#i need to be chemically restrained

[hanasnx]

Hop hop 🐇 hiya :). I like the thought that the first time reader really got a hint of Peter's strength is when he ate her pussy for the first time. He spread her legs and locked em down with his forearms and hands on her waist. For all her squirming and bucking with pleasure his muscles didn't budge a single millimeter, he didn't even notice her trying. It's not like he meant to, he was just losing himself a little, overeager, a pleaser, and that morsel of strength that peaked through was enough to tip her off that he's not normal. She doesn't know he can lift a bus. 🐇 Hop hop

“ SWEET KIWI, YOUR JUICE’S DRIPPIN’ DOWN MY CHIN ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this shit made me bite my fucking finger. eyes rolling into the back of my head type shit. melting in my seat i’m liquid. bcos this is exactly it. WARNINGS: not proofread, barely correct grammar/punctuation bcos i wrote this in a goddamn fevered rush. i’m not usually like this. established relationship. smut via fem receiving oral.

you look at PETER PARKER and you know he’s got a sleeper build, he may be tall and lanky but you’ve seen what he looks like flexed. but there are limits, you’re not kidding yourself here.

so when you finally get over it and let him go down on you, all nestled up into some pillows, real comfy, watching him get your legs undressed, your suspicions are at an all time low. you feel the excited pool into your core, the anticipation making you a little bubbly and nervous. he starts off small, lets you get used to things, tries to gauge your reactions to delicate sensations. he knows he’s prone to overstimulation, last thing he wants to do rn is give you too much too fast. he doesn’t know you that well, so he wants this to be a learning experience for him while you relax.

you sink further into the mattress while he licks at your clit, a fragile and unstable pace, looking up and over the mound of your pussy to gauge your reactions—both in expression and audible. when he starts sucking on it between his silky lips you cry out, throwing your head back instinctually. the way he’s restraining himself is more torture than it is pleasant, and all he’s done so far is kiss on your little clit you feel like a virgin.

your feet pick up, your hand comes to palm the back of his head, get all up in his hair. he hums against you, and your hips buck. toes pointed and back arched, you try to grind his face into your cunt. he takes the hint, and ups the fervor. sweeping his face side to side, he digs in further, and when he dips down to lick the moisture up your slit you can barely take the suspense. your hand draws him in to keep attention on your clit. you don’t want penetration, you need friction. you crave it.

it’s the kind of feeling that has you literally fighting to fuck his face. your entire body is moving as you’re keeping him pinned there and using him to get off.

when your hips start to stutter, and a shudder locks up your spine, peter doesn’t get the gist. you’re close but he’s not done. he starts putting in place some key features while you’re occupied. one arm scoops under your leg, wrapping your thigh with his bicep and the crook of his elbow. the other does the same one after another. his hands, big and warm, rest on your stomach and lace together, locking you in. the weight of them press down on your lower abdomen while he eats you out. all in the name of getting you as close as possible while your body writhes.

you’ve released his hair, jelly-like arms falling to your sides while your hips chase your release. peter’s eyes fall closed while he gets lost in it, taking in the taste of you, taking in what you smell like, what you sound like. it’s the kind of sensory overload he can get carried away with, a symphony of chemicals in his brain whisking him away while you’re left with the exhilarating and torturous reality. your body is screaming. you can’t shut the fuck up either. he’s locked you in while your little hands futilely grab at whatever they can reach to try and make him let up. if you just had a break or a second to breathe then things would be different, but even if peter were conscious he’d know better anyway.

while you’re squirming, you can’t help but feel like there should be more budge. there’s a give that’s missing when you jerk your body. it’s an odd discovery. perfectly flexed muscles don’t move a single millimeter when you try to wiggle your hips out of his grasp. his laced fingers stay intact when you try to ground your feet and pick yourself up. and when you try to crawl out from under him there’s not spare room to slip your thighs under. you’re trapped. and peter’s warm mouth envelopes your pussy with spit sodden lips while his tongue flicks at your clit. the kind of shit that makes you clutch at his wrists and beg, “peter, peter!” bcos you’re about to flood his face.

[ameliathornromance]

“Ouch!” Your Orc hissed, jerking in pain as you pressed alcohol soaked cloth to his arm. “You can’t be more gentle, can you?”

“Well if you stopped moving,” you returned through gritted teeth, “then it wouldn’t hurt as much. It’s not me that’s causing you pain, it’s the chemical. If I’m any more gentle about it, the pain will just last longer and it will sting a lot more.”

The giant gash in his arm just did not want to stop bleeding. You let out a sigh of irritation as you realised it was going to need stitches. “Hold onto it for me?”

Grumbling, your Orc Boyfriend pressed held the soaked cloth in place as you reached for your medical box behind you, “how did this happen then?”

“I was in the gym,” your boyfriend started, “and this goblin wouldn’t stop trying to take pictures of me, so I told him to put the phone down. He said ‘no, it’s a public space, I can film who I damn well likes’ and his smug face pissed me off. So… I might have gotten a little rough with him.”

You sighed again. Typical of an Orc to start the physical fight. Pulling out a needle and medical thread, you cleaned them, nodding as your boyfriend went on, “and then this little bastard pulls out a knife and just slashed me open!”

Your head whipped around to look at your partner, “what the fuck?!” you set the needle and thread down on your bedside table. “You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you? Oh my God, why did they even let that guy in with a weapon!?” You surveyed your Orcs topless body, searching his green skin for any kind of graze or cut.

“Something about it being for Goblin arts practice.” Your boyfriend grunted, annoyed. “Anyway, he’s then restrained by some of the staff, the police are called and there was also an ambulance.”

“Why didn’t you let the paramedics stitch you up?!” You asked, aghast. “Why would you refuse it and come back here!?”

Meeting your boyfriends gaze, he gives you a sheepish look. “… Because you used to sew up my cuts when I was a cage fighter?”

“That was only on the fly!” You snapped, “I’m not a medical professional, I could have really hurt you doing that!”

He scoffed, “we all could have gotten really hurt doing that. It was underground and illegal for all of us to be there.”

You rolled your eyes and picked up the needle and thread again. You set to work sewing up your boyfriends wound, “that was a very, very long time ago. I don’t know if I’m still any good at this.”

“I trust you.” The Orc said, smiling. “You were always gentle with me whenever I’d come out of the ring.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, “I was only gentle with you because I liked you.”

Back then, it was difficult to find any kind of joy. You were in a lot of trouble with loan sharks and had to do something to pay them back.

You’d been kicked out medical school, were drowning in their debt… but there’s no reason as to why you couldn’t put to use the little skills you’d learnt.

So you started helping illegal cage fighters with their injuries. They paid well and everyone had a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Although half of your pay check got taken back by the loan sharks, the fighters you did heal would give you tips of 100 coins, sometimes up to 1000, depending on how they were feeling, so that helped a great deal.

Your boyfriend, known as ‘Big Money’ for his green skin and huge muscular body, was the top fighter there. If you were smart, you betted on ‘Big Money.’ It’s in the name isn’t it? You want to win? You bet big.

Every time you took care of him, he always took you out to dinner as thanks. And eventually, he was taking you out just because, and before long, you were dating.

Everyone knew you as ‘Big Money’s girlfriend’ and rarely gave you any slack… apart from the occasional too big for his boots fighter who snarked you or shoved you away when you tried to tend to his injuries.

When that happened, everyone would treat said fighter like he was a bomb about to go off; no one wanted to be near him, or associated with him And who would? If Big Money was going to get you for disrespecting his girl, you would stay clear too.

A cold shot went through you, “you don’t think that Goblin knew who you were, do you?” you asked.

Your Boyfriend stiffened at the question. He was quiet for a little longer than you’d have liked, but he answered you. “I’m not sure. I didn’t recognise him when I saw him, he might have just been a spectator.”

“Either way… it’s still a concern.”

Your boyfriend was in a similar situation to you too, but the difference was that he was hundreds more in debt than you were. Which is why he was put in the ring. Partly as a punishment, partly as a way to earn back all the money he’d lost.

The pair of you wanted to escape that place. Not because you didn’t want to pay off your debts, but because of the barbarity of the environment.

Every time you saw your Orc coming out of the ring, he just looked worse and worse. Black eyes, shattered orbital bones, fractured fingers and toes, tendon snapping and a whole list of other, much gorier things were what made you both realise you wanted out.

With each time you had to fix up his injuries, your hands became even more unsteady.

The event organisers had no clue of your relationship with their ‘Big Money’ and often berated you, threatening to raise your interest if you couldn’t do your job properly.

“We need to leave.” Your Orc had urged you after a particularly bad fight. Both his eyes were swollen and he had stitches sewn into his bottom lip. He paced up and down your cramped bedroom, “this is getting bad, like, too bad. Who knows what they’ll do if-”

“Just stop saying things like that!” You had said, grasping the sides of your head. “I don’t think I can cope with talking about that kind of thing, if they find out we’re thinking about running, they’ll kill us!”

“No, they won’t.” Your Orc had said, firmly. “They won’t. I won’t let them lay a finger on us.”

He had bent down to you, squeezed your hands reassuringly. “I can do this, get us out of there, but you have to trust me okay? I know a guy, who knows a guy. They can get us out and we won’t have to worry about the debt again.”

When you began to shake your head, your boyfriends puffy eyes meets yours. “Please, (Y/N), trust me on this, they’ll believe we’re dead and gone, they won’t come looking for us!”

The final straw came when your Orc was knocked unconscious for two hours. They’d had him in fight after fight, breaks of ten seconds all but before he had to get back in the cage and fight on.

You had to fight back tears as you shakily stitched up a split eyebrow and tried to keep your cool from going off on the event organiser, who sat behind you and counted bills, feet up on the table in his ironed clean suit, paid for in blood money.

And when your boyfriends stitches had failed to hold together and he went down and out… the blame fell to you.

That was it.

You knew you both had to leave.

Your Orc had woken up with no apparent brain injuries and as soon as you were both able to speak again, you told him, “that guy who knows a guy, how much money does he want from us and how soon can he get us out of here?”

From that point it was simple: a fire would be started, people would have to clear and escape the premises, and that’s when the two of you would run.

You remember what it was like, preparing for it. You had to get your blood drawn every two weeks, not a lot, but just enough for people to know that something had happened to you during the confusion.

Your boyfriend did the same thing. He got all of his – limited payments, just enough for him to eat off of – in cash, so he saved and saved for weeks, you did too.

And the moment that fire broke out, you’d never felt such relief.

The pair of you took off in the crowd and the guy, who knew a guy, spilled the blood you had drawn in those earlier weeks.

You’d both gotten into an unmarked van, before being dropped off in a city where nobody knew your names, your past or what you’d had to do to become free.

Once the adrenaline of getting caught had worn off, the pair of you had celebrated with buying a new flat and staring new careers.

You got into alternative medicine, and now healed people through those means, while your boyfriend became a fitness trainer.

And overall, everything seemed to be going well… until today that was.

The guy your boyfriend knew, had said that you had to avoid being photographed, filmed and having any kind of digital trace if you wanted to avoid being found.

You had completely forgotten about that part. Life had been so good that your past had felt like a nightmare.

But if your anxiety was correct, it seemed like you would need to pack up, go on the run again. Or find a way to get that footage off of the Goblin and delete it… and that’s assuming that he hadn’t already put it on social media or sent it to the event organisers, if he was connected to them.

“Hey,” your Orcs soft voice broke you out of your trace state. You tied off the stitches as he put the knuckle of his finger under your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Whatever happens, we’re going to be alright.” He said, firmly. “No one is going to try and hurt us. I’ll get in contact with my guy, and we’ll see what he can do. Who knows? That little bastard might have just been running a fitness page or something. Since he had a knife, he might just do this sort of thing a lot and expects to get into fights.”

You smiled, grateful for his reassurance. “Yeah.”

Sometimes, occams’ razor is the way to keep your head above water. You still made a mental note to pack a duffle bag full of valuables to make sure that you could both shoot off if you needed to.

But you trusted that your Orc Boyfriend would keep you safe. He’d done so all this time, so what would stop him now?

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@sunndust @greenie-c

[lost-in-thoughts03]

ONE MORE NIGHT || Hwang In-ho

Part ll

" I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid crawling back to you."

Summary: You've been abducted by your father's mafia enemy. Your father owes him big-time. That's why he needs to teach him a lesson so that next time, if he's going to borrow some cash, he should pay on-time so no one in your family is going to be in harm.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, DARK, au, explicit content, violence, threats, coercion, kidnapping, obsession, possessive, matured language, manipulation, stockholm syndrome, mafia! In-ho, age-gap (40s x 28), forbidden, using of drugs, cheating, identity crisis, toxic relationship

The bass thumped from the club speakers as laughter spilled from your lips, your voice mingling with those of your friends under the kaleidoscope of flashing lights.

The scent of perfume, spilled alcohol, and faint smoke swirled around you. You lifted your drink—a crisp gin and tonic—to your lips, eyes darting toward the bar where a man with a disarmingly kind smile had just returned from ordering his own.

Hwang In-ho.

He had been nothing more than a charming stranger earlier—or so you thought. His presence wasn’t overpowering; it was deliberate. Calm. Calculated.

Now that you think back, even his slight, harmless stutter seemed like a perfectly practiced detail in his performance.

“ Be right back.” You had told your friends, excusing yourself to check your phone where your father had texted—a string of warnings and missed calls you had ignored.

Mistake number one.

When you returned, your drink was waiting. Ice hadn’t even melted yet. You laughed at a joke, raise your glass, and took a sip.

Mistake number two.

The chemical was subtle.

Tasteless.

Fast-acting.

It clawed its way through your bloodstream, tightening around your limbs like invisible rope. Your vision blurred, your words slurred, and your knees buckled just as In-ho caught you, feigning concern.

“ She’s had too much!” He shouted to your friends, who barely noticed the shadow that passed behind his grin.

“ I’ll take her home.”

Mistake number three: no one questioned him.

…

You woke up groggy, restrained, the scent of old wood and gasoline filling your nose. Dim lighting flickered overhead—a swinging bulb, casting long shadows across the floor of what looked like an abandoned shipping container.

Your wrists were bound with zip ties.

There was duct tape on your ankle.

Your mouth tasted like copper and guilt.

Footsteps approached.

“ Rise and shine, princess.” In-ho’s voice slithered through the air.

He crouched in front of you, that same warm smile still stitched across his face—only now, it was venomous.

“ You—” Your voice cracked. “ Why…?”

“ Oh, sweetheart.” He cooed, mockingly brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“ This isn’t about you. This is about your father. The great, untouchable man who thought he could borrow from me and vanish into his golden palace.” He chuckled.

“ Turns out his weakness was out partying with friends...drinking unguarded cocktails.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“ You don’t know him.” You spat.

“ I know him better than you do.” He hissed, eyes narrowing.

“ He’s a coward. And now? He’s going to learn what it feels like to lose everything.”

He stood, walking to a workbench lined with small bottles and tools. His fingers traced over them like an artist admiring brushes.

“ You really think you’re innocent in all this?” He said, back turned.

“ Do you know how many lives he ruined? He’s just never told you. But I’ll tell you. Every. Single. One.”

The suspense was broken momentarily by the low hum of music—he’d put on a radio. A dark, jazzy tune filled the silence like a sick lullaby.

You searched the room for an escape.

Anything sharp.

A nail.

A shard of glass.

Nothing.

“ I like you.” He said suddenly.

“ You’ve got to fight. Spirit. I can see why he loves you.”

You turned away in disgust.

“ Don’t worry.” He added, voice suddenly dropping to a low whisper.

“ I won’t hurt you…yet. But your father? Oh, he’s going to think you’re already dead. And that’s the kind of pain he’ll never recover from.”

He laughed again. “ Tragic. Poetic. Almost Shakespearean.”

And then he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

“ But if you play your cards right…who knows? Maybe you’ll learn to like it here.”

Your throat ached as the words scraped past it. “ Why…? Why me?” You whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to sit upright on the cold metal floor.

Your wrists burned beneath the zip ties, the sharp plastic cutting deeper with every twitch.

“ I have nothing to do with this. Your problem is with my father—not me. Please…just let me go. I swear I won’t say anything. I’ll disappear. You’ll never hear from me again.”

Your voice cracked, but your eyes didn’t waver.

You wanted him to see the fire still in them.

In-ho paused.

He turned slowly from the workbench, the soft clink of metal tools stopping as silence filled the space. The flickering bulb above made his shadow stretch across the floor like a predator.

Then he walked.

Measured.

Calm.

A panther in human form.

You watched every step, breath caught in your throat, heart pounding so loud it echoed in your ears. You expected him to laugh—or yell. But he didn’t.

Instead, he knelt beside you.

Then, without a word, his hand rose and caught your chin between his fingers—not harsh, but with a grip that brooked no argument. His touch was cold. His eyes were colder. He tilted your face up, studying it.

“ No.” He said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“ You’re exactly the one who needed to be here.”

Your pulse stopped. “ What do you mean…?”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing your skin, scented with danger and the faintest note of mint. His other hand braced on the bed above you, boxing you in.

The room shrank.

The air thickened.

“ Because now…” He growled, jaw clenching.

“ Your father knows what it feels like to be helpless. To watch someone he loves vanish—just like I had to.”

You flinched.

He saw it.

Good.

That was what he wanted.

“ But here’s the thing…” He continued, eyes dark as obsidian, flicking from your eyes to your lips.

“ He has two choices now. Pay the money…or watch as I make you mine.”

Your breath hitched. “ You wouldn’t—”

“ Oh, I would.” He snapped, cutting you off with a heat in his eyes that chilled your spine.

“ Because if he doesn't cough up the debt—all of it— by the deadline…you stop being his daughter. And start being my property.”

He leaned in so close your lips nearly brushed, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“ But you’re smart, aren’t you?” He purred, voice dipped in false sweetness.

“ Maybe you’ll learn to like it here. Maybe you’ll even beg to stay.”

He lingered there, breath and tension both heavy between you—before finally pulling back with a bitter smirk. He stood up, pacing, running a hand through his dark hair.

“ You’re scared. Good. Fear makes people obedient.”

You stared at him, your body tense, mind racing —calculating—looking for the opening that would come.

Because one thing was clear: He underestimated you.

Your voice cracked through the silence, sharp and furious.

“ I have a boyfriend!”

The words slapped the air between you like a gunshot.

You glared at In-ho, your chest rising with each breath of disbelief and rage. “ I love him. He’s everything you’re not. I would never betray him with someone like you—some psychotic, twisted, power-hungry freak playing God in a cage.”

For a split second, his eyes flickered.

Not with anger.

With delight.

He chuckled.

Low and slow.

The sound crawling under your skin like ice.

“ Ohhh…” He drawled, stepping back, just enough to tilt his head in amusement.

“ So the little kitten has claws.”

Then, without warning, he was close again—too close. His nose brushed against the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like a wolf savoring its kill.

You jerked violently, panic clawing up your spine. “ Get off—!”

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he murmured against your skin, lips barely hovering, “ I don’t give a damn if you’ve got a boy toy waiting at home. What makes you think that matters in my world?”

He pulled back slightly, just enough so his eyes could lock onto yours. “ Because soon…he won’t matter to you anymore.”

The words struck like venom.

He stood tall again, looming, dominant, his smirk darkening. “ Your boyfriend? What’s he going to do? Call the cops? Cry in bed because his pretty little princess got taken away by the big bad wolf?”

He scoffed. “ He’s nothing. And I—”

He leaned in again, this time his breath hot against your lips, voice dropping to a low, dark whisper.

“ I always get what I want.”

You twisted your face away just as he brushed his fingers along your cheek. His touch burned, not from heat but from the weight of control—the way he moved like he already owned you.

You hissed through your teeth and jerked away, glaring daggers at him.

That made him laugh.

Not a light laugh.

A dangerous one.

“ I like the fire.” He said, as if he was complimenting you on a dress.

“ But don’t mistake my restraint for mercy.”

His gaze darkened, dropping the charming façade for something real—something feral.

“ This is the world your father made deals in. The world of blood…for blood. Money for pain. Debt for suffering.” His tone turned sharp, cold, like a blade pressed to skin.

“ But me? I’m not like the others. I don’t beat women. I don’t kill for sports. I don’t get off on fear.”

Then his voice dropped an octave, slow and deliberate. “ I claim. I own it. I take what is owed. And your father owes me more than money.”

He lifted a strand of your hair and let it run through his fingers, slow and possessive, like silk over bone.

“ So consider this your warning, sweetheart. You keep testing me…and I’ll stop playing nice. But if you behave…”

His grin widened, chilling. “ You might just find out that being mine isn’t the worst fate in the world.”

He stood then, pacing away with a swagger that made your blood boil. But just before he reached the door, he turned back, finger pointed toward you like a promise.

“ Sleep tight. Tomorrow, we will play a new game.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

You're alone again.

Breathing hard.

Your heart is screaming for escape. And yet...somewhere beneath the terror, another emotion simmered.

Rage.

Desperation.

And a spark of defiance that he hadn’t crushed.

Not yet.

...

The sharp buzz of In-ho’s phone cut through the tension like a razor. His jaw loosened, his eyes flicked toward the device, and a wicked grin began to spread across his face. It was almost unnatural—the way he shifted from furious to gleeful in a heartbeat.

He answered with a casual, “ Yeoboseyo?”

From across the room, you could hear the voice on the other end—screaming.

A man’s voice.

Broken.

Desperate.

Your heart stopped.

In-ho’s gaze found yours, and he smiled wide, like a boy showing off a new toy. “ Someone wants to say 'annyeong'.” He said, tapping the screen and flipping the phone to face you.

And then—you saw him.

Your father.

Disheveled. Wild-eyed. His face flushed with panic, voice raw with rage and fear.

“ Where is she? You piece of shibal shit!” Your father shouted.

“ Let her go! I swear, I’ll give you what you want! Just don’t touch her!”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. You froze. Your mind blanked under the flood of emotion—shock, disbelief, anger, sorrow.

In-ho laughed.

Actually laughed.

Mocking. Deep. Cruel.

“ I told you…” He said to the phone.

“ She’s fine. I feed her. I keep her warm. I even made breakfast this morning with my own hands.” He paused, licking his lips.

“ She’s under excellent care.”

Your father’s face contorted with rage. “ If you lay a single hand on her—”

“ Oh, I’ve laid plenty.” In-ho said smoothly.

“ But not the way you’re imagining…yet.”

Your father exploded. “ I’ll hunt you down, In-ho. You hear me? I’ll tear apart the world if I have to. I’ll bury you alive.”

In-ho’s smirk widened. “ Now we’re talking. I accept that challenge.”

He tilted the camera again, showing a slow pan across your terrified, tear-streaked face.

“ Say hi to Daddy.” He cooed.

You stared into the camera, chest heaving.

A thousand words caught in your throat.

“ Dad...” You choked out, voice trembling. “ Don’t…don’t give him what he wants. I’m okay. Just don’t—”

The screen went black.

In-ho had ended the call.

The silence afterward was deafening.

Then he turned to you, rolling his shoulders like a man who had just finished a particularly satisfying workout.

“ Whew…” He exhaled. “ That was…invigorating.”

He bent down and retrieved the spoon from the floor, twirling it lazily in his fingers as he walked back toward you. His eyes never left your face.

Your hands gripped the edge of the mattress as he approached, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“ You’re worth more than I thought.” He said.

“ He’s already begging. Desperate men are so easy to manipulate.” His voice dropped.

“ But let’s spice it up a little.”

He grabbed his phone again, tapping on the screen. “ New deal.” He said aloud, mostly for your benefit—but loud enough for your father to hear on the other end of the line.

“ If you want your precious daughter back, you’ll pay double. Every cent. No delays. Or…” In-ho let the word linger like a hook in flesh.

“ She stays.”

You couldn’t help it—your rage boiled over.

“ You psychopath!” You screamed. “ You’re using me like I’m some pawn in your sick game!”

In-ho only grinned. “ Not a pawn.” He whispered, leaning close.

“ You’re the queen.”

You jerked away.

“ You don’t get to decide how long this goes.” You snapped. “ And you definitely don’t get to win.”

He laughed, dark and low. “ I already have.”

Then—his smile faded.

Just for a second.

A crack in the armor.

“ Unless…you really believe he’ll pay.”

You looked away.

Because deep down…you weren’t sure.

Your father was many things. A criminal. A survivor. But when it came to loyalty—to family—you’d always been uncertain where his limits truly lay.

In-ho studied your face. “ Ah…” He said quietly. “ There it is.”

He stood up, victorious, and walked back toward the window.

“ Let him stew.” He said. “ Let him panic. The longer he waits, the more desperate he becomes. And the more desperate he is…”

He turned slowly to face you again, his voice a whisper—“ The longer you stay mine.”

“ Fuck you! I wish that you could die right now and let your damn spirit rotten in fucking hell!” You curse at In-ho, hurling venom at him with every breath you can muster.

But instead of flinching, he laughs—a deep, indulgent sound, as if your fury is a melody he enjoys too much.

“ God…” He says with a smirk.

“ I like this version of you. The fire, the rage—it could burn through steel. But I’d let it scorch me if it meant I gotta stay close enough to feel it.”

His phone buzzes again.

You flinch—heart racing.

With a casual flick of his thumb, he taps the screen.

Your father’s voice roars through the speaker—frantic, louder this time. But In-ho barely listens. He’s already smug, already coiled like a predator.

“ Save it, old man.” He says.

“ I’m done with your whining. You know the price. Double it. Or she stays.”

Another voice cuts in suddenly—clear, firm, furious.

Your eyes widen.

“ Put her on the phone.” Says the voice.

Jung Woo-sik.

Your boyfriend.

Alive. Searching. Fighting.

In-ho’s jaw tenses. His playful façade evaporates, replaced by something darker. Colder.

“ Oh…” He growls. “ Who's this clown?”

In-ho rolled his eyes and leaned against the edge of the table, staring at you like he was watching a play unfold—one he wrote, one you were trapped in.

“ Relax…” He muttered into the phone.

“ We’ll get to the terms. But first—let’s make things interesting.”

“ Yah. In-ho. You sick freak—get her away from this. You’ve already crossed the line.”

You feel the shift in the air. It’s no longer a game. The temperature in the room drops as In-ho steps toward the phone, grip tightening so hard you hear the plastic creak under his fingers.

“ What the hell are you doing on my call?” In-ho snarls. “ You lost something, lover boy?”

“ You’re done.” Woo-sik spits back.

“ You don’t get to touch her. You don’t even get to speak her name. I’m coming for you—and I swear, you’ll never see daylight again.”

“ In-ho…” Woo-sik snapped back.

“ You really think this is going to end with you winning? She’s not yours. She never was. You’re just a parasite playing with power.”

In-ho’s eyes glinted with something primal.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t explode.

He commanded.

“ Listen to me, you pathetic leech.” He growled, voice dipped in venom.

“ You think she’s yours? You think she wants you? Wake the fuck up. You’re just a placeholder. A name in her contact list. A body she barely tolerates.”

“ In-ho, shut the—”

“ No, you shut up.” In-ho snapped, his voice rising just enough to echo off the walls.

“ The next time I call, you won’t hear her voice, you won’t hear her crying for you. No.”

His head slowly turned toward you, gaze dark and heavy.

“ You’ll hear her moaning my name. While I have her pinned beneath me, screaming for more—while I fuck her so hard she forgets you ever existed.”

You gasped, heat rushing to your face, shame and fury crashing into each other as your nails dug into your palms.

“ You son of a bit—!” You shouted, but he silenced you with a look.

Woo-sik’s voice turned vicious. “ Touch her like that and I’ll kill you. I swear to fucking God—”

“ Oh?” In-ho smirked again, but this time it was twisted, poisoned.

“ Big talk for someone who isn’t here. You’re out there, throwing words like stones. I’m here, in my bed, in my house. I hear her breathe. I feel her warmth. You? You have nothing.”

“ Try me.” Woo-sik growls. “ I dare you.”

“ Challenge accepted.” In-ho snaps, and ends the call.

He turns back to you, the mask slipping again—jealousy blazing in his eyes like wildfire. In-ho slowly lowered the phone.

His hand trembled.

Not from fear—but from restraint.

He turned toward you, eyes locked.

“ What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He said, voice a whisper now, softer than it should be.

“ Are you upset…or excited?”

You tried to step back, but he moved faster—closing the space between you until his body nearly caged you against the wall.

“ You don’t have to lie.” He whispered, brushing a knuckle under your chin. “ Not to me. I know your fire. I’ve felt it. And I know…”

He leaned closer, lips ghosting your ear.

“ No one takes what’s mine. Not even a prince in shining armor.”

You wanted to scream.

To slap him.

To run.

But your pulse was too loud. Your breath is too shallow.

Because part of you hated him.

And part of you wasn’t so sure anymore.

A/n: Heya, everyone! I'm too happy to be back. Although this is another Hwang In-ho story, it is more sinister than my earlier pieces. I hope everyone is fine with that. Guys, you are welcome to leave this story if reading it makes you uncomfortable.

As you can see, there are warnings. I hope you read them carefully because it is your responsibility to continue or not. Please refrain from reading this if you are under the age of 18. I have given you a warning already. This is not your typical romance. It's a twisted and toxic one.

Always read with responsibility.

Why did I come up with this concept? I dunno. I was using C.ai when I read about one of the characters available, which inspired me to write a story about them.

[justevelynnnn]

anti smoker🍃🚫

Summary: Viltrumite!Mark hates that you smoke weed. He absolutely despises it.

Warnings: Mentions of smoking weed, Viltrumite mark literally 💀 readers plug, mention of being held hostage

A/N: Currently becoming obsessed with Viltrumite!Mark

Your friend Mark liked smoking weed with you sometimes, but recently he hasn’t had time. He always had to bail before or halfway through.

This Mark in the all white? Hell no.

It started when he kidnapped you during the invincible war because “you’d make a good mate”. Not because you were pretty or beautiful or he even loved you. Nope.

He held you hostage in your own home. You knew it wasn’t him from how he moved so gracefully and stiff. And his face was 90% of the time nonchalant.

So, it was very off putting from the jump.

You were stressed and he already said he wasn’t going to kill you so you just said fuck it and pulled out the bong and your stash of weed.

“What are you doing.” The Mark in all white asked you stoically.

You paused as you grabbed your lighter and started to flick it on then you mocked him in a teasing tone, “What are you doing.”

“I’m smoking weed what does it look like?”

You took a long first hit, held the smoke so it filled your lungs, burn delightedly and then you exhaled slow.

Mark just stared. He seems confused?

“Do you want to try or something or are you just gonna stare dude?” You sighed slouching into the couch. He simply shook his head no and grimaced.

“This…”weed” smells abhorrent.” He stated still squinting. “Why are you doing this?”

You rolled your eyes, “Because i’m stressed. I have you holding me hostage and a bunch of other Marks are attacking the world.”

He said nothing as you wrapped up, but just stared judgmentally. He stayed away as you just sat in the couch high and watched different things to avoid the news.

Being high though messed up your perception though and him staring at you like that made you just paranoid.

He kept complaining too.

“Why do you humans do such immature and ridiculous things? Why ruin your own body for some…some intoxicated pleasure?”

“Leave me alone, dude. This is my house.”

“You need to answer me.”

“Like hell I do.” You could barely focus at this point.

He groaned in disgust.

After that he demanded you stop smoking and you just said okay to shut him up.

Of course you were lying.

A week later you lit up again while he was gone. He had smashed your phone to stop you from calling anyone to help you and threatened you from going outside. Apparently, he was waiting for reinforcements from Viltrum.

Naturally, this caused more stress so naturallyyy it was time to smoke again. You admit it was a bad habit, but what could you say?

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have enough time to air out the place so when Mark came home he was immediately lecturing you.

“I told you to stop that! You’re ruining your body! Do you imbeciles care at all for your health?” He spat towering over you.

“Well, maybe you should hold some other girl hostage then.” You argued. You hated how he was trying to change you. Even if it was for the better.

He threw away all your junk food, all your frozen foods too. He monitored what you ate now too, and only brought authentic healthy things which tasted gross but he swore it was good.

“You humans eat too many unhealthy, toxic chemicals and preservatives. Your governments truly hate you all. I mean, this world is just unbalanced and-”

“Oh my god, shut the hell up already Mark.” You said biting into a sad wheat bread sandwich with one slice of turkey in it. He then argued at you about cutting him off.

Anyways , he smashes your bong out of rage that night and flushed your weed. You yelled at him and tried to slap him but he just restrained you for an hour. It was the worst high of your life.

After a month, you managed to sneak out anyways and meet your plug somewhere to get more weed. It was just some guy from high school. And luckily for you, you had a laptop to text him on that you snuck onto when Mark was out.

You walked quickly with a hoodie on and some old pj pants and slippers. You kept your head down too. You didn’t feel too proud doing this and felt you looked crazy to some but you just needed this.

You met him in a Mcdonald’s, and left just as fast. You also had a spare pipe to smoke with that you hid in your bra drawer. This Mark didn’t like going in there.

But the second you got back home there he was. Arms crossed and all. He looked at you like a disappointed parent.

“Where were you.” He spat.

“Just taking a walk geez.” You looked to the side and hoped he wasn’t as smart as he let on. Sadly, he was.

“You were buying more of that herb. Right? That you humans enjoy?”

He took a step towards you and you backed into he door.

“No-”

“Yes.” He grabbed your purse. “I did some research. To see why you idiots do it. Weaken your senses and mobility for….satisfaction. I just don’t get it.”

“Let go-” You whined trying to take back the back but it was no use.

That was $100 down the toilet yet again.

He demanded to know who gave it to you and you didn’t budge. He didn’t stop asking though.

You eventually answered him with just a name. No details on what he looked like or where to meet him. Just a name. And that was enough for Mark oddly enough.

“What are you gonna do, huh? Tell him to stop selling weed?” You sighed looking at him annoyed.

“Something like that.”

You turned away from him to watch the news, “Well good luck finding him.”

Mark said nothing but hummed.

The next time you tried to contact your plug, about a week later, you were left on delivered. And this went on for days. He never leaves you on read.

You were getting worried.

Then it hit you. A few days after confronting you at the door, Mark came home with blood seemingly on him. He refused to tell you where he got it or how but he seemed satisfied that day. You didn’t want to think negatively but the dots were connecting.

“Hey, so, did you like…do something to my guy?” You asked one night washing dishes with him.

He shrugged.

“Dude.” You said glaring at him.

“What? He was harming you. He offers this world no good.” He smiled. “Honestly, I tried to reason with him at first, but he simply had to be terminated in the end.”

“Terminated.” You repeated, heart dropping.

“Yes.”

“You killed him.”

“That’s what i said didn’t i?” He sighed like it was just so obvious.

You felt sick to your stomach. He was a genuine sweet guy trying to make ends meet. He wasn’t even one of those violent plugs either. You didn’t even want to imagine what he went through.

“So……you killed him because he sold me weed.” You said slowly. “You must really hate weed.”

Of course, without outside connections you couldn’t smoke anymore but you made a mental note that if you ever got your hands on more to not tell Mark.

[wintertimewhump]

Magic / powered whumpees getting their powers taken away before being imprisoned is all cool and good, but you know what I like more than that? Situations where it’s impossible / undesirable to take away Whumpee’s powers, and instead a prison built specially to hold them and their powers must be created.

TW: medical whump, captivity

Fire-breathing whumpee kept submerged head to toe in cold water, a tube and mask keeping them breathing with barely enough oxygen.

Whumpee that can manipulate water kept in a cell that feels like an oven, constantly drying any condensation, the only water they’re given being in the form of injections while they sleep.

Super strong whumpee bound with reinforced chains or cords that individually they could easily break- too bad there’s dozens of them, wrapped around every limb, around their waist, their neck, across their chest in an X.

Psychic whumpee forced to wear a helmet that blocks their brain waves, trapping them inside their own head. Additionally, a psychic whumpee that needs to know their surroundings in order to interact with them being subjected to sensory deprivation.

Whumpee whose power comes from their emotions being restrained to a hospital bed while an IV drip fills their bloodstream with sedative, emotion-dulling chemicals that put them in a stupor.

Whumpee with ocular powers made to wear a thick blindfold that doesn’t let even a trace of light through, kept on them for so long they start to forget what their captors’ faces look like.

Just. Whumpee in a cell specifically designed for them, knowing that their captor has planned for any contingency. They won’t be getting out easily.

[a-minke-whales-tale]

The Insidiousness of Human Kindness

There is something particularly insidious and cruel about human kindness. It is not all kindness of course but there is a certain type of "kindness" humans do in which they try to imagine what they would want if they were you and then do that. It is in a way sort of an expansion of that "golden rule" to treat others how you want to be treated. That rule works fine for general social interaction and teaching children to not hurt others. However it is often mechanically applied where it is not applicable. It does start from the base assumption that we all have the same needs and wants and understanding. Unfortunately some very cruel things can be done in the name of that kindness.

This did originally come up in the context of animal welfare and animal rights particularly in regards to cetaceans. Many animal rights activists will appeal to this idea putting yourself in that animal's shoes so to speak and what you would want in that situation. The problem ultimately is you are not them. You come in with your own biases, your own vision of what a good life looks like, either for yourself or for that animal. The irony is that humans will watch some animals being cared for quite well and respond with outrage and revulsion, and watch others being abused or mistreated or displaying a stress response and respond positively of how adorable the interaction or behaviour is.

Humans do not do this only to other species though, but really any group they find different even their own species. Most creatures lack the ability to directly communicate their wants and desires, but most humans can (or could if they were given the space and means to). It is quite common for Ace and Aro people to be told how sex or romance are a normal human desire that they should want and them not wanting it means they should go on certain medicines. Humans will say how they would want X or Y in their position and so the other should to. But there is not something wrong with that person (and even if there was), they simply have a different set of wants and needs. It can also be as simple as pushing someone into a crowd to interact with others because you think they just need a push to open up and you would want that, but that person simply has different social needs and wants. It is a big part in psychiatric treatment in how many non-psychotics think that they would want the treatment and the medicine and think that we should want it as well to the point they will happily force treatment to us for "our own good". It can in some cases go as far as the beginnings of genocide and mercy killing in the belief our lives are simply too miserable to suffer through.

Arguably a lot of the "empath" or "empathic" behaviour is like this though. It can be hard to really know what someone is experiencing. So instead those cues are run through your own biases and your own understandings of the world to create what you think that person is experiencing. In a lot of cases for a lot of interactions this can be good enough for at least a surface level understanding and to carry out interaction. But when those understandings do not align people can do terrible things to others believing themselves in the right, not out of morality or superiourity, but that they are being kind and helping.

Some of the worst experiences I have had in my life have been a result of this sort of human kindness. I spent years in and out of hospitals on so many antipsychotic medicines. I used to transform fully and frequently. The process was at times scary, but it was still something I treasured. But the humans did not understand and they could not understand. They took that away, they forced me onto medicines, any resistance or argument was punished, I was chemically and physically restrained, locked into hospitals. In their mind everything they did to me was to help me and for my benefit. I learned quickly to obey, to say and do whatever it was they wanted so they would not hurt me more. I do not live in hospital anymore, but still obedience and fear dominate my life to show the humans I am doing what they want, what they feel I should want, so they do not hurt me further.

What is particularly insidious about human "kindness" regarding those experiences, and even those ongoing, is that I cannot express them to people close to me, people who as I am spiralling in the night want to help me and tell for me how much they care. But if I explain to them these terrible experiences and I explain to them the spirals they tell me instead how those were good and it was very kind of the humans to do those thing to me because they were helping me. That without it I could not have the life I have now, a life I never wanted but have to play so the humans do not hurt me. There was one point I expressed some of what happened in the hospital to my current doctor and she did not understand that those experiences for me are ones of fear, dread, and nightmare, believing instead that I was thankful for the hospitals and the doctors. Even when I discuss struggles in my life (after a lot of coaxing), my doctor has an entirely different vision of what I should want from my life and how it should be. It is far different than what I actually want, but I have to act according to their vision of what they think I should want.

That "kindness" though is something I fear very much. I do have radically different desires in life compared to the humans who watch over me. For myself I desire to return to the water, to be a whale again, to swim forever. For many humans, even other therians, the idea to turn myself back into a whale is unimaginable. I know that returning to the water I would have to go to a tank and live a captive life, I simply could not survive in the wild, and likely could not survive even in a sea pen. But even those who can understand my desire to return to the water, with the exception of a few podmates, it is hard to imagine for them that captive life is something I would want. They simply live differently and understand the world around them differently from me. We have different wants and needs. At the very least compared to other captive cetaceans I can actively express my desire to live in captivity. But will the humans actually listen, or will they use my desire as proof I am not well enough to know what I want?

I know my hopes to return to the water and to live again as a whale are very difficult. It will depend very much on genuine human kindness and understanding. It will depend on their curiousity of me and my experiences and to see a creature hurting and wish to help it. It will depend on them wanting to help and understand my genuine needs and desires. I fear though that at some point the humans will instead act in "my best interest" of how they think I should want to live out of their own belief in their kindness and rip me again from the water and again into a hospital until I can obey them as they want. It did not kill me last time, though it nearly did and I left permanently damaged and I am not the same whale who went in. I fear though that someday as the humans imagine themselves in my position of what they would want if they were me, they will surely kill me as they have so many other cetaceans before in their act of "kindness"

I would be curious to hear others experiences on the receiving end of this sort of "kindness".

~ Kala

[babigges]

Another one! I’m not this quick lol I just have a stash built up atp. Not any ocs, I was just really feeling the planty egg vibes? Much happier with this!

As I was drawing this, I was imagining the backstory as well. I’m not a great writer, but I’ve done my best to record my thoughts. Story below the cut!

They’re walking through the forest and it’s near dusk. They’re already nervous because they’ve heard stories about this part of the woods. It’s the part where everyone was told not to go as children, but it’s already late and she needs to make the shortcut.

As it stands, they’ve already walked plenty and are beginning to stumble in the dimming light. Finally, they fall flat out on their tummy having tripped over a large greet root. It’s like no plant they’ve seen before and as their eyes trace it to its source, they let out a sharp gasp. A huge bulb has sprouted from the ground, about the size of a small car. It seems out of place, like it shouldn’t be in this climate. A tropical plant in a dedicious forest like this? The root system seems to trail on many feet away from its source, rising into the tree branches above and dangling like vines. It seems to be in bloom, judging by the small lavender blooms in the sky.

As they study this strange new plant from the ground, they miss the subtle shushing of movement in the grass. With a sudden lurch, they’re pulled from the ground by their ankles, dangling from the very root they tripped over. They struggle and scream for help but quickly realize that no one has dared step foot in this part of the forest for as long as they can remember. They are alone with this new beast of a plant.

The root tentacle moves them above this strange bulb and they fear the worst. Surely, inside of this terrible creature is a gaping maw of razor sharp teeth, ready to turn them into fertilizer. As these thoughts race through their mind, the leaves that make up the body of the plant begin to loosen. With languid movements, they unfold and reveal a shocking sight.

Everything inside of this creature is slick and dripping wet. In the center, glowing mass, slimy and sweet-smelling is revealed to them. Their eyes focus in on oblong shapes, seemingly more solid than the jelly around them, each with a faded yellow center. As they take in this new sight, a long appendage rises up to their body. It is made of the same material as the slime that surrounds the rounded objects but it is in the shape of a long and slight tube. It rises up to their now weakening body.

It reaches their foot first, and they realize that it is not as cold as they thought it would be. A lukewarm appendage slides up their foot, their calf, their thigh, up to the apex of their legs. It pauses here. It’s impossible for them to know, but the creature is taking note of their chemical balance, their ph levels, their pheromones. It needs the perfect warm, wet place for its brood, after all.

Apparently, over-the-pants action is not enough to determine their eligibility, so this luminescent tube begins to wiggle down the front of their pants. They move to slap it away and they get one hit in before more tentacles come up to restrain their arms. Thankfully, they flip them right side up and blood rushes from their head. The relief is short lived because the tube now has free access to their body, and it takes full advantage. With surprising strength their pants are ripped away and their lower half is exposed to the cool evening air. A shiver runs down their spine and not just from the chill. Something about being tied up has always gotten them a little hot, but this is a whole new level.

This green tube finally investigates what it has been searching for. They can see the end of it open slightly. A small pulse, perhaps a sniff? Is it sniffing their fucking pussy? It seems to approve and moves to touch their slick entrance. It swipes up and down, brushing over their clit, and they can’t help but to let out a small moan. It pauses for a moment and they freeze. Can this thing hear them? It brushes their now swollen bud and they let out another groan of pleasure. It slides down to continue its investigation and finds the entrance to their core. It pushes inside, only slightly but they can’t help but to gasp at the intrusion. It’s thicker than it looks. Suddenly, it retreats and they’re left almost disappointed.

This creature has processed all it needs to know for what it is about to do. The only thing left is to prepare this small, fragile thing to take what it will give.

A fine yellow powder begins to drift from above. It settles into their hair and all over their skin. Their heartbeat quickens, faster than ever before. Their skin is scorching with heat but it is nothing compared to the building fire within their core. Their nipples harden and ache for touch. In fact, their whole body aches to be touched. Whimpers begin to slip from their mouth and viscous wetness leaks from their tight little hole. It’s pulsing now, needy and begging for something to grip around.

They don’t have to wait long. The tube from before rubs itself over their entrance, drenching itself in their slick. The stimulation is already almost too much for them and loud moans escape their mouth. Once again, the tentacle pushes at their hole. For a moment, there’s pressure, but it gives away to a burning pleasure as it slowly presses deeper than they’ve ever taken anything before. It inches forward, allowing their needy hole to accommodate the intrusion until it touches their cervix. Normally, this would prove extremely uncomfortable, even painful, but the pollen must have loosened their body enough to eliminate the pain it would have caused. Their back is arched and they are frozen in place, struck with the new sensation. Just as slowly as it entered, it begins to retreat. The dragging of this slick appendage along their inner walls brings tears to their eyes. It’s almost too much. It retreats almost entirely and as their body clenches around air they whine loudly, already missing the thick length.

It rushes suddenly inside, bottoming out in a second and again they are struck with pleasure, mouth frozen wide open. The tentacle begins it’s onslaught in earnest, truly loosening up their poor little pussy. It sets a punishing tempo but they take it in stride, unable to hold back the tears leaking from their eyes. Slickness runs down their inner thighs and the filthiest, sloppiest sounds fill the evening air. They didn’t even notice the sounds they made as shame falls away completely and their body takes all the beast gives them, almost like it was made for this. The pleasure builds to a peak and with a particularly well-placed thrust, the bubble expanding inside pops and their body goes rigid. No sound escapes as their mouth hangs open and their hole flutters and grips the tentacle.

They can barely breathe as the tube pushes even deeper, past their cervix and deep into their womb. They are filled, deeper and more completely than ever. It pulses for a moment and they see a minty substance rush up the translucent tentacle. It floods their womb with that lukewarm temperature and they can feel a slight expansion in their belly from the sheer amount of fluid it pumps deep inside them.

Eyes screwed shut, they fail to notice yet another tube rising behind them. It snakes around their neck and slithers into their mouth. They don’t even hesitate before beginning to suck on the appendage. They now have two tentacles thrusting inside of them. The taste is bitter sweet, like the flesh between the rind and the red part of a watermelon. It fills their mouth completely and as they suck it thrusts further and further down their throat. They don’t even gag because of the relaxing effect of the beasts pollen. Somehow, the tube is pumping air inside and they can breathe through the thick length down their throat. Their eyes roll back and they almost cum again over the new sensation, having never been able to take something so deep in their throat.

Their eyes flash open as they feel a new pressure at their entrance. They look down and see one of the oblong objects has traveled up the tube and is now pressing against their entrance. Perhaps they should be scared of the idea of getting filled by another creatures eggs, but in their state of euphoria they only consider how good it would feel to get even more stretched out. It presses forward and their head flings back, stars in their eyes over the delicious stretch. It’s thicker than anything they’ve ever taken and they groan around the tentacle stuck entirely down their throat. There’s a popping sensation and their hungry pussy swallows the egg deep inside of themself. It follows up past the entrance of their womb and settles there with a heavy, almost comforting weight.

Slowly, the tentacle deep in their pussy begins to thrust again. They can feel the liquid and the egg sloshing around deep in their belly. They hear a ringing in their ears as the egg bumps up against the walls of their womb, moving with the thrust of the creature. Soon another egg has traveled up the tube and with another stretch and another pop, it is swallowed up to join the first. They bump and rub against each other inside of their belly. Another egg soon follows, followed by another, and another, and another, until they lose count entirely. They’re lost in waves upon waves of ecstasy. That is until a new sensation arises from their mouth.

The tentacle in their mouth has begun to pulsate and they see smaller, more spherical objects squeeze through the tube and into their mouth. As they travel, the appendage dives deeper and deeper down their esophagus, until it reaches their stomach. It seems their body has more than one place to carry a brood of eggs. They slide down their throat and begin to fill their belly as well.

By now, their body has expanded beyond that of what should be possible. They would look like their in their third trimester if it wasn’t for the lumpy appearance the eggs gave their belly. As the eggs continued pouring inside of them, their skin was stretched then enough for the luminosity of the eggs to begin showing through. They couldn’t help but think about how beautiful their new, stretched-out belly looked.

Eventually, after what must of been hours of rolling orgasms, seemingly overlapping each other, the eggs and the thrusting slowed. Their exhausted, sweaty body sagged at the cessation. A final egg slid past their now loose entrance, meeting no resistance, and joined the countless others deep inside their womb. The tentacle in their mouth retreated and they opened and closed their mouth, working out their now sore jaw. Perhaps the pollen was beginning to wear off?

Before it retreated, the tentacle dug so deep in her core had one last task to complete. It exited their womb but left their cervix covered with a thicker, stickier goop that began to solidify. It had plugged their womb shut, making sure it’s eggs and it’s cum would stay firmly inside their womb. Slowly, it began to lower them down into the slimy base of leaves. There were no more eggs for them to avoid because they were now all inside them. The creature passed several tentacles over their swollen belly, seemingly checking on the eggs condition. Satisfied, they moved to cradle their exhausted, limp body. Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t run away because of how fucked-out, cock-drunk, and heavy they now felt. The slightest movement shifted the mass of eggs inside them and they rubbed on their belly to feel just how large they had become. They couldn’t help but feel entirely satisfied. The plant continued to caress their whole body, with one tentacle sliding up their leg to meet their still-swollen clit.

They let out a long sigh of satisfaction as the tentacle rubbed circles around their nub. Tracing down around their entrance to gather some left-over slick it continued its pattern. Their breath quickened a little, but they remained fully relaxed and their loose limbs felt evermore limp. The beast had one more trick up its proverbial sleeve, however. The small opening on the end of the tentacle latched onto her clit and lazily began to suck. At this, their legs stretched out and a deep-throated groan came from their mouth. Another, smaller tentacle slid into their stretched out pussy and rubbed up against that spongy part within their hole. These combined sensations made their eyes screw shut and their hands tighten into fists. Once again, it was almost too much. They were already so entirely full and the sucking on their clit and the smaller tentacles deft movements inside them had them baring down hard. They were at that peak again, and with a final scream they dove deep into euphoria, once again. This time, however, they felt a gush release from deep inside. Their release drenched the tentacles as they gulped down air, still unable to move due to the weight of the eggs. The one latched on her clit continued to suck until they began to beg for it to stop, and it did. The creature can hear after all.

They settled into the surprisingly soft and spongy base of the plant and decided to wait the whole ordeal with the egg pregnancy out. Apparently, the “eggs” that went down their throat weren’t eggs after all. They felt nourished, full, and they weren’t even thirsty after loosing all that fluid. They reached an arm out and caressed one of the tentacles and it wrapped around their palm. Again, they cradled their body, supporting the pendulous belly in a more comfortable position. They sighed once more as their eyes began to droop. They may not have been turned into fertilizer, but they did get fertilized.

[tinydefector]

Rut cycle- Prowl

Prowl x human

Word count: 1.1k

Warning: Smut, size difference, thigh fucking.

Masterlist

Rut cycle masterlist

Prowl masterlist

____________________

 Prowls eyes linger on them as he pulls them away from the Decepticons lingering gaze. His doorwings twitch in agitation as he extracts them from yet another cluster of hormonally compromised Mechs. 

His optics flare in the red zone as they squirm in his unforgiving grip, He moves quickly with them until the door to one of the rooms shuts. A deep snarl leaves his frame as blue optics narrow in on their body. They gasp as Prowl pins them in place. Eyes flicking up to his optics as they both stare at each other, neither willing to talk at that moment.  

Prowl's Field radiates pulsing waves of disapproval and barely-restrained need as his optics bore down into their eyes. "Foolish little organic," he growls, "Did you truly believe yourself exempt from the rules, inserting yourself into that den of hormonal deviants? We Autobots prize control, but even the strictest protocols fracture under chemical bombardment. One wrong move and you risk a lot more than you can withstand!" 

 Their mouth hangs open in a small shocked face before Prowl is hit with the wafting scent. The sweet scent almost like crystal Energex with Mercury hits his sensors and it makes him growl again. "I'm sorry I didn't know, I just thought you guys would all appreciate some energon while dealing with negotiations," they stutter, body tense as he holds them against the wall.

A guttural snarl rumbles Prowl's chassis at the sensory overloads assailing systems.  The intoxicating cocktail of hormones and pheromones soaked through hsi plating to the point he knows that if he were to leave the room he would still be able to smell them on his plating. 

coolant floods his interface array, lubricating. His spike pressurises against the locked panel, sending him insane with how his frame responds to them. He wanted so desperately to frag them into oblivion and back for the teasing and suffering it was causing.

"Foolish...Slagging Human," he huffs beside their ear, it sends a shutter up their spine from how close Prowl was, they are nearly caged in against the wall as he speaks slowly to them. A growled curse spews Prowl's vocoder as he pulls back before he could let his intake even taste their skin. 

" Are you truly so naive?" he rumbles, optics boring into them. His grip is almost bruising to the fragile tissue of their body. "Did you fail to notice every Decepticon in the room following your biochemistry trail like glitch hounds?, given the chance they would have scooped you up, used and discarded you without a thought."

Prowl's fans roar at the images assaulting processing units. The thought of them spread atop of his spike, taking as much as they physically can, whimpered moans of his name leaving them as transfluid weep from their used holes. His frame strains at the thought, plating and his wings fluttering at the thought. His optics focus back on their wide eyes. And then it occurred to him, You were playing the fool. “you enjoy Flaunting around base like its a show and shine don't you” he huffs

Vents expel hot gusts across their face as his field bleeds need. They shiver, eyes watching his optics. "I wasn't flaunting myself, I was just making sure you all have energon,  I know how stressed you all get when Decepticons are involved with anything. didn't know you were in a negotiation with them at the time" they state softly only to gasp as Prowl pulls them closer. A strangled keen escapes Prowl's vocalizer at their confession. 

 Optics flaring near-white, Prowl presses them to the inferno of his spike housing, letting them feel the heat that radiates off the plating. One word, and he would spill transfluid in torrents to claim them utterly as his, to unlatch his Interface panel and coat them is his fluid for all to know. 

"That sounds like a lie to me Bits," he rasps. His thumb meets their bottom lip, pressing against the soft flesh before he slowly presses harder. “Mouth, open, now” he orders, tone deep and husky. A low rumbled moan leaves him when they open their mouth. He presses his thumb down against their tongue. “Suck” the roiling pheromones melding their scents into a single intoxicating melody has him groaning in need as he slowly grinds his interface panel between their thighs, each grind has him groaning and hissing out vented air, his fans kicking up a storm. 

Prowl's optics flicker dangerously as panels withdraw, baring his weeping spike.Their eyes widen as they look up at him dumb found as it rests against their stomach. Prowl stiffens a keen, his own fever-glazed optics stare down at them as if they are meat. “My little Spike sleeve aren't you, so willing to have my transfluid” he coos as the bright Pink liquid slowly soaks into their clothing. His engine revs loudly as he grinds against them enjoying the way they wiggle and squirm. 

A smile graces his faceplate, watching as he turns them into the divine sight of sin and pleasure. He lets out a static laced moan as his thumb leaves their mouth letting them take in a shaky breath, his digit dig into their clothing, nearly spreading each layer of fabric as he thrust against their body. “Look at you, so desperate,” he rumbles in delight. He traces a pattern over their stomach. “this is how far my spike would reach in you, I could destroy that pretty little body of yours. You'd like that wouldn't you” he chuckles. 

Moans and whimpers leave their lips,  “Prowl” they cry out, wrapping their legs around his spike tightly as he begins to rut against their body. “Mmm, so good for me” he rumbles. Each grind of his spike has him closer and closer to overload as transfluid runs down their stomach and legs. 

Prowl lets out a loud snarl as his system flashes warning signs, more and more transfluid gushes from him as he lets out a static whine. His overload hits hard as he coats them, more and more shimmering pink fluid runs off their frame. Prowls fans whirring loudly as heated vents brush their body. He runs a digit through his finish before bringing it to their lips. “Suck” He orders with another smile. 

 eagerly take his digits into their mouth, a sound of approval leaves the mech as watches in delight. “perfect little slagger” he hums before leaning down to kiss them, their hands grab onto his faceplate as they kiss him back with vigour. “Have you learned your lesson?” he asked, only to get a nod in response. 

“your to get dressed and meet me back at my Hub, if you aren't spread out on my berth when I get there after these reports I'll be taking you wherever I find you, do you understand?” he raises an optic brow as his blue optics zone in on them.

 “Yes Sir” 

“run along then and stay out of trouble” 

____________________

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[icrypop]

Misunderstood By Society (3)

Asylum Patient! König x GN! Doctor! Reader

Warnings⚠️: Posted here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quiet hum of my apartment felt almost unnatural after the weight of the asylum. The dim glow of my desk lamp cast long shadows as I flipped through König’s file, the pages slightly worn from being handled so many times.

I had read through his basics already—his history of violence, his refusal to remove his hood, his resistance to treatment—but it wasn’t until I dug deeper into his medication list that my brows furrowed.

Several of his prescriptions made sense—antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety medications—but a few names stood out.

{High doses of sedatives. Heavy tranquilizers.}

I muttered to myself, running a finger down the list. “Were they trying to sedate him or tranquilize him?”

I had seen this before. In facilities like Winchester, when a patient became too “difficult,” the solution was often chemical restraint rather than actual treatment. But König wasn’t an animal to be put down when he got too aggressive—he was a man. A man with a fractured mind, one that had been pushed to the point of breaking.

Sighing, I leaned back in my chair and scrubbed a hand down my face. I’d figure that out later. For now, I needed to prepare.

I got up, threw a microwave dinner into the machine, and let it spin while I grabbed my notebook. König’s file had listed his three biggest diagnoses—**PTSD, Severe Anxiety, and Bipolar Disorder.** None of them were uncommon for someone with a history like his, but combined with past military experience and hallucinations? It was a volatile mix.

I started writing.

PTSD:

- Triggers can vary (sounds, environments, smells).

- Hypervigilance—may react aggressively if startled.

- May experience flashbacks—important to ground them in the present.

- Do not corner or restrain without necessity—could escalate panic.

Severe Anxiety:

- Constant state of heightened awareness.

- Likely has difficulty trusting others—especially in a place like this.

- Resistance to medication may stem from paranoia.

- Routines might help stabilize his mood.

Bipolar Disorder:

- Mood swings—manic episodes vs. depressive episodes.

- Manic: Impulsive behavior, possible aggression.

- Depressive: Withdrawal, possible suicidal ideation.

- Medication regulation is critical.

I tapped the pen against my notepad, thinking. König wasn’t just violent—he was reactive. His entire life, he had been treated as a monster, as something to be subdued rather than understood. It wasn’t surprising that he lashed out.

The mircowave beeped, but I barely noticed it, my mind too focused on the task ahead. If I was going to handle this right, I needed to know what not to do.

What NOT to do around König:

- Sudden movements or loud noises—could trigger defensive aggression.

- Forced eye contact—may make him feel challenged or threatened.

- Overuse of restraints—will increase distrust and worsen anxiety.

- Talking down to him—he’s not *stupid*, and treating him like a child will only piss him off.

- Forcing medication—there has to be a reason he refuses it. Find out why.

I exhaled, closing the notebook.

Tomorrow was going to be my first session with König. I wasn’t walking into this blind.

I was going to be prepared.

————————————————————————

The asylum always felt colder in the mornings. Maybe it was just the old building settling, or maybe it was something else—something deeper. Either way, I felt it in my bones as I made my way to the lockers, stopping when I saw Miss. Nessi leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

"Morning," she greeted, offering me a small but knowing smile.

"Morning," I replied, twisting open my locker and grabbing my things. "Anything I should know before I see him?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Jacobs is already in there."

I paused, my fingers gripping the edge of my clipboard a little tighter. "Of course he is."

"Be careful," Nessi murmured, lowering her voice. "You ever notice how some of the staff here act like they enjoy this place a little too much?" I glanced at her, noting the concern in her eyes. She was right. There were people here who weren’t just desensitized to the work—they thrived in it. Jacobs was one of them.

I gave her a nod, silently assuring her I’d be fine before heading to König’s restricted wing.

The moment I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong.

König was restrained, held down by two guards, his entire body tensed like a coiled spring. His breathing was sharp and uneven, chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. Jacobs stood in front of him, holding a small paper cup filled with pills.

"You gonna take 'em, or are we gonna have to *help* you again?" Jacobs taunted, his voice laced with amusement. "Come on, big guy. Open up."

König didn’t move. His hood obscured most of his face, but even from here, I could feel the intensity of his glare.

I flipped through my notebook, skimming my own notes. "Intimidation tactics don’t work," I said aloud, not bothering to hide my disapproval. "Neither does *antagonizing* the patient, but I guess that’s too much to ask."

Jacobs turned, his cocky smirk faltering slightly. "Oh, look, the new doc finally showed up." I didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, I met his gaze with a calm but firm stare. "Leave."

Jacobs scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"You’re excused," I replied evenly. "I’ll be handling his medication today." Jacobs’ jaw tightened. "You’re new. You don’t know how things work around here." I smiled, sharp and polite. "I know enough to recognize unprofessional behavior when I see it. Now, leave."

For a moment, I thought he’d argue, but something in my expression must have told him I wasn’t budging. He rolled his eyes and stepped back, shoving the cup into my hands before walking off with an irritated huff. I turned to the guards. "Out."

One of them hesitated. "Doctor, we’re required to—"

"—Stay out." My voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "You’re not helping."

They exchanged looks but, eventually, backed away. The heavy doors clicked shut behind them, leaving just me and König in the room.

I finally exhaled, looking up at him. His breathing was still uneven, but now that Jacobs and the guards were gone, it wasn’t as ragged. His shoulders remained tense, but his fists had loosened slightly.

I took a slow, deliberate step forward. "They always treat you like that?"

Silence.

I held up the cup of pills. "I read your file. I know you don’t like taking these. I’m not going to force you. But if we’re going to work together, I need to understand *why* you refuse them." König didn’t speak, but he was listening. That was a start.

I placed the cup on the small table beside us, keeping my movements slow and non-threatening. "I’ll leave these here. Your choice. No threats. No force." I took a step back, giving him space.

"Can I take these off?" I gestured to the restraints. His fingers curled slightly, muscles twitching, but he gave a small nod. Carefully, I reached for the straps, undoing them one by one.

As the last restraint fell away, König didn’t move. He just *watched* me. For the first time since I walked in, I met his gaze, though his face remained shadowed beneath his hood.

"I’m Dr. Y/N," I said softly. "And I'll be taking care of you."

[thequeenofuselessinformation]

So basically the entire character list of The ballad of songbirds and snakes is the exes from hell

1. Coriolanus Snow

-Mansplain Manipulate Manwhore

-Great hair and fashion sense

-Love bombs you

-Old money

-His (grand)mom hates you because her son can do no wrong so clearly you're the problem

-His favourite hobby is emotional and mental abuse

-Snitches on you when cheating at family board game night (he's deflecting that he's also cheating)

-Emotionally stagnant (narcissist with mommy and daddy issues)

2. Sejanus Plinth

-Loves you to bits, so does his mom (your waistline will never truly recover)

-Indecisive about where to grab dinner always

-New money and it shows in his insecurity

-Supportive asf

-Breaks up with you because he can't be with a non pacifist/vegan

-Daddy issues

-Condemns Shein hauls

-Identity crisis every other week, you'll have to talk him out of a buzz cut, jumping off the ledge or giving all his money to scammers (if you collect all the stamps you'll get a financial compensation from his dad on the wedding day)

3. Lucy Gray Baird

-Her Ex is a dick, will stalk and harass you

-Her family is a bunch of hippies, will make you eat with your hands, on the floor, while singing Kumbaya

-Sings you to sleep, braids your hair

-Almost poisoned you thrice cause she doesn't understand you shouldn't mix cleaning products together

-Old soul

-Thrifts, recycles

-Puts salt in your coffee after arguments

-Ghosts you after your make or break argument

4. Casca Highbottom

-Never asks about your day, his is always worse

-Drug addict in denial

-Weird beef with his old classmate's son (he never lets anything go)

-Dislikes people, which would be fine if you weren't included

-Always on some sardonic shit, probably a business major with a psych minor

-His pills take all the space in the shared bathroom, your makeup will be shoved in the far lowest drawer next to the TP

-His ancient ass coworkers hit on you at symposiums, he's too high off bathroom cocaine to stop them (or gets off, either way you're tired and want home)

5. Dr Gaul

-Devil Incarnate

-You somehow rizzed her up at a function and she's been showing up at your house ever since (you don't how but she has both the address and a key)

-Petting zoo type of owner

-She always smells like chemicals and latex

-Asks you unhinged "Would you rather" questions and refuses to drop it (makes your Would you love me if i were a worm ex cute by a long shot)

-Will perform experiments on you without your knowledge or consent

-Insists her pet snake shares your bed

-Freak in the streets and the sheets (the restraining order won't even go through cause she's in cahoots with half the Government)

-Definitely wanted for war crimes somewhere, the G in Geneva convention stands for Gaul

6. Lucky Flickerman

-A clown.

-His hair and skincare products take over the entire bathroom/vanity

-He can't dress to save his life, but he sure thinks he can

-Golden retriever boyfriend energy

-Steals your concealer, refuses to admit it

-Would you like to see a magic trick? What do you mean this is a serious fight, there's a quarter up your nose

-Impulsive buyer, has 13 snow globes of panem because they were on sale and looked shiny

-Even his pet thinks he's a dumbass

-Cries during movies

7. Tigris

-Yes she do the cooking, yes she do the cleaning

-Insecure about her appearance (critical, will cost you)

-Her family is a bunch of snobs

-Anything she touches turns into gold

-Her cousin can do no wrong, you have to accommodate everything for him or she'll die (and he never even visits, "just in case")

-Her grandmother is a package deal, I hope you like boomer propaganda and info commercials early on Sunday morning

-Empathetic asf

-Puts everyone's needs above hers (and unfortunately yours)

[drjae69]

DREAM COME TRUE?

Honey, I need you to stop struggling with us this is exactly what you wanted and we didn’t skip one detail . You have to understand, honey. Once you make a request with us we have to see it through to the end no matter what . We’re going to impregnate you , You’re going to live at our clinic as a surrogate until the baby is here and then what ever happens is your choice but you have to understand you wanted this ! But you have to understand we’re doing what you requested of us and we are obligated to grant it . If you keep struggling with us, we’ll have to chemically restrain you for your stay with us and we can’t have that now . Come to your senses ! This is your dream being abducted out of the blue and forced impregnated to live as a surrogate at the clinic we are giving you an opportunity to see it through all, a we rather have you with us for the process and not some vegetable with a number. Forget it … we’ll do this the hard way you’ll see ! prepared the sample I’ll put her under myself . This is your dream and we’re granting it to you one way or another . See you on the other side Patient 11 .

[jor-contact-center-and-more]

Hello miss Curator!

I have the perfect person for 026 to practice shooting.

*shoving Luna forward*

He met her younger sister (read: had babysit her). She'll not need any observation. But dance season hasn't started yet, she's finished all the books she had to read, and there's only so many chemical experiments you can run before the neighbours grow concerned. Plus, she hasn't had a good fight since the reunion with ... let's just say an old friend.

Also, don't let her near anything that is a medicine, a drug, or poisonous, or venomous. Anything with Biochemistry basically. 026 needs his sanity, and listening to an 18-year old talk about that stuff will not help him.

(Btw she's been training since childhood, and has godly heritage. So it'll keep both of them, and us, busy for a while)

Luna: Wha...what am I...what are you....what is happening here?

*sees 026*

Luna: Oh, aren't you that guy who fought with my Stella? Well, she can be annoying, but you shouldn't have best her up. Well, anyways, I heard you wanted a duel? So, how about we bet on something?

026: "..."

*His voice flattens, and the look in his eyes dulls. A mix of exhaustion, exasperation, and regret. It's almost noon, and he seems to have just woken up, a little pain twisting his expression as well*

026: "I'm not shooting a child."

026: "And I didn't beat her. All I did was threaten her and had to use some physical force to restrain her. I wanted to go to bed, and some asshole dropped a yammering child into my home without my consent."

026: "I'm not fighting you. Leave me the hell alone."

[ameliathornromance]

Cage Fighter! Orc x Reader

A/N: Just as I was uploading this I thought I could write more about Cage Fighter!Orc hehe, let me know if you guys are interested in him! TW: Mention of violence, description of injury but not in gross detail.

“Ouch!” Your Orc hissed, jerking in pain as you pressed alcohol soaked cloth to his arm. “You can’t be more gentle, can you?”

“Well if you stopped moving,” you returned through gritted teeth, “then it wouldn’t hurt as much. It’s not me that’s causing you pain, it’s the chemical. If I’m any more gentle about it, the pain will just last longer and it will sting a lot more.”

The giant gash in his arm just did not want to stop bleeding. You let out a sigh of irritation as you realised it was going to need stitches. “Hold onto it for me?”

Grumbling, your Orc Boyfriend pressed held the soaked cloth in place as you reached for your medical box behind you, “how did this happen then?”

“I was in the gym,” your boyfriend started, “and this goblin wouldn’t stop trying to take pictures of me, so I told him to put the phone down. He said ‘no, it’s a public space, I can film who I damn well likes’ and his smug face pissed me off. So… I might have gotten a little rough with him.”

You sighed again. Typical of an Orc to start the physical fight. Pulling out a needle and medical thread, you cleaned them, nodding as your boyfriend went on, “and then this little bastard pulls out a knife and just slashed me open!”

Your head whipped around to look at your partner, “what the fuck?!” you set the needle and thread down on your bedside table. “You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you? Oh my God, why did they even let that guy in with a weapon!?” You surveyed your Orcs topless body, searching his green skin for any kind of graze or cut.

“Something about it being for Goblin arts practice.” Your boyfriend grunted, annoyed. “Anyway, he’s then restrained by some of the staff, the police are called and there was also an ambulance.”

“Why didn’t you let the paramedics stitch you up?!” You asked, aghast. “Why would you refuse it and come back here!?”

Meeting your boyfriends gaze, he gives you a sheepish look. “… Because you used to sew up my cuts when I was a cage fighter?”

“That was only on the fly!” You snapped, “I’m not a medical professional, I could have really hurt you doing that!”

He scoffed, “we all could have gotten really hurt doing that. It was underground and illegal for all of us to be there.”

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[helpfandom]

Forced Age Regression w/ BTAS Dork Squad + Penguin

@artisticdoofusxx

@lonleydweller

Kind of implied they're in a relationship, but open to interpretation.

This might end up kind of long... Now I'm kind of thinking of a joint darling with some of the most popular villains...

°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°

°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°

Honestly, Scarecrow is likely the one who brings up age regression first, as it's a coping strategy. He learned it a while ago and hadn't thought about it for a while before he saw you...

Mad Hatter doesn't know about what that is, but upon learning is a strong supporter of it, often being very gung-ho on having you as their little kid.

But Riddler is tougher to jump on the bandwagon. It doesn't make sense to him at first. Scarecrow explains it, and suddenly it clicks. You are just a little baby! He just didn't know that's what it is.

Too bad you try to fight it...

As I mentioned in my Riddler headcanons, Penguin would be the only one other than them who would watch you. It's not that they don't like some of the other villains (Joker), they just don't trust them to keep their money safe, much less their little!

Mad Hatter is Uncle Jervis, Scarecrow is Papa, and Riddler is Mama/Dada. Yes, Riddler doesn't really fit the mama stereotype, but he is far more nurturing and doting to the point where it gets a bit much sometimes. Penguin... is an uncle figure in a way but he doesn't get too close lest Jervis feels jealous and decides to make him take a long walk off of a short pier. Penguin is slightly yandere, but he likely has his own little to take of as well, so they'll often make you do play dates while they discuss "grown up" business.

They all have separate rooms that they work in, but two bedrooms. Yours / your playroom (It only becomes your bedroom when you're really naughty and they need to isolate you), and the main bedroom, where your comfy bed is as well as a big enough bed for all four of you to sleep in. (If asked, they do NOT cuddle, but sometimes you'll wake up early enough to see Edward's head on Jon's chest or Jervis spooning one of them.)

Punishments depend on who caught you. Most of the time, you'll wish it's Jervis, as he'll just make you go to time-out or take away a few toys for fighting back, but when Jervis catches you trying to escape, it's enough to break him from his delusions and force a mind control device onto you for you to behave until they come back home. And if they're in Arkham and he catches you? It's a long time before you regain control of your bodily autonomy. For the other two, it depends on the severity on what you did.

For milder infractions like throwing a tantrum -Either a real one (not brought on by stress, they'll always forgive you for being stressed and acting out because of that) or you simply insisting that you're not little- they'll isolate you, take away little things like no dinner, no sweets, etc.

When Edward catches you, it's usually isolation or no sweets, something he agreed with that Jervis brought up. He's not going to yell at you, (he lets Jonathan do that - Both Jervis and Ed want to be the one to comfort you, and they are okay with him being the mean parent if it means you'll like them more.) But he will tell Jonathan that you're being naughty and then let him decide from there.

Jonathan is rougher... He's willing to yell, and he's more willing to use restrains when needed. Out of the three of them, he's also the most well versed when it comes to chemicals and how they react to the brain, and so on, so he'll usually be the one to knock you out or in extreme cases, give you a light dose of fear gas to make you more well behaved.

They don't have a refined age that they want you at, they each have their own personal preference, but they don't mind it if you switch ages (until you stop regressing), and would rather just switch off who cares for you when they can. If you regress to younger ages, perhaps Infancy to 5, then you'll be with Mad Hatter more, 5-10 with Riddler (and maybe Mad Hatter, he just loves all younger regressors), and 10-15 with Scarecrow, usually helping him in the lab.

The activities vary, Riddler and Scarecrow like to have you involved in their work, with Riddler asking you to help with riddles or simply making certain themes work, and Scarecrow with science. Sometimes Riddler and Scarecrow will team together to keep you occupied when either one of them feel worse or if they recently got out of Arkham. Riddler, if he recently suffered a loss, will be mopey and that's when Scarecrow will pop in to team, or if Jonathan had an accident with his gas or just got out of Arkham, he'll usually ask Ed for some help because he's not as mentally well as you need him to be.

Mad Hatter will often not ask for help, but will have Ed or Jon step in when you've been gone for a while and they miss you, or if they simply fear he's going too far into his daydreams. Most of the time it's just because they also want time with their baby!

Penguin only steps in when they are in Arkham or if they are about to do a joint heist, in which case he'll stop by and then bring you to the Iceberg lounge, where there's two options.

Option 1, you haven't come around yet but have managed to learn how to fake it, in which case he'll just let you be grown in exchange for not telling them he took you the lounge, (They yell at him and threaten not give him business every time he gets caught bring you around), which makes it very enjoyable not to play pretend.

Option 2, you've fully accepted it and fully regressed, in which case he's trying to bribe you with toys, candy, whatever makes you happy in order to not get in trouble. In cases in which he knows that they'll be coming around, he forces his employees to make it more child-friendly so that he won't get into trouble with his 'business partners.' On days where they don't though, or he simply cannot transform his business that way, he'll lock himself up in the office and force himself to get to work on paperwork while you play in his office. Sometimes when you pretend to be sleeping, you can see him smile at your curled up form on the couch, and sometimes, when he really thinks you're asleep, he'll press a little kiss to your scalp.

[97keanu]

shotgunning a cigarette with john wick (especially young jardani) is all i can think abt right now

John's breath is visible in the cold of the night, the stink of the city rising from the gutters in the alley. You take a deep drag from the cigarette he passed you earlier. It fills your lungs with welcomed smog, and you exhale before your lungs can protest the chemicals being held for too long. Neither of you speak as the smoke dances in the air between you two. You don't need to. This little routine of yours has been suiting you both quite nicely without many words so far.

You look out into the starless night, tapping the cigarette off to the side before passing it back to John without looking. You think about how different things are for people like you. How much your feet ache despite leaning against the brick wall for support. Your ruined toes from the strict ballet routines, the callouses on your hands matching the blisters on blisters.

You don't want to think about what they teach John. You know he's due for his first true mission soon, you're both beginning to be old enough to truly start being of value to the 'family's' business.

You don't notice John's sharp eyes caressing your features. You only glance over when your thoughts drift away, and the craving for another hit of the cigarette hits. You catch his stare, and he doesn't look away, he isn't one to be embarrassed about something like that. You wonder for a moment how long he's been eyeing you, but ignore it, and reach a hand out towards that little fire John holds in his hand between you. He pulls it back, not cruely, but as if he must.

This surprises you, but you don't know what to say. John speaks for the first time tonight.

"I'm headed off tomorrow night." he says it plainly, no deeper explaining, but you know what this means. He is going out to kill for the first time, for real, not the sparing he does with the other boys. No, he will use the sharpened skills he's learned, or he won't be back. You say nothing, but you give a small, short nod of understanding, and one of your hands reaches to smooth the white, fluffy tuelle of your ballet dress. John continues.

"I want to try something with you, if you'll let me..." He isn't nervous when he speaks. He says everything so plainly, but right now you know whatever he is suggesting is important to him, so you turn towards him fully. You look deep into those brown eyes, practically as black as the night sky above right now, only a small overhead yellowing light on the side of the building casting a glow on both of you. He sees your willingness to listen, and the space between the two of you closes so slowly, you hardly notice John is even moving towards you. He is truly, stealthy.

"Stop me if this displeases you..." His voice has softened, just barely, the words ebbing upwards with the frost of his breath. You know he means it when he says that, you trust that he would never do something to displease you to begin with, but your heart picks up as he moves closer. He brings that glowing ember back to his lips and takes a deep drag, tendrils of smoke escaping his mouth as he pulls the cigarette away at last.

He closes the gap between you until he is leaning down, his height having always been there, suddenly more noticeable. John hasn't released the smoke from his lungs, not yet. He's savoring the moment. His hand is warm when it touches your waist, bringing you in until your lips are brushing his, both of you open and waiting for the other. You give a small movement towards him for the first time since this started, and that's all he needs.

John presses lips into yours with a hunger, a need barely kept at bay, still restrained. He is well trained, indeed. He kisses you, moving gently in sync with your lips, and you respond perfectly in time. You are also trained, synchronicity coming easy to a ballerina like you.

John's lungs must be aching by now, but the kiss goes on, one of his large hands reaching up to place a thumb against the base of your neck, feeling you there, and then wrapping so gently to crook you deeper into him. You feel a moan bubble up from the gesture, and feel as if you are but a swan in wolf's teeth. John bites your lower lip gently, pulling it down and asking you to open. You oblige, and he softly breathes the smoke he has been holding into your awaiting lungs.

You take it hungrily, softly sucking in to meet what has been contained inside him. You feel as if more than just smoke has entered your body. You can feel a piece of John, as if he is giving you some small part of him. As if to say, 'if I don't make it back, remember this part of me, the part that didn't kill. The part that breathed life into another. Carry it with you.' Your cheeks burn in the cold as your lungs fill to the brim and the rest over flows and descends upwards into the night.

John seals the breath he's given you with a final, passionate kiss. It's as if he's stamped your petal like lips with a flame that wasn't supposed to grow there. When his lips pull away, leaving heavy breaths and even heavier lids looking, searching deeply into one another, you can't help but feel like John has lit a coalfire in the pit of your stomach. From the look he's giving you, you can tell he feels the same, maybe even better knowing what he's done to you, how he's tainted you before he must take his leave.

"John..." His name drifts from your lips onto his, and he stops you with the brush of another kiss.

"We should go back inside..." He hasn't taken his eyes off you, you're still so close it hurts. You know he's right, but this moment is intimacy that neither of you have every been allowed here, in this place that teaches only death. You search him, a hand you didn't notice is gripping his shirt. You hold that fabric tightly, and your knuckles shake when your mind thinks to let go.

"I know..." John says simply, and you know he does. "Meet me here again, in a days time, as we usually do."

"But..." You begin, not able to bring yourself to the 'what if' of no one being here when you come.

"I would not allow myself to let you down. You know that." And you do. John will do everything in his power to make sure your little ritual out here is unbroken. You know he will come back. He must. Your grip loosens, and you two part. You both go back to your comfortable silence, and head inside.

The heat of John's lips and hand around your throat hold you through out that night. You dream of a wolf who takes you gently in it's teeth. It doesn't let go.

Next part here!

[dippindaz]

I was wondering if you would write for jonathan byers? maybe some fluff + smut? 🥰🥰

Absolutely I can! I apologize in advance if he seems OOC during the smut, I lowkey have no idea how he would act and I've never seen anything NSFW for him lmao so I'm going off of little to nothing. So again, I apologize in advance. I'm also sorry that the fluff turns to smut so fast lol.

Minors DNI

In The Dark Room

Warnings: P in V, semi-public, fingering, protected sex, AFAB reader

The hum of the red light in Jonathan’s makeshift darkroom was oddly soothing. You sat perched on a stool, knees drawn up to your chest, watching as he moved carefully between the trays of chemicals. There was something mesmerizing about the way he worked—silent, focused, hands always gentle, always sure.

“You don’t mind me being here?” you asked softly, fingers playing with the fraying edge of your jeans.

He looked up through his lashes, a small smile ghosting his lips. “No. I like when you’re here.”

Your stomach fluttered. You weren’t sure if it was the words or the way he said them—quiet but certain, like it wasn’t even a question. You let yourself lean back against the wall, breathing in the chemical-and-coffee scent that had somehow become his scent.

He glanced over again, this time holding your gaze longer. “You really don’t get tired of watching me do this?”

“I like seeing you in your element,” you said, shrugging. “You look… happy.”

His eyes softened. “I feel calm. When you’re here.”

The words hung between you for a moment—heavy, but in a good way. Weighted with something neither of you had named out loud yet.

You stood up, walking over slowly, drawn like gravity. “Can I see?” you asked, nodding toward the photo he was developing.

He stepped aside, and you moved close, your shoulder brushing his. “It’s good,” you murmured, impressed. “You always catch things no one else sees.”

He didn’t answer right away. You felt his eyes on you instead of the photo. When you turned to look up at him, you were closer than you’d thought.

Jonathan’s hand twitched slightly, like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “It’s easier with you around,” he said, voice low now, a little rougher. “Seeing things clearly.”

Your breath caught. Maybe it was the red light, or the way his fingers brushed yours, or the fact that neither of you moved away.

“Jonathan,” you said, voice soft.

“Yeah?” He swallowed.

You reached up slowly, fingers resting against the edge of his shirt collar. “You can kiss me if you want.”

He didn’t waste the moment. His hand cupped your jaw gently as he leaned in, lips brushing yours with a kind of tenderness that made your knees weaken. But when you responded—when your hand slid into his hair and you tugged him just a little closer—it shifted. His kiss deepened, careful turning into hungry, restraint giving way to something hotter and bolder.

Your back hit the wall as his body pressed into yours, all lean muscle and quiet intensity, and suddenly it was harder to think straight.

Your back met the wall with a soft thud, but you barely noticed—too caught up in the way Jonathan kissed like he’d been holding back for a long time. Like he’d been patient, respectful, restrained… but barely.

His hands framed your face, fingers threading into your hair before one drifted lower, trailing down your side, tentative at first. But when you gasped softly against his lips, his hand found your waist with a firmer grip, tugging you closer.

You broke the kiss just enough to look up at him, chest rising and falling as your fingers slid under the hem of his shirt. He froze for a second, searching your face like he needed permission again—even though your hands were already tracing the heat of his skin.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I want this. I want you.”

That seemed to undo him. The tension in his body snapped like a tight wire, and he kissed you again—deeper now, needier. His hands were everywhere at once, still gentle but more confident now as they explored: the slope of your back, the curve of your hip, the soft spot just above your waistband that made you shiver.

He pulled away just far enough to press his forehead to yours, voice hoarse. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I won’t,” you said. “But I will if I need to.”

That answer must have done something to him, because his mouth was back on yours in a second—messier now, like he couldn’t get close enough. One hand slipped beneath your shirt, calloused fingertips dragging along your bare skin, sending goosebumps everywhere he touched.

You tugged at his shirt in return. “Off,” you murmured, and he lifted it over his head without hesitation, tossing it somewhere near the enlarger.

Your eyes drank him in—pale skin, toned in that unassuming way, like he never noticed how good he looked when he was just existing. You reached up to touch him, fingers smoothing over his chest, and he hissed out a breath through his teeth.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he said, voice low and ragged now.

“Yeah?” you smirked, high on the feeling of being wanted like this. “Guess we’re even.”

He laughed—a breathy, wrecked kind of sound—and then his mouth was on your neck, sucking a mark into your skin that made you arch into him, whimpering quietly. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the low counter beside the sink like you weighed nothing, slotting himself between your legs.

There was nothing rushed about it, but everything was urgent—like you’d both been waiting too long to keep pretending. He kissed his way down your neck, tugging your shirt up inch by inch until he could peel it off you. His hands paused, reverent for a moment, as he took you in.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice thick. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.”

Heat bloomed across your chest, cheeks, belly—and lower. You tugged him back to you, mouth finding his again as your bodies pressed flush together, skin on skin now, warm and desperate and perfect.

The old, quiet darkroom was filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, your soft moans, the occasional clink of a tray as your bodies shifted, tangled, wanting more.

And Jonathan—Jonathan was everything. Gentle but firm, completely present, like he was memorizing every sound you made, every place that made you gasp. He worshipped you like art, like film in development—slow, careful, full of wonder.

His mouth trailed lower, slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to worship you properly. His hands were firm on your hips, grounding you against the cool counter while his lips dragged along your collarbone, down the center of your chest, reverent in every movement. He looked up once, eyes dark but soft, checking in again even as you were already coming undone beneath him.

You nodded, breathless, fingers threading into his hair. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

One hand slid down, brushing over the waistband of your jeans. He took his time undoing the button, then the zipper, watching your face the entire time like it was his favorite thing in the world. Slowly, he slipped his hand inside—over fabric, at first—just enough pressure to make you gasp, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

Jonathan exhaled a shaky breath, lips parting slightly. “God,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, “you’re so—fuck, you’re warm.”

You whimpered at the sound of his voice like that—rough, low, full of awe.

He pressed his forehead to yours again as his fingers dipped past your panties, finally touching you where you needed him most. The first brush made your hips jerk forward, and he groaned softly, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Tell me what you like,” he said, voice raspy as his fingers slid gently through your folds, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make you cling to him.

“You’re already doing it,” you breathed out. “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

He worked you with slow, careful strokes, watching every reaction like he was studying light and shadows on film—adjusting pressure, pace, circling tighter when your breath hitched, slipping one finger inside you when you moaned his name against his throat.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured, curling his finger inside you, hitting the perfect spot.

Your body arched against his, your head falling back slightly as you chased the rhythm he gave you, gasping as he added a second finger, thrusting slow and deep. His other hand slid up your spine, grounding you, keeping you open for him as his thumb found your clit again.

“Jonathan—” you gasped, voice breaking.

Then he pulled back, the warmth of his fingers leaving you.

You whimpered at the sudden loss, eyes flying open to meet his. “Why’d you stop?”

Jonathan was already stepping back just enough to slide your jeans the rest of the way down, dropping them to the floor with quiet urgency. His hands were trembling, just a little, and his eyes were locked on yours—dark, intense, almost reverent.

“Wanna be inside you,” he said, voice low, raw, like he was barely holding himself together.

Your breath caught, knees threatening to give out even though you were already half-sitting on the counter. The words alone had you aching.

He kissed you again—messy and hot and wanting—while you fumbled with his belt, tugging it loose, pushing his jeans down just enough. You could feel how hard he was against you, the friction almost unbearable now. He groaned when you reached between you, touching him, teasing him through his boxers.

“Fuck,” he gasped against your lips. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Good,” you whispered, nipping at his jaw. “Want you to.”

That seemed to break something in him. He pushed his boxers down and reached for his wallet—ever the responsible one, even half-naked and trembling with need. You helped him roll the condom on with shaking hands, loving how he shuddered at even that small touch.

When he stepped back between your legs, his hands cupped your thighs, steadying you, lifting you just enough to position himself at your entrance. His forehead dropped to yours again.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice thick, his tip just barely nudging against you.

“More than,” you breathed.

He slid into you slowly, inch by inch, eyes fluttering shut as your body welcomed him in. The stretch, the heat, the sheer intimacy of it made your breath catch. Jonathan let out a low groan as he bottomed out, staying still for a moment, just breathing with you.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he started to move, slow at first—deep, deliberate strokes that had you gasping into his shoulder. He kissed you between every thrust, whispered your name like a prayer.

Every movement was so intentional, emotional, like this wasn’t just sex to him. Like it meant something.

“You feel so good,” you moaned, hips rolling to meet his rhythm. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, voice almost a growl now. “Gonna take care of you.”

His thrusts picked up, hips snapping just a little harder, deeper, until you were a mess against him—clutching at his back, moaning against his mouth. He shifted the angle just slightly, and you cried out when he hit that perfect spot, over and over.

“Right there,” you gasped. “Oh god, Jonathan—”

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “Cum for me. Let go.”

You shattered around him, body tensing as the orgasm slammed through you, even stronger than the first. He groaned at the way you clenched around him, hips stuttering as he chased his own high.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—” He buried himself deep with one last thrust, jaw slack as he came, clutching you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

The room was quiet except for your breathing, tangled bodies pressed close, skin slick and warm.

Jonathan didn’t move for a long moment. Just held you. Pressed kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You smiled, boneless and blissed out. “Yeah. Really okay.”

He grinned, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re amazing.”

You giggled, nuzzling closer. “You’re not so bad yourself, Byers.”

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