

Joel tries to take deep breaths, counting back from ten in his head—fails. He’s going to be calm and cool and collected—not. He isn’t going to lose his temper—sure. 

Fuck that. 

He’s going to spank your ass so hard you can’t sit for a week.

“If you all don’t find something to do in the next thirty seconds,” he growls at them all through clenched teeth, “I swear I’ll have you slingin’ shit for a month.” The can in his grip pops loudly between his fingers. 

They all take one peek at the look on his face and scatter like chicken shit until it’s only Ellie left smirking beside him.

“Take this,” he shoves the can at her and starts towards you. 

“Bro—” He ignores her. Hey! She calls after him, voice demanding now, stopping him in his tracks before he can go get exactly what he’s been denying himself from the moment you kissed him two nights ago. 

Giving him that look she gets when she needs to remind him she knows exactly who he is and that he can’t ever hide it from her, she chews on her cheek for a second before she says, and he doesn’t mistake it, it’s a warning: “She’s a real peach. You know that. Pretty and soft and sweet, but easily hurt. Needs gentle handling, even when she wants to pretend otherwise.”

It pisses him off. Bad. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know that? I understand her—” thumb to chest. Because he did—does. Because he thinks that he really always has. It’s undeniable that he has what you have, what Ellie has. Even what Oswald Kelly himself had had and what he’d seen in Joel when he’d decided to save the life of a no good man in a no good spot with a no good future in front of him—that sadness, that lost doggedness about you all that makes you so like one another, even despite your immeasurable differences.  

The two of them look at each other for another long moment, and Ellie knows, Ellie always understands. With a roll of her eyes she spins on her heel, muttering to herself, slugging back Joel’s discarded beer.

Slowly, he rounds back towards you, afraid as if he were looking down the barrel of a gun, just as dramatic, as well. Objectively, he knows you’re doing this on purpose, to piss him off and rile him up and get a blow out reaction out of him. He tries to remind himself of it as he marches towards you, and if he were smarter or less inclined to take your bait, he’d take a beat to finish that count to ten reversal in his head and calm the fuck down before he gets to you—but honestly, he just doesn’t feel like it. 

All he sees instead is the baby pink barely there string bikini you’ve got on, the slope of your back gleaming in the sun, slicked in something shiny, the damp from the mister, the lush curve of your ass and the shine of your hair resting face down on your folded arms. 

You’re all sunkissed everywhere, and he’d really rather just give you what you want already. 

“Get up,” he growls down at you. 

One eye winks open, peering up at him before you press up on your elbows to take in the sight of him scowling down at you, and he can’t help it when his eyes flit down to the sight of your breasts cupped precariously in the tiny bikini, skin all sun flushed red against the soft baby pink fabric. You look like you’re made of sugar and sweet fruit and like you’ve come here specifically to ruin him and his whole life and all his self control. 

Hmm? You smile up at him wide and teasing. Oh, he’s feeding right into your shit, and you piss him off so badly. 

He’s never been this hard in his entire life, he’s even made dizzy with it. 

The little wisps of hair at your temples are sweat soaked and curling, looking silky soft. A thousand little details about you and your body—the white of your smile and the flushed heat of your cheeks, sun burnished bridge of your nose starting to freckle—that he can’t help but notice. 

Get. Up, he grits through clenched teeth. No one in the whole world deserves to see you like this, looking so beautiful, especially not him. Shading your eyes with the palm of your hand, you scrunch your nose up at him, and he’s got half a mind to bark at you to not do that when he’s around or he’s really gonna lose it. Your smile beams brighter. 

“What’s wrong, Joel? Havin’ a rough day?”

“I swear to Christ, if you don’t get your ass up and in the house right this minute, I’m going to put you over my knee right here in front of your whole ranch to witness, little girl.”

You smile up at him again and a muscle at the corner of his jaw flutters madly, he’s about to crack a fucking molar. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” And you flop back down again so that the soft of your ass jiggles slightly, arching your back just a little so that he’s growling once, right before he’s gripping you by the elbow and pulling you upwards against his chest and dragging you all bare and slippery limbed to your feet. You smell like coconuts and sweet sweat and saliva pools heavy beneath his tongue. 

“If you wanna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you like one. You get me?” He yanks you towards the house screeching like a banshee, let go of me, you fucking psycho, you howl. A too little fist swings towards his face, and he catches it in his palm, squeezing tight and feeling your thumb tucked inside your fist. 

“Stop that—you’re gonna hurt yourself.” More squawking and howling, skinny wrist slipping from his grip to take another swing at him. “Don’t even know how to throw a goddamn punch—Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t tuck your thumb.” He hauls you up higher against himself, getting a better grip around your waist so he can carry you bodily up the steps of the deck. 

You jam your heels into his shins, and he huffs and puffs, trying to keep his hold on you. I’m gonna kick your ass, you screech again, scratching and pinching at his forearms. 

Joel is too old and too goodman tired for this. 

“No, you’re not. And if you think I’m gonna let the whole goddamn ranch and all the boys stare at your bare ass all day, you’ve got another thing comin’ for you.”

“Well, I’ve gotta show it to someone, don’t I?” You sass back, trying to elbow him in the throat while you’re at it. Blood boiling, catching you by the small joint, he pulls your arm bent behind your back, other forearm banding against your stomach so that his hand is splayed at your hip, feeling the satin soft skin, slippery in your suncream. 

And sure, he might be too old or too tired for this, but his cock is still hard as anything at the feel of you all against him like this. 

Pushing the door open with his hip, he shoves you inside. The late afternoon sun paints the cool interior in shades of gold and beaming white; everything is beautiful and pristine as always, and yet tinged with the red of his temper and lust. His temples beat in tune with his too fast, pumping heart. 

“Where’s Dina?” He’s still got you caught in his grip. He does not plan to let go. 

“Let me go, you mother ffff—” He gives you one hard shake, hearing your teeth click and rattle. Little doll caught in his grip. He can do anything to you—and you won’t be able to stop him. 

“Where is she?” He asks again, and something in his voice must snap you alert because you settle for a brief second, a little shiver skipping down the length of your spine that he follows to your full ass. He tugs you back, barely moving and slow, just that little bit further into himself so that the lush curve presses against the hard length of his cock—and there it is, the little knowing gasp, finally understanding what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.

-

“She—” Your belly is suddenly so hot and tight, heartbeat starting up behind your navel. Suddenly knowing what it is this is about to be, and yet now finally confronted with the reality of it for the first time, you can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like. “She—I don’t know. She went into town, I— I think,” you stutter, brain short-circuiting, desperate to feel that hardness again. “Waiting for Ellie—they’ve got plans there tonight.” His entire hand is wrapped around your forearm pressed against the small of your back, long, thick fingers overlapping against each other, and you roll up on your tiptoes, trying to arch your back further into him. 

He grunts once, exasperated, and then shoves you forward again, rough enough you’re stumbling over your own two feet, full on aggressive panting bull at your back. 

That’s good, he says so low you barely catch it before he’s pushing you up against the wall by the front door, cheek smushed against the silk printed wallpaper. 

Your mother decorated this room years ago, melding the masculine taste of your father and her love for European decor. The walls, wrapped in hand painted English wallpaper on the top half, and paneled at the bottom with a mahogany so fine it gleams an amber golden glow when the afternoon sun shines in through the windows just so. 

Everything beautiful; still, even after all this time. 

He holds you there for a long moment, his breathing quick and shallow, bellows of hot air at the nape of your neck, disturbing the escaped hair from your claw clip curling there. 

“Joel?” You ask once, voice wavering just a little bit because he suddenly feels so large and imposing behind you that something like trepidation beats behind the soft of your kneecaps. You know he worked all day, and his big body is a steaming blaze of heat, waves rolling off of him to burn the naked length of your back and limbs. 

He pulls your arm trapped between his forearm and your stomach to the small of your back to join the other, holding you there in a lock pinned against the wall, reaching up slowly to let your hair down, long and swinging. You listen to the clatter of your clip against the hardwood floor, and then he’s circling the side of your neck, the tiny beating pulse held in the cup of his palm so that it feels as if it’s reverberating back into your head, a staccato rhythm, and echoing all through your body. A chiming bell, ringing and ringing and ringing, telling you that it’s time now. His hand smooths down the slope of your throat to your shoulder, and you listen to the rumbling half humming moan he lets out at the feel of your sweat sticky skin, then down the flat wing of your scapula, thumb nail scraping against the edge of your jutting bone for the way he’s got your arms trapped behind you. 

You let out a high pitched whine, almost a scream, another puff of sound in the assimilation of his name, pleading now, rolling up onto your tiptoes again to push your ass back against the hard of his cock. Everything is so, so sensitive. 

Quit, he snaps once and mean. Ordering. In a tone that says he’s in charge, and finally. 

It’s such a relief. 

You whine again, higher, needier, like you’ve never felt before, and there’s a nauseating thrum of electrified butterflies in your tummy, sticky sweet and cloying for attention. Joel, please, again and the wings beat faster. You’re sure he’ll enjoy the sound of your begging, it’s just something you know. Tiptoes straining higher so that the soles of your feet ache, he smooths that work roughened palm down the slope of your spine, thumb against your vertebrae, feeling the round little notches of bone beneath sensitive skin until he’s reached the twin dimples at the low of your back right above your ass, and presses there and hard—mean—so it hurts. Keening loudly, you crush your cheek harder, harder against your mother’s wallpaper until the bone aches, until there’ll surely be an indent of your shape left in the wall, and his thumb digs even harder anyway, gripping you tight enough to bruise. 

This is how it’ll be—surprising, but also not. In all your years of imagining, you still don’t know what it is you expected.

“You’re carved so fine,” whispered against your skin and gooseflesh spreads like wildfire, nipples going tight and aching. His nose skims the slope of your nape, smelling you. “S’like you’re made of sugar. Is that what you’ll taste like too?” And his words are slurred, drunk-like and you feel the same way also, legs on the verge of giving out.

You press your hips back again, desperate for any sort of pressure, and he jostles you once, hard enough you bite your tongue. Quit moving, he snaps, shoving his knee between your legs and spreading you wide and immobile, thigh hooked over his own so that the toes of that leg barely skim the ground and now you’re precariously balanced on one foot, held up and pinned entirely by him. 

 Caughtcha, he murmurs.

You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. 

The palm at the low of your back splays wide, his long fingers reaching from side to side and pressing hard against your skin and then all of a sudden he’s gone, and only for a second, before he’s back and slapping you hard and painfully stinging on the ass. A downward swipe of his thick fingers so that it really fucking hurts, and then the palm is back at the small of your waist, hooked thigh over his leg, unable to move, unable to do anything except take it. 

He presses your belly into the wall, and the pressure is so intense and so deep—his breathing is so rough behind you. You know he worked the mountain all day, he should be exhausted, but the strength he’s trapping you with belies the possibility. 

His hand goes away from your back again, and he’s spanking you once more, and you can’t tell if it’s harder or not this time, if it hurts worse than the previous, but the fire pain of it snaps all the way down from your thigh to your calve, pooling there in a knot of painful ache. An animal baying noise warbles in your throat, he tuts once, a cooing click of his tongue and cups your ass right at the rose of pain he’s left, kneading the skin gently, palpating the hurt like he’s looking for the physical imprint of it beneath your skin. 

“Yeah, baby? Like that?” You sing the little animal song for him again. “S’what you needed, right?” His voice now is not the Joel-voice you’ve always known, but it is the one you’ve always dreamed of. The kneading fingers slide whisper soft down the back of your thigh, up again, down again, callused skin scraping. On the up again, his thumb catches at the edge of your bathing suit wedged between the cleft of your ass.

And lest he thinks he’s bested you, you say, “Yes, that’s what I needed,” and he laughs a rough laugh that makes him sound like he’s been gutted. 

He squeezes the thick of your ass between his thumb and forefinger, an almost pinch and then smoothes his thumb beneath the pink edge along the curve, precariously close to danger. The sound of his name loses meaning, you’re praying it in a litany almost, over and over, begging. Hush now, he gentles, more in a sort of voice you recognize while your heart beats so hard against the wall it must surely sound like someone’s knocking on the front door for entry, like it must surely send echoes all through the ghost-house. 

His smoothing thumb continues its journey until it’s between your thighs, pulling the wet lycra wide away from your skin so that he can tuck the rest of his fingers flat against your cunt, and now he’s there. 

One of you says the word fuck another lets out a whimpering sort of noise—you’re not sure which is who, it’s all only a cunt-throbbing need you know he’s feeling leak and pulse against his hand. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs all reverence like. Joel—touching your cunt and sounding like he can’t believe it. His hand slides back along the curve of your sex, and you really are so wet the sound of it is slick and lewd, his fingertips at your entrance, a gentle probing and then forward again, a circling not touch around your clit, like he’s learning for himself this new little place that belongs to him now. Your mouth falls open on a spit-full moan, your eyes closed because you don’t even have strength now to keep them open and watchful. You’re so wet for me, he says again and again like he can’t believe it all either. 

He drags his finger flats against you once more and then another time and then taps twice with all four of them, two little almost slaps to your clit that make a sticky wet splashing sound. Good girl, and you don’t know which part of you he’s talking to. You’re practically leaking onto the floor, trying to widen your hips, arch your ass back further and present your cunt to him for fucking. And then his fingers side to side in a swiping motion and fast. 

Oh God. Oh God. Inside, inside, you need him inside. He needs to go inside. 

“Please, pleeease, Joel. Oh, please.” Delirious.

“Please?” His fingers move fast and your vision goes entirely away. “Please what? Please what? You, please.” He switches front and backwards again, and then two fingers draw a little ghost circle at your entrance. You, please, he says again. His hand flips over, palm facing downwards, and he starts to slowly, slowly press a single tip of one inside. “Please behave. Please don’t— don’t—fuck— please gimme a second to breathe, to think, to catch up. God, fucking tight little cunt. I’ll never fit in here, baby.” 

Your vision whites, then blacks, then goes blinding bright and colorless—zero frequency. Up to the first knuckle, and he wiggles the tip inside, making you cry and squirm, pulls out and then two fingers are pressing inside and downwards. “We’re gonna have to take it so slow in this little cunt.” Shit—shit.

“Oh my God, yes.” 

Your hips shiver and shake as he penetrates you, his forehead tucked against your shoulder so he can look down at what he’s doing, and drool slides along your mother’s wallpaper from the corner of your mouth as he pushes his fingers in and out of you so slowly, the slick slide, the pressure against your front wall so heavy, and spread so wide like this but held so immobile—it all makes you feel like you’ll wet yourself with such little control over your body. A few slides in and out again, “Good girl, just a little more,” before he’s wedging a third into the mix, trying to put it inside of you as well. A little more? The stretch is too much, burning, and you wail and cry, arching again but this time to get away instead of steal more. 

“Okay, okay. It’s alright,” he soothes. Hush. “It’s okay.” He pulls his fingers entirely out and covers the slick mess of your mound with his entire palm possessively. Rubbing soothingly at your wet, his fingers slide over the satiny smooth skin of your lips. 

“You’re all bare,” he whispers, shocked.

You swallow hard once, shoulders and neck starting to ache. “I— I got lasered.”

“Lasers?” Voice confused. 

“Yeah.” You swallow again, can’t catch your breath. “Yes.”

“Gotta see.”

He pulls you from the wall, shuffling you like gambling cards in his hands, that’s what this is, a gamble, so that you’re facing him as he walks you backwards, bikini bottoms askew and cunt bare to your parents living room; your dead father’s best man about to fuck it raw. 

Pressing up on your tiptoes at the same time that you’re tugging him low by the collar and the slightly too long hair that curls over it to press an open mouthed kiss to his lips with eyes kept open. You need to see his face, his reaction, that even though he’s all rough, he’s still Joel and he’ll still take care of you now. 

One strong forearm bands around your back, pressing you up high and close to his chest, fingers tangling in the bikini string at your back so that it pulls tight and bites into your skin, the other reaching around the back of your thighs to take a squeezing handful of you ass as he lifts you clean off the ground, lumbering slowly towards the couch while the two of you stare at each other with something that smells suspiciously of wonder. 

On the high ground now, you stare down at him, held as you are and kiss him again, for real this time, with tongue, an eating of his mouth. Trying to taste him as deep as you can go, digging your manicured fingernails into the rough whiskered planes of his cheeks until he grunts roughly.

Showing him that you can hurt him too. 

His knees hit the edge of the couch, one palm going to the back to hold himself steady as he sets you down, following your path to fold over you nose to nose. Watching each other for a blink, predator, predator, lashes tangling and then his mouth is sliding wetly over your burning cheekbone, drawn out groan like dying. Down to the hinge of your jaw where he sucks sharp once and his tongue flutters down the column of your throat, tasting your pulse, his palms everywhere at the same time too. Over your shoulders and down your goosefleshed arms, cinching at the nip of your waist to slide around your hips and to your ass, pulling you forward and open when he goes to his knees on the floor at the edge of the sofa between your spread thighs, with you draped diagonally across the cool leather that sticks to your sweaty, coconut flavored skin. 

One palm slides down your chest, dragging over your breast, the other catching at your nipple with this thumb, nail scraping and pulling the wet fabric along with him, baring you to the first glance of his eyes. A sound that’s a little like a whimper precedes his latching mouth, sucking hard and with teeth so you’re arching and crying and when your head rolls to the side, eyes bleary and barely seeing, he’s got your small breast in his mouth, jaw hinged wide and hungry. His teeth scrape, one wide palm sliding over your thigh to the back, pushing your knee up high and open to your shoulder, lips skim over your belly, smell so fucking good, sharp edge over your hip bone and the lave of his tongue, taste so fucking good.

“I’m gonna eat your cunt.” Bikini askew, one little tit bared to the cold AC, nipples hard enough to hurt, he pinches it once and mean and stretches the soaking wet center gusset of your bottoms wider.

He looks and looks and grins and everything inside of you pulses. 

Boyish smirk and a cocky glance up at you, oh, pretty, “Perfect little princess pussy, huh? I see now.” He sticks his thumb into his mouth, pulls it out with a pop to rub it spit slick against your clit. Yeah, yeah, like that, and you can’t help the whining cry. 

Pushing your other thigh up high, the grin turns to something a little more menacing before he bends to your cunt, whole mouth covering you there like he’d swallowed your breast. His thumbs dig painfully into the backs of your thighs like they’d dug in your back, leaving little spots of hurt all over your body is what he’s doing, spreading you wide open.  

Every touch is possessive, full of ownership. 

“What are you doing to me?” He groans as he eats your cunt, doing exactly as he said he would, flat of his tongue licking all over you, dipping inside. Purse of his lips then and he’s sucking hard and pulsing in quick successions, and there’s your first one—little gush of slick and your belly so tight it hurts, you need something inside of you so bad—your first orgasm forced from you and onto his tongue, swallowed down into his stomach. He groans like an animal—doubles his efforts, tongue spearing inside, pulling away to press two fingers in—fuck, fuck, and you grab hold of your own thigh to keep yourself open for him, knees trembling beside your ribs. 

The hand not inside slides across you, smearing slick over your belly, it’s everywhere, and presses down as he crooks those two fingers forward. His hair’s all fucked up, eyes glazed a maniacle shade of hazel that makes him more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him and also hotter than you could’ve ever dreamed, that boy’s smile again. 

His mustache is soaked in you. “Little pussy’s so small ‘nd wet, baby.” He wiggles his fingers, pets against the blindingly sensitive place inside of you. “Feel that?” Fingers twisting—almost too much, the stretch burns already and just like this. 

“Please, put it in,” you beg stupidly, a tear leaks and then another, not at all smart of self preserving. 

He clicks his tongue, and you can’t tell if it’s soothing or condescending or both, your eyes screwing shut at what he’s doing to you, trying to paw at his shoulders and pull him towards you at the same time. “Can’t—cunt’s too little.”

No, no— His palm at your belly presses down, fingers petting forward, again, again, head bent once more to suck on your clit, licking it roughly if a tongue can be rough because it’s heavy and strong and intentional—I can take it. There’s your next one, obeying the come here order of his fingers. Mid-come and he’s forcing that painful third one from before inside, and now it’s split open and sloshing wetly—your cunt—hiccupping into another left over shaky orgasm, fucking hurts a little bit. More tears and his soft chuckle—you’re really in it now. 

When he slurps at your leaking again, fingers leaving you to gape empty and wanting, your hips shiver, trying to shake him away and rock against him at the same time. He says something you can’t make out, can’t even open your eyes, you just need a second, you swear, and then the clink of his belt, the shuffle of clothes, and he’s pulled his shirt over his head—you’ve enough mind left to open your eyes for this. 

He’s so strong, built for fucking and working and heaving. You knew this already, you hadn’t needed to see him without clothes to know. 

And all yours now, too. 

Your fingertips paw greedy at his chest, muscular, the thickly corded arms and shoulders. One hand wraps around the slim of your ankle, manacling you while he undoes his fly, your heart skips with the split of the zipper’s teeth and pulls his cock out, letting it fall heavy on your stomach—a threatening, aggressive thing. It drags against your cunt, so big it doesn’t stand up straight and jutting like the others you’ve been used to, but bobs low and hanging.

Reaching forward you flit the tips of your fingers over the wide head—barely there butterfly touch—and your hand looks comically small next to the thing as you pet at the dark head swelling out of the thick skin around it, soft and burning hot—he growls like a wolf at your touch.

 “I’ve never— I’ve never… with one like…”

He pulls your hand forward, wrapping it tightly around the thick length with his fist over yours. “Nah, baby. You’ve never had one like this. It’s alright—I’ll show you how to take it.” 

You’ve half a mind to roll your eyes at him, but he distracts you with the soft touch at the split indentation in your knee from your romp in the grass last night. “What happened here, little thing?” His words and his touch are so soft, eyes warm and caring, as if he weren’t threatening at all, as if that thing that’s about to split you in half and make you cry hasn’t started to slick itself back and forth between your legs, parting the lips of your cunt, sticky sound on every pass with his fist wrapped around himself—too many things happening to you all at once by his hand. 

“A rock hiding in the grass last night.” You start to roll your hips minutely against him, presenting your similarly torn palm for his appraisal, no, no, my poor baby, he kisses the little hurt while the fat head swipes over your clit, pressing against your hole—a little gasp and you circle his wrist at your knee, anchoring yourself. 

He frowns. “Last night when?”

“After you left me.” Pouting back. 

Cooing once and low, “You shouldn’t go out alone at night, anything could happen,” pressing again at the mouth of your cunt. Fuck, now— 

“Wasn’t alone—”

The head notches and stays, “Without me then— Deep breath now, baby.” He grunts on the first push inside, and your back arches tight as a bowstring, hand splaying wide at the center of his belly and his long fingers wrap around your breast tight, holding you in place, deep breath, he says again. 

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh my God.”

He pitches his hips forward once, just a little, just a small shove, and you tense, sharp whine hiccuping through you. “Oh, it’s too big,” pressing harder at his belly as he edges deeper again, an inch and then another, literally splitting your cunt open for himself, thumb swiping slow and gentle over your clit, forcing little shudders of pleasure out of you amidst the pain. 

“See, told ya.” It’s slow, slow until he makes it fit, watching himself sink inside of you the entire time, until you’re rooted on his cock, breath coming is quick, sucking pants, puffs out through your nose, body flushing hot and then even hotter. He folds over you, groaning loud and long, deep grinds and small shoves, and then it’s so much, too much until there’s no room left inside of you at all, that dull ache pain of his tip pressing against your cervix. 

You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, it hurts, it hurts, but he plays with that place anyways, covering you with his body to press his face against your breasts, mouthing wet and hot at your nipples, biting hard to distract you from the pain inside. Your fingers twist in his hair, hot and damp at the roots, sweaty musk smell of a hard day's work, masculine, making you wetter for him. “It’s alright… it’s alright. You can take it. You’re such a good girl.” And then a fuck, and he’s mumbling your name, how good you are again, how well you’re taking your fucking. 

“This what you wanted, right? To get caught on my cock?” The palm cupping your ass tips you up and forwards, forcing him inside just that little bit more. Your knees are at your shoulders, folded entirely under him, and the tip of his cock is still there where it hurts the most while he pants and sweats on top of you. A cramp of heat moves like lightning down your back and something goes loose in your cunt, your womb contracting once, accepting its fate as you start to come around him, milking him deep inside of you. You start to cry for real now too, fingernails dragging against his naked back looking for blood—sobbing, actually, not just crying. 

He bites your breast hard, grinds further not letting the orgasm stop, “God—I’m so fuckin’ deep. No one’s ever been this deep, right? Tell me, baby,” he begs, sitting back and dragging you boneless, still coming, into his lap, little girl splayed wide over his knees on the floor. You sink further down onto his cock, and he kisses your hot cheeks, letting your cunt drip down him. His belt digs bruisingly into the back of your thighs and it all hurts—he really is so deep now, head tucked firmly at your cervix, and he feels like he’s getting thicker, harder, like he just needs to be sunk deep like this, as deep as he can get so that all your cunt needs to do is work him until it milks the come right out of him. 

Your head lolls back on your neck, supported at the edge of the sofa. “No more—” You don’t know if you mean it, but it is just on the verge of too much now. You’re so sensitive. 

“Yes more.” He starts to lift his hips again, pulling back and shoving, not a lot, but enough that it’s like a little punch inside of you each time. “As much as I say.”

Whining, “No—I can’t.” You roll your hips against him though, the both of you moving, straining against each other, his wide hands around your waist shifting you up and down like a doll on his cock. Your eyes finally open again, and the sunlight spears in through the windows in buttery blinding shafts, sparkling dust motes dancing above as he fucks you. The sound is all so wet, everything from his lower belly to the open front of his jeans is soaked. “I don’t like it anymore,” you lie. 

“I don’t care,” and he gives you the first really rough thrust, not a pounding but with enough strength behind it that you get that heat cramp again, feel like you’re going to wet yourself again, there’s so much pressure in your belly. 

You’re going to come again. You are coming again. It feels like you should say thank you. 

He laughs, little cock sleeve, and you can’t understand how it’s so intense when the fucking is so slow—so good anyways—who cares about anything. His name slips through your lips without them moving, and he’s laughing again, a little mean and you tell him so, but still tender, still endeared by you. 

You push his face away weakly, a mumbled, “Nasty old man.”

Nuh uh, he hums, taking both of your wrists in his grip and pressing them back to the leather edge on either side of your head, forcing you into an arch so that he can latch his teeth at your throat and suck. The rolling of his hips pick up speed, just that little bit, the heat coming off him boiling up to steaming and his sweat drips onto your skin and disappears inside of you—everywhere you’ve got him inside of you. 

“Birth control?” All broken up with pants and your jugular between his teeth. 

Flexing fingers, hands going away to numbness, he’s got you held so tightly, not being so careful of his strength anymore, his cock drags and it’s so wet and sensitive and swollen inside of you, it feels like he barely fits even more than it did before, like there’s definitely no more space inside of you for him at all.. “Yeah—ye—ah, ahh,” can’t get your voice to come out right with your clit grinding against his pelvic bone like that. “Implant right here.” You turn your face towards your left arm, tipping your nose the hidden little bump right beneath your skin. He clicks his tongue, kissing it softly.

“Poor baby. That’s good. That’s real good, baby. Just be good and lemme come in you now. It’s okay.” He spreads his thighs wider, pushing up with his knees into you now. Oh fuck— “But you gotta give me one more. I want it—it’s mine.” And the way he’s got you arched, the spot he hits inside is more intense than the others. He grunts rougher now, biting your throat so hard you’ll be left bruised all over and on the inside too. One palm lets go of your wrist to grip your bottom, long fingers slotting on either side of his impaling cock, pulling you to him so tightly the orgasm is squeezed out of you forcibly and hurts all the worse for it. You’re limp and boneless now, and he starts to pump his come into you in thick spurts, belly all suffused with heat and your name a groan in his throat.

His fingers, parted around his splitting cock rub at the slippery skin of your labia, back and forth to your asshole, holding and cupping the place he’s claimed, and he comes so long, hunched over and rutting into you, filling and filling until the wet squelch is even louder and you can feel the thick come being forced out of your stuffed full cunt. 

You want to say his name, trying to move your lips, but your tongue rolls uselessly inside your mouth, all you are is a shivering cunt, a muscle spasming and spasming around him. He nuzzles at your throat, finally unlatching his teeth, licking away the hurt, pressing a soft kiss to the sore spot. You can feel him playing in the leaking wet now, fingering at your puffy cunt, well fucked and filled. 

You want to tell him you didn’t think that the bikini was going to make this happen, pull this out of him. 

At least not like this. You don’t think you could’ve ever imagined it’d be like this. 

His mouth, hot on your jaw once more before he finally picks up his head to look at you, and his eyes make you want to cry, all that manic heat is gone now, replaced by some softly smoldering ember. You don’t think anyone in all the world has eyes the color of hazel he’s got. Something that should belong to some fiercely guarded precious stone, they glow, amber opal like, burnished in the setting sun’s golden glow.

“You okay?” His voice is very soft, and only for you.

You nod, chin tipping to your sternum, face flushed with so much unbearably pleased heat you’re unable to find your own. 

Tilting his head to get at your mouth, he kisses you long and soft and open mouthed, licking your tongue, tasting you completely. And when he pulls back he has that same look you feel on your own face—that same unbearable pleasure. Shocked wonder sprinkled into it.

Look at what we’ve done and together and how good it is—

A smile and then a laugh from both of you, giggling like school children into each other’s mouths, and you’ve always thought he has some strange effect of appearing all man one second and then smiling and boyish for the flash of a single moment the next. And you don’t think you understand how someone who’s been through so much can still laugh the way he does. You smooth your finger over the arch of his eyebrow, thumbing at the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Gorgeously strong man, and you suppose, looking at the wider picture, his life here, Ellie and the boys and a whole full life, you understand it, just a little bit—all the ranch’d given him. He has so much here—centered by the land as its heart. 

You’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and finally, voice found—the feel of his heartbeat inside of you—it’s like finding a dream, “I’m okay,” you tell him. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[buginateacup]

I would rather be in the tiny creative fandom of a dead media with no chance of a sequel than a bigger fandom paralysed by canon validation syndrome

[oncomingnight]

yandere! death metal singer x fem reader

Andrew completely fits the stereotype of having an extremely intimidating exterior whilst possessing the sweetest of personalities. His skin is entirely enveloped within incredibly lengthy and vibrant tattoos, but not only has his skin been a canvas for many tattoo artists, it's been pierced into as well. His ears have been stretched by two inches and his nose has been decorated by a nose ring that shines beneath the moonlight.

Andrew never lets the fact that he's a man in his 20's stop him from behaving like a child with a sweet tooth in a candy store when he's around you. His ivory, tattooed hands always seem to find their home on your body no matter where the two of you are. He'll use every chance he gets to constantly remind you of the love he harvests for you through his touch, it's to the point where you feel his presence even when the two of you are apart.

He looks at you as if he's the moon catching a first glance at the ever-burning sun during an eclipse, it's always like he's seeing you for the first time again.

Can't seem to get enough of you with the way he's constantly leaning towards your touch, similar to an awaiting bud looking to drown itself under the rays of the sun. His ringed fingers come up to softly cup the side of your face before leaning forward to place his mouth over your plump, glossed lips. Forever will he be addicted to being able to place his claim over your soft, perfumed flesh.

Andrew is no stranger to smoking joints or rolling up alongside his friends, and he's also a self proclaimed social drinker. However, if you simply have no interest in getting high or drunk he'll keep that part of himself away from you. He'll actually cut down on his drinking & smoking even if you tell him it's completely fine with you. He won't completely quit but he limits himself so he'll be able to keep a careful eye on you when the two of you are out and about.

Keeps Polaroids of you in his black rhinestone studded wallet and holds onto them whenever he's missing you.

He is constantly babying you and treating you as if you're a princess that he's slaughtered an entire kingdom in order to have. Andrew quite literally calls you: "my pretty baby", "my princess", "sweetheart", "baby", etc.

The undeniably intense nature of his band's music is incredibly fitting to the fire-filled love he harbors for you, he burns for you. Before, now, and forever more will he burn for you.

Has written several songs in dedication to you and even released one with your name as the title.

Looking towards the backstage area as he's on stage and seeing you smile at him gives him a certain high that no drug ever could. He couldn't feel luckier that he got to you before a no good motherfucker put their grimy paws on you, he goes to bed and wakes up with a smile on his face knowing you're his and he's yours.

He is constantly posting little photos of you on his feed as well as his story, practically taunting everyone with the fact that you're his baby. The fans of the band will always taunt him with comments under their posts saying: "This is cool n all but where is y/n...", "oh yay a new album...where is our mom at though." You will always find him in your comment section and he replies to your story with the cutest remarks + corniest emojis.

he knows it makes you giggle so he keeps doing it.

He has your name tattooed on his chest as well as a lipstick mark on the side of his neck since you're so obsessed with loving on his neck tattoos.

He owns two cats that he says you're the mother of and has immense amounts of photos where the cats and you are all cuddled up. He has to contain himself with the extreme surge of cuteness aggression that consumes him when he sees you doing absolutely anything.

Andrew has always had an interest in culinary and not only is he talented when it comes to cooking but he's practically a wizard when it comes to baking. He'll observe what dishes/desserts you take a liking to and will immediately take it upon himself to learn how to make it.

Spoiler alert: He already knew how to make it.

This results in him constantly spoiling you with the savoriest of dishes & sweetest of pastries, and don't even get me started on the delicious dinners he whips up every single night for the two of you.

He's memorized how you like your coffee and orders your usual every time he's in a coffee shop if he doesn't have the time to make it himself.

sprays your perfume on his clothing as well as his bedding.

Has a photo of you and him as his lock screen.

Andrew knows this isn't a good mindset to have but he frankly doesn't feel as bad as he probably should have to change his point of view. He views you as his helpless baby girl who he needs to protect against anything and everything, he's too paranoid to let you go out alone, or do anything alone for that matter. He views absolutely everyone as a threat to your well-being and that isn't just the case for unknown men but for women, as well. Andrew doesn't care if you're heading to a girl's night out, he'll come along, too! He'll be as quiet as a mouse for the entire night with a giant hand on the inside of your thigh, silently listening in on your 'girl talk'.

pays for your nails and loves when you get them done as he's able to feel you comfortably scratch at his head, lulling him to bed. On the topic of sleep, he absolutely loves being the big spoon when the two of you cuddle but his heart melts when you plead with him to finally be the little spoon for once because you "want to take care of him".

Andrew can barely contain himself when he feels your lips start to kiss at his neck, splashing cherry colored splotches on the surface of his tattoos.

He has the attitude equivalent to a Labrador but as he's human just like absolutely everyone he has his limit. His overly energetic demeanor doesn't mean he doesn't do absolutely everything in his power to prove to you that you'll only ever need him. he can protect you, he is the man for you, you can depend on HIM for everything.

[extensionallydefined]

Okay, so, I need to talk about the relationship between Persona 5's ending and Persona 5 royal's ending, because I think it isn't discussed enough how one puts into question the themes of the other and in doing so it elevates everything that came before.

Spoilers are coming, you've been warned.

The main thing that's given me an outlet to think about this is a few quotes from the Phantom Thieves when they're in the Velvet Room after being Thanos-snapped by Yaldabaoth. Specifically these quotes:

Ann: "I... I never want anyone to have to go through what I did!"

Yusuke: "Just as art is meant to break boundaries, people should be saved even if they frown upon it. I won't allow the justice I believe in to be shaken any further!"

Ryuji: "We're doin' this to make sure people don't go through the same crap we did. It doesn't matter if they think we're just or not. We gotta do what we believe in!"

Futaba: "I can't let people suffer like this, even if I don't know them personally"

They mention some core ideas: 1. They want to prevent people's suffering because of the suffering they've felt. 2. They must do this regardless of if people want it, because they think it's the right thing to do. 3. Their justice is worth fighting for by virtue of being what they believe in.

Does this seem familiar? Maybe makes you think of a certain therapist who shows up in Royal?

I think Takuto Maruki serves a decent amount of purposes narratively and thematically, but one of the most genius things about him is that he serves as a foil to both the Phantom Thieves and Akechi, and in being that foil, he is, deep down, following the principles that the Phantom Thieves fought for - In the end, it was largely Joker who inspired him to fight for his reality.

Maruki fights for a reality where suffering straight up doesn't exist, because he doesn't want anyone to feel the suffering he's had to endure. Maruki wants the Phantom Thieves and Akechi to never feel suffering anymore, regardless of their stance on the matter. He is "saving" them regardless of their wishes, and will fight them to keep the reality he wants. He thinks the world is unfair, so his "justice" is to make a perfect world for everyone - and that's what makes it worth fighting for, because that's what he believes.

Maruki's rationale to fight against the Phantom Thieves and Akechi is (partly) the same reasoning that the Phantom Thieves use to regain their motivation to fight the Holy Grail/Yaldabaoth.

So, narratively, Maruki serves as a mirror that's telling things not to be told for the Phantom Thieves to look into and to see the ugly parts of their own way of acting. Can they really fight Maruki, knowing that he is just acting how they did?

I see people sometimes refusing Maruki's reality because it "wouldn't actually work" or "it's imperfect". But as far as I'm aware, it's imperfect because it hasn't been completed yet - I think the game is a lot more interesting under the pretense that Maruki truly has the power to erase all suffering, once his reality is complete, past the deadline. I also see the argument, and even the game uses it, that Maruki's world "isn't reality". But did we listen well to Morgana's speech before he disappeared in the Yaldabaoth arc? The world itself is made up of cognition, reality is born from the points of view of everyone. Maruki *can* change reality, and the real question of the game is not about the logistics or "ontological dignity" of his reality, but rather - Do you want a world where all your wishes are granted and no suffering exists?

In the end, the game shows the Phantom Thieves that "sticking to their justice" will make them fight against people with similar ideals as theirs. It's funny, in a way, how Akechi was the one fully willing to fight Maruki from the start. His rebellion has always been more individualistic in nature than the Phantom Thieves' - he wanted revenge for himself, then redemption for himself and now he wants a reality where he isn't under anyone's control anymore. To him, Shido's country, Yaldabaoth's ruin and Maruki's world are all the same - Maruki just has a nicer, more therapy-speaky way of presenting his proposal, and sees people as his equals rather than as insolent masses, but his goal is the same. They're all worlds that shackle you for the "greater good". And in the end, Maruki, and Royal, force the P5 gang to become more like Akechi - to value their individuality in the face of the public's "justice".

To fight for what you believe in you will face people with the same determination as you. They will be your equals in many, many ways. In the end, you can only stick to your guns and hope that what you believe in is worth more than what they believe in.

I have a lot more to write about these topics but I'll leave it there. Maybe about the relationship between Maruki's reality and individuality next? That could be fun ^^

Btw - Special thanks to @thedaythatwas for inspiring me to write up stuff about Persona 5 Royal!

[foranidalas]

♱ ‧₊˚ art donaldson has no problem giving you the control in the bedroom. content warning: femdom!reader x art donaldson.

he’s always been greedy. you see it in his tennis, his friendships— there’s never been a doubt. on top of it, he’s a wreck. you know little about what happened between him and his best friend, or the campus tennis celebrity he seemed to be a tad in love with. it was never your business. you preferred to concern yourself with fucking the boy speechless, always ready for him to call you up when he needs it different. the pitch of his voice through your phone when he begs you to come over itself is reward enough for you.

you’re barely two steps into his room and he’s already pumping his dick with ferocious fervor, groaning in pleasure out when he sees you enter.

he begins to speak, “couldn’t wait— im sorry—“, but you’re already sat next to him, replacing his hand with yours and running your thumb over his strained tip. the smell of your hair sends him over. he’s quick to press his lips to yours as he moans out softly, and you can feel him hardening already again. it makes you chuckle, and he whines.

“i know,” you mumble, hands wandering to his thighs. with a quick and soft push, you’ve pinned him to his bed, fingers dipping into his mouth and he obediently lubricates them for you. “gonna make you feel better, ‘kay?” it’s barely over a whisper, and theres a small fondness to it— it revved you up getting him off. his legs instinctually wrap their way around your waist. knelt in front of him; his thighs rest atop yours. impatiently, he bucks his hips up, beckoning for your touch. your hand makes its way back to the base of his cock, pumping slowly as you ease two slender fingers into him. he’s like putty in your hands when you pump him slowly; hands flying to tangle in his hair like he’s overcome with relief.

“give me a couple more, and i’ll let you fuck me.”

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing mid-16th century Venetian dress in doll scale

My parents moved from my childhood home, so I needed to finally take all my old toys I want to keep to store myself, including my dolls. For a long while I've been thinking it might by fun to sew tiny historical clothing for dolls. I love watching doll customization videos, they are so satisfying, and I just really love it, when there's a normal sized thing and then you make it tiny. Especially if it's still functional and made from correct materials. I can't explain it better than tiny versions of bigger things just make me vibrate on higher level. Now that I have my dolls in my home and a box full of fabric scraps, I have everything I need to just start sewing. So I did. And it was extremely fun. I have already started working on a 1890s doll outfit.

This will show my age (not that it doesn't read in my bio), but my dolls are all mainly My Scenes. I was Team My Scene in the early 2000s Bratz vs. My Scene wars. I did not like the proportions of Bratzes. All my My Scenes are Madison, she was my girl.

Here's all the items I made. I tried to use as much historical methods as was possible on doll scale and hand-sewed everything. I made a shift, hose, dress, necklace, earrings, partlet and shoes. I did almost make detachable sleeves, but I wasn't happy with them and I will need to remake them. It took me so long to finish one sleeve and I was very frustrated when I wasn't happy with the result, so I will need some time to make a second attempt.

Underlayer

I have finer white cotton than linen so I used the cotton for the shift and partlet, even though cotton wasn't really used widely at the time, definitely not in underwear, but it worked better in this scale. I didn't have thin enough wool for the hose, so I used fabric from my old thin stockings. Knitted stockings were not quite yet a thing so that's not very accurate, but that's the best I got. I choose red since red hose seemed to have been pretty common based on Venetian paintings, where the hose are shown. I used tiny beads I had lying around as buttons for the sleeves.

I'm not super happy with the neckline. I couldn't come up with a good way to finish gathered neckline on this scale without making it bulky. In future I will try something else.

Overgarments

Dress

The dress itself is made from the remaining scraps of the lovely Latvian linen I bought many years ago from Riga and have already made several garments from. The skirt is cartridge pleated, though the pleats at places behave a little weirdly due to the scale. I used semi heavy linen as lining and finished the panels separately as was typical in 16th century. I didn't use any boning equivalent, but I use cording to reinforce the laced opening. I of course sewed tiny lacing holes, which was very fun. The cord for the lacing I plaited from heavy thread.

Here's couple of examples from 1550s and 1560s Venice I used as basis for the dress.

Partlet

A Venetian renaissance woman of course needs her boob window partlet. Unfortunately I didn't have any super sheer linen or silk to make the fashionable sheer look.

Shoes

The shoes are chopines, which were very fashionable in Venice at the time. They were platform slippers with wooden base, which were covered with leather or fancy fabrics, like brocade or velvet. I didn't make the heels super tall since I was going for more toned down merchant/artisan class sort of vibe, and the very tall were used by upper class women and courtesans. I carved the heels from soft wood and covered them with sateen.

For reference here's couple of 16th century Venetian chopines.

[baronessvonglitter]

Blue Hour

outlaw!Joel Miller x runaway hitchhiker!f!Reader

Word count: 2,852

Summary: hitchhiking in the cruel Texas desert, you're picked up by a handsome stranger

WARNINGS: outlaw!Joel (not mentioned exactly what criminal activity he's involved in, but he does bear scars and looks as if he's been in a fight recently), also he's on the run, brief mentions of parental abuse and alcoholism, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (birth control is briefly discussed), soft!Joel (he's respectful of boundaries)

Author's Note: I had initially wanted to do a trucker story, but thought that the criminal element fit better here. I would absolutely love to see a trucker!Joel fic if it doesn't already exist. Please do tag me if it does! Also this is lightly edited but the love is there..

You're both running from something; that's how you find each other.

On a lonely stretch of highway in West Texas, Joel Miller picks you up on the side of the road, his mindset one of penance. If he does a good thing by saving someone maybe he can save himself. You're just glad to get away, as far away as possible from a mom who drank all the time, berated you, beat you, and was only at her most peaceful when she was passed out cold.

It's a danger in and of itself to get into Joel's truck, and a danger to come into his motel room, but to you, any other place is safer than where you grew up. The little roadside motel is brightly lit, welcoming, the sign neon against the cerulean summer evening sky.

By the fluorescent glow of the cheap TV screen with its staticky channels you exchange your stories. Joel doesn't tell you much apart from the fact that he's headed to New Mexico, and the scar on his nose, the way he's healing from a black eye you surmise is probably from a couple weeks ago. He carries a gun and his wallet is thick with cash. You can tell he's bad news but you don't care. You're just happy to have a roof over your head for the night and a plan of some sort of future taking shape in your mind.

With only one bed he offers to take the floor, but you insist it's fine to share. He's been a gentleman so far, despite the obvious flirtatious vibes you've been giving. It's impossible to keep to yourself as you both settle down to sleep. Your new life started the day you walked away from your home. You're a different person in this bed, laying on a cheap mattress with a handsome stranger. And, though you've never gone much farther than kissing, the newness of desire tugs at you from deep within.

"Joel.." his back is turned to you and he barely catches you calling for him. You press your hands to his back, which immediately gets his attention. He looks at you with slight confusion, as if he'd forgotten you were there, and when he sees the meaningful look in your eyes he knows what it is you want, and you don't stop him when he pulls you close.

Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand roaming over your waist and hip, caressing and claiming you with a hungry and desperate fervor. You moan softly, your tongues dancing against each other, and you melt under the sweet shared pleasure. Your fingers slip beneath his shirt, feeling the broad smooth expanse of his back.

His senses are afire as your fingers trace along his bare skin, and his own hands continue to wander, skimming along your sides, gently caressing the curve of your hip. He pulls back just enough to take a breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

"I like the way you taste," you tell him, your confession soft and simple in the twilight glow of the room, your words caressing his lips. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah? And how do I taste, darlin'?" There's an edge of a growl to his words, his fingers stroking softly along your cheek, a fusion of longing and restraint etched into his expression.

"Like cinnamon, and whiskey," you whisper. "You taste like pleasure.."

He pulls you closer, nudging his nose against yours as a low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. "You taste like sunshine and sweetness, sugar.." He dips his head back down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing your moans. Every sound, every gasp you make, fuels the fire burning within him, igniting an intoxicating blend of desire and hunger.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand slides down your back, trailing fire along your skin as he moves lower, gently cupping your ass and pulling you against the heated length of his body. You gasp at the intimate touch. The way he presses you to his hardness awakens and excites something in you. "Joel!" you gasp.

The sound of his name, breathed out so sweetly from your lips, sends a shiver down his spine. "That's it. darlin'.. say my name.."

You whimper at the sweet friction as he continues to deliberately press you to his hardened arousal, kneading your cheeks. "Joel.." you say obediently, whispered in innocent pleasure.

He groans softly. "That's my good girl.." He presses you against him once more, allowing you to feel the full extent of his arousal, the heat and weight of it grinding against your core. Desire floods your veins and you slowly undulate your hips, finding little comfort in merely rubbing against him. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, darlin'," his voice is husky and raw with need.

"I want you.. please don't make me wait.." you tell him.

"Yeah? You want me.. like this? Is this how you want me to fuck you?" Joel's voice drips with primal need as he grinds against you, feeling the heat and wetness, his own arousal painfully hard at this point.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. "I can't think about anything else right now. Just you.. with me."

"Darlin', I can't hold back anymore.." he warns, but he takes time to ask about birth control, and you assure him you are covered.

You reach up to kiss him, before breaking apart a moment to take off your top and help him remove his own. The feel of his warm flesh against yours is heavenly. He bears scars and old wounds upon his flesh, evidence of a life lived in danger. But right now you only think about how warm he feels, how strong he is. "I just want to feel your skin against mine for a little bit.."

Joel's touch is almost reverent as his large, calloused hands roam your bare skin, learning the contours of your soft supple flesh, cupping each breast. "My sweet girl.." he whispers in awe.

Likewise, you trace every little scar, thinking on how each of those fights, those deadly interactions, brought him one step closer to you. "I need you," he whispers, feeling more alive, brand new under the heat of your palms on his chest. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and his eyes quickly flick to yours, seeking permission. "Is this all right?" You nod eagerly, "Lift up your hips for me," comes his quiet command, and he gently tugs at the elastic, slowly pulling your panties down your thighs. He sees you laid bare before him, your inner thighs moist with desire, the curls on your mound dewy with want. "God damn.. you're so beautiful.. I wanna taste you.." he groans, pressing a heated kiss against the sensitive skin just beneath your hipbone.

You sigh at his kiss, his beard pleasantly scratching your skin. "Yes.. please.."

Joel's tongue flicks out to taste the heated flesh between your thighs, groaning softly at the flavor of you on his tongue before he begins to lick through your slick, puffy folds. He smiles as you gasp, your eyes wide and mouth parted in an O. "Joel!" you moan, panting as his tongue explores you. When he said he wanted to taste you, you assumed he meant more kissing. You hadn't expected this, hadn't known this was possible. Your fingers fist in his hair as he continues. He groans against you, the sound vibrating deliciously against your cunt. "Taste so sweet,.. like heaven.. my sweet girl.." he whispers between long, languid licks, his arms wrapping around your trembling thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts. His tongue flicks and dances over your clit, swirling and teasing, wanting to learn every inch of you, what makes you scream and what makes you whimper, getting drunk on your taste like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

Your hips arch up to meet each lick, each worshiping swipe as his pace becomes more insistent, following the sound of your moans and sighs, feeling the shivering in your body, his tongue flicking and circling in a hungry rhythm, determined to bring you to the brink.

Your thighs start to quake but he expertly keeps them spread open, feasting on you. "God! Joel, I'm coming!" Pleasure uncoils from the very center of you, radiating outward, controlling every other sense and thought. His hands grip your shaking thighs, lapping up all your sweet nectar. "That's it, darlin', let go for me.. I got you.." he whispers. He gently eases you through your orgasm, tongue slowing, savoring every drop he can. "God damn, sweetheart.. you taste so damn good.. you doing okay?"

"Yes," you pant, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. "Oh, Joel," you moan, bringing him to you for a kiss and tasting your flavor on his lips and tongue. He rises, crawling up your body until his weight is draped over you, his arms caging you in as you kiss, sharing your taste with you. He gazes down at you, the way you trust him implicitly ignites a mix of feelings: a raging, possessive need, a deep sense of responsibility, and a swelling of unbridled affection and adoration. He lifts a hand to gently caress your cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns against your skin. You can see his heart and soul bared to you in that simple touch. Your skin is flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. You've never looked more beautiful.

Joel shifts his weight, pressing closer against you, the pressure of his hard length against your hip undeniable as your eyes meet. You take him gently into your hands, grasping and feeling him. He groans at the softness of your hands wrapping around his arousal, eyes glazing over with pleasure. "God.. I want you.. need to feel you around me, sweetheart.."

You sense now that you have the power. Slowly you run your hands over his rigid cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, wiping away a bead of moisture. "Is it going to fit?" you ask, feeling the heft of it, both length and girth.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest and his head bows down to bury his face against your neck. "It'll fit, sugar, I promise. Just take your time."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the ultimate thing that can bring you together, and will forever change what you mean to each other. "I'm ready for you.."

Joel's hands gently grip your thighs, guiding you to move and open further as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock resting against your entrance. His heart pounds as he looks down at you. "You sure, darlin'? I promise I'll go slow."

"I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, just tell me if you need me to stop. I don't wanna hurt you." He presses to you a little more, eager to fill you but waiting on your word.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

He pours all his love and need into the kiss, swallowing your gasp as he presses forward, his thick cockhead just barely breaching you, his groan joining with yours at the feel of your tight heat around him. You break the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders as he enters you, a little at a time. His fingers dig into your thighs, his expression a cross between pleasure and concern as he pauses, giving you a chance to adjust to him. "How is that, sweetheart? Am I hurtin' you at all?"

"Wait." You press your hands to his chest. "Wait a little bit," you pant, forcing yourself to relax around him in order to accommodate him.

Joel nods. "Take your time, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stills himself, using every inch of willpower in his possession, "Just breathe, darlin', you're doin' so good," he coos. "You feel so damn good... touch yourself, darlin'," he growls.

Your breath falters as you acquiesce, fingers flitting lightly over your distended clit, adding pressure, circling the cluster of nerve endings, making yourself wetter, letting him slide in a little bit more. Joel fights to maintain his control. "Fuck, you feel so good, so tight."

Despite his willingness to take it slow, your hormones are asking for something else. "Take what's yours," you whisper. "I want you to."

A deep groan rips loose from his chest at your words, the sound thick with need and desire, his control fraying at the thought of claiming you with a hard and deep thrust. "Take a deep breath, darlin'." He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, his grip reassuring. "I love you, my sweet girl, my sunshine.." He pulls out slightly, his body tensing as he prepares, and his eyes lock with yours as he thrusts forward, hard and deep. You cry out in surprise and pain, which is little more than a brief shock before you become acclimated, leaving you with a lingering dull throb.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay darlin', breathe for me. You did so good, you took me all, such a good girl," comes Joel's praise as he cups your cheek with one hand and stroking your belly, easing the pressure there from his length taking up room so deep inside you. When you inadvertently squeeze around him, stretching to fit him, it sends a shock of pleasure spiraling through him. "Damn.. if you keep squeezin' me like that I ain't gonna last long, darlin'," he warns. He takes a deep breath, slowly pulling out, savoring the drag of it, before slowly pushing back in, starting a gentle, deliberate rhythm. "You're perfect, sugar."

Soon the friction begins to cancel out the dull ache, more so with each thrust. "Feels good," you sigh.

Joel's eyes flutter closed, his rhythm remaining slow and gentle, the feel of you surrounding him, the feel of being buried inside your warmth as the most perfect sort of pleasure, his breath coming in short pants. "Sweetheart.. oh sweetheart.. oh god.. damn you feel so right, like you were made for me."

"You were right," you smile, "you do fit."

"Yeah darlin', I'm right where I'm meant to be, buried so deep inside my sweet girl." He keeps moving against you, spine tingling with delight as he feels you moving with him, naturally, your bodies in sync with one another. "Yes, just like that.. move with me, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in pleasure, heart swelling at his praise. "Joel.. give me more.."

He groans, his eyes darkening as his pace quickens, hips rolling forward with a little more determination, the sounds of your flesh slapping together filling the air. "Like this, sugar?"

"Yes! Fuck!" you groan, lightning filling your veins as you move quicker together. Your words shoot straight to his soul, heat pooling and coiling in his gut. "God, Joel, I'm so close!" you whimper. His breath comes in sharp pants as he drives you closer to the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, less controlled. "Me too, sugar. I'm right there with you.. wanna feel you come around me, wanna hear you say my name. Say it, darlin', come for me and say my name."

"God!!" Eyes scrunched tight you let go, coming hard as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering hard and fast. "Oh!! Joel!!" you scream. Joel's pushed over the edge, giving a few jerky thrusts before you feel him twitching and pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum, his thighs shaking from the force of his pleasure. "Oh, fuuuucckk," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, heart pounding wildly.

You feel his heart racing next to yours, almost as if beating with the same cadence, both of you trembling, spent, satisfied. He raises himself on his arms to look down at you. "You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? Especially when you're all breathless and flushed, still quakin' from comin' so hard."

Despite the breathtaking passion you'd just shared, you still blush. "Came hard thanks to you," you give him a soft kiss.

Joel grins, a cocky, proud smirk tugging at his lips, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He gently brushes back a strand of your hair. "How you feelin', sugar?"

"A little sore," you admit. "But I think, considering what we're working with, a little pressure was to be expected," you smirk, still feeling him inside you.

He chuckles, the sound of it making your heart thrum, as he slowly pulls out, knowing your still sensitive. "You took me like a goddamn champ, sweetheart."

You whimper at the loss of him, feeling his cum dribble out of you, and your eyes light up at his praise. "Really?"

"Really." He gazes down at you, his eyes a mixture of speculation and resourcefulness. "You wanna come with me to New Mexico, darlin'?"

[dollyyun]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬' 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

RELEASE DATE: Friday, 21st June 2024 (subject to change)

PAIRING: non!idols enha hyung line x fem!reader

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), semi-college au, adulthood, reverse harem, dark themes.

WARNINGS: mentions of christianity, profanities, smoking, mention of drugs, alcohol consumption, violence, blood, murders, yandere & tsundere, manipulation, corruption, toxicity, heavy angst, dubcon themes, unprotected sex (no!), dom hyung line (rip), name calling, degradation, possible voyeurism, mild bondage, gagging, choking, blowjob, fingering, edging, manhandling, spitting kink, orgasm denial, crying, squirting, creampies, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, threesomes (twice), more to be added....

TEASER WORD COUNT: 1.3k

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3.1, PART 3.2, PART 4, PART 5

✘ SERIES MASTERLIST ✘

The passage of time appears to be slowing down, with the red neon luminosity encompassing you gradually fading into a blur, while the bright sign of 'exit' ahead remains a beacon to your fortitude, but your quest to the road of freedom grows languid as the eventual exertion dawns on your body.

Tears welling in your lower eyelids are a recrudescence of terror, parallel to your inner turmoil that remains unabating, and you feel as though it is eating you alive from the inside, dwindling the hope you so desperately clutch onto.

Your ears perk up at the sound of familiar, heavy-booted steps from not far behind you, eliciting a forlorn cry from you before you force your weary body to pick up the speed, despite the unknown yet lethal substance streaming through your every fibre and taking its major effect on your whole being.

No, this is not how you imagined facing your demise. You never would have thought that one of your worst nightmares had manifested itself and plunged into your reality.

Your skull is throbbing painfully, with blood seeping from the fresh wounds that trickle down the side of your face, while your heart aches tremendously. A sob emerges from the back of your throat before waterworks cascade down on you, but you refuse to allow yourself to die tonight, not when you’re nearly getting the taste of freedom.

Before you know it, you use the force of your body to push the door open as it swings outward violently, and you continue to run on the asphalt ground, having no clue of your current location, while your heaving chest is starting to hurt with how ragged your breathing is that mingles with the sobs.

“Please.” You choke out, your tearful eyes blurring your vision, while you feel as though more needles are piercing into your skull. “Please let all of this be a nightmare.” You manage to whisper in between broken sobs, nearly succumbing to the hyperventilation that renders you unfocused on your surroundings as your body remains in a fight-or-flight mode.

The next thing you know, you bump into a solid chest that nearly has you staggering back if it weren’t for strong arms latching onto your trembling form. The moment your eyes meet his concerned eyes that soon blaze with anger, a frightful shriek tears from your parched throat before you push him away from you, as though he is a disease.

“Princess?” Sunghoon, whose head is fogging with confusion, frowns visibly as he sees the way you are looking at him as though he is a terrifying stranger.

The movements from Jake and Jay catch your heightened sense, prompting you to cower away from them as you back away. “Stay away from me!” You shout at them, the fear is palpable in the tremor of your voice, to which they halt their movements.

“Baby, it’s us!” Jay exclaims while trying his utmost not to give away the tempest of wrath that storms within him upon seeing the state you are in. 

“Lovely…” Jake takes cautious steps towards you, but even his loving, gentle tone is not enough to dispel the betrayal and heartbreak you are still reeling from.

“I said don’t come close to me! Please!” To see you hyperventilating as you sob hard hits them in the face, but what pains them is the terror you exhibit right now because they never wanted you to fear them as though they would really hurt you.

You turn around with the intention to run from them, but this time, Heeseung’s figure is a hindrance as he blocks your way. His hands find their way to hold you firmly while you attempt to thrash and struggle in his captivity.

“Let go of me!” You become relentless, your fear is now eclipsed by anger that stems from the fresh betrayal.

Despite the confusion upon seeing the blazing anger in your crystalline eyes, Heeseung remains calmly collected as he holds you effortlessly yet is unable for you to escape from. “Sweetheart─”

Being utterly overwhelmed and blinded by the maelstrom of pain, betrayal, sadness, and anger, you raise your hand and bring it down to land a harsh slap to his now-stinging cheek, shocking the other three from behind.

“Do you think this is meant to be humorous to you?!” The rage in your voice is unmistakable as it sounds foreign to your ears, but your focus remains on his face as he slowly turns to look at you while you are oblivious to the raging storms in his dark eyes. “Is this really your endgame?! Once you’re satisfied after fucking me, you'll kill me?!”

Heeseung’s deadly silence only seems to fuel your wrath, and so you begin to throw punches into his chest that don't even have any effect on him. “Fight back!” You scream in between sobs, tears relentlessly streaming down your cheeks. “If you want to kill me, do it now!”

“Y/N, stop.” Jake and Jay appear from behind, intervening as they grab you away from Heeseung’s defeated grasps while you continue to struggle and fight against their strong hold valiantly despite feeling debilitated.

“What are you talking about?” Heeseung’s calm voice manages to reach your ears despite the sound of your hysteria.

“Yeah, what do you mean by killing you, lovely?” Jake asks with a frown as soon as you shoot him a glare. “We would never do such a thing─”

Miraculously, you manage to escape from their grasps, and your glaring eyes penetrate into each of them. “Don’t lie to me! I know you’re the ones who kidnapped me and brought me to this God-forsaken place, and for what? To kill me!”

“We didn’t!” Jay objects vehemently, disbelief lacing his tone. “Why would we ever want to kill you?”

“Liar!” You retort before breaking down again, the sound of your cries only fuels their anger to hunt down whoever dared to hurt you. “If you weren’t the ones back there, then how did you even know where I was?”

“I installed a tracker on your phone. It’s the reason why we managed to track your location.” Jake steps forward, his softening eyes seem to balm your hysteric nerves. “But you have to believe us, love. We would never do anything to jeopardise your life.”

You open your mouth to speak, but a whimper comes instead as you feel the familiar pain plummeting into your skull, prompting you to clutch your still-bleeding head, and Sunghoon, being the nearest to you, holds you steady against him just as your body sways lightly.

“You’re still bleeding, princess.” Sunghoon murmurs, his gentle tone and his touch send you into a whirlwind of confusion. Disappointment seeps through him as you push him away while your mind is waging a battle of internal conflict, recalling the girls’ words about them, but at the same time, your love for them remains palpable, which only makes your head spin.

“Don’t touch me.” You protest weakly as you attempt to yank your arm from Heeseung’s firm grasp, but the substances injected into you that flow in your system wholly revoke the remnants of your vitality, rendering you debilitated as you find yourself leaning into him.

Without a word, Heeseung effortlessly carries you in a bridal style, with your whole body going limp as your consciousness slips away faster than you like before the darkness welcomes you once more.

“Gather all the knights from your respective houses. We’ll be having a meeting tomorrow morning.” Heeseung orders calmly, causing the three to exchange glances. “All of them, and not a single person is to be left out.”

“You got it.” Jake gives him a firm nod.

Heeseung catches Sunghoon and Jay’s eyes, and they immediately understand his deadly intent. “Find those fuckers inside and do what you need to do. Bring their heads to me.”

[dollypopup]

The way some of y'all talk about Luke Newton is just. . .I need this fandom to check itself with a swiftness, because the very thinly veiled ableism is ENOUGH. Like it is WILD to see, in the year of our lord 2024, people either actively infantalizing or talking down this grown man.

Calling Luke Newton stupid for behaviors that are just him displaying his Neurodivergence? Ableism. Saying it because it takes him longer to answer a question is ableism. Saying it because he said something 'incorrectly' or not as eloquently on the fly as his neurotypical costars? Ableism.

Saying he's boring because he's quiet or he doesn't talk as much (because he often needs more processing time and/or has anxiety to surmount) is ableism. Knitpicking his social media and how he doesn't interact as much with a fandom that has actively been cruel to him is ableism.

Assuming Luke is out here like some helpless little lamb clinging to Nicola because 'oh, she's his comfort person!' instead of recognizing that they both lean on and like each other? Is ableism. Saying he has a one sided infatuation with her BECAUSE he needs her as said comfort person is ableism. Essentially being all 'awwww, poor wee baby, he has anxiety so thankfully his neurotypical costar is there to pick up the slack!' is. ableism. You cannot in one breath say that Nicola's love language is touch but also that Luke is the only one ever reaching to hold her hand because he needs her to ground him. That's ableism.

They both like each other. They have a very close relationship and they both clearly admire the other and like to be around one another. To frame it as him being some inept toddler and her as his more capable caretaker and 'thank God he has her to give him the save' is ableism! That's ableism, babes!! And in many cases people don't recognize that's what they're taking part in, but that's what it is.

He is a grown man and a hell of an actor. Yes, he's quieter than some of his costars. Yes, he contemplates what he says in his mind before he says it, and it takes him some time to do so. Yes, he doesn't behave the way his neurotypical peers do. He doesn't have to. He won't- because he has a neurodivergent brain. And he shouldn't have to behave as a neurotypical person or an 'acceptable' neurodivergent person to have respect from people who claim to be his fans.

He's been outspoken and unapologetic about being a neurodivergent actor with ADHD and dyslexia and how that can contribute to difficulties in the current media machine. He has discussed his coping mechanisms. He has specifically done so because he knows how difficult it can be to be a neurodivergent person in the limelight, and he uses that spotlight to show other neurodivergent actors they can be successful, too. And people saw this openly neurodivergent man and said some mad out of pocket nonsense about him.

As the tour comes to a close, I just really need people to look back on their beliefs and viewpoints during it and do some reflection, because I am side-eying a LOT of takes that have gone largely uncontested.

[dnd-writes]

Trials and Tribulations

Tags: non-con, BFH, I somehow wrote this in 3 hours, what is 'edit', Jeewon, unnamed OC, forced free use, manipulating, groping, painal

A/N: Saw a Jeewon post on KPF and thought of something to write, laid down and wanted to write a few paragraphs before getting back up to go play or whatever, next thing I know I wrote the whole thing already more or less. Consider this as a spiritual successor to Boulevard of Broken Dreams BUT BUT BUT only in that it has somewhat of a similar premise, it is way way way waaaaay more tame and casual (aside from one painal scene) in terms of detail than BBD. Anyway, enjoy!

Cignature’s manager walks into the room and sees Jeewon just getting off her knees, he sees her bend forward, her butt pushes out towards him putting a smile on his face. She brushes her knees clean of dirt then fixes her skirt. As she turns around towards him, he sees a complete contrast to the clean and clothed look of her ass—her bare chest and face covered in cum. 

He looks over her shoulder and sees a middle-aged businessman on a chair, totally exhausted, one of the company’s investors. “She’s wonderful, isn't she?” says the manager to which the only reply he gets is a nod and two thumbs up. “I’ll be taking her away now.”

Jeewon heads out then the manager catches up with her and gets to her side. He puts a hand on her hip to pull her close to him so he can whisper into her ear. “Have one of the girls go clean you up. Haven’t fucked that ass in quite some time.” He smacks her ass as a signal for her to get going. “Be quick, I’ll be waiting, you know where to find me.”

—————

Yep, that’s Jeewon. You’re probably wondering how she ended in that situation. 

How does an innocent, voluptuous, and cheerful woman suddenly become the company’s cash cow? Well it all started when C9 Entertainment noticed a rather peculiar influx of attention. The attention wasn’t mainly on their sole girl group Cignature but rather it was targeted mostly at the company itself. 

They quickly traced it back to an interview that one Jeewon, one of Cignature’s members, did where the interviewer talked about her body, indirectly referring to her chest which she covered at the time the question was asked. Rather than addressing the situation and protecting their own artist, they instead embraced it. After all, as the saying goes, “Any publicity is good publicity.” Which goes true the more people talk about the clip. 

Now all that was left for C9 Entertainment to do was to capitalize on the attention and they found their solution from none other than the infamous interview itself—Waterbomb, well, a festival similar enough to Waterbomb that is. 

The announcement was controversial enough on its own but it was nothing compared to what Jeewon wore at the event. They put her in a bikini top and gave her a thin white top just to say she wasn’t naked. 

The outrage was massive but not as big as Jeewon’s chest or the Won signs in the company’s eyes. Sure the company received tremendous backlash for the decisions they’ve been making but that was nothing compared to the money coming their way. 

From that day forward, the company’s view of Jeewon has changed and all she is in their eyes is merely a tool they can use to generate views and revenue. While the higher ups used Jeewon’s body for profit, their manager planned to use Jeewon’s body for his pleasure. 

He used to see Jeewon and Cignature as his responsibility, close friends, and possibly even family. But given recent events, his perception of her has changed and after the festival, after seeing Jeewon up close, after seeing her tits jiggle, he has been woken up to just how insanely sexy she is. 

After every practice session or performance the group would do, whenever they finished their manager would be close by to congratulate them. Often he would clap and cheer for them or pat their backs. It gave the members encouragement and energy to keep going, that is, until they realized that his pats on Jeewon progressively got lower and lower until one day he’s just groping her butt in view of everyone else. 

Naturally the members would complain to the other staff but some simply didn’t care while the rest told them to just suck it up and accept it. That, along with some gaslighting and manipulating from the manager, made them keep their mouths shut. And the encouragement they would get turned into fear that the rest of the group would be touched the way Jeewon gets touched. 

Following their silence, he became more shameless in his interactions with Jeewon. He would slap her ass as a greeting any time he comes close to her and often we would hug her from behind like some romantic scene in a K-drama but instead it’s so he can grab her breasts without her leaving. 

He even made some rearrangements to the room assignments at the dorm, moving Jeewon from her room to his. He placed, well more so dumped, her things into his room just to seal the deal. And no, he didn’t have an extra bed so he made her stay with him on his. 

On the first night they were in the room together, as Jeewon was about to go to the bathroom to get changed, the manager blocked the way out and instructed her to get changed in front of him. With no other options and no way out, she was forced to comply. He licked his lips as he saw her in her underwear, it wasn’t quite the full thing just yet but he knows for sure he’s going to get it soon enough. They climbed into bed and he turned her around so he could spoon her and cuddle her like some body pillow, all the while grinding his erection into her butt. 

Morning arrived and everyone had breakfast together, with Jeewon sitting on the manager’s lap of course. As Jeewon was headed to the shower, he stops her and tells her he’s going with her “to save water,” a lie apparent to both of them. Jeewon wanted to say no but before she could even answer he was already pushing her towards the bathroom. The members watched anxiously as they walked together, nothing much they could really do. 

The manager immediately strips down and his cock is standing proud as it pointed towards Jeewon who was visibly disgusted. She turns away from him to quietly cry but not even her feelings had space as the manager was already starting to take her clothes off. He got her down to her underwear when he backed off to let her strip the final pieces herself. 

As Jeewon tantalizingly took her bra off, he would quote the interview back at her, saying that her physique is the best in history and that her body is the talk of the town. Jeewon once again covered her chest with her arm while she was removing her panties. She stood back up with her hands on her privates but the manager just walked up and put her hands at her side then he started feeling her up and played with her chest for a good few minutes. He would compliment her tits and especially her nipples since it’s the first time he’s seen them, maybe the first man ever to see them, then he proceeds to call himself lucky how he has her body all to himself. 

After playing with her body, he suggested that they help each other by cleaning each other while he was stroking his dick, making the innuendo even clearer as if Jeewon didn’t already know what he meant. 

The two stepped into the shower but it was less of a bath and more of Jeewon reluctantly jerking him off while he explored every inch of her exposed body once again. 

He would get increasingly annoyed at how slow Jeewon’s pace was and he decided to drop the subtleties and he pushes down on her shoulders to force her down on her knees. Then he grabbed her tits and trapped his cock between them so that he could start thrusting while Jeewon just knelt there and be used. 

Jeewon kept her eyes and mouth as shut as she could while he ejaculated all over her face. Before she could clean herself off, the manager wiped the cum off her face and collected it in his hand. He forced her to drink it all and retched from the taste. He then told her that she should get used to it because that wouldn’t be the last time she has to drink cum. 

After showering and using up more water than if they bathed separately, the group got ready to go to practice. It went just about as well as how their previous practices went just with some extra groping being received by Jeewon. When they got back to the dorm and the two got into the shower again, Jeewon was ready to get back on her knees but instead she felt herself get turned around. 

Jeewon felt the manager’s tip press against her slit and she froze in fear. He did not care if she was protected or not, a problem he was too horny to deal with at the moment. He pulled her back and held her by her chest as he started thrusting into her pussy. Jeewon just cried silently as she felt herself get more violated than she had already been, especially when she felt his hot cum stirring inside of her pussy. 

The manager got high on fucking Jeewon that he proceeded to do just that and only that for the next few days. He didn’t care how or where he fucked Jeewon or who among the members saw it but the only thing that mattered to him was that either Jeewon’s pussy or mouth was occupied by his cock. 

He would fuck her before and after sleeping. He would make her blow him while he ate food and watched TV. He would fuck her on the dining table forcing the members who were eating there to move elsewhere. He would use her mouth to properly clean him in the shower. And so on. Even when the group had to go practice, he would make the rest go to the company building while Jeewon was kept beneath him in the dorm. While they practiced their next performance, Jeewon was being turned into his sex pet. 

One of the members complained that the manager keeps having sex with Jeewon but much to the group’s dismay, they doubled down and saw an opportunity land at their feet. Why stop at dressing Jeewon so scantily clad in public when they could also use her body behind closed doors to also bring more money in, that way whenever the group isn’t on stage, they can be certain that their wallets are full. 

The manager was furious with what the members did even though the decision made by the company was expected for him but instead of finding out who the culprit was, he decided to just cool down and what better way to do that than to use Jeewon’s possibly untouched asshole for the first time. 

The manager had all the members in the living room and they all sat quietly in fear. He told them how annoyed and disappointed he was in them but he made sure to tell them he won’t scold them for it which gave them some relief for a very brief moment until he grabbed Jeewon by her hair and dragged her into his room. The members cried while they held each other as they listened to Jeewon screaming and begging for help, their hearts broke knowing that they couldn’t help and that they were somehow responsible for subjecting her to even more torment. 

He ripped Jeewon's clothes off while he held her down as she tried to struggle to free herself. Once her shorts were down, instead of feeling the familiar feeling of his tip pressing against her cunt, Jeewon felt his dick press against her asshole which made her scream so loud it echoed throughout the whole dorm. 

He didn’t bother lubing up or anything and he just started going in dry. Jeewon never knew such pain prior to that moment, whether mental or physical, and she screamed her head off through the night, making it known to the members just how much pain she was in and making it hard for them to go to sleep just from the loudness alone. 

From being always at the dorm to being almost never, Jeewon was sold off to investors as if she was some sort of prostitute. Though the manager still had his time with Jeewon, he wasn’t able to have as much action as he used to and naturally he turned to the other members of the group. He would assign a day for each member as if it was a chore to be used by him. The other members were also up for grabs but it was Jeewon who anyone wanted to fuck, not like anyone can blame them. 

From a merely suggestive interview question, spiraled all the way into Jeewon being turned into a cow, both financially and sexually.