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honeycollectswhump · 2 months

Note

i want to see ashtray get a pat on the head 🥰 and maybe a burn at the back of his throat. you know. for fun! - @whumpcloud

im very sorry it took me literal AGES to write this! at least you get some angst now :D

Smoke in His Lungs

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, burns (cigarette & other), dehumanisation, conditioning

Being used is his greatest wish, his only purpose, the one thing Ashtray knows without a doubt how to do. The months –months? he can’t remember anymore– of relentless training prepared him, made a truly polished Ashtray out of the senseless Shape he was before.

Now, he gets rewarded with the highest honour anyone could bestow upon him: kneeling at the feet of his first and only Mistress, the one who owns his body, mind, and soul, and Ashtray couldn’t be more grateful for it. For a short moment, he allows himself to close his eyes and let himself drift in the unintelligible drift of conversation and the comforting smell of smoke.

Not for too long though.

Ashtray blinks himself to awareness again and swallows with difficulty, the tender flesh of his throat still aching with the memory of the scorching wave. Yet he knows not to flinch. Instead, he wills himself to focus on the fresh burn on his left palm, the red, inflamed blister feeling hard against the bare skin of his thigh. It burns, of course, a rush of delight coursing through him.

Burning means he is being useful. Burning means he is a Good Ashtray and, perhaps even, a Good Boy.

There is an ugly feeling in his stomach though, sticking to him and turning the wafting voice of his Mistress into a minefield he has no choice but to cross. Ashtray knows he is dumb, his only purpose is to serve, to obey, he doesn’t need to think. But unlike his blunt Handlers during training, his Mistress’ silky voice remains incomprehensible to him.

It should be a fatal flaw, and maybe it eventually will be, but right now his Mistress shows endless compassion, graceful mercy, seemingly knowing her Ashtray’s limited capabilities, despite his price point. She speaks slowly, gesturing kindly to whatever area she demands of her Ashtray. And he complies –of course–, always eager to serve, and hopes that maybe one day he will memorise the meaning of her words.

This time, his Mistress elegantly points to her mouth with one slender finger, perfectly manicured, her nails sharp and red like wine. Ashtray straightens up towards her, opening his mouth, eyes closed, waiting for how he will be used this time.

Suddenly, his Mistress’ hand is in his mouth, violating, and it takes all of his training not to gag then and there, as he inhales fumes and soot. Burning engulfs his throat like a forest fire, sizzling in a place not made for it.

Calming breaths do nothing against the threat of smoke filling his lungs. Ashtray freezes, his nails digging into his thighs like claws, tries to stop moving, stop thinking, stop breathing, until the colourful spots in his vision make room for a flurrying blur of white static.

Then, almost as abruptly, his Mistress removes the cigarette again, leaving him only with the overwhelming taste of ash seeping into his blood and soul.

He wants to gag. Heave. Retch.

Ashtray waits a moment, then two, until he allows himself calm yet stuttering breaths against the fumes. In his early training that alone seemed like an impossible task, going against instincts he couldn’t explain to himself. It feels good to have his training reinforced, to show –even if only to himself– that it was worth it, that he worked hard to become the perfect luxury product for his beloved Mistress.

Staring back down on his hands, a barely touched canvas for her markings, Ashtray can only breathe. The blister on his palm seems to have broken when he clenched his fist against his reflexes, but he barely feels the additional hurt over the charring pain all over his body, concentrated, irreparably, in his throat. But it's okay. It’s okay. It must be Okay.

It is nothing but pure mercy, when his Mistress lays her hand on top of his head, almost absentmindedly, and starts petting him in slow, gentle motions, making sure not to ruffle his prettied hair. Ashtray tries not to press into her touch, chasing a sensation he knows will be rare. It floods his body like a cooling wave and a fever high at the same time.

Only Good Boys get pet; a blissful knowledge deeply ingrained into him.

Good Boys take the pain they were trained for and Good Boys look graceful while doing so.

And then, maybe, Good Boys will be rewarded with a touch so rare they can barely remember the last time they felt it.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @whumpshaped, @clickerflight let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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4joonkookie · 11 months

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Neighbors

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Words: 3K (A solid 50/50 of build-up vs. smut) Summary: You make a move on your noisy neighbor, but things really get going when there's a blackout. Notes: Chapter 9 of THIS. Catch yourself up or don't and just enjoy the smut.

Tags: see story for tags, SMUT, noisy neighbors, boy-next-door, college flashback, roommates, getting eaten RIGHT for the first time, JK's voice is so pretty, canon-ish JK behavior, beefy JK, oral sex, riding, protected sex, blackout, fire escape.

ღღღ

You study peacefully when the voices start. The neighbors are having company over, amplifying their existing nuisance.

It starts with the dull hum of laughing, trash-talking, and playing video games. Soon, the dull hum will become a vibrating roar through the walls.

Ugh. I just want to study, you think, rolling your eyes.

It's the umpteenth time since they’ve moved in. The building is full of students and parties can be found on any floor at any time, but don't students also study?

You approach the wall and pound your fist on it in frustration. They repeat your rhythm on the other side like it’s a game, cackling through the cheap drywall.

Assholes.

You grab your laptop and head to the library, resisting the urge to go over and curse them out.

Your roommate peeks her head out of her bedroom as you open the front door.

“Where are you going?” She asks.

“The library,” you say.

“I'm coming with you,” she says, grabbing her things. “They’re so fucking loud.”

ღღღ

The worst part is, that’s just the living room. Today, the noise lingers through the walls of the shower.

As you rinse off, a singing voice carries through. You roll your eyes, trying to tune it out. Only… the more you listen to it, the nicer it is. You find yourself forgiving his contribution to the noise in the living room.

The voice moves to the bedroom, so you do, too. Music starts playing on the other side of the wall and the voice continues singing along. An encore.

Then, the voice is gone, and it's just music.

It’s fine until you sit down to study and the song never settles. It keeps changing ten seconds into every song.

Who does this? Just pick a song and stick with it.

The shuffle of songs and the lack of vocal trance are a distraction. Once again, you admit defeat and head to the library.

ღღღ

Another Saturday night, another party.

When the next doorbell rings with visitors, you climb out to the fire escape to sit on the steps and study. It’s too late to go to the library and you just want to be settled in for the night.

You huff out, annoyed, but find that it’s nice. It’s not stuffy or cramped like the library. There’s fresh air and ambient noise. The hum of bros is faint enough through the adjoining window of that apartment to be less disturbing.

You work for a few hours when the fire alarm goes off in the next apartment.

The window opens and smoke billows out along with the bitter smell of burning food. You get a whiff in your lungs and cough, standing from where you sat on the ladder steps. A man hangs outside, waving the smoke out.

“Is there a fire?” You ask.

“No, sorry,” he says. You can hardly see him through the cloud of smoke. “Someone in here doesn't know how to use a damn microwave.

You back away and roll your eyes, cursing the inability to get a moment's peace. The smoke clears, and he steps outside.

“What are you doing out here?”

You recognize his voice right away. That voice. It’s smooth and mellow and light and bright all at once.

“It’s the only quiet place to study,” you snark. “You guys are so loud.”

“It’s Saturday,” he defends.

“It’s not just today, it’s nearly every day since you guys moved in,” you say, hating the twinge of whine in your voice.

“Why haven't you said anything?”

“Does the banging on the wall not count?”

He chuckles in realization and it’s infuriating. And really cute. “That's you,” he realizes out loud.

He’s gorgeous. Muscular, with a few tats hiding beneath his t-shirt sleeve, making it that much harder to be annoyed with him.

“Yeah,” you say, embarrassed. “That’s me.”

He takes a step closer. “Are you also the one that turns on the blender at 6 am every day?”

You blush. “That's also me,” you say. “Noisy breakfast smoothie. You didn't say anything either,” you antagonize.

“It's an old building. The walls are paper thin. You have to live, right?” He softens. “Besides, I don’t mind. I’ve usually snoozed my alarm 4 or 5 times by then and it's the final push I need to get up.”

You laugh, feeling your guard fall. “You have a nice voice,” you say, looking down at your feet. “I hear you in the shower sometimes.”

He gets shy, looking down. “I didn't know you could hear that.”

“It’s pretty,” you say, feeling the hearts form in your eyes now that there’s a face attached to this voice. “But when you listen to music, what’s with the constant shuffle? I mean, do you ever listen to a song, start to finish?”

He laughs, getting embarrassed again. “I don't know. It's like I start listening and I like it and I feel the vibe and let it flow through me. Once I get a feel for it, I’m ready for the next one.”

You exchange names and you’re confident enough to stand, showing off the ratty t-shirt and fabric shorts that leave your ass cheeks peeking out from underneath.

His eyes drift down, sensing your exposed skin in the air. It gives you a boost of confidence as your eyes take each other in.

Can’t believe you’re out here with this stranger, drawn completely in. He takes a pen from behind your ear and gets a gentle grasp on your forearm, turning it slightly. He writes a phone number on your arm.

“You can always text me if it’s too loud. You shouldn’t have to hide out on the fire escape just to study.” His doe eyes open wide beneath his lashes. “I’ll tell them to try to keep it down. But it’s Saturday, so no promises.”

There’s no chance of getting any studying done, maybe ever again knowing that the likes of him are on the other side of that wall. You think of anything to keep him outside before he steps into his window.

“Hey.”

He turns back to look at you.

“Want to keep me company? You look out at the city landscape and twinkling lights. "It’s nice out."

He thinks for a moment. Then he looks down, and the air gets awkward. “You know, I should really get inside,” he says.

And your face burns with embarrassment and confusion.

“See you later,” you say. You watch him re-enter his window and hope you never see him again.

ღღღ

You spend more time over the next few weeks studying on the fire escape just because.

Occasionally, you catch JK coming and going for a long run. He doesn’t see you from the ground as you’re many flights up.

Despite not wanting to see him again and the shame and embarrassment of misreading the whole interaction, it's just a matter of time before you hear him again. Singing in the shower, playing his music. Even when he’s loud with the others, you’re only able to tune into that voice.

Luckily, the window next door hasn’t opened again.

You’re studying and the sun has long set when suddenly, it all goes dark, inside and out. It’s pitch black and you turn on your phone flashlight.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, wondering how long the power will be out.

It’s then when the window opens and JK’s head peeks out, candle in hand. A layer of transparent colored wax sits at the top. It’s been burning for a while now. The lavender and vanilla scents waft into your nostrils.

“Hey,” he says, stretching his neck to see if the entrance to your bedroom is pitch black, too.

“It’s out for blocks,” you say, and your stomach tightens, feeling uneasy with him around.

He climbs out and approaches, standing next to you and looking out over the balcony. Goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Here again, huh? I told you to text me,” he says, appearing way more confident than the shy guy from your last encounter.

“There wasn’t any noise, it's just kind of nice out here. And less crowded than the library. And I can wear my pajamas,” you add.

He lifts your textbook, holding the candle up and scouring the title.

“Well, it makes sense why I’ve never seen you at school. We’re on the opposite ends of campus.”

He speaks like he wants you to ask more questions, eyes glued to you like a second opportunity. He’s so close and seems glad he stumbled upon you again.

“Sometimes I'm out here and I see you go for a run and you don’t come back for hours.”

“I run to the gym, work out, and run back.”

“When do you find time to study?”

“I don’t. But, for what I want to do, being healthy will help.”

He looks at you, scanning your face in the candlelight.

It’s obvious now. Nothing to be questioned, but you still remember the heat of the embarrassment when he chose to go inside that last time.

He takes a step closer, leaning in.

“Are you… ok in the dark?” he asks.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, knowing you’re only ok as long as your half-dead phone battery holds out. No emergency candles or supplies to mention.

He’s close enough to smell again and your heart pounds against your chest. It’s dark. A little dangerous.

“Do you mind some company?” He asks, eyes drifting down to your mouth.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper. He leans in close and you speak before your lips meet. “Why didn’t you stay the first time?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

He takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. “Because I found a beautiful woman in a vulnerable spot. Private. Studying. In her pajamas. I just didn’t want to be weird.” He takes a step closer. “And you make me kind of nervous, so I'm glad I have another chance.”

You laugh, feeling your heart pound, secretly grateful he feels this way too. “Why do I make you nervous?” You whisper.

“Because for the past few weeks, all I can think about is my neighbor. And she’s been my neighbor for months, but I didn’t know she looked like this. And that she can hear me doing everything.” His voice is soft, forbidding, wrapping you up. “And I'm caught halfway between picking up and moving just for peace of mind and just," his voice drifts off and he twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. "Wishing the wall wasn’t there.”

You take a deep breath, feeling yourself fall deep. “The wall isn’t here now,” you say, closing the space between your lips.

His hands immediately make their way to cup your ass, running up your waist and through your hair, hands exploring every inch of you he can’t see.

You do the same, gliding your hands up his shirt and feeling the ridges of the stomach, drawing him closer. The stairs press against your back and you wince while loving the feeling of him between your legs.

Reach your hand down to where the fabric of his shorts is tented, getting a grip on his hard length and letting it rub between your thighs. He gasps and presses his cock to you.

You lace a hand with him and guide him as you both climb into your bedroom window. He sets the candle down and gets both hands on you.

He groans when he slips his hands beneath the waistband of your shorts and feels no underwear. He gets his hands under your ass cheeks, groping and feeling his fingers slip. He rubs at your slicked opening and presses against it. Your eyes roll back as you push your hips to him.

“Fuck, how long have you been this wet?” He says, his warm breath hitting your face. His voice is deeper now, darker.

“Before you stepped outside,” you say. “When I was just wishing you'd show up.”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down to your ankles. He whispers. “Get on the bed.” You hear him wrestle with his own shirt in the dark.

You walk backward until the mattress touches behind your knees and lay back. He crawls above you, kissing over your breasts and expertly slipping two fingers inside your pussy, causing you to gasp.

He drags them out and moves wetness over your clit. You see stars at his rough rhythm.

“Slower,” you guide, touching his wrist. And he does, slowing his fingers, but not letting up any pressure.

“Like this?” He says you nod, forgetting he can’t see you. He takes the signal from your moans and circles his fingers, occasionally slipping them inside. The lewd squelching is somehow more emphatic in the dark.

“Can I taste you?” He asks, through a panting breath.

“Pleeease,” you moan, blissed out already. Can’t believe how eager you are. You can’t really come from being eaten out, but when he brings it up, you know it’s all you want.

His warm breath hovers over your pussy and he goes right to the source, lapping at your opening and swiping his fingers to feed himself.

It’s titillating to be actually eaten, hearing his delighted noises. Strange almost, especially in the dark. You stop thinking about it when he latches his mouth around your clit.

It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced. Usually, it’s a tongue flapping randomly and wildly over you with little effect. Like they're just guessing.

There is no guessing here. He’s swallowing, taking the whole of your flesh in his mouth and sucking. Your thighs shake uncontrollably. Another first.

He hooks an arm around your thigh and then his tongue starts, never letting off his suction, still sucking and releasing while never moving his lips away, gently running his tongue over the sensitive bud.

You squirm and moan, uncaring and unaware of the sounds you’re making. He finally lets off.

“Stay still for me?” And you freeze, willing to do anything to get his mouth on you like that again.

You anticipate his lips again but feel fingers plunge deep inside instead. He keeps them buried down to the webbing of his fingers, pulsing and pressing to the deepest part of you.

Then, his mouth, bringing that precious suction that makes your muscle quiver. Even the vibrator doesn’t get this reaction.

Everything burns at your core as you teeter on the edge. Gripping at the sheets, you bear down against him. He moans and the vibrations send you over the edge.

He never stops his pace, staying with your body as you come.

Coming down, you feel the mattress bowing as he grinds into the mattress, giving himself an enticing friction and feeling good for himself.

He rises up to your face, placing his skilled tongue right in your mouth. “Mph. I need to fuck you,” he groans. “Do you have?_”

“Yeah,” you say, before he can finish the sentence. You lean up and fumble in the darkness to pull a condom from the nightstand.

“Lay back,” you whisper with a hand on his chest, the darkness giving you a certain confidence. You climb on top of him, nerves still shaky.

He reaches for the wrapper in your hand, but you pull it away. You drag your fingertips over his shaft and stroke over him a few times, cupping his balls, feeling his breath hitch and feeling even more sensation in the darkness.

You open the wrapper and place the rubber on his tip, rolling it down with your hands until it's covered.

He groans, pulling you down to kiss and prodding his tongue inside. You spread your thighs over his lap and he grips hard as you slide down onto him, digging nails into the flesh of your ass. He’s happy to be inside you twice, bucking his hips up.

You let him stretch inside you, starting a rhythm and rolling your hips. It feels incredible. Sensations moving from your swollen pussy and out to your fingertips. He runs his hands up your chest, feeling the weight of your tits in his hands.

It's then when the lights come on, bright and harsh. You look up, blinded and distracted. Embarrassed.

He takes your chin in his hand and forces your eyes on him. “Don’t stop fucking me,” he says, pulling your hips over his, getting you moving again, reminding you of what you need. “Please, don’t stop fucking me,” he whines.

You nod and grind on him, feeling him press against your walls. The sound is lewd and wet as you circle your hips, barely rising on his shaft. He watches you, eyes surveying your body as you move with his hands on your hips. Finally taking you in.

He's so hot. Dark, sweaty hair sticks to his face. The faint light in the room allows his tattoos to be exposed. The sweat beads and pools between his chest and abs, tapering down to his little waist where your bodies are hot and connected. There’s simply too much for your eyes to take in.

“God, you're gorgeous,” he says.

“That's just what I was thinking,” you say, running your hands over his tight abs in response.

He put the pads of his fingers on your clit and you gasp, still sensitive from your orgasm. He barely moves them, just presses them against your clit as you grind and move and bounce.

He takes a deep breath, trying to hold back his own orgasm.

The pressure is too good, combined with the feeling of him pressed inside you to the deepest point. You can’t recognize the sounds coming from your mouth or explain the way your hips buck and grind above him.

“Oh my god,” he whines, and it's so hot. He loses himself as you cream and tighten around him, riding out another intense orgasm.

“Don't stop,” he moans. “Don't stop, ple_”

And you must muster everything to keep your body moving and grinding.

His jaw goes slack, head thrown back. You drag nails over his chest, acknowledging the goosebumps rising on his skin as he throbs inside.

He releases the grip on your hips and you collapse on top of him. Panting and catching your breath, he leans up, carefully tying off the condom.

You look at each other and laugh through your breath. He kisses you, running his hand through your hair. Drunk on each other.

There's laughter and commotion on the other side of the wall, and he appears surprised.

“Is this what it sounds like?" He asks, banging on the wall to his roommates on the other side.

Coming Up... Taehyung ;)

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sister-lucifer · 10 days

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Brian x Tim cigarettes? Can we get an elaboration on that?

here’s a fun piece. featuring tim’s vice turned pleasure

imagine, if you will:

tim with his face buried in a pillow, half turned onto his side and shaking while struggling to hold back tears. brian has one of his calves over his shoulder, exposing his inner thigh, which is now marked by a trail of burns from the tip of the cigarette hanging between brian’s lips. they’re both still clothed for the most part, minus tim’s pants, but his boxers are still keeping him decently modest despite his leaking hard on. brian’s expression is completely blank, but there’s a whirlpool of emotion swirling behind his eyes that tim can’t see through the blurry tears.

“please…please…” tim whispers, voice raspy and worn, but he’s not sure what he’s begging for. his nails dig into the sheets as brian adjusts his hold.

without warning another searing burn is brought down on tim’s inner thigh, making him cry out unbearably pleasurable agony. he buries his face into the pillow, tears soaking the case as his chest heaves with a sob.

brian pauses as he takes a drag, waiting to see if tim speaks, waiting to see if he lets the safe word slip past his trembling lips.

he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t.

there’s a fair chance he wont even have to touch tim tonight. he might cum in his boxers just from this. either way, he’s definitely not leaving this session unscathed.

#i’ve got mail!#fic idea #fic ideas #tw cigarettes #tw burns #cigarette burns #marble hornets #brim marble hornets #brim mh #tim wright #brian thomas #tim wright x brian thomas

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rhera · 5 months

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MASTERS OF HORROR (2005-2007) — 1.08 CIGARETTE BURNS | dir. John Carpenter

#udo kier #norman reedus #john carpenter #masters of horror #cigarette burns #mastersofhorroredit #horroredit #horrorgifs #horrorsource #horrortvfilmsource #tw addiction #tw blood #tw flashing #mygifs #masters*

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maed4y · 4 months

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Capeesh? Are you in the Mafia?

I love Henry istg

#ryan gosling #henry letham #stay 2005 #ryan gosling character #movie script #stay 2005 movie #self h@rm #cigarette #cigarette burns #tw s3lf harm #tw self h4rm #tw sh related #stay (2005)

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whumblr · 9 months

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So I really liked the Duct Tape piece for Home is Where the Hurt Is, and I was wondering if you would be open to maybe doing another drabble with burns? I just think that Zayne would have fun with that. Of course, feel free to ignore this. Your writing is amazing! Especially Home is Where the Hurt Is, I just keep re-reading it over and over again.

Thanks so much <3 Here's to Zayne having fun 🤝

Smoke break

“Didn’t you want to know more about that arson case the other day?”

The glee in Zayne’s voice hinted at something more than just sharing information and Jay’s guard instantly went up.

“I’m suddenly really okay with never fully understanding that case,” he said.

“Don’t be like that. Here, I’ll share the process with you.”

“No, really, I’m good—” But a hand clamped around his wrist and pulled him in close to Zayne. A pointed glance to the floor and he took a deep breath, taking the hint, to sink to his knees. Zayne followed, pulling up the footstool and settling over Jay, hand still wrapped around his wrist.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

“You smoke?” Jay nervously deflected, stalling. He pretty much knew what was coming, but hey, he could still pray that he was wrong.

“Nah, I mean, in me teens, yeah, but not anymore.”

He tucked the cigarette between his lips and reached into his other pocket, fishing out a lighter.

Prayers unanswered, Jay tensed up.

Zayne flicked the lighter open – drawing a light flinch from Jay – and lit the cigarette. He fully inhaled, his own little way of stalling and making sure he had Jay’s full attention, then slowly blew out the smoke in Jay’s face.

Jay turned his head, coughing, not fully able to twist away with Zayne holding him. And with him still coughing, he was caught off-guard when Zayne suddenly pulled him in, stretching his arm out.

“See,” Zayne muttered, cigarette dangling between his lips bouncing on every word, and he reached out to Jay’s wrist to fiddle with the cuff button, “our mutual prick is very keen that no evidence is left behind.” He pulled the cuff up to Jay’s elbow, exposing his forearm, keeping Jay in place as the guy yanked at the tight grip on his wrist.

Jay nervously followed his moves, but found his attention kept being drawn to the cigarette, flickering in the corner of Zayne’s mouth.

“So I can’t just light anything on fire, police would be able to tell.” Zayne continued. He blew out another few curls of smoke through his nose, and caught the cigarette in-between two fingers, twirling it slowly so he held it upside down between index finger and thumb as he lowered it towards Jay’s forearm.

Muscles flexed under the heat.

“Don’t,” Jay whispered.

“How’s the burn on your side?”

“Still healing. Just… don’t.”

Zayne hummed, teasing the smouldering ash up and down, deciding on a spot. “The trick is to not be too hasty,” he finally said, and firmly pressed the cigarette out against Jay’s skin just under his elbow.

Jay hissed, clenched his teeth together and groaned his pain as he threw his head back.

Zayne didn’t pull away yet. “Gotta take it slow,” he continued, twisting the butt before he finally removed it. A dark red circle remained. “You know, check things out first. See what the employees smoke outside during their breaks and buy the same pack. Got to match up, yeah.”

He shifted closer towards Jay, pulling him in by the wrist, his other hand brushing his collar aside, undoing one button.

“Then you find a good spot…” Fingers tucked under the neck of his t-shirt, exploring the skin underneath, softly prodding. “And you create… circumstances. Patch of dry leaves, dead potted plant, some garbage, whatever works.”

Jay didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He just allowed Zayne’s teasing, pretty sure he’d be able to feel his heart hammering under the thumb that rested against his throat.

“After that,” Zayne reached into his pocket and took out three more cigarettes. “You just dispose of the evidence.”

“Maybe… you’ll still need some? You know, for next time?” Jay tried.

“Hmm, that suggestion would make you the instigator of arson, Jaydear. Can’t involve you in all this.” He pinched another cigarette in-between his lips, lit it, and tucked his fingers under Jay’s shirt, lightly pulling the neck down and exposing his clavicle.

“What you can do is help me get rid of this evidence.”

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @scribbelle

#whump #whump writing #cigarette burns #sadistic whumper #I struggled with this because I *wanted* to do cigarette stuff #but I went like no zayne doesnt smoke so that doesnt make sense #so I thought of burning jay with hot tea or scalding his hand over the oven or something #and then it hit me that zayne's an arsonist so cigarettes would make sense anyhow :3 #me: zayne doesn't smoke #also me: lets zayne smoke #hiwthi #hiwthi drabbles #my writing #scheduled cause Im at oppenheimer rn cheers

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coldresolve · 1 year

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so anyway i commissioned @albino-whumpee to draw that one cigarette scene

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kerryweaverlesbian · 7 months

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Endverse Cas offers Dean a cigarette on their way to the end. Dean figures, why not?

Read my smoking fic sequel (you don't need to have read the first one!) where the end is nigh.

Here's a short snippet:

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean demands, and Cas laughs his weird, raspy laugh. It doesn't sound right. Nothing about this Cas is right. "Relax, Dean knows we'll catch up. Did you know," Cas says, leaning right into Dean's space, the smell of weed and dank sweat rolling off him, "He trusts me. He needs me. He- what did he say? Oh, yeah. He couldn't do this thing without me." Cas laughs again, which turns into a cough, and he thunks his head back onto the seat headrest, then jacks his seat back into a recline. He never stops moving, like a garden hose that has been let go of in the middle of filling a pool. All that angelic energy had to go somewhere, Dean guesses, so maybe it went into the jitters. It's freaky. Cas is - was? - always so deliberate with his movements. A steady, unstoppable machine. This Cas feels like if you look at him wrong, he's going to explode.

#smoking #cigarette burns #deancas #endverse #endverse cas #endverse dean #endverse timestamp #cawis creates

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whiskyarts · 11 months

Photo

wasn’t sure which lighting i liked more

#dol #degrees of lewdity #dol sydney #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #my art #zachiedoodles #gore #self harm #religious imagery #nosebleed #cigarette burns

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honeycollectswhump · 9 months

Note

for the bingo card: human furniture?

-🪷

thank you for sending this ask!! and i hope you don't mind my late reply :)) it was so fun to write <3

the bingo card was made by @gentlelittlehorrors (i hope you enjoy what i did with your prompt)

[masterlist]

CW: dehumanisation, pet whump, burns

“Up!”

It’s the first thing Ashtray hears, the first thing he understands, while laying down under the table, letting the noise of conversations pleasantly wash over him.

Up means he is needed, Up means he is going to be used and Ashtray is eager to be used. Recognizing a word makes his nerves tingle with happiness. Ashtray rarely gets talked to –of course–, and it's even rarer that he understands.

He gets on his hands and knees, crawling closer to the soft velvet voice of his beloved Mistress. From his point of view, Ashtray can only see her silky smooth dress, a slit revealing her elegantly crossed legs.

Careful of the leash binding him to the table, he takes his place, kneeling right beside his Mistress. Only like this, he is allowed to look at her, Ashtray has learned. He turns his head towards her, waiting for another cue amidst the pleasant waves of her voice.

Ashtray knows few words, short hints like Up and Down, Good Boy and Punishment, Hands and Back and Tongue, but he is very proud of his collection. It makes him a Good Boy, he thinks, that he has learned to recognise the otherwise strange sounds. Ashtray strives to serve his Mistress, in the way he was made for, and in any way at all.

“Hand out.” his Mistress says, and Ashtray is thankful he is such an attentive Good Boy to filter out the right words. He tries his best to copy her poise, even though it is so unnatural for a simple thing like him.

Mistress didn’t say which hand or maybe Ashtray doesn’t know the word yet. He can only guess what the most logical answer would be and sitting at her left side, he has an idea. Everything should always be elegant, so as graceful as possible he lifts his right hand to rest on her thigh, just like she trained him to.

He can feel the cigarette getting closer, even without seeing it directly, can feel it burning and sizzling against his skin. Despite this, Ashtray doesn’t flinch, just like expected of a Good Boy. His eyes never leave his Mistress’ face, drowning in the pleased smile she gifts him.

Other owners wouldn’t smile at their Ashtray like that, but his Mistress does. She is gentle, and loving, and so beautiful that Ashtray knows he’d let her hold his hands in a fire just to gain another smile.

Twisting the cigarette into his skin, his Mistress makes sure it truly is put out. Ashtray marvels at how responsible she is, even as it leaves an angry red crater that will surely leave a mark in the field of raised, almost perfectly round scars that coat his hands.

After fulfilling his purpose, Ashtray lifts his hand back down again, barely conscious of the way his skin seems to be lit on fire. This is what he was made for anyway. He resumes his position next to his Mistress, both hands in front of his knees, still and Good, bathing in her presence until she will inevitably send him under the table, only to come out when he is needed. Maybe then, she will call him a Good Boy again and Ashtray wants to be a Good Boy so badly.

If he continues to be a Good Boy, his Mistress will even provide Ashtray with cream so that the fresh wound won’t get infected. Another thing other owners wouldn’t do for their possessions.

Ashtray is so lucky to belong to such a kind Mistress.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 11 months

Note

I was looking at the words on the ask game and I’ve intrigued myself…. Illecebrous For Antoni? 🙏

Illecebrous: alluring, attractive, enticing

CW: Implied noncon, noncon touching, creepy whumper, intimate whumper

"It's a wonder, really, that it took so long for someone to snap you up," Mr. Davies mused. Smoke hung thick in the air around him, sweet and heady clove settling like a weight on the ashtray's shoulder, sifting onto his nearly-shaven head like falling snowflakes.

He held the ashtray's thin wrist in one large hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth along the inside where blue-tinged veins seemed to linger just beneath pale skin. A scar or two added texture to the touch, but they were old and healed, and didn't cause pain at all.

Still, the ashtray held perfectly still, silent, eyes down. His eyelashes seemed impossibly long. His collar was cinched a little too tight. Oscar leaned over, pressing the thin, embered end of the cigarette just below the collar's leather edge.

The ashtray shuddered, hissing through his teeth, but he didn't pull away.

"How did anyone ever walk past you and resist? Hm? Boggles the mind." Tears glinted at the corners of those downturned eyes. "Oh, that must ache," Mr. Davies cooed in response to those wet eyes, the trembling lips. "Perhaps you wore too much armor for anyone else to see what I see now. But here you are... laid bare for me."

He nudged the toe of his Italian leather shoes, softly gleaming in yellow lamplight, between the ashtray's legs. Even wearing the soft sweatpants that are all he was ever allowed, the pet shuddered with disgust and ducked his chin even more, shoulders hunching. The fresh burn on his neck was bright red. It must have been throbbing.

Oscar dropped the young man's wrist and sat back, looking at his cigarette, before he snapped his fingers. "Light," He commanded.

The ashtray moved instantly, jerking forwards and grabbing the gold-plated lighter that sat on the side table next to Oscar's leather chair. His hands trembled, but there was a flame soon enough.

He leaned forward, taking a long drag when the flame touched the tip.

The ashtray's eyes - just briefly - met his own.

"You're suffering for what you've done to me," Oscar murmured, exhaling a cloud into the ashtray's face until he can't quite cover up his cough. "And you'll suffer more. But my God, will you look incredible while you do it."

He snapped again, and pointed down, between his own legs. "Mouth, love. I'll want no begging tonight."

There was no protest. Only the slightest hesitation - the look of such despair in those beautiful eyes - and then the ashtray moved forward, shuffling in his knees, hands already working to open Oscar's robe.

As soon as that mouth was wet and warm around him, he leaned over, one hand on the top of the ashtray's head, and pressed the cigarette directly between his pet's shoulder blades.

The light moved over pale skin as every muscle locked. The ashtray's eyes closed tight, tears running down his cheeks, following the sharp cheekbones, making their way down to the line of his jaw.

Oscar groaned, shoving the pet even further until his nose was pressed to Oscar's pelvis and he had to fight to breathe, grinding the cigarette until it all but fell apart in his hands.

The noises the pet made were incredible.

The way his throat worked as he fought not to cry or choke, and yet still did both, was divine.

#whump #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #antoni sings lullabies #oscar davies #implied noncon #noncon tw #writing #whumpblr #burns tw #cigarette burns #sadistic whumper

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4joonkookie · 9 months

Text

The Local ♡

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Words: 3.6K

Summary: How Taehyung and O/C met :) Smut, flirting, and skinny-sipping. Can be read alone or be read in the CIGARETTE BURNS universe.

Notes/Tags: SMUT, angst, one-night stand, sex, drinking, cigarettes, skinny-dipping, Taeconda is real, build up at the beginning and smut at the end.

♡♡♡

Opening your eyes and propping up on your elbows, you look around the unfamiliar room.

Where am I?

Whose bed is this?

What happened last night?

Your weary eyes aren’t open long before they instinctively shut due to the throbbing pain in your head.

Trying to keep the brief image alive behind your eyelids, you attempt to nail down where you are. This bedroom is as big as your whole apartment and is unfamiliar.

“Good morning,” a voice says from the other side of the bed, and your eyes shoot open to look over at the barely familiar stranger.

“You were pretty gone last night,” he says, tilting his head. “You remember?”

Letting out a painful groan, you rub your eyes and lay back on the pillows. “If you were there, maybe you should tell me.”

“Well, you went pretty hard for a Wednesday,” he says, scrolling on his phone. Then, he looks over at you. “No judgment,” he adds.

He sits up under the blanket with no shirt. Lifting the covers, you peek beneath to confirm your suspicions. And again, your eyes fall shut, head collapsing on the pillows in regret.

“You don’t remember,” he remarks and sighs sarcastically. “My poor ego.” He places his phone on his lap, offering you his undivided attention.

You open your mouth to snark at him before it hits you. “What day did you say it was?”

“Yesterday was Wednesday, so today is...” He trails off.

You leap out of bed, clutching pillows to your naked body, panicking. “What time is it?”

“Five after ten,” he says, standing from the bed in unabashed nudity. You quickly dart your eyes.

“Shit.” You scramble around, searching for your clothes, phone, or anything. The trail of your belongings leads the way out of the bedroom.

“What's the rush?” He asks, following you around the living room.

“My chem final starts in ten minutes and I can't even begin to fathom the levels of screwed I'll be if I miss it,” you sputter, struggling to get last night's crumpled, inside-out clothes on.

“Can I have your number?” he asks, helping you get your head through your shirt collar. “I'd love to see you again.”

You give a dismissive wave of your hands. “Look. If we meet again, we can call it ‘Meant To Be’ and start fresh. It’s not like I remember a thing that happened, anyway.” You tuck the last of your belongings into the crook of an arm. “Right now? I’m late.”

He heads down the hallway leading back to the bedroom, and you rush to the front door, unable to even consider giving this guy another second.

And you stop as your hand reaches the doorknob, realizing you haven’t answered your waking question.

Where am I?

Turning, you’re relieved to see he’s returned from the hall. Only now, he’s carrying aspirin and a water bottle, handing them to you.

“Where am I?” you ask, frantic. “How do I get to campus?” Wondering if you're even close enough to make it in the next 8 minutes.

“I can drive you_” He starts to offer.

“Like this?” you retort, eyes glancing down at his bare presentation and sighing heavily. “Can I get there on foot?” you ask, taking the aspirin and cracking open the water bottle.

He exhales, finally giving in. “Run 2 blocks at full speed that way and you just might make it,” he points.

“Thanks,” and you're out in a flash, run-of-shaming your way to campus.

“What's your name?!" He shouts down the hall behind you, peeking his head out the door.

You ignore him and continue dashing, all the while scolding yourself. It serves you right for celebrating the end of the semester too soon.

♡♡

That night, you’re at the bar again with the morning’s hangover a distant memory. It's crowded as everyone celebrates the actual end of the semester.

You arrive with Jungkook, a neighbor you’ve been hooking up with for a few weeks, planned to spend the evening hanging with a mixed group of friends.

You approach the bar on your own for a drink. Your eyes scan the crowd as you wait for the bartender. They stop on someone familiar.

A few patrons down, there he is. The dark and gorgeous one-night stand, looking straight at you with a cocked eyebrow, pleasantly surprised to see you.

You look down at the bar top, chuckling to yourself.

Out of the corner of your eye, he struts toward you and stops short, sitting a couple of stools away. He leaves the first move to you.

You sit down on the closest stool and sip your drink. Looking anywhere but ahead, at the risk of seeing JK or meeting eyes with this stranger, feeling the heat on both sides of you.

Unable to help yourself, you catch his eye, noticing the onset of a coy smirk at the corners of his lips.

He’s stubborn and not giving in. He knows you’re intrigued by this silent game. The push and pull of it all.

He moves over one stool closer and your shoulders are almost touching.

You give in, but maintain looking ahead.

“Are you gonna ask how my final went?”

Just then, a friend shouts your name, greeting you with a wave as she passes.

He repeats your name, running his tongue over his bottom lip. Like he’s trying to taste it.

“How was your chem final? Did you even make it on time?” He asks.

“Barely. And I barely squeaked out a C.”

“But you did. I’m proud of you. Cheers,” he celebrates, lifting his glass.

He sips his drink, and it gets quiet for a moment. You feel the need to fill the silence, adding on.

“And thanks for the aspirin. It really staved off the headache.”

“You’re welcome,” he says in a questionable tone, going up slightly at the end.

Suspicious, you continue your train of thought. “And thank you for letting me crash at your place. I was pretty far gone and anything could’ve happened to me.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re welcome, and I don’t need any thanks. It was the thing to do.” He pauses before continuing. “Plus, you were pretty insistent.”

You scoff and glare at him. “I was not.”

“Oh, has your memory suddenly returned?” He snarks, playfully, but you shut up “I just wanted to take you somewhere safe to crash, but, we got home and you totally mauled me.”

“I mauled you?!” you squawk in disbelief.

“Yes, you mauled me and took what you wanted from me and then you just woke up, brushed me off, and ran out without even telling me your name,” he says, nodding and pointing his index finger. “You were an ass.”

He feels equally honest and playful, but you can tell he’s serious about that part. And you take a deep breath to reflect and ease the pang of guilt that washes over you.

“You’re right. I am an ass. I’m sorry for brushing you off and rushing out. You were so sweet to offer to drive me, too.”

“I know,” he says, milking this for every drop.

“Should I apologize for mauling you? Or…” you joke.

“No, I liked that part,” he smirks, and a flutter sinks down to your gut. Landing like more of a punch.

“Is my tongue-lashing over now?”

“For now,” he replies, offering a wink that sends a second set of flutters to your stomach faster than the first time. He signals the bartender for the next round.

“So you said something before?”

You roll your eyes, knowing where this is going. “Yeah?”

“You said, if we met again, it must be ‘meant to be’.”

“I said that,” you confirm. And you’re suddenly reminded of JK, the last time you knew it was ‘meant to be with a guy’.

It still does.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day and I played out all the ways it might happen.” He looks off into the distance. Maybe we’d meet up 5 or 10 years from now and the timing is right. Or… maybe I’d be thinking about that girl that ran out of my apartment so rudely and never see her again. But it’s neither." He smiles, and it’s too sweet. “Today is the day.”

“Well, you’re quite the romantic.”

He chuckles, sipping his drink. “Something like that.”

“Taehyung,” he says, extending his hand. “So. Your finals are out of the way. We’ve exchanged names and agreed we’re meant to be,” he says, like he’s checking things off a list. “What do you say about making this an at least 2-night stand?”

“Ok,” you reply.

You shuffle on your feet, knowing you’ve already made plans with JK, but you can’t deny the attraction to this stranger.

“You wanna get out of here?” He suggests.

“Sure.” looking around and nervous. “Just…Give me a minute, ok?”

“You're not gonna run out on me, are you?” he asks. “You can just say ‘no’.”

And you believe him.

“I'm saying ‘yes’,” you assure, placing a hand on his chest. “I just need to check-in with someone.”

♡♡

After poorly excusing yourself, you follow Taehyung outside the bar. It doesn’t seem like Jungkook picked up on anything.

“So, who’s he?” He asks as you stroll down the sidewalk.

You think about it. “My neighbor is the best way to put it.”

“I saw you guys together last night. He looks like a drip.”

“He isn't,” you defend.

“Then why didn't you go home with him last night?” He snarks.

“Unlike me, he would never get trashed the night before a big final. He went home at a decent hour, before it all went black.”

“Oh,” he rolls his eyes. “So why didn’t you go home with him tonight?” he smirks.

Slightly peeved, you change the subject. “Why are you dressed like that?” You hardly ever see a guy in a button-up and slacks around here.

“I graduated last year, but I work just nearby.”

“Yeah? What do you do?”

“Private equity & Investment banking”

You cackle. “Speaking of a drip.”

“Touché.”

Something about the banter is familiar. Memories from last night become less fuzzy as you talk.

“Was that your house?” You ask, remembering the massive mansion that certainly couldn’t be his.

“My parents. They’re vacationing in Europe for a few months.”

“So you’re from around here?” You ask, intrigued. “Ah, I haven’t met a local yet.”

“Born and raised,” he says.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t even know what exists outside of these few blocks around campus.”

He stops in his tracks, gazing at you. It’s hypnotic. “Let me show you?”

“Sure,” you nod, a little weary. “Where are we going?”

He reaches his hand out and pulls you in, kissing you. Soft. You inhale and pull away, feeling your body set on fire.

“A local spot. Are you up for an adventure?”

He unlocks his fancy car, opening the door for you to walk inside.

♡♡

A short drive later, he slows down a beaten path, through some woods, and parks beneath the trees.

“Is this the part of the story where I get murdered?” You ask, as he parks.

“No. My friends and I used to hang out here all the time. Let's go.”

You both head to the rear of the trunk, where he removes a duffel bag. He pulls a bottle of liquor from a side pocket, cracks the top, and sips from it. You take it and swig from it too, hiding the wince.

He carries the bag with him as you begin walking to the lake. It’s beautiful. Serene. The water is luminescent beneath the moonlight.

He lays out a blanket just by the shore and you walk up to the water, dipping your toes in. It’s cold and refreshing at once.

Taehyung lines up his body behind you, wrapping arms around your waist. He kisses down the line of your neck and over your shoulders.

“And how many times have you done this?”

“Done what?” He asks. His voice is like honey.

“How many girls have you brought to this spot? With the blanket by the lake and the charming moonlight reflecting on the water?” You mock, craning your neck back to face him.

You’re on to all of his antics and want to make sure he knows.

“Plenty,” he admits, and you’re taken aback by his honesty. “But none from out of town,” he offers. He kisses you deep before you can speak and it works.

He pulls away and starts removing his clothes.

“Who’s eager now?” You tease.

“Well, we can't swim in our clothes.”

The realization slowly dawns on you when he pauses his motion at his fly.

“Are you in?”

You think for just a moment and remove your clothes, handing them over. He tosses them on top of the blanket.

He walks past you and directly into the lake, ducking his head below the surface before reemerging.

“You coming?” He asks, backtracking to where you’re only ankle-deep in the cool water. “Come on.”

“I’m coming,” you say, inching your way in.

“Do it faster,” he says.

“It’s cold,” you whine back.

He makes a huge splash and you gasp, sprayed from head to toe.

“Faster,” he says, splashing again, and you chase him into the water. Horse playing, splashing, wrestling, and erupting in giggles at the surface.

You settle, wrapped around each underwater. The noise settles.

“I was trying not to get my hair wet,” you scold.

“Why?” He asks, and you regret mentioning it.

“Cause it’s gonna…” you gesture wildly around your head. “Dry all weird.”

“Yesterday, I watched you barf into my mother’s rose bushes. I think we’re past that level of modesty.”

You shut your eyes in utter embarrassment. It’s bad enough it happened, but you can’t even remember.

“No, I didn’t,” you tell yourself out loud.

“Yes, you did,” he laughs.

You let go of his body and sink yourself underwater, playfully wishing you can sink to the bottom forever.

He gets hands under your shoulders and hoists you up, amused. Placing you back where you were around his torso.

“Why would you even want to see me again?” You ask, shaking your head.

He looks at you for a moment, perplexed.

“Honestly, I don’t know. There’s just something about you, I guess,” he says, and you’re not sure how to reply. He breaks the silence. “I mean, besides you being an eager lay,” he adds.

“Jerk,” you say, splashing. Then you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, arms draped around his shoulders.

“I’m really going to have to refresh your memory, huh?” pressing your lips to his. He pushes closer to you, feeling his hard cock press against you.

“Oh,” you mutter. He’s hard on the thrill. It’s huge.

“Things are slowly coming back to me,” you say, kissing his lips.

“Like what?”

“I remember it hurt to walk this morning, much less run to class.”

He smiles, nods shyly. “Well, that’s something.”

“And your voice. I don’t remember meeting, but I remember that once I heard your voice, I needed to take you somewhere.”

He kisses you, wading in the water. “And you did. And you had your way with me.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. And you duck your head into his shoulder.

“Don’t be embarrassed. You were taking exactly what you wanted. It was hot.

“And I wanted it too. I could’ve just put you in a car and sent you home if all I wanted was for you to get home safe.”

You push his wet hair back from his face. He continues.

“Last night, you told me you and your friends from home would hang out by the lake. That’s why I brought you here.

♡♡

After a while (and some making out), you’re making your way back to the shore.

Laying you back on the blanket, his eyes go narrow, looking at you like prey to be devoured. His fingertips are between your thighs, sending electricity up your spine as he lines himself between your knees.

You kiss wildly, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses his naked body against you.

Reaching down, you grab his hard length, guiding him to the center.

You gasp when he presses the tip inside. He stays there for a while, stretching you wide.

“Oh shit,” you remark, feeling how big it is inside.

“Is that okay?”

“More,” you moan, gasping.

“Yeah?” and he pushes in deeper. “Greedy,” he says.

You nod and moan through a bitten lip. The hard ground scrapes against your back and you don’t care.

“Do you want more, Greedy?” he challenges, pulsing his tip in and out. “I’ve got plenty to give you.”

The nickname eggs you on and you feel yourself become different. Somehow darker, and hyper-focused.

“I want it to hurt,” you whisper, and it triggers him.

He shoves to the hilt and your ears ring. Three or four good thrusts, slapping into you. It feels like you might split in half in the best way.

He stops and looks at your face, wondering if you’ve had enough yet.

It’s a dare, a silent challenge.

And he pulls back and slams inside again. Your hands are braced over your lower belly, where you swear you can feel him bulging through. He grips your hips and lowers your body to him over and over.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he instructs, and you are uncaring of the world around you. Almost forgetting you’re in the woods.

“Bossy,” you seethe, looking up at him and bringing your legs further apart. You pull his head down for a kiss, biting his bottom lip and tasting blood.

He brings his hand to his mouth and swipes at the wound.

He slams in again and you yelp at the pressure on your cervix. He leans down to your face.

“Mouthy,” he seethes and covers his hand over your mouth. He watches as he pulls his cock slowly out, leaving you hopelessly empty. You whine behind the flesh of his palm.

“Turn over,” he instructs, stern. Never letting his hand leave your face. He uses his free hand to spank you. It’s hard, echoing into the trees.

You’re shocked, seeing spots for a moment and unsure what happened. But you find yourself asking for more.

“More,” you whine, muffled behind his hand.

He pulls his hand straight off your mouth, like he knows what you said.

“What was that, Greedy?” He asks, halting his motion.

You fuss beneath him, bucking your hips back, trying to take more of him in. He doesn’t cave.

“I can’t hear you, Greedy,” he says, twisting your hair into a ponytail in his hands and pulling up slightly.

“Again,” you cry, and he hits you again as he slams himself inside from behind. He resumes plowing, and it’s heaven. You're helpless as he rams inside. Gasping and panting, drool rolling down your chin.

He goes impossibly faster, and you grasp at the ground beneath you.

“So glad I get to be in this pussy again, fuck,” he moans. The slap echoes.

He pulls your hair back further, arching your back deeper. His warmth spills inside.

♡♡

You lay there for a while, panting and catching your breath, sitting in silence for a while and processing what just happened.

“Did we do that last night?” You ask, somewhat embarrassed and processing the name-calling, the spanking, and why you liked it so much.

“Do what?”

“Did you spank me?”

“No. You have to be in the right headspace for that type of thing. Besides, you took more of the lead last night.”

You nod.

“Was it okay?” He asks. “Was there anything you don’t want to do again?”

You think for a long time and he’s all ears. “It’s ok,” he whispers. “Think about it.”

You do and shake your head. You liked everything, you're just not sure why.

“This was fun,” he says, drying his damp hair with his shirt.

“Can I have your number?” You ask “I’d love to see you again,” parroting him from this morning.

He doesn’t respond, smiling and removing a pack of cigarettes from the bag and offering you one.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” you say.

“Oh?” he laughs. “You did last night.”

You’re mortified, rolling your eyes at yourself. “I’m not smoking right now,” you correct.

He takes a drag and gazes at you, slowly handing the lit cigarette over. A challenge.

Accepting it, you take a drag, holding it deep before letting it out.

“Mmm, you look good like this,” he comments.

You shrug. “There’s something about every cigarette I smoke being the ‘last one ever’,” you say, taking another drag. “Makes it that much better each time I smoke one.”

He nods. “What I meant is, you look good when you’re doing exactly what you want.”

Smiling, you pass it back to him. He continues. “So, you're seeing that guy? Your neighbor?”

“Sort of,” you shrug.

“Sounds kind of messy,” he remarks.

And you’re a little resentful at the accusation. He passes the cig back to you.

“It’s nothing serious.”

“Either way, I just want to be upfront. I like hanging out and I want to see you again, but I don't really do relationships.”

“I'm not asking for one,” you say, taking another draw.

“I'm just saying. If you're seeing other people, and you like them, you should keep seeing them. I prefer to keep things pretty casual.”

“Ok.”

He leans over to kiss you amidst the smoke. The night is quiet, silent, except for the hum of the woods and the stillness of the water nearby.

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