#cigarette burns

[endofautonomy]

Siiiiiiissssssssss you didn't eat today did you? naughty girl. Welllll, you know waht big sis thinks about that. No, stop it, stop struggling. I'm just trying to help you, sillly girl. Just put your lips on my tits already, c,mooonnn big sis is soooo swolen, just help me out would you? Shut the fuck up already! Stop struggling! If you tell mom about this I'm gonna fucking hurt you again. Yeah, you had a real hard time explaining those cigarette burns to your girlfriend didn't you. Shut the fuck up and take it. just drink my fucking milk like a good slut. Be grateful i'm not throatfucking you again. oh do you want me to get the gun again? because i fucking will. shut up and be a good whore like the fucking sex toy you are.

[stefisdoingthings]

546 / unstable and radiant

[whump-blog]

Whump Art 9

Whumpee is safe, but terrified of his rescuers, or maybe he's still with Whumper, who is trying to be a better person, but Whumpee can't forget all the things Whumper did to him so easily.

[deluxewhump]

I Know You Remember Me

John recognizes a wealthy client’s stolen pet immediately, even filthy, with two black eyes. He moves quickly to buy him back from the box truck driver in possession of him, and then must think what to do about this. Meanwhile, he looks after the abused pet in a motel room.

CW: lay it on thick hurt/comfort, pet whump universe (not bbu), caretaker has some ulterior motives but is largely sympathetic, offscreen noncon with multiple whumpers, sti mention, underweight whumpee mention, whumpee offering sex, bruises, burns & cigarette burns, nonsexual nudity and bathing, platonic bed-sharing, medically inaccurate care I’m sure, one shot probably

-

“I know you remember me. I’m sure I remember you.”

The unfortunate creature— for he looked more a creature than a boy in the low light, in the filthy west Texas motel room John had rented for the night with cash— dared to steal a glance up at him.

His eyes were dark, and bright with fear. Bruises ringed both of them like an unlucky fighter, purple as the Easter cloth draped on all the crosses they’d driven past. John knew from the taut look of the eyelids they’d been swollen shut a day or so earlier. The boy pet had dried blood caked in his nostrils and on one side of his downturned mouth. His hair was a matted and filthy mop that fell over his forehead and ears in greasy, wavy sections crusted together with more old blood.

The boy looked at him cautiously. There was too much fear in his posture, in his eyes. It was impossible to tell if he recognized John, too.

John squatted down to be eye level. As he thought it might, this made the frightened pet drop his eyes and flatten his spine as best he could against the nicotine stained paint of the motel wall.

“Hey, now,” John murmured, as if to one of his racehorses. They were spirited, flighty things, nothing like the quarter horses he’d grown up with. He talked to them all the same, though, from the spring colts to the swaybacked veterans.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I know you’ve seen a lot of people lately, huh? You probably don’t remember me. That’s okay. I remember you. You were at Jack Kinsington’s place before all this.”

The boy did not look back up at him, and his dirty hair gave away his trembling, but he was listening.

“I came by with a couple of horses. Bays, both of them. Soaked in sweat and prancing all around, you remember them? They’re high strung, they don’t like to ride in the trailer. Anyway, I told Jack he ought to let you stretch your legs. He did, but you were so numb you couldn’t stand for a while. You looked right at me.”

The boy turned his head an inch, so he could glance up at John’s face again.

“You remember that day. Sure you do. I thought you were in rough shape then, but I have to say, you look worse now.”

That lost him the eye contact. That was okay. The boy remembered. If not his face, then the incident.

“I thought it was awfully cruel to keep you in a space that small,” he went on. “I don’t know how some people do to a person what they wouldn’t do to an animal. They justify it, I guess. They project things onto these pets they buy and then they punish them for it. Gives them their kicks. Even Jack Kinsington, who I have to admit I respected up until that day.”

He stopped that train of thought.

“Why don’t we get you up off the floor there and let me take care of you, huh? No offense, you look kind of like roadkill.”

The boy made no sound, no indication that he’d even heard except for the way his chest expanded a little faster with his quickening breath. The poor thing's heart must be pounding. John had a knack for fixing things up, be it a business his brother had fucked up or a lame horse, a broken water heater or a vehicle. He spent less time fixing things now and more time delegating what other people needed to fix, but this boy was downright hurting his innermost, rarely expressed tenderness of heart, and he wanted to fix something for him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said again. His knees were getting tired in this deep squat, and his boots had no give in the toes for it. “I’m gonna clean you up and look after you. You don’t have to do anything, just don’t fight me too much. Can you do that?”

He reached out and laid a hand over the boy’s. The abused pet flinched but didn’t jerk away. John encircled the boy’s wrist in his hand and pulled it slowly away from his body, towards him. “Can you stand?” he asked, pushing himself to standing and bringing the boy with him.

He made it to his feet, and was nearly as tall as John, but stumbled when he tried to take a step.

“Please,” he whispered reflexively as John moved closer, flinching to protect his battered face.

“Please what, baby?” John muttered, lifting the boy’s arm over the back of his shoulders and wrapping his arm around his slim waist to help him walk. “You’re okay, you’re right here. I’ve got you. Let’s get you in the tub.”

Slowly, they staggered to the motel bathroom a d John flicked on the staggeringly white lights that buzzed and hummed to life. He sat the boy on the lip of the low bathtub as gently as he could.

“I’m going to give you a bath,” he said matter-of-factly, turning the taps so warm water began to fill the tub. “Where did all this blood come from?”

The boy was watching him warily, dark eyes following his every move.

“You hear me? Where’s all this dried blood coming from, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

John nodded, pleased the boy had spoken. Some didn’t, or wouldn’t, he knew, not once they looked like this one did.

“Did they beat you? Is that what all this is from?”

He gave a small nod, blinking in discomfort at John’s bluntness.

“Did they hurt you in any other ways?”

He nodded again.

John felt a tug of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach. “How?”

Jack’s pet looked evasively at the rising bath water.

“If you tell me how you’re hurt, I can help you better.”

Nothing.

“What’s your name?”

“Paulo.”

He put the emphasis on the au, and there was a way he said his L that positioned the tongue differently than he did when saying other words.

“Paulo,” John said, putting the emphasis on the vowels of the first syllable too, but with no attempt at altering his very American L. I’m John. I bought you from that man, the one with the box truck. I take it Jack Kinsington sold you? Or were you stolen?”

Tears shimmered in the boy’s dark eyes, swollen and purple still like a raccoon mask. He bit the inside of his cheek to steel himself and keep from letting them fall.

John gentled his voice. “Paulo. I only ask because it’s important. If you legally belong to Jack, I gotta bring you back to him.”

Paulo’s head snapped up. He lost control of the tears, which spilled down his bruised cheeks. He grabbed hold of John’s sleeves, pulling himself closer as if his whole body was not bruised and sore. “No,” he begged urgently. “Please. I’ll do anything. Please. I-I’ll do anything you want, I can’t… please don’t….”

An idea dawned on him and he let go of his latest captor’s sleeve in order to lift his trembling fingers to his own tattered shirt. He pulled it over his head with a barely-suppressed whimper of pain. His torso was bruised like his face and arms, dark black and purple impact points on his warm toned skin like fists or boots, some that looked like electric burns left from a cattle prod and others more reminiscent of the yellow, oozing wounds cigarettes tended to leave. He was ribby, in a dehydrated, sudden sort of way that looked like he hadn’t eaten much of anything in the last few days.

He started on the button of his pants and John reached out to stop him. “Hey. No. What’s this?”

“Do- do you prefer girls? I can be just as good for you.” His glittering eyes were simultaneously like a starving animal and horribly blank. “They all say so.”

Ah. There was an answer to one of his questions. He pulled Paulo’s wrists away from the opening of his pants, held them in his own on the cool edge of the tub between them. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not interested.”

“I could take a bath,” he whispered hopefully.

“You will take a bath. But I’m still not interested. I need to know— were you given to someone by Jack Kinsington rightfully, or were you stolen?”

The fear was back. John didn’t know which was worse on this one, the dead eyes or the fear. “Don’t take me back to him.”

“He hurt you a lot, then? Jack?”

John already figured as much. Despite his admiration for the man’s business sense, he was a cruel and sadistic pet owner. Once he’d seen a boy shoved into a cage fit for a fox, he’d reconciled that much in his mind. It was like that often, when it came to human pets, and never quite who you’d expect.

The boy begged miserably. “Please, Sir. I’ll do anything.”

“You mentioned that. He didn’t sell you, did he?”

Paulo glanced down.

So he’d bought a stolen pet. That’s what he more or less suspected when he’d seen the boy at the rest stop, weeks after he’d seen him in the cage at Jack’s and much worse for wear.

Jack Kinsington would probably be even more open to buying more of John’s racehorses in the near future if he returned his favorite boy-pet to him. Don’t worry what it cost to get him back, Jack. Less than the yearling I’ve got for you to look at this spring, I can tell you that. Call it even.

John turned off the taps and tested the water with his fingers. He’d wondered if the boy would be willing to take those filthy clothes off in front of him, but seeing as he’d just offered himself, he thought it more likely now.

“Take those off,” he said of the boy’s remaining clothing. “You can borrow some of mine when you’re cleaned up.”

Despite his offer less than five minutes ago, Paulo was modest to the point of shyness once he was naked.

“It’s okay. I’m not even looking at you,” John assured him a little gruffly as he helped him into the water. “I just want to get you clean.”

Paulo flinched as he submerged, undoubtedly feeling every burn, cut, and bruise as he did. He was so dirty that tear tracks were now visible on his face from his crying. John wet a rough motel washcloth in the warm water and brought it to his face. He dabbed and nudged the dried blood from Paulo’s mouth and nose. The boy tried very hard not to flinch and shy away, and in return he tried to be very gentle. “Good,” he said quietly, wetting the cloth and returning it to the blood and swollen tissue. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Paulo made brief eye contact with him at that, probably because it had become a foreign concept that someone would make an effort against hurting him. Just as quickly he slid his gaze away, back to an indeterminate point on the bathroom tile.

“You wanna do this next part?”

Paulo didn’t answer.

John moved as gently and quickly as was prudent over the rest of his body, knowing he was hurting him when he passed over the yellowed cigarette burns on his legs and hips.

“I know. You’re gonna be okay. Almost done. You’re doing really well.”

Paulo let John wash his hair, using some of the hotel shampoo that would likely sting some cuts but was desperately needed. He closed his eyes as John worked his fingers through the blood and dirt, the snarls coming apart slowly with gentle patience. As he rinsed the boy’s dark hair clean, John noticed he had stopped shaking.

He drained the now red-brown water and wrapped Paulo in a white hotel towel. He looked better clean, though there was nothing to do for the bruises but wait. He sat on the side of the motel bed as John went through his black duffel bag, pulling out sweatpants, a gray cotton T-shirt, and ibuprofen for him.

Paulo dressed in the bathroom and accepted two of the pills. He came out and sat on the end of the bed afterwards, staring at the pattern on the comforter.

“Does Jack know who had you?” John asked as he set up his phone charger. “The guy with the box truck out there?”

Paulo shook his head. “That man wasn’t the first.”

So he’d been bought and sold multiple times since being stolen—kidnapped— from Jack's property. It was possible Jack knew the original perpetrators, but had no idea where his pet was now. John sighed. His mind was working analytically, trying to understand every facet of the situation before he acted— trying to understand how he could manipulate it most in his favor. But that all felt shallow and cruel when he truly saw the boy in front of him, his damp hair and his bruised face, his narrow chest and the way he was nervously picking at a scab on the inside of his wrist.

“Don’t do that,” John said softly. “I don’t want you getting any infections.”

Paulo stopped immediately but looked intrigued by the care in that statement. Likely no one had said anything like it to him in a long while now.

“Are you hungry?”

Paulo shrugged. John raised his eyebrows and he went with a more committed shake of the head. “No, Sir.”

“…Are you scared?”

The boy swallowed, touched the scab on his wrist without picking it.

He’d said it before, but he knew he’d have to say it a hundred more times, and show it a thousand, before it sunk in. He likely would not end up doing that, but he’d say it as long as the pet was in his possession. “I promise I'm not gonna hurt you.”

“What, then?” Paulo asked, shrugging one shoulder to his ear in what felt like embarrassment at his own question.

“If I’m not going to hurt you? What then?”

He nodded.

“Nothing. I'm gonna take you back to Tennessee.”

“To Jack?”

“For the time being, to my place in Lewisburg. I have a farm.”

“What kind of farm?”

“Horses. You wanna come?”

He said he did. Not that he had much of a choice. John suspected they both knew that killing him on the side of a dirt road in west Texas would be better than what might happen if he took him back to Tennessee and failed to promptly return him to Jack. Jack would take it out on his lost little pet as much as he did John.

“I can’t believe you’re still even sitting up and talking. Come here.” John stood up and pulled the corner of the bedsheets down. “Lie down.”

Paulo did as he asked.

Before John would cover him up he asked, “Can you tell me if anyone kicked you in the back or abdomen, or if you feel any pain when you move or breathe?”

He thought about that. “I don’t know. I’m sore.”

“Any sharp pains, anything feel broken?”

“No?”

“Can I touch your stomach right here? It won’t be for long.”

A little apprehensive, Paulo agreed. John placed his hands on his abdomen and prodded his way along, trying to feel anything amiss or to get a sharp yell from Paulo. None came.

“Does this hurt anywhere more than soreness?”

“No,” his patient said in a small voice.

“Okay,” he said, and covered the boy to his chest with the blankets. “I’m done. Thank you. I was worried you might have internal bleeding, or broken ribs.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll need to get you checked for other things too, soon. Make sure you didn’t contract anything.”

It took a moment for this to register, but when it did, Paulo blushed scarlet.

“It’s okay,” John assured him. His next gesture surprised him. Tenderly, he brushed the back of his knuckles to an unbruised spot on Paulo’s cheek. He was quickly becoming endeared to this unfortunate little pet. “You’re probably alright. And even in the event you did, it’s not your fault.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to?” Paulo asked, leaning his cheek almost imperceptibly into John’s knuckles.

John retracted his hand. “No. I didn’t want to because I am not interested in hurting you.”

“I said you could.”

“You and I both know it would still be hurting.”

Paulo laid his head back on the pillow. “I don’t understand what you want.”

“For starters, I want you to tell me what you want to eat.”

He didn’t eat much, but he did make an effort. John got the impression he was suspicious of every simple kindness, every time there were footsteps outside their door in the breezeway.

When he turned out the light and put a partition of pillows between them to sleep, he felt Paulo start awake every time a car pulled into the parking lot, or the AC beneath the window kicked on with a rattle.

“You’re okay,” he said drowsily from across the pillow divide, which made it feel more like bunking together and less like sharing a bed. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody knows where you are at all. That door is deadbolted. And I’m here between the rest of the world and you. You can sleep tonight. Nothing can hurt you.”

He doubted words would actually help, since the boy's nerves were probably completely shot, and who knows when was the last time he’d had a good nights sleep, and felt safe enough to do so? Still, he thought it should be nice to hear. It was the least he could do. He didn’t make any undue promises. Just tonight.

Paulo was quiet for a minute, and then John heard a wet sniff that was the unmistakable sound of crying. He didn’t think he should say ‘don’t cry’ to someone in his position, so he didn’t. He just listened from across the pillows until the little pet fell asleep.

[pl-ceh-lder]

toxic yuri wip

[g0refre4k]

Hickeys are nice but not permanent. Maybe a nice cigarette burn right under my eye would do nicely..

[waterme-stories]

I hope your Deadpool/Wolverine fic is getting some fresh love from people introduced to the pairing by the new movie. Truly ahead of its time.

Yeah, I'd say it's doing alright for itself 😉

I think the characterization in "Burn Baby Burn" is pretty similar to the movie, which is surprising given that I wrote it over two years before! They love to hate each other, and will never admit how much fun they both have doing it. Combine that with the gratuitous violence of The Honda Hatefuck and we got ourselves a hit! Not too shabby for a silly gross rarepair fic that came to me in a dream!

“This what you’re looking for?” Logan asked. “This what you fucking want?” Wade swallowed hard. Rasped. “Maybe. Not what I’m not looking for.” Logan and Wade share a smoke, and celebrate Canada Day in their own special way.

(cigar kink, hate sex, bad bdsm etiquette, and gratuitous bodily injury for sexual gratification)

[s3d4t3m3]

I kiss your lips u close your eyes I'll take you away to paradise~

[enbykittyfag]

joke flirting with that cute butch at the smoking table when she pretends like shes going to put out her blunt on my arm by batting my eyes all cute as i stick my tongue out nice and far for her, tapping the tip of my tongue invitingly, but instead of laughing and carrying on her eyes grow dark and she does put it out on my tongue, grabbing my jaw to make me hold still as i cry out and jerk from the pain, tasting the grit of the ash and the radiating intensity of the burn-

[honeycollectswhump]

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

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

Smoke in His Lungs

[masterlist]

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

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

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

Not for too long though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to gag. Heave. Retch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sister-lucifer]

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

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

imagine, if you will:

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

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

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

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

he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t.

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

[whumpasaurus101]

Whumpee coughed as another cloud of smoke was blown into their face, their eyes squeezing shut as they closed their mouth shut as tight as they could.

"Oh quit being such a baby," Whumper scoffed, twirling a cigarette between their two fingers before bringing it closer and closer to Whumpee, smirking as they watcjed the other lean away with a whimper, eyes glistening with fear.

"Open up." Whumpee's mouth stayed glued shut, eyes suddenly burning with defiance, making Whumper chuckle, "Fine, have it your way," And with that, Whumper shoved the butt of the cigarette against Whumpee's cheek- soaking up the cry of pain from the younger.

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut;

Quit being such a baby...

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#5: Beyond the Gilded Cage

Previous/ Masterlist/ Next

CW: Captivity, Slavery, pet whump, cigarettes :), coercion, violence, oppression, dominating whumper

Noah's heart raced as he lay on the cot, his mind swirling with dread at the thought of meeting Andrey's parents. If Andrey was anything to go by, his parents were likely to be just as cold and ruthless. He clenched his fists, willing himself to remain composed despite the fear gnawing at his insides.

True to his word, Andrey returned after what felt like an eternity of Noah being trapped in his thoughts, his presence filling the room with an oppressive weight. Noah braced himself, steeling his nerves for whatever was to come.

"Ready to meet my parents, pet?" Andrey's voice was as commanding as ever.

Noah nodded remembering the rules that Andrey had taught him, his voice barely a whisper. "Y-Yes, sir."

Noah struggled to his feet, his movements slow and pained from the so called "punishment" he had been given only a few days before. The guards moved to support him, but Andrey waved them off, wanting Noah to stand on his own. Noah swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand tall despite the agony that radiated through his body.

"Remember what I said," Andrey whispered, his breath hot against Noah's ear. "One wrong move, one hint of defiance, and you'll regret it."

Noah nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yes, sir," he replied, his voice trembling.

Andrey led him out of the room and down a long, dimly lit corridor. The air was heavy with a sense of foreboding, each step echoing like a drumbeat of impending doom. Noah's mind raced with thoughts of what awaited him, his anxiety mounting with every passing moment.

They reached a set of grand double doors, intricately carved with Russian symbols. The guards standing before the doors bowed to Andrey respectfully and then pushed them open, revealing a lavishly decorated dining hall.

At the head of the table sat two imposing figures that Noah recognized from newspapers and tabloid magazines—Viktor Kozlov, a man whose presence exuded authority and ruthlessness and with a cigarette in his hand, and his wife, Elena, whose icy beauty was matched only by the coldness in her eyes.

"Mother, Father," Andrey greeted them with a slight bow keeping a hand on Noah's back making the young boy shudder. "This is the new... acquisition."

Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he was brought forward, his gaze dropping to the floor in a gesture of submission. He fought to keep his breathing steady, his body trembling with the effort.

Viktor's eyes raked over Noah, assessing him with a critical eye. "So this is the one you've chosen," he said, his voice a deep rumble.

"Indeed, Father"

Noah's palms were slick with sweat as he tried to steady his trembling hands. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, the weight of their expectations and Andrey's simmering anger pressing down on him.

Elena finally spoke, her voice as cold as her gaze. "Andrey, dear, what are your plans for this one? He seems... delicate."

Andrey's lips curled into a smile that sent a shiver down Noah's spine. "Oh, Mother, I have plans to ensure he becomes a valuable asset to our family. He will learn to obey without question."

A cold silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the faint ticking of an ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Noah's heart raced, his mind desperately searching for a way to survive this encounter.

Lady Kozlov's gaze bore into him, her eyes like shards of ice. "Speak, boy. What skills do you possess?"

Skill? What the hell was he supposed to say now? He looked at Andrey from the corner of his eye who just tightened the hand on his back eliciting a small hiss of pain as his previous wounds throbbed.

Noah swallowed hard, his mind racing. "I-I can learn quickly, m-my lady," he stammered thankful he was able to think of something.

Elena arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze piercing as she regarded Noah with thinly veiled contempt. "Quick learner, hm? We shall see about that."

Viktor leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Noah with a calculating intensity. "And what of your obedience, boy? Can we trust you to follow orders without question?"

Noah bit back a retort, the bitterness of his situation clawing at his throat.

"Trust?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "You expect trust from someone you've chained like an animal?"

A collective gasp echoed through the room, followed by a tense silence. Andrey's fingers dug into Noah's back, his nails drawing blood as he fought to maintain his composure.

"Watch your tongue, slave," Andrey growled, his voice a dangerous whisper.

But Noah couldn't stop himself, the anger boiling within him like a cauldron ready to overflow.

"Slave?" he spat, his voice rising with every word. "I am not some piece of property for you to command at your whim!! I am a human being, fuck this! A-All of you! All of you are fucked up! Just because you have money y-you think you can do whatever the fuck you want! Where's the goddamn humanity in you ASSHOLES!" Angry tears filled his eyes.

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of Noah's words hanging heavy in the air like a curse. Andrey's face contorted with rage, his eyes flashing dangerously as he advanced on Noah, his grip on him tightening until it was almost unbearable.

"I told you one thing. One. Thing." Andrey's voice was a low growl, his fury barely contained. "I told you just not to be disobedient and you go and do just that." Andrey chuckled lowly.

Before Noah could react, Andrey's hand lashed out, striking him across the face with a force that sent him reeling. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he staggered backward, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

"O-One thing? You've kidnapped me!!" Noah lashed out, his voice going higher in pitch from crying.

Andrey was about to slap him again before Viktor held up a hand, a signal for him to stop. Viktor remained quiet before walking up to Noah, looking at him as if he was no more than just a pet waiting to be disciplined.

He held up the cigarette in his hand, making Noah's eyes move towards it in confusion before it pressed down hard on his arm.

Noah cried out in pain as the burning tip of the cigarette seared his flesh, leaving behind a sizzling trail of agony. He writhed in Andrey's grasp, the scent of singed skin filling the air as he struggled against the overwhelming pain while desperately trying to pull his arm back.

Viktor watched with a cold detachment, his expression unreadable as he observed Noah's suffering. Elena remained seated, her gaze fixed on Noah with curiosity, as if studying a particularly revolting insect.

Suddenly, the cigarette pressed down again, eliciting a scream from Noah who started sobbing in pain. The cigarette was lifted but the pain didn't go. It still felt as if his whole world went hot white.

Why is this happening to me? Another hard sob escaped him.

"You should make your pet behave, Andrey. We cannot afford to have disobedience tarnishing our reputation, especially now." Viktor spoke as he threw the cigarette aside.

Andrey's jaw tightened. "I am handling the situation, Father," he replied through gritted teeth. "Rest assured, Noah will learn his place soon enough."

Viktor's expression remained unreadable as he regarded his son, a silent challenge burning in his eyes. "See that you do." With a dismissive wave of his hand, Viktor turned away, his attention already drifting back to the matters of business that consumed his every waking moment.

Andrey then looked down at the weeping boy and started dragging him out the throne room in frustration.

Noah's sobs continued to wrack his body, each breath a painful reminder of his helplessness in the face of such merciless tyranny as Andrey continued dragging the helpless young boy.

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpsss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter @lordcatwich

@someoneoninternettt(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[midnightslitter]

i need someone to put out their cigarettes on me

[4joonkookie]

Neighbors

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

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

ღღღ

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

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

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

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

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

Assholes.

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

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

“Where are you going?” She asks. 

“The library,” you say. 

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

ღღღ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ღღღ

Another Saturday night, another party. 

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

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

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

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

“Is there a fire?” You ask.

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

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

“What are you doing out here?”

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

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

“It’s Saturday,” he defends. 

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

“Why haven't you said anything?”

“Does the banging on the wall not count?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

He turns back to look at you. 

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

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

And your face burns with embarrassment and confusion. 

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

ღღღ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When do you find time to study?”

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

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

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

He takes a step closer, leaning in.

“Are you… ok in the dark?” he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you're gorgeous,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coming Up... Taehyung ;)