#I’m not a psychiatrist but oh my GOD he has it.

[lilnasxvevo]

Since teaching really does seem to be Lan Qiren’s passion I like to think about a modern Lan Qiren who is really good about pursuing possible diagnoses and treatment of learning/developmental disabilities of children entrusted to his care.

#i also like to headcanon him as dyslexic <3 #but like #Lan Qiren noticing his younger nephew is several months past when he should have started speaking and hasn’t said a word yet: Hmmm. #WAIT OMG… #LQR initially NOT knowing much about autism but reading everything he can on it bc he knows just enough to know that baby Wangji missing #developmental milestones is a sign that he might be autistic #and one very deep rabbit hole later LQR is up at like 4 am taking an online Am I Autistic quiz for himself #ANYWAY all of this is to say. #something like the cloud recesses summer school still happens in this modern setting #and when WWX gets returned to Jiang Fengmian lqr makes about five seconds of small talk before being like #Has. this child. ever been assessed for adhd. because. #I’m not a psychiatrist but oh my GOD he has it.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

It’s been a bit since I wrote about feral!Bucky but I genuinely cannot put into words how much Steve (and me) loves him

Bucky now associates physical touch with pain, with torture. He hides from visitors, scampers away from touch, and never lets anyone get close to him. Nevertheless, Steve wakes up from a nap one day with Bucky curled into his side, and Steve is pretty sure that if he could, Bucky would be purring like a kitten. 

“Bucky?” Steve asks tentatively, trying not to spook him. Bucky doesn’t seem to be upset by Steve sudden consciousness, instead just making a small noise and wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest possessively. He mumbles something that sounds like “Stevie”. 

“You alright, angel?” Steve asks with a grin, confused but pleased with the change in Bucky’s demeanor. He knew Bucky had always been closer with Steve, trusting him more than others, but this was still new territory. He slides his arms around Bucky, which causes Bucky to make a happy noise that Steve hasn’t heard in years. 

————

Also, maybe Bucky’s a bit territorial now that he’s been given more freedom. The poor thing doesn’t know what to do with himself. However, after consulting a bunch of psychiatrists and Dr. Banner, Steve knows what he needs to do. He empties out an old walk in closet, and fits it with as many soft things as he can find. He buys as many plushies as he can afford, and stuffs the closet with them. He remembers how much Bucky hates harsh lights now and decides to buy those pretty string lights that Peter has in his room at the tower. He shows it to Bucky when it’s finished and they’ve both had a good day. 

“It’s all your own space, Buck. I’m never going to come in here without your permission. I swear it.” Steve says, holding Bucky’s hand, which lately Bucky won’t let go of. 

“It’s… mine?” Bucky says, slowly, tentatively. He’s scared that all of this will be taken away. 

“Yeah, Buck. Yours.” Steve says, as comforting and securely as I can, trying to make his confidence transfer to Bucky. 

Steve is tackled in a hug, and there are tears wetting his shirt. He hugs Bucky back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Thank you.” The whisper is so soft, so small, that it’s almost imperceptible. But Steve hears it. He’ll always hear Bucky. 

————

Then, of course, there’s the moment when Steve’s telling Bucky about life back in Brooklyn, a topic that Bucky is very interested in. He’s going on about something that they did to piss off Becca (“we were teenagers, Buck. The best entertainment we had was making that poor girl mad.”) when Bucky stops him. 

“I remember.”

Steve drops the pencil he’s holding. “You… You do?” There’s so much hope in his voice. There’s unshed tears in Bucky’s eyes, and a small smile on his face. 

“Yes. Rebecca. My Becca.” Bucky’s smile gets bigger, as does Steve. Steve rushes to his side, hugging him. Bucky’s crying, and Steve’s not far behind him. Bucky laughs, and it is the best goddamn sound Steve Rogers has ever heard. “She was so mad. I can’t believe we did that.” He giggles, and it makes Steve feel like maybe everything will be okay. 

previous feral!Bucky

Me too! I am such a fucking sucker for feral Bucky

I am beside myself thinking about Bucky being so touch adverse only for Steve to wake up and find him tucked into his side 😫 and there's something so special, too, about Bucky having moments in recovery where he's so suddenly more himself. It makes it so much more painful to see the rapid realignment. It's as if he's found two loose ends and knotted them together as quickly as his fingers would allow to ensure that he doesn't misplace them again. Gah! It's so just 🤌🏻ouch🤌🏻

Oh my god!! The territorial thing, yes! I've had this in my notes for actual years, waiting for me to come back to it and do something with it:

Sometimes, during Bucky's recovery, he latches onto things with this ferocity, holding until his fingers hurt, distraught when he accidentally breaks it, if the object of desire is fragile, claiming "mine." He won't let anyone touch it, not unless it's over his dead body. Steve has genuinely never been so distraught and proud of someone for grabbing a mug and declaring it as their own. Bucky deserves to have his own things.

Same wavelength, lmao

That's so fucking sweet, though! I love the idea of Bucky having his own space. (And I love the idea of Peter's room in the tower having fairy lights. Fuck yeah.)

Ah! That last part is the fucking best. Steve will never be as eager to be interrupted as he is when he's in the middle of a story, and Bucky stops him because he remembers. He doesn't need to tell him again, he remembers. Steve could fucking kiss him. Steve will kiss him. Steve will pick him up and spin him around, clutching his waist all the while, a huge grin on his face.

In conclusion:

Thank you so, so much for this!!

#asks #sillysickly #anon provided writing #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #hurt/comfort

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Can u pls do a dark smut fic where reader is a psychiatrist and daemon a psychopathic patient of her and he manages to escape from the clinic and goes to her house because he is obsessed with her

The Psychiatrist

AN: hope you like it! Thanks for being my first request :)

TW: smut, DUBCON, maybe non-con because she starts off sleeping, pussy slapping, choking, somnophilia, dacryphilia, cockwarming

word count: 1,117 words

You have always found Daemon Targaryen to be alluring. His words draw you in as if he sings a siren’s song. You think that he could draw in almost any girl just to drown her. Sometimes, if only for a second, you think that you may let him drown you but you steadfastly push the thought away, trying to suffocate if you can. You’re a psychiatrist for gods’ sake, a professional.

He likes that about you, the way you reject him. He has never been a man who has wanted for much but he wants you, and he wants out of this godforsaken asylum. It doesn’t take so long for him to get the latter. He may be a bit off his kilter but he isn’t stupid. He likes watching as his guard’s life disappears from his eyes; they always underestimated his talents, but you never did. You truly understand him and you love him the way he loves you. He just needs to make you realize it.

It hardly takes him very long to find your house. It’s like you wanted him to find you. He breaks in oh so easily. He’s had quite a bit of practice getting into women’s houses before, but none of them were ever as special as you. He wanders up the stairs and looks at your sleeping form, so pretty wrapped up in blankets with only an oversized t-shirt to clothe you. He begins to lift it at the hem, taking a look at your pretty pink panties. He rubs your thighs gently as he takes his length out from his pants and begins to stroke it. His other hand moves to your hair and brushes it away from your face so he can get a proper look at his girl. He cums quickly at the sight of your soft lips, spending himself on your tummy. The vision of you covered in his seed is enough for him to get hard again. He brushes your panties to the side and begins to rub his fingers through your folds. You shift in your sleep and he watches to see if your eyes will flutter open but they don’t so he climbs onto your bed and moves you a bit so he can get right in between your legs. He gently swipes his fingers across your cunny a few more times before positioning himself at your entrance. He tries to go slow, barely putting an inch of himself in so it doesn’t hurt or wake you but he fails, shoving himself into you completely and filling you to the brim.

“Ah!” You squeal, finally waking up at the intrusion. Your eyes fall upon him. “Daemon?!”

“Shhh, my good girl.” He coos and grabs you by the wrists as your hands begin to flail and push at his chest. He pins your arms above your head as he starts thrusting into you viciously. 

“Daemon, stop! What are you-how are you… j-just stop!” You whine as his pace quickens. The hand that wasn’t pinning your wrists came up to your throat, squeezing slightly as you complained.

“Stop… mewling like a little kitten. I’m just giving you what you want.” Your eyes begin to fill with tears. The sheer size of him being almost too much for you to handle.

“But it doesn’t fit!” You whimper and he smiles as the tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“Oh but it does, baby, and you’re taking me so so well.” You pout a little as his cock slams in and out of you. You want to be treated gently but he knows what you need.

“J-ust… slow down.” You beg.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” His eyes darken as he speaks the words. His hand comes up, off your throat to slap you across the cheek, just a warning hit. It doesn’t hurt… much.

“S-Sorry.” You barely manage to get out.

“I know you are, baby.” He fucks into hard and you start to writhe around. “Stop moving and take what I give you.” You immediately quit squirming. 

He lets go of your hands and they quickly move to grip his biceps. He finally brings his lips to yours for a kiss. His mouth moves against your’s bruisingly and his fingers come to your pearl to rub it harshly. You finally let out a proper moan.

“There’s my good girl.” His hips slam against yours and you think that you’ve never been fucked so brutally in your life. He stops touching your pearl for a moment to lift your leg over his shoulder and you begin to whine at the lack of contact but it's cut off by a moan as he somehow manages to get deeper inside of you. “That’s what I thought.” You think he's about to touch you again but you’re surprised as his hand slaps down against your pearl. You flinch dramatically and whimper. “I’ll give you something to whine about.” He slaps it again and once more, causing the tears to flow freely from your eyes.

“No, i’m sorry!” Your little hands come down to try and stop the assault on your pearl but they’re quickly pinned above your head once more.

“Looks like you need more because I love the way you squeeze my cock when I slap this little cunt.” You squeal as he harshly and rapidly smacks your pearl a few more times. When he finally lets up on the abuse, the lack of constant stimulation causes you to cum.

“Daemon…” You whimper out his name as your walls clench tightly around him, milking his cock until he spills deep inside of you.

“Seven hells, you really are my good girl, aren’t you?” He doesn’t pull out, rolling over and taking you with him so that you’re lying on his chest. “You were so perfect. My perfect girl.” He rubs circles on your back as you nuzzle face into his neck. You feel filthy but also… loved. Like the man lying under you would give you the world on a silver platter if you asked. He stays with you for a while, giving you a proper chance to recover from the experience before pulling himself out of you so swiftly that you wince.

“Ah…” He smirks at the cringing look on your face and gets up, out of your bed before fixing his clothing. “Wait where are you going?”

“Baby, I didn’t get out of the asylum on good behaviour. I’ll come back for you though, okay?” You nod slightly but still pout at him. He chuckles and gives you a little kiss on the forehead before slipping out your door and back into the night.

taglist (comment to be added): @valeskafics @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies

#daemon smut #daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen smut #hotd #hotd smut

[lovepersevering13]

Now could you elaborate on Michael's autism

Alright it’s Michael’s turn!

I want to preface this part the same as before: I’m not a psychiatrist, this isn’t how autism is experienced by everyone and let me know if anything is incorrect :) oh also I’m a little bit more educated on how Autism is shown in girls so this one is a bit of a mess.

Ok so for Michael I kinda had to think for a bit about some like concrete evidence because I didn’t have anything annotated for him like Tori but I think I’ve come up with a pretty compelling argument (also I thought I’d let you know that as I was doing this I started to realise Michael may have ADHD but I don’t really go into that too much).

Firstly:

Alice Oseman herself supports this headcanon so…. Anhahahahajaja omg I can’t explain how happy this makes me! Anyway, let’s get into what I found in Solitaire!

1. Masking

- “Do you get angry a lot?” I say.

“I’m always angry,” he says.” Solitaire, Page 213

Ok we know Michael generally is a very upbeat, positive person on the outside but as we get to know him we learn he’s only barely happier than Tori. When I think about this covering up of his anger with overly positive emotions it is clear to that he is masking (Suppressing Autistic traits). Pessimism is a common m trait of Autism and the way I see it, Michael is overcompensating for this by acting super happy all the time to cover it up.

2. Deficit in social understanding

- “Do you remember when he tried to get everyone to do a flash mob for the Year 11 prank?” says Nick. “And in the end he just did it by himself on the lunch tables?” Nick Nelson, Solitaire, Page 39.

This quote when Nick and Charlie are talking about Michael shows and extreme lack of care about social consequences.

- “Michael Holden has swooped into the restaurant.” Solitaire, page 46

Ok so this quote and the entire scene on pages 46/47 where Michael shows up unannounced because he wants to ask Tori something displays extreme impulsivity and impulsivity is a common Autistic trait. He also didn’t care about the lack of social etiquette displayed by crashing a hangout he wasn’t invited to.

- “Michael is helping himself to our leftover starters” Solitaire, Page 48

Again, lack of social awareness because you aren’t really supposed to crash someone else’s dinner and just start eating their food.

- “He races inside and, without bothering to let me leave or shut the door, he lifts the toilet seat and starts to pee.” Solitaire, (I forgot the page)

LACK OF SOCIAL ETTIQUITE. DUDE.

- “He’s the strangest person I’ve ever met.” Solitaire, Page 62

- “I know Nick and I said he’s weird - and he is weird -“ Charlie Spring, Solitaire, Page 177

- “He looks sort of out of place everywhere.” Solitaire, (I lost the page)

People with Autism are often described as being “strange,” “weird,” or “peculiar,” because they are different from their peers which can make them stand out and struggle to fit in.

- “I, er, didn’t get on too well with the people there. Not the teachers, not the students…” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 148

Because of the fact that people with Autism struggle with social understanding it can be very difficult to make friends and get along with other people.

- “I’ve never been good enough,” he says. “I get so stressed out, I don’t make friends - God, I can’t make friends.” His eyes glaze over. “Sometimes I just wish I were a normal human being. But I can’t. I’m not. No matter how hard I try.” Michael Holden, Solitiare, Page 376

Yeah, this quote hurts my heart. So many people with Autism feel as though they don’t fit in and that they aren’t normal. When you don’t have a diagnosis it can be especially difficult because you don’t know why. You know there’s something different about you, you know other people are doing and feeling things you aren’t and you know you’re doing and feeling things other people aren’t, but you don’t know why. It can be super isolating.

3. Challenging Authority Figures

- “…having that argument with Mr Yates during his mock exams!” Either Nick or Charlie, Solitaire, Page 40

- “I swore at Kent.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 269

It’s very common for people with Autism to challenge authority figures. Generally this is because they often naturally assume equanimity and don’t understand why some people should get more respect then others if they aren’t seemingly deserving of it. This stems from having a heightened sense of justice and empathy.

4. Autism and Sexualtiy

- “I guess you could say I’m not too fussy about gender.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, (I forgot the page)

We know Michael’s canonically Pan and as we’ve previously discussed (read Tori’s part for more info) Autism and the LGBTQ+ community are heavily intertwined. I tried to look into Autism’s correlation to Pansexuality but couldn’t find anything specific.

I also wanted to add in a little fact about how Neurodivergent people tend to gravitate towards eachother and queer people tend to do the same so Michael and Tori makes a lot of sense.

5. Special Interests/HyperFixations

Ok so, Michael gets pretty into Solitiare. Right from the start he’s obsessed. Taking photos of the posts, insisting they go to the meet up. I’d probably say it’s a hyperfixation.

And DISNEY. Holy heck Michael loves Disney… and if you haven’t caught on already, yeah imma say it’s a special interest.

- “He gasps and grabs a third DVD, leaps across the room to the flat-screen and switches it on. “We’re watching beauty and the beast,” he says.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 115

I mean look at how excited he gets over ‘Beauty and the Beast’.

6. School

- “Seriously. I haven’t gotten above a C grade in any subject since Year 8.”

“It seems almost impossible for someone like Michael to be unintelligent. People like Michael - people who get stuff done - they’re always smart. Always.” Solitaire, Page 188

- “When it comes to exams… I generally don’t write what they want me to write. I’m not very good at, well, sorting out all the stuff in my head.“

“I just don’t know what the examiners want to hear. I don’t know whether I just forget things, or maybe I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain it. I just don’t know.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 118

- “Because I hate school!” This is quite loud. He starts to shake his head.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, (I forgot the page)

A lot of people with Autism struggle with school and like Tori points out, it’s not because they’re not smart, Michael is smart. It’s just that the education system isn’t fitted to benefit Neurodivergent children. So many things affect Autism in schools. The dreadful sensory environment, lack of control over what they can and can’t do and the difficult social pressures.

7. Emotional dysregulation

- “He clenches his fist and he snarls. He actually snarls at me.

“Maybe you are a manically depressed psychopath.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 163

Emotional Dysregulation is the inability to control the intensity and expression of emotions. This is common in people with Autism and can result in overly intense emotions and lashing out. I think this is something that heavily impacts both Tori and Michael and results in a lot of their arguments. The aforementioned quote is just one example of how quickly and dramatically their arguments blow up due to this.

- “His face contorts into a kind of scrunched-up snarl, his fists curl, his skin drains of colour, and he storms past the man and tramps over to the benches. He reaches a row of lockers and looks into them, blankly, chest visibly expanding and contracting. With an almost terrifying malice, he throws a crazed punch at the lockers, wailing a subdued howl of rage. Turning, he hurls a kick at a pile of racing helmets, scattering them about the floor. He clutches his hair, as if trying to pull it out.” Solitaire, Page 211

Oh there is just so much to cover here. So this is a prime example of an Autistic meltdown. Autistic meltdowns can be caused by overwhelming emotions (In this situation that is Michael loosing his race) and result in an outburst which can include crying, screaming (“howl of rage”), aggression (punching the lockers and kicking the helmets) and self injurious behaviours (Pulling his hair). It’s probably worth mentioning that a few of the outbursts he has towards teachers that I mentioned earlier are probably also meltdowns.

8. Stimming

- “Michael starts whistling.” Solitaire, page 198

Whistling is a form of stimming, this particular quote is from when they are in Truham looking for Charlie, considering Michael’s disdain for Truham I can imagine it was a slightly stressful environment to be back in which would validly result in a need for stimming. I actually couldn’t find any other examples of stimming except possibly the hair pulling that was mentioned in the last quote.

9. Pattern Recognition

So pattern recognition is the autistic brains increased ability to recognise patterns and in Solitaire Michael is the first person to put together the fact that all of Solitaire’s pranks were related to Tori. I really can’t be bothered to find the quote where they talk about those

10. Safe foods

I think that Tea is probably a safe food for Michael because he is often mentioned to have a mug of Tea in his hands. (But I’m not British so maybe this is like normal? How much tea do British people actually drink?)

1. Miscellaneous Quotes

- Since when did you acquire a body temperature” Solitaire, page 112

I know it’s probably supposed to be related to figure skating but struggling with temperature regulation is very common amongst people with Autism.

- “Most of the time at school I can’t even decide what pen to use.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, page 149

Indecisiveness is very common amoungst people with Autism

Alright that’s a wrap on Michael Holden. I’m thinking of doing a conjoined part for Charlie and Oliver if anyone would be interested in reading that :)

Some of the resources I used:

https://livingautism.com/decision-making-problems-adults-asd/

Thermal Perceptual Thresholds are typical in Autism Spectrum Disorder but ...

https://sparkforautism.org/discover_article/managing-emotions/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7430467/

https://neuroclastic.com/autism-and-responding-to-authority/?amp

#michael holden #Michael Holden Solitaire #tori and michael #tori spring #autistic Michael Holden #autistic tori spring #autism coded #autism coding #autism headcanons #autistic Headcanons #alice oseman solitaire #Alice Oseman #solitaire book #heartstopper season 3 #heartstopper book #heartstopper netflix #heartstopper #nick and charlie

[jessicarosem]

I’m thinking about how Mendel from Falsettos has a vice grip on me. Like when I first watched it I was like “oh my god this gross guy is abusing his medical degree and making everyone uncomfortable” and then every single time I listen to falsettos it moves more and more towards “this horny guy who should not be a psychiatrist loves his wife so much he’s so me” Motherfucker is growing on me like a barnacle.

#falsettos #theatre #musical theatre #musicals #Mendel

[iravaid]

(in reference to your reblog)

I would absolutely love an exhaustive breakdown of all of your decisions regarding ‘Simon Riley in Situations’

That series consumes me. Much like in the way that Simon was consumed by the desert. I have been fundamentally altered by it.

Oh my god, genuinely thank you so much for asking

This became a very long set of rambles that I have two split in two, possessed by the talk too much demons... sad! Here is the first part, the second part I'll tack on in a later reblog.

More below, I get a little bit Pepe Silvia in this, but oh well lmao

An Introduction

I’m going to preface this with stating that the comics are bad. On an artistic and writer’s standpoint, their net value is negative. I have read those six wretched issues at least seven times through and feel confident in that assertion. I have no idea why people think they’re actually good, in the face of muddy rendering and an overall displeasing art style, Americanised writing with poor panelling and pacing and dialogue, among other torture-porn related things.

That being said, there are moments of competency that shine through, past the early 2000s edge and casual sexism + racist stereotypes, which in turn irritates me because it does show there could have been a better story here. And Yet. But the comics have been a well of spiteful inspiration, first with Except You, and second with In The Desert (and perhaps more to come), and I do want to talk about that. (and I do know that the comics aren’t necessarily canon for the reboot Ghost, but like. C’mon. Work with what we’ve currently got. Even if my money is on Makarov in the reboot having something to do with Ghost’s past, considering the knowing look he and Price share upon seeing the photo.)

Simon is a character that has been doomed by the narrative since day one, and while it would not be a surprise if he survives MW3 on account of the company wanting to make money off his multiplayer counterpart, there is a certain compelling grief in knowing his fate was always going to be how it was in the original trilogy. Simon suffers: Simon dies; Ghost suffers: Ghost dies. There is no other way this story ends. And there is something about the cyclical nature of his life, and patterns to be found in a such a story, which I think are extremely fun to try and enforce, as well as emphasise. It’s this, among other things, that makes him a compelling character to me. Well – that and him being tall, built like a brick-shithouse, gravelly voice, wears a skull mask, has a strong sense of loyalty and compassion for fellow soldiers… (but that’s beside the point!!!!).

The things he went through in the comics had occasionally been so over the top that I need a moment to stand back and go ‘… really? Like. Really? After all that, you put him through more?’ after every reread. It’s not enough that his entire family was murdered but also his psychiatrist and superior officer, and so on and so on. But unfortunately, I have to reiterate that the comics have been a source of inspiration. ‘Simon Riley In Situations’ is an extension of this spiteful motivation to retell/improve upon what the comics were trying to do, as well as occasionally extrapolating on them, or even warping canon to better accommodate my own headcanons/the rebooted universe.

I love stories were a main/side character goes through an incredible change, to the point where they’re noticeably and irreparably different to how they were at the beginning of the story, for better or for worse. Examples that come to mind, currently, are Jinx from Arcane, Zuko from ATLA, Ahsoka in Clone Wars, Steve from Stranger Things. To me, the transformation of Simon into Ghost is something very compelling. The Simon Riley that’s about to fly to the states with Major Vernon is a man very, very different to the Simon Riley freshly recruited into the 141 by Shepherd. But fundamentally they’re still the same person, and that can be an important facet for a big change in a character imo.

I like using a lot of poems and songs and the occasional bible reference in my works. I know it’s fanfiction and maybe for some people that’s overdoing it, but I love it. I love how art informs and inspires itself, and I love using the inherent emotional and cultural connections attached to a specific work in order to enhance that of my own writing. I think it’s good practice, and maybe it doesn’t matter that it’s expressed in the form of fanfiction. I’m a better writer because of it, and that’s something of significance to me: I never studied English lit/creative writing at a higher level of education, so this is where it will be expressed.

Skulls, Death, and the Ghost

Skulls haunt Simon throughout the comics; in turn, Simon has been haunted by the Ghost he’s doomed to become for a very long time. Roba wears skull face-paint when torturing and attempting to brainwash Simon, Simon’s father used to wear skull face-paint when performing, Simon smeared toothpaste on his face when in recovery from Roba’s captivity and it resembled a skull, Tommy wore a skull mask to emulate his father, and Simon hallucinates skeletons/skulls at different points in the comics. Finally, when his family are killed and Simon goes on his revenge mission, he wears the same face paint as he did during Día de Los Muertos when Roba captured him. He claims that the brainwashing didn’t ‘work’ (as the comics put it), but here Simon is, wearing the same mask as his tormentors. I wanted to stretch that recurring imagery by adding the vocalist wearing the skull face-paint in chapter one of Except You. Something there about returning to form, or perhaps finally looking back to see what exactly is that thing who’s been lurking in the back of your mind. I describe the skull reoccurring as “morbidly familiar” in that this has always been Simon’s fate, and it doesn’t matter what he does to try and escape, because he will always return to it.

It can also be stretched to symbolise his close relationship with Death. Simon has ‘died’ a lot of times in the story. At first he believes he’s dead on a subconscious level (nightmares with Roba’ saying he killed him), but then issues 3+4 happen, and that belief escalates into a conscious conviction that he died on the concrete floor in Roba’s captivity; he died out there in the desert; he died surrounded by his family’s corpses on Christmas; he died the moment he killed Roba; he died for good at the end of MW2. Roba killed Simon, and Ghost put whatever ‘Simon Riley’ once was to rest in the funeral pyre of his childhood home. Ghost has always had to everything on his own up until this point: even give himself a proper sendoff. A part of me wonders if Ghost believes himself, on some level, to be the keeper of Simon’s memory and identity. That is what a ghost is, right? The thing that lingers after a tragedy.

It's something incredibly interesting to consider present-era Ghost. Does he still think he’s dead? Is he waiting for the rot to set in? Has he been so dissociated from himself for so long that he doesn’t know how else to function, and on some level is terrified of what might happen, should he in turn look back to face whatever is left of ‘Simon Riley’? Maybe Ghost can be interpreted as the one that came back ‘wrong’, and he’s waiting for other people to notice that there’s nothing left but a corpse. He has gotten very little help by way of therapy/counselling, and probably doesn’t have the tools nor language at his disposal to neither work through these things, nor know how to voice them in the first place. That’s one of the reasons I wrote Simon as not fully aware of the definition of ‘child abuse’ and how it related to him. He knows Nigel (his father) was a cunt and a wifebeater, but he doesn’t know those necessary psych terms to properly begin processing what happened to him both as a child and adult, because who could have taught him? He never got the chance to go to DBT or CBT, and that hazy moment of time with Dr Halloway probably wasn’t conducive to learning about things like CPTSD and trauma and abusive households. I tried to extrapolate this, with Simon’s internalised ableism also being a block to fully accepting or even processing those terms. He’s in a lot of pain, and he very, very desperately wants to move on, to return to how he used to be before all of ‘this’. Will talk later on about how the military factors in to keeping the status quo of ‘the Ghost’.

In tarot (love you tarot love symbolisms in it love when it’s used in media mwah mwah), the death card symbolises major change, rebirth, and endings and beginnings.

If anything, Simon Riley is defined by his deaths and rebirths, how he keeps forcing himself to change in order to survive a brutal narrative set for him. And Ghost, who bears a skull-face not dissimilar to the grim-reaper, perhaps wears this taboo symbol to ward off ‘evil’, or to use that fear in order to keep people at arm’s length, in response to these injustices done to him by fate and the machinations of people far crueller than Simon. He has been through a lot, and still he keeps moving, keeps completing missions and being a ‘good soldier’, because that’s all Simon knows. He’s like a shark in that way, or a well-trained dog: he was never taught, nor given the chance to learn, how to not be a soldier. This is something me and @narramin, affectionately refer to as hound-coding, which, god, really suits Simon. Will talk about it further on.

Roba Himself

Manuel Roba is certainly there. It’s honestly incredibly disappointing to see how this specific character was handled, how heavily the writers leaned into stereotypes to depict Roba – there’s a panel of him holding a burrito for fuck’s sake. This caricature of a villain is both lazily written, but also serves to reduce the impact he has on Simon. This man is supposed to be the primary antagonist, above Simon’s abusive father. He is the reason that Ghost exists, the reason the Riley family are dead, and can be considered the primary catalyst for most of the comics’ plot. And yet this man, and all that he represents in Simon’s suffering, is reduced to the fat ‘El Gordo’ with dialogue lines that are ultimately meaningless, a personal motivation that is only said in his dying breath without further exploration, and ultimately is a villain without any teeth. I think Roba has the potential to be a terrifying figure, one this kind of dark story needs in order to ensure that Simon’s suffering isn’t made a joke when compared to the one at the source of it all.

There are moments of competency and personality that shine through here and there. The pink deck chair in the sensory overload room, the ‘plant flowers over [the grave]’ line, as well as Roba choosing to make himself appear as the grim reaper himself as a way to express ultimate power over his captives’ lives (and, in turn, Simon killing Roba and choosing to don the skull-face could be seen as him taking that control back).

There is a set of panels, one from issue 5 and another from issue 6, that piques my attention when placed together (seen below). Simon has tried so hard to convince himself and others that he is fine, that Roba’s brainwashing failed, that he is not deeply affected by the seven months of torture and humiliation and dehumanisation. But then he comes back from the dead wearing the same face-paint as Roba. He refers to himself as death, as does Roba. That man has his claws deep in Simon, and Roba knew this, and he died with a smile on his face because of it. As quoted by his final words: in the end Roba is just one man. Killing him won’t bring back the Rileys and it won’t stop the pain Ghost is in (but by god is it Ghost’s right to put that man down for what he did to him.).

The following paragraphs will discuss the torture Simon was subjected to in Roba’s captivity and features discussion of the sexual assault he experienced, as well as being him drugged + detailed acts of dehumanisation. The section itself will be bracketed with a ‘-’, feel free to skip to the final paragraph marked of this section if you’d prefer.

-

In my writing I want to show a competent, terrifying Roba. He should be purposeful in how he goes about breaking these men down in order to build them up into the dutiful hounds Roba so obviously wanted. That’s part of why I think, and wrote, Roba having never touched Simon, he made sure it was his men assaulting Simon while he watched (for one reason or another). And when they were finished Roba would try to manipulate the situation into one being Simon’s fault and that Roba, and only Roba, could fix for him. Simon needed to see Roba as the one with the power to control all these awful things happening to him, and that his own obstinance is the reason he’s suffering. Roba would make an offer – if you listen to me, follow what I say, I can make this stop. I can stop them from touching you ever again. It’s purposefully and insidiously phrased, he’s trying to make all this seem like Simon’s fault for not ‘giving in’. In turn, the prolonged torture and dehumanisation would best be served as well-thought-out tactics.

I’m not a fan of how every other captive was noted as too ‘weak’ or whatever to hold out against all that Roba was doing to them, only for Vernon to say that his methods were ‘genius’ – not with a near 100% mortality rate it fucking isn’t. It would be interesting to explore a fic where Roba was actually competent enough for those aforementioned super soldiers to be a real thing (and we’ll make death proud of us touches on this very well I recommend this fic). But, regardless, I find exploring the ways Simon could have been dehumanised/tortured without succumbing to infection or shock or a sudden heart attack from the sheer amount of stress and trauma to be morbidly interesting. I’m a morbid person, so this tracks lmao (it’s regardless a matter of balance, though, because we’re trying not to fall into that Edge the comics loved so much). I also want to note that Roba rarely, if ever, called Simon by his real name. It’s always ‘English’ or ‘Mr. Death’. A name is a powerful thing to control, stripping a person of their name is a common dehumanisation tactic, one that even the military has been known to use in order to get all these individuals into acting as one mass. It’s also a sign of non-acknowledgement, in my eyes. Simon was not a person to Roba, not really, just a dog that needed moulding. In a way, Ghost referring to himself as ‘Ghost’ may also be a tactic to distance himself from Simon in order to cope with the Everything that’s happened to him.

The next point is just as important as the prior ones: what kind of effect would all this have on Simon in different stages of the comics? And what kind of inner monologue and mindset would he have in order to endure these awful, awful things? And how would he heal from it, considering how the events of the comics went down? He has no control over the situation as a whole, but I imagine that Simon is the kind of person to try and grasp for anything to have control over regardless – he’s exhausted but he still might try to lay in a way that keeps him protected or stills his roiling gut, he’ll occasionally still try to lash out against the narcos, he’ll try and joke with Sparks and Washington in order to help them cling to their humanity (as well as preserve his own identity as a protector, which I want to get into later). He especially utilises dissociation as a ‘tool’ developed from living under the same roof as Nigel Fucking Riley. It provided a very necessary reprieve, and Simon probably believes he’d been ‘broken’ by his father long before Roba ever got his hands on him. Simon at this point probably (maladaptively, in the long run) perceives his ability to dissociate from the body to be a way to control what he truly feels. He can get some kind of control over experiencing multiple instances of sexual assault, over MONTHS, by creating a clear delineation between the body and the person. I wonder if this laid the groundworks for the self-perceived split between Simon Riley and Ghost.

He’s out of that place, Roba is dead and whatever was left of the Zaragoza cartel is hopefully long gone. But where does that leave Simon, whose primary coping mechanisms are either feeling horrific, yawning numbness, or forcing all that pain and fear and humiliation into over-powering anger? All these things kept him alive then… but now what? He has been subjected to a horrific slew of experiences in seven months, over two-hundred days. How do you approach that kind of deal and unpackaging and addressing of that trauma? It’s something in and of itself would be a compelling story to tell, especially with his childhood trauma informing how he processes those experiences. Simon has been physically and psychologically changed by Roba, even if he tried to ‘resist’ – even though interrogation resistance training only lasts for so long.

Sometimes I wonder at what point did Simon realise they weren’t torturing him for information, but to make him into something that wasn’t human. At what point did he realise that there was a reason they made him crawl down the hallways on his hands and knees with a collar around his neck, or that they fed him dog food off the ground, or that he might have been kept in retrofitted dog kennels, in a long-abandoned dog fighting pit.

I wonder if there were times he wished he’d just let go and listen to Roba, and kill the people the latter wanted him to kill; just so that the pain would stop, and he could be more than this thing surviving on the concrete floor. Very interesting to consider, what with the comics implying that Sparks and potentially Washington were also drugged in order to force a dependence on them, as a way to further exert control over them. I’m not sure why Simon didn’t also experience this. Yet another Comics Cringe Moment.

-

Ultimately, when I see Roba I think of a Judge Holden-esque figure: an intelligent man who has taken a step back, looked at the violence of the world, and ultimately came to the conclusion that, 1.) It is in man’s nature to wage war and be violent, and 2.) It is Roba’s right to control that flow of violence. He had Simon, Sparks, and Washington, and others who came before them, tortured, brutalised, dehumanised, starved, assaulted, and vivisected with intents to brainwash them into his own personal soldiers/bodyguards. He wanted to perverse nature and control something that was never his to control, and I think a character like that should ooze calculated cruelty and a disdain for the optimistic/what he perceives as weak. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, in Roba’s eyes, and he wants to be the one holding the leash.

Dogs and Hounds

Speaking of dogs, let’s get into hound-coding. Dog/hound/wolf metaphors are used for characters in a plethora of ways: dogs and other canines are embedded deeply in a lot of cultures and that can be seen in how disparate a dog can be used in symbolism. The rabid dog that requires put down, versus the loyal-to-a-fault dog whose diligence will be its downfall. The dog that hunts you down relentlessly against the dog that protects and nurtures. Vicious and borderline obsessed, pursuing a singular goal with tunnel-vision; dangerous predator stalking you from the shadows; wholly dedicated to a sole purpose in life; kicked to the point where anger lines their teeth and they meet the world with a bite, because they’ll never let anyone hurt them again; a caregiver and teacher, sometimes even a leader that will look out for who they see as family.

With Simon Riley, I feel he is a hound, the kind that’s been kicked enough times to know to bite first and ask questions later – but can someone please be gentle? Please, can’t someone let him rest? Then the narrative slaps his muzzle and tells him the story isn’t done yet. Simon, off the coattails of escaping his childhood home as a teenager, finds purpose in the military and clings to it. So much of Simon’s identity can be tied to him being a protector, as well as a soldier; he’s proud of his achievements within the SAS, cocky, even. He is well trained in violence and well experienced, too; he’s risen above to make a reputation for himself as a tough sonofabitch within the SAS, which is pretty famously full of that type of person.

The dog can be moulded into a lot of different things in fiction, just as it has in real life. So can Simon, so can Ghost: he’s a character that has been subjected to extreme kinds of change, with some very clear distinctions between Pre-Roba Simon, During-Roba, Post-Roba, Post-Family Massacre, and Post-Jungle Raid. That’s one of the reasons why I think the dog metaphor, and its imagery, can provide very impactful parallels for Simon. What is a dog, if not loyal and loving? Didn’t we make it that way? And what is a dog, if not defined by the job it can fulfil. We made it that way. What use is Simon to the military, if he won’t do what he was trained to do. I wonder if he worries about that in between missions: losing his purpose and identity one way or another.

Ghost is a good leader; he knows how to direct a team and how to keep Soap calm during the chaos in Las Almas. I imagine he found sanctuary in the camaraderie that can be found in a military environment, compared to his chaotic homelife. He doesn’t necessarily have to be open about it, or all that externally happy. But it’s regardless a community that has provided Ghost with some form of support (ironic, again, considering it’s the military, but that is how it works). Like a pack animal, one might say.

His potential relationship with Soap, if people take it that way (I do and will be talking about it more later #peaceandlove), reminds me of the poem ‘bait dog’ among others, here's an excerpt from the end of it: “And she still flinches / When I reach to pet her / but she smiles / once I get behind the ears / you will not heal from everything / that does not mean / you will stop being loved.”, and I feel that’s a very lovely image when applied to Soapghost, y’know? Simon has been through a lot, and Soap is emotionally mature enough to recognise that and give him space, while still putting in that necessary work to bridge certain gaps. Kind of like the slow burn of getting a rescue dog to trust you, except it’s your human superior officer with CPTSD and an edgy comic book backstory. They will doubtless have issues and bumps in the road, but they’ll also have shitty jokes and a lot of patience to keep things buoyed. Love wins or WHATEVER.

Roba tried to make Simon into an attack dog, too. Treated him like one, and I imagine there was a point where Simon was starting to believe it. Then he gets buried alive and has to dig his way out. He has to drag himself through the desert (more to come on that) and survive months of recovery until he has a chance to return to the state he physically was. I imagine this time of injury was awful for Simon: he felt incompetent on top of the other churning emotions one would have after surviving so many months of All That. Simon, I imagine, has always defined himself by his ability to provide, protection or otherwise, as well as his own physical prowess. It’s what kept him and his family safe all this time. It also led to him being picked for that fateful mission. I think Simon is a man shown to be capable of that single-minded focus of a hound that’s caught the scent, especially when he spent months tracking down Roba in the jungle.

Simon is a dog constantly having to remember its teeth. There is a lot to be said about dogs that learn to bite back.

I have reached a character limit here but still have a lot to talk about, please hold (and tysm, again, for the ask)

#ask #codposting #simon riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #rape mention #shaking my fist at the sky every time i think about the comics. god. #This is LONG and it's not done yet... freak

[yeetawaylikes]

“Roses”

Originally by ABDL Story Forum user Satyr

Chapter 1: The Rules

“Here are the rules,” she said. “There will be no sex. No unnecessary touching of privates. You may undress me as part of your… play, and feel free to admire my body, but look with your eyes, not your hands or, god forbid, your dick. Got it?”

Jonathan nodded. “Of course.”

“Good. Everything will happen in private. If you want to do public play, we will renegotiate. If at any point I say the word ‘roses,’ you will immediately stop whatever you’re doing. Oh, and I take payment in advance.”

He nodded again. “Absolutely. I won’t hurt you. Quite the opposite. I want to take care of you. That’s kind of my thing.” Jonathan handed her the cash, and she put it away in her purse.

“Okay, then the formal shit is taken care of. I’m yours until tomorrow morning, unless you break our contract. Starting now.”

Jonathan beamed a wide smile at her. “Now, now. Little girls don’t use dirty words, do they?”

Eliza blushed. It was a genuine blush, too. Fuck. I’m screwing up already. “Sorry,” she said, casting her glance downward to the floor. “I’ve never catered to this particular kink before. It’ll probably take me a little while to properly get into the role.”

Eliza had been a sex worker for the past two years, after she finished college. She’d done porn for some minor producers, and a few times, she’d straight up sold sex. Eliza loved the idea of it: she was the kind of woman who in earlier times might have been referred to a psychiatrist for nymphomania, and today would be known as a slut. But why shouldn’t she have lots of sex if she wanted to? The idea of selling herself, not because anyone forced her to, but because she could and wanted to, was both liberating and, in a naughty taboo kind of way, incredibly sexy. That was the idea of it, though. In practice, having to deal with her customers so intimately—the fat and ugly and smelly ones, as well as the ones who looked like they might be carrying super-AIDS—was far from sexy. Just when she’d thought it might be best to give up the whole prostitute thing as an expression of youthful experimentation, she’d lucked into meeting a couple clients who had more particular desires. Ones that didn’t even want to fuck her. They were content to fondle her feet or tie her up and mock her, or force her to strip naked and do household chores while they watched. She was still   selling herself, but it had been eight months since she’d actually sold sex.

What do you really want? She thought, looking over at Jonathan. All her clients wanted things they couldn’t or wouldn’t express, and if she did those things, they were on the hook as regulars. The man sitting across from her on the couch was her newest client, and definitely the wealthiest. Jonathan was in his early thirties, mop of brown hair and nerdy glasses, but he wore a businessman’s suit. He was the founder of a tech startup that had been bought up by Google for an undisclosed, enormous sum, and now he lived an early retirement in a swanky suburban mansion.

“That’s okay,” Jonathan said. He was sweating, she noticed. Eliza moved to sit beside him.

“First time paying for this kind of thing?” She asked.

He squirmed on the couch, as if he were a schoolboy who hadn’t done his homework. Eliza laughed. “It’s okay. Everyone is nervous the first time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. What I’ll usually do is, I make us a drink, and then we just get to know each other a little before the roleplaying begins in earnest. Would you like a drink?”

Jonathan blushed, then he nodded. As Eliza rose, about to ask him where he stored his liquor, she heard a cough behind her. “I…” He began. Oh, spit it out! She thought. Is he going to be one of those guys who loses the faculty of speech once he has a girl over? She’d had some clients who panicked once their biggest fantasy was about to become real. Guys who clearly had very little experience with real women, and when faced with one, one whom they’d paid to be theirs for the night, it was all too much to them. Some of them she’d ended up simply talking to all night. Fortunately, Jonathan only needed two tries before he spoke. He grabbed her hand and held her back, gently but firmly. “I have a few rules of my own, young lady.”

Eliza turned around to face him. “Yes?” She said, trying her best to sound as innocent as she believed he wanted her to be.

“First of all, only grown-ups are allowed in the liquor cabinet.” He was trying very hard to sound authoritative, and it was working about halfway into rule number one, but then his voice faltered. Eliza found it endearing. She didn’t know much about his kink, so he would have to teach her, but on the other hand, he clearly didn’t know much about being a Dom in practice, so maybe they’d have to learn together. “But, uh… I could use a drink. Wait here a minute.”

She glanced around the room while he was gone. On the walls hung posters of old 1960s rock artists, neatly framed; there was a large wall-mounted TV; on the living room table lay a couple of coffee table type art books. Jonathan appeared to be a bit of a neat freak, if the order and cleanliness of his house was any indication. He reappeared with a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in one hand, and a juice box in the other. “I thought it was more appropriate for someone your age,” he said, handing her the juice box. Eliza smiled. She was a little embarrassed, but that feeling was also turning her on a little. If this is your fix, I’ll gladly take your money and do it again some other time. She inserted the straw and began sucking on it, looking him in the eyes as she did so.

“Are you thinking dirty thoughts, little one?” He asked.

Eliza nodded. Seductively, she hoped. Jonathan appeared to be getting into the role, and this was a crucial period. If he just warmed up to the feeling of authority, and she didn’t mess up and challenge that authority until he was confident enough to put her in her place, this was going to work out very well.

“When you grow up, maybe you can do something about that, but until then, you just enjoy your juice box, sweetie,” he said.

Eliza moved closer to him, then she whispered in his ear: “May I sit on your lap?”

He pulled her in. Eliza was rather short, which no doubt played into his fantasy. There were certainly call girls out there with bigger boobs, but she had a feeling that would have been inappropriate for his particular kink.

“Now, kitten, for rule two. You are only allowed in the bathroom under the supervision of an adult. I’m very strict on that. Are we clear?”

Eliza nodded, and couldn’t help but notice a twinge in her bladder. She’d suspected something like this, but the reality of it, what it might entail, had remained a little abstract to her. “When we finish our drinks, why don’t we get you changed into something a little more appropriate?”

Shit. Fuck. “I… I didn’t bring anything,” she said.

He began stroking her hair. “Don’t worry, I’m well prepared.” She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be stroked, trying to find the calm within herself. Trying to become what he wanted her to be. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me! It’s not bedtime yet. If you fall asleep now, I’m gonna have a hell of a time getting you to go to sleep tonight, aren’t I?”

Eliza blushed. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so calming when you stroke my hair.”

“Why don’t we go change right now,” Jonathan suggested. Eliza got up from his lap and offered him her hand. He took it and led her upstairs to his bedroom. On the king sized bed lay a denim romper with snaps in the crotch. And was that…? “Oh, that,” Jonathan said, following her gaze. “That’s not a problem for you, is it?” It was, indeed, a diaper. Or, rather, one of those pull-on absorbent training pants for older kids. She shook her head. It was covered in her fee, if that’s what got him going.

“That’s just in case,” Jonathan said. “Let’s leave it be for now. I know that some little girls have potty problems, but some are properly potty trained. Are you, kitten?” Eliza blushed and nodded. Of course she was. Well, fuck me. On second thought, maybe he wanted me to say no? “Well, then. I’ll give you a chance in panties, then. Don’t disappoint me now. I don’t want to be cleaning up any puddles on the floor. Okay. Let’s get you out of those clothes, they look silly on a little girl.” He indicated for Eliza to raise her arms, and she did. Swiftly, he hoisted her Metallica t-shirt off. Then came her jeans, which she allowed him to undo, one button at a time, and then she pulled them down and stepped out of them. Eliza felt a chill in her bones. The room was a little cold, but also, this was the moment of truth. Soon she’d be naked in front of a near-total stranger who had engaged her to fulfill his sexual fantasies. Eliza had no shame about showing off her body, but there was always the possibility that—despite what they’d agreed on—Jonathan might get handsy once she stood naked in front of him. He didn’t seem like the type, though. Jonathan seemed  like he genuinely wanted to care for her as if she were a child, and she didn’t think child molestation was part of the fantasy.

Jonathan walked behind her and unclasped her bra. “Little girls don’t need bras. You barely have any breasts to be holding up!” He laughed.

“Say what?” She couldn’t help it. She may be small, but those were still some premium grade boobs, mister.

“Good, good,” Jonathan said. He was in front of her now, admiring her naked chest. “I’m sorry, I’m just getting into character. And I want you to be a bit spunky, to resist me a little, you know? Little girls aren’t always well behaved.”

Eliza took the hint. She stamped a foot on the floor. “I do not have a flat chest. You’re just a big meanie.” She stuck her tongue out, to emphasize that her little outburst was part of the act.

“Watch your tongue,” Jonathan said. He sized her up. “No, those panties won’t do.” They were black silk, bikini style. “Don’t worry, I have something a little more appropriate for you.” He rummaged in a closet and found a pair of pink panties with a teddy bear print on them, and a t-shirt with the same motif. “Do you need any help, or can you put them on yourself, sweetie?”

“I… Maybe a little bit of help?” Eliza allowed him to lower her panties, giving him a glance of her pussy, but he only took a quick peek before sliding up her new panties. She shifted a little. The coffee with breakfast, then water on the way down, and then juice were all making their way to her bladder. After the panties came the t-shirt over her otherwise bare chest, and then the romper. Jonathan made sure everything fit snugly—and it did, surprisingly—but his hands didn’t linger too long in any sensitive areas. Eliza did a little pirouette to show off her new costume, which had shaved off at least six years of her apparent age, if not eight or ten. Although she was still clearly a young woman in immature clothing, she looked closer to sixteen than to twenty-four.

“Uh, about the bathroom,” Eliza said. “Could you show me the way? I kind of have to pee.”

“But you have to see all the fun stuff I’ve prepared for you!” Jonathan exclaimed. He took her hand and led her downstairs, and she offered no further protest. Perhaps he wants me to pee my pants. Perhaps he really wants an excuse to put me in diapers. Jonathan hadn’t been quite clear on what age he wanted her to be. A little girl, he’d said. A little girl to take care of. But did that mean six or two? Was she supposed to be a first grader or a babbling baby? Hopefully not the latter, because she’d be bored out of her mind if she wasn’t at least allowed to talk. And she didn’t think she could do baby convincingly, either. First grader was more like it. But was she a first grader with “potty problems?” Eliza tried to cross her legs, but Jonathan dragged her along to a room adjacent to the living room. It was more of a lounge, with bean bags and a few reclining chairs, and on one of the walls hung a canvas that looked like it might be part of a home cinema setup. There was a little table in a corner, and Jonathan led her to it. “I’ve got some coloring books, stickers, glue, and glitter. Why don’t you have some fun with that? I’ll be right here, reading a book.” He indicated one of the chairs.

“But I need to pee!” She protested. Her bladder was rather uncomfortable, and the desperation could be heard in her voice. It was a child’s whine. Inwardly, she smiled. He must be loving this.

“I was really looking forward to some quiet reading. The bathroom is upstairs. Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I did!”

“Hmm,” Jonathan said. “I must have missed it. Well, if it’s an emergency, I’ll take you. If it can wait, we’ll do it after.”

Does he want me to say I can hold it? And if I do, does he want me to actually hold it, or does he want me to have an accident? She was a little concerned about ruining the clothes he’d clearly bought just for this occasion. Surely he didn’t have more than one “little girl” uniform laying around, and if she peed in this one, well, she’d have to use her regular clothes, which might break the spell. She’d have to find a way to broach it in character.

“I’m a big girl!” She said, and pointed to herself. “I can hold it all day.” Then she crossed her legs, both because she really did need to pee, and for show. “But… Just in case I can’t, maybe I should go. I don’t want to ruin my new clothes.”

Jonathan hugged her. “Don’t you worry about that, dear,” he said. “Clothes can be washed. And there’s more where those came from.”

Eliza considered her options. In her occupation, intuition was king. She needed to be both a sex object and a mind-reader, sussing out what her clients really wanted, deep down. Going out of character unless absolutely necessary would kill the fantasy. Considering Jonathan had gone to the trouble of buying diapers for her, it would be a shame if he didn’t get to put her in them. Eliza had never done any pee play; hardcore watersports, like drinking pee or having someone pee in your face, rather disgusted her. But the idea of peeing her pants, while not something she’d ever done before, seemed rather harmless. She could maybe let out a tiny bit, just enough for it to show on her clothes, and then Jonathan would get to punish her for it. Eliza spread her legs a little and tried to think of dripping water, Niagara falls, but nothing came out. Guess I’m just too well trained, she thought.

“Okay, you can read your book,” she said. “But promise to take me soon?”

“All right, kitten,” Jonathan said.

Eliza sat down and looked over the supplies he’d given her. Frankly, coloring books and glitter and stickers looked boring as fuck. She tried to look for her inner child, but apparently it had gone into hiding. There was nothing redeeming about coloring books. But considering the pay, she’d bloody well put up with it. I could be getting fucked in the ass by a 300 pound cave dweller, she thought. Instead, I’m getting paid three times as much to have someone attend to my needs, look after me like a daughter, and all I need to do is play with glitter and try not to look bored. Eliza picked up a crayon and began coloring. She debated whether she should color outside the lines like a child, but settled on meticulously coloring within them. That way, she could at least devote a little bit of brain power to the task at hand. Maybe Jonathan would hang it on his fridge. The page she was working on had a castle with turrets, a drawbridge, a fairy and an adventurer carrying a sword. It reminded her of Ocarina of Time, so the swordsman had to be green.

She crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table. Maybe if she pushed a little on her bladder, that would be enough to squirt out a little bit, and then she could ask Jonathan to take her to the bathroom. She spread her legs and pushed on her abdomen. For a moment, her muscles resisted, but then Eliza felt her new panties warm to a trickle of pee. It was a strange feeling. She couldn’t remember the last time she peed herself. Probably when she was around the age she was playing at now. Eliza had a rather small bladder, but she’d learned early on to compensate with frequent trips to the toilet. She put a hand in her lap; it touched wet fabric. Satisfied that her little “accident” would be visible to Jonathan, she clamped shut. That is, she tried to clamp shut. But she had left the floodgates open too long, and now she couldn’t stop. Eliza let out a little yelp of despair as her ass began to get soaked. She twisted her legs and pushed on her crotch with both hands, but the pee kept coming, pooling between her legs and running up her lap and down her thighs.

Jonathan was there in a flash. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked. There was genuine alarm in his voice, like he couldn’t tell if this was still pretend, or perhaps he was so deep in character that it didn’t matter.

“I…” The hiss as she peed herself was so loud in her ears, she was sure he must hear it. Perhaps he was simply too polite to say anything, or perhaps she was simply hyperaware. She waited until she was done, and then she hung her head. “I peed.”

“You peed?” Jonathan looked confused.

“It was an accident.” Eliza stood up to show him. When she did, some urine spilled over the chair and splashed on the floor. She was soaked down to her knees, and her ass was sopping wet. It was uncomfortable, perhaps mostly due to embarrassment. She had meant to pee, yes, but then she couldn’t stop and it turned into a real accident. Eliza was sure she was red as a stoplight. The embarrassment did, however, allow her to more easily slip deeper into the role. It felt natural to ask, “Can you please not be mad?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Of course I’m not mad. But I thought you said you could hold it?”

“I totally can. It was just an accident.” She looked down at the puddle she’d made. Eliza was amazed she’d managed to hold that much in the first place. “But can you please help me clean up? It’s yucky.”

Jonathan was easily a foot taller than her. Before she knew it, he’d swept her off her feet and began carrying her upstairs. “Eliza, sweetie, you should have said it was an emergency.”

“I was having too much fun playing,” she lied. Eliza buried her head in his shoulder. This was supposed to make her feel safe. Little Eliza would feel safe in Jonathan’s arms, in his shoulder. He smelled of aftershave. She closed her eyes, and again she felt the lack of proper sleep the night before catching up with her. Before she knew it, Jonathan was gently putting her down on the floor. It was a large bathroom, all in marble, with a big tub in one corner and a shower in the other. Each could fit at least two, if not three adults. Besides that there was room for a washer, drier, and toilet. She felt like she were standing in a cathedral of glass and marble. Although the downstairs rooms looked middle class, this bathroom screamed rich.

“Let’s get those icky clothes off,” Jonathan said, and began undoing her romper. His gaze lingered for a moment on her wet ass. She wiggled her bum, and he gave it a slap. “Don’t show off,” he said, although his continued staring at her told her he didn’t really mean it. “Are you proud to be going potty in your pants?”

“No, Jonathan,” she said. Is that how he wants to be addressed? Some clients preferred Sir or Master. Others had bizarre alter egos they liked to roleplay. Who was Little Eliza to him? His daughter, his niece, his student in first grade? She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Is that what you want me to call you? Or is there something else?”

He thought for a moment. “Ideally, I’d like to be called Daddy. But I think that’s something I need to earn first. In the meantime, you can call me John or Jonathan.”

“Okay, John. Please get these icky clothes off me.” He did as asked.

“I was going to do this before bed, but I think I’m going to run you a bath. With bubbles. How does that sound?” He asked.

“I’d like that.” She was now naked, the wet clothes in a pile on the floor. Jonathan opened the faucet and began running a bath. The tub looked inviting, and she was a bit cold, so she climbed in.

“I’ll go get some dry and clean clothes. You just stay right here, pumpkin.”

Eliza leaned back and closed her eyes. Jonathan had to be the sweetest client she’d ever had, and his fantasies the most innocent. She was short, slim and just the right amount of curvy, yet her wet panties seemed to interest him more than her pussy. He clearly enjoyed looking at her, but he could be doing so much more. The roleplay seemed to be doing it for him. His comment about wanting to earn the name “Daddy” gave her a pang of guilt. Am I exploiting him? It seemed like his brand of kink required an intimate connection with another person. Although all kinky play requires a big degree of trust from both parties, many people enjoy a casual spanking. John, on the other hand, didn’t seem like the type who’d go to a BDSM party and tie someone up for the evening, then never see them again. He really just wanted a girlfriend he could cuddle at night.

Jonathan sidled up by the tub and poured something into the water, and soon enough, she was covered up by a layer of foam. “Stop me if I’m going too far,” Eliza said. “But your kink strikes me as the kind best practiced in a committed relationship.” Her eyes were still closed, and she found herself enjoying his tender touch as he began rubbing shampoo into her hair.

Jonathan sighed. “You could say that,” he said. “But there aren’t many girls out there as lovely as you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say,” she said. “But I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. Successful businessman, and probably the sweetest client I’ve had to boot.”

“I imagine you run into some brutes in your profession.”

She thought it over. No, no one had ever disrespected her boundaries. “It depends,” she said. “I’ve been careful. Maybe a little lucky. No one ever laid their hands on me—except in the ways we’d discussed beforehand. I’m not a street walker. I mean, no disrespect to those girls. I’m just saying, what they do is a lot more dangerous than what I do.” In the beginning, she relied on internet ads. Now, all her new clients were referrals. People who were recommended by someone she trusted. Jonathan had been vouched for by a business contact of hers, Jane, although she wasn’t quite clear on how they knew each other. She trusted her acquaintance, though.

“Come to think of it, how do you know Jane?” Eliza asked.

“Oh,” Jonathan said. “She’s my ex.”

“She’s your ex?” Eliza hadn’t expected that. Jane worked in the porn industry.

“Yeah. She said you might be able to, uh, fulfill the fantasies she couldn’t. I told her about my fetish. It didn’t go so well.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliza said. “Is that why you guys broke up?”

“Yes and no. It put more strain on a strained relationship. After a while we both decided it was for the best to call it quits. Well, she decided. I acquiesced.”

Eliza opened her eyes, reached over the edge of the tub and gave him a hug. Foamy water splashed all over his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind. Eliza held the hug, and then she began rubbing his back, leaving wet fingerprints on his button-down. Finally, he separated himself. His eyes were watery. He rose and attempted to straightened himself up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m getting a little emotional. I suppose emotional isn’t in the job description.”

“No, no,” Eliza said. “It was my mistake. I pushed too far.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, little one,” he said, in an apparent attempt to regain his authority. He was really such a sweetheart. “Let’s get you dried and into some clean clothes.” He offered her a hand as she stepped out of the bathtub. Then he began rubbing her dry with a huge towel. She felt very small, like she was disappearing into the towel. He rubbed her all over to get her dry, and she felt herself getting a little aroused as he worked on her breasts and between her legs. Jonathan was just drying her off—he showed no signs of being aroused himself. But she found herself wishing he’d give a little special attention to her special areas.

Satisfied that she was dry, Jonathan turned around to pick up her new clothes. A dress, with a childish floral print in yellow. He must have gone on quite a shopping spree in preparation, she mused. “Now, pumpkin, I told you I wanted to give you a bath before bed. Remind me, why did we have to do it early?”

Eliza blushed. He wants to hear me say it. He wants to humiliate me. Humiliation, as it happened, was one of her own kinks. She loved to hate it. “Because I had an accident,” she said.

“Oh?” He looked at her expectantly. What is it he wants me to say? “What kind of accident? Did you fall and scrub your knee?”

Eliza hid her face behind the towel. She was deliciously embarrassed. “Noooo,” she said. “Not that kinda accident.”

“What kind of accident did you have, then, sweetpea?”

“In my pants.” She pointed to the wet romper and panties, still on the floor. “I peed in my pants.”

“That’s right,” Jonathan said. “You said you were a big girl, but then you couldn’t make it to the bathroom. I gave you a chance at panties, but I don’t think you’re quite big enough for them. I can’t trust that you’ll be able to keep them dry.”

“I AM a big girl!” Eliza said, stomping her foot on the ground. That was a mistake. The tiles were wet, and she slipped and lost her footing. For a terrifying moment, she saw the tiles rush up toward her head, but then Jonathan was there and grabbed her before she faceplanted into the floor.

“Careful, honey, the floor is wet,” Jonathan said. “One day you’ll be a big girl. But until then…” He held up the pull-up diaper she’d seen in his bedroom earlier.

“No fair,” Eliza said. “It was only one accident.”

“Well, just in case,” Jonathan said.

There it was. She knew what she’d signed up for, but the reality of it still hit her like a brick. Eliza had let herself be degraded for money before, but she had never imagined herself ever having to wear a diaper. And not just because she was paid to do it. No, she had actually peed her pants and earned it. She blushed again at the thought. The humiliation was getting her wet in a different way. When she began peeing, it had been on purpose. But then it wasn’t on purpose anymore. She’d really tried to stop, and found she couldn’t. In a way, she did really have an accident, just like a little girl. Does he want me to protest? He did say earlier that he wanted her to disobey. “NO,” she said. “I’m a BIG GIRL and BIG GIRLS don’t wear diapers.”

Jonathan looked at her sternly. “Do you want to earn yourself a spanking, little missy?” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone said that he wasn’t kidding.

“FINE,” Eliza said, in her best petulant child voice. “But only this once. And I’m going to prove to you that I don’t need it.”

“Very well,” Jonathan said. He looked down at his watch. “It’s only 3 PM. If you can keep this one dry until seven, you can have panties for the rest of the night.” Four hours? She could do that. He helped her step into the diaper and slid it up her hips. The feeling of padding between her legs was odd, but the shape of it was more like a pair of extra-thick panties than a diaper. She gingerly took a few steps. There was a soft rustle as she walked, but it was barely audible. She could feel the fabric absorbing some moisture from between her legs.

“Now, this one isn’t very thick. It’s made for little girls who are potty training. So you need to tell me when you need to go potty, because this diaper can’t take a flood like the one you unleashed in your pants.” Touché. “And it’s very important that you tell me if you need to go number two, because this one is only designed for pee.”

Number two? Good god. The thought of it had her reeling. Peeing was one thing, she could do that. But under no circumstances would she have anything to do with poop. She had a strong anti-scat policy. “Yes, John,” she said. “I’m going to tell you when I need to go.” It occurred to her that the toilet was off limits without “adult supervision.” Did he expect her to poop while he watched? Open as she was about her body, she didn’t think she could do that. She’d just have to hold it if it came to that.

Chapter 2: Medium Rare

Jonathan helped her into the dress, and she twirled around, giving him a peek upskirt. He nodded. “You look stunning,” he said.

“Thank you.” He led her hand in hand downstairs. “Are you hungry yet?” He asked. “I could go for some food right about now.” Her stomach grumbled in sympathy. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning.

“Sure,” Eliza said.

“I was thinking steak and pepper sauce,” said John. “It’s a little early for such a heavy meal, so maybe we should stretch it an hour, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so I’d like to eat soon. You know, I would take you to a nice restaurant, but we agreed not to go out in public.”

Eliza nodded. “Maybe some other time.” Seeding another appointment, she thought. It was somewhat cynical of her, but she felt it was entirely natural. She was only being honest. “You’re welcome to take me out, but we’d have to suspend the roleplay. But I don’t mind a nice home-cooked meal.”

Jonathan smiled. “I’m an excellent cook.”

“Maybe we could just cuddle and watch some TV to kill time,” Eliza suggested. “I love it when you stroke my hair.”

Jonathan seated himself on the coach and switched on some mindless reality show. The kind where there is no real goal, except for the contestants to back-stab each other as much as possible—when they’re not having sex, and solemnly swearing they never imagined they would be doing it on television, it just happened, because he or she’s the one. Eliza curled up beside him, and he obediently began stroking her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that he was her boyfriend, a trick she used whenever a client wanted romance rather than straight sex. It wasn’t hard  to see this kind, caring and wealthy bachelor as a partner in another life. Eliza had a strict policy of separating business and pleasure—it wasn’t like she were actually falling for him. But with closed eyes, she could pretend. When she lay still, she hardly even noticed the difference in her underwear, but whenever she moved, the padding pushed into her and reminded her of what a little girl she was supposed to be.

Before she knew it, she was dreaming. The imagery faded as soon as Jonathan nudged her awake, but it had been a pleasant dream. “Hey, I didn’t say you could nap,” John said.

Eliza rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll be a good girl and go to sleep for bedtime, that’s a promise.”

“I think it’s time for dinner,” John said. “Would you like to continue coloring for me, or would you like to help me cook?”

She told him she wanted to cook. Eliza had had enough coloring for one day. She needed some kind of stimulation. Pleasant though it was, life as a little girl was rather boring. One downside of her more romantic appointments was that they didn’t provide the same level of excitement as a sexual session. Her clients rarely knew how to inject excitement into a date.  But as soon as she’d finished that train of thought, John was over her, pinning her down on the coach, and then he was tickling her. “Eeee!” She squeaked. It was unexpected, but she didn’t protest. She tried to contort her body so he couldn’t get to her most ticklish spots, but he was devious. One fake maneuver toward her armpits, and then he was lifting up the front of her dress, and for a moment she thought he was going to stick a hand down her diaper—but then he was blowing raspberries on her stomach, and Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. When she did, she let down her defenses up top, and he started on her armpits, the most ticklish spot on her body.

“Aaaah!” She said, laughing all the while. “Stop! Stop! I’m gonna pee!” She struggled to close her legs, but then he was tickling her under her feet, and she had to open them, and almost kicked him in the nose, barely missing his glasses. “I mean it! I’m ahhhahaaa—I’m gonna pee myself!”

He let up. “Let’s get you to the bathroom before it’s too late, then,” he said.

Eliza was red-faced and panting, exhausted from the assault of tickles. Her breath was heavy, and her chest was hurting from all the laughing, but her smile was genuine. None of her clients ever got into tickle fights with her. Hell, it was even a little bit hot. She’d experimented with forced orgasms using a vibrator and a willing, non-paid partner, and tickling was similarly painful and pleasant at the same time. But she didn’t want to pee herself. Eliza wanted to prove to John that she could last until seven. A little silly, she realized. She was an adult and had never peed her pants by accident, not since she was a toddler. Big Eliza, the sex worker, had nothing to prove. But Little Eliza certainly did, after her embarrassing accident earlier.

“I don’t really need to go,” she managed, after she regained her breath. “It’s just when you tickle me, I can’t control it.”

“Well, let’s try anyway. I can’t leave the kitchen once the plates are hot and things are cooking to take you to the bathroom, now can I? Here is a potty training lesson. When you know you won’t be able to go to the potty for a while, it’s smart to go before, just in case.” He offered a hand and led her upstairs. She followed, a light rustling of her underwear probably only audible to herself.

“Okay, down she goes,” John said, lowering her pull-up, “and up she goes!” Eliza allowed herself to  be hoisted up on the toilet. “See if you can make a little tinkle for me.”

She tried, but nothing came out. Eliza wasn’t normally pee shy, but something about the situation made her clam up. “I can’t,” she said.

“Maybe if I turn on the tap?” John offered. Eliza closed her eyes and listened to the stream of water splashing into the sink. Finally, a slight tinkle began. “Good girl!” John said. “Now, do you know how to wipe, Eliza?”

Of course she did. And they had agreed on no touching in that area. Eliza found herself aching for some touch down there. The whole evening had been a long series of humiliations, and that was the sort of stuff that got her going. She’d never imagined herself being into this stuff, and to be honest, she couldn’t ever see herself roleplaying a little girl for her own pleasure. But the roleplay did facilitate humiliation, and that had her loins all wet and slippery. No. It might set a bad precedent. We’ll have to renegotiate. On the other hand… She did say no unnecessary touching of privates, did she not? What if it were necessary? She did allow him to clean her in the bath and dry her off, all over her body.

“Uh… Maybe you could show me?” She bit her lip and looked him in the eye. For a brief moment, he blushed, a little flustered, but then he was back in control.

“Of course, baby,” John said. “It’s very important that you keep clean down there, so you don’t get any nasty infections. You don’t want that, do you, Eliza?”

She shook her head.

John ceremoniously grabbed a piece of toilet paper. It was four-ply, premium quality, soft as silk. Eliza considered expensive toilet paper to be literally throwing money down the toilet, so she always went for the cheap stuff. Apparently, she didn’t know what she was missing. When John wiped her down, it was like being wrapped in a blanket of good emotions. “Teehee, it tickles,” she said.

“Oh,” said John. “I don’t think little girls need to think about that.”

Eliza was a little disappointed. “There, all done,” John said, and helped her slide the diaper up her hips. “Now let’s go cook some dinner.”

They entered a kitchen decked out with all the newest in stainless steel and Swedish design. It looked like something out of an unusually upscale IKEA catalog. There was a double-door refrigerator, two hypermodern stoves with electronic displays and more dials and buttons than Eliza’s laptop. “I’m afraid little girls and hot stoves don’t go well together,” John said. “But you can ready the table. Plates are over there,” he indicated the top of a tall cabinet, “and cutlery over there.”

Eliza tried to reach the shelf, but even on the tips of her toes, she wasn’t tall enough. The kitchen was clearly designed for someone John’s size. “I can’t reach up there,” she said.

“Silly me,” John said. He grabbed some plates and glasses, and she decked out the table. Then he kept her busy grabbing ingredients and explaining every step of the cooking process, just as if she were in grade school. It wasn’t the world’s most complicated meal, and Eliza was sure she could’ve managed it on her own. But she allowed him to teach her.

The meal was delicious. Medium rare steak, pepper sauce and cooked potatoes. Anything would have been good at this stage; it was close to five and she hadn’t eaten since around nine in the morning. But John wasn’t lying when he said he was a good cook.

Eliza tried to imagine herself as a young child. She deliberately missed with her fork, allowing some sauce to spill onto her face. Once she was done eating, John playfully scolded her for being a messy eater, and wiped it all away. “We’ll have to teach you some table manner,” he said, and laughed.

With the weight of a full belly, her tiredness returned. She wasn’t sure if she could keep her promise of staying awake until bedtime. When was that, anyway?

John led them back into the living room. She curled up on the coach, and he handed her a blanket. Eliza yawned. “I’m gonna stay awake, promise,” she said, by way of apology. He sat down beside her.

“It wasn’t easy,” John said. “Telling my ex about this fetish.” He stroked her hair. It was auburn, flowing down to her chest in curlicues. “I always knew, kind of. I always enjoyed caring for my baby brother, but not in a sexual way, of course. And then when I hit my teens, I would see these cute girls, and the guys would be like, ‘Damn, I’d like to fuck her.’ Behind her back, of course. And I’d go, ‘Yeah, man, you got it.’ But inwardly I’d be thinking, ‘I’d love to take her home, kiss her forehead and tuck her in.’”

“So it isn’t sexual at all for you?” Eliza said.

Jonathan blushed.

“Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking at me that way,” Eliza said. “It’s no big deal. I’m hiring out my body, after all. Feel free to think any dirty thoughts you want, as long as you don’t act out anything we didn’t agree on.”

He resumed stroking her hair. “Oh, Eliza. I have to admit, you’re stunning. And I could see myself in bed with you, having some adult fun. But I’m perfectly happy caring for you without touching you inappropriately. The truth is, when I look at you right now, I see a child and a woman at the same time. I’m attracted to the woman as a woman to do man-and-woman stuff with, and to the child as a child to care for.”

Eliza sat up. She didn’t want to pry into his evidently difficult feelings toward his ex, but he was the one to bring it up. She was curious. “So I take it your ex didn’t take the news very well?”

“I was a stuttering mess. I think if I’d proudly stated my preferences like they were no big deal, maybe things would have gone over differently. But I acted like I was ashamed of it, and so she assumed it was shameful.”

Eliza nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her sleepiness somewhat slurring her words and dragging them out. “I find that people almost always adopt the attitude that you project to the world. Act confident, they will see you as confident. Act ashamed, they will assume you have good reason for it and pile on with the shaming.”

“Jane told me maybe she could help me get over it,” John said. “Maybe there was some other fantasy we could act out that would make me forget all about little girls and diapers and all that. She offered anal. She even hinted that a threesome might be on the horizon, she had some open-minded friends—Jane is in the porn biz, after all. But once it became clear that it wasn’t a phase and it wasn’t something that would ever go away, it became a constant source of conflict. She just couldn’t deal with the fact that I was fantasizing about her as a little girl—I mean, as an adult acting like one, not that I was jerking off to her childhood portraits or something.”

“I’m sorry,” said Eliza.

“But she led me to you,” Jonathan said. “Jane told me you might be open to something like this.”

“I’m all yours, until tomorrow morning.”

Suddenly, his hand was under her skirt. He pushed against the dry padding of her crotch, but then he withdrew his hand as quickly as he put it up there. “Just checking,” he said. “Don’t want you leaking on the couch.”

Eliza wiggled free of him. “I’m a big girl and I don’t need this thing,” she said, lifting her skirt to indicate the diaper. The bottom of her breasts peaked out, giving him a nice little underboob look. “I told you, I’m gonna keep dry until seven.”

“We’re almost there, kitten. Just tell me if you need to go potty.”

They sat in silence for a while on the coach. Again, Eliza’s eyes drooped, and she had to fight for them to stay open. “Hey, could you make some coffee or something? I’m almost falling asleep here,” Eliza said.

“I would, but not so close to bedtime. I don’t want my baby all hyper when she’s supposed to go to sleep.”

Eliza sank back into the couch.

“I can tell you’re bored. We’re supposed to have fun! Don’t you forget that. Little girls are allowed to be fussy if they’re understimulated. Not too fussy, of course, or I’ll have to take them over the knee,” John added. “Look, it’s almost seven o’clock. Come with me to the bathroom. If your pull-up is still dry, we can forget about your accident earlier”—a blush, at that—“and go back to panties. Come with me.”

Eliza stayed where she was. She felt as if she’d eaten a pot brownie, and now she was couchlocked. If only she had some sleep the night before. She’d been worried about finances. Her landlord had hiked up the rent, and if John had decided to cancel on her for some reason, she’d have been shit out of luck. She saw now that she needn’t have worried. His fee alone would cover a month’s rent and more, but she couldn’t have known that he wouldn’t back out. A few of her clients had done that. The idea of hiring a prostitute sounded appealing, but when it came to it, they didn’t have it in them. Society at large still frowns upon the practice, no matter how consensual it is. What she did was technically illegal, although her operation was luxurious and professional enough that, in practice, she was largely safe from law enforcement. But some of her clients, like John, were upper class with a reputation to protect. Some were so worried about being blackmailed, they demanded video footage of her conducting the transaction, themselves conveniently off screen, in order to have some dirt on her. Eliza refused such requests, of course. But no matter the validity of her concerns, they’d kept her up at night, and now she didn’t want to do anything but close her eyes and drift into sleep.

John picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He was surprisingly strong for his lanky build. Then again, she was petite. John set her down in front of the toilet. “Okay, Eliza. Moment of truth. Did you have an accident, or are you still dry?”

“Still dry,” Eliza said, although her gaze was on the floor.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I check?” He asked.

Eliza lifted her dress in response. John slipped a finger into the side of her diaper, although his fingers never strayed toward her pussy. “Almost completely dry,” He said.

“I was turned on for a bit,” Eliza said. “That doesn’t count.”

“I suppose not,” John said. “Okay. Do you want panties for the rest of the night?”

Eliza nodded. John disappeared for a moment, although he stopped in the doorway to assure her he wasn’t leaving her alone for more than a minute, as if she were a child with separation anxiety.

Once he was back, he made her try to pee in the toilet again. This time, she managed a little trickle without the aid of a running tap. Then he slipped on her panties, and a little bit of her adulthood was restored. The used diaper went in a separate trash can, she noted. John really was prepared for everything.

Eliza’s eyes were drooping. “John, please, I really need that coffee if I’m going to stay awake,” she said. “Pretty please? Just a little cup.”

“No,” he said plainly. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it. Stop nagging.”

Eliza stopped and resisted his attempt to lead her onwards. “Please,” she said again. “I’m so tired. Don’t you want me to stay awake and play with you?”

“Enough,” John said.

She tried one last time. “Please?”

John turned around. His demeanor had changed. His size advantage had made him feel like a big, strong protector, but now it felt like a threat. Eliza took a step back. His face was red, his mouth contorted into a frown. “Enough is enough. You will go stand in the corner for twenty minutes, and if I hear as much as a peep from you, you’re going over the knee. Is that clear?”

Eliza gave an uncertain nod. She had awakened the beast. Eliza hadn’t seen this side of John before. One part of her was terrified; the other, secretly excited. He was finally warming up to the role of the Dominant in their scene. “But what if I need to go to the bathroom?” Eliza asked. “May I speak then?”

“You just went,” he said curtly. “You can hold it for twenty minutes. You were so eager to prove that you belong in panties, so here’s your chance. Come to think of it, I don’t want you to get dehydrated. I’ll bring you a bottle of water, and I expect you to finish it by the time your timeout’s up.”

Time passed glacially in the corner. She stared at the off-white wall and tried to distract herself with happy thoughts, occasionally taking a sip of water. It was no use. Her punishment was boredom, and she deserved it. Little Eliza had pushed it too far. Although her eyes drooped, standing up kept her awake. She attempted to sit down, thinking perhaps she could sneak in a powernap while John wasn’t watching, but he told her to stand up immediately.

Eliza was frustrated, tired, and now her stomach was starting to hurt, too. What do babies do when they’re sick and tired and want to get their will? They cry. Eliza wasn’t much of an actor—well, that wasn’t true. She was very good at inhabiting the roles her clients wanted her to play, but that was the extent of her abilities. Eliza couldn’t cry on command. But right now, she felt very much the fussy baby, and focusing on her tired and frustrated state made her all the more upset. Once she added in the mental image of her true love dumping her—that was long ago, before she stopped believing there was one and only one person out there for her—she managed a little sniffle, and soon tears were rolling down her cheeks. Quickly, John was beside her.

“Baby, don’t cry. What is it?” He said. His tone had changed from stern to paternal concern.

“I’m tired. My tummy hurts. I don’t want to stand in this stupid corner anymore,” she said, between sniffles. All of which was true. That part wasn’t an act.

John looked her over. She was standing there in a juvenile summer dress, the one he had put her in after she peed in her first outfit of the day (second, really, since he had removed the one she came in). She had puffy eyes and drying tears down her cheeks. The sight of her so miserable seemed to break through his defenses. John squatted down beside her and gave her a hug. “Now, now, don’t cry, sweet child. I think you’ve learned your lesson about disobeying me. Haven’t you, kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Eliza said.

Chapter 3: Sub Drop

Eliza didn’t know why she said it, but it seemed natural. John wanted to earn the title “daddy,” and in her eyes, he’d done so. His punishment and his compassion tipped the scales. John had shown all the qualities of a good Dom, and he’d picked them up quickly and naturally. Although she had never called a partner “daddy,” before—her preferred nomenclature in a BDSM scene being Sir or Master—if that was what, to him, represented the same as those names represented to her previous partners, then Daddy it was.

John separated himself from her for a moment. “Oh, baby,” he said. “Come on out of the corner. I think we can call an early bedtime soon, since you’re already tired and fussy. But there’s one more thing I want to do before bed. I’d like to read you a bedtime story. How does that sound?”

“I’d love that,” she said, and added, “Daddy.”

He led her upstairs to the bedroom. Then he bent down and rummaged under the bed. When he emerged, he held a large adult diaper, with a yellow stripe going up the crotch. “Now, you’ve been very good at going potty today, but you did have an accident earlier,” John said. “I know some little girls have trouble at night, so I think it’s best if we take our precautions. Do you know what the word ‘precautions’ means, sweetie?”

Eliza shook her head. “No, daddy.”

“It means we think about what might happen in the future, and then we do something to mitigate—to limit the damage if that thing were to happen. You’re so tired, I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep while I read you a story. Will you be a good girl and let me put it on you for bed?”

Eliza nodded. He laid out a towel on the bed, and she laid down. John slipped off her panties, and then he set to work on the diaper. He’d procured a white powder from somewhere, and proceeded to put some over her crotch, “to prevent rashes,” he said. Then he carefully taped her up and slipped off her dress. “This one’s designed to take anything you can throw at it and more. I have a washable mattress pad, too, so don’t worry about having an accident. You won’t ruin anything.”

Now she was sitting naked apart from a bulging adult diaper between her legs, in front of a man she met less than twenty-four hours ago. “I have some pajamas for you,” John said.

“I prefer to sleep in the nude,” Eliza said.

“Okay, pumpkin.”

Eliza looked down at the padding between her legs. This diaper was bulkier than the previous one, and its size made it impossible for her to ignore. Every movement, even lying completely still, it was there to remind her of how little Eliza was. “This one is boring,” Eliza said, pointing to the diaper. “Can we put stickers on it?”

“Excellent idea,” John said. “Let me just—”

But before he could do anything, Eliza had slipped off the bed and began running downstairs to grab the glittery stickers she’d been so reluctant to play with earlier. The diaper gave her a slight waddle, but she managed all right. On the way up, she met John in the stairwell.

“I don’t like it when you run off like that,” he said.

“I brought the stickers!” Eliza shoved them in his face. John grabbed them, then her, and carried both back into the bedroom. Eliza nuzzled into his neck and allowed her mind to drift, her consciousness to whittle down, and she was all but sleeping when he put her back into bed. John nudged her, and she woke up enough to grab a handful of stickers, placing them haphazardly on her diaper. It looked ridiculous. Very appropriate for Little Eliza.

John began reading her a fairy tale. Little Red Riding hood, with sound effects when the terrible wolf showed up. He rubbed her tummy as he read, and soon her eyes were closed, and then she was asleep.

It must be early morning when she woke. Jonathan was sleeping by her side. The room was too dark to see anything but rough outlines. Her crotch was hot and sweaty. But what woke her up was her stomach. The pain was back in force. There was no denying it. Eliza needed to poop.

She had a dilemma. Jonathan had laid down the rules: she wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom without his supervision. But she couldn’t see herself pooping in front of him. She just couldn’t. Eliza’s mind was locked and set. It was a mental block, but those are often harder than the physical ones. She didn’t think she could bear him looking at her, hearing her, smelling her go number two. On the other hand, she was hired to obey the rules. Bathroom control was within the limits of their agreement. Eliza was a professional. She had yet to break a contract and disobey the rules she’d agreed to obey, unless the other party broke their end of the deal first. This was a special case. Maybe she could sneak off and go while Jonathan was asleep. But then there was the issue of the diaper. She would have to remove it, of course. Eliza knew nothing about how adult diapers work, but as a general rule, tapes don’t stick as well once you untape them, if they stick at all. Maybe she could snag another diaper from the pack—surely there was a pack with more where this one came from—and hide the used one deep in a trashcan somewhere. He’d never notice.

Her stomach rumbled. She felt a pressure down there, had to squirm a bit to contain it. Eliza wasn’t sure if she could last until morning. The contract was twenty-four hours, do whatever you want to me and make me do anything you want, as long as it’s within the rules we agreed to. She’d arrived at eleven. Although there was a clock in the room, Eliza estimated that it couldn’t be much more than five in the morning, if that. Six more hours of this? It hurt, it was uncomfortable, it made her squirm. Eliza had to do something.

Silently, she slipped out of bed. Only a slight rustle between her legs betrayed her, but a snore from John confirmed that he didn’t notice a thing. Eliza got on her knees and rummaged around under the bed until she found her prize: a big pack of adult diapers. She snagged one out of the pack and pushed it back under the bed. Then there were the stickers. She must not forget them. John would be sure to check her in the morning. He seemed very fond of the checks. They afforded a legitimate reason to touch her between the legs, and even if he never strayed too far, she could tell he enjoyed it.

Silent as a mouse—a diaper-rustling mouse—Eliza tip-toed out of the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. When she reached the right door, a cramp hit her, and she had to bend down, diapered rump in the air, and clutch her abdomen. The cramp subsided, and she was able to stand up again.Why, oh why didn’t I add a “no poop” clause? The truth was, she hadn’t given the idea of actually using the diapers much thought beforehand, and it hadn’t occurred to her that she might need to go number two.

Eliza reached for the door. Locked. Fucking cock-sucking ass-licking satanic bullshit fuck fuck fuck. Her train of thought descended into a series of profanities and violent images. She banged on the door, knowing, of course, that no one was there. If anything, it would wake John up and her plan would fall to pieces. Defeated, she slid down onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Although she was in pain, she was also sleep deprived, still. Her eyes began to droop, and soon she was floating in and out of terrible dreams. Monsters were out to get her. Even worse, there were rows of toilet stalls, but every single one of them was empty. Not even a sign of plumbing, just empty toilet stalls, mocking her.

“Baby, what are you doing out here?”

Eliza was confused. It took her a minute to reorient herself. She was flat out on her stomach, on the carpet in front of the locked bathroom. Her padded butt was sticking up, and her joints hurt from lying in such an uncomfortable position. Her tummy hurt. Through sleepy eyes, she resolved the image of John, a shadowy figure that became clearer as he hoisted her to her feet. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He repeated.

Eliza didn’t even realize it, but she must have been crying. John held her in his arms, and she leaned in. Then another cramp hit, and she pushed away from him, arching her back and clenching with all her might. “My tummy hurts,” she said.

“Oh, sweetie, do you need to go to the toilet? Why didn’t you say so?”

“I don’t,” Eliza said. Her posture and potty dance belied her statement.

“Then why is your hand on your butt?” He said.

She had no answer to that.

“Come on, I’ll unlock the toilet and then you can go. I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Nonsense! It’s no trouble.”

Eliza shook her head. “It was just a bad dream. I sleepwalked. The tummy pain went away.” She was so close to relief, yet so far.

“What’s this, then?” John picked up the fresh diaper from the floor.

“I sleepwalked,” Eliza whispered again.

“Okay.” John had a look of gentle concern. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to go to the bathroom?”

She shook her head.

“All right, baby. It’s only six, and a Sunday. I want to sleep in, at least until half past seven. That hardly qualifies as sleeping in, I guess, but you’re already awake. If you can manage it, I’d like to go back and slumber in bed for a while. I promise, I’ll protect you from bad dreams.” But will you protect me from pooping my pants? Five hours. Just five hours.

When she nodded in assent, he scooped her from the floor and carried her back to bed. Eliza tried to close her eyes and sleep, but the pressure in her abdomen and further down was too much. John seemed to be a deep sleeper, quick to fall asleep and sleep well. Before she knew it, he was snoring again. Eliza rubbed her stomach and wiggled around. No position was any good. No matter what she did, it hurt. She could only think of the toilet. The money. Yes. She could think about that instead. Her rent paid, with some extra spending money on top. All she had to do was not fuck up on the home stretch. Money. Toilet. Poop. Roses. No. Rent. Rules. Professional. Obey. Roses. Poop. Toilet. Obey. OBEY!

Eliza didn’t know how long she’d been lying there, fighting a desperate fight against her body and its natural needs. She wiggled, grabbed herself, clenched and fought. Her eyes were droopy, but every time she was about to slip into sleep, another cramp woke her up. The cramps were getting more frequent, and harder to fight. Then there was an enormous pressure, starting in her tummy, a painful push that stung like a bee, then fastened around her midsection as if there were a fist squeezing her from the inside. Tears were forming in her eyes, and the pain continued. Eliza arched her back and lifted her butt to alleviate the pressure, and now it was spreading, downwards, pushing towards her colon. The pressure was now localized, and the pain was unbearable. Her poor muscles. Roses. No. OBEY!

Eliza lost the fight. With her diapered ass raised, her body pushed, whether she wanted it to or not. The mess began slipping out her back, pushing against the padding and spreading outward, then drooping down. The pain lessened with each push, and she was so tired of it, so out of it, she willed herself to push harder, anything to make the pain stop. As she continued emptying herself out back, her bladder gave out as well, and a warmth spread in her front, further lessening the pressure. The pee spread up her crack, soaking into the thirsty material, and pushed back to meet up with the mess in the back. Utterly devastated and defeated, Eliza sank down and felt the mush squish further out into her back. Then the smell hit her. An awful stink, impossibly to ignore. A hundred farts in one. Eliza almost gagged. The pain was gone, but now it was replaced by shame.

What she’d just done was on the top three list of her hard NO’s. There was no way in hell she was ever incorporating poop into anything sexual. Two of her clients had asked, and she’d taken to handing out a sheet with a list of what she would very much like to do, what she was open to, and at the bottom, the things she would under no circumstances do, whether the price was a penny or the Tower of London. Never. It was her own stupid fault, too. Her stupid block about pooping in front of someone—even in public bathrooms, alone in a stall, she couldn’t do it, she’d rather be in pain until she was home—and her stupid professional pride. ROSES. That was all she’d have to say, and Jonathan would suspend the play and allow her to go do her business in peace. There was no doubt in Eliza’s mind that he’d comply instantly. Everything she’d seen from him indicated that he was one of the good guys. Eliza lay there, silent, not wanting to deal with what she’d inevitably have to deal with. Maybe if she ignored it, it would all go away.No. That’s Little Eliza talking. Your problems don’t disappear if you hide your face behind a stuffed animal.

Eliza didn’t know if it was the smell or her whimpers, but John woke up, and instantly, he knew.

“Oh no,” was the first thing he said. “Oh, Eliza, sweetie.”

He took her in his arms and held her, for a long time. Eliza attempted to mumble “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so stupid,” into his chest, but he shushed her and pacified her with little whispers and strokes of her hair. She didn’t have to think of anything sad to bring tears to her eyes. John wiped her tears away, and then he got out of bed. The smell filled the room like a cloud of shame.

“Let’s get you cleaned up right away,” John said. Quickly, he had his supplies ready, and then her butt was on a towel. He set about removing the tapes. The front was soaked, a blue stripe pointing to her belly button where a yellow one had been. John had her lift her butt into the air, and then he carefully slid the soiled diaper out from under her. Eliza didn’t dare to look at the mess. She closed her eyes as he used the front of the diaper to wipe away some of the dirtiness smeared all over her butt, and then he set about cleaning her with a bunch of wet wipes. The cold wipes gave her goosebumps. But the way he was cleaning her, the careful motions around her holes… Stupid brain. It was turning her on. Behind the shame was a layer of excitement. Eliza loved to be humiliated, but only on her own terms. Now that the acute phase of the shame was fading, she could see how this was the ultimate humiliation. An adult woman, pooping and peeing in her diaper and helplessly crying for Daddy to clean her up. No. This is stupid. It’s shameful. It’s no fun. It’s a hard limit, for fuck’s sake. And yet his motions were making her wet. It’s just mechanical stimulation. That’s it. Just like forced orgasms with a vibrator. Just like some rape victims get wet, and yet they hate it. Not that this is anything like rape—John isn’t doing anything he isn’t allowed to. He could be doing so much more to me right now. No. That was crazy talk. Bad precedent. Fucked up.

“I’m so sorry it came to this,” John said. “This isn’t acting, is it? You’re genuinely upset.”

Eliza nodded. His tone was soothing, like a real father talking to his infant daughter, although the words coming out of his mouth were those of one adult talking to another. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“No, it’s my stupid fault,” she said. “I could have said the safeword. I could have, but I didn’t. It’s just… I can’t do that in front of others. But then I ended up…” Her voice broke and she trailed off.

“I’m so sorry.” He was still cleaning her. Was she really that dirty? Eliza didn’t dare look. If she looked down and saw the mess with her own eyes, she might break down and cry again. Her back was arching a little more than it needed to. Willing or not, the stimulation was working.

“In the future, we’ll have to make a clause about situations like this.”

“In the future?” Eliza was surprised. She’d have thought he’d be too disgusted—that he was just being kind because he felt guilty, hiding his true feelings.

“I’m having the time of my life—I mean, I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt like this. I just mean, yesterday in general. You and me. I’d love to meet up again in the future. Hell, I’ll double the price, if that’s what it takes.”

Eliza opened her eyes. A peek downstairs: she was clean, and the dirty diaper was gone, hidden somewhere she wouldn’t see it. She certainly wasn’t about to go looking. He was still cleaning her, still tickling her in all the right places, but it seemed like he was doing it absentmindedly. John wasn’t turning her on on purpose, not for her pleasure or his. He was simply moving the wet wipe around as he was talking to her. Eliza thought for a moment. “Let’s say a 50 percent price hike,” she said. “That is, if you’re really not disgusted and just saying that to make me feel better. I can tell you’re a good guy.” A little moan escaped, and she reflexively covered her mouth. John didn’t seem to notice.

“Disgusted? Little one, how could I ever be disgusted by you? You’re the cutest girl in the universe.” Eliza blushed. Am I really lying here, enjoying this? Some of her clients were handsome businessmen—workouts five days a week, muscular chests, abs, pecs, biceps—probably too busy with their sixty hour work weeks to go out on the town and pick up a hot chick, although they certainly would be able to. She wasn’t foreign to the idea that paid sex could be good sex, for her too. Eliza had gotten into the business because she was a sexual creature, constantly craving stimulation. But to be so utterly degraded and yet to feel so good at the same time…

“You’re adorable,” John said. He was finally finished wiping, and taped her up in a new diaper as a matter of course. Eliza didn’t protest. Of course she should be diapered. She’d just emptied her bowels and bladder in her underwear. “You know what, I think we deserve breakfast in bed. How about some bacon and eggs?”

Eliza didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. “Daddy,” she said. “Daddy, please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” He climbed into bed beside her. As he did, she noticed for the first time that he was hard. It was impossible to hide in his tight-fitting boxers. Oh, well. What did she expect? Wasn’t she here to turn him on and fulfill his fantasies? “I think you should sleep a little more, kitten. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, and then I’ll make breakfast and wake you up when it’s ready. Okay?”

She nodded. He put her head on his chest and she closed her eyes. Soon, she was drifting into sleep. She didn’t wake up when he slid out of bed, and he had to shake her gently to return her to the world of the waking. John had set two wooden trays on the covers, and on them, plates with bacon and eggs and white bread, and a glass of orange juice on the side. Eliza dug in. The smell of her mess was gone, replaced with a mix of something flowery—she suspected John had sprayed something in the air—and the delicious smell of warm, crispy bacon. Eliza wasn’t a vegetarian, exactly, but she mostly ate vegetables and fruit, rice and whole-grain bread. It helped her figure. Now she’d have two big meaty meals in one night and morning. Perhaps the steak was what had upset her stomach; or perhaps it was just the natural need to void after a certain time had passed. The bacon and the steak the night before reminded Eliza of how delicious meat could be.

“So,” said John. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? I can’t believe you’ve taken to the role so well. I was afraid, well… I’ll admit, I’ve tried to get other partners to get into it. Never admitted the full extent of my fetish until, well, until Jane. But I’ve done, like, schoolgirl roleplay with previous exes. None of them managed to get really into it. You could always tell they were a bit uncomfortable with it. But you…” He stroked her hair. It felt so, so good when he did it. Almost better than some orgasms she’d had. Warm affection trumped cold hedonism, sometimes. “You,” John continued, “despite the unfortunate mishap earlier, you’ve almost convinced me you’re really my little girl.”

“That’s what you pay for,” Eliza said, munching on a strip of bacon.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth. It’s rude.”

Instantly, she was back to Little Eliza. “Sorry, Daddy.” She felt as if she’d swam to the surface, up to herself, her real self, only for someone to yank her back underwater.

“As I was saying,” John continued, brushing some strands of hair from her face, “you really know what you’re doing.”

Yes, she did. She also knew her limits well, and not to push too far past them. Certainly not with a client. A regular partner, perhaps, but to a client, she must always be in control. This was no time to expand your horizons.

“Rmphoses,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Roses,” Eliza said, bacon and eggs clear of her mouth. There was no panic in her voice: she said it as if she were chatting about the weather.

John recoiled. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Eliza said. “It’s just, I’m exhausted. I think the humiliation earlier was a little much. It wasn’t supposed to be part of the scene. I’m a little…” She sunk down into the pillows, almost toppling the glass of juice in the process. “Have you heard of sub drop?”

John shook his head.

“When a submissive has a particularly overwhelming emotional or physical experience during a scene, the release is like getting high. Like shooting heroin, almost. Not that I’ve ever done that, I just mean, it’s a feeling of infinite pleasure. But then there’s the comedown. You’re exhausted, spent, and suddenly all the negative thinking, all the prejudice and condemnation of society hits you like a brick. The terrible things you’ve been made to do or had done to you are just terrible, and no fun anymore. The submissive may get depressed, scared, anxious. That’s when you need to stop the scene and move on to aftercare. I think the breakfast in bed was a nice touch, it helps normalize things. You’re a natural.” Her throat was getting dry. She was used to delivering monologues—she had a whole spiel about safe, sane and consensual that she presented to most clients, unless her intuition told her it was unnecessary. She hadn’t delivered it to John. But now she was tired, and it was hard to focus. Usually, the words flowed out of her, but this time, she had to struggle to find them and arrange them in the correct order. “But it’s time to drop the roleplay. Let’s just be adults for the rest of our morning together, okay? I’m really sorry I couldn’t keep it up for the whole twenty-four hours. If not for my… my… the accident, it would have been no problem.”

Jonathan nodded. “Of course. Of course. Don’t think I’m gonna dock you in pay or anything. Let’s get you out of that diaper. I mean, sorry. You’re a grown woman, Eliza. Of course you can change out of your own diaper.”

She blushed. Eliza had almost forgotten about the bulk between her legs. At first, the dry and clean padding had felt heavenly, but then she’d gotten caught up in bacon and eggs. “I’m not quite done,” she said. Eliza imagined a waterfall and pushed. A little warm trickle seeped out into her diaper. It wasn’t much, but she could feel the wetness. Jonathan watched intently, although the diaper was hidden under the covers. “I’m wet,” Eliza announced. “I’d appreciate it if you’d clean me up before I change back into panties.”

It wasn’t a hard ask. He was quickly back with the wipes. Away went the damp diaper, and back came the good, warm feelings. “We’re renegotiating right now,” Eliza announced. “You’re allowed to rub a little extra down there. In fact, I must insist.”

“I thought you were spent?” Jonathan said.

“Not quite.” She had endured too much and been too worked up not to get the climax—and she was sure Jonathan would enjoy it.

He began to rub rhythmically. Soon, all the delicious humiliation found its release. Eliza shuddered as the pleasure began between her legs and traveled upwards. Now she was really spent.

They whiled away the last few hours in bed. Eliza, back in the panties she arrived in, taught Jonathan to praise her and tell her the things she needed to hear. Tell her how good she was, how much he appreciated her performance and presence, how well she had handled the challenges thrown at her, and to stroke her hair all the while. He was a quick learner. The dark clouds which had begun to form in her mind were preemptively dispersed. She asked him questions about his company, what it was like to make it big; he countered with questions of his own, about what she’d studied in college and why, and what it was like to be your own boss. She found the last bit amusing, coming from a multimillionaire entrepreneur, but she answered him truthfully, if at times a little generally (always cautious, never too personal). It was past 11:30 when she finally rose from bed. By now, Little Eliza was a distant memory. She was back in control. The professional.

Jonathan escorted her to the door. “I’d love to see you again same time next week,” he said. “And then we could renegotiate the thing about going out in public, if you don’t mind. It’s probably my ultimate fantasy. It would be totally discreet. No one but you and me would know.”

Eliza smiled. “I’m sure we can work something out,” she said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then she was out the door. Jonathan watched the Metallica shirt walk down the porch to her car.

Eliza waved, and then she was off. Back to the real world. Back to roses.

Epilogue

“She’s the worst. She can’t do anything without making it look cute. I knew you’d love her,” Eliza said, sipping at her coffee.

“I don’t know about love,” said Jonathan, clearly a bit uncomfortable to be talking about his new crush. “She’s very sweet, I’ll give you that.”

“Sweet isn’t even the beginning of it. And I know for a fact she’s into the same thing you are. Did you bring it up with her yet?”

“No, it didn’t seem appropriate for a second date,” Jonathan answered.

“I knew you wouldn’t, which is why I might have mentioned something to her.”

“You did what?” Jonathan furrowed his brow. “You didn’t tell her… about us?”

“Of course not. Client-whore privilege. What happens in diapers, stays in diapers,” Eliza said and chuckled. She became suddenly aware that they were sitting in a crowded café, and any eavesdroppers could hear them discussing their fetish adventures. She glanced around, but no one seemed to pay them any heed. There was a murmur of conversation in indoor voices, drowning out their own if you were farther away than their table.

“I don’t like that you did that,” Jonathan said, although his demeanor was once again calm. Eliza couldn’t help but reflect on how much more confident he seemed than when they’d first met, six months ago. Now, he was sitting up straight, and when he spoke—and she didn’t throw him off balance like she’d just done—there was a quiet authority to his voice. Jonathan was now a man who was more accustomed to getting what he wanted, and if not, asking for it.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. Now you can’t help but bring it up to her soon, because she knows and you know she knows.”

“Shhh, she’s approaching,” Jonathan said.

Eliza heard a rustle of clothes behind her, and then a coated figure appeared at their table. Jenny wasn’t much taller than Eliza, golden hair tied in a braid behind her head and red lipstick. “Eliza!” She exclaimed, and stepped up to hug her. She held the hug a long time, shaking Eliza every which way. Jenny was clearly excited.

“What are you two lovebirds up to tonight?” Eliza asked.

“I was thinking the classic, dinner then a movie,” Jonathan said.

“I hope it’s not a long one,” Jenny said. “I always have to run to the bathroom when I’m watching a long movie. But then I can’t help but have popcorn, and you can’t have popcorn without a cold drink.”

“I know just the solution for that,” Eliza mused.

Jenny blushed, but you could tell she was thinking naughty thoughts already. “Oh, don’t get me started,” Jenny said. “What do you think, Jonathan?”

Jonathan was a bit flustered, but he quickly composed himself. “Who, me? About what?”

“Should we maybe go for a short movie?”

“I think you can handle yourself, sweetheart,” Jonathan said, putting his hand over hers.

“Oooh,” Jenny cooed. “I love it when he calls me stuff like that. Little nicknames and stuff. Where did you find this stud, Eliza? Why didn’t you snag him for yourself?”

Jonathan was frantically trying to signal to Eliza behind Jenny’s back. Please don’t say anything. Of course, Eliza had no intentions of doing so. “John and I met in a cooking class. He’s an excellent cook. You should totally cook for her at home, John, I know she’d love it.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Jonathan said, clearly relieved.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” Eliza said. “Jenny, would you come with me?”

Jenny took the hint, and together they began making their way through the throng of Saturday café dwellers, taking a break from shopping and daily life. Eliza turned and winked at Jonathan, who blushed and began his hand signals again, but by that time Eliza had already turned around, and they’d made their way into the ladies’ room. None of the stalls were occupied, so they were free to converse. “So,” said Eliza, “did you do it yet?”

“No. But we did have some wonderful kisses. I was thinking tonight was going to be the night. I put on some sexy lingerie, but then I also packed some protection in my purse. I wasn’t sure if I was going to use it…” Jenny said. She surreptitiously gave Eliza a peek into her purse, where a small, pink disposable lay.

Eliza took her hand. “Honey, go into a stall right now and change. I promise you, you won’t regret it. He’ll love it.”

“How can you be so sure? How can you know so much about his kinks? Did you two…?”

Well, shit. Had she accidentally revealed her and Jonathan’s little secret? Come to think of it, Eliza would have suspected a fling if one of her girlfriends started telling her about what this cute guy she was trying to set her up with liked in bed. “No, nothing like that,” Eliza said. When she began the sentence, she didn’t know how to follow up, but she trudged on. If she hesitated, her cover would be blown. “John and I are good friends. He knows what I do for a living. He knows I’ve seen some weird shit, and don’t judge anyone for it. I’m the only one he could possibly talk about this stuff with. He was pretty down because he told a previous girlfriend about it, and it didn’t go so well. He wouldn’t go into detail at first, but I managed to coax it out of him. But never tell him I told you that.”

Jenny appeared satisfied with that answer. “Now, baby girl,” Eliza said, “get your cute butt in that stall and change before you have an accident.” She smiled and stuck her tongue out, and Jenny laughed, if a little nervously. But Jenny was, if anything, more submissive than Eliza even, and she did as she was told.

Eliza had met her a few months back at a fetish event. Jenny had been dressed in a schoolgirl uniform, with her hair in pigtails, and there was something unbelievably innocent about her. Of course, many people liked schoolgirl play without being into the full regression experience. But Jenny had seemed rather unsure of herself—it soon became clear this was her first live kink event—and Eliza, much more assured in her preferences, liked to gently introduce newcomers to the world of kink. She’d come to see herself as more than just a girl who enjoyed lots of steamy, kinky sex; more than just a prostitute who catered to unusual interests. Eliza wanted to help people achieve peace with themselves and gain confidence in their sexual proclivities, whatever those might be. It was especially important to help fellow women, since they were more susceptible to creeps. Even if no one outright assaulted them, Eliza didn’t want anyone to come away from their first kinky experience with a bad taste in their mouth. That might just lead them to denial of their true selves, which was a surefire recipe for mental issues and relationship troubles down the road.

She had guided Jenny to a sofa in a somewhat secluded room, sat her down and told her that she knew how overwhelming it must be to be thrust headfirst into the world of kink. “I’m rather experienced in these things,” Eliza had said. “I’m actually a sex worker who caters to various fetishes.” At that, Jenny’s eyes had gone wide. “Oh, does that offend you?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Jenny said, shrinking her body. Eliza put a hand on her shoulder.

“Relax, I’m joking. A lot of people react like that. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, but I know kink, and I could help ease you into this. Help a sister out.”

Slowly, prodding carefully and most of all, engaging her ears rather than her mouth, encouraging at times but mostly sitting back to listen, Jenny’s story had come to light. How she had always been interested in childish things, how it turned her on to play at being a little girl, and how she wished for a strong, kind man to help her fulfill those desires. A light bulb had gone on in Eliza’s head instantly. She’d be perfect for John. But she had mentioned this to neither of them, instead continuing to nurture her relationship and build trust with each separately. Although no longer weekly, John had engaged her services sporadically ever since their first meeting. Eliza had quickly come to realize that rules are made to be broken, and she couldn’t keep up the facade that John was just a client. In another life, he might have been a great boyfriend, but Eliza’s interest in him lay more in the realm of friendship. He was so supportive and kind to her, taking such good care of her when they were together, but she, too, had to support and build him up, help him learn to fully accept who he was. To accept that his desires were legitimate, and to nurture the hope in him that there really was a girl out there for him who would participate enthusiastically in his interests, with no money on the table.

The first time Eliza had invited John out for coffee, “to talk as adults, as friends,” he had balked at her offer. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” he’d said.

Eliza was a bit taken aback, almost offended. Had she totally misread him? But she could see his misgivings. She, herself, had lots of misgivings about fraternizing with clients outside of work. It broke all her rules. Perhaps John thought he pitied her? Or that she was angling for more money with less work? “John,” she’d said on the phone, “coffee’s on me. Because I really like you and want to get to know you outside our professional relationship. We can never be together, you know, but I think we can be friends. I’d miss you if we didn’t see each other anymore, and I’m not talking about your money.”

At that, he had broken down. He couldn’t refuse her. Eliza enjoyed having that effect on people, although she worried she might be manipulative if she used her charm on friends outside work. “The way we each support and care for each other, at times one being the caregiver and moral support, at other times, the other, isn’t that what friendship is?” He had agreed. Since then, they’d have coffee or lunch once a week, whether they had an appointment or not. And two weeks ago, she had set up a blind date between Jenny and John. Even their names seemed perfect together, like those couples whose names roll so well off the tongue together that it feels weird to mention one without the other.

Jenny exited the cubicle while Eliza washed off her face with cold water. She knew that John preferred her without makeup, and frankly, that was fine by her. Having to get all dolled up could be a bitch sometimes, and it was refreshing to know that there was someone who found her sexier without it. “So, did you do it?” Eliza asked. “Did you put on your protection for me, honey?”

“Uh-huh,” Jenny said, and bit her lip.

“Show me.”

Jenny lifted her sweater, then lowered her tights slightly, giving Eliza a peek at her pink waistband. At that moment, a woman entered the restroom, and Jenny scrambled to cover up her diaper, blushing madly.

Eliza put her arm around her. “I’m so proud of you, baby. Come on, let’s not leave your date hanging.”

“There you ladies are,” Jonathan said when they returned. “Tell me, did you stay in there gossiping?”

“None of your business,” Eliza said, smiling. Jenny sat down beside Jonathan and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Well, you two better get going,” Eliza said. “I expect to hear from each of you how it went.” She rose to leave, giving each of them a warm hug, and Jenny a secret little pat on her padded bum.

The next afternoon, Eliza received two phone calls in short succession. The first was from Jenny. “Oh my god,” was the first thing Jenny said.

“Baby, I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.”

“He was so sweet and we had such a nice dinner with some wine, and then we went to see a movie and, ooh, he picked the longest one there was! We didn’t even get through the credits before I started to feel like I had to pee. And then by the middle of the movie I was desperate! I looked for the exit sign, but then I just kind of gave up and tinkled a little in my… protection. And then it wouldn’t stop! I was soaked by the end of the movie!”

“Oh, I bet that felt good,” said Eliza. “You didn’t leak, did you?”

“No, it held up! But then he invited me home to his place, and I was super nervous because I really wanted to sleep with him, but what was he going to say when he found me in a wet diaper? I was so afraid he’d throw me to the curb.”

“I take it he didn’t,” Eliza said. “If he did, I’m going over there right now and kicking his ass.”

“No, no, he didn’t. We began making out on the couch, and then his hands started to wander down below, and I really wanted to feel him touch me there, so I let him. When he found the wet padding, his eyes went wide, and for a moment my heart stopped and I was thinking, my god, my life is over… But you know what he did? He asked me if I had a little accident!”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Well, obviously,” Jenny said. “But I couldn’t admit to that. I was just blushing and denying it, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He led me by the hand upstairs, and you won’t believe it… He changed my diaper! He had, like, a collection of different types!”

This is so sweet, Eliza thought. Sounds like it went exactly as planned. I’m so proud of John. He’s come so far. “That’s wonderful, sweetie.”

“It was amazing! We ended up having sex, and I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel so good about myself! I’m so grateful you didn’t snag him up while he was on the market, because now he’s mine and you can’t have him!”

“I’m so happy for you two,” Eliza said. “I don’t want him like that. But if you don’t want us to be friends, you’ll have to fight me for him.” They continued chatting for a little while, but then Eliza received another call, this time from John. “Jenny babe, we’ll have to talk later. I have another friend clamoring for my attention,” Eliza said.

“Oh my god,” was the first thing John said.

“You too? Are you two psychically linked already? I just spoke with Jenny, and she said the same thing,” Eliza said.

There was a tone of worry in John’s voice. “Oh god, what did she tell you?” He asked.

“Relax. She had a wonderful time. She’s claiming you—I couldn’t have you if you wanted to, she says. Watch out or she’ll pee on you to mark her territory.”

The line went quiet for a few seconds. “… Jonathan?”

“No, it’s just funny you should say that,” John said.

Eliza rolled her eyes, although she was smiling. “You two already got your kink on, I see.”

“You could say that. Yesterday, at the café, when you two were in the bathroom. You made her wear that diaper, didn’t you?”

“It was her idea. I just gave her the confidence to go through with it.”

“Well, I don’t know how to thank you,” John said.

“You can thank me by not becoming one of those couples who never have time for anyone but themselves. I expect we have a coffee date next week as usual, or I’ll have to come round to your house, tie you up and throw you in the trunk, because I’m not letting go of you that easily.”

“You’d do it, too, that’s the crazy part,” John said.

“Take good care of Jenny, and I’ll make sure she takes good care of you. You two are quickly becoming two of my favorite people, and I’m so happy you found each other.”

“With a little help from you.”

“Hey,” Eliza said, “I live to please.”

After she hung up, Eliza walked over to her bed stand. On it sat a stuffed animal John had given her, which—loathe as she was to admit it—had come in handy on cold autumn nights when she was alone in bed. Beside it was a flower vase. She leaned in and smelled the fresh red roses she had received that morning. The note only said, “Thank you,” with no name. Eliza didn’t know from whom, but she could take one good guess.

#stories I adore

[ladyantiheroine]

The Things I Do For Gotham

Summary: When Nightwing finds himself in a bind, he makes Harley an offer she can't refuse.

Pairing: Nightwing x Harley Quinn

Requested by @exhausted-electron (and me)

Tags: Riding, vaginal sex, bondage

Author's Note: Rewriting The Scene™ from Batman and Harley Quinn to make it more consensual (and smuttier).

—————————————————————————

"I know, I know, freakin' stupid. Bringing him back to my place."

Nightwing's eyes fluttered open as a female voice stirred him from his sleep. His mind was foggy and his whole body ached. The memories of what happened came back to him slowly. He tracked down Harley Quinn. They got into a scuffle in the alleyway. And then...

God damn Joker venom, he thought.

"But what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let him go."

Nightwing's vision adjusted to the light. He was in a bedroom. A cheap, decrepit one. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were bound. He glanced down and saw thick rolls of duct tape binding his ankles and wrists to the bedpost, leaving him spread-eagle on the dirty mattress.

Harley was pacing the room, still dressed in her uniform from Super Babes.

"He knows the secret location of my hidey-hole," Harley continued to talk to herself. "He'd blab to Batman for sure. Could've just killed him, dumbass!"

She stood with her back to him.

"Nah, I'm not a criminal anymore," Harley said, softer this time. "Plus, he's kind of too cute to kill."

Nightwing tried to ignore the way those last words made his face flush and tried to pull himself from his restraints. Whatever tape Harley used, it was fucking unbreakable.

“Anyway, maybe I should help out,” Harley continued. “Sounds like Ivy could be in some serious trouble—”

The wooden bedpost groaned against Nightwing’s pulls. Harley heard it and glanced over her shoulder.

“Don’t bother yellin’ for help,” she said. “This dump is condemned. Nobody in the whole building but us, Nightwig.”

Nightwing stopped struggling and glared at her.

“Wing,” he said.

“Heh?”

“It’s Night-Wing.”

“Really?” Harley raised an eyebrow. “Heh, guess I was thinking of that goofy mullet you used to have. Yeesh, that was like a whole decade of bad hair days.”

“Sticks and stones, lady,” Nightwing quipped. “I’ve taken trash talk from bigger criminals than you.”

“Criminals?!” Harley snapped. “If you haven’t noticed, I went straight. I’m a freakin’ waitress already.”

“Oh golly, that’s right,” Nightwing said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “I stand corrected.”

Harley fumed and stomped over to her desk. She grabbed a tall stack of papers and brought them over to Nightwing.

“Check this out, smart guy,” she said. “My pile of rejection letters. Evidently, the Mayo Clinic’s got some dumb policy of not hiring former costumed supervillains.” She sifted through the stack on her arms. “Just like every other hospital in the world.”

Nightwing opened his mouth to retort but then closed it. She had a point.

“There are…other jobs…” was all he could muster.

“Oh, sure,” Harley said. “I got a ton of offers.” She fished one document from the pile and read from it. “We’ve got a very special role for you in Bad Girls After Dark.” She found another one. “And you gotta love this one. ‘A tasteful pictorial to be shot in Thailand for legal reasons.”

Nightwing listened and, he had to admit, he felt for her. Harley used to be one of the most brilliant psychiatrists in Gotham, but then threw it all away to follow some asshole who saw her as a pawn more than a person. Now, she had to serve beers to more assholes just to pay rent.

God, he actually felt sorry for Harley Freaking Quinn.

“You say I’m a criminal,” Harley said. “They saw I’m a hoo-re.” She threw the stack down, papers flying across the floor. “Well, I’m sick of other people telling me what I am.”

A cold, heavy silence filled the room. Nightwing felt something he didn’t expect to ever feel for Harley Quinn: He wanted to comfort her. Tell her it would be fine, even though she’d tell him he was full of shit.

"Whateva," Harley said. She flicked her eyes over to him and smirked. "Gotta say, you gave me a heck of a workout."

Nighting tried to fight the red threatening to fill his face.

"Got me all sweat-stinky," she said. Harley sniffed her armpit. "Phew! Definitely could use a shower."

Then, she unzipped the front of her dress and stepped out. Nightwing stomach bolted. He knew Harley wasn't shy about that stuff, but it still threw him off guard.

Nightwing always knew Harley was attractive. Most female villains in Gotham were. But Harley in particular caught his eyes. He had the thought more than once that if he met Harley in some other circumstances, if she was some civilian girl he met at a bar, he would have let her take him home for some fun.

Now, he had a schoolboy crush on the girl that knocked his head in.

Meanwhile, Harley started talking to herself again. She stripped down to a white bra and panties and sauntered to the closet.

"I think better when I don't reek," she said. "Still gotta figure out what to do about Nightwig over there."

Harley began sifting through her closet. Nightwing was did-eyed and he felt a hot bulge form in his suit. No, this was insane. Harley was a criminal. A criminal who knocked him out and tied him off. This was not the time for his body to be playing tricks on him.

Maybe it was the Joker venom, maybe he'd been knocked too many times in the head, maybe it was the infuriating boner burning between his legs.

But Nightwing had an idea.

"Hey, Nightwing," Harley said, plucking a dress from her closet. "Is it true you used to be Robin?" She glanced at him with a smirk. "Huh, ain't that a kick in the pants? Little Boy Wonda all grown up."

Fuck it. It was now or never.

"Harley," Nightwing said. "About Poison Ivy..."

"I said I'm not interested."

"I know, but listen." He sucked in and released a breath. "What if I could...incentivize you?"

"Incentivize me?" Harley said. "How you reckon?"

"I'll admit, I don't know if I can help your..." He glanced around the crumbling room. "...situation. But Ivy is your friend, and that should be enough for us to put aside our differences just this once. And if you need a little something more to sweeten the pot..." He bit his lip. "Maybe there's something I can offer you...right now."

Harley was smart. It took only a second for her to connect the dots. Her mouth made an "O" shape and she raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" she said. Her eyes trailed down his body. "You're offering me a ride for my help?"

"If that's what it takes," Nightwing said.

Harley twisted her red lips in consideration. She dropped the dress she was holding on the back of a chair and sauntered over. She clasped a hand on top of his knee, and smoothed her hand down his thigh.

Nightwing visibly shivered. His cheeks were burning hot and his boner wasn't much better. Harley's long nail sent a tease of pain through the fabric of his suit.

Her hands spider-crawled down his inner thighs and clasped his junk. Nightwing hissed, from pain or pleasure he couldn't tell.

"Seem awfully excited," Harley teased. She leaned her face close to his. "Are you sure this is for me, or for you?"

Nightwing whimpered. He didn't even remember why he was doing this anymore. He just wanted Harley to touch him more and more and more...

"Are you interested or not?" he asked.

"Hmmm..."

Harley fingered Nightwing's crotch as he thought. Her fingers traced his length over the fabric and Nightwing had to clench his jaw to keep himself from moaning.

"I think you've got a deal, Nightbutt," she said. She crawled onto the bed and straddled him. "Just one condition—the restraints stay on."

Nightwing's cock was screaming beneath her. He wanted to touch her, but he felt no desire to rip the tape binding his limbs.

"Whatever you say," he said.

A wicked smile crossed Harley's face. She trailed her fingers down Nighting's torso, sending an electric shiver through him.

"Question, Wig," she said. "Do you have a spare suit?"

The question threw him off a moment.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Batman and I both have spare suits in the Batmobile. What do as—"

Before he could finish, Harley crawled onto the bed and straddled him. She pulled something out of the bedside drawer and flipped it open to reveal a switchblade.

"Harley," Nightwing yelped. "What the fu—"

Harley pulled the fabric of Nightwing's suit down at the crotch, and with one slash of the knife, she tore through it. A ripped hole in the suit revealed his boxers and his erection sprang out.

"Boy Wonder grown up indeed," she purred. She cut open his boxers and an icy breeze hit Nightwing's burning cock.

Harley shut the switchblade and tossed it on the floor. Then, she hooked her thumbs into the side of her panties and slowly pulled them down. Nightwing started drooling as he caught a glimpse of her wet, bare pussy.

"You're a pretty little doll," Harley said, tossing her underwear aside. "I always kind of hoped I'd get a chance to taste ya."

Nightwing gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Same to you," he said.

Harley smirked. She gathered Nightwing's dick in her hand and slowly started stroking it.

Nightwing lost it. He released a long, shuddering moan and jerked his hips up. Harley smirked in amusement.

"What's wrong, baby?" she cooed. "Wet me for me, already?"

"Fuck...fuck...fuck," he moaned. "Harley...."

"Hm?"

"I gotta..."

"You gotta what? Use your words, baby."

"Please...please fuck me..."

Harley gave him an evil smile.

"So no more," she said.

She lifted herself up and slowly lowered herself onto Dick's cock. God, she was tight and wet and steaming hot. Nightwing hissed between his teeth, his body clenching and pulling against the duct tape.

“Mmmmm, that’s good,” Harley purred, licking her lips. “You’re wasting this good body of yours on fightin’, tush.”

She began swerving her hips, slowly, savoring each wave of pleasure. Nightwing’s brain turned to soup and his hips bucked to meet hers. He was sweating buckets under his suit.

The more he whimpered, the harder Harley went. She relished hearing Batman's sidekick turn into a blubbering mess beneath her. She sunk her nails into his shoulders and fucked him deeper into the mattress. The bed frame sang under their weight.

"Fuck, Harley..." Nightwing groaned. "I...I'm..."

Harley covered his mouth with her hand.

"Uh-uh," she said. She was out of breath and her voice was a sultry wisp. "Me first, baby bird."

She jerked her hips, faster, more viciously. Harley tipped her head back, her pigtails falling down her back as an orgasm crawled up her body.

"Good boy," she breathed as she came down from her climax.

Then, she dropped her head and started railing him harder into the bed. She wanted to see Boy Wonder come undone beneath her, reduce him to a puddle.

And he did. Nightwing's hips bucked and his moans grew louder and more desperate and when he came he arched his neck backward in a hungry groan.

Harley slowed to stop until every drop of Nightwing was gone. He was a sweaty mess beneath her, red in the face, and not quite believing what had just happened.

Harley took a deep breath and grabbed his chin.

"You're cute when you cum," she said with a smirk.

She pulled herself off of Nightwing, leaving his abused cock cold and limp. She slipped off the bed and picked up the switchblade off the floor.

"Deal's a deal, nightbutt," she said.

She cut the duct tape binding Nightwing's body and he threw his feet over the edge of the bed.

"So, you'll help Batman and I find Ivy?"

Harley shrugged as she opened the drawer of her desk.

"Sure," she said. "I got nothin' better to do tonight."

She dropped the switchblade into the drawer and closed it. She sauntered over to Nightwing and looked him up and down.

"Sorry about the Joker venom," she said. "And the tape. And the suit. And the...well, you get it."

Nightwing shrugged.

"Can't say I wouldn't do the same if I were you," he said.

Then, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her stomach. Harley chuckled and pet her fingers into his inky black hair.

"All goes well," she said. "Let's celebrate at your place next time, eh?"

Nightwing grinned into her stomach.

"You've got a deal."

#fanfic #harleywing #nightwing #batman and harley quinn #dick grayson #harleen quinzel #dc #dc comics #dc universe #fix it fic

[zuzsenpai]

Personal post, an update on mental illness struggles

The past week has been brutal. I can barely function in any capacity. Constantly distraught, sobbing or close to crying all day. Can’t focus on a single thing, especially at work. I’m constantly woozy and have so much pressure in my head. I finally called my psychiatrist after finally realizing I’m actually having antidepressant withdrawals after tapering off of one over a month ago. She told me I shouldn’t be having withdrawal given the amount of time it’s been. I know I shouldn’t consider Reddit to be a source of medical info, but people on there are telling me withdrawal symptoms really CAN last this long. So I have no idea why my psychiatrist is so against me saying it’s withdrawal. I don’t know who to believe?

Regardless, I’m going back on a low dose of the med, because she believes my depression has gotten worse (even if she doesn’t think it’s from withdrawal). I mean, it truly HAS gotten worse. Worst it’s ever been in the 13 years I’ve been living with it. I hope I can feel better soon. This sudden bout of bad depression has put a wall between me and EVERYTHING. I have two back to back anime conventions in a month and I CAN’T be sick for these. I just CAN’T.

Edit: oh my FUCKING GOD apparently telling my dad I was having this severe bout of depression was the worst fucking idea. I TOLD him not to tell my mom. I TOLD him she was going to fucking say “actually you need to exercise and pray because those are better than meds!!” I TOLD him this was going to make it worse if I heard her say those things. HE TOLD HER FUCKING ANYWAY. AND GUESS WHAT SHE FUXKING SAID???? She said exercise and pray and go on the keto diet!!! This is making the day so much worse for me, as if it wasn’t already bad. I was able to count on him in the past but this is the fucking end of my trust in him

I’m losing my patience with people who tell me exercise cures depression. If I had the ability to exercise I fucking would! But I can barely get out of bed!! I go home after work and go right to fucking bed because I am so emotionally exhausted and in so much mental anguish that I can’t fucking MOVE. Get the fuck out of here with “exercise”

And keto diet??? Fuck you! You’re the one who told me I was fat and forced me on atkins and south beach when I was 15 and had a fucking normal BMI

I hate this I hate this I hate this

#personal post #personal post for ts #mental illness for ts #Zuzu note;

[crockettmarcel]

I wish you would write a fic where Sarah and Ava actually hate each other and Connor is stuck in the middle <3

sorry that this took me almost two years to write lol. better late than never though right? wc: 1076

“Connor, how many psychiatrists work at this hospital?” Ava asks, appearing out of nowhere next to him at his computer.

“I’m not sure,” he says, turning to look up at her. “Maybe ten? Give or take.”

“Uh-huh.” She nods, then pulls out the chair next to his and sits down. “So, more than one, you’d say?”

“That’s usually what ten means, yeah. Why, what’s going on?”

“Oh, I’m just wondering why, if we have so many different psychiatrists here, you’d page Dr Reese to consult on our patient. Surely there was someone else, perhaps with more experience, that would have been able to assess competency?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, Ava, I had no idea she’d be the one doing it. I asked Maggie to page psych and I guess she chose Sarah. Not my fault.”

She glares at him, then for added emphasis, crosses her arms against her chest. “Have you considered using your brain for once? Next time, tell her to page anyone but Dr Reese, okay? It’s not that hard to remember.”

“Yes ma’am.” He salutes her, earning himself an even fiercer look, and he’s certain that if he pushes her any further, she’ll burst a blood vessel. Or into flames. “What’s the big deal, anyway? You don’t have to be there while she does her assessment.”

“I know that, Connor. I’m not a complete idiot.” As soon as Sarah had appeared in the doorway of the treatment room, tablet in hand and that stupid sickly-sweet, over-sympathetic smile on her face, Ava had excused herself and spent the next fifteen minutes staring daggers at the room from the nurses’ station. “But she had to tell someone the results of her assessment, and since you’d fucked off up here to do God-knows-what, I got that privilege.”

“Okay, well I’m sorry about that, Ava. I’ll stick around next time so you don’t need to speak to her.”

“My knight in shining armour, thank you.” She grins at him, and suddenly that murderous look in her eyes from thirty seconds ago has disappeared. Connor can’t imagine the death stares she must have given Sarah, and he’s glad he wasn’t around for the immediate aftermath of their interaction. At least the couple of minutes in the elevator on the way up from the ED gave Ava a chance to calm down slightly.

He wonders if he should go and check on Sarah.

“You know, if you told me what this whole feud was about—”

She cuts him off almost instantly. “Not a chance in hell, Connor. Absolutely not.” With that, the murderous look is back, and it’s the last thing Connor sees before Ava stands up and storms off.

They have a valve repair together in the afternoon, and he hopes that she’ll have done something — most likely shout at a med student or drink a gallon of her “super cool” black coffee — to calm herself down by then. If not, he’ll have to start praying.

—————————————————

He spots Sarah an hour later in the cafeteria. As grateful as he is to see that she’s alive and unharmed after her time with Ava, he’s in no rush to make small talk in between mouthfuls of lunch; she has that same pissed-off look in her as Ava did, and he’s not in the mood to hear about why. (He’s sure he already knows.)

He does his best to avoid eye contact with her, keeping his head down as he shoves his slightly disappointing chicken sandwich into his mouth, but Sarah notices him anyway. A chair scrapes against the floor, and when he puts his sandwich down for a moment and looks up, Sarah’s sitting opposite him, setting out her fruit cup and bread roll on the table.

“Hey, Sarah.” He’s not entirely sure what he can say without upsetting her further, so he waits until she’s stopped staring at him to speak again. “That, uh, that fruit looks good. What is that, cantaloupe?”

“You know,” she says, ignoring his attempt to start a conversation, “I liked working here a lot more before Dr Bekker arrived.”

There’s nothing he can do to stop this from happening, so he just raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of his coffee. “Is that so?”

“Oh, come on, Connor. Don’t act like your life wasn’t easier before she got here. We’ve all heard the way you two fight. You’re lucky you’re an excellent surgeon, because otherwise…” She lets her voice trail off, but the face she pulls is enough for Connor to know exactly what she means.

If he wasn’t such a good surgeon, he’d have been fired for his conduct.

“Look, I get that she can be difficult, but—”

Sarah scoffs. “She’s an absolute nightmare.”

He frowns. “What is going on with you two? She’s walking around looking like she wants to kill someone, and you’re like…” he gestures loosely at her, “...this. Can’t you just, I don’t know, talk it out?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

She leans back in her chair and folds her arms, and Connor can’t get over how uncannily similar her movements are to Ava’s. Telling her would be a death sentence though, and he’s not that stupid, so he lets the thought go. Instead, he takes a moment to observe Sarah's defiant posture, her arms tightly crossed, and the determined look in her eyes. It's clear that whatever this is, it goes far beyond over-competitiveness or a disagreement about patient care. There’s something else entirely.

“And I take it you don’t want to tell me what the problem is?”

She sighs. “I got assigned to your patient today, and Ava was a complete bitch about it.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. I meant in general though. Do you want to tell me about what happened in the first place between you two?”

“I do not.” She rips a chunk off her bread roll, then breaks it up into smaller and smaller pieces until she’s left with nothing more than crumbs. Connor watches as she does it two, three more times, and it’s only when there’s less than half of the roll left that she speaks again. “I don’t know. Maybe. Not now, though.”

“Well, I’m here if you ever want to chat. And I promise I won’t tell Ava what you told me.”

Sarah smirks. “Good luck keeping a secret from her. She’ll figure it out, especially if it's about me.”

#chicago med #writing #sarah reese #ava bekker #connor rhodes

[cdyssey]

Yellowjackets 2.04 Reactions:

Past!Taivan being divided over how they feel about Lottie. :(

Adult Tai experiencing whatever Shadow Tai is doing like an out-of-body, dissociative experience. So, so harrowing. The quick VHR static edits really help to emphasize the jarring nature of it too.

ALSO, Jessica Roberts, my beloved!!!! I miss her.

I SAW SOMEWHERE THAT ALANIS MORISSETTE COVERED THE NEW INTRO. ICONIC. SMASHING. STELLAR!! Lauren Ambrose and Simone in the intro now!! Yes!!!

Shauna not being able to look Jeff in the eye while she’s lying to him is so funny, lmao. And then Jeff lying to her about overhearing cops at the gym. Fail marriage. <3 They’re falling to their old habits of not communicating with each other.

“You’re right. I should have just run around in a ski mask—also in public. Blackmailing people.” Melanie Lynskey, I love you.

NATALIE LEANING IN THE DOOR JUMPSCARE, HELP. MA’AM. WHY ARE YOU STANDING LIKE THAT. Lmfao, Nat has been in that outfit for, like, three days now. Those leather pants cannot be comfortable. My god.

That lingering shot of Lottie and Nat’s hands as Lottie gave her the keys. 😵‍💫 I’m actually quite delusional about them now. I think they should tenderly kiss and/or hatefuck.

“If Taissa and Shauna have both been kidnapped, I’m going to be very, very annoyed.” ANDNNSSNSJWJSIDS.

“I’m honored that I seem to be your favorite Yellowjacket.” QKOQWKJDKWWJ.

YES AT MISTY BEING A SWEENEY TODD ENJOYER. That is so right.

I don’t think Walter is making it out of this season alive, lmfao, but what he and Misty have going on is so good. OH, GOD, Misty and Crystal singing the same song. 😭 For the record, I don’t think she’s making it out of the woods either.

NOT MARI ACCUSING COACH BEN. GIRL, YOU’RE NEVER BEATING THE PIT GIRL ALLEGATIONS.

Ben just straight up asking if the girls would have ate him.

Oooogh, more tensions in the cabin over the supernatural vs. rationality split. It’s important to note that Lottie is very uncomfortable at being thrust into the fore by Mari. This is also the first time that Shauna verbally stakes her claim in the skeptics side. God, poor Lottie—she doesn’t want this.

Nat being really gentle with Lisa and trying to help her see through some of the compound’s bullshit. Ugh, it reminds me of that moment last season when she coached Kevyn’s kid during his game. I love her.

Lottie at the therapist/psychiatrist’s(?) office. The way she so nervously plays with her fingers. The slight crack in her voice. The tears in her eyes. God, I’m so fucking unwell.

“Lottie doesn’t need a gun.” Mari, shut up. 😭

Both adult Lottie and teen Lottie being utterly unmoored the way they are in this episode is horribly sad. As of right now, some of the girls are looking to teen Lottie for guidance, while adult Lottie is desperately wanting something to ground her.

LMFAO, the cut from Shauna realizing that Callie’s been lying to her about going to Iliana’s to immediately snooping through her daughter’s closet. So dirty. So unhinged. Ooh, at her finding the burnt Adam ID.

Ugh, that fucking detective is still flirting with her, EVEN THOUGH HE KNOWS SHE’S UNDERAGED. I hope Shauna roasts him on a spit. He’s probably going to be the reason why Shauna/Jeff get away bc of how stupid he’s being.

Mommy-daughter bonding time!!! This is all I’ve ever wanted!!!!!!!!!

Misty being so disgusted by Walter’s condiment habits. So, so funny.

“Excuse me. Do you know about the cult with the purple people?” AKQKQKSJSNSJWIEDJSJ.

“Yes, they’re awful tippers.” KQOQOQOQIEDUDJDID.

Oh, God. Tai is just straight up walking the roads now. I fear for her. She is SO unwell. And I think about her progression from S1, Ep. 1 to now. She used to be the most outwardly put together of the core four. Had the family. Had the money. Had the lucrative career. And now look at her—you can see it in her lined eyes and the unfocused way that she walks. She has gone past the point of spiraling. She is in the abyss.

Mari continuing to hear things that the others don’t... love her and Akilah’s friendship. 🥺

A little mouse!!! Now Akilah has an animal emblem! Rabbits for Shauna. The moose for Nat. Wolves and Tai. Deers and Lottie. Birds and Misty?

Lottie making a blood sacrifice to the hollow. Hhhgh. That musical sting while she was doing so was brutal.

The Fourteenth Gilly!!! ANAJJDJDNSND, NATALIE CUPPING HER FACE ON THE COUCH.

Shauna taking her daughter out to the middle of nowhere with no cellphone reception. <33 Just mother-daughter things.

Shauna being truthful about killing Adam. God. HER TEMPORARILY FORGETTING THAT HE WASN’T THE BLACKMAILER. It’s kind of funny and kind of harrowing, the way that these events are blurred to her. It speaks so much to the way she processes trauma.

“Shoot, yes. Kind of.” AKQKWOOQOQOWJDJDJENS. Melanie Lynskey, we’re getting you that Emmy.

“They did… we did things out there that… we’re really ashamed of. And sorry, I know—maybe one day I can talk to you about it, but for now, um, can that just be enough?” Oh, God. This line. The way that Shauna distances herself from the Yellowjackets at first because compartmentalizing is historically how she copes, but then she revisits the statement. She includes herself, but it’s too hard to talk about. You can see the utter pain in her face as she looks away. And you can also see in Callie’s microgestures that this is genuinely one of the first—if not the very first—time her mother has every willingly broached what happened in those woods. And she’s so hurt for her mom. She’s one of the few people who has identified that Shauna is hurting. I’m sick.

God, poor Callie Sadecki. Her mom’s a killer and her father is a blackmailer. No one is allowed to hate this very normal teenaged girl with fucked up parents.

The symbol-marked trees aligning to actually form the symbol. Oh, God.

Ben and Paul. 😭 Oh, Paul is Ben’s first boyfriend. I’m so tender. LET COACH LIVE.

Lisa at her mom: “I love you even when you try to control me.” Jesus fucking Christ.

NAT FUCKING PUTTING THAT GOLDFISH IN HER FUCKING MOUTH. I LOVE AN UNHINGED QUEEN.

“Is this where the purple people are?” WKWKWOWOOWIEJDWJ.

“Tell her I didn’t want us to fucking starve!” GO, MISTY!!!

Leonard. 😭😭

The direction in this episode is so stunning. Lottie going through that arch of white light and then it become elevator doors closing. So good.

THE MUTED THEME SONG IN THE MALL. ALL THE GIRLS EATING TOGETHER. I’M SO UPSET,

LAURA LEE. THAT’S HER GIRLFRIEND.

“Lottie, if you don’t get out of here, you’re gonna die.” 😭 Laura Lee still trying to protect her beyond the grave. I actually have tears in my eyes.

GODDAMMIT, THE MOOSE. NATALIE CRYING. I’M SO FUCKED UP. SO FUCKED UP.

Natalie pushing away the shot. 😭 She’s invested in Lisa. Oh, I’m so, so tender.

MISTY AND WALTER SPLIT SCREEN PARALLELS. SO GOOD. I JUST KNOW THIS MAN ISN’T LIVING. GOD.

“We only have one kid, and as parents, it’s part of our job, we have to protect her, we have to shield her from making the same shitty mistakes we made, Shauna. To throw our fucking bodies in front of her if that’s what we have to do, and what, you’re telling me that you’ve… you’ve made her an accomplice?” THIS MAN DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT THE BABY IN THE WOODS. OTHERWISE, HE WOULDN’T BE FUCKING SAYING THAT, RIGHT? IF HE DOES KNOW, DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“We are lying to everyone, okay, everyone we know. I don’t want to do that to our own daughter.” The vulnerability in Shauna’s voice. So many fascinating layers here. Objectively, Jeff is right—making Callie an accomplice is harrowing. But what’s happening in the subtext is that Callie wants to desperately to connect with her parents, her mom especially, and vice fucking versa!! So it’s fucked up that it’s happening this way, and it’s fucked up that Shauna sounded more like a teenager in that conversation by the car, and it’s fucked up that Callie is so accepting, but that is the literal point here. This family was founded upon deep and unspeakable trauma, and they have to continually grapple with that.

Anyway, Sadecki family bonding moments. <33 I love a family who does crime together and they’re all messed up beyond comprehension.

Shauna tenderly filling Nat’s tub with water. 😭

Oh, my fucking God. The Lottie and Nat tub scene. Sobbing. They’re just kids.

Lottie having a reaction to a Queen card with the eyes scratched out. The girls 100% drew cards to see who the fuck was gonna be hunted.

LOTTIE, LOVE, WHERE ARE YOU TAKING THAT BIG ASS KNIFE?

OH, GOD, SHE’S OFFERING BLOOD SACRIFICES AGAIN. The tears in her eyes.

“Can this just be enough? Please?”

FUCKING JAVI?!

Van exposing Taissa’s preternatural ability. Hhhhgh. Things aren’t looking good for Vantai in the woods.

WHILE YOU WERE STREAMING. AaqkqkkwkqowsksniwiwJQJEJD.

Tai adjusting her hair, even though she clearly hasn’t seen a bed in a week. Go, girl failure. Get ur woman.

ADULT VAN. SOBBING. CRYING SCREAMING. SHE LOOKS SO GOOD.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #s: yellowjackets #maggie blogs #SHOW OF ALL TIME

[ficsforyou]

Hey! First of all I'm in love with the way you write honey <3 and my request is Dano!Riddler and his psychiatrist smut (who treated him before he became the Riddler ) but my ideia is he goes to jail in Arkam like at the end of the movie, but Eddie starts sending her letters and when he manages to escape from arkam he goes after her because he is in love/obsessed with her. (sorry my english isn't that good.)

Stay still

A/n: thank you so much! I love this idea! It took a long time, cause I’ve been struggling with writers block. So I’m sorry about that, but here it is. Hope you like it x

Dano!riddler x afab!reader

Word count: 2,5k

Summary: You were just doing your job, never in a million years would you think that it would get you here. Spreading your legs for your patient.

Warnings: smut, language, dom!riddler, mentions of stalking, mentions of murder, dub-con ish?

You stepped into your flat. Feeling drained of energy from the many hours of work. The past few weeks had been exhausting. Ever since your former patient Mr. Nashton was imprisoned, your life had been a living hell. The police had been questioning you nonstop, and you had to testify in court. Something you hadn’t done before, considering you were fairly new to the therapy business. You still could feel the way he was looking at you during those testimonies. Almost like you betrayed him. Weirdly enough that wasn’t the worst part. Literally hundreds of reporters and journalists had been trying to reach you. Asking you anything and everything. Standing outside your apartment complex all day. Waiting for you like vultures. You had seen some pretty awful stuff been said about you as well. How you probably was in on it. That you knew, but didn’t tell anyone. Some people would even go as far to say that you had an affair with him. Something that wasn’t true. None of it was true.

You walked into the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and downing it at once. Feeling the thirst that had been itching your throat for hours, finally disappear.

“Rough night?”

Your sister walked up to you, leaning against the counter.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

It got quiet for some time as you put the glass away. Walking closer to her.

“Thank you for watching the dogs on such a short notice. I wasn’t planning on working overtime tonight.”

She nodded and patted you shoulder.

“No worries, I have to get going though. I’d like to say good night to the kids.”

You nodded and smiled, as she walked over to her jacket.

“Say good night from me as well.”

You said to her as she walked towards the door.

“I will!”

She slightly yelled back. You could hear the door opening.

“Oh, and for gods sake, start getting your mail! Your postbox was overflowing again!”

She added, as you heard the door close behind her. You looked over at the pile of envelopes laying on your kitchen counter. You sighed, as you sat down on the bar stool. Starting to open the mail. One by one. A few bills, some coupons you’ll never use, a weird handwritten note from Arkham. The usual. Wait. Handwritten note from Arkham? You grabbed the letter again. Looking at the horrible writing, that was frighteningly familiar. She started to read it slowly.

“Dear Y/n.

I figured I’d write you. I want to apologise for everything that has happened to you because of me. It was never my intention. I do find it funny how so many think we had a relationship… I do think about that myself as well. If the circumstances were different, my love I promise you I’d be standing outside. Patience is key. Wait.”

You dropped the paper in shock. It wasn’t signed, but you didn’t need that to know who sent you this. You calmed your breath. It was just a letter. There was nothing to worry about. Just ignore it, and he’ll forget about it. You told yourself, as you grabbed it and threw it in the bin. You already had enough on your mind, this was nothing to worry about.

A week goes by, and there’s no letter in your mailbox. You’re finally able to relax. It had been almost two months since Edward was imprisoned. You weren’t the hottest thing in town anymore, and the news had gone back to normal. You were relieved that you could focus on your job again. On Thursday you checked your mail as you came home from a walk with the dogs. Expecting anything, but still getting surprised when you saw the letter from Arkham. You looked around. Scanning the halls of your apartment complex. You didn’t know why, but this whole thing made you feel uneasy. You hurriedly walked into your flat, feeling your heart rate go up by the second. This time the writing was more intense.

“Y/n

Why are you not answering me? I’ve given you time, you have to give me time. Don’t ignore me. Wait for me. Just wait.”

He was getting angry. A million thoughts went through your head, as a knot formed in your stomach. What did he mean by wait? Wait for him? You could either let this letter slide as well, or call the police. You calmed yourself down, and laughed at your own thought. It’s literally just a letter. He can’t hurt you, he’s behind bars. You’re not in danger, so why would you even think about calling the police? He’s probably just bored. You knew he had a temper, but it was harmless. At least he always was harmless towards you. You rubbed your eyes, feeling tired. Him sending you letters wasn’t anything to worry about, you told yourself. It wasn’t until a week later you realised that it was taking a turn. Numerous letters with short messages started arriving almost every day.

“Answer me.”

“I need you.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can stay away from you.”

“I’m sorry.”

The short letters never failed to give you chills. He was usually so talkative. Only one sentence was rare from him.

It wasn’t until a Friday night that you understood how serious he was. Your hands were shaking as you read the three sentence letter over and over. Hoping that you’ve read something wrong. But you haven’t, it’s right there. In black and white.

“I know where you live, y/n. I’m coming. Just wait.”

This was starting to get out of hand, you decided. You didn’t want to call the police before. Just to not disturb them with a few creepy letters. But now, you felt as if your life was in danger. You grabbed your phone. Starting to dial the emergency number, but suddenly stopped. A knock at the door. You froze. Was it him? No, it couldn’t be. He’s in Arkham! You pulled yourself together. Still holding your phone close to you, as you stepped closer and closer to the door. You peaked out the peeping hole. No one. With a quick exhale you opened the door. Looking around for whoever knocked on your door at this time. You looked to the right, seeing no one. Before you got pushed back into your own flat. You let out a yelp, as the door slammed shut in front of you. And there he stood. His tall frame towering over you. This was the moment you’d been dreading for the last months. Meeting him again.

“Hello, y/n. Long time, no see.”

He said as he walked closer to you. His loose fitting orange and white clothes almost glowing in the dim lit apartment. You backed away from him, feeling your breath getting heavier.

“No, no. Baby, don’t back away from me.”

He sounded desperate. Like he needed you. You looked behind you. Seeing the wall getting closer and closer. Soon you would have to be near him.

“Stay away from me.”

You said calmly. He tutted, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t say that. I know you don’t mean it.”

You reached the wall, now locked in a corner. His face turned into a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted. Your phone received a message and lit up. You looked over at it, and shortly he did as well. Before he could turn back, you threw yourself down at the floor without thinking. Feeling despair and fright fill your body. Acting on your instincts only. You crawled over trying to reach the phone. But right before you could, a strong grip formed around your hair. Pulling you close to a firm body. You screamed in pain. His free arm slipped around your waist. Holding you in place. You tried your best to struggle against him.

“Stop it, y/n.”

He said strictly. You continued regardless, feeling his grip around your hair tightening even more. Now fighting to get away from him. The phone was irrelevant at that point. But you had to stop, afraid that he’d actually pull your hair out. Shivers went down your spine, as you heard him smiling behind you. He bowed down, engulfing his face in your hair. Slightly moaning at the scent.

“At last, we’re finally together.”

He whispered in your ear.

“Don’t hurt me.”

His hand left your hair, and hooked under your arm and over your shoulder. You quickly placed your hand over his forearm. Afraid that he would try to choke you.

“I could never hurt you, my love.”

You were trying your best to not cry.

“Edward, please. I don’t- I don’t understand.”

He sighed, letting go of you and getting up.

“Stay still.”

Too afraid to do anything else, you complied. He walked over to your phone, now with a broken screen. He looked at the message you had received.

“It’s just your sister.”

He asked, placing the phone in his pocket. You looked at him confused. How did he know that she was your sister? In your contacts she was just written down by her first name.

“How do you know?”

You asked shortly. He flashed a short smile.

“I know everything about you. I used to stalk you, you know.”

You were sitting on your knees, hands folded. Just like he’d always dreamt. You looked terrified though.

“I used to stand outside your window at night. Seeing you come home from work. All exhausted and worn out. But you still looked beautiful. So beautiful.”

You nodded, adverting your eyes to the floor. You were terrified. Imagining all the things he would’ve seen throughout the years. He stepped slowly over to you again.

“Look at me.”

You looked at his shoes instead. Studying them like they were a work of art.

“I said look.”

He grabbed your jaw harshly, forcing you to look up at him.

“This is the man you’ve created, y/n. You sent me to Arkham. You made me a criminal. Why would you testify against me? I thought we had a connection.”

His hand loosened up. Now caressing your cheeks, feeling your smooth skin.

“I thought it was you and I.”

“There was never a you and I. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You grew confidence out of the blue. Having a feeling that he actually wouldn’t harm you.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t feel it.”

“I’m not pretending. I am a professional, it was my job to listen to you. It’s not my fault that you turned into a-“

You made the crucial mistake of raising your voice at him. And was suddenly met with a hard slap against your cheek. You looked away from him, still in shock. Tears prickled at the back of your eyelids. You had to step lightly.

“Look what you’ve done to me. Now I’m a woman beater as well!”

He screamed. Your heart was beating probably the fastest it ever had. You looked back to him.

“Let’s talk about this ok?”

You said in a calm voice. Your hand slid up his thigh. His chest started heaving at your touch.

“We can talk, just like we did before.”

He looked down at you with half open eyes. Asking, no, daring you to continue.

“Please Edward. We don’t need to solve things with harshness.”

Your hand was awfully close to his already visible bulge. And he let out a satisfied sigh as your hand went over it. The feeling he had been waiting for for years. You understood what you had to do, as you reached for the button of his trousers.

“Stop.”

He suddenly said. You looked concerned up at him. Scared of what he was going to say next. He squatted down to be at your level, grabbing your chin.

“As much as I love your beautiful mouth, I need to fuck something else. I need to feel you.”

You let out a shaky breath at his words. Never had you heard him say anything like that. A mental conflict appeared on your head. Why did you find it attractive? He’s a psychopath, a murderer. But still you could feel your body reacting to him. He grabbed your hand and helped you up from the floor. He pushed you over to the kitchen. Shoving away the stuff from the counter, making everything fall down with a loud bang. He pressed your face down onto the counter, and you immediately arched your back. Excited to see this part of him. He didn’t strike you as such a dominant man. He pressed himself against your ass, and leant over to whisper in your ear.

“Stay still.”

You nodded, and he went back up. Undressing you hastily. Once your entire lower half was uncovered, he started working on his own clothes. As fast as he could, desperate to finally be able to feel you. After so many years of lusting after you. He stroked himself a few times before pushing into you. Not giving you any time to adjust to his size, and starting a rapid, punishing speed. You moaned as he started hitting into you. Feeling your walls clench around him. You grabbed the counter, needing some sort of stability.

“Fuck- you’re so tight.”

He said as he grabbed your hips. So harshly that he was sure you’d get bruises.

“I’ve wanted you like this for such a long time.”

He continued to speak. You were unable to answer him, being fucked like no one ever had fucked you before. He suddenly slapped your ass.

“Spreading your legs for me like a whore.”

He moaned after that sentence, as you clenched around him again.

“You like that, huh?”

You nodded, feeling a tear slide down your chin. He grabbed your hair, pulling you close to his body. Still fucking into you like an animal.

“Use your words, baby. I wanna hear that pretty voice.”

He started kissing your neck from behind, still holding your hair in a tight knot.

“Yes, please-“

You could feel him smile against you.

“Please what?”

You weren’t able to form words again. The new position making him hit your spot over and over.

“Say it.”

He demanded. He reached down your body and started rubbing your clit. Another wave of pleasure flew through you.

“Please fuck me, Edward. Just like that.”

You answered. And it clearly pleased him, as he started going even faster.

“I’m going to fill this tight fucking pussy up, baby.”

You felt yourself getting closer and closer.

“I’m coming-“

You managed to say, before your entire body tensed up. As the orgasm hit you.

“Me too, baby”

He said as well, before releasing inside you. The two of you filled the room with moans and cries as you rode out your orgasms. Once finished he pulled out, tucking himself back in. You needed a few moments to recover, and fell back down onto the counter. He leaned over you again.

“You look beautiful like this.”

He said and brushed your hair away from your face. You gave him a short tired smile, and he kissed your forehead.

“I would love to stay the night, but I have places to be. They should be looking for me.”

He got off you and started walking away. You turned around.

“Wait, are you leaving?”

You asked, not sure why you were so opposed to the idea. He’s a criminal, the faster he gets out of your house, the better. But for some reason you wanted him there. He gave you a short smile, before walking over to the door.

“Just answer your mail please.”

#paul dano #dano!riddler #paul dano x reader #paul dano x you #the riddler #riddler #the batman 2022 #the riddler x reader #dano!riddler x reader #the riddler x you #dano!riddler x you #the riddler 2022 #edward nashton x reader #edward nigma x reader #edward nashton #edward nashton x you #paul dano the riddler #riddler x you #riddler x reader #dano riddler #riddler fanfic #request

[rosiesramblings]

A Real Smile

WC: 2.2k

Fandom: Criminal Minds, ler!Spencer, lee!Reader

TW: Talk of depression and anxiety, general mental health problems

A/N: Okay I just want to say I tried to make it OBVIOUS in this fic that tickling does NOT fix or cure mental illness. Like, not even close. However, as someone who has struggled with this stuff for at least 8 years, having a solid support system DOES help. That's really what I wanted to portray in this fic. I love you all! And I hope you enjoy.

“What are you doing?” Reid’s voice jolted me out of my focus, and I forced my face to relax from the aggressively fake smile I had been wearing.

“Um. Paperwork?” I purposely misinterpreted the question, twisting nervously in my spinny office chair.

“I meant with your face,” Spencer said. He strode across the bullpen and hopped up onto my desk, fixing me with a stare that I knew from past experience meant that he wasn’t going to drop this until I told him.

I sighed, looking around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. To my surprise, there was nobody else in the bullpen. Hotch’s light was still on in his office, but other than that it was completely deserted. I glanced at the clock, and oh my god it was almost half past nine. Shit. I really hadn’t meant to stay this late. At least nobody else was around to notice my weird coping mechanisms.

I looked up at Reid. “You can’t laugh,” I said.

“Why would I laugh?” he asked genuinely.

“Because it’s… silly at best, embarrassing at worst,” I explained.

“Ok. No laughing. Now what was that face? It looked like you were in pain.”

“So, I read online that the action of smiling, even if it’s a fake smile, triggers the release of happy brain chemicals. If I’m being honest, depression has been kicking my ass lately, and when it gets like this I fake smile when I’m doing paperwork for especially hard cases to try and trick my brain into thinking I’m happy,” I said, staring resolutely just past Reid’s shoulder, not making eye contact.

He didn’t say anything. I panicked.

“I know it’s dumb and that the fake smiling thing was geared more towards normal people who are having a bad day and probably doesn’t actually do much to help people with major depression and generalized anxiety disorder but I figure it’s better than nothing or moping alone at my desk all day and -”

Reid puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping my ramble in its tracks. “Woah, Y/N, it’s ok. I don’t think it’s weird at all. I just… why didn’t you say anything?”

“Say anything about my fake smiling? Probably because I don’t think -”

“No, I mean, why didn’t you tell anybody on the team that you’re struggling?” Reid asked, voice impossibly gentle. His hand is still on my shoulder, and it’s kind of all I can concentrate on. It’s been so long since somebody just - touched me? Which sounds so stupid and pathetic and anyway, he asked me a question.

“Um. Well I didn’t tell Hotch or Rossi because I don’t want them to think that I can’t do my job. And I didn’t tell the rest of you because I’m just used to dealing with this on my own, I guess? It honestly didn’t even occur to me to say something.”

I risk a glance at Spencer’s face and he looks devastated. Jesus. It’s like I told him his dog died or something. I scramble, trying to figure out the best thing to say, not having the faintest idea how to fix it.

“It’s really not that big a deal, Reid, I promise. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist soon, I just have to buckle down and get through these next few weeks until she can adjust my meds,” I say. “In the meantime, I just… try and find little ways to make it better. Hence the fake smiling.”

Reid still looks sad. He hops down from my desk and stands next to my chair. “According to the current research, an embrace would offer more of an increase in endorphin production in the brain than smiling, fake or not,” he says, the fingers on his left hand rubbing at his sweater sleeve.

Unbidden, tears sprung to my eyes. I blinked hard and tried for a teasing tone to cover it. “Dr. Reid, are you asking if I want a hug?”

My voice cracked. Goddammit.

He just raised his eyebrows and opened his arms.

I heaved a breath out, hard. “Ok, ok, just… give me a minute. Cause if you hug me right this second I will cry,” I said, tugging my hands through my hair and staring up at the ceiling, trying to get a handle on my emotions.

Spencer just nodded solemnly. “That would be counterproductive.”

I gave a half-laugh. Then I stood up, shaking out my arms, before looking at him and squinting. “Wait, are you sure? I know handshakes aren’t your thing so isn’t a hug worse-ah!”

Without preamble, Reid grabbed my hand and yanked me toward him, wrapping his arms around me.

Oh. Oh.

His sweater was soft and warm, and my head fit perfectly underneath his chin. One of his arms ran up and down my spine softly, and the other one held me tightly to him. I let out a shuddery breath as I relaxed into his embrace.

This was the safest I’d felt in a while.

“You might be onto something with the endorphins thing,” I mumbled into his chest.

Spencer’s laugh rumbled through his ribcage. The best feeling. “I have an IQ of 187. I’m usually ‘onto something’.”

He rocked me gently back and forth, and I let my eyes flutter closed. 

Only to stiffen and stifle a laugh when Reid switched from rubbing my back to running his fingers across my shoulder blades. I pressed my lips into a line, trying to remain as natural as possible. I didn’t want the hug to end, and I really didn’t want Spencer to find out how much that tickled.

Reid’s voice was suspiciously neutral when he next spoke. “You know, it’s not just hugs that release endorphins,” he said. 

I hummed, hoping that he was planning on going on a tangent that would distract him from asking about the sudden tension in my body.

“Things like high fives, pats on the back, cuddling, all these activities cause so-called “happy brain chemicals” to flood your nervous system.”

“Huh,” I said, barely listening as his touch on my shoulder blades seemed to lighten and become even more unbearable. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t - 

“Actually, there is one more activity that helps the brain produce endorphins,” Spencer continued.

“It’s been observed in other species, including chimpanzees, rats, and bonobos, and can induce a fight-or-flight response, which actually reduces stress levels.”

“Oh yeheah?” Shit. Hopefully the giggle was muffled by his sweater.

“Mhm. So I guess we should probably see if it helps you, since the benefits are so clearly so immense,” he said, his fingers still dancing across my shoulders.

“Okay,” I said, proud that I kept the laughter out of my voice.

“So tell me, Y/N… are you ticklish?” Fuck.

“WhahahaAHAHAT?” I burst into laughter when he suddenly lowered his hands and dug deep into my sides.

Spencer just laughed with me. “Unfortunately, knismesis, what I was doing to your shoulder blades earlier, hasn’t been studied in this context. However, gargalesis, this squeezing that I’m doing,” he demonstrated enthusiastically, making me shriek. “That has been proven to give those mental health benefits.”

“Reheheheheid,” I giggled.

“Yes? What seems to be the problem, Y/N?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yohohou’re - yohohohou’re - gohohohd, please go somewhere ehehehehelse,” I said, my face burning as I realized I didn’t really want him to stop.

“Your wish is my command,” he teased, picking me up and sitting me on the edge of my desk, where he had been moments earlier. He backed up, put a few inches of space between us, and I frowned, thinking he was done. Instead, he reached between us and vibrated his hand over the skin of my belly.

“Ahahahahahaha! Wahahahait, not thehehehehere,” I begged. My hands tried to grab his, but he was too fast and I was too uncoordinated.

“Actually, you didn’t specify. All you said was, and I quote, ‘Please go somewhere else’,” Spencer explained.

Nononononohohohohoho,” I laughed, squirming and knocking my cup full of pens to the floor.

“I have an eidectic memory, Y/N. If you had asked me not to get your tummy, I would remembered,” Spencer teased.

“Dohohn’t cahahahall it thahahat,” I snickered, pressing my face into his shoulder in embarrassment.

“What? Big, bad, Special Agent Y/N L/N is flustered by the word ‘tummy’?” Reid asked, moving his other hand up to squeeze at my ribs.

“Spencer! We’re ahahat wohohork! Don’t - don’t teASE,” I yelped.

“Hotch is the only other one still here. Nobody’s gonna see you,” Spencer said gently. “Plus, I’m pretty sure that Hotch would agree with me that you haven’t laughed nearly enough this week.”

“Ohohoho my gohohod,” I giggled, giving up on trying to stop him and fisting my hands in the back of his sweater, desperate to hold on to something.

“Ah, thank you! Easy access to your underarms,” Reid smiled, worming his fingers there and lighting my nerves on fire. 

I tensed my shoulders as I laughed, knowing that putting my arms down would undoubtedly make it a thousand times worse.

“Tell you what,” Reid said diplomatically. “Since you’ve been such a good sport about this, and because I am a merciful and benevolent god,” I snorted at him. “If you tell me your worst spot, I’ll only tickle you there for a little bit and then we’ll be done.”

My voice pitched up an octave. “Whahahahaat?”

“Your choice, Y/N. We can stop soon, or I can keep going until you’re literally just a puddle of giggles on the floor.”

Oh, this was so not fair.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Reid said, digging into the tops of my ribs and making me cackle.

“Ugh - fihihihine, fihihihine! It’s my hiIHIHIHIHIPS REHEHEHEID NO!” I screamed crazily, shocked that no night security guards had come running.

“Good choice, Y/N. Would it help if I counted down?” Deftly pressing his thumbs deep into my hip bones, he took me apart as casually as if we were having lunch together.

“IHIHIHIT WOULD NOHOHOT,” I laughed.

“Hm. I’m going to anyway. You can do it, just ten more seconds…”

“REEHEHEHEID.”

“Nine…”

“YOU SUHUHUCK.”

“Eight… seven… six… five…”

“SPENCER PLEHEHEHASE,” I gasped, absolutely losing my mind.

“You’re doing so well! Four… three… “

“THIHIHIHIS IS A WAHAHAR CRIHIHIME.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby. Two… aaaaaaand one!”

With that, he stopped kneading into my hips and rubbed a firm hand up and down my back. I just stayed where I was, arms wrapped around him, face hidden in his sweater, laughing and waiting for the ghost-tickles to go away.

“Ohohoho my god… my sihihides,” I giggled, feeling the wonderful ache in my lungs of having had a good laugh.

“Feeling any better?” Spencer asked cheekily.

“Mahahaybe a little,” I mumbled. I considered my next words. “Definitely not cured, but the world does seem a little less… horrible.”

“Good,” Spencer said simply. 

We sat in silence for a minute, enjoying each other’s company.

“Listen,” Spencer said, pulling back and looking at my face. “You absolutely don’t have to tell anybody else. I certainly won’t. This is your business, and if you want to keep it that way that’s fine. But, telling the team might help. A lot of us struggle with mental health stuff sometimes. You might be surprised by the support.”

I hummed, considering.

“I am, however, absolutely going to tell them that you’re ticklish,” Spencer grinned. “I’m sure they’ll take advantage of the information. Nobody has to know that it helps your depression.”

I whined, mostly just putting on a show, “Seriously?”

“Definitely. These next few weeks before your psych appointment are going to fly by,” Reid said, tweaking my sides and making me squeak.

The (real, tickle-induced) smile slowly faded from my face and I looked at him seriously. “You’re a good friend, Dr. Reid.”

“So are you, Agent L/N.”

I pushed myself off my desk. “Okay. We have both been here for entirely too long. Want to come back to my apartment for a movie or something?”

“Sure! I’ve been on a major Wes Anderson kick lately,” Spencer said, walking over to grab his messenger bag.

Just then, both of our phones buzzed. “Oh, please tell me we don’t have a case,” I begged, tossing my stuff into my bag as Reid looked at his screen.

He grinned. “Nope, no case. Although, you might find a case preferable to this.” He flipped his phone towards me and played the video that was just sent to the BAU group chat. 

The unmistakable sound of my laughter filled the room and my face burned as I watched Spencer-from-five-minutes-ago wreck me in third person on the the screen. The angle of the shot made it pretty obvious that it was filmed from the doorway of Hotch’s office.

“Hotch!” I squealed, covering my face with my hands.

“Well, that’s one thing checked off my to-do list,” Spencer laughed.

“Oh my god… I’m turning off my phone,” I said, even as embarrassing gifs from Emily and Morgan and a bunch of rainbow hearts from Garcia flooded my notifications.

“C’mon,” Spencer said, throwing his arm around me. “I’m sure you’ll live this down… in a few years.”

I stuck my tongue out at him as he walked us toward the elevator. This time, the smile stuck onto my face was a real one.

#tickle fic #tfb community #tickling #criminal minds fic #lee!reader #ler!spencer reid #hotch is a little shit and he knows it #tw depression #tw anxiety #keep yourselves safe kids

[arttuff]

Okay, so I've wanted to get top surgery for years, but I have no idea how to get it started? Do you just like, call up your doctor and be like "hey can you cut off my tits thx?" How did you get started? (And how much did it cost...) Hope this isn't too personal, thanks.

this is gonna be real informal cuz im just some dude im not a professional

here’s a super basic overview of how I went about it :) let me know if you have any questions anon! I’ll be happy to take a stab at answering

disclaimer is i live in australia so this is probably very specific to australia but if it helps, medicare (our public healthcare) didnt cover much except a couple hundred off the anaesthetist’s fee (but i wont include that in my estimate ily americans)

also this is just how i did it im sure everyone goes about it differently

but my first step was hrt (you dont need to go on hrt for top surgery but if you do it's recommended 6 months on testosterone before you get the surgery so you can get pecs goin beforehand and have more natural looking results. my pecs were juicy as hell by the time i got top surgery, so much so that my mum was surprised lol truly living up to my artstyle)

to do that i had to get a letter from my psychiatrist (this was covered by medicare) saying that i have a documented history of gender dysphoria and am mentally sane enough to seek treatment for it (this is just because of my medical history im pretty sure that not everyone has to do that plus you can look into informed consent)

with that letter of gender confirmation in your hot little hand you can then google around to find who it is you want to be doing your top surgery! i am so insanely lucky that i live in the biggest city in my country, meaning i had some good options. i settled on an award winning plastic/cosmetic surgeon that specialises in gender reassignment-- i love his results, and im so glad i went with him everything looks better than i expected it's so worth it!!!!

anyway once you choose a doctor you ring up and ask for a consultation-- this is not bulk billed but medicare can rebate a bit i think

thanks to covid all of the openings for consultations were full so i rang back once a week for 6 months (oh my god that's obsessive as fuck now that i put it together) until they had an opening

at the consultation you pretty much talk to your doc to let them know what you want, your identity, etc. im a nonbinary butch lesbian and i wanted some pecs but no nipple reconstruction (no nips no worries mate xx) and he made sure i was certain that's what i wanted and that i know the risks associated

the doc gives you an estimation and you decide whether you want to go through the public system (i think this is australia specific) and get put on a waiting list for 3+ years depending on demand, or do it privately (medicare, which everyone has, plust any private healthcare-- i have none)

i decided to go private because i do not think i could handle that wait, and ended up just being able to make it through with overtime at work heehee :) but good lord my wallet is starving

the cost is split up 3 ways between the doctor’s fees, the anaesthetist’s fees, and the hospital fees. there’s more expenses if you stay overnight at the hospital, so it’s better if you have someone to take you home and look after you

so all up i saved money in 2 places: the surgery itself was shorter because there was no nipple reconstruction, and i didn’t stay overnight so i didn’t have to pay that massive amount

all up my cost of surgery was around $11 000 aud (which is around usd $7 600) and the estimate he gave me was $14 000 aud ($9 600 usd) 

that’s a vague and rambly overview! let me know if there’s anything you’re confused about anon! or if there’s any questions you have about top surgery recovery etc :) remember i can only give my perspective from how it’s done in australia I’m sure it’s way different elsewhere in the world

#not art #sorry for the massive spam anon i hope this answers your top surgery questions #anonymous #ask #ask to tag my friends

[onyourhyuck]

Psycho Love. | Mark Lee (M) Part 2.

Prologue • “Darling you’ve got me obsessed with you.”

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synopsis • huang mei is a psychiatrist assigned to the most dangerous killer, but things start to go downhill from there.

warning • mafia x psychiatrist, mark lee mafia!, mei is Chinese and renjun’s twin sister, lots of action, thriller, fighting and mystery. dark romance!!! DARK DARK ROMANCE, mei is in a relationship with hyungsik, mark smut, kidnapping mentions. mark is 😃 slightly insane but yk what it’s fine 😭. THIS IS A MAFIA FIC OF MY SERIES!!

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Mei walks into the staff room, a strong scent of coffee beans lingering in the air. The tall man in the distance standing in the small kitchen counters up front turns around, looking at the woman with a ponytail up. “Hey Mei, I heard you got hired. Congratulations.” Johnny said with a warm tone, he really liked Mei. She seemed like a good person.

The girl smiles, thanking him as she made her way next to Johnny. The man looks down at the girl, holding a second cup. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Johnny asked. Mei gave a quick nod. “Sure johnny that sounds nice.”

johnny hums as he pours the hot boiling water in the cups, stirring with the metallic spoons awaiting for the hot coffee to blend with the brown coffee bean mixture. The scent of coffee excites his tastebuds even though he has not taste it just yet. “I’ll make you the greatest cup of coffee you’ve ever drank.” johnny cockily adds. Mei raising eyebrows at the challenge. “Hmm, i’ll be the judge of that.”

the man questions with a raise tilting head. “Did you know my dad does coffee?” Mei shakes her head in response to his words, she didn’t know anything about his dad. Johnny slightly shows a smug.

“No I didn’t know. How does your dad make coffee?”

The man struts his white doctor’s coat behind him, now performing dramatically as he shows Mei the coffee beans. “It went like this.” Johnny laughs a little, holding out the palm for the coffee beans to fall in it neatly making sure none spilled.

“He grabs a couple of beans, he presses it against the rock and then hot water starts pouring down. Then bam! Hot coffee.” Johnny story tells forward, the Chinese girl watching with a glint in her eyes at the story.

“Here you are creating stories to the new girl.” The stranger said as he shown himself with rolled up white doctor coat sleeves, a open white shirt as he approaches the two doctors. Johnny and Mei turning to look at the man, the Korean-American already knowing the man with a small smile. Yuta sighs. “Don’t believe him by the way,” he whispers slightly so only Mei could hear him.

Johnny scoffs with protests “I’m telling you it’s a real story.” He turns his focus back to the coffee cups. Mei noticing a hand reaching out for her, the new man showing a welcoming healing smile. “Hello, I heard things about you, I am Nakamoto Yuta.” He felt soft hands shake his, breaking apart quickly.

“Nice to meet you Yuta, Huang Mei.” She adds politely, although her mind ponders what he meant by things he hears about her; what could possibly travel this fast in the asylum? “I don’t mean to entice, but what did you hear about me?” Mei would ask her head tilting at the man.

The Japanese man would loudly let out a ‘Awh!’ Before responding to the woman. “Ah right, it’s because you’re the first one to survive Mark lee. You were awesome!”

Those were such good compliments to Mei’s ears, seemingly a good reputation building in the work environment for her. That was until Yuta caught Mei off guard.

“And other doctors nicknamed you the crazy newbie because you stripped your shirt in front of Mark lee..I find that personally very cool.” Yuta adds, Mei flustered she turns to the japanese man with her mouth widely open. “I- oh my god. That’s embarrassing, everyone knows me as the psychiatrist who took her shirt off on the first day.”

Yuta chuckles as he shakes his head at Mei, he thinks it shows rather a raw creative side of Mei. An unique tactic to prove that she is— well, determined to analyse Mark Lee.

“I personally think it’s really cool. Nothing to be embarrassed of, right Johnny?” Yuta said and the man nods, passing Mei her coffee. “I agree with Yuta.”

“Wait so you’re from Chicago?” Mei exclaims, finding Johnny even more cool. The three of them are foreigners and it made Mei feel slightly more welcome in the asylum.

Johnny nods. “Yup fresh outta blood from Chicago baby!” The japanese man would side trail his body as he saw a figure running down the long hallway corridor, passing many security guards, cleaners and other doctors.

“Oh, heyo boss!” Yuta said as his eyesight for a better view of the man, himself being Moon Taeil.

The three doctors stop walking in synch, watching the man jogging up front with tiny pants, holding the knees in front of them. Johnny who stands 6ft on the left side, Yuta in the middle who was 5ft9 the second tallest, and Mei on the left who was 5ft4.

Taeil sighs. Johnny raising eyebrows at the director. “Something up, hyung?”

“Miss Huang.” Taeil finally calls out, the three awaiting the words to finish. Mei humming in wonders, what could possibly be so important for the director himself to look for Mei?

“Mark Lee has requested your presence.”

Yuta and Johnny with wide eyes spare the glance down to the girl next to them, as if it were a miracle, suddenly all eyes were on the short girl. The doctor who seemingly gained Mark’s interest.

The only interest he has.

Mei stands calmly with a firm nod shown to Taeil. “I’ll get to work, sir.” The man himself gave hopeful eyes reaching a hand on Mei’s shoulder, patting down on it. At this point it was like a long awaited Christmas gift from god to them.

“Do anything at this point, even if it’s crazy. Whatever you done last time has worked.” Taeil would say with honesty. Mei is their last hope.

Psycho Love Masterlink <3.

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REBLOG! LIKE! FOLLOW ME FOR MORE~

Promote this Fanfic it helps a lot~~

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating, copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank you!

#nct fanfiction #nct smut #mark lee smut #mark lee fanfic #nct x reader #nct series #mark lee #mark lee hard hours #nct hard hours #nct dream #nct 127

[leos-beloved-notizbuch]

my thoughts on “Was ihr nicht seht”

-God the blood stain on the bed is really aesthetic 

-Leo so beautiful 

-Gosh Kariiiiiin

-Himpe, The cool Rechtsmediziner yesss

-Karin eyes- that’s it

-I can’t deal deal with the incompetence of the doctor” sie hat mich angesprungen wie ein tier” what the fuck yeah because you did not check if she has any trigger points maybe?!!

-Oh man Leo crying I can’t take it

-Sarah needs a psychiatrist right now 

-Himpe looks weird without his glasses

-Why is himpe so ignorant today broo 

-Karin kaut ernsthaft Kaugummi? lol ( Without irony)

-I like the art, all of it is so messy and just a creative blop 

-Uhhhhh the quirky smart guy I like him

-“ Was isn mit der?” Schnabel

-“Der geht mir so aufn Keks“

-„nicht immer so anschleichen, einfach mal mit kräftiger Stimme…“ - i love Schnabel 

-Leorin on the telefon- this scene Is meant to be Edited - make a das heartwrenching breakup Edit pleassseeee

-I like illegal leo 

-It’s so crazy how dangerous a person can look like- like the way she leans forward and watches you holy fuck

-I love it that I now can analyze Leo’s apartment - she has taste that is how much I can say at this moment 

-“Ich glaub es waer besser wenn du jetzt gehst” please someone edit this I’m begging

-I love seeing other people’s houses

-They have gay tension you can’t convince me otherwise

-They shared a CigaReTte together?!! Come oooooon That’s so gay

-Gosh sarah looked a little too much in Leo’s lips my opinion gayy 

-Them cuddling that’s sweet

-Leo’s morning hairrrrrr

-Ferienhaus Leos Eltern okk cute

-Leo und Karin sind genauso im Partnerlook wie Adam und Leo

-The quirky dude eating is my spirit animal

-They are so soooffft for each other helpp 

-THE SMALL GRAB AT LEOS ARM FROM KARINNN AWWW

-iiuuu he’s such a creep 

-DER soll der neue Staatsanwalt sein pfahaah so ein Opfer- he also seems suspicious 

-this sidecharacter is from another dimension she’s so good help and the character depth

-awwwwww schnabel brought Leo food from her lieblingschinese wie goldig 

-Schnabel figuring out how to handle chopsticks is also my spirit animal 

-THEIR EYECONTACT

-This is all so disgusting but it’s in beautiful lighting 

-The old man casually eating his lunch while a whole SEK team arrives is also my spirit animal

-Schnabel dont go solo you nearly died like three episodes before we don’t have to go through that again

-Nooo schnabel  Good shot schnabel shot again pls and again 

-Uhhhh is he dead- I would want that I think he is thank god

-Gosh he’s so disgusting I’m so happy he’s dead

- Oh oh- but I feel like it still was kind of notwehr ( I’m saying this without any knowledge in law)

-Karin looks so beautiful 

-Neeeee nicht der  Staatsanwalt und Leo neinnn-Das muss doch nicht sein 

She would’nt in my head

why would you destroy leorin

( although I like the idea of a young,new, nice staatsanwalt - but he is kind of not it)

#folge:was ihr nicht seht #tatort dresden #leonie winkler #karin gorniak #peter schnabel