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7ndipity · 3 months

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Bts As Subs

Sub!Ot7 x Dom!Reader

Summary: Headcanons about how the members would be as Subs

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut. Swearing. Mentions of dom/sub dynamics, bdsm, oral(f. and m. receiving), handjobs, edging, overstimulation, degradation, thigh riding, pegging, petplay, dacryphilia, marking, slapping, scratching, aftercare. Not proofread.

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Working on this actually helped a lot with my writers block and gave me waay too many ideas for fics👀 But I hope you like ‘em!

Masterlist

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Jin:

Is either the sweetest, best behaved baby boy or an absolute brat, depending on his mood.

Loves to run his mouth just to get a rise out of you, whining and complaining about your teasing, but turns into absolutely mush once you get him under you.

Likes when you tie him to the headboard and jerk him off while sitting on his lap, close enough to still kiss him but not letting him touch yet, letting him cry into your neck when he finally cums all over your hand.

He’s so loud and whiny, it almost sounds like he’s singing until his voice cracks.

Someone mentioned this on his nsfw list, and I had to mention it here, he has a slight oral fixation and needs access to your chest while you ride him, sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks(which he says he’s sorry for, but you know he isn’t really)

Lowkey masochistic and enjoys punishments, loving when you mark and scratch him up, or edge him till he cries.

But what he really loves when you just ride him soft and slow, moving just fast enough to make him needy, but not letting him cum, edging you both till he’s desperate and pleading to cum.

Yoongi:

Turns into the sweetest, vulnerable little kitten. You can always tell when he’s feeling subby from the way he buries his face in your chest or your neck, in both sexual and nonsexual situations. He's just so soft and just wants to be taken care of(pls protect him🥺)

So fucking whiny, but he tries to muffle them, biting his lip and scrunching his face up so hard, he almost looks in pain(until you bite/suck the sweet spot on his neck and he just starts wailing).

Prefers things to be half kinky, half vanilla(the vanilla stuff is always what makes him cum tho)

Like, he enjoys when you’re mean and tease him, but he really can’t handle much degradation, so it needs to be combined with a lot of sweet words and kisses.

Cries so prettily when you peg/breed him.

Is slightly embarrassed at how quickly he cums from thigh riding, hiding his face in your neck as his hips stutter against you.

Needs a fair bit of aftercare to ground him and help him come back down, mainly just sitting and holding each other.

Hobi:

Ooh the range of this boy😍, he's always so bright and eager, and tries so hard to be a good boy it’s almost painful, how could you not reward him?🥺

Loves it when you’re rough with him, wanting you to slap, scratch, mark, and degrade him, etc. He’ll take it all with a smile.

Tie him up and and tease him by making him watch while you touch yourself, his poor cock twitching and leaking with every noise you make(he may have broken a chair from pulling so hard on his restraints)

Absolutely melts tho when you’re soft with him, holding his hands while you ride him, caressing his arms and chest while leaving kisses all over his face.

Loves it when you edge and overstimulate him.

Needs lots of cuddles and praise afterwards, usually falls asleep on your chest.

He's just so cute and needy, literally everything you do turns him on. You’re cuddling? He’s hard. Dancing around the kitchen? Hard. Folding laundry? Hard.

Loves when you do extra little things to take care him or buy him lil gifts, it makes him feel special and appreciated!

Namjoon:

Honestly, it takes so much work for him to let go and fall into a sub headspace, but once he does, he turns into such a clingy baby.

Like normally he looks kinda intimidating, but deep down he’s just a giant teddy bear.

You’re gonna need the cuffs for this one, for multiple reasons.

He gets so impatient sometimes and almost involuntarily tries to take over, bucking up into you or gripping your hands/hips to guide your movements.

He literally has to have his hands on you at all times, whether that grasping at your waist hips, groping your chest, or just holding your hands(not letting him touch you in one the biggest punishments for him)

Will actually beg to taste you or for you to ride his face, like he needs to be between your thighs, however brief it may be, or he’ll sulk.

As vocal as he is when he doms, he goes almost non-verbal when he’s really in sub-space, only letting out little whimpers and whines of your name.

Actually prefers looking after you during aftercare to help him come down, needs a fair bit of reassurance afterwards. “Did I do good?”(of course you did, you djehfksjdkwjf)

Jimin:

The best behaved boy. Choke him, cuff him, blindfold him, he’ll take whatever you give him and say thank you🥺

Not exactly a brat, but he can’t resist making sassy little comments to rile you up sometimes when he wants to be punished.

On the flip side, he’s very much a people pleaser and has a massive praise kink, so he needs to hear that he’s doing good and making you happy.(could probably cum untouched from just you petting and praising him)

Lets out the prettiest whines and moans when you ride or peg him

Loves dressing up for you, whether in pretty little lingerie pieces, or a shirt/outfit in your favorite color for date night.

Lowkey sugarbaby vibes. He gets so blushy and smiley when you buy him lil gifts like jewelry or accessories and always makes sure to wear them for you cause he’s your pretty little baby.

Has a slight oral fixation and tends to fall asleep while sucking on your chest, fingers, or even your neck.

Taehyung:

Puppy. Just an absolute puppy, like actually call him that pls, he will dissolve.

He is slightly into petplay, but nothing too extreme, mainly just a pretty collar for you to pull him around by or to hold onto while he rides your strap-on.

Definitely has his bratty moments every now and then, but he really can’t handle a lot of punishment, so he’s always super apologetic.

Lowkey voyeuristic, loves the idea of someone seeing or overhearing the two of you together and just how much of a mess you make him.

Dresses up for you, whether that’s lingerie or just a sweater you really like on him(tho he will come to you wearing nothing but that, like a reverse of the ‘wearing their shirt’ thing)

He's surprisingly good at keeping edged and overstimulated, so he can handle and actually really likes long, drawn out handjobs.

Really likes non-sexual shows of dominance from you. Like when you treat him to meals/drinks, or hold onto him to guide him around, it makes him feel cared for.😊

Jungkook:

Right on the line between good boy and brat. He likes to run his mouth and challenge you, but once you start doling out punishments, he turns into the softest baby. “I’m sorry Jagi, I’ll be good, I promise. Please still let me cum!”🥺

Super unsubtle and touchy when he’s in a subby mood(tho, he’s not exactly subtle the rest of the time either, so), kneading your hips as he grinds against you, pleading softly for you to please come help take care of his ‘problem’.

So fucking squirmy, he can’t keep still even if he tried, hips bucking and twitching involuntarily with every little touch.

He’s just soo sensitive and cums super fast whenever he subs.

He’s very middle ground on kinks and everything. He likes a lot of the harder stuff like bondage and degradation, but he needs some softer treatment mixed in and a lot of aftercare to balance out or else he’ll feel bad.

He actually really loves it tho when you make him cry from teasing and overstimulation.

Lowkey loves when you look after him in non sexual ways, making sure he’s alright and letting your protective side show through.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

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talesof-old · 2 months

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spare me | e.v. & a.s.

pairing(s): poly!azris x fem!reader

warning(s): slightly suggestive if you squint, mentions of beron vanserra, implied torture/injuries, fear of abandonment, fear of loved ones being hurt, saying i love you a little too early maybe, nonsexual nudity

word count: 1k

a/n: this is more angst than fluff but it ends on a happier note lmao

masterlist

poly!azris + angst & fluff for my little celebration

Being immortal was never easy.

With centuries spread out before you like the gaping mouth of some terrible beast, it threatened to consume every one of your relationships. Each would, most likely, be as fleeting as a mortal’s life. Fragile, finite.

Perhaps it was better to end things before they got too hard. It allowed for allies where there would be enemies.

But as you gazed into the amber eyes of your lover, your very soul ached at the notion. His eyes were lit with something wild, feral in the way only a cornered wild animal could be. Sorrow lined your face as you reached for him.

Beside you, Azriel lounged across the bed, his relaxed body betrayed only by the tense expression he wore. His wings were limp on the sheets: open, vulnerable.

You shouldn’t have said it. As soon as the words left your mouth you’d wished you could take them back. I love you had been easy. The frantic patter of your heart and the pain in your chest was not. Naked and satiated, tracing circles over Eris’ scars, you’d spoken your feelings.

Azriel rested a hand on the dimple of your back, supportive in his silence. You knew he’d felt the same, but perhaps he wasn’t so much of a fool to voice it.

“You can’t-“ Eris’ words brought you back to the present. He scrambled out of bed, hands trembling as he dressed. You pushed yourself up, thighs protesting, and watched as he tried to pull himself together. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, muscles tight with tension.

“You can’t. You don’t.”

A sharp wave of anger shot through your blood. Who was he to dictate how you felt? Even if he did not feel the same.

“Don’t say that. Don’t tell me how to feel.” A humorless laugh echoed through the all too quiet room. The hair on your arms stood up, and Azriel finally allowed himself to move up from the bed.

“You don’t love me, you’re simply interested in the pleasure I bring you.” Your gut churned. Frustrated tears built up in your eyes but you will them away, voice sharp as you respond.

“You are more than a puppet to be used, Eris.”

He inhaled sharply.

The pause was all you needed, slowly removing yourself from the bed without sparing a sideways glance at your other lover. His shadows were curling around your limbs as if to keep you safe, but there was nothing to protect you from.

Eris stood still, barely breathing, as you approached. A wall of heat seemed to guard the air around him. You didn’t care. You reached for him, cool fingers making contact with burning skin, and simply stayed there. He would not push you away out of fear. And his was so palpable, the taste bitter on your tongue.

“If you don’t want this, tell me how to un-love you. Spare me the torment of wanting you but not having you.” You shook your head. “I would fight for the rest of my life for you, Beron Vanserra be damned.” His eyes fluttered shut as your hands skimmed over his chest, rising to cradle his jaw in your hands. Tension fell from him in waves.

“I can’t lose either of you.”

You sighed, stepping closer even still. Shadows slithered from your wrists to caress his pale skin. He kept his hands at his side, fists clenched as if to keep from touching you.

“My love,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Moments ticked by. Azriel’s shadows were wound with tension, skirting over your figures in place of your partner’s hands.

Eris opened his eyes, red rimmed and glassy. You stroked the hard planes of his cheeks with your thumbs. The faintest freckles dusted the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, and you ached to still be lying in bed and tracing shapes between them.

“I’m not afraid of saying I love you, Eris Vanserra. Every fiber of my being longs for you. I don’t care if Beron himself hears me now.” He tensed all over again, even as you attempted to coax him out from behind his mountain high walls.

“You are worth it. To me, you’re worth everything.” A few stray tears fell from his eyes, though he didn’t make a sound. In a rush, you were wrapped in his embrace, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“I’ll only cause you pain, suffering even.”

You huffed a laugh, tangling a hand in his hair.

“That’s my choice, love. Besides, it’s not you that’s causing me pain.”

He drew away, only to be swept up in the thick arms of your shadowsinger. They were much less affectionate with one another, but even Azriel understood that physical touch grounded Eris more than words ever really did. Eris, while taller, curled into the embrace.

“You’re stuck with us, fox.” Azriel’s low voice had you quirking up a brow.

“Come back to bed.” Unable to argue, Eris allowed the two of you to undress him, guiding him back to the silk sheets you’d begged them to purchase.

You curled up into his left side, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder.

“You’re worth more than you think, you have to know that.”

Eris’ fingers laced through yours, squeezing your hand gently. Azriel pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“We’ll be free one day, fox. I promise.” You glanced up, watching their exchange with soft eyes. Eris slotted his mouth against Azriel’s, sighing as he deepened the kiss. You rested your head on the redhead’s shoulder. A dark wing rose to cover your bodies, twitching as you lightly scraped the membrane with your nail.

Azriel huffed, pulling away from Eris and glancing down at you with a teasing gleam in his hazel eyes. “Needy.” You closed your eyes, nuzzling into the warmth of your partner. Even if this was destined to end sooner rather than later, at least there had been moments of love, of tenderness.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar #eris vanserra angst #azriel angst #x reader #talesofold #talesofold birthday special

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bas-writes · 6 months

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nonsexual acts of intimacy ↬ one falling asleep with their head in the other's lap

❧ choso x gn!reader | cw: established relationship, alcohol ❧

"Sorry, Y/N." Ino scratches the back of his head, trying to look everywhere but at your face. "We really had no idea he'd be done with one beer."

You left Choso with the guys a half hour ago at best. You needed only a quick run to a drug store before you would meet with Nitta who promised to drop the both of you off at your place by the way. And your boyfriend only wanted to socialize with Yuji's seniors—like any good older brother would. It wasn't even a party, none of the heaviest drinkers were present, so you were sure this time no one would get an idea to test Choso's tolerance for various…substances. He was too eager to be dragged into party tricks, for his own demise. You hoped that at least this time you would find him in one piece.

Hope clearly hasn't even tried to cooperate with you tonight.

Nitta pats your back with an understanding smile as the others nudge Choso towards the back seat, "I've driven worse, don't worry."

With a sigh, you take place by Choso's side and throw shopping back on the shotgun. Cool air of November night has sobered him up a little; he adjusts his position straight and looks around, confused, until he meets your eyes—and smiles bright, like a lost child who's just found mother in the crowd.

"Sorry, Y/N, I—"

You tap his lips, shutting him down mid sentence, "I'm not mad. It's no one's fault. Just focus on sobering up and not messing Nitta's car, alright?"

Choso's gaze flicks down, towards your thighs, then quickly returns back to your eye level, the urging question pushed away before it even made it to his lips. For a big puppy he is, he's shy with affection, especially in front of others. You can't blame him—the labyrinth of human relations is difficult for someone who's spent a crushing majority of his life trapped in isolation.

"It's alright." You pat your lap with an invitation. "It will help you, right?"

One last look at Nitta's back later he's shimming closer, like a cat filling the limited space with himself until he's in his longed-for position. Lantern lights make the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more

Choso gasps under your touch, even too loud for a company on the third wheel in the front seat, and nuzzles into your palm. Drunk eyes have a problem with keeping focus, with each new blink he's falling closer to his previous state, until his happy-go-lucky smile has nothing to do with the bashful, introverted boyfriend he is without the alcoholic fuel.

"You're so cute, Y/N." He confesses, his words plain despite the maze spilled all over his burning face. "Your partner must be sooo lucky."

Nitta doesn't try to hide a loud snort, but you bite on the inner side of your cheek, equally amused and worried you might fit your laughter exactly in the second of sobriety.

You brush loose strands off his forehead, with a smile watching him finally giving in to the power of liquor, eyelids falling shut, breath easing into soft snores, "He is. The luckiest and happiest man in the world, I bet."

a/n: choso has the pathetic wet meow meow energy and I just couldn't stop myself from bullying him a little 🤭

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen scenario #jjk scenario #bas writes #jjk #choso #gender neutral reader

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haetrack · 1 month

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my fav thing to think about is how needy and clingy haechan would be in a relationship. he’s so 😭😭 like he would whine and beg to touch you CONSTANTLY

HE REALLY IS…

haechan always needs to be right by your side. when he’s feeling needy in public, he’ll lean to whisper in your ear, begging you to let him touch you. he doesn’t really care that his friends might hear the both of you, he only cares to see you get embarrassed when he begs to touch you. when you’re both alone, he’s always asking before he does something. can he eat you out? can he fuck your pretty hole? will you let him cum inside, take some pictures of your cum dripping out of you? he just likes to see you rush out your words, too horny to properly answer him.

or maybe you’re teasing him, hands wandering across his abdomen and thighs, kissing along his pretty skin. he’s whining, asking you to hurry up and touch him. you know he’s only acting like this because of how needy he is, so you can’t help but tease him a bit more. when you finally touch him, he’s moaning, one hand reaching to hold yours for comfort. he’s practically crying out at your touch, begging you to keep going. maybe he’s rubbed off on you, but the urge to edge him is too strong, pulling your hand away from his leaking cock as he calls out for you to keep touching him.

even in a nonsexual way, haechan whines when you swat away his hands in embarrassment. he always likes to have a hand somewhere on you, your waist, your hips, your thigh. he likes how you push him away, only to let him hold your hand as you try to do something else. when you teasingly call him too needy, he pushes you onto his lap, saying that he’d only do this with you.

#asks #anon #vals hard hours #haechan hard hours #haechan smut #nct smut #haechan my pretty princess #writing this in the morning… not good for me #anon… u can’t do this to me…

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mockerycrow · 8 months

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Soft Moments: Soap Edition (GN!Reader)

soap masterlist

part two in my soft moments mini series! i already did price—after this is gaz and ghost, and maybe graves or valeria. this fic contains a dom/sub dynamic, but it’s nonsexual in this fic. :-)

[WARNINGS: Nonsexual dom/sub dynamic, sub!soap, implied subspace, implied prior sexual activities, fluff.]

Johnny has no idea what time it is, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. Not when his cheek is pressed up against your thigh, your hand combing through his already messy mohawk, and not when your fingers scratch him under his jaw, sending goosebumps up his spine. Every second of your touch feels like he’s standing under a warm shower on a cold night, the warmth biting at his skin and rippling down to form a puddle beneath his feet—the puddle being any energy to think or do anything himself. He’s kneeling, but you put down a couple of blankets to protect his bare knees and shins. Johnny’s half sitting between your legs—it’s a bit hard for him to do so due to his size—and leaning against your leg, his head against your thigh, and his arms loosely wrapped around your leg. The warmth of your hand spills down his spine and settles deep in his gut in a comforting way.

You smile as you continue to scratch at his jaw and scalp, watching the way his body twitches and then relaxes once he realizes you aren’t pulling away from him, you’re just readjusting. This is one of the rare moments you get to see Johnny so relaxed—his job always has him so hyped up and of course he’s a naturally loud person, but he also just needs a space to.. calm down. And that’s how this developed. Evidence of your previous endeavors are all over Soap’s collarbones, his chest, stomach and thighs—but that’s just the beginning of what he needs. What he needs, is this. Someone to shut his brain up, to cradle his jaw like he’ll slip away, needs someone to keep him safe. Even when he’s naked like he is, no gear, no weapons—he knows you’ll be there to keep him safe. Your fingertips gently scratch from right below his ear to his upper arm, allowing him to sink deeper.

Johnny ignores the low hum of the TV program, he ignores every little creak coming from the house settling because the only thing that matters is right here—you and him. His job doesn’t matter, the mission doesn’t matter, he can’t smell the blood or the gunpowder like this—he smells the sweat, sure, but it isn’t the field. It’s you. He buries his head against your thigh harder than before, and when you him in approval, he melts even further. Any praise, anything positive that comes from you comforts him. You always take care of him when he needs it most, so he allows himself to sink deeper into his brainless headspace, because he knows you’ll bring him back to the surface if it’s required. Like always.

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manicpixiefelix · 3 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 12.

Summary: Reuniting with Venetia was always an interesting experience. Many people - everyone else who lives at Saltburn included - wonder why you put up with the way she speaks to you, the way she treats you. You wonder how they can't see that it's so much more than that.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, implied pseudo-incest, nonsexual intimacy with Venetia but no smut

A/N: 3644 words. i know i said there's be ollie this chapter, but i needed to set up a few more things around the house; specifically venetia and what her whole deal is with the reader. i love her, she breaks my entire heart. i know i should have edited this one but oh well, here, eat up friends.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Never once has Venetia been gentle with the way she speaks to you; she is sharp lines and bitter tongues and laughs and moans that edge on jagged. Nothing about her seems capable of regarding you, or sometimes even treating you, with gentleness, yet she demands it from you in everything you do.

She picks you apart the moment she sees you again, like nails over every inch of your being she pries apart who you've become in her absence, but ends it all by telling you that you're still frustratingly attractive.

"Thought that would change."

"Do you think that every time?"

"Prepare for the worst and hope for the best," she sighs with a wry smile.

"My potential descent into unattractiveness is... hope?"

"Preparing, obviously; I'm very fond of you, I don't hope you get ugly," obviously, says her eye roll. Its a compliment, says her eye roll.

Still, you know Venetia well enough, know her bitter tongue belies a sweetness she could never speak out loud.

All you'd come down in is your bathers, and an old, large button down that Felix liked to swan around the house in. Which Venetia insists you leave on, lest you get yourself burnt, though you roll your eyes and shrug it off anyways, draping it over the parasol-protected banana lounge that Venetia had claimed with her towel. Venetia herself looks like something out of countless fantasies, and even more Summer magazine centre folds, the sequins of her silver bikini shining in the sunlight.

Venetia is a shiny, pretty thing, eye catching; large sunglasses and shiny lip gloss and a body that glows and shines with what you hope is sunscreen but know is just moisturiser and tanning oil. Untouched by anything but the sun and herself on this searing afternoon, wanting and waiting for her entertainment, for you.

Venetia's gentleness lives and dies in her desires, in the way she wants. Her needs, her demands are always met, but her wants she'll never be able to put to words. So you learned to figure her out for yourself; if she loves you for it, she'll never say it out loud.

Wading into the water, towards the floating chair she's so elegantly draped herself across, you keep your hands above the water's surface, keep them dry as you reach her. With every step her smile grows wider, and you place your hand on her ankle, hand gliding up her warm leg in casual greeting. Calf, knee, thigh, soft and warm and dry, and your hand comes to rest on her belly, your fingers splayed out, cooler than her sun-soaked skin, and she giggles. The anticipation makes her giddy. Her hand comes to rest on yours, though never to take your hand; she wants to be touched more than she wants to hold, that's why when she shifts carefully on her buoyant seat, she makes sure that it's not so drastic that you'd have to move your hand from her skin.

"You kept me waiting," already there's a hint of faux disapproval on her tongue when she greets you properly, or as properly as you were going to get from her. Instead of dignifying that with a real response, you roll your eyes, and lean in to kiss her on the cheek. Giving a huff at your non-answer, she does however take your face in her free hand before you can pull away, giving you a kiss on the cheek in response.

"Hello to you too, Ven," you half laugh, but she's still holding your face, holding you close, for longer than was necessary. Letting you go, she lifts her glasses with that same hand to finally get a proper look at you. A strange, accusatory glimmer there amongst the mirth and mischief.

"I thought you kept me waiting because you were freshening up," it almost sounds betrayed, settling the glasses on top of her head. How could she have known that kind of thing? Why would she care if you hadn't?

"Didn't think it would matter; I was getting in the pool anyways," you pointed out as nonchalantly as possible, but she just reiterated that you'd kept her waiting, like it was the end of the world. Something about her suddenly intrigued gaze had you growing flustered, wondering what it was about you that had her so incensed.

In the next instance, she's slid from her seat and into the water beside you without hesitation. There's now something determined in her eyes when she takes your face in both hands, kissing you. Venetia has always been direct, has always taken for granted that you'd bend to her whims in most instances. Like this one. Your arms wind around her as if on instinct. There's nothing sweet about it, nipping at your lips insistently, tongue in your mouth -

"Oh my god," she pulls back, eyes wide with what you're pretty sure is disbelief, like she's come to an urgent realisation.

"It's so good to be home; how have you been lately?" You ask breathlessly, deeply confused about her attitude and trying to give her a hint that even for her this is a strange greeting. But then her lips are on yours again, pulling you in, all teeth and tongues and gasping furiously into your mouth. Somewhere in all of this, you pull her close, hands beneath her thighs and letting her wrap her legs around you under the water.

"It hasn't even been an hour!" She cries this time when she pulls back from you, looking almost like she's on the verge of laughter or perhaps screaming, "wash your mouth out! What is wrong with you?" Despite the fact that she'd just given you the kind of kiss that would put Hollywood to shame. Twice.

"Not drinking chlorine for you, Ven," you tell her, amused, while still holding her secure against you. Displeased with your answer, she pushes away from your chest with both hands, and you let her go, let her splash you as she makes a face.

"Don't drink it, christ," she rolls her eyes, as if she believes you're being wilfully stupid about the whole thing.

"Then I'll just taste like chlorine," you pointed out, wading over to her. The answering smile you get is particularly mean.

"I'd rather you taste like chlorine than Felix," despite all the questions and implications her disdainful words raise, you match her energy, smiling back with a blithe confidence as you approach her once more.

"You sure you mean that, Vennie?"

Immediately, Venetia is scarlet, spluttering, playing exceptionally well at being horrified by your implications, if not for the ease with which she lets herself get wrapped up in you once more.

"You're gross, you're awfully gross, you both are. I can't believe -" she tells you, looks in your eyes like she's determined to make you believe it, "I'll wash your mouth out myself," she threatens, and you nod while not trying particularly hard to hide your amusement. With a childlike scowl she dips herself mostly underwater, still encircled loosely by your arms, scowling at you all the while. Like a little, blonde crocodile, nose and eyes making sure you're watching her every move, taking her and her threat seriously.

When she surfaces, cheeks puffed out and presumably filled with water, you have to let her go for how hard your laughing. Then the chase is on.

The first mouthful of water she loses to her own laughter, and shouting at you to stop trying to get away, while you thrash through the length of the pool. Every so often she almost catches you, but you splash her and wriggle free and she shrieks with faux offense. Until she's got you pinned to the side of the pool, water just up past your waist, and a devilish look of triumph in her eyes.

At first she taps her lips expectantly. Of course her mouth is once again full to bursting with pool water. Shaking your head adamantly, you try and lean away, still faintly laughing, but Venetia changes tact.

Instead of caging you against the side, she carefully wraps her arms around your neck, gaze turning soft and fond and amused as she leans in. You know what she's doing, but you let her have it this time.

Winding your arms around her waist, you let her shotgun a mouthful of pool water into your mouth, and try not to laugh to keep it from going down your airways or up your nose. Venetia, in triumph, the moment she knows the water is in your mouth, she pulls back and clamps her hand over your mouth, looking altogether too proud of herself.

Drenched, beautiful, and grinning from ear to ear, the look in her eyes betrays just how into you, or at the very least into this moment, she is.

"Wash your mouth out before you come anywhere near me next time," she orders in a firm whisper that's definitely doing more for you than you'd like to admit. Possibly for Venetia too, considering how she's unable to wipe the smile off of her own face, "you filthy, little doggie."

No-one, maybe not even Felix, is ever allowed to find out how quickly those words have you all but melting at her command. The fight drains from you, and God all you want is to be good, good, good. Judging by Venetia's pleased reaction, she can feel the moment you start to submit, can probably see it in your eyes. Her hand stays over your mouth until she's satisfied you've swished the water around enough, and you spit the water back out to the side, instead of at her like you'd been intending to before she'd called you out.

"Can't believe you said that to me, really, Y/N," she sighed, shaking her head. Neither of you moved; you flush against the side of the pool, and Venetia pressed flush to you.

"So you're the only one who can say things in the hopes of getting manhandled?" Giving a sheepish grin, even if you don't fully believe what you're saying, there's a semblance of self-satisfaction when Venetia gives in. She grabs your chin and pulls you in for one more rough kiss, pressing against you, trapping you in this moment. A rare instance in which she gives you what she thinks you want.

But some of your bite is coming back.

"So does the chlorine taste better?" You smirked. Immediately she splashes you with a wave of water to the face. By the time you've spluttered through a recovery, she's halfway to the stairs.

"I hate you," is not a real answer to the question, but that's okay, you weren't really looking for one as much as you had been looking to rile her up, "and you've made me all wet - shut it -" she warns, cutting off the crude joke you both knew you were about to make, as she starts up the pool stairs with determination, "and you've ruined my beautiful afternoon plans."

Waiting at the top of the stairs, she turns back to you, simply watching her with a grin, giving you an impatient gesture. Your smile widens, but still, you obligingly follow her.

Even while mad at you, Venetia was a creature of predictable desires. Very rarely did her frustration with you outweigh the benefit of your company to her, and now was no different. Drying yourselves off with her towel, the only one either of you had brought down, it seems her mood is already lightening once more, letting you know that she'd gotten her hands on the latest Harry Potter novel. When she pulls the book out from where she'd stashed it under the long lounge, she picks up Felix's shirt and tosses it to you.

You know to put it on, just like you know not to comment on it.

Without asking, nor having to be asked, you settle yourself on the lounge chair and insistently pat the space beside you; almost enough for Venetia.

"Let me read over your shoulder," an incredibly flimsy excuse that you both see through, but she still settles herself on the lounge chair too. There's not quite enough room, so you're almost on your side, arm around Venetia's shoulders, head resting against hers, pressed up against her whole side. Legs curled up together, your other hand once more comes to rest on her lower belly, casually intimate, warm, tips of your fingers just barely tucked into her bikini bottoms. You're not reading; your face pressed so close to her's is proof enough of that.

"Your eyelashes are tickling my cheek," in these moments she sounds so much younger than she is. The peel of laughter that rings out from her as you nuzzle your face further against her cheek, pointedly fluttering your eyelashes, it reminds you of the way she'd laugh at the sleepovers the two of you shared in the first few years of meeting each other.

And you settle back down, angling your face only slightly to keep your lashes from bothering her, and rub faint circles against the soft skin of her stomach with your thumb. Venetia opens her book, and finally relaxes.

It's been a long time since you'd seen Venetia fully relax around anyone who wasn't you. You wonder if anyone else has noticed, has wondered, has thought to figure out the how and why of the girl beside you. Contrary to popular belief, it's been a long time since Venetia's actually sought you out for sex. Constant lewd flirting and suggestive texts aside.

So much of Venetia's self worth was tied to being sexually attractive. Pretty and fashionable and fuckable. Needed biblically, carnally. Pick up, use, put down. There was such a thrill in being wanted that it took her too long to understand why she was hollow; don't let me go felt selfish for her to even think. But you'd learned to read through the things she leaves unsaid.

Sex she could get anywhere, but the touch-starved Venetia knew you understood the truth of what she wants. It's why she treated you like furniture, like she was entitled to your personal space.

You often find yourself wondering if Venetia only touches you in ways she wishes she could touch Felix. More casually than even now, and many still would consider their relationship too close. You are kind and loving and playful and a wonderful friend, but you are nothing of real substance to her; you are a warm body and the closest she can be to Felix half the time.

For anyone else it would be too hot for this kind of proximity, but never for Venetia. So you drown in the heat of her skin pressed against hers, and let yourself drift asleep in the peaceful afternoon.

It's a sleep so peaceful that you don't even properly wake when her soft chatter infects your hazy mind. Farleigh's voice drifts through your head and this haze -

"- no-one tells me anything," you can hear Venetia pouting without even opening your eyes. Her book must be closed because she's got a hand on your thigh, bringing your leg further over her.

"Of course they don't, you should have seen both of them earlier when I accidentally implied -"

"Careful, Farleigh," you yawned, carefully snuggling further against Venetia. The pair are quiet for a few long seconds, but your eyes remained closed.

"See what I mean?" Farleigh eventually breaks the rather tense silence with a wry, pointed comment.

"Can't believe you didn't tell me we were having a guest," Venetia sounds like she's sulking, but you just make a noncommittal hum in the back of your throat, "feeling possessive of our impending Mister Quick, are you, pet?" And you feel her fingers gentle on your cheek, taking your face in her hand and lifting you to look her in the eyes. Cracking your eyes open, you level a flat gaze at her. Also, you realise how long you must have been sleeping; it's sunset.

"Simply giving you space to form your own opinions of him, Ven," you told her, gaze sliding pointedly to Farleigh, who had splayed himself out on the opposing lounge chair. He stuck his tongue out at you.

"I'm a big girl, pet; I just want to know what you think, what I should expect."

God, the Catton siblings are phenomenal at playing innocent in a way that's completely and utterly unconvincing.

Venetia's still holding your face close, gaze sharp and demanding an answer. Maybe you should untangle yourself from her, from this conversation, but something about being around her always made you want to play along, even if out of spite.

"I think it doesn't matter what I say," you tell her softly, speaking with an honesty you don't often allow yourself around most of the Cattons, or even Farleigh, "nor do I think it matters what Farleigh says, no matter how cruel he is about Ollie," everything about your tone, your expression, the way your grip on her retracts as much as you're able, it comes as a surprise to her, and judging by your peripheries, Farleigh too, "you're going to want him, adore him; Oliver is unconventionally wonderful, and you are Venetia Catton."

"The actual fuck do you mean by that?" She pulls away, struggling to her feet with a scowl, and you relax fully into the spot she'd just abandoned. By this time you smile up at her, warm, adoring.

"I mean it is in your nature to love," it's not entirely a lie, but Venetia only sees the truth in it, the fondness. Her irritation softens, "I mean no opinion will ever matter above yours, and I know you, Ven; you're hardwired into your own brand of love at first sight." It's an incredibly, meticulously diplomatic cover for your earlier, far harsher statement. Farleigh's watching you like you're a magician before his very eyes; Venetia, thankfully, doesn't look at him.

Sitting back down gingerly on the edge of the lounge, she gives into your sweet words when you softly tell her you love her. She doesn't say it back - she never will - but she kisses you on the forehead before standing again.

"Almost thought you were being a bitch again," she tells you loftily, wrapping her towel around her waist like a skirt, cocking her hip, "and I've about had it up to here with you and your -"

"Yapping?" You supplied, playing up the canine allegations just to see the way she fails the hide the quirk of her lips, the dead give away that she's desperate to smile.

"Yapping, exactly." And she turns swiftly on her heel, trying her best to storm away. When you call out that you'll see her at dinner, she flips you off. If you look to Farleigh, you think you might be able to see the cogs turning in his mind. Slowly, his mouth opens, then there's a distinct look in his eyes that says he thinks better about whatever he was going to say, and he closes it once more.

"Spit it out."

"I actually don't think I will," at least he admits it, "I think I'm in awe of your way with words and I'm gonna keep the rest to myself," he looks out at the pool, at the grounds beyond it, tucking his hands behind his head.

"Farleigh -"

"No," he says firmer, and looks at you, but his expression isn't harsh, "I think you're right; I think we should have our own opinions, and I don't want mine to get in the way of our friendship," surprisingly, he sounds very genuinely sincere; it hits the centre of your chest, and you take a moment to consider his words. "Oliver Quick," still the barest bit of disdain, but he's clearly trying, "is someone you and my cousin clearly care about; end. Of. Sentence." It does look like it pains him to say, but you're grateful nonetheless.

For a very long time, the two of you lay in comfortable silence, side by side, as the sun turn the world gold-red-lilac-blue around you. Just as you feel like you should go and get dressed for supper, you can't help but try again.

"Come on, what were you going to say -?" You don't even finish the teasing question before Farleigh blurts out -

"Just how good was Oliver's dick for you to actually be this possessive of him before he even gets here?"

And the question makes you absolutely burst out laughing, a sound which Farleigh thankfully echoes. The cathartic release is greatly welcomed as you both stand. Wrapping your arm around Farleigh's waist as the two of you head back, but he's still waiting for the answer he knows you're not nearly too shy to give.

"I'm not possessive," you justify immediately, though Farleigh's snort gives away that he doesn't even begin to believe you, "but you can never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever tell Venetia -"

"That good?" Farleigh sounds incredibly sceptical, but you go quiet; you wonder if he can tell how smug you're being right now. Clearly, after a moment of silence, the disbelief in his voice gives him away; "seriously; that good?" You make an affirmative noise in the back of your throat, "okay," Farleigh actually sounds a little impressed, "Felix's jealousy makes a little more sense; I assume he knows?"

"Of course he knows," you shake your head dismissively, "and he's not jealous," anymore, you leave off the end.

"Am I jealous of you?" Farleigh murmurs, mostly as a joke, but knowing him there's at least part of him considering it, "who would have guessed; Oliver Quick."

For the first time when Farleigh says his name, there's only intrigue on his tongue.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #venetia catton x reader #venetia catton imagine #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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thefantasyden · 2 months

Text

Mindless Obedience

Pairing: Sub! Felix x AFAB reader

Genre: SMUT

Warnings: Dominant reader, dirty talk, unprotected sex (creampie, no breeding kink), ALMOST choking?, oral (both receiving), Felix is in sub space and is a good boy, reader calls Felix Kitty a few times, Minho is mentioned maybe twice in the beggining (nonsexual), mention of TPE in the beggining (Total Power Exchange), subtle degradation.

Word count: 1850

Summary: Felix is your eager, pretty, thought-free kitty.

Felix was addicted to you. He was sure of that. The casual ways you would exert your dominance over him had him keening at the lightest touch, head immediately clouded as all thought left his brain.

He never had to think when you were around. You were more than willingly to direct his every move and he wouldn't question a single thing you told him, putting all his trust in you. You had fallen into this dynamic so effortlessly before he even knew what it was, his body always actively seeking you out of it's own accord.

He still remembers the day you asked him about it. It was the first time he'd ever really seen you nervous, your hands findgetting with your jewellery as you asked if he had ever heard of TPE and what he thought about it. He hadn't looked back for even a second since that day, quickly becoming attuned to your every wish and every non verbal command.

It wasn't unusual for him to feel needy, but that barely described the overwhelm he felt as he sat between your legs, your voice practically an echo as you spoke to Minho, your nails running gently along his scalp as you pet him like a cat.

A kitty. Your kitty.

Your eyes shift from Minho's face down to Felix when he nuzzles against your thigh, the feeling of light kisses catching your attention. His body is buzzing as he looks up to meet your stare, his eyes watery as he takes in just how beautiful you are. It's one of the only thoughts he's capable of when he's like this.

"Lixxie, are you okay?"

He's so focused on committing every detail of your face to his memory that he doesn't register you speaking to him at first, his head shaking as if to try and clear the fog.

"Kitty?"

The switch flips with the use of the nickname and he's audibly whining, shifting his position so that he's now kneeling between your legs, his hands resting on the small sliver of couch that shows right infront of your lap.

"Hm?"

He's too dazed to make words if he doesn't have to and he sinks deeper into the fluffy cloud of submission that surrounds every sense, lulling him into relaxation until the only two thoughts swimming in his head are need and you.

"My sweet boy. Are you feeling a little dumb, kitty?"

A small nod is all you need, hearing minho giggle from across the room as you guide the delicate boy infront of you to stand, leading him carefully toward his room. Pliant is the only fitting word to describe him as you sit him on the edge of his bed, his almost sleepy smile shining at you brightly.

"My pretty, pretty boy."

You cup his cheek with your hands and hes almost mewing at the feeling of your skin against his own, breath leaving his body when you lean down to plant a sweet kiss against his soft lips.

"Will you let me take care of you, Angel? Want me to make you feel good?"

There's more awareness to his response, hesitant fingers brushing your thighs. You step closer, letting him rest his head against your tummy as you tug at his hair and coax desperate whines from his open mouth.

"Please..."

It's a whisper at first, but his words gain confidence the second he feels your other hand rest on his throat.

"Please. I'll do anything."

You coo at the boy falling apart beneath you begore sinking down to your knees, tugging the waist band of his pants a laughing softly to yourself as he clumsily tries to take them off, his foot catching in the leg for a second as he kicks at them, finally settling back down in to his place.

The length of his cock is pressed against the fabric of his underwear and you can already see spots forming where the precum is poling against them. It's endearing in a way, really. How willingly he comes to pieces for you. It remains unspoken, but you know the mutual understanding between you is that he would go to the ends of the earth for you without a question spared for what or why and he knows all too well that you would do the same and more.

"You're so hard already Lix."

You stare up at him as you tug his briefs down and free his cock, encouraging the boy to lean back a but so he could see you in all your glory.

"You've been so good today, haven't you?"

There's a deep groan in response that contracts his earlier whining and it sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core, your tongue poking out to trace a full line from the based of his cock up to the tip where you take him into your mouth properly, lazily bobbing your head half way as your hand twists around the base of him. Hips thrust up into your mouth and you humm quietly before pulling away, a string of saliva catching his attention for a split second.

"You can fuck my face if you want to. Just this once, as a reward."

He could come untouched if you wanted, but he silently thanks the universe for blessing him with you when he feels your mouth around him again, waiting patiently for your approval when he rest his hand on the back of your head. He doesn't begin thrusting up until you're settled comfortably, your fingers tapping his thigh to tell him you were ready.

Every single time you allow him to have you like this, he feels like he might cease to exist at any moment, swallowed whole by the unbearable pleasure you give him. It's enough to make him question what he could have done to deserve being put on this earth at the same time as you.

"Thank you! Shit. Love you so much."

The words are rushed and slurred as he babbles, his cries becoming more desperate as he gets carried away, pressing your head down harder on his cock. It's when you don't move, your nose pressed against his tummy as you swallow around his cock that he's sure he's lost his mind, begging you not to let him cum because he doesn't want to finish without making you feel good.

"You're a merciful god." He giggles out, eyes shining with love as you move to sit yourself in his lap for just a second, wet kisses trailing over his neck. He can feel you smiling against his skin and he'd be lying if he said he didn't briefly feel the desire to propose to you then and there.

Thoughts are gone as quick as they came, your body spreading out against his pale blue sheets like an invitation to the best show you would ever see. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him when you pat your thigh and he's immediately situating himself between your legs, tugging your shorts down so that he can lap at your dripping pussy through your panties, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips.

"So wet for me...."

It's a mix of pride and amusement and it has you rolling your eyes at him, tugging your underwear to the side with two fingers as you shove him forward with a grip on his long blonde hair. There's a surprised yelp from him that contrast the way his tongue immediately begins lapping at your clit as if on instinct, his arms sneaking beneath your thighs and tugging you even closer to his mouth. You swear he won't be satisfied until he's suffocating.

"Fingers, Lix."

It's a quiet command but one he complies with none the less, testing the waters with just one finger before deciding to press two into your soaked pussy, the slick sound of his saliva mixing with your wetness spurring him on.

Felix knows exactly how to get you to the edge, the tips of his fingers massaging the perfect spot inside of you, tongue flicking at your clit in small, firm motions. He's desperate to have you come undone on his fingers, ready and willing to beg for it when you pull him away from you, a confused look of despair from being forced to stop mixing with the pleasure filled moan that having his hair pulled always impels from him.

"Want you to make me cum on your cock, kitty. Can you do that for me?"

No words are offered, his answer instead coming in the form of him rushing to his knees, his palms splaying against your thighs as he pushes them up just slightly, rutting his aching cock over your slick coated pussy. Even in his current, animalistic state, he knows better than to put it in without your explicit instruction.

"Such a good boy. Being so patient for me."

Wet kisses find their way along your leg as he keens at the praise, fighting the urge to shove his full length into you without warning.

"Go on, baby. Fuck me nice and hard okay?"

That's exactly what he plans to do, deep groans contrasting with desperate whines as he bottoms out, hips stuttering at the way your pussy clenches around him. Everything he does is instinct at this point, fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks on your thighs as he fucks into you at a steady pace, carefully aiming his thrust to hit the spot that makes your mouth fall open every time he hits it.

Waves of pleasure shoot through your chest and you don't realise you're covering your face until you feel your thighs drop, hands tugging at your arms before they're locking with your own, pressing them firmly against the bed beside your head as his body presses hard against your own.

"So pretty. So wet, fuck. Can't hold it."

The way he babbles compliments has you so close to your own high that you feel no need to ask him to wait, locking your legs around his waist.

"It's okay Lix, you can cum. Want you to fill me nice and deep, okay?"

There's a brief pause in his movements before he's biting at your neck, marking it aimlessly. There's one firm thrust before he pauses, his whimpers filling you mind as he fills you to the brim, not wasting any time before he's fucking you again, hand leaving yours in favour of rubbing circles on your clit as he begs you to cum on his cock. It's almost painful for him but he can't stop until he knows you're satisfied.

It only takes a minute of his carefully angled hips pressing against yours before the warmth in your stomach spreads through your entire body, your mouth meeting his in a messy kiss as your walls flutter around him. He doesn't stop until he's sure you're finished, collapsing on top of you without a care for the fact that he was still inside you.

You stay like that for a moment before you're manoeuvring him on to his side, head burried in your chest and your leg thrown over him to ensure his cock stays situated snuggly inside you. He's happier than ever as he drifts off like that, mumbling quiet 'i love you's against your skin.

#felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #straykids smut #thefantasyden

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thesecretwriter · 10 months

Text

a tied up situation - miguel o’hara

pairing: miguel o’hara x spider!female reader

warnings: angst – past ‘relationship’ between miguel and reader, fluff – soft!miguel moments ,smut – minors dni. this is probably the smuttiest thing i have ever written, penetrative seggs, mentions of biting (nonsexual), size kink, unprotected seggs, creampie.

summary: in which y/n, a spider variant, holds miguel o’hara captive because he wants to take her back to HQ for the ‘crimes’ she has committed. However, the history the two share cause things to head in another direction.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: so, this is my new mans and i had to share my thoughts about him with the world. enjoy :)

minors/ageless blogs dni.

masterlists

Miguel felt himself gaining consciousness.

The room he was in was dimly lit, which he was thankful for. His hands were bound with chains, not wanting to give his talons a chance to help him break free.

"Should I be concerned that you just have chains lying around?" he asked, his voice deep and showing a tone of annoyance.

“With the way you have been hunting me down, do I really have a choice?” you ask him rhetorically, to which he rolls his eyes, trying to keep his cool despite the situation.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I have to hunt you down when you commit crimes,” He asked curiously, trying to gain some leverage in the situation.

“My crimes are nothing compared to what you should be focusing on,” you retort back. He would only see your deeds as crimes, not stopping to really evaluate the situation.

You stand in front of him. You knew in your mind that he had more than enough strength to break free. However, thanks to your own venomous spider bite, he would be helpless.

Miguel scoffed, he had witnessed you robbing banks and disappearing with heaps of money.

“You are the only spider being I know that has committed crimes. I watched you for months doing away with money and yet you’re keeping me hostage in what seems to be your apartment,” his heightened senses allowed him to hear the bustling noise from outside and the daily activities of your neighbours.

“Even though I have had my fair share of encounters with you, it baffles me that you haven’t figured out why I’m stealing all this money,” you say with bitterness in your tone.

He had to look up at you when talking, but you had crouched down to his level, settling your hands on his thighs. To you it was an innocent touch, but to Miguel it was anything but that.

You see, you and Miguel have a history with each other. You had once been part of Spider Society, helping Miguel on missions and fighting crime. However, when the canon events started taking place and you had to see the people you were friends with go through pain without doing anything. You left.

The pain of not having you in HQ had affected Miguel, more so since the two of you often pined after one another.

Miguel's façade quickly crumbled, and he breaths a deep sigh.

“Are you okay?” you ask, genuinely concerned.

Miguel chuckled darkly as he shook his head, trying to remain in control of the situation despite the growing desire he felt towards you.

"You underestimate me. These chains won't hold me forever, but when I break free, the only thing I'll do with you is take you back to HQ, where you won’t be leaving for a long time,” he smirked as you furrowed your brows.

In that moment, you didn’t like the way he looked at you. Yes, robbing banks is a crime, but he needed to know why you were doing it.

“I don't think giving money to the poor is a crime. Sure, the money isn't mine, but it rightfully belonged to the people that need it the most. Are you going to label me a criminal for doing what I think is right?”

Miguel's expression hardened as he glared at you, his alpha male persona taking over.

"I don't care what delusional thoughts you have. You and your vigilante ways are a danger to the community, and I'll do my part in stopping you. Whether it's taking you to HQ or making sure you never get the chance to do it again,"

Anger ran through your veins. You stood up from your crouched position and put your hands on his shoulders, feeling him tense beneath your hands. You glared at him, but quickly took notice of the way his eyes moved between your lips and back to your eyes.

Miguel let out a growl of frustration, trying to hold back his growing sexual desire towards you.

"Stop with the games. What do you want from me?" He asked, his voice rising in anger.

You turn away from him and face the computer screen on the computer in front of the two of you. It takes a moment for you to put it on and open the folder that breaks your heart.

I want you to see that the so called 'crimes' that I do is for the benefit of the poor. I give it to those who need it. I give it to the people who are left to fend for themselves on the street. Innocent children forced to grow up and take on responsibilities that they shouldn't see for years to come. So, yes, I will believe about my so called 'delusional thoughts' but at least I know there are children who are being fed and kept safe,”

Miguel couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he listened to you. For a moment, he thought about the families who might be benefiting from your deeds. He looked at the several images of hungry children begging on streets and those taking up jobs just to make enough for food.

“The banks that I rob are the ones owned by big time entrepreneurs that use it as a front for money laundering. I don’t target just any bank. These takes months of planning sometimes,” you explain to him. A part of you hopes that he will see the justification behind what you are doing.

The shared history between the two of you is the same reason you go to untie the chains from his hands. It’s the look in his eyes that let you know he will understand you.

He got up from the couch and towered over you. He rubbed his wrists and watched you intently. He could still feel you venom in his veins, but due to him having his own – it didn’t affect him as bad as you thought. The bite mark you left however, made him feel some kind of way.

He turned to leave but hesitated for a moment before looking back at you.

He doesn't see the frown on your face from the way he so easily thought of you as a criminal. You truly believed he was different.

"I hope you find it in your heart to one day know what I did was for the right of the children," You look to him with intensity and move your gaze away from him.

He hated knowing you felt such emotions because of him. Being tied up in the Spider Society left him with little free time, and the craving of wanting you back at his side was growing more and more in the moment.

Miguel couldn't help but feel a stirring as he watched you. He could feel his body betraying his principles as he walked towards you, his eyes locking onto yours.

"I won't justify your actions, but I can't deny the emotions I feel towards you," He muttered as he brought your body close to his and eventually pressed his lips to yours, pulling you close to him.

He couldn't help but indulge in his physical desires towards you, his hands roaming your body as he deepened the kiss.

You let your hands hold onto his shoulders and lean in more to the kiss

Miguel's hands moved to your back, pulling you in even closer, his tongue intertwining with yours as the passion between you two ignited. He could feel his desire growing stronger with each passing moment, and he knew he had to have you.

He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he looked at you with dark, lustful eyes. "I need you. Now," He growled before pressing his lips back onto yours, his hands moving to your clothes, hastily pulling them off.

You moan against his lip as you both struggle to take off each other’s clothes. His hands make quick work of ridding you from your clothes He pulled you against him, straddling his lap in the same couch he was tied against a mere few seconds ago.

Miguel groaned as you straddled his lap, feeling his erection grow harder under you. He moved his hands to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you in closer.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding up your back to unclasp your bra. He kissed down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses as he moved lower, his mouth finding your breasts and he took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting lightly.

He could feel his desire growing into an all-consuming ache as he continued to pleasure you, his hands moving to your panties, tearing them off without a second thought.

You scowl at him as he smirks at you. "You know I’ll get you a new pair," He took his cock and ran it against your slit. Coating himself in your arousal before putting his tip at your entrance and letting you sink down on him. You both moaned at the feeling.

Miguel groaned as you sank down onto him, feeling the tightness of your pussy grip him tightly. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling as he savored the feeling of you around him.

"You feel so good," he muttered, his hands moving to your hips as he began to move you up and down on his cock. He started out slow and deep, enjoying the feel of you before picking up the pace, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, creating a rhythm that soon turned into a heated pace.

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he continued to fuck you hard, his hot breath mingling with yours as he gave into the desire, he felt towards you.

Miguel's grip on your hips tightened as he thrust harder into you, feeling the hot pleasure coursing through his veins. He knew that his grip was starting to leave bruises on your skin, but he couldn't stop himself from holding onto you tightly.

As he felt his orgasm building, he dug his claws into your skin, as he let out a growl of pleasure.

"You're mine," he muttered between thrusts, his voice rough with desire. With having him pull you against his chest, you couldn't help but moan at the thought of how his big arms are wrapped around you, handling you like a ragdoll.

Your hips rocked against his and your quickened breathing and increase in heart rate let Miguel know you were close.

He began to relentlessly thrust into you, chasing his high and yours. With a few faster paced thrusts, he erupted inside you, filling you up with his hot, thick cum. His name left your lips as your orgasm washed over you.

Miguel groaned in pleasure, still lost in the pleasure of his orgasm. He continued to move his hips, riding out the last waves of pleasure as he pulled you close to him.

"Mine," he muttered, his voice husky with desire. "I never knew it could be like this."

He stroked your back gently, holding you close to him as he savored the afterglow of your heated exchange.

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two-red-lungs · 2 years

Note

I read a couple of your Eddie smuts and I must say "chef kiss". If I may add to the gutter we are all climbing into, however, I'd love to ask for a list of kinks you think he'd associate with. I know some may be personal imagines/tastes/likes and that is okay! It is what we are here for.

First of all ❤️THANK YOU❤️.

Okay, I have a lot of thoughts about Eddie’s preferences, tastes, kinks, general enjoyments, etc. I have organized them for your viewing pleasure.

Eddie Munson Sexual Headcanons (NSFW Below the Cut):

There is so much going on with this man. SO MUCH.

General Likes/Facts:

The man is a switch. He’s so switchy. He’s like a human multitool.

Nearly anything has the ability to turn him on. You wanna ride him and have him beg to cum and call you mommy? Excellent. He is literally already hard. You want him to fold you in half on the bed and rail you until you’re shaking? He is literally equally as into that, bend over babe.

He’s got a thigh thing. Something about the plush…. The softness… the way the meat of the leg jiggles, how it feels when he grabs it or smacks it, how it cushions him when he fucks. Even nonsexually he loves thighs. Lap pillow, anyone?

BIG ON WETNESS. If you’re his GF he will go stupid horny apeshit monkey brain over your wetness. He’ll literally just play with it, or eat you out for as long as you let him. Almost annoyingly delighted that he can make you so wet.

Mr. “Walking Oral Fixation.” His fingers in your mouth, yours in his, you biting him, him biting you, doesn’t matter as long as long as he gets to feel a lil tongue.

Side note on that: hickeys. On him or you, again, doesn’t matter, they made him preen and walk around all puffed-up and happy because it shows that he cares about someone and they care about him.

Mild exhibitionist. Not in actual “might get caught” scenarios, although he HAS thought about it, but rocking his van in a parking lot? Getting it on in a bathroom stall? It’s so naughty and taboo he LOVES it

If you bring BDSM elements to the table he’s READY to try them. Ready for anything. Sensory deprivation, chastity, mild breath play. He’ll try almost anything once.

Eddie Munson would be like a kid in a candy store if he ever got a sex swing. “The possibilities, baby! The fuckin’ possibilties! Endless!”

Sub!Eddie Likes/Facts:

PUSSYDRUNK PUSSYDRUNK

When Eddie subs you can SLAM DUNK him into subspace two ways: sitting on his face/pinning him, or calling him some variation of “baby boy” or “silly boy”

Likes a little bit of groping/being pushed around. Press him up against a wall and shove a leg between his thighs? He’s got heart eyes.

Adores edging. Such an intense sensation. He likes going mindless during sex and oh BOY does that get him there

Big beggar. Will babble and beg and cajole with spittle running down his chin that he’s been so good and is trying so hard and to please let him cum

Goes fucking feral for mild degradation, especially “stupidification” as long as it doesn’t insult his actual intelligence. Loves being your dumb, sweet, horny angel willing to follow your every order and eat you out with glazed-over, brainless eyes

An ideal Valentine’s Day for him would be you riding him with his hands tied behind his back until he’s so pussydrunk he’s slurring his words, and you’re laughing and biting at his lips and teasing him over it

In softer scenes: praise kink. Oh man PRAISE KINK. Gently riding him while peppering him with kisses and soft little touches, telling him over and over that you love him and he’s so kind and he’s such a hard worker and you enjoy your time with him so much??? Oh he’ll cum but he might cry too

Dom!Eddie Likes/Facts:

Hello HELLO??? This man is the world’s biggest service top. It really lets his “kind of enjoys antagonizing people” side shine through

Multiple. Orgasms. He’ll get an iron grip on your legs and hold one open even when you’re shaking. “C’mon, Princess, I know you got another one for me, there we go, there we gooooo, good girl, fuck…”

He’ll talk to your pussy. Or at least talk about your pussy. “She’s so wet for me baby, feel that? Opening right up for my fingers, shit, is she always this excitable?” With that smug, stupid grin on his face.

Plays the “what did you say?” and “sorry, I couldn’t hear you” game to make you say things louder (like that you want his cock, or that you want to cum)

He’s a great dom honestly but his one flaw is that he folds very very easily when you whine enough for something, like he literally can’t help but DESPERATELY want to give it to you. And he COMPLAINS about it.

“Fuck, baby… shit. Now that’s just… that’s not fair. Don’t use the puppy dog eyes on me. I’m not the bad guy here! Who asked to be tied up, hmmm?”

At first he thought vibrators were the enemy. Now he has realized they’re his ally and it’s made him fucking unstoppable. He’ll literally just keep it pressed against your clit while you buck and squeal and talk the whole time. “Fuuuuck, looks like it feels good, looks like you love it. Feel good baby? Too much? Nah. You can take it. You’re a big girl.”

Eddie’s Icks/Hard Limits:

Scat and blood play. He’d literally look at you like you’d grown a third head if you mentioned either of them. Great way to make things weird.

Don’t get him wrong. He loves you love-tapping his cock a few times, he loves lightly slapping your clit just enough to make you jump, and he adores hands softly squeezing necks because it feels like ownership and a sign of trust. But HURTING you? Actually, ACTUALLY hurting you? Hey he literally cannot fucking stand the thought

He may look the part of metal enthusiast and biker guy but he’s extremely sentimental and romantic under all his “jaded bullshit”, and no amount of rolling out the old “safe sane and consensual” rhetoric will ever convince him to lay a harmful hand on you

Actually getting caught. A, he doesn’t like involving other people. This is a you-and-him thing. And B, Eddie has enough shit to deal with without getting a public indecency charge okay???

Demeaning him too much. It’s the other way around, too, but concerning him it can be very easy to hit him where it genuinely hurts: his sense of intellect. Calling him your sweet, silly slut is one thing. Your stupid little cumdrunk boy is great too. But calling him a moron? A dumbass? Mentioning anything about his academics? Uh-uh. Nope. Eddie has gone flaccid.

Just don’t make him feel like an actual idiot. That’s all he asks. The bar is on the ground, folks.

Cuckolding/cheating. Eddie is a romantic and I’ll die on this hill. As much as he says he doesn’t believe in all that, he clings to his fantasy stories of dashing heroes fighting entire nations for their one true love. The idea that you might get off on fucking someone that’s not him in front of him is actually… emotionally hurtful.

Because at the end of the day he is your big jingly labrador retriever, and hey? He fucking loves you. Loves you more than anything.

Thanks for the ask babe!!!

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things s4 #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #minors dont look #my writing

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moodywyrm · 1 year

Note

basketball!abby is a firm believer in nonsexual touching, especially w a chubby gf!!!! like you two would be cuddling on the couch on a rainy day, you laying on abby enjoying a book and abby listening to the sounds of the rain, occupying herself by touching you all over. n she would be so sweet with it, squishing your thighs and hips and ass, touching your tummy n your boobs and it’s in the least sexual way possible, she’s just a very tactile person :((

more thoughts….

and then you doze off, book falling on the floor. abby is snapped out of her focus on you and picks up the book, places it on the coffee table for you later, n then carries you to bed for a nap :(

cuddling with abby on a rainy day would fix all my problems I think.

just imagine abby is sitting with her back against the couch on the big seat part (do u know what im taking about?), her thighs spread just enough to slot u between them. she's in boxers n a big hoodie, her hair loose as it always is when she's at home with u, ur in lil panties and one of her sweatshirts, fuzzy pink socks completing the look.

ur leaning back against her, reading book lovers by Emily Henry n loving it! (book rec for y'all I love that book v v much) abby is listening to the music u have in the background, just some chill Aretha Franklin. n her hands are wandering around ur body, kneading at ur tummy, ur thighs, her head resting on ur shoulder while she zones out. but she doesn't realize that she's basically giving u a massage n ur already so warm n cozy against her and the entire atmosphere is just soooo correct with the pitter patter of rain drops n the incense ur burning n the soft light of the lamps n the gentle backdrop of 'I say a lil prayer' that ur drifting in n out of consciousness.

she only realizes when ur book falls and makes a lil thunk on the floor, having slipped off the couch entirely. ur head it tipped to the side, facing away from her but she can tell ur asleep, ur breathing slow. n she's like ,,, did I do that??? yes baby. yes you did.

she can't even grab ur book to save ur spot, so she just keeps kneading at u, eventually falling asleep with her head nestled into the crook of ur neck <3. u two nap like that for at least an hour, haley n soot asleep at ur feet, snuggled into each other like lil puzzle pieces.

#anon #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x reader fluff #abby anderson fluff

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coupsie-daisies · 7 months

Text

Kinktober '23: Collaring | Park Jimin

Pairing: Park Jimin x GN!Reader

Genre: fluff, Kinktober 2023

Summary: Jimin brings home a surprise to his submissive, proof of his unwavering faith.

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: nonsexual BDSM, Reader is called thing and Angel, use of Sir for Jimin. Honestly that's pretty much it

A/N: So despite being a part of kinktober, I wanted to take this one in a little bit of a softer, fluffier direction. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726// @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

You loved days like this one, days where you didn't have anything on your schedule, and Jimin would be getting home early. Days where you could be in your sweet headspace all fogged up and longing to just spread out on the bed and lounge around, or follow Jimin around the house and be in his presence. Which was exactly what you were looking forward to, curled up impatiently on the bed as you scrolled through your phone.

The sound of the door's code lock chiming as it unlocked caught your attention, and you perked up eagerly. You waited, one beat, then two until Jimin called.

"Angel, I'm home." He said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. He knew you were waiting, never wanting to invade his space when he got home until you knew he was ready to be around you. At his call, you scrambled off the bed, nearly falling in your haste to get to him. You didn't run, you knew he didn't like it when you ran in the house, instead shuffling as quickly as you could manage down the hall and through the living room to the door. You beamed, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"Welcome home, Sir." You greeted brightly, your hands folding in front of you in an attempt to keep from dragging him straight to the bed and curling up to him. You weren't supposed to touch without his permission, a rule he'd put in place to help his own overstimulation. Coming home after a long day could make him overly sensitive, and you were a little clingy sometimes - not that he minded of course, you were his angel - and the two could lead to unwanted tension if you weren't careful.

He motioned to you, holding out a hand to you and laughing when you practically pounced on him, arms looping around his waist and face burying against his shoulder.

"Missed you. Been gone so long," You huffed, your hands fisting into his shirt and keeping him close. He reached up, stroking your hair and letting you relax against him.

"I'm sorry Angel, but at least it was a short day. I would have been home sooner, but I had to pick something up on the way back." He said. You pulled away, your head tilting to the side as you blinked at him with curious eyes. He bit back the urge to kiss all over your face. You were too adorable, he didn't know how he survived seeing it every day.

"What did you pick up? Can I see?" You asked, shifting your weight back and forth as you not so subtly tried to find what he'd brought with him. It must have been fairly small, you deduced, since he was just carrying the same bag he'd had when he left.

"You can, but not yet. Let's go to the bedroom first." He said, sweeping past you and letting you obediently trail after him.

In the bedroom, he closed the door behind you, sitting himself on the edge of the bed and giving you another simple gesture. You didn't hesitate, sinking to your knees in front of him on the floor and looking up at him quietly, pressing your palms flat to your thighs. You tried to ignore the way your mind sped up with anticipation.

Had he brought home a toy? Something new to play with? Or maybe a new outfit for you to try? Or maybe he just wanted you to submit for a little while, release the pent up stress of his day. He patted his thigh, and you crawled forward until you could rest your chin on his knee. He smiled, stroking across your cheek and leaving a small tap against your nose.

"You're so good for me, did you know that?" He asked, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He could see your reaction in an instant, your eyes half squinting shut and your chin jutting out proudly at his praise. "Always listen so well, and never ask for more than you need. Always so appreciative just to be with me. I appreciate you too, Angel. More than you'll ever know."

A warmth bloomed through your chest as you leaned your head closer to his touch. You really did adore being with Jimin, it was your favorite way to decompress. You would relax, give all of your thoughts, your stress and your worries over to him, and effortlessly he would weave them into something better, something nicer. A garland of love and pleasure and peace that draped around your neck.

"Do you remember the conversation we had before about wanting to mark you as mine? To tie us together like this?" He asked, his fingers sliding down to tip your chin up, guiding your fogged up gaze to his. You nodded a little, blinking up at him. "Are you still comfortable with the collar idea?"

His thumb slipped lower, running down the side of your neck carefully, and you nodded again, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You'd talked about collars plenty of times, and Jimin had been collecting ideas for you, getting a feel for what you liked. You'd both decided on just getting a play collar for the time being, one you could wear when it was just the two of you. A symbol to coax you deeper into the sweet relief of your headspace without having to take that step out into the everyday world just yet.

"Good. Just wanted to check, sweet thing. Gotta make sure my baby is feeling good." He said, and you made a delighted little noise. He reached for the dance bag that sat on the floor beside him, unzipping it and sliding out a long black box. You perked up again, sitting up straighter and craning your neck to try and see the gold script on the top of the box, but Jimin fixed you with a stern look, and you quickly resettled yourself, trying to keep your anticipation at bay.

He opened the box slowly, carefully setting the lid aside and pulling out the contents. Inside was a pretty strip of leather, deep red with a buckle on the back and a heavy, gold heart dangling from the front of it.

"Do you want to see it?" He asked, and you squirmed, nodding quickly. He chuckled, telling you to hold your hands out. You didn't hesitate to do so, a new wave of excitement washing over you as he placed the collar in your palms. You smoothed your fingers along it. Smooth, and cool to the touch. Sturdy. You pouted at it for a moment before turning back to your Dom with pleading in your eyes.

"Put it on, Sir?" You asked, holding it back out to him. He chuckled, taking it from you and standing up to step around you. He leaned down, carefully situating the collar around your neck and doing up the buckle. His fingers poked and tugged under the edges, testing how tight it was, turning your head this way and that to make sure it wasn't restricting anything.

"How's it feel?" He asked, looking down at you as he settled in front of you again. "Too tight?"

You shook your head, fingers coming to trace along the vivid reminder of your commitment to Jimin, of his to you. You were his to cherish and care for, his to keep for as long as you'd have him. And as far as you were concerned, that meant forever.

"It's perfect. I love it."

Jimin motioned for you to stand, guiding you hand in hand towards the mirror where he wrapped his arms around your waist, the both of you gazing at his claim wrapped delicately around your throat.

Some people wanted wedding bands, or matching tattoos that meant forever. But this, you thought, this pretty little piece of leather was all you wanted. This was a promise that meant more than any words ever could.

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takiberry · 6 months

Note

If there is one thing I'm legally skilled at, it's feeding delusions, and I got more where that came from. Enjoy getting your Yuma and Nicholas delusions on tonight.

Starting with Yuma, I said nonsexual dominance, he definitely has a thing for sexual dominance as well, but we're discussing nonsexual right now. He isn't going to be the type that needs to control each and every aspect of your life, he isn't going to the extent of telling you what to eat and what not to eat, but he's going to tell you to eat, would even feed you to make sure you eat, makes sure you never skip meals and you never feel hungry throughout the day, would immediately order in or start cooking if you say you are hungry or want something. The type to order for you when you are in a cafe or restaurant, and never lets you pay for anything, actually the type to remove your wallet from your purse before you go anywhere with him, so you have no choice but to let him take care of you. Will notice things around the house and replace them without needing to be told, like he notices you are almost out of eggs so he'd buy more, or he notices you are almost out of your favorite snack so he would buy you more. He would most enjoy the idea of you allowing him to do things like pick your clothing, do your hair, help you with your makeup, things like that. He's the type to brush your hair for you and put it up in a style he thinks is cute or that he thinks would look good. Fixes your hair if any of it is messed up or out of place. He would pick your clothing for you, often times picking something that will match or looks similar to what he himself is wearing. Would kneel down to help you tie your shoelaces, to do the clasp on your heels, and also to take your shoes off when you get back home. Puts your jewelry on for you and makes sure to kiss each spot the jewelry goes, like kissing along your neck before fastening your necklace, kissing your wrist before slipping a bracelet on, and kissing each finger a ring goes on. He would watch as you do your makeup, and would do something like taking your lipstick and putting it on for you. He would make sure your hands never touch a door when he's around, since his little one should never have to worry about things like that. Always has a hand on your back to lead you where to go, not one for extreme pda, but his hand would always be around your waist in some way. Always has to be touching you when he's sitting by you, it could just be his hand resting on your thigh, holding your hand, or playing with your hair, but he always has to be touching you; preferable you sitting in his lap though, he likes that more than anything. Wants to know where you are and if you are safe any time you are away from him, even if you were just running to the grocery store, expect text every 5 minutes to make sure you are okay. Helps you do all sorts of little things so your don't have to use your own energy. Like refill your cup, nope he's already on it. Buckle your own seat belt, nope he's already doing it. Daily reminder text, reminding you to do little things like drink some water, take a breath don't overwork yourself, remember to brush your teeth. Won't tolerate any sort of attitude you try to give him, would simply sternly tell you no, and you know you have no chance at whatever it was you wanted. If you are mad at him, he's the type to force you to make eye contact with him when he's talking, holding your chin with one hand and forcing you to look at him. Always makes sure to praise you, wants to always let you know how good you are for him, how good you treat him, and how much he loves you.

Nicholas would love to give his s/o prince/ss treatment, especially if they are shorter than him, which him being 183cm tall, being shorter than him is easy. Would call you his little prince/ss and make sure always keep an eye on you and take care of you. The type to always need to be touching you when out in public, would put his hand in your back pocket to help you stay by his side, and if the area was crowded, he would just wrap his arms around your waist and make you walk in front of him. The type of carry you over puddles or muddy places, doesn't want you to possibly fall or trip or get your shoes messed up. If your shoes start to hurt your feet, he would just carry you wherever you were headed without a second thought, like make you continue walking despite your feet hurting, never. Not the one to pick your hair or outfit, but would definitely check your outfit to make sure you are wearing something appropriate; the type to make you put on a cardigan since he knows you are going to be inside all night with your friends, but it'll be cold when you leave, and he doesn't want you to get a cold. Buys you clothing he wants to see you wearing, to the point your closet becomes only items he bought and his sweaters. The type to make you wear one of his sweaters if you are hanging out with friends, just so if any guys see you, they'll realize you're taken since you are in his hoodie. Puts things you need on high shelves so you have to ask him for help, charges for his help as well, each item is exactly one kiss, but you know that kiss will quickly turn into a makeout session, and now you have to ask him again since he never got the item you wanted down to start with. The type to remember little things you like, buys you that necklace he saw you eyeing the other day at the mall, buys you that album from your favorite group, always puts your favorite songs on a playlist to play when he's driving you somewhere. Does not let you drive anywhere, you are his passenger prince/ss and he will not have it any other way; the type to carry you out of the car and into the house, when you fall asleep on the way home. Plays games you like or want to learn with you, always lets you win the first time, but will absolutely destroy you the times after and tease you about it. The type to set you on the counter so you watch as he attempts to cook, usually you telling him what to do and him attempting to do it for you. Would know your favorite flower and makes sure to surprise you with a bouquet of them once a week, but always says you're his favorite flower of all. Will buy you anything and everything you like, you can't look at something while shopping without him asking which color you like it in, he would know your sizes in everything, so he could just grab it and buy it while you are telling him you don't need a fourth leather purse. Teases you about your height constantly, does things like rest his chin on the top of your head, rest his arm on your head, and definitely would kiss the top of your head. Despite how much he would tease you for your height, he would also always make sure to compliment you for something, whether it be how beautiful he thinks you are, how amazing he thinks you are, or just reminding you how much he loves you.

ANON WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME NOW IM IN YUMA AND NICHO BRAINROT :((

(if u dont open a blog rn.)

#renè’s talking teddy 🧸#renè is taki’s bby🐰#renè’s 🍓 anons!#nakakita yuma x reader #nicholas x reader

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generic-whumperz · 7 months

Text

The Aid: Chapter 4- One Step Closer

TW & CW: non-con nudity (nonsexual), dub-con/non-con touching (nonsexual), clothing dressing (nonsexual), mention of past non-con, pet/slave fic with general dehumanization that goes along with it (nothing severe), deliciously delirious drugged Whumee, Whumpee awakening from a coma, aftermath of torture and starvation, underweight and malnourished Whumpee, probably medical malpractice, med whumpy(?), Care-Whumper (this is the closest we are getting to a “Caretaker” for a LONG time, and Dr. Paul is no saint), asexual-spectrum Whumpee who doesn’t know he’s ace-spec yet and subsequently has negative self-talk and throws himself a pity-party because of it (this is part of the character journey, alright?), Caretaker turned Whumpee, general sad + angsty Whumpee energy, Wyatt Sullivan (Whumper) being a bully (expected), Whumpee being called "boy" when he's a grown ass man, bad jokes as a coping mechanism from Whumpee

IDK if this needs to be a warning or not, but Whumpee is currently non-verbal from being drugged and having trauma (brain trauma from the coma mixed with general trauma-trauma), but there’s quite a bit of internal dialog, and we are in his POV!

Word count: 3645

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‘Maybe if I’m a good enough boy, I’ll get a treat after this,’ The Aid jokingly thought, desperate to find an ounce of humor to cling to.

If he couldn’t laugh, he’d surely cry.

And he was tired of crying.

With gloved hands, Dr. Paul carefully removed The Aid’s IV and feeding tubes, talking him through the process as he worked, intended to keep him as calm and present in the moment as possible. Wyatt Sullivan returned with a full glass of water—per Dr. Paul’s request—which the Doctor took from him before shooing him away, tasking him to warm The Aid a bowl of soup.

“I saved the worst for last, but it’ll be quick, I promise,” Dr. Paul said in a chipper tone. He fondled and stuck a syringe into something at the foot of the bed for a minute before lifting the bottom of the comforter and sheet that covered The Aid.

“Full disclosure, you’re naked under here, but after I remove the catheter, I’ll make you decent so you don’t have to trot around bare-assed.”

The Aid felt his heart skip a beat and his body temperature quickly rise from utter humiliation.

‘Great.’ A shiver of unease washed over him as the thought of another grown man dressing him filled him with inept self-consciousness. He felt foolish for feeling this way, as Dr. Paul had seen more parts of him than anyone else—all parts, in fact, many times.

‘At least Dr. Paul offered; at least it isn’t Wyatt—not like that asshole ever would do anything remotely helpful.’

He glanced down to see Dr. Paul hoist up the covers to his right knee before he forced himself to look away, not trusting himself not to jerk away from perturbed anticipation. The Doctor stuck his arm under the blanket, placing his hand on The Aid’s inner mid-thigh, unclipping the catheter from the adhesive tubing holder, and gently peeling it off his leg.

“This won’t hurt. I mean, even if it did, you wouldn’t feel it with the meds you’re on. Just take a deep breath and try to relax,” Dr. Paul directed, giving The Aid a moment to prepare. He sucked in a quick breath and held it in as he anxiously kneaded the blanket, fingernails digging into the soft filling of the comforter like small animals burrowing into freshly plowed Earth.

The Doctor hoisted the bedding further and quickly peeked below as his arm completely disappeared between The Aid’s legs.

‘I look like a mother about to give birth.’

Although he couldn’t feel much of what was happening and Dr. Paul worked diligently, his face turned bright pink from embarrassment. He fought his knee-jerk reaction of clamping his legs shut, knowing that would only prolong the process and demoralize him even further. He lightly felt the strange sensation of the tube pulled from his urethra, along with Dr. Paul’s index finger and thumb holding his sex steady as the catheter was fished out from inside him.

He wanted to fucking scream.

“You’re okay, almost there…Just a couple more seconds,” Dr. Paul hushed, observing The Aid’s legs shaking, stiffened body, and tightly-twisted red face.

“All done!” The Doctor pulled the blanket back down over his feet while holding the catheter out in front of him, placing the tubing and foley bag that was secured to the foot of the bed in a small trash can.

The Aid sharply exhaled the breath he held in between clenched teeth as a few tears escaped his eyes. He tried to force the memory of the experience out of his mind alongside his expulsion of breath before filling his lungs with a steadied, deep inhale.

‘Deep breath in…deep breath out…Repeat. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.’

He couldn’t help but feel violated and further stripped of agency. Who was he kidding, what agency did he have left at this point?

He knew the Doctor was only doing his job, and it was a simple medical device removal procedure; that wasn’t what bothered him, although he couldn't shake the feeling of being molested. What really ate at him was the fact that he viewed himself as a pathetic loser because, through his own avoidant tendencies, he inadvertently put himself in a situation where the only people who touched him were doing it out of a sadistic urge or in a medical setting—usually to fix damage from said sadistic urge.

He felt stupid for being triggered by something as simple as a formal routine, but his distraught feelings overpowered his rationality, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. He didn’t care if he was being overly emotional about it; he had to allow himself to grieve the life he lost on top of all the pain and torment he went through. If he still had an ego, he was sure it was just as broken and bruised as his body.

Fleeting parts of him wished he had succumbed to horny teenage sexcapades just so he could dig up a single good memory of an intimate connection that didn’t leave him a sobbing mess afterward. But looking back, even in his supposed “sexual peak” (that he never went through), he harbored no such desires—well, save the fragmented memories of a single budding spark with a male cheerleader that he quickly snuffed out and fled from in a last-ditch attempt to save them both from eventual embarrassment and hurt feelings.

But that was a lifetime ago.

He didn’t know why he had always avoided deeper romantic connections, but he found them off-putting and thought himself incapable of possessing any feelings beyond a familial or platonic bond.

His disinterest in amorous relations didn’t use to bother him, but now it did.

He would cry-laugh about the irony of his situation when left alone for long periods; he’d spent days reeling about it, stuck in a mental loop while secluded in the basement—an intimately incapable 24-year-old forced to be a punching bag and fuck puppet for a sick pervert who found pleasure from his immense suffering.

He accepted that life wasn’t fair, but did it have to be so goddamn cruel?

******

Dr. Paul’s latex gloves snapped as he peeled them off his fingers. He disposed of the gloves and applied a dab of sand sanitizer, working it vigorously into his palms- the pungent alcoholic stench burned The Aid’s nose and caused a stir of harrowing memories to resurface that came through in broken fragments. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the details and lock them back up in the recesses of his mind’s “Do Not Enter” section.

‘How many things have this abominable fuckass Wyatt ruined and taken from me? Triggered by hand sanitizer? Embarrassing. Maybe it's best I stay here till I die.’

The Aid felt Dr. Paul’s hand tunnel between his lower back and the bed; the Doctor’s other hand securely grabbed his left forearm—the only side of his upper half that remained unmangled.

“I know you’re high as a kite, and you’re out of it, but I’m going to sit you up, okay? We’ll take it nice and slow, up and at ‘em.” Dr. Paul pulled him up with expert caution to a sitting position, still holding him up as his damaged body adjusted to the movement and change of elevation.

The Aid groaned, not from pain, but from the dizzying head rush that momentarily filled his vision with small, trailing stars that reminded him of tiny fireworks. Everything felt off and wrong. The world seemed surreal, as if an obnoxious bright tint was added to it, and he was looking through a high-contrast photo filter.

“Do you feel anything? Are you in any pain?”

The Aid perfunctorily shook his head, his eyes wandering around the room in a daze.

Dr. Paul released the hand from his back, waiting a moment to ensure he could keep himself upright before grabbing the cup of water from the nightstand and holding it out in front of him. The water seemed to sparkle in the clear glass, and he reveled in the small, idyllic moment of his first drink from a cup—not a bowl—since his demotion from house pet to basement troll.

He wrapped his fingers around the glass and carefully took it from Dr. Paul. He brought the rim to his mouth and took a sip.

‘This is the best goddamn water I’ve ever had.’

The liquid was cool and crisp; it didn’t taste dusty and metallic like the water he had grown accustomed to. He never realized how water could have such flavor to it. He took another magnificent sip. Realizing how thirsty he was, combined with the uncertainty of when he’d get fresh water again, he continued gulping it down, savoring every drop.

“Alright…Alright. Okay, that’s enough.” Dr. Paul took the cup from him—still halfway full. “Gotta take it easy, okay? Can’t go chugging water right now; you can have some more in a minute if you’re still thirsty.”

The Aid slumped in defeat, feeling like a small child being berated after being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Dr. Paul walked to the other side of the room to rummage through The Aid’s dresser, then disappeared into the small walk-in closet for a moment before returning to The Aid’s bedside with garments folded over his arm. He placed the clothes on the bed, leaving all but a pair of boxers in hand, and spun The Aid to the side so his legs were hanging off the mattress—still keeping his lower half covered under the blanket.

Dr. Paul bent over, pulled the boxers over his ankles, worked them around the curve of his bent, scabbed knees, and shimmied them up around his bony hips, the elastic waistband snapping around his waist.

‘This is what Madame Eleanor must have felt like…’

He reflected on his former Master’s last year of life when she needed the most assistance with things. He dressed and changed her multiple times a day without much thought, but never considered the mix of emotions of the person on the receiving end of help. Maybe she made peace with it; an elderly woman dying a slow death from cancer surely didn’t struggle with needing support as much as he did as a mid-20-something-year-old man who was supposed to be the pinnacle of health, right?

Some strange part of him felt a pang of misplaced guilt for not being a better version of himself, although he knew it was out of his control—he didn’t shackle himself, starve himself, and maim himself for months; it was done to him.

Dr. Paul continued dressing The Aid, slipping a pair of socks on his feet as he informed him of his sprained, lightly wrapped left ankle, which he was to stay off of for the next couple of weeks. Dr. Paul assured him that he told Sullivan that he was on bed rest and that his Master wasn’t to lay anything but a helping hand on him.

‘We’ll see how that goes. That creep can’t get his grubby ass hands off me.’

Next, Dr. Paul pulled on a pair of baggy sweats, tying the drawstring as tight as it would allow, then carefully fed his arms through a black zip-up hoodie, taking extra precaution with his right side.

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Dr. Paul asked over the low whir of the zipper gliding up to his chest.

‘Consider me your living Ken doll. I can even beg on my knees like Barbie.’

The Doctor retrieved an arm sling from his grab-bag of medical equipment, looped it around The Aid’s left shoulder, and adjusted it to securely hold his right arm. Then, without warning, Dr. Paul abruptly pulled him up by his left hand to stand. His body was stiff as a board, his knees locked, and muscles pulled tight. He stumbled, wobbling with all his weight on his right foot—which wasn’t much, but just enough to throw him off balance.

A distraught whine escaped him as he hopelessly felt another head rush come on and desperately clutched onto Dr. Paul for support.

Panting, he slouched into the taller man’s chest, trying to work up the strength to hold himself up on his own. He felt like a newborn fawn taking its first steps on frail legs minutes after birth.

The hardwood oak floor beneath his socked feet was nice and smooth—he hoped he wouldn’t slip on it. Falling on it would guarantee more damage dealt…although that would mean more bed rest, which meant more time away from Sullivan’s beatings.

“Here we go!” Dr. Paul shoved a walking crutch under his left armpit (‘Where the hell did this come from?’) as he wrapped an arm around him to bear some of his weight, allowing him to acquaint himself with his temporary walking device.

‘An aide for The Aid—a match forged by the heavens and prophesied in the stars, or a cruel joke? You decide.’

“Perfect height! Alright, we’ll just take a stroll to the other side of the room and head back, then I’ll get outta your hair, alright? You’ve been doing so good—”

“That’s what I like to hear! My boy’s a champ; he always bounces back.”

The Aid and Dr. Paul's necks craned simultaneously to the left, watching Wyatt stroll into the room and gesture at a bowl of steamy soup in hand, then placing it—and a spoon—on the dresser.

‘Looks like he’s trying to win points with the Doctor by pretending to be civilized by ‘allowing’ me to eat with silverware; what an occasion. If only I was allowed a camera to document this momentous event.’

“Don’t stop on my account,” Sullivan simpered, sitting on the corner of the bed, twisting around to watch them. He eyed The Aid excitedly, half expecting him to fail and become a blubbering, broken heap on the floor in mere seconds.

‘Stop fucking looking at me with that shit-eating grin.’

“Com’mon,” Dr. Paul coaxed, loosening his grip around The Aid and slowly stepping backward, encouraging him to follow. He took a small, hesitant step forward, supporting himself with the crutch. He felt the woosh of his clothes sway with his jolted, ungraceful step, indicating how much weight he lost during his time in isolation.

“Beautiful,” the Doctor encouraged, guiding him to take another step.

“Speaking of hair, he got a wash and a beard trim last week, then a sponge bath a couple days ago. But I’m sure he’d appreciate a warm shower.” Dr. Paul glanced over at Sullivan.

“Think you can manage to keep an eye on him? I'm not saying you need to bathe him; just monitor him and make sure he doesn’t run the water too hot. I recommend sitting him in a chair so he isn’t standing the whole time; he’ll be woozy for a while. One of the side effects of these meds is heat sensitivity and an increased risk of heat stroke, so just make sure you don’t lock him in the car on a hot day with the windows rolled up. I’ll go over meds with you while he’s eating.”

“Ow-wa Doc! Was that a dog joke you just threw in there?” Sullivan whooped amusedly.

“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” Dr. Paul chuckled.

‘Call me Scooby because I can’t fucking Doo this anymore.’

“Sure you don’t want me to scrub his back too? Scratch him behind the ears? Towel dry him and put a pretty bow on him?” Sullivan teased.

‘Don’t threaten me with a good time. If only you would treat me like the show dog I was born to become.’

“Only if you feel so inclined to. But maybe you can pretty him up and get him a haircut and a shave? I’m sure he’d like that. Your mother always kept him groomed, and he looked happier that way. Plus, it brings out his boyish charm, don’t ya think?” Dr. Paul playfully tousled The Aid’s shaggy, grown-out chocolate brown hair that hung past his ears and covered the nape of his neck.

They reached the opposing wall and began their trek back to the bed, the Doctor still guiding him, walking backward like a parent teaching their infant how to walk. From this vantage point, The Aid could see the heap of medical devices stationed on the right side of his bed that mimicked a hospital room.

“Hm, I dunno, I think I like the shaggy dog look on him,” Sullivan said tongue-in-cheek, knowing damn well The Aid didn’t like looking unkempt.

“Looks like a sad little stray puppy, doesn’t he? Well, minus the collar—oh wait—” Sullivan stood abruptly and pulled something from his back pocket. “Now we can complete the look!” He pinched the metal D-ring in between his fingers as The Aid’s dark green leather collar dramatically uncurled, springing out and forward.

The Aid glared at Sullivan with daggers in his eyes, disgusted by the presence of the collar. Just because the physical assaults were off-limits momentarily, it didn’t mean that Sullivan would stop tormenting him in whatever other way he could. The man had the same energy as a brutish school bully who deliberately picked on smaller kids just because he was bigger than them.

“Wyatt, play nice. Don’t tease him; put that thing away,” Dr. Paul chided, irritated by Sullivan’s blatant callousness.

Sullivan challenged The Aid’s glare with a smug smile, placing the collar on the dresser, deliberately positioning it on the edge closest to him so he would see it clearly when lying in bed. This served as a warning, a constant reminder of The Aid’s place, how he was owned and thought of as nothing more than an exotic pet to be tamed and used.

Once they reached the bedside, Dr. Paul took the crutch from under The Aid’s armpit and eased him down on the bed, resting the crutch on the nightstand and grabbing the glass of water.

“Want to finish this?”

‘Is water wet?’

The Aid eagerly seized the glass and greedily drank the rest like it was the last cup of water he would ever get to drink.

“Your first urination after the catheter removal may sting a little, but it shouldn’t be more than a little. There may also be a small amount of blood in your urine, but again, it shouldn’t be more than a small amount. If you have any issues down there, tell Wya—Master Sullivan, okay?” Dr. Paul looked expectantly at Wyatt to confirm that he would be receptive to possible future conversations involving The Aid’s urinary health.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Sullivan asked dumbly. Dr. Paul eyed him confoundedly.

“…You call me, and I come to check on him and make sure he doesn’t have a UTI. If he has any issues, call me, and I’ll check to ensure he isn’t developing more problems. He’s been okay so far despite everything, and I’d like to keep it that way. But, if you haven’t noticed, he’s rather fragile right now; a gust of wind could knock him over.”

“Could have just said that.” Sullivan threw his arms up in the air. Dr Paul sighed, taking the cup from The Aid and propping him up against the bed’s headboard. He brought forth a medium-sized metal tray, unfolded its tucked-in legs, and placed it over The Aid’s lap. This time, Sullivan was smart enough to take the hint of placing the bowl of soup on it.

“You’re welcome.” Sullivan stood, waiting for a meek “Thank you, Master” from his slave.

The Aid stared bleakly into the bowl of soup, unsure how much he’d be able to eat because, despite being starved, he didn’t feel ravenous—he didn’t feel hungry at all. Sullivan scoffed at The Aid’s silence—what he took as an act of defiance.

He’d let it slide, just this once.

He promptly joined Dr. Paul to discuss medication times and dosages.

The older men’s voices faded to indistinctive background chatter in The Aid’s ears. He stared into the soup, fumbled the spoon, and stirred the contents around, trying to muster the strength to feed himself. Somehow, this felt like more of an impossible feat to overcome than hobbling around the room.

He only managed a few spoonfuls of broth. He nibbled on a chopped carrot, but it felt foreign in his mouth, and he struggled to swallow it.

He was suddenly hit with an unmistakable twinge of dread. His life felt bleak and meaningless; he had no hope for the future—the drugs seemed to only amplify his negative feelings.

‘Hope I get some fast-acting anti-depressants, if there is such a thing…’

How many more times would he be beaten nearly to death, or to death, just to be nursed back to health for the process to repeat itself? He couldn’t do this again, not after the basement. He lost part of himself in that dungeon that he’d never get back, the remnants forever lost in the pitch shadows. He found his demons down there; they coalesced with a single mission of ripping him to shreds and flaying him open for his human monster to feed on. The demons and devil-man volleyed him back and forth until nothing was left but a shell of a young man who’d lost everything and abandoned his will to live.

He knew no peace, no happiness; nothing but desperation and horror filled his mind and heart.

He stared helplessly into the bowl of soup as his mind dragged him down the hall of horrors, making him relive the torment.

He couldn’t even enjoy his first hot meal in four months.

‘I survived death…But now what?’

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faeirtopia · 22 days

Text

ʚɞ ; making out with sandy!

pairing! boyfriend!sandy x fem!reader.

warnings! this post is quite sexual.

here’s the problem with sandy.. his lips are so kissable. when I say so kissable? I mean so kissable that it’s an issue for you to stop kissing him.

those soft and plump lips of his are heavenly and once you get a taste, there’s no going back. he knows how you feel about his lips and teases you.

some may think the beard gets in the way of that but in reality? the beard just adds more to the kisses you two share. the slight pain you’ll feel from his beard only makes making out with him more enjoyable in either the weirdest way possible or the most normal, it just really depends on you.

sandy loves to tease so when you two share kisses that turn into a heated makeup session, he’ll stop at times to stare at you, smirk at you, or seductively bite his lip that’s sometimes embarrassing but it’s sandy so who cares. he loves seeing your reaction.

sandy will bite down on your bottom lip a lot during make out sessions, simply because he gets you to gasp or whimper from the slight pain and he’s able to take more control of the situation.

his large hands are placed on your hips, thighs, the small of your back, or they rest on your ass. at times he’ll just rub up and down your body but most of the time his hands are placed in those places. or—he likes to hold the back of your neck.

sandy often leaves your lips to start kissing down your neck and eventually leave a few marks here and there. if not dark marks then he’ll bite down on your skin harshly so teeth marks are left behind.

making out with sandy can lead to nothing at all and you two just enjoy kissing each other and being close or it can lead to sex obviously. most of the time sandy just really enjoys kissing you and being close to your body in nonsexual ways.

that doesn’t mean he turns down sex or doesn’t want it with you! he just cherishes moments like this with you and wants to treasure them always.

sandy is… kinky. sounds so cringe but he is and it definitely shows when making out with him. he’ll want to choke you at random times or pull away from you to give your face a slight slap. he just loves your reaction to when he does all of this.

“what? hm? like when I slap your pretty face?”

typically sandy likes when you sit on his lap during make out sessions but sometimes he’ll catch you off guard and come up behind you, grip your waist to turn you around and lean to your height and kiss you roughly. keyword being roughly.. he likes that.

although sandy loves gentle, slow, and romantic make out sessions. he’s such a sucker for those and will always choose those before anything else.

sandy makes a lot of groaning and whimpering sounds during make out sessions. believe it or not but he’s definitely the type to whimper without even knowing he’s doing it but shh don’t tell him he does it because he’ll probably be embarrassed and stop. it’ll be your little secret that you grow to love.

sandy typically likes the couch or the bed as the “usual” spots for you both but that doesn’t mean he won’t stop you against the wall, on the counter, on the floor(?) really anywhere he’s able to kiss you and be able to grab at you the way that he likes.

since his lips are a nice size of plump and softness, his lips usually overlap your own when kissing. he basically tries to eat you during these times but in a game way, let’s just ignore how bad that sounded.

sandy will stop in the middle of the make out session just to look at you and repeatedly peck your lips until you’ve had enough and want to go back to what you were doing before, he teases.

if sandy has had a hard time pitching and it was a bad game for him, he’ll be more rough than usual. his hands harshly gripping your body and kisses harsh enough to leave your own lips red and swollen but he’ll apologize afterwards, he feels bad.

sandy likes to when you take your hands and touch on his beard while making out, he’ll ask you to do it a lot and you notice his eyes roll back. for some reason he likes the feel of you touching that area while making out. I don’t think he even knows why.

even if making out with sandy doesn’t turn sexual, he likes you on his lap grinding down. he’s really into dry humping and your making out session is the perfect time to get in the mood for that.

#patrick sandoval #patrick sandoval smut #baseball #fanfic #mlb fandom #mlb fanfic #mlb imagines #mlb american league #imagines #mlb #writers on tumblr #headcanon #writeblr #writing #mlb x reader #mlb smut #mlb scenarios #scenarios #headcannons

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whump-card · 8 months

Text

Sunless Lives Part 25: I Will Wait

~1580 words

CW: drugging, noncon undressing, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch, medical whump, forced institutionalization, ED mention, negative self-talk

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~~~

DR MANDAL: I’d like to know how you like the staff and faculty here so far.

M BECK: Oh, they’re great. Everyone’s been wonderful.

DR MANDAL: No trouble at all?

M BECK: None.

DR MANDAL: That’s good to hear. What about the other patients, do you like your roommates?

M BECK: Sure, they’re alright.

DR MANDAL: No issues?

M BECK: We all wake up with nightmares, so it’s not like it’s fair to complain about that.

DR MANDAL: So no issues, but do you like them?

M BECK: I think so. I think everyone here hates themselves so much, it’s hard to connect with other people.

DR MANDAL: That’s very observant. Would you include yourself in that?

[0:26]

M BECK: Yeah.

~~~

The intake process was terrifying. Whatever drugs he’d been given had worn off enough for Simon to be awake, but not enough for him to resist as he was manhandled by orderlies out of the car and into a hulking rock of a building - the title of Fort wasn’t just for show. He didn’t have much time to look before he was inside, lifted onto a gurney and wheeled through a dizzying maze of hallways and into a cold room. Broad-shouldered orderlies leaned over him, and started taking off his clothes. One unzipped his coat, while another sat him up. The coat was jerked over his shoulders and off, and dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Then his turtleneck was peeled off, his arms gripped and guided by strong hands. He whimpered and flinched when they touched his skin directly for the first time, and he distantly registered a laugh. His upper half was dropped back onto the gurney and they set to work on his lower half. Someone pulled off his boots and socks while someone else started unbuttoning his jeans. This sent a shock of panic through Simon, he wanted to tell them to stop, but he couldn’t form the words. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts either, instead his head was overtaken by wordless waves of fear and shame and embarrassment as they pulled his pants and underwear down. A hand briefly grabbed his ass but Simon couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. Tears slipped out and ran down his temple and into his ear. He couldn’t even move to brush them away, much less stop anything that was happening. Someone whistled when his thighs were revealed.

“Bloodbag.”

“Yup.”

“Fuckin’ idiot.”

A vague figure ran a hand over his ribs.

“ED watch?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll be deciding that.”

The orderlies backed off, and a gray-haired man in a doctor’s coat took over, briskly taking Simon’s vitals and shining lights in his eyes, ears, and mouth. He manually pulled at Simon’s eyelids and jaw himself, and didn’t address Simon as he worked. Then, Simon could only lie there and watch as the worst happened: the doctor received a camera from an orderly and started taking pictures. His face. His scars. The bites. The flash of the camera left Simon blinded and dazed. The doctor barked at the orderlies to flip him over and Simon heard the camera click as he captured his backside as well. Then he was dropped onto his back again, a sheet was thrown over his lower half, and the room was suddenly quiet and empty.

His head flopped to the side on the thin padding of the gurney, mouth agape. Tears and drool slowly leaked out, out of his control. He felt disgusting. Violated. Scared. This had to be some sort of mistake. There was no way Chris would send him to someplace like this. Your boss and your friends were so very worried, Kelly had said - Gina, Amber, and Devon had had a hand in this as well. He needed to talk to Chris. This all had to be some horrible misunderstanding. It had to be.

He wanted Matthew.

He wanted to go home.

Maybe you made a mistake.

Simon drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, but was finally brought back by his stomach growling loudly. He’d lost a lot of his appetite over the last month, but even he could only go so long without eating. He found he could move his arms, and legs, and even slowly sit up. He discovered some thin, scratchy clothes folded at his feet: a long sleeved t-shirt and elastic-waisted pants, both a sickly shade of green, and started the laborious process of putting them on. He felt sick, dizzy, cold, and hungry, and his limbs moved half a second slower than he wanted them to. He had just pulled up the pants and was standing unsteadily against the gurney when the door opened. He flinched back, grabbing the gurney for support. The large redheaded orderly that entered looked him up and down.

“McKenna?”

“Yes?” Simon breathed.

“With me.” He stepped aside and held the door open. Simon tentatively scooted through under his gaze.

“Where-?”

“Left,” the man ordered.

Simon started walking to the left down the hall, but his legs wobbled under him and he staggered into the wall. The large man caught his upper arm, gripping it hard enough to bruise, and dragged him along.

“That hurts, you’re hurting me,” Simon pleaded. No response. “Where are we going?” Nothing. They passed by more doors and under more fluorescent lights, as well as beady-eyed cameras mounted in high corners. The surveillance reminded Simon of Lara’s house, and his heart pounded. He stumbled to keep up. “I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday, can -”

The orderly abruptly stopped and slammed Simon into the wall, pinning him there with an arm across his chest that knocked all the air out of Simon’s lungs.

“Don’t ask me for shit,” he growled, “Don’t ask anyone for shit, just do what you’re told, and shut the fuck up.”

Simon nodded, gasping for air. The orderly held him there for a long, threatening moment, clearly enjoying the power trip. Then it was back to being dragged.

After a few more confusing turns, they passed through a heavy security door and into an open room with round tables and scattered chairs, occupied by a handful of other people in the same green outfits as Simon. Orderlies were dotted around the room, observing as patients drew in coloring books and played checkers. It reeked of mildew and sick. Cameras stared from every corner.

“Don’t make any friends,” the redhead whispered in his ear, and released his arm. Simon staggered a couple steps forward, clutching at his aching bicep. Some of the other patients turned in their seats to watch him with languid curiosity.

Simon hugged himself tightly, breathing fast. He didn’t know what the orderly’s warning meant. He didn’t know what to do. He looked around the room in desperation and his heart leapt when he saw the back of someone in pink scrubs - a nurse, not a patient or orderly. The pink reminded him of Tammy at the clinic, and how kind she’d been. He wove through the tables to where she was talking to another patient.

“Excuse me,” Simon tapped her on the shoulder, “I just got here, I don’t know what’s going on, can you help me?”

She turned around slowly, her thin eyebrows high.

“Okay, number one, do not touch the faculty or staff,” she lectured.

“Oh, sorry, I -”

She snapped her hand closed in front of his face.

“Ah-ah! I don’t want to hear it. Who did your intake?”

“I didn’t - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Do you know your room number?”

“N-no.”

She huffed.

“Fine, I’ll look everything up for you. What’s your name, do you at least know that?”

“Simon. McKenna.”

“Thank you.” She strode away, ponytail bouncing, and exited through a security door that she opened with a keycard. Simon watched her go, pressing his knuckles to his mouth.

“That’s Linda,” said the patient she had been talking with - a very tall, very skinny man hunched over a hand of cards. Two others sat opposite him, an older man with a significant tremor and a boy younger than Simon, barely an adult.

“You don’t want to mess with her. I’m Chett, you wanna play cards with us?” the skinny man twanged, and grinned black and yellow teeth in an eerily familiar way that made Simon shrink back.

“S-sorry, no thank you,” he stammered.

“C’mon, sweet little thing like you needs friends!” Chett cajoled, but Simon was already backing away. He found a mercifully empty table and slouched down in the slippery plastic chair to wait for Linda. His heart thrummed and his eyes darted around the room at the other patients still giving him sidelong glances. None of them looked particularly friendly. The orderlies, on the other hand, looked downright hostile. They were all large men, some even larger than Matthew, and they glowered down over the patients like a bank of storm clouds.

Matthew. Simon felt tears spring to his eyes again. Hopefully wherever Matthew was sent was better than this. He put his head down on the table, sheltering under his arms. His mind replayed his last moments with Matthew. Their last kiss.

I’ll come get you.

Only a little while.

It’ll be okay.

You fucking idiot.

Regret started to bubble up in his stomach.

Shouldn’t have gone to the clinic.

He winced at the thought. Matthew, the real Matthew, was back and alive, and he was regretting that?

Worthless.

You deserve to be here.

~~~

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #sunless lives #sunless lives arc 3 #cw drugging #cw noncon undressing #cw nonsexual nudity #cw noncon touch #medical whump #cw forced institutionalization #cw ED mention #cw negative self-talk #my writing

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