Yes, this. But I’m getting close to the edge.
Genre: Mature/Smut, Oneshot, No plot
Pairing: Jeongin (IN) X Fem!Reader
Word Count: ~5,9K
Warnings: Dom!Idol, Sub!Reader, Dirty talking, Humiliation, Orgasm denying/edging, Restraint, Blindfold, Cum eating, Language (Fuck/Slut/Whore), Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms
Notes: Well, I deleted it to repost it because of the tags and deleted it again. So it’s the third time I post it and I can’t really remember what I wrote before. Anyway, Always open to any feedback! Especially vocabulary ones. Please, be aware I’m practicing my writing and I’m not too comfortable with penetrative sex yet so I’m not so sure about this
You hated not being able to see your boyfriend.
Jeongin wasn’t really the kind to have tons of free time to spend with you. He had a lot of promotions to do as an Idol, so, figuratively speaking, you couldn’t see your boyfriend most of your days. You made up for it by not getting your eyes off him every time you were together, making sure to touch him as much as you could, cuddle him, pepper him with kisses…
Of course, as his girlfriend, you used these loving antics to mock him, teasing him, pampering him in front of his teammates, gushing about how cute he was, how tiny and fluffy he could be. He hated it. You knew far too well how he hated it and yet you did it every time you were with them, kissed him all over his face, pinched his cheeks as if he was a baby, nuzzled his nose…
That was the main reason he punished you once in a while.
And that was the main reason you teased him every time.
You should have known better than tease him by ignoring him, though.
You didn’t spare a glance at him as you came into the dorm, heading to his teammates, hugging all of them before gasping at Changbin, squeezing his arms slightly, and praising how manly he was… You even went to the extent of saying you would love to touch Jeongin’s arms if they were like this but he was just a cute little bun. It was needless to say he didn’t speak one word as he drove you to your house later.
To be fair, you deserved this.
You hated not being able to see your boyfriend.
And this time it couldn’t get more literal than that.
The blindfold was soft on your skin, a silky texture that covered your eyes, engulfing you in the darkness. It stuck to your head tightly, not falling even after you rubbed your head against the mattress, in a vain attempt to take it off. Objectively speaking, it couldn’t hurt you but your core ached to disagree.
There is a funny thing about being unable to see anything… Your body just responds to it enhancing its other senses, trying to see without the eyes. Getting alert. Your body was no different, and you couldn’t help but pay attention to every other feeling that tortured you in the dark.
prompt 20: “did i ask?”
for the anon who asked for scully edging mulder.
In the car, he’s visibly uncomfortable, flushed all the way down his neck. Lips pressed together too tightly, every muscle stiff.
“Mulder,” she says, keeping her eyes on the map. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
His throat bobs. Scully hides a smile.
“Just fine,” he says, roughly.
I would not submit to his beliefs. I believed, and I still believe, that some periods of human history and some phases of human culture are better than others, and that it isn’t always the creeping toward perfection that I know you want to believe in. Some codes are better than the codes that displace them; and I believe this is a corrupt age because it accepts everything as equal to everything else, and because it values indulgence more than restraint. I guess I honor the Roman republic more than the empire. The one believed in austere virtue, and the other had bread and circuses, like ourselves…You don’t have to shoot yourself like a Dostoevski intellectual to assert the will. You don’t have to commit whimsical existential crimes to prove your freedom. You can take hold of yourself, like training a horse, and that is both pleasure and morality.
― Wallace Stegner, All the Little Live Things (Penguin Books, December 1, 1991, first published 1967
Wrapping the plaid scarf tight around my neck, I stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind me.
A hand grabbed it, forcing it back open. “Don’t forget the chocolate,” Declan yelled, leaning out the door of our apartment, before being pulled back inside by his shirt collar. I shook my head, lips twitching in a slight grin. “Carmel and Hazelnut, Amara! Don’t fecking forget!”
“Get the heck inside, man, before someone hears you” Liam grumbled, the door slamming shut. I shook my head, jogging down the staircase to the ground floor. Outside, the autumn breeze caught my hair, whipping strands around my face.
Despite the coldness, I embraced the sweet smell of rain, the crunch of fallen leaves under my boots. Declan and I decided the small town of Wolfville had a good … atmosphere, as Liam declared. We, our small group of runaways, wanted somewhere quiet and rural to settle. If only for a little while.
And it had been good, so far.
Locals didn’t question us, assuming we were university students from campus a few miles away, and welcomed us with open arms. Just yesterday, the three of us had been in town, adventuring, like we did every Saturday morning.
Declan joked with a few older women, while Liam questioned a man an incident at the shipyard. I had enjoyed the coziness of the little bakery, huddled up with a doggy-eared book, occasionally casting curious looks when the bell dinged and customers flooded in and out.
“Would you like a refill, dear?” Dorthy asked, the owner of the store, gesturing to my empty cup of coffee.
I offered a small smile. “I’m about to head out, actually,” I said, “a few more errands to run.” Don’t forget the chocolate, Declan’s voice echoed in my head. How wonderful it was to worry about something so small, so simple, when the last year had been nothing but harrowing.
“I’ll meet you at the cash -”
The sharp jingle of the bell above the bakery door cut her off. We both looked up and I sucked in a deep breath.
The two men in white stepped in. They both sported pristine white scrubs, each with a taser and radio at their hips. Handlers.
These two know how to make an entrance, I thought, shrinking into my seat. Most of the customers gave them an odd look of wonder, turning to their cups of espresso and company without a second thought. They were both young, dark hair, probably mid twenties. The tall one, with piercing hazel eyes, stepped forward, cautious as he searched the faces around him.
Red, the second handler, stayed by the entrance, blocking a potential escape attempt. No one seemed bothered by their presence, yet a cold shiver made its way up my spine.
My heart thumped, blood curdling in my veins. Keep quiet, don’t move, I thought, maybe that glanced around the cafe, eyes blank and calculating. Maybe, they will look right past me, not recognize my bleached hair and weathered clothes. Maybe -
“Ms. Mayfield,” hazel eyes called, staring directly at me.
Nope, I’m a goner.
“Do not move,” he warned, charging forward. “I am -”
I bolted, heaving the scalding coffee in the direction of the handler, hoping it’ll burn him. I gave two craps what he had to say, what he wanted. I sprinted for the back exit, the cashier gasping when I shoved her aside.
“Get the van. I can handle her.” I heard one of them call.
I scoffed, throwing open the heavy door at the back, bounding into the chilly wind once more. Hazel eyes was on my heels, refusing to let me get away. Panicked, I headed for the park, hoping to lose the handlers. The park had woods I could disappear into, to hide, to survive - anything but capture.
Capture meant a certain death.
Things were a blur as I dashed for the park, crossing streets, vehicles nearly taking me out. Drivers honked as I continued, shouts of anger falling on deaf ears.
In a slow whirl, I had slammed to the wet grass and a tangle of arms made my heart race, blood pounding in my ears. I couldn’t help but focus on the hands grabbing my waist, flashes of white over my head, the tinge of peppermint filling my nostrils.
“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” Hazel eyes warned, flipping me onto my back. He straddled my waist, using his weight hold me down as he reached behind him, baring a pair of handcuffs.
I fought him, thrashed and spit and swore, but it was no use. When he managed to encircle the metal around my wrists with a triumphant hmm, hauling me up to stand, I knew I’d made a mistake.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” he sang, his hot breath tickling my neck. I lifted my lips in a sneer, spitting on his shoes. His calm, nonchalant demeanour faltered, but only for a second. “I’m Stephan, your new handler.”
“I don’t care what your name is, dipshit” I shouted, struggling in his hold. He let out a low, irritated breath, glancing up. The second handler rushed forward, seeming uncertain and flustered. Must be new to the game.
“Sawyer, let’s get her secured in the van and radio into headquarters,” Stephan said, with a sickly sweet smile in my direction. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you, Amara.”
I kicked out my leg, catching Stephan in the shin. He groaned yet his hold never loosened. Sawyer took my forearm, jerking me forward. “Well, ain’t she a defiant little one,” he muttered, shoving me into the side of the vehicle, the back of my head bouncing off the metal.
The tall man stepped forward and smirked, a flash of hunger sweeping over his expression. “Mhm,” he said, winking, and reached out to stroke my cheek, “and the most fun to break.”
My friend, @liliaeth, yesterday brought to me an argument about ‘Scott’s selfishness’ that I’ve heard before and to me illustrates the empathy gap in the Teen Wolf fandom (and by extension, other fandoms) in a very concrete way.
This criticism declares that in Restraint (2x07), Scott was incredibly selfish to want to remain with Allison while Erica was having a seizure in the next aisle of the library. It’s used to prove that Scott is obsessed with Allison and that he only cares about what he wants.
How does this demonstrate the empathy gap? Didn’t Scott want to stay with Allison rather than take Erica to Derek? Yes. But there are certain things that the fandom forgets – or more likely erases from their collective brain – that shows how little they care for the pain Scott is put through at the hands of villains.
The length of time from when they notice the beginning of Erica’s seizure to when Scott carries her to Derek at Erica’s insistence is one minute and three seconds, from 33:27 to 34:30. This includes a cut to black, discussion of what’s wrong with Erica, a discussion of what’s wrong with Matt, and an argument with Erica about where to take her. Anyone with any knowledge of how to tell a story or shoot a television production will understand that the purpose of this scene wasn’t to highlight ‘Scott’s inherent selfishness’ but to illustrate how Scott’s sense of responsibility to keep people from dying in a middle of a war is taking a toll on his desired relationship with Allison – signaling the first signs of Allison’s and Scott’s eventual breakup. It certainly wasn’t meant to demonstrate his obsession with Allison, as the result of this scene was that he left her alone to wait for an ambulance to help a girl who had threatened Allison at least twice.
Here’s some other things that the fandom simply forgets in this scene.
But Erica is having a seizure! Fandom forgets that Scott has plenty of reasons not to give a damn about Erica’s health problems.
When you put all this on the table, why is less-than-a-minute hesitation a sign of absolute selfishness? Scott’s not a deputy or a paramedic or even a high-school junior. He knows there are cameras in the library; the production flashed to them often enough. How many sophomores would risk expulsion or arrest to take a seizure victim … somewhere? If the Argents were being vindictive, they could have used this to both drive a wedge between Allison and Scott (”see, they will always pack together”) or even cause legal issues for Scott – who was technically in violation of a restraining order.
As another tongue-in-cheek point, Scott left Allison alone with Matt who is evil – Stiles had just said so, and Stiles is always right, and Stiles was completely serious, as the fandom likes to remind us. It seems it would be more callous to leave his girlfriend with someone Stiles has deemed the Bad Guy. (but, seriously, you see how they use Stiles is always right, except when he’s not, to denigrate Scott.)
But this scene, in the end, shows that Scott is the hero, that he is compassionate, and that he is the protagonist. He has every reason to let Erica suffer the consequences of her own decisions. He has every reason to stay with Allison and protect her, his ally and lover, then leave her alone and help someone who most recently tried to murder another friend of his in Scott’s own house. But he didn’t. He hesitated, but in the end he did the compassionate thing, the heroic thing, and helped an enemy.
Teen Wolf fandom can turn Derek luring Scott out into the woods, breaking into his house, and concealing the existence of an alpha from him into ‘just trying to help,’ but they can’t help but consider Scott hesitating to help his enemy instead of his love interest as a sign of depravity. They can turn Peter’s vulgar attempted manipulation of Stiles by offering him the Bite as a gesture of sincere respect, but they can’t see that Scott risked a lot in this scene to do something for someone who had proved themselves to be ungrateful.
If that’s not an empathy gap, what is?
And then there’s the idea that we can see every terrible scene that Derek, Peter, Stiles, and Theo and explain away the necessity, but there has to be a reason they can’t do this for Scott. For example, they put every single lie, manipulation, threat, and violation from Peter in Season 1 as a form of highly specific mental illness that leaves Peter the real hero, and every single lie, manipulation, threat, and violation from Peter in Season 4 as a form of necessary judgement for Scott’s failures, but they can condemn Scott for not helping Erica fast enough.
The proximity of your skin to my skin
Is causing me problems,
Like when did it get so hard to breathe?
Like is it safe for my heart to be beating this fast?
Like every muscle in my being wants to reach out and make sure you’re real
And every cell in my brain is trying to force the muscles not to make any moves.
I accidentally brushed my hand against your arm
And it truly was an accident,
Even if I’ve been inching closer to you this entire night.
And is it unfair to say there was electricity in that touch?
Is it inaccurate to say it sent adrenaline straight into my veins?
Is it obtuse to say love is a drug
I want more of?
Just a few ideas for ways to incorporate muzzles and similar devices into your whump fic.
Police scare me. They remind me of the scary “Resource” staff that used to restrain me at my special ed high school.
The whumper sighed, sitting across their former captive; now that the tables turned, finding themselves bound to a chair they way they had forced the whumpee into back then. What fond memories.
They kept their head held high, the glint in their eyes giving away the sheer delight of seeing Whumpee. The fear, the sweat on their brow and shifting eyes.
“Are you not satisfied?” They taunted, smiling through their teeth, “how long has it been… ten- no, twelve years?”
A grimace spread across the whumpee’s face.
“I’m glad you still remember me-”
“How.” Whumpee finally breathed, “H- how could I ever forget you? The tor- torture y- you- put me through…” Tears welled up in their eyes as they failed to hold back those painful memories. “You monster. I hope you rot in hell.”