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crimsonbubble · 3 years

Text

Tied Up

(warnings: gn!reader, sadist!reader, sadomasochistic themes, sub!Hongjoong, ball gag, shibari, marking, biting, collars, leashes, handcuffs, vague spit kink, temperature play [ice], handjob, cum play, overstimulation, dacryphilia, degradation, praise, voyeurism, threesome turned orgy [implications of it], mentions of San and Yunho)

*more and taglist after the cut*

note: @woowommy is the reason I changed my original idea to this

---

Hongjoong was perceived as a tough, strong willed leader. Not the crying and drooling mess that he is right now.

He looked like he got fucked, even though you haven't don't much. You traced a finger over the bruises, bite marks and hickeys on his skin, the dark purples and red a beautiful contrast to his skin. With ropes tied around his body, handcuffs on his wrists and a ball gag in his mouth, he was rendered defenceless. Your hands moved from one place to another; from his collar and leash adorned neck to his messy and cum stained thighs.

Tears streaked down his cheeks as you hold an ice cube against his nipple as well as in your mouth as you suck on the other one. He squirmed under you, his cock twitching against his stomach. The ice in your hand and mouth melted, making you pull away from his now slicked and puffy nipple. You took another ice cube into your mouth giving his other nipple the same mouth treatment.

Hongjoong babbled nonsense behind the gag, his vision blurred with tears as he tries to follow your movements. Drool spilled down his chin and neck, making him feel all the more dirty. You pulled off his nipple, leaning back to inspect the mess he's created. You took another ice cube, carefully circling it over his tip.

Hongjoong's hips jolted, a muffled cry leaving his mouth. You laughed as you slowly rubbed the melting cube along his shaft, smiling at how he tries to move away from the intense feeling. You straddled his thighs, wrapping your hand around him, pressing the ice cube into him. Hongjoong choked out a scream, your hands plus the ice made had him cumming in seconds.

"Such a mess baby, a filthy little mess." Hongjoong whined, his eyes glassy as you stroked him through his orgasm. "Always such a good whore for me, aren't you?" You chuckled at how Hongjoong bucked into your hand, your thumb dipping into his slit. Before you could utter another word, the door handle started shaking and rattling and before you knew it, the door clicked open.

Wooyoung stood there in shock at the scene in front of him, slowly blinking as if he couldn't believe his eyes. You turned around, blocking Hongjoong's dick from Wooyoung's view. "How did you even get in? The door was locked." Wooyoung simply held up chopsticks his eyes trailing over each hickey and bruise on Hongjoong. His cock twitching in his sweatpants as he stared a little too long at Hongjoong's restricted mouth.

"Lock the door or get out." Your stern voice made Wooyoung's cock jump, a grin finding its way onto his face as he enjoyed your dominant side. Patting the empty space on the bed beside you, Wooyoung sat down, awaiting your next command. You caressed Wooyoung face gently, making him shiver from how cold your hand was. "You can behave for me right, Youngie?"

Wooyoung gulped harshly, nodding his head as he felt his cock press against the thin material of his sweats. Wooyoung looked back at Hongjoong, seeing the tear streaks, the hickeys and the mess of his cum up close. Hongjoong felt ashamed but he couldn't deny that having Wooyoung eye him like a piece of meat doesn't make him hard.

He simply can't deny it because his cock was already half hard just from feeling Wooyoung's dark gaze on him. You pumped him to full hardness, watching as he whimpered and shook under you. "Can I-" Wooyoung gestured down to your hand, making you pull away and replace your hand with his. Wooyoung smirked at how easy it was to get a reaction out of Hongjoong.

Hongjoong started crying again as Wooyoung stroked him quickly, his thumb dipping into his slit every once in a while. "Fun isn't it?" You chided as you got up, washing your hands of the drying cum. Walking back into his bedroom, you shifted to be behind Wooyoung, who had moved even closer to Hongjoong. Wooyoung questioned what you were doing, but focused on the shaking mess in front of him.

You tugged at Wooyoung's sweat pants, making his gasp sharply when you dove your hand beneath it. You wrapped your still wet hand around his throbbing cock, making Wooyoung let out a loud moan. With the help of the water, you stroked him fast. Wooyoung tried to match his pace with yours making Hongjoong writhe uncontrollably. Wooyoung whined loudly, his head dropping as he bucks his hips into your hand.

"Such good boy toys, behaving so well." They both cried out at the praise, making you smile against Wooyoung's neck. You left sloppy kisses on his skin, thumbing over his head as he came. Wooyoung whined loudly, his cum staining your hand and his sweatpants. Hongjoong's back arched deeply, cumming on his stomach for the umpteenth time. Both boys slumped in their positions, letting out short whines like puppies.

You pulled away from Wooyoung after giving his a soft kiss to the cheek. Walking over to Hongjoong's side, you reached behind his head, unbuckling the clasp. As soon as the gag left his mouth, Hongjoong let out a loud whine, his figure trembling with the aftermath of so many soul shattering orgasms. Wooyoung pulled his hand away from Hongjoong, staring down st his cum coated hand.

You looked at Wooyoung, then his hand, wordlessly telling him to do it. Bringing his fingers up to his lips, Wooyoung's cleaned the cum off his hand, making Hongjoong whimper softly. "Both of you did well,"

You pressed a kiss to Hongjoong's cheeks, making him smile weakly as he laid limp against the bed. You gestured to the door, making both Wooyoung and Hongjoong freeze. San and Yunho stood by the door, watching as you pushed them both around. They both had obvious tents in their pants, smirking as both boys eyes them up and down. While Hongjoong and Wooyoung were too busy in eye fucking San and Yunho, you grabbed a extra collar, quickly making your way behind Wooyoung. Without too much fussing, you managed to tighten the collar around his neck, leaving a soft kiss to his shoulder.

"But I'm sure you can be even better for your masters."

---

@a-soft-hornytiny @berryberry-joongie @cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @hanatiny @hyetiny @latte-fairytaekwoon @multidreams-and-desires @minhyukmyluv @serialee @strawberry-joong @vocalyunho @yungisstar1117 @yunhofingers @yunhospuppy @yunsangoveryonder

#ateez smut #ateez smut drabbles #ateez smut imagines #ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong smut #ateez hongjoong smut drabbles #ateez hongjoong smut imagines #hongjoong smut #hongjoong smut drabbles #hongjoong smut imagines #sub!ateez #sub!hongjoong #ateez wooyoung smut #ateez wooyoung smut drabbles #ateez wooyoung smut imagines #wooyoung smut drabbles #wooyoung smut imagines #sub!wooyoung

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altankatt · 4 years

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Neal and Peter after the plane exploded

Peter's focus was to get Neal inside the hangar, away from the blazing fire.

"Neal! There's nothing you can do! Listen to me!"

He never thought he would have to fight Neal. The kid had never, ever made resistance. Until now. As flames went from explosion to burning fuel and material they also became less chaotic and more real. Diana had joined them and she got the picture fast enough.

Sirens were heard and Peter managed at last to guide a stunned and chocked Neal back inside the hangar. Firetrucks arrived in plenty, together with an ambulance. Diana took charge as the communication center. A police car came last.

"Can you just stand still and stay here?" Peter asked Neal. "Just stand still, okay?"

Neal stared at the burning plane, leaning against one of the airplanes in the hangar.

"You know when the last time I touched her was?" the kid asked, tears running down his cheeks.

"No." It was not true. He did. Or at least he thought so. But he did not want to think about it.

"When you arrested me. Four years and six months ago. I just wanted to pick it up where we left off then. Like those years never happened."

Peter noted that Neal did not blame him. There was no hate or bitterness in his voice. Just sorrow. Like when he told about the wine bottle, just a hundred times worse.

"Just stand there, will you? I'll be here. I just need to call Hughes, okay?"

Neal nodded. Peter got eye-contact with Diana and she nodded. She would keep an eye on the kid. Peter walked away a bit. He called his boss and told him what happened.

"Is Caffrey unharmed?" Hughes asked.

"Physically, yes."

"And he's without anklet because he cut it?"

Peter sighed.

"Yes."

"You know what that means, Peter," he heard Hughes' voice of reason in the other end.

It made sense. And yet not. Because he knew Neal and knew about the deal with Fowler.

"Hughes, he wasn't running. It was legal."

"Perhaps. And he may not have anything to do with the bomb on that plane either. But until we know…"

"We have to see him as a fleeing felon and a murder suspect," Peter filled in. He glanced back at Neal. "As soon as he's ready for it, I'll take him back to prison."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but you're still under suspension, and Caffrey is an inmate of a maximum-security prison. I'll call the marshals. Let them handle it. They're no animals."

"Reese…" Peter began, "I…" He was about to tell he gave the kid a promise. But it would not help. He searched for words for a protest he knew would be in vain. He would not even need to put ordinary handcuffs on Neal. No one would need more than that as long as they treated him fair. Diana? No, for her Neal was just another villain. And she would never agree to transport him in just cuffs, and Peter could not blame her.

"I'll keep an eye on him until they arrive." He ended the call.

He watched Neal where he stood, like a wreck. Peter felt helpless. The kid was going through the worst moment of his life right then, and would soon be taken away in chains as if he was the cause of the disaster.

He returned to Neal's side, wondering how he would be able to tell him.

The kid watched him.

"What aren't you telling me, Peter?" Observant as always.

"I wish this could be done differently," Peter started. "I made you a promise. But as it is, I don't have a badge."

"I'm going back to prison, aren't I?"

"While all this is investigated, yes. I'm sorry, Neal."

The kid nodded in acceptance.

Peter's eyes wandered away.

"Neal... " He forced himself to meet the kid's eyes. "You're considered a high-risk transport."

"Leg-irons and black-box, I know the drill, Peter."

Neal's assurance sent a shiver through Peter. He had always seen them as something needed in extreme cases for violent people. Neal had faced them as standard procedure in prison without being violent. When he had arrested Neal for that necklace he did not steal, Fowler had called the marshals for the transport. Then he had seen it as a provocative gesture from Fowler, but it was standard procedure.

"You can stay here as long as you need to. There's no one who wishes to drag you away in chains until you're capable of handling it."

"Could you put them on me?" Neal asked. Peter stared. "Please?"

What was it with this guy?

"Why?"

"I'll be having them on for quite a while before I'm back in prison. Believe it or not, but those things aren't very comfortable in the first place. I know you wouldn't pull them tighter than needed."

Peter sighed. Putting him in restraints of that kind was nothing he wanted to do at any time but Neal would be far more uncomfortable than him, no matter who put them on. And it was as close as keeping his promise as he could.

"Alright, I'll talk to them, see what I can do. But it's not my call."

Neal nodded.

They both saw the marshals coming. Four men, one holding the chains. They pinpointed Neal quickly enough and approached. Diana sent him an eye as if to ask what to do. He shook his head.

"I'll talk to them," Peter said. "And tell them to wait until your ready."

"I'm ready." Neal looked far from ready.

"Are you sure?"

"A distraction would suit me fine right now. This will at least be familiar grounds. Yes, Peter, I'm ready." He even sent Peter an assuring smile. "Go ahead."

Peter walked to meet them.

"Agent Burke, FBI," he introduced himself. He still was, even if he was suspended.

"U.S. Marshal Sam North," their leader said. They shook hands. "Does he know?" He nodded in Neal's direction.

"Yes. He'll follow with you without any fuss, but he has one request."

"Which is?" asked North.

"That I pat him down and put those restraints on."

The man's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"I've no problem with that, but you're a civilian at the moment, Agent Burke. I'll have to supervise it."

Peter nodded. He was not going to argue against it.

The marshal followed him back to Neal with a handful of chains in his hand. Neal stood as a composed wreck, leaning against the airplane, exposed and harmless.

"Neal Caffrey, I'm U.S. Marshal Sam North. I'm going to supervise your transport back to Sing Sing. Agent Burke here tells me you want him to restrain you. Is that correct?"

Neal nodded. The marshal explained to Neal why he had to supervise it. Neal nodded again.

"Well then, Mr. Caffrey, I think you know the drill."

The marshal said it gently and gave a safe impression. Yet, Peter saw Neal's shoulders tense as he stepped away from the plane with a blank face. He took off his shoulder-bag and his jacket and held out his arms. The Marshal gave Peter a nod that the kid was all his.

Peter started with Neal's hair, dusty from the explosion. The collar, the sleeves. Since he had no jacket, there were few places to hide anything. Peter did not expect to find anything, but he did it correctly. Neal did not expect him to do anything less.

The marshal handed him the restrains.

Neal continued to hold his arms out until Peter had locked the belly-chain around his waist. The cuffs around the ankles were not uncomfortable in themselves at least. It was the chain that restricted the length of the step that constituted the restraint. Peter rose to lock the final cuffs around his friend's wrists. He knew he was supposed to do this before the legs, but no matter how correct he was with this, it would be unpleasant for Neal.

Neal already stood with his hands in position.

"Want to put your jacket on?" Peter asked. Neal shook his head.

The cuffs were directly linked to the belly-chain which forced the hands and arms in a fixed position which in the long run could become painful. The black box on top of that removed every option to move the hands. Neal did not flinch once. Not even when Peter put that box on top of it all.

Peter remembered when he had cuffed Neal in the interview room for the transport to the detonation center four and a half years ago. Neal had tried not to flinch when the cuffs closed around his wrists. Peter had cuffed him front with ordinary cuffs. More of a psychological restraint. What he put on Neal now was the opposite, and his CI had not moved a muscle in his face. Prison-time had made its mark, and Peter was not sure if that system created better citizens. It felt healthier to flinch than be used to leg-irons and black boxes.

Neal was restrained, and there was nothing more for Peter to do.

"See you, Peter?"

A question? Did he have to ask?

"Any time, kiddo" he assured Neal. "And I'll do my best to get you out as soon as I can, alright."

Neal nodded.

"Ready to go?" the marshal asked. Peter watched Neal's face transform into one of smiles and playfulness. An imitation of his normal state. Neal turned to face the marshal.

"Can't wait" he replied with a grin.

Peter picked up Neal's jacket and searched its pockets. He hung it over his friend's shoulders. It was December and cold outside. Then he stepped aside, and the marshal took over. With a grip around Neal's upper arm, he led him out of the hangar in the pace the chains allowed, followed by the other three.

Like this? Read more at https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltanKatt/works

#white collar #Neal Caffrey #Peter Burke #neal and peter #peter and neal #white collar fan ficiton #matt bomer #jeff eastin #tim dekay

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jbankai89 · 6 years

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Never Let Me Go [26/37]

A/N: For the foreseeable future (til about mid-May or so) I will be posting on Thursdays, so this is the LAST early update, and the next one will be on February 1st.

Chapter Twenty-Five – The Omega Liberation Front

A week after Yuri had been given the blackout glasses, they were swapped for a pair of sunglasses with a dark tint to them. He could see, and with them the overhead light in his room was as dim as twilight.

Regardless how dark Yuri's outlook on the world was (both figuratively and literally) however, after roughly seven and a half months, Yuri could see again, and it felt like nothing short of a miracle.

After seeing the state of his living quarters with his own eyes however, Yuri almost wished that he couldn't.

It was a small and square room, and the fake hardwood was stained with old blood and black skids of rubber. His mattress was clean—technically—but like the floor it carried old stains, black and rust-coloured ones that Yuri did not wish to identify. The room spoke of how Yuri had very much dodged a proverbial bullet in terms of his treatment at the hands of his trainer, and as he gazed around at the space, Yuri rested a hand compulsively upon his baby bump.

Thank you, baby, Yuri thought for what was likely the hundredth time, you saved me.

Yuri was deeply grateful, and though his outlook was still grim, Yuri was more determined than ever that he not let these monsters take his child away. He would repay his unborn child, and save them from a life of abandonment or neglect, of this he was certain.

It's amazing, really, Yuri thought as he settled back down on his side, his hands still cradling the swell of his stomach, how can I love someone that I've never met? But I still feel like I know you, baby, and I will protect you, even if it kills me. I love you so damn much, and I know that your father will, too.

“I'll get back to you, Beka,” Yuri whispered, not wholly aware that he was even speaking aloud as he curled up on the mattress, and tried to sleep. “I swear, I will...”

~*~

Another week passed, and Yuri's glasses were swapped once more, this time for ones with a red tint to the lens. Even with the new frames light still made his eyes twinge painfully, and positively ache without the protective lenses, but it was clear that they were improving, albeit much more quickly than Yuri had anticipated.

In that time, Yuri hardly saw his trainer. He was grateful, for that meant he did not need to expect any sort of painful punishments for his accidental verbal or physical slights, but the loneliness that this caused was difficult to manage, and Yuri began to almost dream of the man coming in, even if it was just to insult him more.

One day—or night, it was still impossible for Yuri to tell what time it was—his trainer stormed into the room and all but threw his meal at him, making Yuri jump with surprise. His trainer's face was contorted with fury, a face Yuri could now see—fierce dark eyes, almost no neck, his head perched like an egg upon a body wide with muscle. He was a terrifying man in every sense of the word, and after seeing him, Yuri felt even less inclined to fight back.

The food Yuri caught deftly, and he wolfed down the bread and water like a man starved. It was the same hearty fare he'd grown accustomed to during his incarceration, but his trainer had come with it late today, and thus Yuri had scarfed it down so fast that his stomach cramped and protested the speed with which he ate.

The moment Yuri had finished, the trainer, his expression sour, stepped back and rapped one knuckle against the closed door of Yuri's room.

The door opened immediately to admit another person, presumably the new trainer he was being transferred to. Yuri swallowed nervously as he gazed up at him, physically as different to his current trainer as night and day.

The man was fair-skinned, with black hair and blue eyes. His hair was styled into a point, as though he'd tried for the sticking-up style so many young men bore, but somewhere along the way it became sharper and more geometric. He was thin, slender where his current trainer was bulky, and dressed in a suit of deep violet and black. Yuri could smell the reek of alpha scent coming off him, and he immediately curled an arm over his pregnant belly protectively.

“Oh, how sweet,” the newcomer rumbled in a deep, mocking voice, “he is so protective of his brood that he stole from the alpha.”

“They always are,” his trainer agreed with a chortle, “nasty, thieving little whores.”

I'm not a whore, Yuri thought, but did not dare to say it aloud. Some of his defiance must have shown on his face however, given how the two alphas began to laugh nastily.

“Seven, nearly eight months under your thumb, and he's still defiant!” the newcomer proclaimed, and his current trainer frowned at the new one.

“He is wilful, Popovich, don't give me this shit,” Yuri's trainer said sourly. “S'not my fault that he's too stupid to submit to his superiors like he should.”

“He will if he doesn't want me to rip that squalling infant out of his belly prematurely,” the alpha, apparently called Popovich, said, and Yuri paled. His arms tightened over the swell of his pregnant stomach, and he shifted back incrementally.

“Y-you're not supposed to hurt my child,” Yuri protested softly, his protective maternal instincts eclipsing his self-preservation ones as he gazed up at the new alpha. Popovich smirked.

“You're past six months,darling. Your brood will survive on a ventilator just fine if it comes to that,” he said with a nauseatingly sweet tone of voice. “Just don't cross me, and we won't have to worry about it.”

Yuri bit his lip as he eyed the new alpha, trying to gauge whether he was exaggerating or not. His expression was blank, impassive, making it difficult to tell whether or not he was bluffing. Unnerved, Yuri dropped his gaze, but his arms were still tense and taut around his unborn child.

“Better,” Popovich said approvingly. “Up you get, darling, we got a long way to go.”

Yuri chanced a glance up, and saw Popovich smiling at him with the same false kindness, while the alpha curled the index finger of his right hand in a come hither motion.

Yuri's mind was still clouded by protective instincts over his baby, and reluctantly he got up and moved over to him, despite how small his stomach was—at least compared to what Yuuri had looked like at this stage—his gait had still adopted a slight, albeit distinctive pregnancy waddle, which made his face burn with embarrassment as the two alphas looked on and chortled at him.

Upon reaching the pair, Popovich took Yuri's wrists in a terrifyingly gentle grip, and began to pin them together as he unlatched a pair of shiny handcuffs from his belt. Yuri tensed.

“Please,” Yuri whispered, his feeble tone making him nauseous with shame, “please don't. I won't run—I can't run like this...please don't cuff me.”

“Sorry, darling,” Popovich said, “I have no choice. It's this or a collar, which, as I understand it, you like even less.”

His current trainer chuckled at that, while Yuri felt his face burn with shame. Reluctantly, he allowed the man to pull his wrists together at his front, and cuff them together with a despairing click.

Shaking all over and hating his restriction of movement, impeding his ability to protect himself if needed. Yuri was offered a pair of boots, which he recognized as his own from when he arrived. Uncertain why he didn't give them to him before his hands had been bound, Yuri decided it might be better to not ask, and slipped into them awkwardly before he reluctantly followed his new trainer out of the room.

The hall was just as long as Yuri remembered it to be, and deadly silent, save for the occasional sound of an omega weeping. It was unnerving.

“Hurry up,” the new trainer snapped suddenly, making Yuri jump. “I haven't got all day, and we have a long way to go.”

Popovich smirked as he spoke, but it was less like the cold, sadistic amusement he'd familiarized himself with with his previous trainer. This time, it was more like he was in on a private joke that Yuri was not a part of.

But what does it mean for me? Yuri wondered as he picked up his pace as best he could, but walking was still awkward at the best of times, what with his centre of gravity not in the same place where it used to be. Will he hurt me or the baby? Or both? Will I really have any chance of running away like this?

Popovich led Yuri out of the house, and outside it was warm. Summer.

Heat crept up Yuri's form, and his forehead became moist. Sweat dampened his back covered by the thin but warm three-quarter length sleeved shirt he was presently wearing, and his legs felt trapped and stuffy inside the lounge pants. His feet were positively stifling inside the winter boots, and Yuri just barely managed to bite back a moan of discomfort at how hot it was outside.

A black sedan was waiting for them on the curb, and Popovich directed Yuri to the back seat of the vehicle before he circled to the driver's seat, where he started the ignition and locked all the doors with the press of a button. He then turned to Yuri and unlatched his handcuffs, exchanging them for a stack of clothing.

“Here,” he rumbled in a tone of voice that was almost kind. “You must be baking in those clothes. I promise I won't peek.”

He smiled, but Yuri did not return it as he accepted the clothes. They were fitted cutoff black jeans with an elastic maternity waistband, along with thin, breathable socks, canvas shoes, briefs, and two top options—a T-shirt or a tank top.

“Thank you, Alpha,” Yuri said robotically.

“Just call me Georgi,” Popovich replied as he offered Yuri a strange, kind smile, and turned to the wheel while he picked up a cell phone out of one of the cup holders. He pressed a button just below the radio, lifting a tinted glass screen between the driver's side and the back seat, giving Yuri a little more privacy to change. As Popovich drove down the street, Yuri took the opportunity to quickly change into the cooler clothes, opting as he did so for the T-shirt—he'd had more than enough of showing off more of his body than he really wanted to. At the same time, he heard the low rumble of Popovich speaking into a phone.

“Hi, it's me,” Popovich said as he drove, “the kitten is in the carrier. Is the airstrip ready?”

A small, tinny voice on the phone answered, and Yuri spotted Popovich smile in the rear view mirror as he cracked down the tinted screen, and upon seeing Yuri changed into the fresh clothing, he rolled it down the rest of the way.

“Excellent,” he said to the person on the other end of the line, “do you have the cub?” the voice responded with a faint yes. “Perfect. We'll be there shortly.”

Popovich hung up, and Yuri watched as he went a step further and switched the phone off entirely. At a stoplight, he took his hands off the wheel and pulled a roll of ordinary scotch tape from the glove compartment, and used a few small pieces to cover up the microphones upon the phone, then flicked off all the Bluetooth and WiFi capabilities of the vehicle. He then looked up, and caught Yuri's eye in the mirror.

“I'm sorry for the show back there, Yuri,” he said consolingly, and strangely, it sounded as though he meant it, too. “But I have been infiltrating the system for over ten years, and I have an image to maintain. I promise that I do not plan to do any of the things I said back there, it was just to get you away from the trainers.”

Yuri blinked, and stared.

It was a front?

Infiltrating the system?

Get him out of there?

What was happening?

“Who—who are you?” Yuri asked, and Popovich's mouth twitched into a small smirk.

“Georgi Popovich, at your service,” he said as he drove off again as the light changed. “Secret Agent for the infamous OLF. We're getting you out of here—you and a certain alpha who tried to save you.”

“Otabek?” Yuri asked in a rush, “you have my—you have Otabek? Is he all right? Is he hurt? Where did they take him? What did they do to him?”

“He's safe now,” Georgi said with a small, reassuring smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “They really put him through the ringer, though. Electroconvulsive Therapy, starvation, whipping, cutting, he was not allowed to relieve himself for long periods, then not allowed to clean himself up after, he got sick a lot. Honestly, I do not know how he will react when he sees you, so you need to prepare yourself, okay? Just in case.”

Yuri wanted to ask, prepare myself for what? But he already knew the answer.

Prepare yourself for a rejection, or maybe something worse—like Beka no longer recognizing me.

Yuri bit his lip, and did not speak as he shifted his gaze to the window. He pulled his seat belt on, and he stared out at the passing urban landscape, watching the buildings flick past as they merged onto the highway.

He knew that there was every chance that this whole explanation was a huge, elaborate setup to see how Yuri might react to the allure of freedom. These people were ruthless, after all, and he wasn't stupid—he knew that they wanted to do everything in their power to keep Yuri as downtrodden as possible.

And yet...

Somehow, strangely, impossibly, Yuri knew that Georgi was not lying.

He was free.

Otabek was free.

Despite the reassurance that this was true, Yuri could not quite muster up any sort of joy. It still did not feel real.

Yuri pressed his palm to the window, and settled back against the plush seat as the world rushed past him.

~*~

They drove for over an hour in relative silence, Georgi picking up his speed when they passed though the city limits, and Yuri recognized the road they were on as the same one they led to Otabek's home. Yuri swallowed a moan of longing when he thought of him—his true alpha.

Assuming Otabek even still wanted him, that is.

They did not drive to the airport, but instead headed in the opposite direction, until they came upon an old farmhouse with a huge expanse of empty fields, one of which bore a paved strip and a small aircraft. Yuri didn't know much about planes, aside from the fact that they went up, but this one seemed like a stunted passenger plane, with similar dimensions to the huge planes at the airport, but roughly half the size.

Georgi parked the car and helped Yuri out, casting a glance around with narrowed eyes as he led Yuri away from the house, across the field, and to the air strip. Outside of the little plane was an entourage of people waiting for them that made Yuri's heart swell—his grandfather, Phichit, Minami, Viktor, and Yuuri—with a stroller bearing three identical, dark-haired, blue-eyed babies.

The three little girls squeaked and squealed in their stroller, save the middle one, who was watching Yuri with wide eyes past a pink and yellow dummy in her mouth. Viktor chuckled and took one of the fussing girls into his arms, while Yuuri circled the stroller and ran at Yuri, only remembering at the last moment to not tackle him, and pulled him into a tight hug. At the same time, he watched Georgi step aside and moved over to Viktor, and began to speak to him softly.

“Yurio,” Yuuri whispered tearfully as he hugged him close. “You're safe now, you're home.”

Yuri hugged the brunet back, and gazed over the older omega's shoulder at the collection of people waiting for him, but someone was missing.

“Where's Beka?” he asked, and Yuuri chuckled warmly at Yuri's complete lack of preamble.

“Inside,” Yuuri replied as he patted Yuri reassuringly on the back. “He's...he needed to rest.”

Yuri needed to see him. Now. However, before he had a chance to voice this desire, his arms were filled with Minami, who almost choked him in his excitement.

At the same time, Yuri noted that there was the distinct smell of alpha all over him.

Yuri pulled back and checked Minami's throat to be sure, but there was no new mark there. He eyed Minami curiously, and he smiled up at Yuri sheepishly.

“You've been seeing a lot of Phichit, I take it,” Yuri said, and Minami's face tinted pink. “What happened?”

“Can I tell you later?” Minami asked in a small voice, “we just sort of need to get out of here right now, and we'll have a couple hours on the plane.”

“Sure,” Yuri replied with a small chuckle, and turned to the last person in the procession of people waiting to greet him.

Nikolai was leaning on his cane and smiling at Yuri warmly. His eyes were fixed solely on Yuri's face, not on the bump protruding from his abdomen, and slowly he made his way forward.

As though something in him had broken, Yuri hurried forward, and with a wide smile and tears in his eyes, he hugged his grandfather close.

“Grandpa...” Yuri said weakly, and Nikolai's arms tensed around him.

“It's all right, Yuri,” Nikolai said as he rubbed his back, “my brave, brave, grandson, it's all right, it's all right, you're safe now.”

Yuri wept into his shoulder, clinging tightly to his grandfather while the older man continued to rub his back consolingly, just like he used to when Yuri was small. He sniffled softly as he tried to calm himself down, aware that they needed to go, but no one rushed him onto the plane. They all waited patiently, Viktor, Yuuri, and Minami now all each with a babe in their arms, bouncing the girls gently to keep them calm. Georgi was off to one side, gazing around with narrowed eyes, and a hand resting on the side of his jacket, giving Yuri the impression that he might be sporting a concealed weapon.

Yuri pulled back from his grandfather and turned back to the others. His gaze fixed this time on the children, and Yuri's hand fell compulsively to his baby bump. Yuri moved the rest of the way towards them, and smiled a little as he reached out for the quietest of the three babies, held in Yuuri's arms and dressed in a pink and white-striped onesie. The baby wrapped her hand around Yuri's index finger the moment that he reached for her, and he smiled a little.

“What are their names?” Yuri asked, and Yuuri smiled softly at the child in his arms.

“This is Yuriko,” he said, then motioned to the child in Viktor's arms, who was wearing a onesie with little yellow ducks all over it, and was giggling as she clung to Viktor's sunglasses, “that is Antonia, and that—” he motioned to the third little girl held by Minami, who was wearing a spring green onesie and patting at Minami's cheek, a matching green dummy in her mouth, “—is Viktoria.”

“Who named who?” Yuri asked teasingly, and arched a brow at the name choices. Yuuri laughed a little at the look, and shook his head.

“It's not what you think. Viktor picked Yuriko, and I picked Viktoria. We both agreed on Antonia.”

“Well, they're nice names,” Yuri offered—though privately he thought that they were a bit stuffy. Yuri shifted from foot to foot, and lifted his gaze to the doors of the little plane. According to Yuuri, just beyond those doors was his Beka. The one person who had kept him going these last months without even being there. His Beka, who endured worse torture than him—for him.

Yuri needed to see him.

“Go to him, Yuri,” a sudden deep voice said, and Yuri turned to see that Georgi had stepped up to him, and offered Yuri a small, warm smile. “Remember what I said, and brace yourself, but go with love.”

“Thank you, Georgi,” Yuri said softly, and smiled softly before he turned away from his friends—his family—and shifted his attention to the plane itself. He took a breath to steady himself, then hurried up the stairs and towards the plane door as fast as his legs would carry him.

A/N: If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P

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#otayuri #otayuri abo #otayuri fic #otayuri omegaverse

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