#Noncon touching

[envy-of-the-apple]

How about apocalypse!au with yan gojo and a foreigner reader who is going on a vacation/business trip when the outbreak happen?

kinda sick of apocalypse aus soooo yakuza!au instead so basically i changed this entire request im rlly sorry

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x reader

Stop Crying

(Warnings: Yandere, kidnapping, dark content, noncon touching, human trafficking)

You promised yourself you'd stay safe during your trip to Japan.

You took all the precautions. You traveled with friends you trusted. You kept your phone on. You didn't accept any drinks from anyone you didn't know. You checked in with your folks back home every night.

And yet, nothing stopped it.

It was clearly a basement. No windows. Dark, with the exception of the flickering light on the ceiling. The thin cot and scrap of a blanket did nothing to protect you from the cold.

Your phone was gone. So was your bag. Except for the clothes on your back, they took everything. You can still remember the fear you felt when those men grabbed you, hauling you into the back of a truck. No matter how hard you screamed and kicked and hollered, they didn't let go. You remembered you bit one of them. He just swore in Japanese before backhanding you. It throbbed for hours before you eventually just passed out.

And now you were here. In a basement.

You were probably going to die. You heard the underground was rampant in Japan. They were going to cut you up, sell off your organs for thousands. If they were merciful, maybe the most your body would face would just be getting thrown overseas. If you were lucky, your rotting corpse would be found. If you were one of God's favorites, you'd be recognizable enough to notify your family. At least then, they'd have something to grieve over. The pieces that was left.

The door creaks. You jump, curled in the musty corner. You hear voices. Two. Maybe three. All male, speaking in fast Japanese. They all descend the steps, and your heartbeat picks up faster than before.

One was a stout man with a nervous sort of prattle. From his tone, you could tell he was trying to appease the other two. The other two were tall, heads nearly brushing the ceiling. One was wearing traditional clothing. Long black hair, graceful movements.

The other wore circular sunglasses. He was too young to have natural white hair. He must dye it. While the other two linger behind, he's the one who strides towards you.

You panic, pressing yourself into the wall, hoping to just disappear, melt into the background. Your fear doesn't deter him. He grabs your chin turning your face one way, and then the other. His hold tightens, even when you try to escape. He seems to be fixated on one side of your face. The slap must have left a bruise.

That seems to anger him. He snaps something over to the other two. The man in traditional garments doesn't look very impressed, while the other hurriedly titters. Maybe they were planning on selling you, that's why seeing you blemish-free would be such a deterrent to their plans.

Eventually, the man directs his attention back to you. You think he'd speaking to you. You aren't sure. You don't know where you are. You don't know who these people are. You don't know what they want to do to you.

You're scared. You're so so scared.

When you start to cry, the man gets even more aggravated. He lets you go with a scoff, before walking back to his group. They squabble a bit more, before the shorter of the three reluctantly makes his way over to you.

"The Six Eyes wants to know your name," he says, accent thick.

You stare at him. Helpless and confused.

"The Six Eyes...?" You repeat and then your eyes flick over to the white-haired man. Standing tall and still, like a beautiful statue.

You don't know what's in it to lie. They have your wallet, your ID, your passport probably. You mumble out your name in defeat. The Six Eyes hums in approval.

"I have money." You blurt out. "A lot of it. If-if you let me go. I'll give you whatever you want. My-my family will pay any price."

He translates. When he's done, the other two laugh. It's loud and scratches the inside your chest. You duck away, feeling the tears again.

"The Six Eyes said he's paid too much for you to entertain that possibility." The translator says. Your heart drops.

"Paid for me.." You repeat. No no no no. "What does that even mean?"

The man stares at you with sympathy. You don't want it, you want to throw it back on his face, but you can barely move from your spot.

"He will take good care of you." he tries to console. "I heard the Six Eyes treats his things very well."

You don't want to hear it. You fall into hysterics. You want to go home. You want to go back to your country. You want to go home.

A long hand grabs your chin, instantly quieting you. Unlike his firm grip earlier, this one is nearly painful. You're certain he'd crush your bones if he wanted to. You quiet anyway. That seems to satisfy him now. He mutters something to the translator.

"The Six Eyes is telling you not to scream anymore. He finds it aggravating." The translator says.

The Six Eyes turns to the translator knowingly. The man shuffles with his feet, before reluctantly clearing his throat.

"You...belong to the Six Eyes now."

The Six Eyes grins, filled with white glistening teeth.

"Don't disappoint him. "

[missbunnybunny]

╔═.✧ 🖤 ✧.═══════════╗

▶︎ 𝕾𝖍𝖊’𝖘 𝖘𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎 

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊.

╚═══════════.✧ 🖤 ✧.═╝

𝕿𝖜: ☞ 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝙽𝚘𝚗-𝚌𝚘𝚗, 𝙳𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 thoughts, 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢, 𝙱reeding, 𝙼ind break, 𝚁𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖, 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃! «🛑𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸🛑» ☜

Note: This is a y/n x pretty yandere, female-bodied reader.  pet names such as Darlin, Love, and Good Girl, etc. are used.

If I forgot something plz tell me. Like and re-blog, it helps getting these stories to new people!

🫧𝕴'𝖒 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓', 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓' ❣️💌💌 part 1

Y/n was startled awake and panicked. Holding the sheets over her naked body, she found herself in an unfamiliar room. 

Silent tears streamed down your face as you began to shake. He tricked you and took advantage of your kindness. 

You mourned your lost innocence for a short time when a knock on the door interrupted you. 

“ I apologize for waking you up, miss Y/n.” a handsome man wearing a suit and carrying a tablet said. 

The scared woman clenched the sheets tightly, “ My name is Ray. Mister Blackwell has asked for you to join him for breakfast.” the man expressed. 

“n-No! I want to go home…let me go!” Y/n cried, face red from crying. “ I'm afraid I can not let you do that.” he shakes his head, “The maids will come and help you dress,” Ray commented before turning and leaving the room.

You cried until your lungs burned and hurt. Until your body could no longer produce tears, the maids shortly came. They helped you bathe and dress in a beautiful gown. They tried to cheer you up, but it was to no avail. 

Soon, Y/n sat next to James at a large binning table. He kissed your cheek and caressed your skin. His touch was sweet and caring if it didn’t disgust you. Food was served, but you didn’t want to eat. You don’t trust that it’s not drugged again.

“ Say ah~ my dear,” he says, pressing a fork to your mouth. When you don’t respond, he squeezes your inner thigh. When your lips parted in a yelp, he fed you. He continued to feed you. If you didn’t open your lips fast enough, he would swirl your sensitive pearl. 

The food was finished, and tears dripped down your soft skin. “ Come on, smile for me, sweetheart,” he asked, cupping your face and whipping your tears. “ I just want to go home.” You tearfully repeated. 

“ We can’t have that, dear. This is your new home.” James informed her as he stole a kiss from her. “ I want to go to my store,” Y/n pleaded. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

“ I already told your employees to take a weeks-long paid break.” James, shut your request down. He wasn’t going to tell you that, but Ray hacked your email and made such arrangements.  

Your face dropped all hope of escaping, where shattered. 

It had been a few days, and James made sure that all doors were locked, and Ray informed you that you could go anywhere. But strongly warned that you couldn’t be outside without supervision. 

James never left your side for your entire time locked in the large mansion. Sleeping, bathing, or even walking, he was there touching any sliver of skin he could. If he couldn’t find you for a moment or have his hands on you, he would lose his shit. 

James knocked on the door to his room, smiling when he found your sleeping figure under the covers. 

He kissed your lips, his tongue intruding your mouth. Lifting the covers from your naked body, his fingers began to caress your sensitive bundle of nerves. He thanked himself for prohibiting you from wearing clothes to bed. 

Your back arched as you woke up with a moan. He knew you were still sensitive from last night. His fingers began to pump into your flower, while his thumb still caressed your clit. Y/n hit his toned chest, but that only fueled his passion even more. 

Your lips parted as he gave you a dreamy sign. “ I have to go into the office, honey,” James spoke, latching his mouth to your chest. Your hand pulled on his hair, making the man moan. 

James curled his fingers, hitting your sweet spot, over and over. The tight coil in your stomach made you whine, walls clamping on his fingers. 

With one more firm thrust, the coil in your tummy snapped. Honey gushed over his hand, withdrawing his hand, and licked it clean.

“ I have a meeting today, so unfortunately I won't be with you for a few hours. Be a good girl and behave.” He kissed your sweaty forehead, taking his leave and leaving you tired. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

Y/n walked towards the side door, hoping, begging that she would get lucky. And it seemed that her prayers were answered. The maids forgot to close the door.

Her hand trembled and twisted the doorknob, slowly opening it. The wind blew, signaling she was one step closer to freedom. The door was left ajar as the woman ran to the street, with no phone and no way to contact her family and friends.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, ending up in the station. One she couldn’t enter because she had no money. An old lady exiting the station called out to her, asking if she was okay. 

Y/n said she was, but her eyes betrayed her. The kind old lady offered her help, to which she took it. “ I…I just need help to run away,” she admitted, desperate to leave. She didn’t know when they would have already noticed her absence.

The kind lady smiled and accompanied her to buy a ticket. When she handed the ticket to Y/n, the girl cried, thanking her. 

Y/n gave the lady all the jewelry she had, as a thanks and wanting to part with them in fear of recognition.

The train had arrived, and she left. Free, she was free. 

She planned to return home, take all her valuables, and disappear. She would be sad to close her store, but it was needed. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

James sat in the meeting, bored, his assistant as always trying to get his attention with skimpy clothes. She would never be like Y/n. She was dirt under his goddess's feet. 

Ray came into the meeting room, whispering something into the CEO's ear. James looked like a deer caught in headlights, “ You sure?” he asked, looking at Ray. The man only nodded. 

“ I apologize, but something important has come up.” he expressed, standing up and abruptly ending the meeting.  

“ Ray, get the helicopter. I’m bringing my little darlin’ wife home.” James expressed, loosening his tie. 

The train ride was an hour and a half, so she could get some well-needed rest. But her mind raced, what ifs consumed your every thought.

 “ Ladies and gentlemen, we inform you that the train will have a small delay. We shall be on standby for some time.”  the conductor announced, as the sound of a helicopter could be heard. 

Dread filled your stomach, making it sink. 

“ Miss, please come with us.” a man in a suit said, “ You have the wrong person,” Y/n said, hoping it would work. 

“ My sweetheart, don’t make me punish you. Not in front of everyone here.” James said in a low voice.  His threat made you shake, trembling, hand taking his extended one. 

There was no hope of escaping the lion's den once you had stepped inside.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

James held Y/n’s hand tightly, making sure she wouldn’t escape as he took her to his room. He thrusts her towards the bed, “ If you love me, you’ll never do that again. Understand?” he warns, removing his tie. 

Y/n backed away until her back hit the headboard. The muscular man graded her leg and pulled her under him. 

She began to beg him to let her go, that she would stay and not run away. He shoves his tie in your pretty plump lips. 

Only allowing for moans and whines to filter through. 

He has you caged in between his meaty arms, his gaze held a lustful and hungry glint to them. 

Tears fell as if rain from your eyes, “ Don’t cry, I’ll make you feel good. I promise.” he kisses your tears.

Your tears felt like acid to his skin. He much rather you cry from pleasure. With his free hand, he removed his belt, tying your hands with them as if they were handcuffs. 

He rose and looked at your posed figure, his legs trapped by your hips, so you couldn’t escape from his embrace. 

He was going to make you feel better, make you see the high heavens. He began to worship your being kissing every scar, stretch mark, and so on. Any imperfection to you was perfection, a divine perfection to him.

Created by a higher being to be held, kissed, bitten, and claimed. 

He hiked your leg over his shoulder as he caressed your skin. Leaving kisses and hickeys over the skin. 

His hungry eyes looked at your teary ones, as he bit your leg.

His gaze lowered to your panties as he stared at them in hate like the small piece of clothing was holding your honey captive. 

The small piece of clothing became shredded into pieces when he ripped them. His rightful treasure was now on full display to him and only him.

 His large hand that once held your hip moved to your sex. With his index and middle finger, he spread your fold, groaning at the glittering sight of your slick.

His painfully hard member twitched upon seeing your dripping, aroused flower.

He groans, “ All this honey just for me?” he cups your cunt, feeling how it clenched around nothing.

Without warning, two larger fingers impale you, thrusting at an unforgiving pace. A long whine spills from your lips as you arch at the feeling.

He's hitting every sweet spot and curve inside you. His bulge grows even more at the sound of your watery juices. 

His thumb connects with your sensitive, neglected pearl, making you squirm and try to close your leg.

He slaps your pussy at the defiance, making electric pleasures shot throughout your body and brain. 

Y/n can feel the coil in her stomach tighten. Her hips met his thrust in chase of her own high. 

James speeds up his movements, watching as your eyes cross when he hits that spot.

Your walls begin to constrict his fingers, telling him that you're close. He bites the meat of your leg, his finger hitting deep inside you. 

Y/n came undone, eyes rolled to the back of her skull, drooling, back arch, and a pornographic moan of pleasure.

Cum covered his veiny fingers and his toned stomach. 

The sight almost made him cum in his pants. But, that milk was saved for his darlin's womb.

James pulled his pants down, allowing his hardened member to slap your sex. Thick and veiny. 

With your cum he gave himself a few pumps. The big man leans forward, his tip kissing your inviting honeyed entrance. 

“ See, you're so wet and sweet for me. You wanted this didn’t you?” he asks, his face flushed. 

His cock began to enter your wet, gummy walls, inch by inch. 

His hips stutter a little, and his body trembles with pleasure. The feeling of your lips sucking him in. 

With one hard thrust, he bottoms out in you. You moan, feeling so full, he begins to hump his manhood against your entrance. 

His almost in a trance, the sound of slick and moans adding to his resolve.

Each furious thrust thrusted her forward in the bed. His tip kissing her womb over and over, you’re moaning and pleas falling on deaf ears.

The makeshift gag swallowed all any sound that was not your monas, the sweet sounds of pleasure he wanted to hear from you. 

Y/n’s leg was still hooked over his shoulder. With his hands, he held her hips in a boa-constricting grip. 

Your overstimulated wall pulsed and twitched, “ Oh, you like that, huh?” he says, still drilling into her like a jackhammer. His hand pressed on the bulge in your small tummy. 

This made your walls tighten and pulse. His words and actions manipulated your dizzy pleasure-filled mind.

“ My pretty darlin’ going to look so beautiful, all swelled up with my child.” he groaned at the thought. Each thrust made your vision sparkle as if stars. 

The all-too-familiar feeling of the tight coil forming in your belly told you that you were close. James's thrust became uncoordinated as he chased that mind-numbing high he was looking for.

“You’ll make a cute mommy.” he moans. He removes your gag, as you beg and cry for him not to, but he crashes his lips against yours. 

He was going to snap you in half with the way he was bending your leg and fucking you at the same time.

The kiss was stymie, adding to the many pleasures you were feeling. Your mind was becoming blank, and you could only think of his dick inside you.

With a final harsh thrust, the coil in your gut snapped like a water gun. squirting over the man's abdomen and your inner thigh. 

James began to convulse, spilling his large fertile load at the feeling of your womb milking him dry. 

You felt so stuffed full and overstimulated. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to become a mommy, a slave to his man's cock. James’s load pulsed inside you, making his cum spill from your spent hole.

You will be the perfect cock-sleeve darlin’ for him, your eyes closed as sleep takes over you. a content smile on your face. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

A new 🕳 to hide in 👩‍🦯

Tag list:

@tremendousdinosaurpizza @violetvase

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

©𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢! 𝙽𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝. 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎. - 𝙱𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢🩻!

[whumpshaped]

UR REBLOG INSPIRED ME

Winged pet whumpee, right? Except the whumper knows how birds work, as they have many exotic ones from their travels. Whumper isn’t cruel per se, they’d never hurt their pets. Just clip their wings.

Thing is, pet bird etiquette is to never pet their wings. Petting down the back or under the wings can lead to a sexually frustrated bird or a bird who perceives you as a mate rather than a companion. A mated bonded bird can be hostile to others in your home, becoming jealous or possessive of you

So. Whumpee gets their wings pet and has to deal with the strong innate instincts that come with it.

tw noncon touching, captivity, nonhuman whumpee, winged whumpee, intimate whumper

It was embarrassing. Whumpee couldn’t believe that with all this experience and knowledge on winged creatures, this was the one thing Whumper… forgot, or was misinformed on. They sat rigidly still as their owner petted their wings, mind reeling with all the emotions that came with it. 

There was no way Whumper didn’t know. There was no way. This had to be intentional, and if it was, it was either to humiliate them or—

No. It was definitely to humiliate them. There was no fucking way Whumper wanted anything from them, or if they did, well, Whumpee definitely wanted nothing from their captor. They didn’t. They really didn’t, even as heat rose to their face and their heart began to beat a little faster.

“My pretty little bird,” Whumper cooed, seemingly lost in the sensation of running their fingers along Whumpee’s soft feathers. “My perfect little dove. Aren’t you so lucky that I decided to take you in?”

Whumpee took a shuddering breath, unable to answer without risking some unwanted sounds to escape as well. They didn’t want anything to do with Whumper. They didn’t.

“I’m so happy I found you. There’s truly no greater joy than waking up to this sight every morning.”

They gasped as Whumper made another pass, dragging their hand down their wing while putting a bit more pressure on it. It felt so good, it felt just right, and Whumpee couldn’t help but wonder how this human was so skillful with every one of their movements. They weren’t Whumper’s first pet harpy, were they? Oh, the thought was absolutely revolting. And annoying. They wished they’d been the first.

No, what were they thinking?

“Stop,” they whimpered, closing their eyes in shame at how their voice sounded. It was weak and breathy, not at all firm and demanding like they had been going for.

“Stop?” Whumper leaned a little closer, that sickening grin still plastered on their face. “Why would I, when you’re enjoying yourself so much?”

[whumpbump]

Immersion Therapy

Cw: noncon (nonsexual) touching, noncon drugging, mentions of PTSD, control by a big organization, forced immersion therapy, forced ABA, forced conversion therapy

Whumpee was diagnosed with PTSD and under the Caretaking Organization’s decision, Whumpee was to go through immersion therapy with their assigned Caretaker.

Whumpee’s immersion therapy was to sit on Caretaker’s lap for an hour, three times a week while being hugged to overcome their aversion to being touched and held.

Caretaker was given their orders and uncomfortable with the decision made, tried to gently explain to Whumpee what would be happening from the doorway of Whumpee’s room. Caretaker received an “Absolutely NOT” from the lump of blankets on the bed and with that, closed the door and reported back.

An injectable sedative was delivered to Caretaker’s doorstep within three hours.

Caretaker took a deep breath and called to Whumpee from the doorway.

“Whumpee? It’s time for immersion therapy. The sooner we do it, the sooner it’s over.”

The lump of blankets was silent. This was generally Whumpee’s way of saying no without having to verbalize. Typical avoidance behaviors like pretending they can’t hear or looking away so they can’t acknowledge by looking in Caretaker’s eyes that they’ve been told something.

Caretaker swallowed uncomfortably, knowing what was likely coming next.

“Whumpee, I’m giving you the chance to try it out before we move on to next steps.”

The lump was silent and seemed to become quieter if that was even possible.

Caretaker walked over to the blankets, pulled them back and quickly sunk the needle into exposed flesh. Whumpee looked up in surprise and horror as Caretaker pulled the needle away and clicked the safety cap on.

In an instant, Whumpee bolted for the door. Caretaker followed, concerned they would fall down the steps. Fortunately Caretaker was able to pass Whumpee on the stairs as they slowed significantly, cursing up a storm in slurred speech. When they did end up sliding towards the floor, Caretaker was there to catch them and scoop them up. Like a small child restrained by a parent during a tantrum, Whumpee huffed and cried as they tried to wiggle away from the offending arms.

Caretaker calmly sat them both on the couch and curled Whumpee into their body as their hour together started. Whumpee cried and cried. Caretaker cried too, knowing this was not therapeutic in any sense of the word and would only cause Whumpee to lose trust in them but they had their orders and would lose their job if they refused.

As they sat, Caretaker apologized profusely through their tears and explained they had to do this lest they lose their job and Whumpee end up with someone not as caring, only in it for the money. Whumpee understood this but was so overwhelmed by the touch and shock of being drugged that all they could do was make big ugly sobs into Caretaker’s shirt.

Caretaker wiped Whumpee’s tears and nose with a tissue and shushed them while rubbing small circles on their back, patting them, and rocking them intermittently. They felt Whumpee’s heart rate slow and Whumpee allowed the drugs to lull them to sleep. As they slept, Caretaker thought deeply about the events that had unfolded, leading them to this moment. Was it worth it to stay in the Organization if this was how they treated their patients?

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

In march, you wrote a snippet of a love potion thingy with villain and hero. What happens to them next

(Oops I'm very late to respond to this. I didn't forget! I'm just slow and in college)

This is a sequel to THIS. It is recommended you read for context, but it can be summed up as "Superhero drugs Villain with a love potion, then offers them Hero in exchange for Villain not causing trouble."

Content warning: mutual noncon, non consensual touching (nonsexual), noncon drugging, maybe vaguely spicy but not at all NSFW.

Hero had never felt more helpless in their life.

The cuffs on their limbs were unyielding, keeping them locked into the metal chair beneath them. They were trapped in Villain’s hideout, no chances of reaching the outside world, no hope of reasoning with their captor. If anyone noticed their absence, they’d surely be too late to save them.

Villain remained perched on Hero’s lap, legs possessively straddling their waist. Their face was flush, eyes glassy and skin unnaturally warm. Their dazed, blissful grin was uncanny on their face. They looked sick.

The love potion was still clutched in their fingers. Hero knew that once they were forced to drink it, they’d end up with the same blissful, clueless smile painted on Villain’s face.

“Baby, don’t be stubborn,” Villain’s words were clear despite the haze in their eyes. They gave Hero a pleading look. “Just open your mouth for me. I don’t want to force you…”

“P-please, you don’t want this. Superhero drugged you; you’re not in your right mind,” they knew it was pointless, that Villain was far beyond reasoning. But they couldn’t stop themselves from trying.

Their pleas fell on deaf ears. Villain only chuckled, dragging a thumb over Hero’s lips. “Of course I want this. I want you, I always have. Superhero just helped me realize that.”

Villains’s touch felt like sandpaper against their skin. It wasn’t that they disliked Villain, nor that the criminal was unattractive. They were charming at times, quick witted and cunning. They were gorgeous. But Hero didn’t want this. Not when Villain didn’t have a choice, not when it was part of some sick scheme to remove Villain by stripping them of free will. It was sick, and Hero felt dirty for their unwilling part in it.

Their eyes stung. “I don’t want this.”

For a moment, Villain’s grin faltered. That didn’t stop them from popping the vial in their hand open. “I know. I didn’t want it either, until I learned better,” without hesitation, Villain brought the potion to their own mouth, swallowing a mouthful. Hero knew what was coming the moment Villain leaned forward, but they felt paralyzed when Villain’s lips touched their own. For a brief moment, they could only think of how soft Villain’s lips were.

They could taste the potion on Villain’s tongue. It was sickly sweet, like a cake that’d begun to sour. It was viscous, slimey. They tried to pull away on instinct, but Villain’s possessive grip on the back of their head didn’t allow for it. Hero shivered as they felt Villain's tongue brush against their own.

Distantly, Hero hoped that the tainted kiss wouldn’t be enough to affect them. A sudden wave of unnatural dizziness quickly proved them wrong. They squeezed their eyes shut against the disorientation, breathing deeply to steady themselves. They tried to ignore how their senses suddenly latched onto the smell of Villain’s hair.

Villain eventually released them. “There. Now was that so bad?” Villain cooed, breath brushing against Hero’s cheek. They shifted their position, moving themselves to rest their head against Hero’s shoulder. Hero had no room to pull away.

“Villain, please,” It felt like the potion was coating every surface of their mouth, making their teeth ache. They needed to get out. “You got what you wanted, so just let me–,” They paused as a sudden pain pulsed through their body, causing them to grimace. Felt like their every muscle had gone suddenly, painfully taught. Like every heartbeat was fueling a rising pain. Like every inch of skin was being rubbed raw.

They inhaled sharply, taken aback. They’d never heard about love potions hurting.

Villain seemed to read their mind. “It’s a little precaution from your…friend,” something hard entered Villain’s voice, something nearly recognizable as their normal self. “You can’t will it away, Hero. It’s agonizing, I can promise you that. And it’ll only get worse if you insist on being stubborn. So please,” and just like that, the sharpness of their tone dissolved back into a lovesick whine. “Just open your eyes. I can’t stand seeing you suffer.”

Hero didn’t respond, too focused on taking slow, deep breaths in hopes of abating the pain. It hurt, it hurt everywhere, building with each moment. They clenched tightly at the chair beneath them, flinching with each growing pulse of pain.

Their only comfort was the warm weight on their lap. Villain’s touch chased away the growing pain, a reprieve Hero found themselves increasingly desperate for. But every cell in Hero’s body knew that it wouldn’t be enough. It was like dipping a foot into cool water while the rest of their body burned.

They didn’t need Villain to tell them how to stop it. Relief was a blink away. Hero squeezed their eyes shut.

They could feel Villain’s eyes on them. “What point is there in this stubbornness? Darling, you’re only hurting yourself.”

“I have to!” Hero spat through gritted teeth. Their breath hitched, and Hero didn’t know if it was sweat or tears running down their face. “This is wrong, Superhero’s wrong,” They leaned into Villain’s touch, desperate for relief. It wasn’t nearly enough. “And I-, I need to help you. You have to let me go.”

Villain only laughed, and Hero’s heart soared at the melodic noise. “You truly are something. So earnest, all for someone like me…” Villain leaned forward once more, and Hero’s breath caught in their throat. Villain’s voice was little more than a whisper. “I’ll compromise then, yes? Kiss me, and I’ll let you go.”

They could feel Villain’s face near theirs, mere inches away. But Villain didn’t move closer. Hero shivered.

It was a bad idea, a horrible idea. Hero knew that. They were disgusted with how tempted they were to lean in regardless. Their heart pounded at the thought, quieting the morals screaming for them to stop.

They needed to get out. They could escape Villain, wait for the potion to leave their system, and try again. If saving Villain meant a single kiss, then that was alright, wasn’t it?

They desperately wanted it to be alright. The pain rose another octave, and Hero was leaning forward before they could reconsider.

Relief flowed through their body at the contact, quieting their mind. Villain gave a low, satisfied hum, and Hero swallowed the noise greedily. They felt a blush rising to their cheeks, their heart fluttering with joy. They tugged at their restraints, wishing they could wrap their arms around Villain and pull them in.

They felt like they were losing themselves, and it was becoming harder to understand why that was a bad thing. But it was fine. As long as they didn’t let things go too far. As long as they didn’t open their–

Villain pulled away suddenly, and it felt like the floor had fallen from underneath Hero. The loss of their touch hurt more than anything they’d ever felt.

“No!” Their body lurched forward on instinct, chasing after the contact. They didn’t realize they’d been freed until they’d unwittingly launched themselves from their chair. With a startled gasp, Hero tumbled forward, sending themselves and Villain to the ground. Villain yelped in pain underneath them.

Hero didn’t realize they’d opened their eyes until they’d already started diligently searching Villain’s body for injuries. They only found a beautiful, triumphant grin, and found that they couldn’t tear their eyes away. Pain drained away, replaced so swiftly with a pleasant, warm buzz that Hero could scarcely remember it. Their reservations were smothered by all consuming, contented joy.

“You’re too easy, darling,” Villain purred, a mischievous twinkle in their eye. Their hair laid like a halo around their head, framing their flushed face in an utterly hypnotic way. Hero couldn’t remember why they’d ever want to look away.

Hero couldn’t find the words to respond. They could only smile.

[montammil]

CW: Recapturing, creepy Whumper, drugging, noncon touching

...

Whumpee has been alone in the house for a few days, and slowly their paranoia has gone down. They always felt nervous being away from Caretaker for too long, but it’s been almost two months since their return, so they understand Caretaker isn’t willing to risk their job and not go on that business trip.

As Whumpee takes another sip of their water, however, they begin to feel dizzy. They feel sick at the familiar feeling, remembering how Whumper used to drug them and they’d... 

...feel exactly like this.

They try to stand and grab their phone on their bed, but only make it two steps before falling to the floor. They open their eyes to see expensive shoes striding their way, they don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

“I’m offended, in all honesty. Did you really think you could get away from me? Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”

“Please, don’t do this,” Whumpee begs. “Please.”

A smirk rises to Whumper’s lips. “Poor thing. You’ve grown so spoiled, you forgot your place. That’s okay, because you know what? I’m here now, and I’m never letting you leave me again.”

Whumpee goes deadweight when their captor picks them up, cradling them like Caretaker would. They cry and try to keep pleading, but each plead comes out as a pained moan.

As Whumper carries them out, they notice a framed picture on the wall. They stare at it, saying amusedly, “You look so happy in this picture, darling.” They snatch the picture and throw it to the ground, crushing it beneath their shoe. “Happiness isn’t a pretty look on you. I think I like these more.” They thumb away their tears.

“Pl-- pleas--”

“Shh...” Whumper drags their thumb from their cheek to their lips. “Save those pretty pleads for later. You’ll need them.”

[black-aurora-nora]

Warm Embrace | Yandere!Mirio x Reader

“(Y/N),” You shivered at the use of your name, clutching the blanket wrapped around you closer to your body, “You know you can’t sleep like that forever.”

Yes the hell you could, you thought from within your thin cocoon.

Ever since you’d been permanently moved in with Mirio, you’d refused to willingly touch him in any way.

To avoid touching him when you both went to bed, you feverishly wrapped yourself in your small blanket that you’d bought years ago.

And though Mirio was patient with you, it was obvious that his patience was beginning to run thin.

All he wanted to do was cuddle with you in the bed! It broke his heart whenever he watched you tightly wrap yourself in that blanket of yours.

He could tell that you weren’t getting any good sleep either. You’d tremble throughout the night, anxiety ridden and unable to fully fall asleep.

But Mirio knew that some cuddles would help you relax. He was bigger than you so he could engulf you and keep you way warmer than that old blanket could. He just needed to show you.

You felt Mirio scooch closer to your balled form.

Quickly deciding that you didn't like this level of closeness, you nearly sprung from your blanket and out the bed.

Unfortunately, you weren't quick enough and Mirio hooked a muscular arm around your waist to snatch you back onto the bed with a hearty chuckle.

"Where ya goin?" He asked smoothly, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

Now you were trapped in his hold, back to his chest.

You could feel his warm breath on the back of your head and shivered.

This new development was not to you liking.

"M-...Mirio, let me go." You demanded shakily, sitting awkwardly on your side of the bed.

Instead of doing as you'd said, he held you tighter, sliding you into his lap.

You stilled.

Now you were even closer. You didn't think it was possible to be so close to someone. You never imagined that you'd allow yourself to get this close to him.

You could smell him. He smelled like patchouli. The scent of his new body wash that'd he'd gotten for himself recently.

If he held you for too long, his scent would rub off onto you.

If he held you any closer to him, you'd probably meld into each other and become one.

You wanted anything but that.

"Slow your breathing down, baby." He whispered into your shoulder. His lips grazed over the skin of your neck, you could feel the hairs sticking up at the stimulation, "You know I'd never hurt you."

He says that but then keeps you in his house locked away from the world and your family.

That was hurting you.

Your eyes warm with tears. Had the circumstances not been what they were, you would've melted at the way Mirio was holding you right now. How he was softly whispering into your ear that you were safe and keeping you warm with his body heat.

But that was a fantasy. A fantasy that Mirio was having no trouble acting out.

Maybe you should play along too. Gaslight yourself into being happy like Mirio was.

There was no way you'd be able to escape. Mirio had too many connections, too much money, too much influence.

With a choked sob, you allowed Mirio's suffocating light to completely engulf you. You sank into his embrace despite the way your chest bounced unevenly from the anxiety and allowed him to take deep breaths into your head, taking in your scent.

As he sunk you both into the mattress offering whispers of sweet nothings, you prayed that one day his embrace would grow warmer to keep you from descending any further.

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Medical Conference

hi guys um. i cant stop writing destroyer. i swear ill figure out a system to organize these “bonus” chapters soon i promise i promise

delta is eighteen in this but the chapter delves into abuse he experienced when he was a child so cw for that

(Content: living weapon whumpee, lab whump, medical whump, put on display, dehumanization, conditioning, noncon drugging, needles, non-consensual/nonsexual nudity, noncon touching, physical abuse, emotional whump, angst, child abuse, child death mention, parental whump?)

~

“I forgot, sir,” Delta tried weakly. He knew as soon as he said it that he should’ve just kept quiet.

“No, you didn’t. You’re going to lie about it as well?” Dr.Martino shut down the attempt, focusing his attention back to the device.

Delta laid down unmoving against the steel table as the scanner searched over him. It gave him mild electric shocks each time it passed. Of course, he hadn’t been looking forward to the diagnostic tests. But he hadn’t been trying to get out of it entirely. That wouldn’t have worked. He only wanted more time to psych himself up for it. Too long, apparently. He’d had to be collected for it. It’d been a bad note to start on.

The rest of the exam went on in silence, without anymore mention of his avoidance. As Delta redressed, he thought he might’ve been off the hook for it. Dr.Martino was fumbling though his desk drawers like he’d already left. 

He produced two unopened packs of pencils from inside the desk. Delta deflated a little bit. 

Delta took the pencils and arranged them in two rows along the floor, lined up flush against one another. Gingerly, he kneeled down on top of them.

“Hands behind your back,” the doctor said, leaning back in his chair.

Already there. He knew the drill. He lowered his head, silently counting. No longer than twenty minutes, usually. No fewer than ten.

When he looked up again, Martino was leaning back against the table, flipping through a folder.

“The ISCEM conference is coming up in a month,” he said offhandedly, as if this would mean something to him.

“Okay?” Delta answered, more in confusion than anything else. He hadn’t meant for it to be disrespectful. 

Nevertheless, Dr.Martino’s shoe pressed down against his calf, driving the pencils further into his skin. 

“Yes, sir,” he quickly corrected himself. The pressure disappeared. The pain stayed where it was.

“You were probably too young to remember the last one, weren’t you?” Dr.Martino sighed.

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t really think about it. He was pretty distracted by the numbness traveling down his legs.

“Well, put it on your calendar. Don’t want you forgetting again.”

“Yes, sir.” 

He didn’t have a calendar.

~

“Mention the steady-state thing we discussed. I have files on it, I - is it too late to make a copy? I will. And if you could just please pass along a message for me, I would be ever so grateful,” Simon went on, fumbling through his own briefcase, trying to give what he could. Dr.Martino took the reports from him, flipping them around to see the equations he’d scribbled onto the back.

“You’re not coming? Sir?” Delta added the “sir” on as an afterthought, conscious of the doctor’s presence. Simon himself rarely demanded such formalities.

“Don’t interrupt,” Dr.Martino snapped, more tense than usual. But Simon obliged him, stepping a little closer.

“Not my scene.” Simon patted his head. It was soft, but Delta reflexively flinched away from any hands that drew too near to his face. 

Something on the desk beeped. The transit had rafted up. 

Delta held his wrists up easily as Martino presented the cuffs. They were psychic tech, meant to restrict his powers more than the collar already did. Presumably some kind of safety measure. He felt his world going flat as they clicked into place, all his spatial awareness reduced to a single field of view. The effect was extremely disorienting. He nearly fell over getting off of the table.

~

He’d mostly evened out by the time they’d gotten to the hotel. He sat idly against the chair he’d been placed in, watching the doctor unpack. Everything in the room was the same shade of beige. 

It seemed like they should’ve been able to go. Martino abruptly produce a vial from the bag. Delta recognized it as a sedative. He inserted the syringe into it, drawing it back up.

“I’ll behave, sir,” Delta offered. He eyed the needle warily; he’d usually have been given something in the way of warning.

Martino shook his head. He took a firm grip of Delta’s arm.

“Believe me, this is for your own good.”

Delta tensed his arm up, holding still as the needle entered him. Something cold shot into his veins. It took a long time for the chamber to empty. 

~

It hit him before they even reached the elevator. He clung to Martino’s arm, needing something to brace himself against, however briefly. Martino assured him he wouldn’t have to stand for long. They moved backstage at the panel. Delta nearly collapsed into the fold-up chair.

The cuffs were briefly removed as he was given the medical gown to wear. His hands moved slower than he would’ve liked, but he was able to put it on. It tied along the front, leaving much of his chest exposed.

Dr.Martino took a minute to make sure it was fitted correctly. He cursed, noticing for the first time the visible boot print against the side of Delta’s ribs. 

“Great. They’re going to think I beat you.”

You do beat me, Delta thought. Not as much as he used to. Not as much as Paris. But Martino still hit him. 

The doctor felt over the bruise with his hand, reigniting the pain. Delta winced. It was recent — still tender. The sedative helped a bit. All his thoughts were coming to him in a haze.

There was nothing that could be done to cover it, so apparently they were just going to ignore it. The cuffs came back on around his wrists. He led Delta out onto the platform regardless, sitting him up against the stool. It was had a back to it, luckily. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay upright without it. He’d been trained enough not to slouch or to look so outwardly high, but it was definitely a struggle to maintain neutrality. He kept his head down. It was the safest, the easiest to maintain for a long period. People gradually filed in. Though he was used to being put on display, the sterility and lack of decorum in this new space made the whole thing feel all the more jarring. It all felt far away, though.

His eyes closed without meaning to. When he tuned back in, Dr.Martino was droning on. He recognized some of the words. He would’ve recognized more if he wasn’t drugged. It was a talk about internal power generation. Conduits. There was a hand on his shoulder. Delta stood up from the chair. The gown was pulled down a bit from his shoulders.

Martino pressed the multimeter to his collarbones, watching the number climb until it broke. He pulled it away before it could burn up completely. He pressed a thin disk up against Delta’s chest, where it held there. It was some kind of controller. A thin arc of electricity emerged from it without any conscious intention on his part. More appeared, each of them branching away from his body like a plasma ball. The effect was immediate; that familiar fear crept into the eyes of the audience. 

It cut all at once. The disk was removed. Delta sat back down on the chair, pulling the gown back up over himself. 

The lights darkened. Behind him, a clip show began to play. He didn’t need to look back. He’d seen it plenty of times. Different explosions, annihilations, destructions. All his own work. He could recount each of them to the second. It played for a long time.

For some reason, they clapped when it was over.

~

“Sorry — do you mind if I look at it?” 

Delta opened his eyes again, sensing the it in question. He tensed up. 

He hated being touched. The moderator stripped the gown back again. He felt the electric pulse still going about Delta’s clavicle. His hands traveled around the collar. 

“I’m biomedical by trade,” the man explained, tapping at the gold, “This is custom, yes? When was it made?”

“The model’s about five years old. It gets updated about once a year.”

“Incredible. I see some scarring, though.”

Delta shivered as the fingers traced the burn scars by his neck, a bit on his trapezius. They were in the shape of a Lichtenberg figure.

“That seems non-optimal?”

“Those actually predate the collar. They’re a natural result of it overextending itself during an exercise. The restrictor works as a stopgap to prevent that kind of burnout.”

Though he’d expected it, it still jarred Delta just how easily Martino slipped back into calling him it.

Another scientist approached. She slid up to Martino, shaking his hand eagerly.

“Oh, darling.” He embraced her. She grinned, readjusting her jacket as they pulled away.

“Danny, it’s been ages. How are the girls?” Her nails clicked together.

Danny. The girls. Martino actually had a family. Not that he ever saw them. He had daughters. They’d been kids, the one and only time Delta had ever met them. They had to be in their twenties by now. 

“Brats, the lot of them. They’re smart, though. Smarter than I was at their age.”

“Well, that’s not saying much.”

Delta was not surprised when her hands traveled onto him. He barely flinched this time. But he hadn’t expected her to speak to him.

“Oh, and look at you. You’re all grown up now, huh?” 

She gripped his chin in between her fingers, studying his face. The touch wasn’t harsh, nor was it gentle.

“You probably don’t remember me.”

That was correct. Her face was vaguely familiar, but he could find no memories to attach to it.

“He’s a bit distant at the moment. You’ll have to forgive him,” Martino answered for him.

She released her grip, turning her attention back to the doctor. Even in his current state, it didn’t take him long to put it together. She’d been one of the teachers at the Institute. He wondered how many of them were wandering around out there now. Most of them. Dr.Martino had been the only one to retain some semblance of his position. All the other administrators had been cast away just the same as the students.

He had forgotten nearly every one of their names.

~

Martino packed up the last of the day’s display materials, arranging all of it back into the suitcase. It’d been a success, as far as these things go. He’d revealed all he could without breaching the terms of his contract. All the real science was under a strict NDA. It was nice to catch up with some colleagues, though. It was healthy to be off of a spaceship every once in a while.

He tugged Delta’s sleeve, pulling him up from the plastic chair. He took a minute to undo the cuffs; he’d thought they were an excessive measure to begin with and they had prevented any real show of power. Delta rubbed idly at the marks they had left there.

They made their way back up to the hotel room. The drug had not yet worn off; Delta still stumbled a bit when he walked. He’d redressed himself in a thick hoodie, trying to keep out the chill from the overactive AC or perhaps just trying to hide. 

The door opened. Martino dropped his suitcase onto the bed. Presumably out of habit, Delta lowered himself to the floor, kneeling there. Waiting for instructions, as if he could have followed them. Martino scoffed. 

“You can sit on the bed. I booked a double room for a reason.”

He watched the whole minute it took for his words to sink in. The way it took even longer for Delta to actually rise, blearily climbing up onto the mattress. His hands gripped searchingly across the blanket, pulling up the edges like he needed something to hold onto.

Martino ignored him. He moved to the far side of the room and opened the door to the balcony. The city skyline was clearly visible just down the road. The lights from it shone brighter than the stars from space. Martino produced one of the foreign cigarettes from its packet. The ember burned in the dark night. It was all quiet.

“What was I like when I was little?”

He turned to look at Delta. The kid was drugged out of his mind. He might’ve given him too much.

Dr.Martino took a long drag. He rarely smoked, so used to the endless sterility that he would not so much as dirty the air. But tonight was a rare night.

“What were you like?” He ashed the cigarette, turning back to look at the night skyline. “I don’t remember.”

Delta looked down, disappointed. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Martino sighed, losing the battle.

“…You were quiet. Same as you are now. You mostly kept to yourself.”

He gave no visible reaction.

“You didn’t get along so well with the other kids,” Martino admitted, some disdain entering his voice. 

Delta looked up. His expression was totally blank.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked.

It was manipulative, and self-pitying in a way that did not flatter him. Martino put the cigarette out. He stepped back into the room.

Delta shrank back a bit. The doctor looked him over. His eyes had dimmed some, no doubt due to the sedative. His hands were unbloodied. Just looking at him, no one would have know what he’d done. Martino remembered the sound of bones snapping and the bodies out in the yard. He remembered the expression Delta had worn the first time he’d killed — as blank and unfeeling as the one he wore now. He did hate him, he supposed. He’d never been his favorite. All his favorites had been buried a long time ago.

He didn’t say that. He remembered his lines — and he cursed himself for ever diverging from them, even for a second. He would correct it now.

“There is no you.”

Delta opened his mouth as if to object, then thought better of it. Good.

“No more talking tonight,” Martino said.

Delta nodded, laying down onto the mattress. He fell asleep with all the lights on.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @pigeonwhumps

[honeycollectswhump]

I just want you to know that the whumperflies you are able to give me with Ashtray are so good!!!!

And i just read a recent post of yours and i would actually love to see Mireille consider drugging ashtray, if you fancy it :)

Thank you!!

- ☆

im so glad you enjoy my silly story!! i thought i'd mix your request with an event, i hope you don't mind

Augusnippets Day 13

drugging/poisoning/cannibalism

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, noncon drugging, noncon touch

Perhaps there was something in the water Mistress had given him. The fogginess was its only indication but the ash on his tongue hid any suspicious taste. And it wasn’t suspicious after all, of course he’d take anything given to him by his Mistress. Whatever was in the water, it did exactly what it was supposed to. 

Now Ashtray floats on a cloud made out of cotton, which is strange because his limbs are made out of lead and shouldn’t that be too heavy?

He is draped languidly on the couch cloud, an arm and a leg dangling down. There is a hand carding through his hair, caressing his bare skin, but perhaps it is just the wind. 

Ashtray purrs from deep within his chest, a sound that makes his body vibrate in waves. Fingers trace over his torso, circling each burn like constellations. If only he could lift his head to look at the night sky on his stomach.

Slowly, he can feel the fingers dip deeper, tugging at the covering fabric, and every moment makes his being become undone.

He whines uncomfortably, pushing his head into the cotton, as the hand in his hair grabs a fistful. Even on the cloud, somewhere high up, he understands the command. 

Be still. 

Ashtray swallows a second whine and instead looks up into the swirling night sky. Maybe, if he concentrates hard enough, he can leave his cloud and fly between the stars. 

Maybe, he can ignore the touch coming closer and closer, shooting him down. 

Maybe, he can delay his crash into earth a little bit longer.

@augusnippets

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox,

@sowhumpshaped, @clickerflight, @itsawhumpsideblog, @piniatafullofblood, @katwriteswhump

@opaldream16, @whumped-by-glitter, @whump-queen, @electrons2006, @vampirewhump

@saffitaffi let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[livingforthewhump]

Whumper let out a long sigh as he stretched back on the couch, back cracking against the cushions. Whumpee was curled in the corner, his own back aching, but the protective instinct to make himself as small as possible won over any kind of pain he felt.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Whumper from looking over at him. Nothing he did ever seemed to stop Whumper. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his long legs, and surveyed Whumpee.

Then he reached out a hand. “Come here.”

Whumpee hesitated, but the decision had already been made for him. Whenever Whumper spoke, Whumpee never had any choice but to obey, never mind his feelings on the matter. Shakily, he peeled himself up from the floor and walked over to Whumper. It felt weird to be standing over him. Whumper was so much bigger, so much taller, and Whumpee wasn’t usually on his feet a lot anyway. Still, Whumper’s gaze was as much a prison as anything else, and there was no question as to who had the power there.

Whumper looked Whumpee over, humming in thought. “You don’t have your collar on right now. But I don’t particularly want to go get it…” Whumpee’s heart jolted and he took a half step back. The collar was never a good sign. Whumper’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back in with an iron grip. “See, that’s exactly why you need it, dumb thing,” he chided.

After a moment’s pause, he reached up and slid his tie off over his head, keeping it knotted. Using the hand holding Whumpee’s wrist, he tugged Whumpee down, successfully pulling the tie over the other man’s head and securing it at his neck.

“There we go,” Whumper murmured, using the tie to tug Whumpee in closer. Whumpee's throat bobbed in a swallow. The tie was pulled too tight by Whumper’s hand, digging into his adam’s apple and all but choking him. The tension tugged him into an odd angle, leaning over Whumper on the edge of his balance, centimeters away from collapsing on top of him, leaving his shaky core to work overtime to keep him upright.

It certainly didn’t help when Whumper’s hand left his wrist and started moving up his side, ridiculously warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Stop—” Whumpee tried, but it ended in a grunting cough when Whumper jerked the tie, sending Whumpee toppling forward.

His arms flew out to catch him, landing on the back of the couch on either side of Whumper’s head, caging him in in an odd imitation of the pose Whumper was so fond of taking with Whumpee. Still so obvious to them both that an imitation was all it was. All the power lay with Whumper—not in the circumstances Whumper had forced them into or the resources Whumper had, as Whumpee had tried to convince himself at first. It lay within who Whumper was, and who Whumpee was before him. Nothing more than clay to be molded. A game to be played.

Whumper’s arm was looped around Whumpee’s waist now, stopping him from pulling away. His arms were shaking from the effort of holding himself up like this.

“You look scared, Whumpee…are you?” Whumper murmured, eyes sparkling. His voice dipped down low. “Answer me, boy.”

Whumpee swallowed thickly. “Y-yes.”

“Yes…?” The word was a warning, as was the slight tightening of the hand around his waist.

“Yes sir.” His eyes screwed shut as he spoke. A mistake. Whumper tugged him forward further, bending his elbows more and making him tremor from the strain.

“You think you don’t deserve this. Is that right? You think you deserve to be free of me?” There wasn’t any of the anger Whumpee expected in his voice, mere curiosity and amusement.

Whumpee opened and closed his mouth, entirely unsure how to respond. Whether to be honest and give the wrong answer or to face the punishment for lying.

Whumper seemed to take his hesitation as its own answer. “That’s okay, I’m not mad.” His hand left his waist—other still firmly grabbing the tie—and slid up his chest to take hold of his chin while Whumpee arched away from the touch. “I understand where you’re at. Up until now I’ve only ever hurt you, haven’t I? And you can’t understand why, so you assumed I was being unjust. Does that sound right?”

Whumpee’s heart clambered in his chest. Nothing Whumper had just said was wrong, exactly…but it also didn’t sound right.

“Whumpee?”

“Mm—yes sir,” he whispered.

“Good.” His voice was silky and gentle and it terrified Whumpee more than anything else he’d done. “Relax, now, boy, I’m just talking to you. You can let go, I’m not going to let you fall.” His arms wrapped around Whumpee’s middle, bracing around him as he obeyed and let his arms fall limp under his weight. Whumper supported him, maneuvering him to sit on the couch beside him with his knees tucked underneath him.

Then he grabbed onto the tie again, making Whumpee to lean over his lap, shoulder pressed against Whumper’s chest.

“You fought me so much in the beginning. Do you remember? It wasn’t that you were afraid of being hurt—that’s only natural. Your defiance was against me. You didn’t want me anywhere near you, no matter what I was going to do.” As he spoke, Whumper traced his hand across Whumpee’s curved back, his shoulders, slipping into his hair. Whumpee held back his very breath for fear of attracting even more attention.

He leaned forward suddenly, lips brushing up against Whumpee’s ear as he murmured, “You were very bad to me, Whumpee.” And then he relaxed again, and eyes roving over Whumpee’s half-cowering form. “But I’m sure we’ll make up for that later. In the meantime, I’ve had to give you a form of exposure therapy, if you will.”

Whumpee shuddered at the term, sucking a breath in through his teeth when Whumper’s hand found his face, cupping his cheek and turning it up to look at him. From the way he was leaning against Whumper, they were very, very close together.

“I had to hand-feed you the worst possible scenario, little thing. You were rebellious no matter what I planned to do, so I worked with you until you were okay with whatever I wanted to do by helping you not fight against the most scary things. And just look at you now.” His thumb stroked over Whumpee’s face for emphasis, then he wrapped both arms around the poor boy’s shoulders and pulled him fully into his chest. “You still don’t understand yet, all the way. But it’s helped. Hasn’t it helped you feel better, Whumpee?”

His throat burned. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. More than anything he just wanted to not be here anymore. “…yes sir.”

Whumper’s arms squeezed tight for a moment before relaxing, sinking Whumpee into his lap to lay down. “It has, I can tell. And we’re not done yet. We’ll keep working until you’re willing to let me do anything, so long as it’s me who wants it.”

Whumpee’s bottom lip wobbled. He hated the way Whumper looked down at him, like he was a sacrificial lamb on an altar, just waiting to be destroyed for the sake of his own sins. Whumper’s hand pet over him absently before grabbing ahold of the tie and wrenching it tight, cutting off Whumpee’s air completely.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’ll make sure to keep you needy in the meantime. After all, what’s the real joy of receiving something if you don’t want for it first?”

—

General Whump Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @utopian819 @whumpkitty @journey-the-panda @freefallingup13 @prettyboysinpain @1becky1 @temporary-whump-sideblog @chartreusephoenix @thelazywitchphotographer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @badluck990 @lockedupuniverse @luna-rein @broadwaybabe18 @pinescales-whumps @silverwhisperer1 @embersalive @the-bloody-sadist @batfacedliar-yetagain @nicolepascaline @whump-angst-fluff-repeat @susanshinning @didieatyourdog @corvid-voidbur @insane-writing-things @thebaffledtiewriter @morning-star-whump

[missbunnybunny]

❣💌[ I'm stravin' , Darlin' ]💌❣

Tw: non-con, dubcon, yandere, stalking, Somnophilia, Drugging, breeding, cockwarming.

A/n: this is my first detailed smut. It was going well at the start until I took a wrong turn and fell off a cliff. Possessive music got influence. I don't know what I wrote, am going to hell, his more delusional; than me. smh. ENJOY!

Note: this is a y/n x pretty yandere, female-bodied reader. Based on the songs Eat Your Young by Hozier and An Unhealthy Obsession by Blake Robinson, helped write this song. pet names such as Darlin, Love, and good girl. If I forgot something plz tell me.

╔═.✧ 🖤 ✧.═══════════╗ ▶︎ 𝕾𝖍𝖊’𝖘 𝖘𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊. ╚═══════════.✧ 🖤 ✧.═╝ Part 2 ↥

You were exhausted. Who could blame you for being tired? You enjoyed your job as the owner of a small coffee shop, but you were drained, and your staff adored you.

When they had an emergency, you were incredibly nice to them and understanding. You didn't inquire. You just told them not to worry because you trusted them and they trusted you.

You didn't hesitate to assist your staff when an aggressive customer screamed and yelled at them. You listened to all sides of the story and kept your eyes on the cameras.

When they realized they didn't have a foothold, you politely requested them to go. But if they weren't kind enough to go, you merely called the cops. You would never let them get away with it; you had patience, but not that much.

So, after the day was done, you secured your doors and walked upstairs to your house. You double-checked that all the doors and windows were secured and that the security system was turned on and operational.

Taking a soothing bubble bath, dressing, and preparing for some much-needed rest. Closing your eyes and basking in the warm embrace of sleep. Your eyes slowly opened, and you attempted to move your fingers, but they wouldn't budge.

You had been under a lot of stress recently due to overwork, and sleep paralysis was now typical for you.

You could hear your door opening and the floors squeaking. The ebony form of a guy appeared. He was tall, and the broadness of his shoulders suggested that he worked out.

As you felt the bed drop at your feet, he sat at the end of it. His hand began to go up and down your leg gently. Coming to a halt at your thigh. He hummed to himself while pinching your inner thigh.

You uttered a grunt. He came to a halt and gazed up at you. As he peered down at your face, his face slowly entered the frame. "Oh, how pretty," he said, lovingly cupping your face. "I don't think I could hold myself back." H

is breath lightly fanning your face, he murmured. He kissed you, and you let out a frightened moan and screwed your eyes shut. He took advantage of the situation by inserting his tongue inside your mouth.

While squeezing your inner thigh, he hummed to himself. His hand creeps up and beneath your shirt from your thigh. He pulled your nipple and squeezed your breast.

He linked his mouth to yours with a thin string of saliva. He licked his lower lip. "You taste amazing," he replied with a smile.

He kissed your lips once more, and you felt him get out of bed. You sprang awake and took a glance around. Your clothing was in good condition and not flung around.

You raced to your restroom and looked in the mirror; there were no handprints anywhere on you. You rushed to your front door, terrified, and examined your alarm system; nothing was amiss. You were befuddled, and your thinking was jumbled.

You summarized it up to well: an odd wet dream, stress, and being punted up may all lead to unusual nightmares, especially when combined with sleep paralysis.

You sipped your favorite comfort drink, rubbed your temples, and took a few deep breaths. Exhale a sigh of relief as you feel your tension wash away.

You put on your business attire and prepare to open your shop. The business opened at 8 a.m., so you were there by 6:30, and by 7 a.m., staff began to arrive.

Everyone was having a fantastic time in the shop, which was filled with laughter and music. When the clock struck eight, you laughed, "It's eight, you know what to do. Hit it!"

Everyone queued up got into place, and you opened the store. Customers arrived quickly after that.

When a well-dressed man entered and approached the counter, your staff was busy. As you finished serving one of your usual clients, you noticed him and called, "I'll be with you in a minute."

"Thank you, hun." The kind old lady stated. You smiled at her and walked over to the counter to assist the man. "I'm sorry, did I keep you waiting too long?" you said as you set up the ordering machine.

"No, not at all." He informed you in hushed tones, he was attractive, you had to admit it. His voice seemed strangely familiar to you, but you couldn't place it.

But you shrugged it off and smiled as you asked him what he needed.

"A coffee with a cake," he answered politely. "Ah, what cake would you like sir, we have many options." you beam up at him, giving him a tiny smile. "Oh, what would you recommend, my dear?" he asks, quietly tapping the counter.

"Would red velvet cake be acceptable?" "It's one of my favorites," you inquired. He nodded, and you concluded his order with a small 'mm'. " Would that be all, sir?" "If so, this is your total," you say, pointing to the sum on the side of the register. " Yes." He responded and paid.

As soon as the order appears on the screen, one of your staff takes it while you assist with the other tasks and clients. Since the front of the store was fully filled, the man was directed to the back.

He could see the counter and you from where he was seated. The manager patted you on the shoulder and smiled at you as they spoke to you. You chuckle and smile as you remove your apron.

"I'm taking a break, everyone," you say. 'Okay, ma'am,' they respond. You step away from the counter and take a seat on one of the unoccupied stools close to his table. While on the phone with someone, you smile and giggle.

He can't stop staring at you. It was fortunate that he instructed his assistant to investigate you. He even postponed a lunch date with the daughter of a well-known corporation.

He didn't mind because he could tell she was attempting to catch his attention. He couldn't care less about how much her clothing cost or how it 'accidentally' revealed her chest. He'd rather be here, staring at your face and grin.

It was a coincidence that he first spotted you; one of his clients requested to meet at this cafe since they genuinely enjoyed your coffee and sweets. He couldn't get your face out of his mind and thoughts after that.

Your phone call had finished, and you turned to meet his gaze. You froze as you studied his face. He saw the fact and grinned.

You realized he hadn't touched his cake and sighed in despair. "Do you not like the cake, Sir?" You questioned him quietly, your gaze fixed on the plate. "Oh, no, it's not like that. "I was saving the cake for last because it was so delicious." He let you know quietly.

"Oh, okay," you said as you stood up and turned around. "Would you like to join me?" he offered, and you graciously accepted his invitation.

You spoke till your break ended. He became a regular client after that and frequently asked about your favorite treats to try.

It had been months since then, yet you still felt tired whenever you saw him. He was the final customer in the shop on one such occasion.

You sent your employees early, not wanting to keep them waiting so they didn't miss their bus or train.

"It's closing time, Mister Blackwell; you should go home," you said. "I told you to call me James, Darling." He told you firmly. " However, I agree. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you." While drinking his drink, he informed you.

"Would you mind joining me before I leave?" He remarked this while pointing to the seat next to him. you exclaimed, "You are extremely persistent." You shook your head and set your favorite drink on the table.

Turning around and laying a little slice of cake next to your drink. You had no idea what he had placed into your drink by the time you sat next to him. He grinned as you took a sip of your drink, seeing your expression shift.

He watched as your eyes gradually closed and you collapsed on the table, spilling your cup on the floor. "What…did you do?" You questioned him carefully, feeling yourself nodding off. "Don't worry, my love, I'll take care of you."

As you eventually slid away, you heard him declare. You wake up with him twirling his tongue at your clit, then cat licking your entrance, going back and up to your clit, before his tongue went into your pussy, tasting every inch of it.

You eventually let out a whimper as the knot in your gut finally split and you filled his mouth with your cum. "You're awake, I hope you don't mind," he whipped his mouth with his palm. "I was dying to taste you." He stated.

His gaze moved up and down your body, forming an image of you in his mind. You attempted to speak, but all you got was a broken wail. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and you were entirely bare to him.

Your eyes began to water, and silent tears streamed down your cheeks. " Why are you crying, Darlin?" He stated this as he licked your tears away before giving you a ravenous kiss, His tongue quickly claiming your mouth.

He released your lips as he stated, "It will take a while until you can move again, but don't worry, I'll make you feel good." He gently graded your hand before bringing it to the bulge on his pants.

"This is what you did to me." He talked as he stroked your palm up and down his bulge, letting out a groan as he began to accelerate.

He stared down at you, hungry, and proceeded to remove his outfit. He was now entirely exposed for you to see. " Oh, very lovely. I'm curious how you'll look after I slit you in half on my dick." He murmured this as he sank his thick fingers into your pussy, causing your back to arch.

When he noticed your body jerked up and your jaw fell open, he smiled even more.

He discovered your sweet spot! He curled his fingers in the same place over and over. You felt that familiar tight knot in your gut emerges, prompting you to tighten your walls around his fingers.

"That's it, cum on my fingers like the good girl you are," he said. Your walls flutter subconsciously at his words, "Oh, you like being called a good girl?" he questioned, advancing faster.

Your moans and whimpers sounded like music to his ears. He was itching to sink his dick into you. You came undone under him with one more stroke, cumming on his fingers and hand.

He took his hand away and brought it up to his mouth, licking your juices. "You taste divine." He exhaled.

He positioned himself at your entrance, tapping his dick on your assaulted lips. He graded your legs and pushed them on your chest in a typical mating press position, and you could plainly see his pink tip and how enormous he was.

Once he got you the way he wanted you, you felt the swelling tip of his cock press against your tight entrance and buckle his hip. He bottoms out in one push, his pelvis colliding with your entrance.

He took your breath away since he was so large. And, as he claimed, he was splitting you in half with his dick. "Don't pass out on me, Darlin," he remarked, softly patting your cheek with his palm." The fun is just getting started," he remarked as he kissed you on the lips.

Allowing you to get used to his size before proceeding. You were so tight! And you are his and his alone.

His cock began to slide in and out of your tight pussy, as if you were nothing more than a fleshlight at his disposal. "Y/n I'm going to make you only mine," your desperate cries mixed with groans as you sought to stop him.

The sound of skin smacking against skin got louder as he thrust harder and harder. Your muscles were absolutely spasming, and your eyes could hardly fixate or focus on his sweat-splattered face above you.

So this was how it felt to be with a man like him, putting you precisely where you should have always been.

BELOW HIM, you were groaning, saliva flowing from the corners of your lips, and your eyes rolled up every time his cock brushed your cervix and his pelvic bone stroked against your swollen clit.

Your eyes met his and he kissed you passionately; the longer the two of you kissed, the more his hips appeared to press into yours. The headboard of the bed was crashing fiercely into the wall, adding yet another obscene sound to the symphony.

You could feel his dick pounding against your walls; it was clear he was nearing his climax, which was going to totally fill you up to the point of leaking, and then fuck a baby into your womb.

As he furiously pounded into you, his hands came to your waist and had a tight grasp on you. You felt James base expand and get even bigger only seconds before his hot sperm was spurting into your womb, and the veins surrounding his dick were pulsating against your walls, making you gasp for the nth time.

The sensation of being totally filled was so intense that you almost ended up cumming again.

He lay down next to you, panting and allowing you to collect your breath. As your body was extremely sore, he began spooning you from behind his cock, still inside you.

"Sleep, Love, you must be tired," he kissed your neck. I'll prepare something for you in the morning." You were exhausted, and your half-lined eyelids eventually closed as you slept off. James grabbed up his phone and called over your sleeping figure.

The phone rang till someone answered, "Ray?" "Did you do what I asked?" he inquired calmly. "Yes, I made sure to delete the footage of you breaking into the home months ago, as well as the alarm system," Ray stated gently. "Perfect," James smiled, hanging up the call as he fell asleep next to you.

After so long of only admiring you from afar and secretly stroking you as you slept, he was overjoyed to finally hold you in his arms.

Don't worry, you can have a better life because He will take excellent care of you. "It'll take some getting used to, but we'll make it work." were his final thoughts as he fell asleep affectionately sound asleep with you in his arms.

Am gonna dig a hole and hide. bye....👩🏽‍🦯

Update there’s a new hole to hide in now 🕳️ 👩🏽‍🦯

[skumhuu]

✨👑 Throne 👑✨ pages 21-22

Beginning

< • >

The next button will skip over any nsfw content. If you are 18+ and want to read, links are here in the Throne Masterpost

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

for the mind/body control ask game

scenario 4 + scenario 9 or 10 + dialogue 2

4. whumpee is fully aware of what's happening and what they're being forced to do, but their body won't respond to them at all + 9. whumpee is forced to be affectionate and sweet + 2. "my little puppet/doll/pet."

mind/body control ask game

[tw noncon touching, noncon kissing, body control, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, possessive whumper]

“My little doll,” Whumper crooned, motioning Whumpee even closer; Whumpee leaned in, of course, entirely against his will.

They were way too close to him. He was way too close to them, and they were way too good at pretending this was all real, and that he wanted to be all up in their personal space. He strained against the steel-grip Whumper had on his body, trying to pull away, or at least tell them to knock it off, to scream, to cry, to plead… But all he could do was smile adoringly, and enthusiastically reciprocate when his captor leaned forward to press their lips against his.

He wanted to throw up.

“Always so sweet for me,” they murmured, and Whumpee felt his body shift, made to throw one leg over Whumper’s hips and settle in their lap. “Only for me.”

Stop, get away from me, stop this, I fucking hate you, you’re disgusting, stop touching me—

Whumpee wished the control Whumper had on him would numb his body too, but he was all too aware of the hands sliding across his skin and down his sides. They settled on the back of his thighs, pulling him yet closer, and he could feel himself break out in goosebumps. 

“I’ll never share you with anyone, pet.” Whumper let him pull back a little, only to keep him rigidly still as they started trailing sloppy kisses down his neck. “I’d never betray that sweetness like that.”

[green-eyedfirework]

“Well?” Wilson arched an eyebrow at him.  “I told you to try it out, not stand there like a gaping fish.”

Dick kept his voice controlled and level.  “You’re sitting in the pilot’s seat.”

Wilson’s expression didn’t change, malicious and amused.  “There’s plenty of room for you.”  He spread his legs and something in Dick’s stomach dropped.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about this.  Like he didn’t know what he looked like, or what Slade Wilson’s searing glances and little comments meant.  Like he didn’t know what depravities the Society was capable of.

He had just tried very hard to forget about it.

Wilson’s expression darkened a fraction.  “Do I have to remind you of the consequences of noncompliance?” he asked, utterly calm.  Dick’s fingers tightened in a spasm at the memory of his muscles seizing up in a shockwave of pain for daring to backtalk to Ra’s al Ghul.  Of the holos of his friends with targets on their foreheads, the constant threat of utter annihilation should he step out of line.

Dick walked forward.

Wilson made no motion to get up, only smirking as Dick eyed the space between the controls and his lap.  It would be a tight fit, leaving little to no maneuvering area for Dick at all.

Dick took a controlled breath, his jaw aching from how tightly he was clenching it, and braced a hand on the side of the arm rest to slide in.  Wilson was a solid presence beneath him, taking up the entire space and the arm rests too once Dick had let go to check the dashboard.  He’d spread his legs wide enough that Dick could fit in between, sitting tense and rigid on the older man’s lap.

He waited a stretching second, but Wilson didn’t move.  Dick let out a shaky breath—too shaky, if the asshole’s slight huff of amusement was any indication—and shifted his focus away from the presence bracketed around him and towards the ship.

His new ship.

The Renegade.

The name was fitting.  Dick missed his ship, mourned his ship, would slit Wilson’s throat right here and now if he thought he had a single chance of making it back.  But he couldn’t.  He wasn’t just a hostage, he was forced to work for Wilson and the Society, to be their new star pilot instead.

The Renegade was bigger than the Nightwing, decked out with more weapons and lethal countermeasures.  The sheer amount of explosive power alone was enough to make Dick wince.  The Nightwing had been dangerous.  The Renegade was deadly.

Dick ran through the entire pre-flight checklist and more, familiarizing himself with the ship, taking his time—not only to delay, because he didn’t want to start piloting a new ship, not when it felt so achingly like a betrayal, but also for thoroughness.  Regardless of his other feelings, the Renegade was a weapon, and unless it was an emergency, Dick would not fly a ship unless he knew full well what it was capable of.

He was finally halted by a hand dropped down on his thigh.  It burned through the thin material of his undersuit.  “Enough stalling, little bird,” Wilson murmured into his ear, making goosebumps prickle down his skin.  “I want to see you fly.”

Dick took it as the order it was and started engaging the undocking systems.  The hand on his thigh, a broad palm layered right above his knee, didn’t move.  He forced himself to stop thinking about it and concentrated on taking off.

The Renegade was not as sleek as the Nightwing was—no ship in the world was as maneuverable as his ship, but in Dick’s hands, the bulkier ship still moved with grace.  “The asteroid field,” Wilson directed as Dick led them out of the space station, and Dick set their course to the expanse of broken rocks that stretched across space.

“Show me what you’re capable of, little bird,” Wilson hummed as they shot straight towards the field.  For a brief moment of insanity, Dick considered crashing the ship straight into a rock.

Fingers clenched tight on the yoke, Dick tilted the Renegade to skim through a gap between two asteroids and into the dizzying maze beyond.  It was a difficult task—though not the most difficult he’d ever undertaken—challenging and requiring his full concentration to avoid or blast debris out of his way.  Dick nearly lost control and sent them spinning into a minefield of smaller debris when the warmth on his thigh dragged upward.

“Careful,” came the low voice, breaths huffing against his ear, “don’t lose your nerve now.”  Fingers traced down until they met the seam of his suit, and then began pressing along it.  “Wouldn’t want an accident, do we.”

His heart was pounding in his ears.  Wilson’s hand had moved up half his thigh, fingers firmly pressed between his legs, and when the other hand curled around his waist to feather touches down the side of his ribs, Dick had to strangle a choked gasp.

The Renegade moved through the asteroid field like it was a butterfly, not a warship.  Dick piloted the aircraft half on autopilot, feeling strangely detached from his body.  His body, trapped in the cockpit of a ship that wasn’t his, sitting on the lap of the man holding him prisoner while he practically molested him.

Dick wasn’t there.  Dick was a million parsecs away, back home, with the Titans, with Slade Wilson as nothing more than a wanted poster in their system.  Dick was in the stars, among them, flying free in space, not trapped with a hand gripping the inside of his thigh and moving up and up and up.

Dick was wedged in the seat, wedged between Wilson’s legs, and was all too happy for the excuse to keep his legs firmly shut.  There was barely any space to move, Wilson couldn’t wriggle an inch higher—

Wilson shifted, arm tightening to lift Dick up an inch as he twisted his legs in, and forced Dick to separate his, splaying his legs on either side of Wilson’s and leaving him completely open and vulnerable.

The viewscreen was blurry.  Dick blinked, and didn’t acknowledge the tear that slid down his face.

“Sure you can make something that tight?” Wilson asked as his hand moved unerringly upwards with nothing to stop him.  The Renegade was shooting straight towards a narrow gap in a circle of asteroids.  “You shouldn’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Dick didn’t acknowledge his words, the hand that clamped down and squeezed his inner thigh, fingers pressed against the inner crease, or the way the other hand was drifting up up up.  Fingernails pressed against the hollow of his throat.

The Renegade shot through the gap without scraping a single wing.

“Mm, that was close.”

Fingers wrapped around his throat, firm and hot, and slowly, inexorably, pulled him back.  Dick tried to resist, locked his spine straight for two heartstopping seconds before realizing the futility and letting himself be manhandled back until he was pressed against Wilson, back to front, his head held firmly against Wilson’s shoulder.

“You really are a marvel, little bird.”  Fingers were tracing little patterns against Dick’s thigh.  “A prize.”  The hand around his neck squeezed—not enough to restrict blood flow, just enough to prove the point.

Dick was in Wilson’s hands.  He was a puppet and Wilson would never let him forget it.

The Renegade cleanly exited the asteroid field and Dick brought it to a halt.  The emptiness of space stretched out in front of them, vast and yawning.

“Now that,” was murmured into his ear, “is quite the sight.”

Dick flicked his gaze upwards despite himself.  Wilson wasn’t looking at the stars.  He was looking down, at Dick sprawled out in his lap, unable to stop him from taking whatever it is he wanted.

He grinned, meeting Dick’s gaze and dropping his voice low.  “Stunning,” he breathed out, gaze searing and filthy.

Dick went back to staring at the viewscreen.

“Take us home, little bird,” Wilson said, and Dick didn’t bother to correct him.  Wilson’s base wasn’t his home.  But his home was beyond reach.

[montammil]

Forever Be Mine, part 5

Didn't proofread this one and might regret it lol. If I need to put any more warnings let me know!

Masterlist here!

CW: Attempted noncon, yandere/creepy whumper, physical violence, food

...

A week passed and Sawyer hadn't tried escaping again. He followed Rowan around the house obediently, barely even speaking a word to him. Rowan could tell he was still miserable, but at least he wasn't attempting to run away anymore. And that was an improvement, in Rowan's opinion.

They had eaten dinner earlier, a stew made with vegetables from Rowan's garden. Sawyer hadn't spoken the entire meal, only offering a few grunts in response to the conversation.

He wasn't interested in chatting, and Rowan figured he could play along with that for now. Sawyer seemed too depressed to do anything other than follow him around and stare at the ground.

It made Rowan sad seeing him like this, but he knew it was necessary for both of them to adjust to their new life together. As long as Sawyer stayed, eventually he would grow used to it.

And if he didn't... well, that would be unfortunate for him. Rowan wouldn't hesitate to punish him again.

He didn't want to have to resort to that, but he would if necessary. Sawyer needed to learn how things were going to be from now on. Rowan wasn't going to let anyone take him away ever again, no matter what he had to do to keep him safe and sound here with him.

"My love," Rowan spoke, placing his hand atop Sawyer's own resting on the table. "Talk to me. Please?"

Sawyer slowly looked up from his plate and met his gaze. "About what?"

He smiled fondly at him, stroking his knuckles with a thumb. "Anything at all. Whatever comes to mind." Sawyer avoided eye contact, fidgeting nervously with his fork in his other hand. "Tell me something I don't know about you." He doubted there was anything he didn't know about Sawyer by now, but he wanted to hear him speak anyway.

"I dunno," Sawyer mumbled. "What do you want to know?"

He hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of any questions he could ask. "How'd you get into singing?"

Sawyer didn't respond right away. He just stared blankly at him with no emotion in his eyes whatsoever. "I just always liked it," he mumbled eventually. "I started singing in school choirs and stuff like that when I was little. My friend then invited me to sing in his band when I was around seventeen." Sawyer looked back down at his food, poking it with his fork idly. "I guess it just kinda went from there."

Rowan squeezed his hand. "How were you like when you were younger?"

Though Sawyer hated meaningless questions about his personal life, Rowan was his only source of human interaction here in this hellscape.

So he relented. "I was intimidating when I was younger. Since I was always quiet and had a resting bitch face, most people avoided me. I learned how to act 'normal' in senior year."

He cocked his head curiously. "Why?"

Sawyer huffed in annoyance. "Because no one likes me unless I do."

Rowan frowned. "I like you."

"Yeah, 'cause you're nuts."

He scoffed. "Well thank you so much for that lovely compliment." He was surprised when Sawyer laughed, albeit quietly. But it was a laugh nonetheless, which brought a smile to Rowan's face as well. "For the record, I wasn't the most popular person growing up either. I was seen as quite the nerd in school. I always got straight A's and was much more timid than I am now."

Sawyer snorted. "I can't imagine that. Well, maybe the nerd part."

He couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm not always this talkative, trust me." He propped his head on a hand and stared at Sawyer, unable to look away from him even if he tried. "But it's different with you." Sawyer glanced up from his plate with narrowed eyes, but Rowan continued smiling warmly at him regardless of the glare being directed at him. "When we're together, I just feel so comfortable around you, like we were meant to be."

The shorter man's smile fell into a frown. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't feel that way."

"Well, give it time." Rowan finished the last spoonful of stew and placed the dish in the sink. "Once you realize we belong together, we can truly start our lives." Sawyer only grunted in response. "Don't worry, my love. I know you're a romantic at heart."

Rowan walked over to him and held out a hand, helping him out of his chair. He guided him upstairs and into the bedroom, where Sawyer silently crawled into bed while Rowan changed into his nightwear.

He snuggled up next to him, draping an arm over Sawyer's waist and burying his face into his neck. "You smell so nice," he murmured against his skin, planting kisses up and down his throat and shoulder blade. "And you're so soft." His hand roamed across his body, feeling the fabric of his shirt under his fingertips. "I'm so lucky to have you."

"Okay," Sawyer mumbled in annoyance as he tried wiggling out of his grip, "that's enough, you can stop."

Rowan ignored him and continued kissing his neck. He snaked his hand under Sawyer's shirt and caressed his belly with a thumb. Sawyer flinched away at the touch and made a small noise of discomfort.

Sawyer clenched his jaw. "I'm tired, Rowan."

He finally managed to pull himself free and rolled onto his side, facing away from him. Rowan scowled at being rejected, but didn't attempt to force the issue.

Instead, he pulled Sawyer close and spooned him from behind. He took the smaller man's hand in his own and intertwined their fingers together, bringing them to his lips and kissing every knuckle.

It was infuriating how affectionate Rowan was all the time. Sawyer had never met anyone who could be so clingy and touchy-feely twenty-four-seven without feeling drained after a few hours of it.

Just as Sawyer was drifting off, a loud boom of thunder made him jolt.

Rowan chuckled quietly behind him. "Are you scared of storms?" Sawyer didn't answer him and instead remained frozen in place. He felt Rowan lean over and press a kiss against the back of his head. "Don't worry. I'm here to protect you from any danger." Sawyer shivered at those words and could practically feel Rowan smirking behind him. "I'll always keep you safe. Even if it means fighting nature itself."

"I'm not afraid of storms," Sawyer grumbled defensively, "I just don't like sudden loud noises."

He snickered. "Sure."

Lightning flashed through the curtains followed by another clap of thunder. Sawyer shut his eyes tightly and clutched the pillow in his fists as tightly as possible.

Rowan coaxed Sawyer to roll back over to face him and brought his head to his chest. Sawyer listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart. He'd never admit it actually was pretty soothing.

"I'm not scared," Sawyer reiterated.

Rowan's hand rubbed his back in circles. "I know you aren't." Sawyer figured that was sarcasm. Another bolt of lightning filled the room in white light followed by another crack of thunder. He instinctively buried his face deeper into Rowan's chest and held onto his shirt tightly. "Shh, it's okay."

Next thing Sawyer knew, Rowan pulled the blanket to cover both of them, so the burst of white that filled the room was less overwhelming.

Sawyer's breathing slowed down after a couple minutes of being comforted by Rowan. The thunder and lightning outside wasn't bothering him anymore; it was only a mild inconvenience at this point.

...

Rowan was busy in the kitchen cooking lunch while Sawyer was washing up the dishes from their breakfast that morning. He finished drying the last plate and set it aside before grabbing a washcloth to wipe off the countertops. Rowan glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him.

"Thanks for your help today, my love," Rowan hummed.

Sawyer sighed, "yeah, whatever."

He was too tired to argue anymore with him. Anytime he would try, Rowan would silence him with a kiss or ignore him.

He felt like nothing more than an object to him these days, though he doubted there was any way to change that, so Sawyer just tried to remain patient and wait it out until he'd somehow manage to escape without a trace.

Rowan added spices to the pot and set the spoon aside. "Have you ever been fishing before?" Sawyer shrugged, setting down the washcloth and crossing his arms over his chest. "No? Well, I'll teach you if you want."

Sawyer watched Rowan drain the noodles from the water into the strainer before pouring them into two bowls. He poured marinara sauce on top and sprinkled parmesan cheese on each bowl.

"Here." Rowan placed one bowl down on the table and motioned for Sawyer to sit down beside him. He hesitated for a moment before obeying.

"It's ziti," Rowan explained, stirring his own pasta with a fork.

"I know what ziti is," Sawyer grunted and copied him by mixing his food too.

After lunch, Sawyer insisted he wanted to be alone and not follow Rowan around for once, which he reluctantly allowed him to have privacy in exchange for a kiss. The moment Rowan left the room, Sawyer rubbed at his mouth with disgust. He walked up to the bedroom and flopped on the bed face down. He laid there in silence for several minutes, unable to think clearly with all these thoughts racing through his mind.

It didn't take long for his exhaustion to catch up with him and lull him into sleep.

Sawyer wasn't sure how long he'd been out when he woke up to the feeling of lips on his neck and hands on his waist. Rowan was straddling him, pressing kisses across his neck and collarbone.

"I'm sorry for waking you, sweetheart," Rowan spoke softly. "You were making such adorable sounds while sleeping. I couldn't help myself." Sawyer tried sitting up, but Rowan forced him back down by pushing on his shoulders. "Stay," he growled low in his ear, sending shivers down Sawyer's spine. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Get off of me," Sawyer tried ordering.

Rowan tightened his grip on him until it became painful. "No," he replied firmly. "I'm tired of you pushing me away every time I try getting close." His hand found itself to the waistband of Sawyer's pants, dipping under the hem and exploring what was underneath. "Please just let me have this. I've been so patient with you."

Never had Rowan ever been this forceful. In a moment of panic, Sawyer punched him harder than he intended.

He only realized what he had done when he saw blood dripping from Rowan's nose as he released him in shock. He stumbled backwards off the bed, holding his bleeding nose. Sawyer watched with wide eyes.

"You're a fucking brat, you know that?" Rowan hissed through gritted teeth. Sawyer was frozen in fear, unable to move or speak in response.

Rowan yanked him off the bed and dragged him down the stairs. Sawyer clawed at his wrists futilely to no avail. Rowan seemed too angry to care. They stopped in front of the basement.

"No! No, stop, not there!" Sawyer had never heard his voice so raw with emotion before. "Please! I'm sorry!" He kicked and struggled wildly against Rowan's hold on him.

To his surprise, Rowan heard him out. He dragged him past to the basement, but Sawyer had no time to feel relief when he realized Rowan was leading him to the front door. Rowan pulled something from his pocket and opened it, revealing a key ring with at least two dozen keys on it. He unlocked the front door, and then proceeded to drag him through the snow and to the shed.

He shoved him inside and grabbed some rope off the wall, tying his ankles together along with both wrists behind his back. Sawyer writhed on the ground in agony as the ropes dug painfully into his flesh.

"Rowan," Sawyer whimpered weakly. "I'm sorry." He was already shivering from the cold, his thin pajamas providing little warmth against the bitter chill of winter outside. "I didn't mean to hit you."

"You should've thought about that before you did it," Rowan snapped. "But if you want space so badly, I'll do you a favor and give you it. You can stay out here for a night or two until you come to your senses." He marched back to the door and paused. "I'll come back with a blanket soon." Then slammed it shut behind him, leaving Sawyer alone in complete darkness.

It was freezing outside and Sawyer didn't even have a jacket on to keep him warm. He whimpered pitifully and tried rubbing his legs together to generate any semblance of heat at all, but all it did was rub the rope further into his skin.

All he could do now was wait helplessly until Rowan would return with something warmer. If he'd return at all.

Sawyer could hear the wind blowing against the shed's wooden walls, causing creaks and groans everywhere throughout the room. He wasn't sure how long it had been since Rowan left.

It could've been seconds or minutes or even hours by now. Every second felt like an eternity alone in the dark. Sawyer couldn't see anything around him, and all he could focus on was the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Eventually he began shivering uncontrollably as the cold air seeped through his skin, freezing every inch of his body. He curled up on his side, trying desperately to conserve body heat and prevent hypothermia from setting in too fast.

Time passed and Sawyer continued shivering in silence until he heard footsteps outside the shed.

Rowan swung open the door and carried a lantern inside, illuminating the room in dim orange light. Sawyer's eyes stung from the sudden brightness flooding his vision after being in the pitch black for so long.

"Hey, darling." Rowan's voice sounded apologetic as he walked over to where Sawyer was lying on the ground and knelt down beside him. "I brought you a blanket and some soup to warm you up." He set aside the soup and draped the large amber blanket around Sawyer's trembling frame, tucking it under him to provide maximum insulation against the frigid air around them. "Can you sit up?"

Sawyer nodded and struggled to lift himself upright against the wall. Rowan helped him into a sitting position and sat in front of him with the soup in his lap.

He noticed Rowan's face was bruised from where he punched him. He didn't feel guilty about it though. If anything, it made Sawyer happy that he'd at least had hurt him a little bit before he got thrown into this damn shed like an animal.

Rowan pulled out a spoon from his coat pocket and dipped it into the soup, holding it out for Sawyer to eat from.

Sawyer leaned forward and took a sip from the spoon. The broth was still hot, warming his insides instantly and helping to soothe his aching muscles and bones.

"Thank you," Sawyer mumbled as Rowan fed him another spoonful. "I'm sorry I hit you." He figured that's what Rowan wanted, an apology. "I just panicked. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, precious, I know that." He pressed a kiss against his forehead and wiped away tears from his cheek with a thumb. "I shouldn't have done what I did either. You've been through a lot lately and I've just been so stressed from it all. I need to be more patient with you."

"Does that mean I can come out?" Sawyer asked hopefully.

"No." The shorter man's expression fell. "You still hit me, and that hurt me." Rowan pouted and cupped his cheeks. "You're going to stay here for a little while longer and think about what you did. Once I think you've learned your lesson, then we'll talk again." He pulled away and stood up from the floor, dusting off his pants. "I'll leave the lantern here for you. If you need anything else, just yell."

And with that, he left and closed the door behind him again, plunging Sawyer into darkness once more.

[whumpitisthen]

Perfect Present

Small little cw: this one has a pretty long noncon undressing scene! I never write nsfw, but this one can definitely be interpreted as suggestive, so just a heads up!

“I never expected to be blessed with such a sweet little present.”

He is numb. The air burns as he is carried past the thick, decorated wooden door. His shivering does not ebb from the sudden warmth, only worsens at the stranger’s words.

It's hard to concentrate on anything but the daunting prominence of approaching death squeezing his heart. Though he lacks the energy to act upon his fear in any meaningful way, he understands that he is in more than a little danger. The snowstorm that had caught him out in the middle of the woods could not have come at a more inopportune time; in a place where the nearest sign of civilisation was kilometres away. The distance would have been no issue if the skies remained clear, but the freezing winds cut through his coat so efficiently that he can only pray his fingers will thaw out in one piece.

“God knows how much longer you would have survived if I hadn't found you when I did.” — They found him collapsed in the snow, too exhausted to keep stumbling on towards what he hoped was the edge of the forest. His skin blue, his boots drenched, his hair frozen stiff from his own sweat; it's a miracle he hadn't fallen unconscious. — “But there is no need to worry now. I will take good care of you.”

It smells like pine and sugar. The walls are alight in colour, reflecting in the pond of his own glassy eyes. Classical music floats from the left as they pass by. He floats along in the arms of the stranger bringing him deeper into his home. In front of the fireplace, he is laid under a marvelous silver pine standing proud and fearless of the flames licking at its leaves from afar. The rug under him is soft, heavenly so.

“There you are. That feels nice, doesn't it? Those frozen little fingers will melt in no time.” — The stranger covers him in thick blankets, providing pillows to lean on as he coos these reassurances to him. — “I will go look for replacement clothes. We can't have you stay in that drenched, muddy coat, now can we?”

He does not wonder why the stranger seems to linger beside him before turning to leave. He does not mind the hand that cards through his hair affectionately, only happy for the heat that passes onto his scalp for a moment. He doesn't see the fond expression on his face, the way those eyes rake over his body slowly, as if taking in a wonderful, serene landscape. He sees no wrong just yet, focused only on his one goal of keeping his own heart beating.

The stranger returns with clean clothing not three minutes later, setting it aside onto the couch for now. With his blanket covered back to him, he shivers incessantly, gasping. Staring into the flames becomes painful, the heat forcing his eyelids closed against his will.

Removing the soaked through boots and pants should be priority in this situation, but the stranger finds himself enamoured by the weakness and vulnerability he shows as he lies there helplessly, curling tighter and tighter into himself. It is awfully difficult to tear his eyes away from those quivering blue lips. One thought comes and passes, offering to keep his clothes on for a while longer, just to prolong his beautiful suffering. Then another, more devilish one supplies him with a darker idea upon witnessing his fragile neck peeking out from under all that fabric — perhaps undressing him would be more satisfying in the end. The urge to peel back every layer coating his divine skin slowly, meticulously revealing flesh to be explored in earnest nests inside him and refuses to leave. Truly, unwrapping a present is half the fun after all.

Perhaps there will be no need for replacement clothes either way.

Wordlessly, he kneels by the bundle of trembling cloth, pulling him closer lightly. With a hand on his shoulder, he turns him onto his back, taking hold of those icy hands grasping the cover like it is trying to escape them. His present looks up at him with wide, terrified eyes; soon that fear will be converted to a more special, deeper kind of fear. He will not be nearly as afraid of the cold as he will be of the stranger.

Those eyes become a little wider when he pulls away the blanket, even wider when he straddles him and starts unbuttoning his coat with an eager expression. It takes a couple buttons for his present to understand that this is not right, wriggling and whimpering quietly, confused. He becomes nervous when the buttons run out and his coat is pulled away to reveal nothing but a flimsy dress shirt underneath. It isn't even fully buttoned up, leaving a prominent collarbone exposed under the dishevelled, wrinkled material.

The stranger tuts at him disapprovingly. — “So careless...”

The pause is a little too long for comfort, passed by as the man takes in his form before he returns to unwrapping his gift, a warm knuckle caressing the naked skin as his hands move to the next button. Even through the exhaustion, confusion, terror and pain, the cold mess of limbs understands how dangerous it is to be undressed in such a way in a stranger's home.

“S-S-Stop, p-, stop, no…” — Those blue fingertips come into view as they try to push numbly at the stranger's hands, squirming uncomfortably. He cannot feel if their hands meet at all, but he can hear the slaps as he jerks his hands into the other’s arms and chest frantically, kicking out and twisting.

The man looks at him a while, not bothered in the least. He just smiles at his desperate, yet pathetic efforts at fighting him, fighting back just as weakly by repositioning his head and wrists faster than he could comprehend with his dizzy mind, but letting up right after to watch those limbs fly around like useless flesh worms. Once the struggle becomes more annoying than entertaining however, he simply takes those wild arms and pins them under his knees, securing them in place so he can continue unboxing in peace.

At the miserable grunt that he makes once he realises how trapped he really is, the stranger only hushes him, — “be good. I am only trying to help you, can't you see? You are soaked.”

He had to use so much energy just to force his useless, heavy limbs to do something, but it only amused the man. He feels the shirt open button by button, powerless to do absolutely anything about it. The violent shivering only worsens once his naked skin touches the air, goosebumps rising at the feeling. It's warm, but cold at the same time, burning all the same.

The stranger’s fingers running down his torso bring tears of frustration and humiliation to his eyes, his face contorting into the very definition of misery. His struggles renew when that hand reaches under the shirt, circling around to feel his now swiftly beating heart, while the other cups the side of his stomach bouncing up and down with each of his panicked gasps for air. He cannot bear it any longer once the hand lifts from his chest up all the way under his chin, taking hold of his neck.

“Don’t, d-d-d-don’t, pl-ease, please, I-I-I-I, I c-can’t, I can't —”

“You don't need to. I will take care of you.”

That only makes him sob in earnest. A broken no is all that makes it out before he devolves into fearful whimpers and cries, thoroughly overwhelmed from going through multiple life-threatening crises at the same time. The grip tightens ever so slowly, experiencing the way his neck twitches and pulses, the frigid, pale blue skin stretching over an artery pumping dangerously cool blood hysterically under cruel fingertips caressing it. It's hard to tell through the tears covering his vision in confusing sparkles, but he can definitely feel the intense attention of the man glaring down at him in morbid fascination.

His hand never grows tight enough to strangle him, but it gets very close. Laboured, wheezing breaths already coming out forced now turn even smaller, just a little harsher, thinner, just enough to start hurting from the warm pressure. Once it reaches that point however, it returns to simply lying on top of his neck, an almost pleasant coat over him to slowly warm him through.

The stranger pauses for a moment, considering his thoughts. He makes a decision unbeknownst to his present, and moves to continue removing his clothes instead. His hand slips from feeling up his neck towards his shoulder, helping him out of the coat and the shirt at the same time, revealing even more damp, icy flesh underneath. Skin contact between the two of them brings goosebumps in its wake, as if the lost man's very body itself was flaring up to stretch into the warmth of the other. Scary, dangerous, uncomfortable and wrong, yet so pleasant, necessary, and enchanting at the same time. He needs that warmth to stay alive, but that hand will never let him go once it truly latches onto him.

The fire crackles too loud to hear his thoughts over. Focusing on anything but what is being done to him is a herculean task, only overpowered by the endless ice encircling his lungs. The more naked he feels, the less he fights, with his shoulders now bare and free, and his arms slender and fragile and useless all the same. His boots are pulled off him with little issue, soaked through socks following behind. It feels equally awful, yet relieving to be rid of the heavy, water clogged clothes. A towel is given to him then, the man noticing his shamefully weak arms hugging himself desperately, which then hold onto the towel even more fiercely, laying it over as much of his body as he can. It provides minimal warmth and privacy, but is more than welcome.

His pants are being unbuttoned then, and he kicks out in horror instinctively. He doesn't like this, he doesn't like this! — “P-P-Please, I can, I c-can —”

“No,” — he is swiftly cut off by the stranger, a tone not unkind.

He curses his heavy, frozen tongue for stuttering and failing so miserably, just like the rest of his body. He curses the weather that caught up to him so suddenly, that caused the hypothermia and weakness, the insistent winds that thirsted him into submission, sucking all power out of him. He curses the man most of all, for finding him, for taking him without so much as a question, for bringing him to a warm log cabin, to a lovely little home dressed in glimmer and blown through by an aroma hard to resist, for laying him in front of the fireplace, telling him all the while that he will help, that he is saved, and that he is such a lucky man to be found by him. He curses the stranger for lying to him, and taking advantage of him, and pulling unbothered on his trousers until he is fully naked, in a stranger's home, in the middle of a quiet, snowy nowhere, frozen to near death and sobbing in petrifying fear, forced to endure powerlessness and lay under the stranger as he does as he pleases with him.

The towel quickly shoves downward as his only shield against peering, curious eyes. He begs, though he can barely manage to utter out a single word understandable through his unfeeling lips. He keeps begging, he keeps resisting, he keeps squirming and whining and crying and clawing, but he is simply not a threat. It would not take more than a gentle pair of large, soft hands to peel away his own from his body, bringing the towel with. The stranger pauses again, letting his gaze and touch wander his body, touching just over his navel with such gentleness and hunger that he can barely hold himself from screaming as loud as he can.

Luckily, he stops soon enough, mercifully not dipping any lower to feel him up any more. The unnerving silence — or lack of conversation, to be precise, as the stranger's present is more than vocal about how much he hates this — is finally broken, the man leaning over him rousing himself free from this terrifying, lustful, obsessive mood he put himself into with a couple blinks. His eyes return to focusing on him as a person; as opposed to drinking in his body as a gift. — “There. That wasn't so hard now, was it?”

He takes the dry, heavenly soft towel and bundles him in it with care, lifting and manhandling him into a sitting position looking towards the fire. Another towel comes soon after, massaging his scalp as the stranger begins rubbing his hair dry. It is uncomfortable, but at the moment, he is only glad he is no longer being straddled on the ground, now keeping his knees high up under his chin and his body well hidden under the layers of cover.

The change in mood is not lost on the stranger. — “This feels good, doesn't it? Much better, without all that fighting. You are safe with me.”

“N-N-N-No, I-I’m, I-I-I’m not, I'm not…”

“Shhhh…” — the man shushes him again, sitting down behind him to hug him close, — “it's hard to speak, I know. The shivering will die down soon enough. No need to force it. I know.”

In a sudden all-consuming anger that flares up in his chest at the condescending tone, he jerks backwards to headbutt the stranger holding him hostage in his embrace, in his house, getting way, way too comfortable with his helplessness. It's infuriating; not only his pathetic state of vulnerability making it impossible to even do anything on his own, but that the stranger thinks he can just do anything he wants, that he can just take him and touch him and mock him and talk over him like this, while knowing fully well that the only reason he is still unharmed is because his ‘gift’, as he so creepily put it, is still thawing out from a snowstorm. If they were on equal footing, he would already be unconscious from how hard he'd have pummelled him as soon as he started taking his clothes off.

Unfortunately, even through the fury that takes hold of him, his movements are sluggish at best, and the man easily dodges him both times he tries to fight back this way. Even worse, he laughs, and only holds him closer, squeezing the breath out of him with one arm, and holding his head snapped back over his shoulder with the other, effectively pinning him arched over himself. — “Simmer down, sweetness. You'll hurt yourself.”

He only struggles for a small few seconds, then swiftly runs out of energy. His anger remains, slowly melting like a candle, eating itself alive. — “Wh-Why won't, w-won’t you let me go? Please, just, j-j-just sto-pp t-touching me!”

The list of the stranger's creepy, condescending mannerisms just keeps growing ever longer. This time, he pets his hair affectionately, humming a sympathetic, yet disapproving sound. — “I am not letting you go because you need help. You are shivering like a leaf, poor thing. You can barely move. Barely talk. You cannot take care of yourself.”

“I can, I c-can!”

“No, you can not.” — The facade of gentle kindness slips just a tad, his voice, while still pleasant, cuts with an edge that wasn't there before. There is a finality to his words, almost parental; however, the danger feels much more intimidating than just a usual scolding. The rumble of the stranger's tone right next to his ear doesn't help either. — “Be patient. I will show you how well I can take care of you, you'll see. I am very generous. It's the least I can do, after all.”

It takes an indescribable amount of will to force himself to even understand the extent of his situation, much less fight and argue with a mad man, so he just weeps in silence, going limp once again. He is slowly, excruciatingly warming by the fire, at least. One of his worries will be solved, and he is still alive. That is definitely a good thing. Now if only he wasn't basically kidnapped for that to have happened.

He holds out hope for when he feels better. Once he can move and speak like normal again, and stand his ground — or even just stand, period — he will fight him off, or look for an exit.

For now, he is exhausted. The warmth surrounding him, however unpleasant, relaxes him further into the arms of his captor. His still damp hair is becoming room temperature. His quivering is fading, bit by bit. He still twitches, his lungs still feel less than adequate, and he is just so incredibly tired. The stranger stands up at some point, leaving him for a while. Says he will return with some warm soup — must have gotten bored of waiting in silence. Without the support of the other man, he leans to the side and ends up curled up on the floor, dozing off.

By the time the man returns, steaming hot soup in his hands, he finds his gift passed out, cocooned up in the middle of his living room, right under the christmas tree. It's a delightful sight, even more so once he notices his rough wheezes as he sleeps, a perfect background noise in tandem with the quiet Händel playing in the hallway. It's so peaceful — the snow has covered everything outside with a thick coat, the sun has gone down, the fireplace has warmed up the whole cabin and the food is ready. It is the most perfect Christmas evening, made flawless by having such a pretty little present sleeping soundly under the tree. Vulnerable, gorgeous, far from home and with the sweetest little tears still glistening on his cheeks rose red from the cold.

Nothing could ruin this, least of all an unruly present.

The stranger sits down on his couch, watching intently the delicious sight, sipping on the delicious vegetable soup. He looks so defenceless like that. Naked, bundled up, unconscious. So many awful ideas spawn in the stranger's mind as he fantasises about all the things they will do together. All the fun they will have.

He could keep him in the shed, but not just yet, it's much too cold. He can keep him in his house, but then he will not have his own room. Then again, his gift doesn't need his own room. He could stay in the stranger's bedroom, locked up nice and safe. They could sleep in the same bed… maybe he could even chain him to the bedpost. Have a sweet thing like him always be right where he belongs. He does not need to leave, all he needs to do is let himself be taken care of. Yes, that sounds just delightful.

He will have to make sure to keep him in check. He can already tell this boy will be trouble if left to his own devices. He will need to be tamed. Carefully. He will need to be taught his place. He will need to be punished harshly for every wrong thought that crosses his mind. That's how he will be good enough to keep. Good enough to spoil with all the attention and care he could ever imagine. A good boy, who will keep him company out here, all on his own. The stranger will make him perfect.

No one will hear him scream. He can yell and fight all he wants. He cannot leave here. Not now that he was given to the stranger like this. The best Christmas present he could have ever asked for.

Hopefully by the time next year's Christmas comes around, he will have learned to be thankful for all his owner had done for him on this day, and will have had plenty of reminders carved into his skin, marking him as property, that he will be able to admire from the sofa like he does today. He will watch him wheeze in his sleep, and curl up bare in front of the crackling fire, and he will go up to him then and remind him of the day he was given to him as the most perfect little present.

<3

Masterlist I Ko-fi