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smutmind · 22 days ago

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Terms of Surrender

Winter X BBC

Cuckholding. BBC. Oral Worhip

The apartment smelled of old radiator heat and lemon floor cleaner.

Winter stood in the narrow hallway just off the living room, white dress a deliberate contrast against the scuffed wood beneath her boots. Her boyfriend, Jason, lingered near the window, arms folded, trying not to look like he wanted to vanish. The blinds were drawn. The light in the room came from a single overhead bulb, soft and yellow, giving everything a strange, intimate glow.

Mr. Smith filled the threshold. Six foot four, at least. Dark as oil, built like a slab of night—shoulders broad, stomach flat, suit open at the chest to reveal skin the color of shadowed mahogany. Fifty-two, maybe fifty-three. Winter had asked once. He didn’t answer. Just looked her up and down and said, “Old enough to know what I like.”

“You two got the money this time?” he asked, voice low and rough like someone clearing smoke from their lungs.

Jason cleared his throat. “Not yet. I, uh, get paid Friday, but—”

Mr. Smith’s laugh was slow and quiet. “But rent was due last Friday.”

Winter stepped forward. “We didn’t forget,” she said. Her voice was light, careful. “We just… came to ask for a little time.”

Mr. Smith’s eyes moved down her body like a finger tracing every seam. “You wearing that dress to ask for favors, girl?”

She let the question hang.

“Does it work?”

He didn’t answer. He stepped inside instead. Jason took a reflexive step back.

“Funny thing about favors,” Mr. Smith said, letting the door swing shut behind him. “They usually cost more than rent.”

The silence stretched, full of something unspoken. Jason looked to Winter. Winter didn’t blink.

“We could make a deal,” she said.

Mr. Smith’s eyebrow lifted. “You offering me a discount?” His gaze dragged down her legs, lingering at the crease where her thigh met suede. “Or a different kind of currency?”

Jason flinched. “Come on, man—”

“She’s talking,” Smith said, cutting him off. “You hush.”

Winter took a breath. Her dress fluttered with the motion, cotton lifting just enough to hint at the tops of her thighs. “What if I gave you a night instead of money?” she asked, eyes steady. “Right now. Right here.”

Mr. Smith leaned against the wall, arms folding. “Go on.”

Her fingers brushed the hem of her dress. “I mean it. No games. Just me. I’ll make it worth it.”

Smith didn’t move. “And the boy?”

Jason stiffened. “What about me?”

Mr. Smith’s smile was slow, patient. “He gonna stand there while I make use of what’s mine for the evening?”

Winter turned to Jason. Her voice dropped. “Would you?”

He didn’t answer at first. His jaw worked. He looked at her, then at Smith, then down at his shoes.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” he said finally.

Mr. Smith pushed off the wall. His presence filled the room. “You got a choice,” he said. “But she only gets to pay this way if you watch. Eyes on the whole time. Otherwise, no deal.”

Jason didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Just moved to the couch and sat, spine rigid.

Winter exhaled. Her hands went to her bracelet, slipping it off with a click. The metal caught the light for just a second before it disappeared into her pocket.

Smith stepped closer. The air changed.

“Show me you mean it, girl,” he said. “I don’t do charity. I want intention.”

Winter stepped into the middle of the living room and lifted the hem of her dress. Slowly. Her thighs were bare. She let the cotton settle at her hips, not pulling it off yet. Just letting the shape of her frame speak.

“Let me convince you,” she said, her voice a whisper now. “Let me make it feel earned.”

Smith’s smile was approval and appetite wrapped together. “Then get on your knees, little thing. I want to see how much you want this forgiveness.”

Winter lowered herself to the carpet. Her boots creaked as she knelt. She looked up at him, lips parting, eyes soft.

Jason sat motionless on the couch, hands gripping his knees, face pale.

Winter kept her spine straight, hands resting on her thighs, dress bunched high enough to bare the soft undercurve of her ass. The air smelled like dust, sweat, and something else now—something sharp, male, thick with the scent of leather and heat.

Mr. Smith stood over her, belt already loose. The heavy silver buckle clinked once, slow and deliberate.

“You know how to ask for forgiveness?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Words, girl.”

“Yes. Daddy.”

He reached down and pressed two fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up. His skin was warm, rough, fragrant—something spicy clinging to it, like vetiver and wood smoke.

“Then say it.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered. “Let me make it up to you.”

From the couch, Jason made a sound—low, like swallowing something he didn’t want to taste.

Smith’s zipper slid down with a soft rasp. He didn’t guide her. He just watched. Expecting her to move first.

And she did.

Winter leaned in slowly, breath feathering hot against the dense heat of him. The scent—dark musk, leather, skin—flooded her senses before her lips ever made contact. She parted her mouth without pause, wrapping around the thick head of him, tongue slick and patient as she eased him in.

The sound was immediate—wet, intimate, shameless. Her mouth worked shallow at first, letting him feel every inch of pressure as she adjusted, then took him deeper with a slow moan that vibrated through her throat.

“Shit,” he muttered, breath catching. “You feel that, girl? That tight little throat clenching around me?”

She hummed again, the vibration making his thighs tense.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Drooling all over my dick like you missed breakfast. You hungry, baby?”

She pulled back just enough to speak, lips swollen, chin slick. “Starving.”

“Then don’t hold back,” he said, fingers curling in her hair. “I want you messy. Loud. Like you’re trying to suck the rent out of me.”

She smiled around him, then went back down—deeper this time, throat stretching, spit spilling past her lips as she took more than she should’ve been able to.

“Yeah,” he growled, hips barely flexing. “That’s it. Show him what it sounds like when you really want it.”

He let out a low grunt, the sound rough with approval. His hand settled on her head—not pushing, just resting there like a claim. She didn’t need direction. Her body understood the assignment.

“Mm,” he rumbled, voice stretched thin with pleasure. “You got a mouth built for sin.”

She pulled back with a soft pop, breath sticky between them, spit already tracing a glistening path from her lips to the base of him. A string clung from tongue to tip, catching the light like silk. She didn’t wipe it. Didn’t blink. Just let it hang there, raw and shining.

Then she dipped her head again, slower now, deliberate. Her tongue dragged along the thick underside of him—long, wet, unbroken. The texture of his skin, the heat, the weight of him filled her mouth with need. His hips twitched, a pulse jumping beneath her lips.

“Fuck,” he gritted out. “You feel that, boy? That’s your girl licking my cock like she’s carving it into memory.”

She flattened her tongue, licked up again—this time pausing at the tip to swirl it, teasing.

“I haven’t even fucked her yet,” he said, voice thick with heat, “and she’s already soaking the carpet.”

Winter glanced up, eyes glassy, breath quick. Her voice came breathy around him. “Tell me I’m doing good.”

He grinned, dark and wide. “You’re doing filthy, sweetheart. That mouth’s a goddamn blessing.”

Her hand slid to the root, wrapping around him with firm precision. She stroked in time with her mouth—spit-slick, confident—each movement deliberate, a slow drag meant to tease, to worship. The room filled with the wet rhythm of her devotion, each sound louder, filthier, echoing in the heavy hush like applause.

His breath hitched. She felt the tension in his thighs, the subtle quake just under the surface. She didn’t look away. Her eyes stayed locked on his—wide, hungry, daring him to unravel.

She pulled back, tongue tracing along the thick underside of him, lips glossy and parted. “You like that, daddy?” she whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Like how I take my time with it?”

Smith said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Her mouth closed around him again—deep and slow, her moan curling around him like silk.

She pulled back once more, gasping for air, chin dripping. “You’re so heavy in my throat,” she said, licking her lips. “I can feel your pulse in the back of my mouth.”

Another stroke. Deeper. She sucked hard at the tip, then dragged her tongue across it in one long swirl. Spit smeared across her knuckles as she worked the base.

“I want you to remember this every time you see me,” she whispered. “Every time I walk past, you’ll remember how soft my mouth was. How warm.”

She looked up again, eyes soft but blazing. “You don’t need to tell me what to do. I want to taste you. I want to make a mess.”

She took him again—faster now, spit stringing from her lips to his skin, mouth stretched and eager.

“I’m doing this for you,” she murmured between strokes. “Only you. Let me show you how much I mean it.”

His groan was low, rough. Approval without words.

She smiled around him, and sucked harder.

“Goddamn,” Smith muttered. “I could smell your shampoo when I walked in. Vanilla and clean sweat. Drives a man insane.”

He tugged her up by the hair—not roughly, but firm. Her mouth popped free. Her lips were swollen, wet.

“Stand up,” he said. “Bend over the arm of that couch.”

She obeyed.

The fabric of her dress rode high as she moved, bunching at her waist with every step. Her thighs parted as she bent over the couch, slow and sure, her weight balanced in her boots. The soft curve of her ass rose, hugged tight by a thin stretch of black cotton—panties that did nothing to hide the heat beneath.

Jason shifted slightly, still silent, but his eyes locked onto the shape of her back, the dip of her spine, the subtle tremble in her legs.

Mr. Smith stepped in close, one hand sliding over her hip with a grip that promised more. His fingers hooked the edge of the panties—smooth, damp from heat and friction—and pulled them aside with deliberate ease. The fabric stretched, then gave way, exposing soft skin and slick heat beneath.

He made a low sound, palm brushing the bare spot he'd revealed. “Still covered up,” he murmured. “But already wet.”

She didn’t move. Just breathed harder.

He ran two fingers between her thighs, slow and unrelenting, until they slid through the heat. “Tight,” he said, voice thick. “Warm. You tryin’ to hold me out... or beg me in?”

Winter looked over her shoulder, lips parted. “Whichever gets me fucked harder.”

“Say that again.”

“Whichever gets me fucked harder, daddy.”

He pushed into her with a single, shallow thrust.

She gasped—sharp, eyes squeezed shut. He was big. Too big. Only the tip made it. She gripped the couch harder.

“Too much?” he asked, mocking, amused.

“No,” she breathed. “Just—slow.”

He didn’t go slow.

The first few thrusts were shallow, controlled—just enough for her to feel the stretch, the pressure, the thick tease of him pushing at her edge. Her fingers dug into the couch cushions, breath catching with every motion.

Then he grabbed her hips, firm and certain, and gave her a deeper thrust—only halfway in, but it landed like a punch of heat low in her belly. Her knees buckled slightly.

She gasped. “Fuck—you’re big,” she breathed, voice thin, shivering. “Too big…”

The wet slap of skin echoed through the room, sharp and rhythmic. Every movement pushed another helpless sound from her lips—soft, broken things, desperate and wanting.

He pulled back, slow, then gave her another half-length thrust, just as deep. She cried out again, high and breathless.

“God,” she moaned, “I can feel every inch—it's so thick... I can’t—”

Another slap. Her back arched hard.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Just like that… give it to me. I can take it. I want it.”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes glazed. “Use me, Mr. Smith. I need you to.”

“You’re watching this, boy?” he asked again. “You see her stretch for me? You hear her beg?”

Jason said nothing. But his eyes were wide. His knuckles white on his knees.

Winter’s voice came soft and broken. “It hurts good.”

Smith leaned over her, the weight of his chest pressing into her back, breath hot and steady at her ear. “You smell like summer sweat and spoiled innocence,” he murmured, voice a low scrape. “But you taste even better.”

He pulled out suddenly, guiding her upright with a firm grip on her waist. Her body moved like it belonged to him—knees spread, spine arched, breath hitching in anticipation. The bodice of her dress had slipped down in the shuffle, fabric clinging beneath her breasts. One nipple peeked out, flushed and drawn tight from the friction and air.

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth closed over her skin, sucking at the curve between neck and shoulder, tongue tracing heat over every pulse point he found. Then lower—teeth grazing her collarbone, lips wrapping around her nipple with a slow, punishing drag.

“Ah—God,” Winter gasped, head falling back against his shoulder. “It’s too much…”

He didn’t stop. He licked again, deeper, wetter. The kind of kiss meant to leave marks.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “Every nerve screaming?”

Her hand flew to his wrist, not to stop him—just to anchor herself.

“Yes—yes,” she panted. “It’s everywhere. I can’t think—just… keep going.”

He growled low and rough, then moved lower, following the glisten of sweat along her side. His mouth found her ribs, kissed each one, tongue teasing the space between them until he reached the soft hollow beneath her arm.

And then—he buried his face there. Breathed her in. Licked slow and deep like it was the most sacred place on her body.

“Even your armpits,” he muttered, voice hoarse, reverent. “You smell like sex here. Like heat and salt and want. You make a man want to ruin you from every angle.”

Winter whimpered, thighs trembling beneath her.

“Please,” she whispered, almost broken. “I can’t take more. But I need more.”

Her whole body shook—sensitive, soaked, desperate. Overwhelmed and still reaching for everything he hadn't done yet.

The thrusts stayed shallow. Still too thick to go deeper. But it didn’t matter. The noise, the heat, the stretch—it was enough to make her body tremble, to make her eyes blur.

He pulled out suddenly.

“Look at her, boy,” Mr. Smith growled. “This your girl?”

Jason didn’t move.

“She’s mine now.”

He groaned, low and guttural, as he pulled back from her trembling body. Winter turned without needing instruction, dropping to her knees like it was instinct now—mouth open, face tilted up, the streaks of sweat at her collarbones catching the dim light.

“Let me,” she whispered, reaching for him.

Her fingers wrapped around the base, slow and reverent. She stroked him with a rhythm she already knew he liked—firm, slow, a twist of her wrist near the top. “Don’t hold it in,” she breathed. “I want all of it.”

His breath stuttered.

She angled her face higher, tongue peeking out just past parted lips, eyes locked onto his. “Let me finish you, Daddy. Let me wear it.”

He came in heavy, thick spurts—warm release splattering across her lips, her cheek, her chin. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t close her eyes. Just took it, let it coat her like a mark, her fingers still working him gently, coaxing out every last drop.

A long, low moan escaped him as she squeezed once more.

Then, slowly, she guided his tip to her chest—slipping the head across one breast, then the other, rubbing his slick finish over her nipples with a sigh. “You like that?” she whispered, voice raw. “Your mess on me. Your heat.”

Smith stepped back, breath heavy, watching her smear the last of it across her skin with slow, circular strokes.

Winter licked the corner of her mouth. Smiled. “Told you I’d make it worth it.”

#winter #aespa winter #winter smut #aespa smut #bbc #idol x bbc #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #male reader smut #smut #male reader #kpop idol smut

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spookys1fan · 3 months ago

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Guys…. Guys I finally did it

I’ve done it, it’s here….

Are you ready? Ready for them?

I hope you are…

BECAUSE I FINISHED THE JADE WINGLETTTTTT ^^ FINALLY

Here yall go!! Ik it’s taken me such a long time, I wasn’t happy with my first pass and I had to take a break for a while and re-evaluate.

But I finally got it done!! Im so glad! ^^ I had a lot of fun doing this for yall, I hope they don’t disappoint XD

Alr, let’s get to the designs! ^^

I loveeeed doing peril, her colors can be so experimentive but I eventually settled on a darker color pallet than I originally planned. I like to think she brightens up like a light bulb when she’s angry #- -# I also think that like, after all the shit went down from the first arc she’s just in a constant state of panic. Like “OH SHIT WHAT DID I DO THIS TIME???” Like a deer in headlights XD overall i love the blue highlights, I think it brings a nice pop of color! ^^ I also gave her some slight sun motifs on her scales>>

Moon was fun to do, even if it’s not super creative. I loved giving her her braids, I like to think quibly put them in her fur in one of their little lovie-dovey spa sessions #> <# i overall gave her a bunch of moon motifs in her horns and like the chip in her ear (if you can call it that, that thing is gaping) ((sorry I made yall read the word gaping)) but anyway , I also love giving her a lil nervous expression, cuz she didn’t have a lot of interaction as a dragonet and I like to think that she’s just a socially awkward little nerd <3. I loved doing her design and giving her little yellow highlights for quibly>>

Quibly was fun to do, even if it’s didnt get his colors right at first. I went with a more yellow-greenish theme rather than a super warm color scheme bc moon<3. I overall made him more skinny and skrungly, and gave him lil hyena-esque freckles(and a lil beard #> <#). I also made his earring ginormous. Oo and I gave him a gold tooth! ^^ cuz like, vulture and yknow, guard for thorn and all>> jezzus i love him so much-

Kinkajou went through many shape language sketches, I needed her to stand out a lot, cuz yknow, rainwings are kinda hard to recognize with their constantly shifting colors, and I didn’t want to give her a permanent color scheme cuz that defeats the purpose of color changing scales. But I think I got it down! ^^ I gave her a brighter color scheme than the rest, bc rainwing and all, but now that Im looking at it she kinda looks like a clown - -* lol SHES NOT A CLOWN I SWEAR SHES JUST RLLY HAPPY!! I like it anyway.

Winter… winter is just a pretty boy :P i went through so many shape language and definition passes u have no idea. I ended up with 3+1/2 designs for just him alone - -. The colors were easy tho! I wanted to make him darker than most winter designs, just for contrast, and I liked giving him his short, upward facing neck quills, I think it makes him stand out! ^^ I also gave him some lighter blue highlight striping to kinda simulate frost <3 over all I really like his end design! ^^ I loved giving him his kind of moon shaped horns </3 :P

I honestly don’t usually have turtle be so dark of colors, but I actually think it suits him a lot better than a lighter design! ^^ I think it makes him stand out to other sea wings, who are usually brighter colors! (I also gave him a hint of a mustache > < hehe:P) hes chunky, even by seawing standards, and I love him far more for it <3 at first I want sure what to do for his colors, cuz I don’t really like just straight green, but I think giving him yellow/orange colored highlights really helped me like his design a lot better <3 his eye color really ties it together! I love his design and I like making him a lot stubbier than most seawing, I think it makes him so cute ^^! <3

I had a lot of trouble with their designs in the first place, and I’m sorry it took so long to get them to yall, I even had to do the sketching in my sketchbook and trace it into my iPad - -*. but I really think it’s worth it <3 i love them so much and I’m actually really happy with all of them.

I really hope you guys like them, I put a lot of effort into all of them and I think it really shows, even if their only head shots ^^* LOVE YALL hope yall have a great day/night/afternoon and remember to love others! ^^ luv yall 💗

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agreeewrites · 6 months ago

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Christmas Karaoke | E.M.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullsh*t, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

feat. Eddie Munson x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go out to Christmas karaoke with your friends Robin, Steve, Vickie, and Eddie and get a little wild, liquid courage and some classic carols giving you the push you need to claim your man.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, eddies pov, drinking/getting drunk, protective!eddie, mentions of blood/fighting, eddie is the sweetest (and filthiest) man alive, oral (f&m), dirty talk

Eddie flipped down the visor on the van, checking his hair and making sure he didn't have an spaghetti sauce on his chin from dinner at Wayne's. The van was idling outside your door, thick clouds of steam obscuring the outside world.

He was picking you up for Christmas Karaoke with Steve, Robin, and Vickie at the Hideout. It was a normal thing, he'd picked you up countless times for countless reasons, so why the fuck were his hands shaking on the steering wheel?

He clenched his hands, knuckles white and rings digging into his skin, and tried to take a deep breath. Things had started to change for him over the summer, after Eddie got into a fight with a handsy lifeguard at the pool.

He wasn't a violent man, truly. But when that fucker put his hands on your skin, glowing in the afternoon sun and dripping with chlorinated water, and your face screwed up with disgust and fear, he saw red.

It took an hour to clean the blood from his rings, and you'd been gracious enough to help him. Cramped into the trailer bathroom, scrubbing at his Cthulhu ring with some Palm Olive and an old toothbrush, your brow crinkled in concentration.

Now, he couldn't even wash the fucking dishes without thinking of you.

Every since that afternoon, he was a nervous wreck around you, clumsy and awkward, though you were too sweet to ever comment on it. You were oblivious to the change in him, at least as far as he knew.

He flipped up the visor and sagged into his seat, turning that Cthulhu ring on his middle finger. It was just karaoke, he could do this—

“Hey, Eds!” You chirped, tugging open the van door and climbing in.

His greeting died in his throat when he saw your outfit. Leather mini shirt and ripped tights, heavy boots, eyeliner…and what had to be the ugliest patchwork Christmas sweater he'd ever seen.

But somehow, you made it look sexy as fuck.

“What? Too much?” You asked, pulling at the hem of your sweater with a smirk.

Eddie clapped a hand over his eyes, letting go of the wheel. “You're gonna have to drive, babe. My eyes have melted from the hideousness.”

You laughed, the sound like Christmas bells, and swatted his arm. “It's not that bad! Robin helped me!”

“It's grotesque.” He smiled, dropping his hands to start driving. “And I love it—”

“You do?” You beamed so brightly, he almost didn't finish his sentence.

“Sure! The way I love “Night of the Walking Dead”, or when Ozzy bit the head off that bat—”

“Ha ha, go fuck yourself.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he huffed a laugh.

“I'm teasing you,” he chuckled, adjusting the radio to your preferred station. “It's perfect. And only you could pull of that kind of monstrosity.”

You smiled, settling into your seat, and cranked up the music.

It took a concerted effort for Eddie to keep his eyes on the road. The color splashed against your skin was so pretty, and the soft smile on your face every time he passed a particularly elaborate house made his heart forget how to beat.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullshit, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

“So, will we get a Corroded Coffin performance?” You asked, jarring him from his fantasies.

He snorted. “Unlikely.”

“I’m sorry, you, Eddie Munson, who sings more than he speaks, aren't going to participate in karaoke?”

“It's not like Judas Priest has a Christmas song,” he chuckled. “I don't have the range for Sinatra. Though I'm flattered you think so.”

“What if I pick it for you?” You asked, batting those pretty eyes at him.

He sighed, thunking his head back against the headrest. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, it's not fair.”

“Like what?” You tilted your head, glossed lips pursing slightly.

He wanted to sink his teeth into that pout, see a sticky ring of your lip gloss around his—

“Fine, fuck. One song.”

“Yay!” You leaned across the seat, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek, and he nearly swerved off the road in his shock. “You won't regret this.”

“I don't believe that for a second, sweetheart,” he said, praying you chalked his blush up to the multi-colored lights.

“Oh god, not you too,” Steve said when you bound towards him through the crowd, Eddie on your heels.

“You love it, Harrington,” you teased, stealing the beer in his hand and taking a few, long gulps. Steve and Eddie’s eyes met over your head, both wide with surprise.

“Woah there!” Robin said, appearing to Steve’s left, dressed in an equally ugly sweater. “That kind of night?”

You set the now mostly empty beer on the counter. “Yep. What's a Mistletoe Mayhem?” You called out to Nick, the bartender.

Nothing good, Eddie thought.

“Green and sparkly,” the bartender replied.

“Perfect,” you grinned, slapping your ID on the counter.

“Make that two!” Robin chimed in, and Steve groaned.

“I want one!” Vickie emerged from the dance floor, also wearing a hideous sweater, though it was tied around her waist.

“Three Mayhem's coming up,” Nick chuckled, skimming ids before passing them back and moving down the bar.

“And can I get another beer? No? Alright,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the bar. “What's up, Munson?” He said, waving Eddie over.

Eddie tore his eyes away from where you were gushing with Vickie over the bars tiny Christmas tree and moved towards Steve.

“Oh, nothing. Kids have been asking me to put together a festive quest for our session tomorrow. Best I can do is Krampus.”

Steve chuckled, smiling when the pretty female bartender slid him and Eddie some beers. “Not into Christmas, huh?”

“Are you?”

“Nah, Mom was always the Hallmark family Christmas type, just felt so phony, y’know?”

“I do. Poor Harrington with his mountains of presents and immaculately decorated house,” Eddie teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t a mountain.”

“Oh, I apologize. A rather large hill of presents.”

“Three Mayhem's up!” Nick called, and the three of you bound out of the crowd like puppies called for dinner. Nick set down three fishbowls full of green, glittery liquid, topped with cranberries and limes, and a sprig of mistletoe.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “That looks dangerous.”

Eddie agreed, but held his tongue.

You took a big sip, needing two hands to hold the giant glass, and immediately pulled a face before unleashing a hundred kilowatt grin. “Very dangerous,” you hummed, taking another sip, and Eddie felt his cock twitch to life at the wicked gleam in your eye.

It was going to be a long night.

Karaoke began half an hour later, with Steve and Robin kicking things off with a dramatized rendition of “Baby, It's Cold Outside.”

Eddie was following you around the bar like a shadow, scaring away anyone foolish enough to look at you twice. But you were none the wiser, already buzzed and dancing around like a Christmas elf on crack.

You were already one Mayhem deep, and he bribed Nick to tell you they were out of the mix to spare the consequences of a second. But you just ordered a double margarita instead, so his efforts, and $20, were forfeit.

But Eddie was more than happy to be your guard dog for the evening, so long as you were having fun and safe. It's what any good friend would do. But when he ran into Gareth and they started talking about the new Slayer album, he lost track of you.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, surveying the crowd for your sweater. But with the fog and throbbing multi-colored lights, it was impossible to see anything clearly. “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting Gareth in the middle of a sentence.

He bee-lined to the high top where your friends sat.

“There he iiissss!” Robin yelled, waving her beer glass in the air. “Where ya been Edward-ed-son?”

“Have you seen y/n?” He asked, mostly to Steve, who appeared to be the only other sober person on the entire establishment.

“Thought you had her.” Steve shrugged. “Got my hands full.” He nodded towards Robin and Vickie, who were now loudly singing along to the karaoke.

“I did, but then Gare—”

The crowd erupted in applause as the song ended, cutting Eddie off.

“That was greeeaaat, Tina. Now, let's welcome y/n singing a classic, ‘Santa Baby’!”

Eddie whirled around to the stage and your friends burst into cheers. You sauntered out in your little skirt and insane sweater, grinning ear to ear as the spotlight swung towards you.

“Found her,” Steve chuckled, pulling out the chair beside him for Eddie.

Eddie dropped into it, rolling his eyes and laughing. He should have known. “What's ‘Santa Baby'?” Eddie asked as the song started.

Steve gave him a sympathetic look and clapped him on the back. “Oh, you'll see.”

You stepped up to the mic, the one Eddie's used on countless occasions, and wrapped your little hands around it. Something about it being his mic your lips were so close to made the primitive part of his brain purr with delight, and he relaxed into his seat, hiding his growing erection under the table.

Steve slid his beer to Eddie, who took a grateful sip, his mouth dry as the desert.

“Santa Baby, just slip a Sable under the tree, for me,” you sang, your voice breathy and so sweet. “Been an awful good girl.”

Your eyes locked on Eddie and he nearly choked, his cock lurching painfully against his jeans, heart pounding in his ears.

Surely you didn't mean to look directly at him, right? He had a habit of searching you out during shows too, you were probably just mirroring that. Looking for a familiar face in a sea of strangers.

“Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.” You dragged your hands down the mic stand, swaying your hips to the music, and Eddie thought he might faint.

He maybe would have, if it wasn't for the roaring men pushing towards the front of the stage drawing his attention.

But your eyes were still locked on him, ignoring them entirely, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs up. He wasn't about to let his stupid crush, or a bunch of leering creeps, ruin your fun.

You kept singing, your voice a little wobbly, but airy in that way that made his pants tighten and his mind wander to places it definitely shouldn't. You looked so beautiful up there, laughing and swaying to the music, that Eddie found himself smiling too.

“Lookin’ a little lovesick there, Eds,” Steve teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Eddie waved him off. “Nah, just making sure she has someone that isn't a perv to look at.”

Steve nodded, popping some nuts into his mouth. Steve was the only friend of theirs that seemed to clock Eddie's shift in demeanor, though he mostly kept it to himself. Eddie knew he knew, and Steve knew that Eddie knew he knew, and that was good enough.

You wrapped up the song with a flourish, doing a little curtsy in your mini skirt, and Eddie cheered as loud as he could, ensuring you heard him over the roar of douche bags.

He jumped up, rushing to meet you at the edge of the stage before someone else could, adjusting himself as went. The crowd parted and there you were, bright as the morning sun, bounding down the stairs and into his arms.

“I did it!” You cried.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, lifting you up and spinning your around. It was totally platonic, but the rest of these fucks didn't know that.

“Phew, what a show. Next up we have a familiar face! Eddie Munson of our very own Corroded Coffin singing ‘Blue Christmas’!”

You squealed in delight and Eddie's jaw dropped. “Go, go!” You shoved against his back, pushing him up the stairs as someone handed him a guitar.

“Figured you didn't need the track, yeah?” Danny, the stagehand said with a grin.

“I don't know this shit, man,” Eddie protested, but Danny rolled his eyes.

“I'll play it in the background, you'll pick it up!”

Suddenly Eddie was in the spotlight, and you were jumping up and down on the side stage. It was far from an atypical experience for him, but butterflies still churned in his stomach. He never got used to you watching him perform, even if it was something as silly as Christmas karaoke. The pressure to impress you was paralyzing, but if it would make you happy…

The track started rolling softly in the background, and he focused on his fingers, finding the simple chord and replicating it with relative ease. The audience cheered even louder, and he smirked to himself.

He risked a glance over at you, confident he had a handle on the notes, and you were practically glowing with joy.

Shit, maybe Corroded Coffin needed to add some Christmas song to their set.

Words started to roll across the small screen at his feet, and he stepped up to the mic, absolutely delighted to find a smear of your lipgloss on the net.

“I’ll have a blue Christmas, without you,” he crooned, putting on his best Elvis impression, and the roar of the ladies was deafening. “I'll be so blue just thinking about you.” He let his eyes wander back to you at the end of the lyric, wondering if you understood just how close this song hit home for him.

You were grinning ear to ear, swaying happily to the music. Oblivious.

“You’ll be doing all right, with your Christmas of white. But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas,” he continued, finding that he did, in fact, know this song despite his earlier assertion.

C’mon, who didn't know Elvis?

Thankfully, it was an incredibly brief song, and he finished off with a freestyle riff, earning another cacophony of drunken cheers.

He bowed and hustled of the stage to where you waited for him, arms open. He held the guitar behind his back and scooped you up around the waist with his free arm, lifting your feet off the ground.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, wafting your sweet perfume and the bitter sting of alcohol over him. “That was amazing!” You gushed.

“Thanks, sweetheart. But you were better,” he replied, passing Danny the guitar. He started to carry you down the steps, but you shook your head.

“Wanna go backstage,” you murmured against his ear, and his heart stopped.

He pulled his head back to look at you, eyebrows raised. “Backstage? Why?”

You worried your lip between your teeth, eyes like melting honey. “Please, Eddie baby?”

He could do nothing but obey, backing up the steps and ducking behind the curtain with you still in his arms. He shifted his hold you, your legs wrapping around his waist, mini skirt pushing up to enough to give him a glimpse of the cherry red of your panties.

You dragged your nails down his shoulders, your lips finding his throat and leaving soft, sticky kisses along his jugular vein that may as well have been along his cock for how intense the contact felt.

“Honey,” he grunted, stopping to press you against a dressing room door. “How drunk are you?” he panted, eyes crossing when your tongue laved over his pulse, your teeth grazing his pierced lobes.

“Not too drunk, I promise,” you said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Been wanting this for so long, Eddie, please—”

He swallowed your sweet words with a kiss, tentative at first, but quickly devolving into a sloppy mess, your cherry flavored lip gloss and the lingering taste of cranberry vodka flipping a switch in his brain that had his long-held control unraveling. This was his one shot to impress you, his one shot to get you as addicted to him as he was to you, and he was not about to fuck it up.

Eddie was the town freak, and dating him came with all the baggage of that title. But he’d show you the benefits of it, too.

He had to make like Santa Clause and fucking deliver.

With a quick turn of his wrist, he opened the door to the dressing room and carried you through. He dropped you onto the leather chaise before climbing up your body, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss. Your tongue probed at his lower lip and he opened for you, your smaller muscle licking curiously along the inside of his mouth, when he felt the tip of it brush the warm metal of his tongue piercing.

You gasped, apparently having forgotten about that particular modification, and pride blazed through his chest like an inferno.

He leveraged your surprise to turn the power into his favor, driving his tongue into your mouth, feeling drunk himself on the intoxicating taste of your drool. He dragged the piercing over the roof of your mouth and you shivered, your hips rising to press against his thigh.

He pressed his leg harder against your deliciously warm cunt and you whimpered, you hips rolling in a more deliberate motion. He brought one of his hands down to grip your hip, his rings digging into your soft flesh as he helped you ride his thigh.

“How long you been wanting this, baby? Huh?” He rasped against your ear, hearing your breath hitch. “Barely touched you and look, so desperate already.”

Your hands curled against his shirt, your hips stuttering against his thigh as the pleasure mounted, your slick starting to seep through your panties onto his jeans. “Fuck, feels s’good,” you whined, burying your face into his neck.

“Yeah? Little pussy getting nice and wet for me? Such a good girl. Look so sexy riding my thigh.” He encouraged, noting the way his words made your hips move incrementally faster, the filth spurring you on.

Despite thoroughly enjoying the sight of you dry humping his leg, his mouth watered for something even sweeter.

He moved his thigh back, the denim wet with your honey, and he lowered to his knees on the ground. “Can I taste, sugar? You’re not the only one that's been waiting ages for this.” He started kissing up your inner thighs, wet and loud smacks on your tender skin as he moved closer to your sopping panties.

“Please, Eds, wanna feel you,” you panted, spreading your thighs wider for him like an angel opening heaven’s gates.

His heart gave an elated thump. How could this be real life? Here he was, moments from devouring your drooling, pink pussy and you were saying his name like that? Asking to feel his tongue against you? Maybe he really had gone to fucking heaven.

“Fuck, so pretty. So fucking perfect.” He dragged his tongue over the clingy fabric of your panties, sucking the material into his mouth to taste you. His eyes rolled back in his head—so fucking sweet.

With deft fingers, he slid them down your legs and stuffed them in his back pocket, before settling back between your legs.

You were trembling with anticipation, worrying your lips between your teeth as you watched him through your painted lashes. With a flattened tongue, he licked from your entrance to your clit, feeling the heat, the velvet softness of your slit without obstruction.

You keened, throwing your head back onto the arm of the couch when he swirled the tip around your clit, flicking his piercing over the sensitive bud.

Shit, he could do this forever. Just live between your legs, making music with the most beautiful instrument he'd ever played: you.

With two fingers, he dipped into the pool of slick at your entrance, lubricating himself before easing them inside, watching your face over the stretch of your body for signs of discomfort. But you only continued to moan, already looking gorgeously wrecked.

He worked you with his tongue and fingers, finding that spongy spot inside you that made you sing, and let himself get lost in the rhythm, the mind-numbing bliss of pleasuring you.

“Eddie baby, fuck. M’getting close,” you whined, and he could feel the truth of your statement, your walls starting to twitch and clench around his fingers, your clit swelling under his tongue.

“That's it, sugar. Come all over my tongue, wanna drown in you—”

You cry drowned out his words, the cunt clenching hard around his aching fingers, a fresh gush of honey soaking his palm and chin. Pride soared through him, and he greedily lapped up every drop you released for him, watching your body twitch and writhe while you came down.

“You’re a goddamn dream, baby. Did so well f’me,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and cleaning them with his tongue before placing a final kiss on your puffy clit.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you panted, pulling him up onto the couch with shaky arms. “You're too good at that.” You leaned in for a kiss, dragging your tongue over his lips before smushing your lips together in a quick, sloppy press.

“Thank you, honey,” he hummed, feeling like a damn king. The luckiest bastard alive.

But then you shifted off the couch, settling on your knees between his thighs, and his brain turned off.

“What are you—” His words fractured into a strangled moan when you dragged your tongue over the hard swell of his cock, separated by the rough fabric of his jeans.

You continued to mouth at his bulge while undoing his belt with quick little fingers, unzipping his jeans. He reached into his boxers and freed himself, still half-dazed by the sight of you on your knees for him in a dirty, dive bar dressing room.

He was painfully hard, the head and angry red and leaking, his balls already tight and hot. And you, being the sweet thing you are, didn't waste a second, popping the head into your mouth and sucking the precum from his skin.

Your mouth was scalding, melting his mind at the wet pliancy of your tongue and cheeks while you took him deeper.

“Fucking shit, baby. Oh god—” he fisted the couch cushions, the temptation to fist your hair and push you deeper overwhelming. But he wanted to see what you would do on your own.

You hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down his shaft with messy, drooling strokes, your hand wrapped around his base. His vision went fuzzy, heat curling low in his stomach as pleasure spilled through him.

Shit, you were too fucking good at that.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, head thrown back against the couch, and finally he let himself place his hand on the back of your head, careful to keep his rings from catching in your hair. You leaned into him, moaning softly around his length.

He picked his head up, needing to watch you as you reached the base of him, a sticky, soaking mess in the thatch of his dark pubic hair.

“That's it, sugar. Just like that—fuck,” he grunted, his hips canting up when he felt the tightness of your throat, your tongue lapping at the throbbing root of him. He was deliriously, embarrassingly close already, but he didn't have the heart to slow you down for even a second.

You pulled back, suckling the head with your plush lips while your hand twisted up and down his slippery shaft, the swallowed him down again with a sinful slurp.

Like a bolt of lightening, his balls drew up and he was coming, unable to give you more of a warning than his hand flexing, his cock swelling on your tongue. Sparks danced behind his eyes, his nerves frying beneath his skin as he released rope after rope of come down your throat.

And like a good girl, you swallowed it all and sucked him dry, broken whines falling from his lips as your nursed his oversensitive head.

“Baby, fuck, take it easy on me—”

You released him with a pop, flashing the sweetest, most angelic smile with your chin covered in drool and lipgloss, and he dragged you up into his lap, desperate to hold you close.

“I do good?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, a smug little smirk on your face.

“Good? Honey, you rocked my world.” He pulled you in for a kiss, toothy and playful since neither of you could stop smiling, giddy with the shock of it all.

You giggled as his rained kisses over your face, down your neck, his fingers tickling along your hips and up over your ribs. He wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning back against the couch as he slowed his movements, coaxing you to relax into him.

“Wanted you for long,” he murmured into your hair. “Please tell me you'll be mine.” The words came out so soft, for a second he wasn't sure if you'd heard him.

But then you pressed your hands to his chest and sat up a little, looking into his eyes. “I already am, Eds.”

He grinned, cheeks sore and heart pounding, and kissed you again while a terrible rendition of Ella Fitzgerald's “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” bleed through the thin walls.

Looked like it wouldn't be a blue Christmas after all.

#eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things eddie #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine

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hoodedjelly · 5 months ago

Text

ii designs + oj being a little fruity with it

i'm gonna yap below about the designs actually vvvv

springy is just an alien thingy + micky mouse (the smallest inspo from the trix rabbit)

bots design is pretty simple, i kept thinking back to that line "now you're a butterfly!" and im just like, i can't just give them little butterfly designs I NEED THEM TO HAVE A LITTLE SLEEVE/CAPE THINGY SO THEY ARE ONE

for mephone, this is like my 5th redesign of him. to give myself credit, this isn't a redesign from my last one it's just an android version of it, since the last one was fully human. i got VERY inspired by dbh when designing him, his glasses are basically apple glasses glued forever on his head. but he doesn't use it as a screen, it's just where notifications/calls are located at. (when cobs is calling mephone he is literally forced to see his name in his eyes i just think thats evil),where he actually uses his "powers" is like dbh, kinda. the skin on his arm goes white/the original robot form from when he was first made then he just taps it a few times and someone gets revived. i imagine there's colors and the final press is the color of the character he's reviving. 3gs would also just look very dbh damaged robot, white spots of his original robot skin and stuff.

also every phone has some type of glasses eyes , i think mepads would be more rectangle, 3gs would have like goggles. me just trying to keep on this consistent thing i told myself where, if a object has some form of glass on them, then they need some type of glasses. light bulb has sunglasses on her head, oj HAD glasses in s1 then changes to contacts (example below)

uh i got a little side tracked what was i talking about, right mephone4. last thing i want to point out is that they also have a default outfit, like the company uniform. when mephone escapes he just generates a new outfit. i think it would also be cute that mephone generates new clothes for mepad too and left it next to him while he waits for him to wake up <3

#hoodedjelly art #inanimate insanity #inanimate insanity 3 #ii springy #ii bot #ii mephone4 #ii oj #ii paper #ii gijinka #osc

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pineconepie · 4 months ago

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Platonic yandere doctor? Like he’s had his little for a while but he’s just fed up with them trying to leave so he uses a more permanent solution to the problem of them trying to run away (take that as you will)

I hope this is good!! Its slightly different than what you asked, but if people want I cand make a part two of them trying to escape!

TW: Platonic/parental yandere, drugging, gaslighting, kidnapping, infantilization, slight ableism(?), psychiatric wards

...

You've been seeing Dr. Warren as your doctor for... wow, how long has it been? Several years now. He's always been a kind guy, and sometimes he'd break past that overly polite, professional demeanor and let his soft spot for you shine through.

You liked that about him.

Sometimes, when there wasn't anybody in the waiting room but you two, he would kneel down to give you a little toy while you waited, usually one of those plastic eggs filled with surprise toys or jingling keys or something like that.

You always thought it was a little strange how the doctor was giving you children's toys, but you tried not to overthink it.

There were some other weird things you tried to overlook, but recently it was getting harder to do so.

Warren would always prescribe you medications for all kinds of things, and every single one of them made your mind feel numb. Like static, almost.

Your appointments became very regular, as well. At least once a week, even if nothing felt wrong.

And he'd give you a little plastic medicine bottle filled with gummy vitamins every time you went in.

You started to notice how instead of actually checking your health, he'd cuddle by your side and just ask how your day went, almost acting more like an over-caring therapist... which, he did technically have his degree in both psychology and medicine, but still, the lack of any medical care was suspicious, especially coming from the usually very professional doctor.

"Um, Doctor Warren?" you nervously ask, fiddling with the toy he gave you today, a little green caterpillar with bright colors on its back.

"Hm? What is it?" he asks while marking a few things off on his clipboard.

"Well, uh..." you swallow down a lump in your throat as you work up the courage to ask this. "I've noticed that our sessions lately haven't been productive. And the medications you give me make me worse. I wasn't even having a lot of issues until I started taking them. It's like they just make my mind foggy... and I always feel so sleepy, and my coordination is off..."

"Those are just the side effects," he reassures. "That's why I wanted you to come see me regularly; to track any changes or side effects."

"But I don't think the side effects are worth it. And these constant check-ups are annoying, no offense," you mutter.

"None taken," he says calmly. "The check-ups are for your benefit."

"Yeah, but..." You rub the nape of your neck. "I think I want to see a different doctor... if that's okay."

Suddenly, the warm aura radiating from him grows cold as the man glares at you, dark eyes sending a chill down your spine.

"Do you trust other doctors more than me?" His voice comes out icy, stinging you like cold water.

Your heart pounds. You open your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted again.

"(Y/n). You're mentally and physically ill. Your judgement is too clouded by your conditions that you can't recognize proper care. I'm trying to help you get better. Can't you see that?" He runs a hand through his hair. "You need constant monitoring, love. I'd consider yourself lucky I haven't put you in inpatient care." His expression changes, like a light bulb goes off in his head. "Actually, would you prefer that?"

"No, of course not!" you cry out. "Please don't-"

"Why shouldn't I? It's for your own safety," he says matter-of-factly. "You can't even tell what's good or bad for you. Your condition is worsening."

"Because of the medication," you retort.

"That's just the side effects. I explained this already."

"Why would medicine that's supposed to cure me make me worse?!" you yell. Tears well up in your eyes. "Why won't you listen to me?!"

He looks like a parent dealing with their crying toddler; confused yet confident they'll get over it eventually. "Hmm... I think you need a nap."

"A nap? What, am I in timeout now?" You fold your arms across your chest like a pouting child, realizing a little too late how funny the doctor probably finds the gesture.

Warren gets out some medical supplies: a needle and a vial. Filling the syringe with a clear liquid from the small container, he turns towards you and grins menacingly. "This'll only take a moment..."

Before you can stand up and try to run away, he plunges the needle into your arm.

You cry out and flinch away, but not before all of the syringe's contents empty inside you. He holds you against him, shushing softly in your ear as you sob until suddenly your eyelids grow heavy.

He keeps you firmly tucked in his grip, and you find that you're unable to move, paralyzed by whatever substance he injected into you.

As soon as he sees you drifting off, he lies you on the bed and rushes out, yelling something that sounds too far away to hear.

...

When you wake up, you see white walls all around you. Blinking your eyes, you look down at your clothes to see an outfit totally different from what you had been wearing when you were in Warren's office. This looks more like hospital garb.

Speaking of which, where was Warren?

Turning your head weakly to the right, you notice you're attached to a heart monitor, the wires running to sensors on your chest and fingers.

You struggle to prop yourself up and sit properly on the bed.

Warren walks into the room. "Good morning! Or, should I say good afternoon?" he smiles teasingly, closing the door behind him. "How are we feeling?"

"I'm feeling like you drugged me! What am I doing here?!" Your throat feels like its on fire, but you continue trying to speak regardless. "Can't you talk to me without having me admitted to a hospital?! Oh god- please don't tell me I'm in the psychiatric ward..."

"You are in the psychiatric ward, yes," he confirms smoothly. "But don't worry. I pulled a few strings to make sure you got the best care." His voice dips into something softer, almost affectionate. "I even had them set up a private room for you. No noisy roommates, no prying eyes—just me, looking out for you."

A chill runs down your spine. This isn't normal. This is too far.

"For what? Telling you I wanted to see a different doctor? For wanting to get off my meds?!" You glare.

He doesn't seem too bothered, pulling out a clipboard. "Well, it says on your chart you attacked me with scissors during our last meeting when I wouldn't give you prescription opioids. That's pretty serious."

"WHAT?!" Your jaw drops. "You liar! That never happened!"

Warren feigns worry. "Oh, sweetheart..." He caresses the side of your face. "You poor thing. Those delusions have you again, huh?" He shakes his head. "I don't know how to tell you this... but you have a problem. A very, very severe one. Which is why you need constant surveillance from someone trained to handle people with your particular condition."

You blink away tears blurring your vision. "This is crazy. You can't do this to me."

"Baby, I'm not 'doing' anything. This was all in your best interests." Warren moves closer to you, rubbing circles into your skin. "You're sick, (Y/n). I've been your doctor for multiple years now. Why would I lie about this?"

You sob harder. You want to believe him so bad.

You trust him, and it's always been easier to follow along with his suggestions rather than try to fight or argue back, but...

"You like treating me as if I'm a baby. Does that have anything to do with this? Or why the medications you've given me make me feel like I'm regressing into a toddler every day?" you spit out bitterly.

He sighs. "That's because you have the obvious mentality of one. The regression isn't a result of the drugs, (Y/n). It's your disorder acting up." He pushes some strands of hair out of your face. "If it helps any, I like taking care of you. Really, I do. I've never considered myself a parental person until I met you. You need me, just as much as I need to be needed by someone else. Like you."

"I'll tell everyone you basically kidnapped me," you threaten. "They can look on the security cameras for proof I didn't do anything!"

He clicks his tongue, chuckling. "I might have accidentally deleted the security footage from the day. Oops," he adds innocently. He kisses your forehead. "Now, get some rest, kiddo. Papa will check on you in an hour. And please don't try anything bad while I'm gone; otherwise, we'd have to add assaulting an orderly or nurse onto your file... We really don't want that, do we?"

All you can do is stare dumbly up at him as the words sink in.

Yes, Warren could definitely get in trouble for this... but who's going to believe you when you've been labeled a danger to yourself and others with a laundry list of mental health disorders, prescribed enough pills to tranquilize an elephant daily?

No one.

He leaves with a final, "Be good," shutting the door with a soft thump, leaving you alone, staring after him long after he's gone.

#answered ask #parental yandere #platonic yandere #familial yandere #forced age regression #yandere age regression #yandere #warren oc #tw infantilization #tw psych ward #tw gaslighting #tw kidnapping #tw ableist language #tw ableism

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