hiiiiiii welcome to my horny sideblog <3 we stay silly here plz don't take anything i post srsly- kinks r all fun n games
asks r always open and reblogs r cool!! :)
warning: i post cnc, daddy kink, gun play, just things some ppl might find...uncomfy or even downright repulsive but again!! sex is play!! im not great at tagging but i can try!! just lmk what u don't wanna see and i'll try to make it happen and if u have a real problem w it then just block me idrc
once again, minors do not let me fucking catch u here
a little wip thing about an old man I wrote hehe enjoy
sorta sfw but minors dni plz
You wait until Ellie is fast asleep to bring it out- knowing full well that she would try sneaking sips if she knew you had it. In fact, it's been 3 days since you'd crossed paths with the man you'd gotten it from, and it's a miracle you were able to keep it out of the teenager's hands that long, with her keen eye and nose for trouble. You'd traded him some watercolors you'd made with natural pigments when he'd told you that his mother- who he was traveling with- hadn't been able to paint in years. They were kind. There's not a lot of that left in this world. Regardless, you hadn't missed the way Joel's hand found the butt of his pistol when you'd agreed to step into the man's tent with him. Or the way he was looking at you when you came out, hand still resting on the gun.
When you hold out the jar, it glitters in the firelight and catches Joel's eye. He has to squint a little to see what it is, and you revel in your little secret revealed.
He looks at it for a moment, and then levels his gaze on you and says evenly, "Where'd you get that?" You grin.
"Trade," you reply as you crack open the lid and take a swig. The smile is immediately lost to a look of pure disgust as you shiver and gag on the vile liquid. It tastes like battery acid and piss, but it's been a while since you've had anything to drink, and your stomach is empty, so the moonshine goes straight to your dome. When you look back at him to pass the jar, Joel's expression has changed. He looks... you can't quite put your finger on it.
"With that kid and his mom?"
"Kid? That guy was, like, my age," you laugh, but Joel doesn't smile at all.
"What'd you trade for it?" he asks. He doesn't take the jar, just stares at you. You roll your eyes and swish the moonshine at him.
"Nothing important, now drink with me," you raise an eyebrow at him, knowing full well he can't escape this vice. He sighs and hesitantly raises his hand to take it. You watch as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a long, slow pull, his eyebrows knitting as the alcohol burns at his insides. When he's done, he hands it back to you and with that the night begins to stretch.
It doesn't take long for you to become a giggly, dizzy mess. Joel would need triple what you have to get even close to this point, but he's riding a good buzz regardless. Even underneath your layers of clothing and one of Joel's heavy jackets, you'd still gotten cold and now, having been scooting closer and closer to the fire, you find yourself planted on the ground between Joel's boots, back resting against the log he's sitting on. You're entranced by the flicking dance of flames when his voice rumbles above you.
"Tell me again how you got your hands on this?"
The fire crackles and pops and you smirk and tilt your head back to look up at him.
"Blow job," you watch his face as it registers your words. You can't really tell in the glow of the fire, but he looks flushed. And not happy. You giggle a little, "Jesus, I'm kidding!" You let the pause linger a little before, "I let him fuck me." This time, he almost glares at you, which is hysterical in your drunken state. "Relax, Dad, nothing happened. He got some paint, I got some alcohol. That's all." If you weren't so lit, you might've felt a little indignant at his reaction- you're an adult and it's really none of his business- but tonight, you're playing games. You lean back a little, oblivious to the way the crown of your head rests on his belt buckle as you continue to look up at him. For a moment he looks disarmed, and there's a small silence before you ask, "How much is left?"
He holds the jar in front of your face so that you can see for yourself. A little more than a shot.
"Pour it into my mouth," you say as you arch back again, parting your lips for him.
Carefully, he tips the glass above your open mouth, allowing the spirits to trickle down your throat. When a little dribbles down out of the corner of your mouth, he uses his thumb to wipe it away, cupping the side of your face in his calloused hand.
But of course, he has to go and ruin it. He pulls his hand away to give your cheek a playful smack. "No whorin' out for liquor, ok? Last thing we need is you knocked up." You lightly elbow his shin.
"Whatever."
A few minutes later you're asleep, head resting against the inside of his thigh. You're just conscious enough to feel him scoop you up off of the cool earth and carry you inside the tent where Ellie is sleeping. As he lays you down next to her, you're not certain, but you think you feel his beard brush against your temple as his lips ghost over your skin.
oh my god ok no you're so so so real dude holy shit like i feel like bc he's the oldest lalo probably took the brunt of it early on and maybe even took the fall for his cousins when they're got into trouble (esp tuco bc they're closer in age) but idk there's something different about lalo and the fact that he's hectors favorite and they have so much fucking money and lalo can speak multiple languages and just comes across as educated i feel like maybe tio sent him away to university (maybe there was even a fight along the lines of look at what you're doing to these kids) which left his cousins to face hector alone and by then the abuse had gotten so so much worse (mostly bc tios favorite victim was gone and there was no one left to protect the boys) and by the time lalo came home hector had just completely fucked his cousins up but lalo couldn't face the reality so there was a lot of "you're fine, family is everything, tio loves you, look he did all that stuff to me and i turned out ok" maybe it's even why tuco volunteered to live in the us just to get away from hectors abuse and lalos blindness to it but the fact is lalo was never truly blind to it and maybe his abuse and the abuse of his cousins (that he unintentionally played a part in) is what keeps him up at night (among other things) ok sorry i'm not crying i'm good
ok wait one more thing and this is why tuco never visited hector in the nursing home in bcs bc he fucking hates him (and also why his living conditions suck in bb) while lalo is living under the fantasy that what happened was normal and ok and we should still take care of family regardless bc to face the truth would be so devastating to him that his brain literally will not allow it to happen
Everything about this :,( I think Tuco is the most aware (and was aware from a young age) of how fucked up Hectorβs treatment of him and his cousins is. He's resentful but knows he can't do anything about it. I wonder how he felt when he learned that it was (his friend) Nacho who made Hector disabled...
Lalo is probably somewhat aware that it's fucked up but yeah he isn't willing to openly acknowledge it. I donβt think Hector was as psychologically abusive to him as he was to Tuco and the twins. He didn't tear him down to the bare bones of himself to rebuild him. Maybe Tuco tried to voice his feelings about it all to Lalo but Lalo shut him down, telling him tΓo loves them, wants to make them strong so they will make it on their own so they can be good like he is, but it still doesn't feel right to Tuco. His druguse is ascribed to his "unrulyness", he is "difficult to keep in line", he needs a "firm hand". I think Tuco's relationship with and care for his abuelita is also really interesting from this point of view. Maybe it's a case of Tuco convincing himself that she would make it stop if she knew, but he doesnβt dare tell her.
I definitely agree that Lalo, at least on occasion, took the fall for his younger cousins. But I think Hector would see that he loves and cares for them and use that against him. Maybe he even punishes the younger cousins for Laloβs mistakes (which doesn't go along with Tuco's strong sense of justice).
@thirdsonofeve oh my gooooood lots of feelings ok:
i bet nacho knew what hector did to tuco bc i feel like tuco would get high as fuck and just unload onto him but not in a touchy feely way obv more of like a "listen to this shit you're gonna laugh your ASS off, one time, when I was like 15..." way punctuated with lots of harsh laughter bc it's the only way he really knows how to cope (plus i feel like HE got laughed at a lot as a kid which is why he has such an off putting sense of humor) so when he learned what nacho did i think at first he was kinda like... idk like the first time he ever felt heard??? even if it wasn't about him???
100% agree i don't think lalo got very much verbal/psychological abuse- in fact, i think his image was probably used to verbally and psychologically abuse his younger cousins bc he's the favorite (like "why can't you be more like your cousin?" "look, lalo knows when to shut the fuck up" "lalo never begged like this, what are you? a fucking pussy?") and then exactly what you said like lalo couldn't face it so whenever they would come to him about it it was always "it'll stop if you stop crying" or "just man up, this is helping you- it helped me" thus tuco turning to drugs and the twins becoming so quiet and not to mention the psychological toll on joaquin considering his own father loved his cousin (arguably) more than him
and yeah the women in the family get little to no say and are expected to stay in line even if they are the matriarch and so i think tuco knows if he told her she wouldn't be able to end it but she would want to and all it would do is hurt her so in a way he's kinda saving her from it by not telling her (and like what u said upholding the fantasy in his head that she would stop it if he did although, again, he knows deep down she's just as helpless)
oh and hector would absolutely use lalos love for his cousins against him like lets say they go out and do something stupid like idk set fire to a barn or crash their cars or something and lalo would be the first to say that it was his idea, that tuco was just along for the ride etc but hector would punish tuco in front of lalo anyway because "how could you be so stupid? this is what happens when you set a bad example"
oh my god ok no you're so so so real dude holy shit like i feel like bc he's the oldest lalo probably took the brunt of it early on and maybe even took the fall for his cousins when they're got into trouble (esp tuco bc they're closer in age) but idk there's something different about lalo and the fact that he's hectors favorite and they have so much fucking money and lalo can speak multiple languages and just comes across as educated i feel like maybe tio sent him away to university (maybe there was even a fight along the lines of look at what you're doing to these kids) which left his cousins to face hector alone and by then the abuse had gotten so so much worse (mostly bc tios favorite victim was gone and there was no one left to protect the boys) and by the time lalo came home hector had just completely fucked his cousins up but lalo couldn't face the reality so there was a lot of "you're fine, family is everything, tio loves you, look he did all that stuff to me and i turned out ok" maybe it's even why tuco volunteered to live in the us just to get away from hectors abuse and lalos blindness to it but the fact is lalo was never truly blind to it and maybe his abuse and the abuse of his cousins (that he unintentionally played a part in) is what keeps him up at night (among other things) ok sorry i'm not crying i'm good
ok wait one more thing and this is why tuco never visited hector in the nursing home in bcs bc he fucking hates him (and also why his living conditions suck in bb) while lalo is living under the fantasy that what happened was normal and ok and we should still take care of family regardless bc to face the truth would be so devastating to him that his brain literally will not allow it to happen
I wrote about Charlie and Dennis' paralleled childhood sexual abuse, and how their opposing trauma responses keep them from seeing themselves while they stay stuck in their own cycles of abuse.
// The content under the read more is an in-depth script analysis highlighting and discussing childhood sexual abuse and trauma response. Please read with caution or scroll past this post if these topics are known to affect and/or trigger you. //
Because Sunny walks an extremely fine line between sensitive, if not traumatic, character work and dark comedy, I've found that, in reading the scripts, the trauma being written is always much more blatant. You have to work a little harder to pick up on the underlying intent when watching the episodes (though the more and more we learn about the characters, the more the intent becomes clear), but the scripted versions of these scenes are solid evidence that the clear intent of these storylines is to reveal that these characters have extremely repressed childhood trauma, in-turn explaining to the audience why they have such fucked-up ideas of (and relationships with) love and sex. To put it more blatantly: the purpose of giving and revealing the childhood trauma these characters have is purposeful (if not needed), explaining why they are the predators that they are, and allows us to at least understand where their often psychopathic actions and rationales come from.
The fact that Charlie and Dennis were both sexually abused as children is all but obvious to the audience (and every other member of the Gang), but the extent to which these plots are intended to act as character work as opposed cheap-shot rape jokes is often lost on the casual viewer. In my opinion, the disconnect is not for lack of clear intention in the writing, but by the nature of the show being what it is.
Itβs very clearly still there, easy enough to catch if youβre standing more than ankle-deep in the waters, but because Sunny is a dark comedy, itβs unfortunately easy to uncomfortably laugh past a rape joke if you donβt care to look deeper than the surface. Taking a look at the scripts helps paint a clearer picture, making it easier to point out, walk through and explore the CSA lore developed for both Charlie and Dennis, how they parallel and oppose each other, and how this trauma relates to their own predatory behaviours.Β
An obvious starting point is Charlie Got Molested, which is, on the surface, an episode in which we learn that Charlie wasn't molested. What is changed from the script to the episode is this first line from Charlie, right at the very end of the episode, on his familyβs response to his alleged molestation:
(Charlie's aired line is instead "Now everybody thinks that I've been molested. So, in a way, my life is ruined.")
Whether written with a specific intent at the time or not, this episode sets the stage (literally, lol) for a later building 'reveal' that (1) Charlie was molested as a child, and (2) his Uncle Jack is very much a pedophile, not just a perv (which is hinted at in the actual episode, both in dialogue and visuals), because the next time the show features a plot with Charlie and molestation (Sweet Dee's Dating notwithstanding, though important to mention, as itβs further evidence of the idea that there was clearly a thread being woven early on), itβs via the form of a play.
Charlie wrote The Nightman Cometh as a play about love, which was turned into a 'legible' play by Artemis, in which the Gang all "misinterpreted" his original intent and believed it to be about a child being raped. Charlie gets mad, because he doesn't see it, doesn't believe it, and instead believes everyone is destroying his artistic vision by refusing to let this idea go.
The script for The Nightman Cometh (which, Iβd like to point out, RCG chose to make publicly available to everyone) has an alternate ending to the rehearsal of the bed scene between The Boy and The Nightman:
(The aired version shows Charlie more-comedically angry at Mac and Dennis by raising his level of frustration, physically with his hands. The mention of the Nightman taking The Boy face-to-face is never addressed in the aired episode, yet it does take place that way in the actual play scene following the rehearsal featuring doggy-style humping.)
What's heavily implied in the episode (and basically explicitly stated in the script), is that the Gang are not misinterpreting Charlie's art; the play is quite literally built around the idea that a child is attempting to communicate his rape, and Dennis is telling him thatβs what it is. Charlie can't accept that, because this is a play about his life, he believes heβs created a play about love, and he is the boy and he was not raped so it can't be rape.
(And, following this, the audience can put the two and two together: Charlieβs clearly repressed CSA and the fact that his Uncle is a pedophile. In every.single.physical.interaction Charlie and Uncle Jack have, in every appearance he makes following Season 4, the fact that Uncle Jack is the Nightman is clear.)
Rolling back a little, itβs interesting that Dennis is the one to be audibly confused by (and frustrated with) the fact that Charlie can't understand his play is a rape play, because it's so very obvious to Dennis. Yet, 7 years later, he's in Charlie's exact shoes.
Because in Dee Makes a Smut Film, Dennis' plot almost directly parallels Charlieβs from The Nightman Cometh:
Dennis wrote his Erotic Memoirs as a tale of his sexual conquests, the first of his encounters turned into a 'film' by Dee, in which Dee "misinterpreted" what happened between Dennis and the Librarian as him being raped as a teen. Dennis gets mad, because he doesn't see how it could possibly be rape, doesn't believe a guy can be raped, and instead believes Dee and Grieco are destroying his artistic vision by refusing to let the idea go.
(In the aired episode, Dennis does not avoid using the word rape, and instead insists you cannot rape a guy, and that he was willing.)
Just like Charlie, Dennis refuses to accept that the people who are acting out his writing at face-value are telling him straight up that it looks like, and most-likey is, rape. Dennis can't accept that, because this is a film about his life, it's about his first sexual conquest, and he is the boy and he was not raped so it can't be rape.
This goes one-step further when Dee airs the 'film' for the rest of the Gang:
(The aired version of the video does not show anything from filming, and only shows a slideshow of photos from when Dennis was a teen, overlay text claiming he was raped, and a photo of Klinsky repeating 'hoser' over and over.)
Dennis goes on a spiel and reiterates that he was not raped. The rest of the Gang are not convinced.
And at this point, Charlie and Dennis probably should relate to each other, or at the very least intentionally give each other a pass/miss whenever the topic of childhood sexual abuse emerges, but instead they continue to have no issue believing and pointing out that the other was raped while continuing to deny their own trauma.Β
In PTSDee, this paralleled-refusal is made clear. Very clear. In the script, it's even clearer:
(In the aired scene, Dennis' line is clearly cut after he mentions Charlie's mom, and it picks up with Charlie's line at "the father thing")
They see it so clearly in each other, but don't see themselves mirroredβand there's no doubt that's intentional. Because while they were both sexually abused as children, their current relationships with love and sex (as portrayed from basically episode one) are opposing, and the circumstances of their individual rape and immediate repression are extremely illustrative as to why they behave the way they do:
Charlie's trauma response is typical of pre-pubescent, forced rape. Not mature enough to even recognise what happened to him (as Uncle Jack's abuse was likely his first exposure to sexual acts), he regresses and represses, subsequently developing a repulsion toward sex into his adult life (in Season 5, Mac and Charlie Write a Movie, there's a deleted scene that makes it evident that he's disgusted by and avoidant of sex decades later), and, clearly by the depictions in The Nightman Cometh play and the lyrics of Nightman in Sweet Deeβs Dating, believing that the harassment he faced was love.Β
For the run of the show, Charlieβs interest in love and sex is almost exclusively highlighted by his relentless pursuit of the Waitress. In so far as the idea that every member of the Gang is a sexual predator, Charlie is depicted as a sexual harasser, unable to recognize that disinterest, avoidance, the word "no," and stalking that leads to legal action to restrain him from the person he's pursuing is inappropriate and predatory.
While his CSA results in a repulsion toward sex (in most instances), Charlie clearly associates the concept of love with the early harassment he faced, brought on him in his own home by a "loved one," he truly believes that his own relentless pursuit will end up buying him love. Charlie is stuck in an abstinent cycle (at least, until Dennisβ Double Life) of his own abuse.
Dennis' trauma response is typical of coercive rape and grooming. He was old enough to believe that sex is something that should be seen as cool, and therefore obsesses and brags about his experience(s), resulting in his hypersexuality. In Season 5, The D.E.N.N.I.S. System, it's firmly established that Dennis' pursuit of women is something outside of genuine attraction; in fact, it's almost devoid of it. Clearly by the plot of PTSDee, he sees a womanβs sexuality as a weapon he needs to fight against.Β
For the run of the show, Dennis' interest in sex is deeply entwined with the fact that he gets off on having power over his "sexual conquests". In so far as the idea that every member of the Gang is a sexual predator, Dennis is depicted as a date rapist, having an aversion to recognising (if not an inability to understand) consent, he pursues sex exclusively for his own physical pleasure, with little care for the other party, getting off on the knowledge that heβs orchestrated the situation heβs in.
While his CSA results in an obsession with sex, Dennis clearly does not associate the concept of love with the act, truly believing that sex is used to overpower someone, most enjoyable when obtained via coercion, exactly as his virginity was taken from him. Dennis is stuck in a loveless cycle of his own abuse.
Charlie and Dennis meet after their own traumas; their clearly disordered relationships with love and sex is how they've always known the other to be. When there are hints of the other's abuse, they're able to easy recognise what it is, for they sense the paralleled familiarity of their own CSAβyet their polar opposite trauma responses result in an inability to reflect:
To Dennis, Charlie was clearly raped, and Charlie fears sex and Dennis loves sex, so he can't have been raped; To Charlie, Dennis was clearly raped, and Dennis doesn't pursue love and Charlie loves the Waitress, so he can't have been raped.
Their reflections being mirrored causes them to harp on the other's trauma and keeps them from being able to truly recognise their own abuse. Call the other out and deny whatβs shot back, stuff it down and continue spiralling in their own cycle of abuse.
oml it took me so so long to finish this bc i basically had to rewrite every other sentence to make it work it was a struggle from start to finish so imma just post it so i can move on and stop rereading it 4000 times π
love u all sm ty for all the support i've been getting β€οΈ hope u like it- just more of dennis being cringey and insane bc that's how we like him
tw: cnc, manipulation??? idk i mean i feel like this man comes w his own warnings so reader discretion
18+ minors DNI
1:00 AM on a Saturday.
I can feel the smirk on my face slip as I realize that what I just said to you isn't exactly landing like I thought it would. You frown and grab for your keys as my alcohol-soaked brain scrambles to salvage this.
"Hold on," but it's too late, you're already halfway out the door and there's a loud bang and I'm alone in the bar. The panic is paralyzing- I know I should run after you, apologize, perform some romantic gesture to reassure you that I'm just another dumb guy who says stupid shit so you'll forgive me for whatever the hell that was. Instead I stand there like an idiot, ten seconds away from ripping my hair out. It's too quiet and I'm so overwhelmed and there's still beer in my bottle that splashes out as I hurl it at the wall and it explodes into glass shrapnel.
"FUCK!"
If I could crawl out of my skin I would. I really feel like I'm going to have a heart attack but I'm sure as hell not lucky enough to drop dead right now. Why the fuck did I say that? I act so fucking weird around you- anyone else and I would be able to keep it together but you make me so nervous and sick it's pathetic. I clench my fists as my vision tunnels and I think I might be hyperventilating so I try to take a deep breath. And then I try again. And again. And then I snatch a bottle of whisky off of the bar and pour a hefty shot and slam it back. And then I do it again. And again. And my head is swimming. The shot glass hits the wall, too. I groan and run my fingers through my hair and think about how cooked I am. I'm going to fuck this up. Maybe I already have.
After a few minutes and a few more shots, I pull out my phone with shaky hands. It rings twice before sending me to your voicemail. So I call again. /Pick up/. Voicemail. Four rings. Voicemail. One ring. Voicemail. Voicemail. What the fuck? I slam my phone down on the counter and pull out the pack of Reds Charlie thinks he's hidden beneath the bar. I tap the pack hard against my palm, flip open the lid, and yank out a cigarette. My fingers fumble for the lighter he usually keeps next to the pack, and when they finally close around it, I bring it to my face- cigarette already between my lips- and strike the wheel. I take a long, hard, angry pull that puffs out almost a millisecond later. Another hard pull that burns my throat and lungs. Another. I almost cough and I'm so light headed I have to lean on the bar. I take a deep breath, put the cigarette to my lips, slowly breathe in, and close my eyes. I let the smoke roll in my lungs for a moment before releasing it through my nose. And I begin to think as I smoke.
You're probably just being a bitch, but what if your phone is dead? What if you're driving home and your phone just died and you can't find parking close enough to your apartment so you have to park a block away? I check my watch. What if some creep sees you and decides to follow you home? What if he puts his hands all over what's mine? What if he takes you away from me? The world is a dangerous place for a dumb little bunny like you, and the way you look tonight is just asking for it.
I'm out the door, in my car, and down the street so fast I remember to lock the bar three blocks away, and by then I'm already pushing 50mph so I don't turn around. I hope I put out my cigarette. Just a few more blocks and I'm at your place. I fly through stop signs- honestly, I barely see them. It starts to rain and I huff as I flip on the windshield wipers because I know it's going to fuck up my hair. Phil Collins pleads for one more night on the stereo. I'm not sure how I'm going to fix this. I hate myself. I don't know what I'll do if you leave me. I almost imagine you with someone else again, but even the suggestion makes me ill. That can't happen.
My recklessness has earned me five minutes off of the regular time it takes to get to your place, and when I roll up, I see your car right out front. Thank god. I park next to it, blocking the lane, but it's so late, no one is out. I throw on my hazards and jump out onto the sidewalk, where I make it to your door in a few long strides. I ring the buzzer about 50 times, and despite seeing the light on in your window, you don't answer, so I call your name. Nothing. Fine. Be that way. I head back to the Range, slamming the door too hard when I climb in. I roll down all of the windows- despite worrying about the interior in this shitty weather- and turn the volume on the radio all the way up. I have to take a breath and remind myself not to be too obnoxious, you wouldn't like that. So I pick a Donna Lewis CD and skip to "I Love You Always Forever". Perfect. The music echoes awkwardly down the empty street, haunting and ethereal mixed with the patter of the rain. A few dark windows here and there are suddenly illuminated, but no one comes to look. Including you. A dog barks in the unit below you, someone shouts. A window flies open and a disembodied voice yells, "Turn that shit off!" Uh oh, your neighbors aren't too happy, better come down and stop me before I embarrass you.
As the song picks up, more lights come on, and I'm not about to throw rocks at your window like a teenager so I call, "Hey, uh, I don't mean to be an asshole but it's fucking freezing out here, sweetheart."
And that's when I see your beautiful face appear in the window, softly lit by the warmth of your lamp. You look like an angel. The window is thrown open and you lean out.
"Are you fucking crazy? Turn that down," maybe a little. Crazy about you.
"I'm- I fucked up," goddamnit I drank way too much. If I was twenty years younger it might be cute, but I'm not sure this looks so good at my age. I turn the music down and you roll your eyes.
"You're fucked up or you fucked up?" You raise an eyebrow and something's got my tongue.
"Yeah."
"And you drove here like a lunatic. In the rain." Yes! See how much I care?
"I was worried about you."
"Oh, jeez thanks," you're so cute when you're mad, arms crossed over your chest, all huffy and defiant. I really didn't think you had it in you to act like such a brat, but I have to say, I like the idea of a challenge.
"You're welcome," I know that's going to make you angrier, but I chase it with a smile and you look away because it gives you butterflies.
"Call a cab, Dennis," you spit back.
"I'll call you a cab if it'll get you cunts to shut the fuck up!" a neighbor cuts in from somewhere above you, and I can see your skin flush all the way from here.
You sigh, "... I'll buzz you in," you whisper-shout, and then you're gone. God I love the people of this city. I turn the car into an alley and shut off the engine and pray I don't get towed as I jog up the sidewalk. A few seconds later, the old metal gate at your front door buzzes with the loud, low hum of outdated technology and the lock pops out of place. It takes me less than a minute to race up the stairs and down the hall to your door. I don't even have to knock- when you hear me panting down the hall, you open up and I'm met with a warm burst of pleasant smelling air as I stand before you.
"Hey."
"Hey," you look me up and down and I'm beginning to worry that you're actually going to send me home.
"I'm not that drunk," I wish I sounded convincing.
"Uh-huh," you step aside and wave a hand, "Whatever, come in, just take your shoes off."
I do as I'm told and close the door behind me and you walk over to the couch so you don't see me flip the lock, just in case. I can't believe you let me into your apartment. Just like that. I've never been in here with your consent. It smells so overwhelmingly like you when you're here in it with me. It was warm before- all those times I broke in- I mean popped in- to do my research- but your presence in it makes it feel like home. I could die here.
"Ok, give me your keys," you hold out your palm as I come over to sit next to you and I pull them out of my jacket pocket and they're in your little hand. I wish I could kiss you. I know you don't want to kiss me right now, which is fair, but I don't care. I want to wrap my arms around you and pin you to the cushions and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you until you realize that you do want it- want me. You just look good enough to eat, so cute and comfortable in your domain. So vulnerable. I wish you would walk around my apartment in your panties. And you're definitely not wearing a bra under that...
"Is that my shirt?" It is. Without a doubt. You flush. The buttons are undone just above your cleavage and the skin there is rosy, too. And your nipples-
"Uh yeah, sorry. You can have it back, I'll wash it." Don't you dare. I scoot a little closer and take the bottom hem between my fingers, toying with the fabric.
"No, you look too cute in it," my heart jumps into my throat when you smile a little. "Look," it takes all of my restraint not to force you down and take your forgiveness, "Things got outta hand and..." I'm not good at this.
"Yeah... what the fuck was that?"
"I don't know, I-... I've just had a lot on my mind." I can tell you're not buying it.
"Right," you pull back a little and the shirt slips from my grasp.
I cringe.
"I'm- listen, I barely remember what I said but I whatever it was, I didn't mean it."
"Right," god you're stubborn. I have to do something to disarm you, so I scoot even closer and invade your space and now we're so close our thighs are touching.
"Why don't we start over?" I ask, reaching up to cup your cheek, but you hesitate.
"Depends," you push my chest gently, but I don't budge- I don't even drop my hand- I won't let you do that to us.
"On what?" I'll play, whatever you want princess.
"Are you gonna apologize?" Except that. Not fair.
"I just did," I smile, but you shake your head and my hand falls to your lap.
"No, for real," you try to scoot back, but I snake my arm behind your back to hold you in place. Fuck, I hate this game. I really really hate this game.
"Fine," so you'll feel better, "I'm sorry you misunderstood my words."
You just roll your eyes and I knew I wasn't getting off that easy but I had to try because did I mention how much I fucking hate this game?
"Ok, ok, I'm sorry..." you're really backing me into a corner here. The longer I pause the more impatient you seem to be getting so I just suck it up and the words come out, "that I acted so..." Stop looking at me like that, "Look, I don't usually do this."
"Do what?"
I gesture between us, "This."
You raise an eyebrow, and when I don't immediately elaborate, you move to stand, and I grab your arm a little too quickly and rough and for a tiny fraction of a millisecond I see fear flicker in your eyes so now I have to cave.
"Feelings. I don't- they don't exactly come easily to me. Can we just fucking start over please?" I feel so exposed. You grin.
"Fine," you concede, and I sigh because the relief is overwhelming. It's all the consent I need. It makes you gasp how hard and fast I grab you.
"Oh, thank god," I'm not sure if I say that out loud or not. Sorry, I've simply lost my patience. I use my body to tip you back onto the seat of the couch and climb on top of you, pinning you down like I've been wanting to all night. Your body feels so good in my hands. You giggle a little and try to squirm away because you think this is part of the game, which is for the best, I can't have you knowing how close I am to traumatizing you every time I touch you.
"You gonna let me make it up to you, baby girl?" I don't wait for an answer, too caught up in the feeling of your throat against my mouth. Not that it even matters. Even if you said no, it wouldn't stop me from duct taping you to this couch. I've been dying to use that tight cunt all night- in fact, this is the longest I've gone with anyone without sealing the deal- and you've given me all the consent I need to not completely ruin your faith in me. I have to admit, though, it's getting harder and harder to care. All this foreplay- all hands and mouths and light touches over our clothes for weeks has driven me to the edge and if I don't fuck you soon I might commit a felony.
You moan a little when I slip my hand up your shirt (my shirt) and grope your bare breasts, and when I tug on one of your nipples, you yelp and try to wiggle away, but I've got you. I slide my knee between your thighs and you grind against me like a good girl, panties already wet. You'll let me do anything to you- even when I make you cry, you still let me violate you. I don't know if that makes you stupid or a whore or the best thing that has ever happened to me.
You drape your arms around me and your fingers curl around the back of my shirt. The feeling of your nails raking against my skin as you pull my shirt off only adds to my desperation, and when I rip off your panties and shove two fingers into your little hole, you cry out from the pain, so I slap my hand over your mouth and for a moment I feel like I've gone too far, but then your eyelids flutter. I take a breath, try to steady myself, but you feel so good wrapped about my fingers. I want to be inside of you- all of you. I want to taste your breath and hear your thoughts and feel your heartbeat with mine.
I should be gentle- I did just make you mad enough to ghost me- but I can't help myself. I just want to tie you up and cum to the smell of your fear as I bruise your cervix. You whimper as I curl my fingers against your walls and drag them out of you. When I slide them back in slowly, you're practically gushing. I take my other hand off of your mouth and you let out a soft breath that makes me shove my thumb between your lips, hooking it and holding you by the cheek.
"I oughtta slap this pretty face raw for ignoring my calls," I coo and you clench around my fingers and I can't help but smirk a little because you're just so pathetic it's adorable. I lean down close, releasing your cheek to press the pad of my thumb against your tongue, "Whadda ya think, princess?" I purr nice and low, and you close your eyes and moan as you suck on my thumb which makes a cute little pop as it's pulled from your mouth, followed sharply by the crack of my hand against your face. Your eyes go wide- and I'll admit, I didn't mean to hit you so hard- but your cunt pulses as my fingers continue to move in and out of you.
Your cheek is bright red, and when I hit you again, your eyes begin to water and you let out a sob. It feels so good to be in control again. Your hips buck into the palm of my hand, forcing my fingers deeper and you sob again. Your chest is rising and falling like a trapped animal's, and I imagine the heart pumping inside is just as hot and soft and slippery as this pussy but I have to stop thinking like that so I lean down and kiss you hard. You shove your tongue into my mouth which was a mistake because I instinctively bite down hard enough to taste the sweet, metallic tang of your blood, but you don't pull away, you just moan into my mouth. I think I moan into yours, too, but I'm too busy coming down from the head rush of you bleeding against my teeth. It scares me how much I like hurting you. Something deep inside of me stirs. I try to ignore it.
Your fingers are tugging down on the waistband of my jeans and when I realize what you're doing, I sit up and use my free hand to finish taking them off, along with my boxers. The whole time, you're watching the fingers I have still pushed inside of you- three now- your lip between your teeth.
"You like that?" it takes your foggy little brain a moment to hear my words, and when it does, all you can do is look up at me and nod. You gasp as I pull my fingers out of you, but I have your attention again the moment I say, "Then taste."
I bring my hand up to your face and you open wide like a good little girl, taking my cunt-drenched fingers into your mouth. Your eyelashes flutter as you taste yourself. I push my fingers in further and further and further until your wiggling uncomfortably against the cushions, gagging on me. I take the opportunity to line myself up against your hole, and when you feel the head of my cock slowly begin to plug it, your eyes roll back and you moan against my fingers.
"Good girl," I whisper and grunt as I bottom out, my tip brushing your cervix. You feel so good wrapped around me it takes my breath away. You're so warm and soft and so so tight since I didn't give you any time to adjust. I take my fingers from your mouth and you suck in the sweet air I'd been depriving you of.
But your reprieve is short lived and the first few hard thrusts of my hips against yours have you gasping, face twisted in pain as I brutally fuck you. Your back arches up from the cushions, and I wrap my arm around your waist for more leverage as I pound into you. Your fingernails undoubtedly leave deep red lines on my skin as they rake across my back and down my arms and I shiver so hard I lose my pace. You wrap your legs around my waist and just as I'm bringing my hips back to meet yours, you grind into me and it makes my arms weak and I groan into your neck. You smell like your soap and alcohol and perfume and me. You haven't washed this shirt since you wore it home.
I slam my hips into you and you let out the sweetest sound- like a fawn caught in the jaws of a wolf. You're driving me crazy with how quickly you went from a raging cunt to this pitiful, wet little mess, all because I refused to let you behave like a brat. Because you're mine. Allowing me into your space, wearing my shirt, being so ready and willing to take me after I tore you apart. You pretend to be independent but the fact is you just want to be owned.
"I swear to god if you ever walk away from me again, I'll put a fucking leash on you," I hiss into your ear and you whine, "Say, 'Yes Daddy.'"
"Yes Daddy," there isn't even a hint of hesitation. You're so desperate to please me. You whimper as I graze my teeth along your neck and it's so pathetic I almost cum inside of you- I would if I didn't think it would get me into trouble. I'm not wearing a condom. I rut into you and I'm beginning to slip and I just can't get deep enough inside of you. It's throwing me into a sort of frenzy and I can't stop, even when you scrunch up that pretty little face and your breath hitches and you try to readjust. I'm so much stronger than you, and it's just so easy to pin you down and carve into you.
"Shhh, I know baby, I need it," the words tumble from my lips- fast and breathy- out of my control as my brain begins to melt and I feel my orgasm building in my base, "My sweet girl. I'm gonna fuck that attitude out of you."
A tear squeezes out of your clenched eyes and rolls down your face and I can't stop myself from licking it off of your temple just to taste what's inside of you again. Your eyelids flutter and I can see your eyes rolled back in that pretty skull. I wish I could see your brain- know what you're thinking- live inside of you- control you.
You inhale sharply as your body tenses up and I swear I can feel your walls clench around me and suddenly you're so much wetter and I remember the taste of your blood in my mouth and- thank god- I pull out and cum against your asshole and you're sucking in air and your cheeks are so pink and I can barely breathe and when you open your eyes and look at me I feel dizzy because you're not scared or angry or hurt that it was the first time we had sex and I lost control... You're smiling at me.
You hum and tilt your head back as I stand from the couch, reach for my boxers that landed on the coffee table, and pull them on. You drape a leg over the side of the couch and I can't take my eyes off of the mess I've made between your thighs and I'm overcome by the urge to push it all inside of you- to bury my cum-covered fingers so deep into you that I knock you up anyway and then you can't leave me. Ever. A judge would make sure of that.
Instead, I make my way to your bathroom for a clean towel that I make warm with water from the faucet. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I wring out the towel and I hate the way I can see every single pore in the fluorescent light. I make a note to come back at some point when you're away to change the bulb.
ok i know i said i was working on a part 3 but i keep thinking about playing mind games on someone with dennis and getting them to believe 100% that he's your (perverted) dad and getting so horny i black out for 9 hours sorry guys
i NEED you to write more psycho manipulative freak dennis reader smut like you really get him that shit was crazyyy i loved both parts (i laughed at the range rover mention tho agshshs π)
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH ty ty ty baby i've been working on one for like 6 months i prommy it's coming and YES! im so glad u get it im trying to write it with a touch of like this guy is so out there some of the things he thinks are kinda funny American Psycho style π
the gang goes to a water park playing as background noise while i write and getting whiplash when my ears pick up- with dog-like precision and clarity- dennis saying "little girl" *with authority*
