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#nsfwhump
a-crumb-of-whump · 4 months
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Liking minor whump does not make you a bad person. Liking lady whump does not make you a bad person. Enjoying whump with POC does not make you a bad person. Enjoying pedophilic/incestuous whump does not make you a bad person. Liking NSFWhump does not make you a bad person.
Just because you enjoy these things in fictional settings, does not mean you condone them in real life. They are no better or worse than anything else we as whumpers create.
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whump-world · 7 months
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noncon/nsfw whump prompts
whumper is obsessed with whumpee
a. "look at me, my love. look. at. me."
b. whumper fucking whumpee as punishment for 'asking for it' from someone else.
c. micro-managing clothes on whumpee. either whumpee looks exactly how whumper wants them to look like, or they wear nothing at all.
d. body worship. except whumpee is asleep. (taking pictures is also preferred).
spiteful whumper who wants to get back at caretaker
a. fucking whumpee in front of caretaker ofc. but my favorite is letting other (hopefully several) whumpers touch whumpee in front of caretaker.
b. for every mistake caretaker makes, whumpee spends one more night in whumper's bed. also manipulating whumpee enough to start hating caretaker.
c. caretaker loses a bet and whumper asks for whumpee, knowing caretaker loves whumpee. even more brutal if whumpee gets angry at caretaker.
d. record whumpee and make caretaker listen to it. exquisite if whumpee is actually screaming in pain.
whumpee conditioned to want whumper
a. begging for it just so they can have a proper meal and shower afterwards.
b. begging for it from a horrified caretaker oof.
c. whumpee becoming scared when whumper starts going rough for the first time.
d. whumpee getting jealous when whumper dotes on a different whumpee right in front of them.
whumper who loves nsfw punishment
a. counting. very common for a reason. counting how long they can wait, counting how many spanks, rounds. you name it.
b. making whumpee hypersensitive with no touch and sound and vision for weeks, only to break them down with sex.
c. playing mind games with whumpee!! each wrong answer makes whumpee's situation progressively worse!
d. sticking something inside whumpee and then punishing them when whumpee inevitably slips in public.
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whumpcereal · 1 month
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a little noncon whump scenario beneath the cut
"Do you know what the French call it when you come, Whumpee?"
Whumper's whisper is warm and wet in Whumpee's ear. Whumpee squeezes their eyes shut, trying to ignore the rough hand slipping between their legs. They bite down hard on gag between their teeth, but still, their body jerks in response to Whumper's touch.
"They call it la petite mort, pet. A little death."
Whumpee's body coils like a spring as Whumper's fingers bring them closer to the edge.
"I wonder," Whumper purrs, "just how many times you'll die before I decide to kill you."
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sowhumpshaped · 22 days
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robot whump prompt list bc i love robots
tied up with their own wires
locked into place
muted
overheating
disassembled
turned off against their will
losing time because of turn offs
messing with their internal clock
disabling functions (motor functions, communication, vision etc.)
overloading their memory
not allowing them to use long term memory
switching out their bodyparts
keeping them on low-battery mode
hitting them as a way of fixing them
doing maintenance on them against their will
voice commands
not allowing them to charge
removing their memory chip altogether
keeping them in a box whenever not in use
pain sensors
bruise function
scolding/mocking them for not being human enough and making others uncomfortable
having their sentience questioned
questioning their own sentience
serving humans is their only purpose
their only function is something entirely mundane and soul-sucking which they have to do all day every day 24 hours a day unless they're being charged
rusting
environmental whump in general
not being oiled enough and joints painfully rubbing on each other
parts of their body not being able to be fixed because the parts are not being manufactured anymore
nsfw stuff under the cut because <3
realistic sex dolls
they don't even need air
built in vibrators
customisable genitals
customisable everything
sensitivity settings
they can go again and again and again
don't wanna make a mess? leave their liquid tanks empty
edging is so easy when you can turn off the cum function altogether
built in magnetic cuffs
i know i said the stuff about disabling voice and vision but im gonna say it again
also voice commands. again. because yes
overheat them for the sake of enjoying the warmth
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spicy-whumpbees · 7 months
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Making whumpees gag! Shoving things down their throat! Watch the tears gather at the corners of their eyes <3
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celtic-crossbow · 6 months
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Whumptober 2023
No. 14 Water inhalation | No. 20 Blanket | No. 23 Shaking
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (platonic to relationship)
Setting: Alexandria (pre-commonwealth)
Warnings: Injuries/Illness (temperature induced), CPR, Smut
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One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone. 
You and Daryl had been traipsing through the snow for hours. The storm was supposed to be days away, so when Eugene had evidence of a large storage facility up the mountain that could contain food and weapons for the remaining communities, of course Daryl volunteered to check it out. Which meant you were going by default. 
Everything had been going well before the snow started to fall. Daryl had been nonplussed about it and refused to turn back. You had already been hiking for two days. When the white blanket was up to your shins, you could see the lines of worry etched on his face but he said nothing other than you were closer to the facility than to Hilltop. The two of you could take shelter there and wait it out. 
That had been a few hours ago. Now, walkers were reaching out of the snow, tripping you up and snapping at your ankles. Some were beginning to freeze but still moving, albeit slowly. Your knife sank into another skull, the hold on your foot falling away. Daryl had trudged ahead to take care of the lone corpse still on its feet. The wind was too hard for his crossbow to be accurate. You couldn’t afford to waste the bolts. 
You kicked the rotted hand away from your foot and looked up ahead of you, squinting to see through the near whiteout. “Daryl?” There was no sign of him or the walker. “Daryl!” You called a bit louder, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you over the howling gusts. ‘Where the hell did he go?’ A tendril of worry began to take root in your gut as you dragged your heavy legs toward where you had seen him heading. There was something on the ground and you wondered if he had dropped the walker and moved ahead to scout. 
As you drew nearer, your heart stopped. What you were seeing was a hole in the snow…and Daryl’s crossbow teetering on the edge. 
“No. No, no, no!” You began peeling off your pack and your weapons, dropping to your knees at the edge of the ice with caution. It hadn’t held Daryl’s weight when combined with that of a walker. Your gloved fingers collected his weapon and tossed it back toward where you left your own. “Daryl!” The water was black, unmoving. It felt like the mountain herself was telling you she had claimed your best friend, leaving you to stare into the void that had taken him from you. 
The mountain didn’t seem to know you at all. 
You grabbed the flashlight from the side pocket of your pack, holding it in your mouth while you stripped out of your jacket, gloves, and hat. Not giving yourself enough time to think twice, you dove in. The water was a shock to your system, so cold that it burned and you felt like your eyes would freeze in their sockets. But you couldn’t dwell, you couldn’t stop. The clock was ticking for you both. 
You spotted the walker first. Daryl’s knife was still in its skull as it sank lower than the beam of your flashlight could reach. You spun in the water, feeling the fatigue and cold seep into your muscles. You couldn’t stay much longer and the knowledge made your chest hurt. 
He wasn’t moving when you spotted him, sinking slowly just as the walker had been. Like a corpse. By the time you reached him, you weren’t sure you could still get you both out of the water. But that would never stop you from trying. You hooked an arm around his chest and began the ascent when you realized you couldn’t see the opening you had dove into! 
Panic gripped you when your hand met ice. We’re both going to die down here. Thankfully, luck seemed to be on your side for this part at the very least. Just a few feet further, your hand pushed out of the water and into frigid air. You wasted no time in breaching the surface, Daryl’s name on your lips before you could even drag in your first breath. His wet hair was plastered to his face, but there was no time to assess him now. You needed to get you both out. 
Getting the archer far enough out of the water to keep him from sliding back in while you climbed out yourself almost took what energy you had left. Somehow, you managed. Fear of the ice not holding the two of you was tingling at the edge of your thoughts but your number one priority laid unmoving beside you. 
“Daryl?” You said his name with urgency, brushing away his hair to find his skin the palest you’ve ever seen, lips so blue that they appeared to be purple. “Fuck!” You weren’t that knowledgeable in CPR but you knew the basics and just had to pray it would be enough. 
Tilting his head back, you pinched his nose and placed your mouth over his, forcing five rescue breaths into his frozen, starving lungs. Compressions came next, difficult to do adequately when you were shivering so hard that you thought your bones may rattle apart below your skin. 
You couldn’t lose Daryl. You had figured that out long ago, back on the Greene farm. Something about his rough and jagged edges pulled you closer to him, not something he had been happy about, mind you. But as the months passed, you watched him soften. Not just toward you, but in general. He was your person, whether or not he ever returned those feelings. You wanted nothing but to see him happy, even if it wasn’t with you. Whatever it took to keep him in your life. 
That same sentiment applied now. 
“Come on, b-b-breathe for m-me!” Two more breaths and then back to compressions. You felt tears sting your eyes, knowing they would freeze on your face if they fell. “Please, Daryl.” Just as you pinched his nose and leaned in for the next breath, his back arched weakly and water gurgled within his throat. 
You were quick to roll him to his side, not sure where you summoned the strength when you felt so incredibly tapped out. When water gushed out of his mouth and allowed for a series of gasping coughs, you let your head fall against his bicep, your free hand rubbing and patting his back. 
“That’s it. That’s g-g-good. Just k-keep breathing.” You sat there for a few moments, both of you shaking hard enough to disturb the snow around you. You weren’t sure what to do next. You knew that removing your clothes had to wait since the layer of water in them would help insulate your bodies for at least a few minutes. You needed shelter. And fast. Or when they sent a team up the mountain, it would be to find you and Daryl and put you down instead of gathering supplies. “W-W-We’ve gotta m-move. Are y-y-you with me?”
“Mmmmm’h-h-h-here.”
You allowed yourself only a second to give thanks to whatever deity might exist that you were able to hear his voice. That you were able to bring him back to life. Now, you needed to keep him alive. God, you needed to keep both of you alive. You slipped on your jacket, hat, and gloves and grabbed everything, including the extra weight of his crossbow. 
“W-W-We have to g-get out of the w-weather. B-B-Build a fire.” He didn’t answer but you didn’t have time to grow concerned. He rolled deeper onto his side to get his hands underneath himself and began to push himself up. You knew there was no way he could manage without you, so you didn’t even let him try. Every moment was a moment closer to death. 
You slipped your hands under each of his arms and helped haul him upright. The archer swayed on his feet before curling inward with a miserable noise you could barely hear. With your small arms around him, you began trekking through the snow with careful steps. There was no way of knowing if you were on solid ground. 
By your calculations, it had been about 45 minutes since Daryl had first fallen into the water. You knew nothing about hypothermia, but his skin was still dastardly pale, his lips alarmingly blue. He was shivering more violently than you and had begun to stumble more than he walked. Without the knowledge of proper care, you had no choice but to go by what you had seen in movies. 
Shelter was first. You needed to get him out of the elements. He wasn’t much help in navigating, walking whichever way you steered him. If you didn’t find something soon, you yourself would start to deteriorate and you’d both be doomed. 
“Y-Y-You awake over there? Got m-m-me hauling y-y-your heavy ass all b-by myself here!” You sighed in relief when you felt him shift to take some of his own weight. Daryl was a fighter, always had been, even before the turn. “Oh, h-h-hey there! I thought you may have been p-p-pussin’ out on m-m-me!”
“F-f-f-fuck y-y-y-you.” 
“S-such a ch-ch-charmer, D-D-Dixon!” You goaded, squeezing him as tightly as you could. 
You struggled another ten minutes or so before spotting the silhouette of a building. While the thought of being out of the frigid wind was nearly euphoric, there was still the matter of clearing it; making sure it was safe. Daryl was barely on his feet. A walker would kill him before the cold would. You had no choice but to leave him outside. 
You directed him into a grove of trees at the corner of the building, trying to find a place where he could be shielded from the merciless gusts. Once you lowered him next to a tree, you took your first good look at this face. His hair was nearly frozen, even his goatee and there appeared to be some ice or snow in his eyelashes. His teeth chattered behind bloodless lips, eyelids drooping. Jesus, he was knocking on death’s door. 
“G-G-Gonna ch-check the b-building. S-S-Stay put and D-D-Daryl?” Your fingers were stiff and tingling under your gloves when you grabbed his chin, shaking his head gently to persuade his eyes to focus on you. “S-S-Stay aw-wake.” His shoulders jerked in what you assumed was a grunt. With a tight smile, you placed his crossbow beside him and patted his knee before heading inside. 
On the bright side, you had found the storage facility. There was no time to check it for supplies now, though. You turned the knob on the office door, finding it mercifully unlocked, and then pushed it inward. Without entering, you tapped the blade of your knife heavily against the metal frame and waited. 
When the noise drew no walkers out of the shadows, you entered, your flashlight beam sputtering. You probably fucked it up in the water. Oh well. The office was small. An old desk, a small bathroom, and a filing cabinet with some boxes stacked in the corner. You could use the boxes to start a small fire and crack the window to help keep the area ventilated. A fire indoors without an actual fireplace was never ideal but you and Daryl need the warmth or the outcome would be much worse than some smoke inhalation. 
Satisfied, you dragged your shivering, aching body back outside, pulling the door closed so a walker wouldn’t wander in while you grabbed the archer. He was right where you had left him but your pulse quickened at finding him slumped forward and unmoving. 
“D-D-Daryl!” You fell to your knees beside him, foregoing the flashlight so you could grab his shoulders and shake him somewhat roughly. There was no way you could feel for a pulse. You were almost completely numb. Luckily, the condensation of each breath was visible. “W-wake up!” You shook him again and when his blue eyes peeled open to slowly blink at you, you could have cried. “C-C-Come on.” He didn’t argue when you grabbed beneath his arms and pulled. He had almost no strength to help but enough to get him on his feet. The first thing you noticed was his lack of shivering. You weren’t sure why but that didn’t seem like a good sign when you yourself were about to shake right out of your skin. 
You grabbed the strap of his crossbow and slung it over your shoulder before starting toward the building. The journey wasn’t far, you stuttering praise and reassurance that you weren’t even sure he could hear. When you finally made it inside, you were able to move with more urgency. You lowered Daryl to sit against the desk. You dumped out one of the drawers of the file cabinet and placed it on the floor, tearing up papers and boxes. It wouldn’t be the most glorious fire and you’d have to almost continuously feed it to keep it going, but it would be warm. 
You fished for the matches in your pack, knowing the water probably fucked up Daryl’s lighter. It was hard to find them in only the dying beam of your flashlight but you did nonetheless. It took a few tries to get the flame to catch but finally it started to burn. You reached above it and cracked the window open before adding more cardboard from the boxes. It would burn a little longer than the papers. 
Your attention was then on Daryl. You pulled the blankets from your packs. They weren't very thick but they were dry. You spread the first on the floor and tossed the other at the bottom of it. Like you, his clothes were nearly frozen, crackling when you touched them. “Hey.” You said quietly, touching his freezing cheek. He didn’t respond. And he still wasn’t shivering. Your breathing became irregular and you could swear your frozen body began to heat up when you thought of what was coming next. 
“Fuck.” You muttered. It felt wrong to not have his permission to remove his clothing, but it was a matter of life and death. You would just have to ask for forgiveness later. The archer was completely lax, making stripping him down quite the task. Your own body seemed to be starting to shut down by the time you dragged him over to the blanket and rolled him onto it. Closing your eyes for the sake of his modesty, you grabbed the waistband of his boxer-briefs and tugged them down his legs. With quick movements, you tossed the second blanket over him. 
As an afterthought, you pushed the desk from the corner to both barricade the door and to hang the wet clothing across so it could all dry. Removing your own clothes was about the last thing you could handle, staggering as you draped them across the desk with Daryl’s before you found yourself staring down at the covered archer. His color was no better and from where you stood, you could hardly tell if he was breathing. 
“I’m sorry.” You whispered, pulling the blanket up just enough to slide under it with him. According to the movies, you needed to lie together to warm one another. Not just together but together. With a deep breath, you grabbed his shoulder and rolled him toward you, cradling his head just below your chin. Even with your own chilled skin, you found him to be absolutely freezing. You positioned one leg between his and the other over his hip, trying very hard to ignore certain parts that were touching. With a twist of your upper body, you were able to grab your pack to use as a pillow and then started to rub your hand up and down his arm. “Come on. You’re Daryl fucking Dixon. You kill zombies and ride a motorcycle. I refuse to tell people that some snow and ice took you down.”
The room gradually warmed and you thought just maybe you felt some warmth returning to Daryl’s body. Your own shivering was becoming less and less jarring. Your hand moved from his arm to his back, the flesh cold and slightly damp. When his breath went from shallow and quiet to ragged tremors and he began to violently shake, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done it all wrong. Was he dying? Would you be the one holding him when he took his final breath? Would you be forced to drive the blade that kept him from turning?
“Please, don’t die, Daryl.” You sobbed, holding him tighter while your tears fell onto his wet hair. Your embarrassment at being butt-ass naked and pressed against your best friend was forgotten, every thought consumed by grief as if he were already gone. “There’s so much I need to tell you. You can’t die until I do.” Without thought, you pressed your lips to his forehead and pulled him close enough to feel his cool breath against your neck, your vision graying at the edges. “You can’t die.” You whispered, finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. 
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The fire had long ago burned out, sunlight driving away the shadows behind your eyelids. When you blinked open your eyes, you could see the snow still lazily falling. You felt panic grip your heart. You propped yourself up on your forearm and peered down at Daryl, almost crying with relief. Some color had returned, his lips pale but no longer blue. His skin had pinkened, gradually returning to its natural tan. You dropped your forehead against his temple. 
“Oh, thank god.” He was breathing deeply and evenly, his body free of tremors. Only resting. You felt the chill of the room sweep beneath the blanket from where you had moved, and your eyes widened. “Shit, the fire.” You made to get up but an arm snaked around your waist and held you. “Daryl?”
“Warm.” He murmured against your collarbone.
“I can get the fire going and we can get dressed. I had to get us warm. I had to get you warm. I’m so sor—”
Daryl hummed and only tightened his hold. “Warm now.”
Your heart pounded a tattoo into your ribs, your blood rushing so loudly in your ears that you wondered if he could hear it. Slowly, hesitantly, you rested your head back on your bag. 
“Ya cold?” 
You hadn’t even realized you were trembling but the answer to his question was a quiet “no, I’m okay.”
“Yer shakin’.” 
“Yeah.” You watched as he tilted his head back to catch your gaze. He looked tired but otherwise, his color was steadily returning and his skin felt like fire against your own. Could it be a fever? “You…um… you’re really warm.”
He hummed, nuzzling his nose against your lower jaw. “What’d ya wanna tell me?” He rasped. You felt the tone of it straight down to the apex of your thighs. You tried to press them together, forgetting his leg was caught in between. 
“Tell…,” you cleared your throat, “tell you?” You managed to squeak out. When you felt his lips press against your pulse, you stopped breathing, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between your naked bodies. And the press of his arousal against your stomach. 
“Mmhmm. Las’ night. Y’said I couldn’ die ‘til ya told me.” He continued to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, slowly ensuring your ability to summon any coherent thought would be inaccessible. 
“I…did.” You tilted your head back, granting him access to the full canvas of your throat. Daryl moved up onto his forearm, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. 
“Well?”
You lowered your head, causing him to move back but not much. He kept his face centimeters from yours, your lips almost touching. 
“Well what?” You kept your eyes on his mouth, your breath stuttering when he dragged his tongue over his lower lip. The hand on the back of your neck came around to grasp your chin, your eyes flickering up to find his already looking back. That mesmerizing blue was nearly lost to his dilated pupils. His gaze was so intense that you tried to look away but his gentle grip remained, keeping you there. His head tilted slightly, lips whispering against your own. 
“I didn’ die.” 
Your mouth crashed into his, teeth clicking and tongues dancing. It wasn’t at all what you imagined but you had both come so close to death only hours ago. All that pent up anxiety and fear boiling to the surface to present itself as desire and passion. 
You gasped when he used his weight to push you onto your back, settling himself between your thighs with nothing between his cock and your needy pussy. If you could think straight, you’d be embarrassed of how wet you were. 
When he pulled away to look down at you, you whined at the loss of him, chasing his lips but coming to a halt when he wrapped a large hand around your throat, effectively rendering you immobile. 
“Tell me.”
“I…” You felt too open, too vulnerable. What if you spilled your heart, held it out to him, and he rejected you. A voice in your brain told you to consider that you were currently pinned under his naked body but your fear of losing him— of scaring him away— quickly silenced it. “Daryl—“
“Tell me this ain’t whatcha want n’ it stops.” 
Gone was the lust driven archer, replaced by soft, kind eyes that were searching your own. You laid a hand over the one on your neck, then moved it to trace the line of his jaw. 
“It’d be a lie.” You offered quietly. “I’ve wanted this since the farm. Since you called me a ‘oompa loompa with tits.’” The corner of his mouth ticked upward for the briefest of moments. “I’ve wanted you.” He kissed you again, slower this time, a slow dance of lips and tongues that left you breathless when he pulled away. 
You felt the tip of him nudge against your entrance and pulled your legs up to anchor your thighs over his hips. Daryl pushed into you slowly, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth to keep from groaning. He wanted too badly to hear the sound you were making. Your small hands were on his back, fingernails dragging over soft flesh and raised scars to leave red marks in their wake. 
By the time his hips pressed flat against you, his cock nestled inside your warmth, you were both panting. He started slow, a steady push and pull that had you arching into him, reveling in the feel of the movement inside you. It was all you thought it would be when you pictured this while alone with your thoughts of him. All that and more. He was gentle, attentive. He listened to the hitches in your breaths and the quiet moans, getting to know your body and what you liked. 
Daryl placed a hand on either side of your head and pushed himself up, dipping his head to your chest to map the flesh with his lips. His facial hair rubbed against your skin with a delicious scrape, the minute pain just enough to cause your hips to buck underneath him. You felt him smile around the nipple between his teeth. 
“Daryl.” You breathed his name while your petite fingers wrapped around his shoulders and held tight. There was a familiar burn in your lower stomach, the knot pulling tighter and tighter with each thrust. “You feel so good.” You whined, feeling your body begin to buzz as your orgasm crept closer. You wanted him closer, wanted to feel more of him. It would never be close enough. “Please. Please, please, please.” Tears gathered on your lashes, your head shaking.
“Sshh. I gotcha.” The archer grunted, moving faster to chase his own release. When you pulled at him, he was more than willing to comply, lowering to his forearms so you could catch his mouth. His hand inched down your body, wedging between to press his thumb against your swollen clit. You pulled your mouth away from his and arched into him. Two or three tight circles was all it took for you to fall apart. 
“Daryl!” You cried, holding tightly to him as wave after wave crested, your body spasming. “I love you.” You whispered against his ear, your eyes closed and brain shrouded in a blissful fog. You felt his movements stutter before stopping completely, his warmth spilling into you. His hips rolled lazily a few more times before you felt more of his weight come down on you. It was a little hard to breathe but you’d be fuck if you’d complain. 
As if he could hear your thoughts, Daryl pulled out of you slowly and rolled to your side, adjusting the blanket and pulling you into his arms. You were still processing how this all happened. Last night, you were both frozen and you were begging him not to die. Now, you were both sweaty and sticky and clinging to one another after doing something you never thought you’d get to do.
And that’s when doubt began to creep in. What did this mean? Did he just take an opening when he saw one? Did he actually want you? He hadn’t said much aside from what he needed to in order to get your permission. And then you had— ‘oh my god’ — you said you loved him. 
“Yer thinkin’ real loud righ’ now.” His raspy voice startled you enough to flinch. 
“Sorry.” You mumbled, not really knowing what else to say. You really had said enough, hadn’t you?
“Did ya mean it?” Daryl shifted to lie on his side, resting his head on one end of your pack while you did the same on the other end. It suddenly felt like there were miles between you. 
“Yeah.” You whispered, keeping your eyes on where your hand lay in the space between your bodies. “Yeah, I did. I do.” With a deep breath, you continued, already resigned to the inevitable. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. This doesn’t have to change anything.”
“Ya think I don’ feel the same?”
When you lifted your eyes, the incredulous expression on his face perplexed the hell out of you. “Wait… do you?”
“Do ya even hafta ask?” He chuckled and pulled you close again, burying his face in your hair. “From the start, crazy girl.” You laughed, you weren’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do. Daryl was a man of action, never so much for words. And thinking about it now, he really had shown you over and over. 
“What now then?” You absently traced shapes onto the left side of his chest, giggling when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 
“Still snowin’. Guess I need ta make sure yer nice n’ warm ‘til we can make our way home.” 
Laughter erupted out of you as the blanket was pulled over your heads and he rolled you onto your back again, kissing and nibbling at any piece of skin he could manage. 
And you didn’t worry about the cold anymore. 
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The shift from fighting a villain to fearing them is so good.
Where once, they looked at him with a distrustful glare, fists raised up, and fire stirring in their chest- now?
They fear him.
He places his hand on their face, strokes the side of it, and they tremble.
He pulls them close, presses them flush against him, and they shake.
He places a hand on their thigh. He rubs the skin there, slowly sliding his hand up higher and higher, and they whimper.
Sometimes he thinks about taking a photo of them, like this. The pathetic, fearful, mewling pet. He has pictures of them from before.
They will never go back to what they were.
And it's glorious.
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brainrotlesbian · 5 months
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NSFWhump idea
Intimate whumper making tally marks, be it branding, a tattoo, or carved with a knife, on whumpee’s skin (preferably the back, there’s lots of room there, and it’s not always easy to see) every time they fuck whumpee. Then sometime after they escape or are rescued, some poor sap asks about the tally marks and what they mean, not at all expecting the breakdown/lashing out from whumpee.
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the-scrapegoat · 6 months
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I'm having a grand time playing w this in my head rn and wanted to share.
"So tell me, little warrior, will you die where you stand, or come kneel before me and live?"
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villainfucker · 2 months
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jacking off to the sound of someone begging for mercy or crying. Send tweet.
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3-2-whump · 28 days
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Tear-Filled Noncon (Mutual!)
it's a working title, I'm bad with titles
Continuation of this idea
TW/CW: because this is a continuation of the previous noncon idea, a lot of the same warnings will apply. Rape/Noncon, intimate whumper, obsessed whumper, domestic violence (including brief head trauma), some degradation, inner thoughts that go a bit dark. If I missed anything, pls let me know!
He turned the key slowly in the lock, opened the door as quietly as he could, and closed it equally as carefully behind him. Whumpee’s eyes swept over the living room. The apartment was quiet and dark, dimly illuminated only by the city lights in the window. More importantly, the door to the master bedroom was closed, with no light peeking out from underneath. Whumpee sighed in relief; he’d gotten away with it.
The next breath caught in his throat as he was body-slammed into the door. A large hand pinned both wrists above his head when he tried to defend himself from the unseen force. The other hand yanked his head back by his hair, eliciting a surprised yelp of pain. “Where were you?” a warm breath hissed in his ear.
Whumpee squirmed under his master’s punishing grasp. “I-I can explain-”
“Like hell you can!” The hand in Whumpee’s hair drove his head forward and smashed it against the door. Sharp pain unfurled in the back of his skull as stars danced across his blurry vision. “Your curfew is midnight at latest, and it’s nearly two in the morning,” Whumper's angry voice thundered past the incessant throbbing in his head. The hand on his wrists tightened into a bruising grip. “So tell me-” Whumpee cried out in pain as the hand in his hair pulled harder. “Where were you?”
“You’re hurting me!” Whumpee gasped.
“Well you’re hurting me!” Whumper let go of him at once, only to throw him to the floor of the entrance. Whumpee landed hard on his side. He reflexively tried to curl into a ball to protect himself, but within moments the man had flipped him onto his back to better climb on top of him. A loud ripping sound punctuated Whumpee’s whimpers in the darkness as his shirt was torn clean in two. “Coming home late at night, with no regard to my rules, and smelling like a cheap motel –wait…” Whumper’s eyes zeroed in on a necklace of hickeys that rested on the young man’s collarbone. He slapped him, once, then twice, then again. “Who gave you those hickeys?” Slap! “Who were you sleeping with?!” Slap! “Well, answer me, whore!”
Whumpee shook his head, the tears streaming down his face as he continued to beg for mercy. “Clearly you’ve forgotten who you belong to,” Whumper huffed. “No problem, this just means I’ve got to remind you!” He brusquely unbuttoned Whumpee’s pants and pulled them and his boxers down the young man’s trembling thighs. Whumpee’s pleas of “no, no, stop, please, stop” went entirely ignored as he was flipped onto his stomach. His begging took on a frantic pitch as his body started visibly shaking. He’d never been taken from behind before, and this new position made him panic.
“You don’t deserve to be fucked like a person, so you’ll take it like the wanton little bitch you are!”
“No, no, stop, please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, no, I’m sorry!”
“Shut up!” Whumpee wailed as his hips were wrenched up from the floor and Whumper entered him without any prep or lube. The man was not gentle, far from it. Quick, desperate thrusts punctured him deeper than he was used to. It was the roughest he had ever been with him, unquestionably, feeling less like having sex and more like being torn in half. Stubbornly enough, Whumpee’s body reacted to these more intense sensations all the same, especially when the man on top of him continuously slammed into that sweet spot inside of him.
“Look at you,” Whumper commented derisively, a hint of bitterness in his gravelly voice. “Hard as a rock already, you slutty thing! You’d be happy with just anyone’s cock inside your ass, wouldn’t you?” Whumpee’s cheeks colored in shame as a shaky moan interrupted his pleas. “But you shouldn’t be; you’re mine!”
He felt a thin, warm fluid trickle past the cock pummeling his hole. The man above him crushed him further into the carpeted floor. “I own this ass, and it is mine to fuck,” he screamed, “you got it?! No one else’s, just mine!”
He didn’t have to see behind him to know he was bleeding. At least it makes Master’s thrusts a little less painful, he thought. That feeling of morbid relief alone made him cry even harder. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Why am I not enough for you?!” Whumper’s voice wavered with emotion. His angry thrusts turned sloppier as he continued. “Damn it, and damn you! I gave you everything you could ask for; I gave you everything you could have needed! I fed you, clothed you, made you into the man you are today, so why?! What are they giving you that I’m not?!” The man’s voice caught on the last question. Whumpee felt small wet drops of liquid fall onto the nape of his neck. Tears? He realized with horror that Whumper was crying as he was raping him.
“M-Master, I-I’m sorry, please-”
“I said, shut up!” He pulled Whumpee back by the hips until he was flush with the older man’s pubic bone, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside him. They stayed in that position for an uncomfortably long time. Suppressed sniffling sounds filled the entryway, and Whumpee knew they weren’t all coming from him. Whumper eventually pulled out, leaving his hole gaping and obscenely oozing cum. He settled on the floor next to Whumpee and repositioned them both onto their sides. “I love you, boy,” he murmured as he pulled him closer to spoon him. “I don’t enjoy hurting you, boy.” The tension gradually left Whumpee’s body as he accepted the forced cuddles. The man planted a kiss on the back of his ear, right above the barcode tattoo that marked him indelibly as property. The kiss was wet and tinged with sadness. “So why do you make me hurt you?”
-
Because what we do –no, what you do to me- is not supposed to feel good. How could it feel good? I didn’t want it, I don’t want it, and I will never want it, so why does my body betray me every time? What if it’s because you’re right? What if this really was my true purpose? To be nothing more than a pair of holes to fill and a body to break under yours? What if I am all those names you call me because I think this feels good?
And, what if I act out, do all the things I know will test your patience and make you rough and uncaring so that it finally hurts? So that it finally doesn’t feel good, and I don’t have to ask if my body and my mind are on the same page about me being violated? What if that’s why I make you hurt me? Would you stop? Would you hurt me more? Would it even matter?
-
That is everything Whumpee wanted to say. Instead, through a throat ripped raw from screaming, he rasped, “I don’t know.”
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monta-02 · 8 months
Text
TW: Noncon, AFAB Whumpee, AMAB Whumper, death threats, guns, failed escape, forced oral sex, grinding, creepy Whumper, humiliation, degradation, tied up
When Whumpee escaped, they tried to stay low. They got a cheap hotel room, and tried not to leave under any circumstances, unless it was absolutely necessary. They kept reminding themself that this wouldn't be forever, just for a few weeks, until the situation calmed down.
It had been barely a week since they escaped, and Whumpee was paranoid. They jumped at every little noise, they couldn't sleep well, and they've barely eaten anything.
They were exhausted, both physically and mentally.
They knew Whumper was searching for them, and Whumpee was terrified of what was going to happen to them if they were caught. Whumper's anger was terrifying, and Whumpee could vividly remember every punishment and torture they've done to them.
Whumper was ruthless and cruel.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Whumpee ran their hands through their hair, taking deep breaths. Their body was trembling, their nerves frayed, and their thoughts were running a mile a minute. They felt nauseous, and their body was sore from sleeping on a lumpy mattress. It was better than Whumper's though.
Whumpee sighed heavily and stood up, their knees buckling slightly. They stumbled their way into the room, flopping down onto the bed face first, groaning.
Their clothes were all dirty, just a thin towel wrapped around them. They knew they'd have to wash them soon, but going outside even for that terrified them.
They rolled over to their back and stared blankly at the ceiling. Whumpee desperately wanted to sleep, their eyes drooping, but the nightmares prevented them.
Every time they closed their eyes, they were haunted by Whumper.
That's when they heard a knock.
Whumpee froze, their heart hammering in their chest. They didn't move, their muscles tensing, waiting to see if it was their imagination.
After a minute of silence, Whumpee slowly relaxed, thinking it really was their mind playing tricks.
Then there was another knock, followed by a familiar voice.
"I know you're in there. Open the door or I'll break it down."
Sitting up, Whumpee's blood ran cold. They recognized that voice anywhere. Whumper found them, and they were knocking at their door.
Whumpee scrambled off their bed and hurried to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly. They pressed their back to the wall, sliding down until they were sitting on the floor.
They listened closely as they heard the door open, their breathing becoming uneven. Whumpee prayed Whumper would think they weren't here, that they'll leave, and they'll escape once more.
There wasn't a lock on the door, but even if there was, it would be hopeless.
Whumper wasn't dumb, however, and Whumpee cursed them when they heard their boots walk across the carpet floor, pausing in the bathroom.
Whumpee covered their mouth with their hand, their breathing becoming erratic, as they heard Whumper jiggle the doorknob.
The doorknob started to turn, and Whumpee flinched. They squeezed their eyes shut, waiting for Whumper to open the door and drag them back. The door opened, and Whumpee didn't dare open their eyes.
"So this is where you're hiding?" Whumper mused, and Whumpee shivered as they heard them crouch down. A gloved hand cupped their cheek, and Whumpee couldn't stop the whimper from escaping their lips. "Look at me, Whumpee."
Whumpee didn't move, their entire body tense, their heart threatening to burst. Whumper tsked and grabbed a fistful of their hair, making Whumpee gasp and open their eyes, tears already forming.
Whumper smiled at them, their grip tight, making them hiss in pain.
"You've given me quite the chase, baby," they chuckled, pulling their hair harder, earning a pained whine. "But now the fun's over. Stand."
"N-no," Whumpee choked, their hands clutching Whumper's wrist. "Please, don't. I don't want- I can't-"
"I'm not asking," Whumper growled, pulling them closer, their noses nearly touching. Whumpee flinched at Whumper's tone, their breath hitching. "Stand, or I'll make sure you can never stand again."
Whumpee shuddered. They knew Whumper was serious, and they didn't want their legs broken, or worse. Slowly, Whumpee shakily stood, and Whumper followed.
Letting go of their hair, Whumper grabbed their bicep, leading them out of the bathroom. Whumpee stumbled after them, their knees weak, eyes darting around, looking for something, anything, to help them. Whumper lead Whumpee towards the bed and pushed them onto it.
Whumper grabbed Whumpee's towel, easily pulling it off, leaving them naked. Whumpee tried to cover themself but Whumper slapped their hands away.
Roughly turning Whumpee around, Whumper pushed them onto their stomach, grabbing their wrists and tying them together with a rope they had ready. They struggled, but Whumper tightened the rope, making them hiss. They then tied Whumpee's ankles.
"There, much better," Whumper purred after pulling away. "I missed seeing you like this, sweetheart."
"Fuck you," Whumpee hissed, glaring at Whumper over their shoulder. "Let me go!"
"Now why would I do that?" Whumper mused, placing a hand on Whumpee's ass, squeezing it. Their grin turned into a glare. "You really pissed me off, Whumpee. I went through so much trouble finding you, and you're going to pay for it."
Easily flipping Whumpee over, Whumper admired their naked body, eyes dark. They ran their hands up Whumpee's inner thighs, smirking at how their legs trembled. Whumper dug their nails in Whumpee's soft skin.
A trail of red lines followed Whumper's nails, and Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut. They tugged at their binds, wanting to get away from them, to escape.
They knew they were in deep shit, and they were scared of what Whumper was going to do.
Whumper looked up to their captive's face, then stood. Before Whumpee could even be relieved, Whumper shoved them to the floor and walked over to the chair in front of the bed. They sat down and pointed to the floor. "Over here. Now."
"I can't, I'm tied-"
"Crawl."
Cringing, Whumpee awkwardly crawled their way towards Whumper, stopping between their legs. They refused to look at them, but Whumper grabbed their hair and forced them to.
They were sure Whumper was going to force them to suck them off, like they had done many times before, but Whumper surprised them.
"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to grind yourself here." Whumper pointed to their expensive shoe. "You will only cum when I tell you to, and then you're going to lick it all off. Understand?" Whumpee hesitated, earning a tug to their hair, making them hiss. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," Whumpee whispered, glancing at Whumper's shoe. "I-I understand."
Whumper hummed, releasing Whumpee's hair and leaned back in their chair. "Then start grinding."
Hesitantly, Whumpee lowered themself onto Whumper's shoe, their thighs pressing against it. Whumpee slowly started grinding against it, the rubber sole rubbing painfully against them. Whumpee tried to go slow, but Whumper wasn't having it, pushing their shoe deep into Whumpee, earning a yelp.
"I'm being merciful and you still manage to waste my time," Whumper growled, hand grabbing Whumpee's hair once more. "Grind faster."
"I-I'm trying," Whumpee hissed, glaring at them, their hips moving faster. "It hurts-"
"Good," Whumper interrupted, their eyes dark. "I want it to hurt."
A shudder ran down Whumpee's spine, their glare faltering. They continued grinding, gasping and hissing every time Whumper pushed their shoe deep into them, the sole rubbing against their most sensitive areas. Whumpee closed their eyes, tears pricking at the corners, their hips stuttering.
"Please," Whumpee whispered, their hips slowing, earning a tug to their hair. "I-I can't- it hurts-" Whumpee was caught off when they heard a click. Opening their eyes, Whumpee saw Whumper was holding a gun, pointing it at them. Whumpee's blood ran cold. "Wh-"
"Keep grinding."
Swallowing hard, Whumpee hesitantly did what Whumper said, their eyes trained on the gun. Whumper watched Whumpee grind against their shoe, their finger on the trigger. Whumpee shuddered, wondering if Whumper was really crazy enough to shoot them while they did this.
Whumper noticed the hesitation, so they pressed the barrel to Whumpee's temple. "Grind. Faster."
Whumpee sobbed again. Whumper smirked, their gun still pressed against their head, watching as they grind desperately against their shoe, their juices coating the rubber. Whumper enjoyed every expression Whumpee made, their lips parting, soft noises and gasps escaping them.
"Close?" Whumper chuckled.
"Yes," Whumpee whimpered, their grinding becoming sloppy. "Can I please-"
"No."
Whumpee shuddered, their walls fluttering. They slowed their hips, their breathing uneven. Whumper pushed the gun against their temple harder, making Whumpee hiss.
"I didn't tell you to stop."
They trembled, their hips picking up the pace once more, their juices practically dripping onto Whumper's shoe. Whumpee gasped and whined, tears falling, their thighs burning. Whumper watched them, their finger twitching on the trigger, their free hand unbuttoning their pants. Pulling out their cock, Whumper lazily stroked it.
"Look at me," Whumper purred, Whumpee hesitantly opening their teary eyes, looking up at them. "You're so pathetic. Look at you, grinding against my shoe like a bitch in heat."
"Please," Whumpee whined, their hips moving faster. "Please-"
"Cum."
Whimpering, Whumpee immediately came, their hips stuttering, their juices coating onto Whumper's shoe. Whumper hummed, continuing to stroke themself as Whumpee rode their orgasm, their breathing labored.
Whumper looked at their shoes, chuckling. "Look at the mess you made."
Whumpee glanced down, their face heating up, embarrassment washing over them. Whumper suddenly grabbed Whumpee's hair, earning a hiss, and shoved their face onto their shoe. Whumpee flinched, their nose pressing against it, their cum smearing across their face.
"Start cleaning."
"But-"
"If you don't, I'll blow your brains out," Whumper reminded, their gun pressing against Whumpee's temple once more. Tears still rolling down their eyes, Whumpee hesitantly started licking their shoe clean, shuddering at their own taste. "That's it. Get it all clean."
Whumpee wanted to throw up, their tongue dragging over the rubber, their cum mixed with their saliva. Whumper watched them, their free hand still stroking themself, their grip on Whumpee's hair tight. Whumpee closed their eyes, focusing on licking their shoe clean, their cheeks burning.
"Open your eyes and look at me," Whumper growled, Whumpee flinching and obeying. They shuddered, seeing Whumper's eyes dark, their grin wide. "You look so humiliated. How cute."
Sobbing, Whumpee continued licking. Whumper chuckled and leaned their head back, their hand speeding up. Whumpee didn't stop licking until every inch was clean, their stomach churning.
Whumper kicked them in the face once their shoes were both clean, earning a pained cry. Whumpee fell onto their side, their nose throbbing, their hands pulling at their binds. Whumper moaned as they continued stroking themself, their gaze trailing Whumpee's naked body.
"On your knees. Hurry."
They really, really didn't want to, fully knowing why, but they couldn't bring themself to rebel further.
Whumpee awkwardly pushed themself up, kneeling between Whumper's legs. They didn't even notice the blood trickling down their nose until Whumper wiped at it, licking at it and moaning again. They then used the same hand and grabbed Whumpee's hair, tugging them closer.
Whumper guided their cock into their mouth, pushing all the way in, earning a gag. Whumpee wanted to vomit as they felt the disgustingly familiar taste of Whumper's cum, their throat protesting. Whumper groaned, their grip tightening.
"You better swallow it all," Whumper growled, thrusting their hips, Whumpee gagging once more. "You're not allowed to miss a single drop."
Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut, Whumper's thrusts harsh. They choked and gagged, their lungs burning, their face bright red.
Tears rolled down their cheeks as Whumper's cum filled their mouth, their thrusts stuttering. Whumper moaned loudly, their cock twitching in Whumpee's mouth, their grip painful.
Pulling out, Whumper grinned wildly, seeing Whumpee's face flushed and tear stained.
Whumper's cum dripped out their mouth, Whumpee's chest heaving. Whumper grabbed Whumpee's chin, making them look at them.
"Show me."
Whumpee parted their lips, showing them that they did as they were told. Whumper hummed, their thumb wiping at some cum that was dripping down Whumpee's chin.
They rubbed it against Whumpee's tongue, earning a whine. They watched as Whumpee swallowed down the last bit of cum, then shoved them back on the floor.
Whumper stood up, tucking themself back into their pants, fixing their shirt. Whumpee watched them, their tears falling, their entire body aching. They flinched when Whumper crouched down, their grin unsettling.
"Good job, sweetie," Whumper praised, wiping away a stray tear. "Now, let's go home. I'm not done with your punishment."
276 notes · View notes
montammil · 4 months
Text
TW: Stalking, yandere whumper, kinda nsfw? really just suggestive, whumpee is just as batshit insane as whumper
...
Imagine an obsessed Whumper who stalks Whumpee all day.
NOW imagine a Whumpee that enjoys the attention. They tease Whumper while keeping their innocent and unknowing facade, all while Whumper becomes more and more obsessed, their patience and limits being pushed.
It's very amusing to just imagine Whumpee purposefully dressing up in revealing clothing because they know it'll send Whumper wild (and hurt/kill anyone who flirts with them).
Whumpee knowing Whumper breaks into their house at night and going to sleep naked/wearing lingerie on purpose, sometimes making movements that they know Whumper loves.
Whumpee crying when someone (especially their coworker) says something mean to them because they know that person will never be seen again.
They're just happily waiting until Whumper can't take it anymore.
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seasaltandcopper · 1 year
Text
Nsfwhump prompts
Another darker prompt list, but tailored for nsfw applications. TW for guro, noncon, etc. Feel free to use!
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Hurt them with:
☆ An object meant to pleasure
☆ Hot wax
☆ A knife
☆ Gravel or rock salt to kneel on
☆ Barbed wire
☆ A belt
☆ A gag or bit
☆ Clothespins or clamps
☆ A hand dragging them by the hair
☆ Steel wool or sandpaper
☆ A public display of humiliation or dominance
☆ Lack of preparation or lubrication
☆ Fingers digging into a wound
☆ A stress position
☆ Visible hickeys or bites
☆ A plug or vibrator to wear covertly
☆ Broken bones
☆ Dislocation
☆ Nipple or genital piercings
☆ A red hot brand or iron
☆ A cigarette ashed onto their skin or into their mouth
☆ Exhaustion
☆ Bathing or washing
☆ Overstimulation
☆ A boot or shoe stomping between their legs
☆ Thumbtacks, needles, or pins
☆ A fresh sunburn
☆ A cane or switch
☆ Penetration with an unconventional object
☆ Ruined orgasm
546 notes · View notes
secretwhumplair · 2 months
Text
Bath
1,776 words | Mirai and the serpent king (sequel to Anxiety)
Content | Slavery, fear, nudity, noncon touch (yes sexual), strong language, implied past and future noncon, mention of choking
I feel we're getting into Dead Dove: Do Not Eat territory.
Notes | Obligatory bath scene! And the long-awaited first interactions of Mirai and the serpent king.
This one is overlength! Please pay overlength fee Jk of course but friendly reminder I have a ko-fi!
Taglist | @yet-another-heathen @echo-goes-aaa @whumpinator
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It was a bath.
It made sense—Mirai needed some cleaning after the journey before his master could sully him again. He wished his could stay clean, even just to enjoy the feeling of it for a bit, but he knew well enough that wasn’t what he had been bought for.
A large basin was set into the floor, filled with clear water. Beside it, several jars and a bar of soap were lined up, along with a sponge, a hairbrush—Mirai didn’t look forward to a second brushing in the same day—and washcloths folded into so neat a stack it was impossible to tell whether it was one or several. On a rack on the wall, towls were hung, embroidered at the edges in similar patterns Mirai was starting to recognize from the palace’s floors and ceilings. The wall opposite the door was—well, mostly it was absent, the same sort of slender columns Mirai had seen before framing arched windows looking out over the palace grounds, sloping down from where the bath was situated on a sort of terrace.
The serpent king lowered himself into the basin gracefully, encircling the bottom twice, then looked up at Mirai with only the faintest trace of the hunger Mirai had come accustomed to seeing in his masters’ faces. His heart clenched, but there was no getting out of it.
»Come in, little one. Don’t be nervous,« the serpent king added, again with that little smile. »I won’t fuck you here.«
Mirai could feel his cheeks redden, somehow as embarrassed as he was confused. It should be reassuring, shouldn't it? Or it might be a lie.
He still braced himself before he approached the basin, and lowered himself on the edge, when he realized a logistical problem. He couldn’t simply—
»You may step over me,« the serpent king said, a flash of amusement in his eyes when he noticed Mirai’s hesitation.
Somehow Mirai managed to half-hop over the king’s serpent body into the center of the basin. The lukewarm water was pleasant on his feet, hurting from the days of hurried travel, and he immediately felt cleaner, too; now, surrounded by his master, he tried to keep his thoughts focused on what little mercies he could find. It would help him when the time came, here after a lie or anywhere. He needed to avoid tensing up.
The serpent king had lowered his upper body into the water until it was almost up to his neck, and looking down on him felt wrong, so Mirai moved to kneel before him.
The serpent king eyed him up. »What is your name?«
So much for not tensing up. What answer would be safe to give? Of course, his master could call him whatever he wanted. He had worn many names, most of them degrading or falsely sweet, since he had been first sold. The slavers who had brought him here hadn’t even bothered—
»Don’t be afraid, little one. I am not in the habit of tricking those who are already at my mercy.«
»I—my mother called me Mirai,« but then he couldn’t help himself but add, »but of course it is your right to call me by whatever name you please, Master.«
»Mirai is pleasing enough. Sit.«
And indeed, there was a stool submerged in the center of the basin Mirai hadn’t even noticed, so preoccupied had he been with observing his master and keeping him pleased as best as he knew how.
Mirai is pleasing enough. He swallowed down an odd lump in his throat.
When he sat, the serpent king moved behind him, taking with him the sponge. A hand slipped under his hair at the nape of his neck, moving it over his shoulder, and that was when Mirai realized he didn’t feel the bite of claws. When he quickly reached to hold the mass of hair out of his master’s way, he caught a glimpse of the hand, and indeed, the serpent king’s claws were clipped and filed down to be short and round and harmless.
Mirai didn’t know what to make of it, but he was willing to hold on to it, especially while feeling as exposed as he did now, not even his hair left between his master and himself.
But all that happened was that a flowery fragrance he couldn’t quite pinpoint reached his nose, moments before a warm hand ran over his back with the tell-tale slickness of soap. Then the sponge, now soaked, touched, scrubbing in gentle circles. He was being cleaned by the serpent king himself.
It was a little odd, sure; this task could have been accomplished or even just overseen by a loyal servant; but he wasn’t going to question his master’s whims. It felt nice, really, being gently touched without being fucked, even if he knew it couldn’t last.
When finished with his back, the serpent king moved on to his arms, going even lighter over the bruises the traders had left when pulling him along. It was kind, and it made it easier to relax a little, even as the serpent king moved to his front, never hesitating, fully secure—as he had every reason to be—in his right to touch wherever he wanted.
»I’ll lift you,« the serpent king warned quietly after finishing with his chest, then he picked him up and draped him across the coils of his body. The warning was kind, too, and Mirai tried to focus on the feeling of the smooth scales on his back as he was reclined, his hips and thighs raised to be more accessible to his master.
Once again, he was suprised; the serpent king simply continued cleaning him, lingering, sure, on his ass, and stroking, with feather-light fingers, once or twice more often than was strictly necessary over the insides of his thighs still bruised from the trader’s escapades, and watching his face for a reaction when reaching all the way between his legs, but after all he just continued on, moving down his legs as gently as before.
Mirai simply tried to squirm as little as possible. Looking up at the ceiling, he could see the same beautiful, intricate patterns inlaid as there had been in the throne room, blue and mossy green and white.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Finally, the serpent king was done. Mirai was clean. It felt nice; it had been a while since his last proper bath. It had been gentle, and kind. He couldn’t trust the kindness to last yet, but if things would continue on in this vein…
»Thank you, Master.«
The serpent king smiled, flushing Mirai with relief. It had been the right thing to say. He wasn’t used to speaking out loud, but even when he had been expressly ordered not to, he had always felt it put him at a disadvantage—not being able to plead and express respect and, yes, gratitude out loud meant they were more easily overlooked, or underappreciated.
He hated the sound of his voice, but maybe he could get used to speaking more quickly than he had thought.
»Did anything happen with your voice?« The question hit him unprepared. The serpent king soaked the sponge once more and easily placed him back onto the stool with a fluid shift of his body, moving behind him again.
»Yes, Master.« He avoided thinking about it when he could, and not just because of the devastation it had caused him in the long run - the disgust or outright punishment he was met with whenever he opened his mouth, until speaking filled him with dread. The event itself had been horrifying enough. »One of my old masters liked to choke me when he took me. One time, he - it was more than my throat could take. It never recovered.«
He shouldn't have said that. The serpent king's face was a quiet sort, but he had long since learned to read the smallest expressions, and he saw the anger flaring up.
His master must have noticed his worry. »I am not angry with you, Mirai. I am angry that someone would recklessly endanger the life of a slave they're responsible for like this. And with those who sold you to me, for trying to scam me by hiding it.
»Does it hurt?«
Mirai shook his head before he caught himself; his master wanted him to speak, so he would speak; his apprehension didn’t matter.
»No, Master.« The pain had faded eventually, after weeks of every breath feeling like a stab, every swallow feeling like dying over again - like he had felt there under his master, passing out with the pain in his throat his final sensation, certain he would not wake up that time. He was sold soon after that, when his voice wouldn't recover. He was worthless to his master without it.
»Good.« The serpent king squeezed the water from the sponge out over Mirai’s head, letting it trickle down his hair.
Mirai remained still as he repeated the process a few times until his hair was sufficiently watered, again trying not to overthink. It didn’t really matter whether it was good or bad that speaking didn’t hurt, he’d have to do as he was asked regardless, but it was nice that his master thought it was good. Right?
The serpent king reached for one of the jars, and soon Mirai felt another liquid drip onto his scalp, thicker than the water before. It smelled—not bad, a little tart, herbal—and was then brushed into his hair.
»I’ll want you to do this yourself, every week,« the serpent king said as he gently—yes, still so gently, much more so than the traders or anyone else had ever been—worked through Mirai’s hair.
»Yes, Master.« Mirai had to trust he’d be given the means to. It wasn’t always so, he knew that, and he would still be blamed if he wasn’t; but there was nothing else he could do.
After he put the brush aside, the serpent king ran his hands through his hair several times, never catching on the slightest remaining tangle. Mirai was used to his masters playing with his hair, and he just was grateful it was this light.
»You’re very pretty already, I’m sure you know,« the serpent king said, in a low voice, but close. Mirai was used to that, too; everything from shallow compliments to words so demeaning even those speaking them didn’t want to say them out loud had been whispered in his ear. He knew which end of the spectrum he preferred. »But you’ll be even prettier. Come, Mirai. Let us go eat.«
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