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squishablesunbeam · 10 months

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Consequence of Action Pt. 13

Finally official chapter! Thanks for playing! I adore you all! Also, the first and last bits are from Prim's perspective. I know that's different but I couldn't help myself!

TW: recovering whumpee, panic attack, flashback, vomiting, mentions of past noncon, executions, death of minor characters

Prim couldn't tear her eyes away from the monstrosity.

She'd been helping her crew clear out the dead when Lopez found another body deep in the lower deck. It wasn't the man with his empty eyes frozen open capturing his last moments of terror or his crushed throat that held her attention.

It was the cage.

She'd heard some of what the prisoners had been saying about what had happened on this ship. The vile obscenities they spewed about Quinn in particular certainly painted a horrific picture that she wished were exaggerations but, deep down, she knew were not. She'd heard enough to make her blood boil before she had them gagged or else she'd skin them alive herself for what they'd done to that man.

They'd also mentioned a cage. This was undoubtedly it. With its rough edges welded together with clear intent to inflict agony upon its occupant. There was dried blood on the teeth of the grating that covered the bottom as well as a fair amount soaked into the floor beneath.

Her eyes trailed back to the body Lopez and Freely were currently preparing to transport to the incinerator.

Quinn had been flogged, recently. He was barely able to stand on his own two feet when she'd come upon him and Collins in the hallway. There was no way he would have had the strength to crush a man's throat in his state.

That meant-

They'd put Collins in that cage. God, how did he even fit.

Her mind morbidly attempted to imagine herself stuffed into that small space and a nauseating wave of claustrophobia washed over her. She immediately shook the thought from her mind.

Collins had been her team leader for just over a decade. They'd seen each other through the worst that human beings could do to one another and they always came out the other end just a little worse for wear. She was even part of the team that had gone in to rescue him after he was held captive by the enemy for three months. Prim had thought she'd seen him at his absolute worst many times over.

So why did seeing him with that collar around his neck fuck with her head so much?

They'd collared him, and put him in a cage. She was pretty sure they'd even-

Prim allowed anger to seethe throughout her body, for only a moment. Righteous or not, anger dangerously clouded her judgment. She knew that well enough. If she had her druthers right in this moment, she'd flog each one of those men in her custody to within an inch of their lives and force them to beg Quinn and Collins for their pitiful lives before tossing them into the incinerator along with the rest of them. They deserved nothing less, and maybe so much more.

The choice wasn't hers to make.

“Ma'am.”

Prim very deliberately let the anger slip through her fingers.

She turned to Freely. “I want this deconstructed immediately. Tear it down to its bolts. I don't want a single piece of this cage left on my ship. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Freely acknowledged assuredly.

She let out a breath and nodded. He'll take care of it.

She turned on her heels and headed back up to the main deck, swallowing the urge to speed up her pace just to get away from all the horrid memories that undoubtedly haunted the corners of that godawful room.

She headed for her new office, dispensing orders as she went. This ship had just begun to fall into disrepair while being under poor leadership and a skeleton crew it seemed. There was a lot to be done.

A few hours later, Prim called for Collins and Quinn to join her. She needed to discuss what to do with the prisoners, their possessions, etc. They also needed to track down any of Quinn's possessions as well, if they hadn't already been destroyed. This all could technically wait, but if she was being honest, she wanted the prisoners dealt with and off the ship as soon as possible.

She fussed at the desk while she waited, stacking piles of papers and log books that must have been the ship's former captain's, practically useless now. Most, if not all, would be burned.

The office was large but impersonal. She'd already taken the time to shift around the placement of furniture to make it more open and inviting. She dimmed the glaring overhead light and made a note to grab some of those warm light bulbs on their next stop at a safe planet. She would have to bring over some of her more personal items from the other ship as well.

A knock pulled her out of her thoughts and she turned, hitting the button that slid open the door.

"Commander," Collins greeted her with a warm smile, Quinn by his side.

She grinned wide, clasping arms with Collins and then Quinn.

"Prim is fine. You know that well enough."

Collins already looked so much better. Much more himself. She couldn't stop herself from casting her eyes briefly to his neck, assuring herself that the collar had actually been cut away and he was free from its weight.

She stepped back to allow them into the room, noting the soft hold Collins had around Quinn's hip.

It looked so incredibly natural for a man who rarely ever displayed even a hint of affection in the many years she'd known him.

A smile quirked up her lips.

She didn't know exactly what was going on between these too but it was clearly something, and it was only growing stronger. As far as Prim was aware, Collins had never had a significant person in his life, at least he'd never spoken of it if he had.

Seeing him so casually tender with Quinn was, well, it was adorable.

Prim gestured them into the office.

“Please, have a seat.”

She stopped short, her eyes flicking to Collins as the blood drained out of Quinn's face.

Oh, shit.

–

He'd already had a brief moment of panic in the hallway once he realized where they were headed but he'd convinced Collins that he was fine. Of course Prim would have taken the Captain's office. She was the highest ranking member of the crew after all. It made perfect sense.

Except right now, nothing made sense.

He was certain he'd be okay, stepping confidently into the room after watching the familiar exchange between Collins and Prim.

But then, Quinn laid eyes on that looming brown desk and his world just slipped right out from under him.

He saw himself, clear as day, curled up on his knees under that damn desk. Naked, his hands bound to his thighs like they always were the first however many times he'd been forced to open his mouth and obey.

It was as if he was watching from a far away corner of the ceiling but also not. He could feel it all. The way the hard floor bit into his knees and the coarse rope constricting his thighs and tearing at his skin.

He shook his head to try and clear the image but it wouldn't jar loose. The taste of the Captain's fingers filled his mouth and he gagged, choking on nothing as the taste turned to something so much worse.

His head felt thick and his world narrowed.

He felt like he might be falling but he couldn't bring himself to care. The room buzzed loudly in his ears and washed itself over him. He could feel all of its edges pressing against his body, forcing him to fit into the tight space under the desk.

Something pressed against his back and there was pain there, but also, it was good. The pain felt good, in a way. It sparked sharply through his mind and cleared some of the fog away. He dropped his head and tried to remember how to breath, clinging to that pain like a lifeline.

His entire body was suddenly shook, just once, and his eyes managed to lock into place, the spinning world around him suddenly centering on one point of focus.

“Collins?”

A hand touched lightly against his own and he looked down at himself, realizing he had pressed his wrists to his thighs. He could feel the ropes keeping him in place but he couldn't see them. He gasped his mouth open and tried to pry them up off his legs. It felt as if he was attempting to merge two worlds that simply weren't meant to coexist. He finally succeeded in detaching his hands from his legs and held them up in front of his face.

They were shaking.

He was shaking.

He still couldn't breathe.

Warm fingers brushed against his face and the here and now flooded his senses, coming back to him far too fast. His body prickled with sweat, his mouth filled with saliva.

“Oh my god,” he pressed a hand against Collins' shoulder and lurched to the side, vomiting onto the floor beside them.

“Oh my god,” he said again, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth before pulling it back and looking at his wrists, fully expecting to see marks from the ropes indented into this skin.

His thighs weren't bare. He was wearing pants and a button up shirt he found in Collins' closet.

Quinn dimly heard himself muttering Collins' name under his breath.

“You're alright. I'm here. Just breathe.”

His eyes numbly tracked Collins' movement as he wrapped his fingers around Quinn's wrist and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the thin skin.

There still weren't any ropes there, holding him in place. He kept his eyes on Collins' hands, each painless pass of his thumb a reminder that he was safe. Collins was here. The Captain was dead.

Quinn gasped out a harsh breath as the image of him shooting the Captain in the head flashed before his eyes.

He looked up, his eyes wide and wet with stinging tears as he searched Collins' face, too many memories battling for his attention at once.

“He hurt you, Collins, he-” Quinn said, his voice strained and panicked.

“Hey,” Collins drew their foreheads together, holding onto the back of Quinn's head. “I'm okay, Quinn. You saved me, remember? You killed him, Quinn. He can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt either of us anymore. We're okay.”

Quinn drew in a shaky breath, and then another. Collins' hands were like an anchor, holding him to this reality, his shoulders firm and solid and real under his own hands. He breathed, his breath mixing with Collins' as the world slowed down to a manageable rhythm.

He became aware of another presence in the room and his eyes slid to Prim, sitting on the floor with them, just a few steps behind Collins with her arms draped over her knees.

“Holy shit,” Quinn said, pulling back slightly and breathing out a shocked breath, “That's never happened before. Not like that. I could see it. I could feel it.”

He held tight to Collins as Prim sat forward, crossing her legs underneath her, “Ironically, it's because you are actually safe now that this is happening. You're mind is trying to process everything. Collins can teach you some tricks to help you stay grounded, or I can. We've both been through it.”

Collins nodded sympathetically, scratching his fingers over Quinn's leg in a predictable, soothing rhythm.

It was helping.

“Grounded, yeah,” Quinn leaned his head back on the wall behind him, only now realizing that was where the pain was coming from. His sore back was pressed right up against it.

“God, I'm so sorry,” he groaned out, looking down at the mess he'd made next to him and trying to fight back embarrassment from swallowing him whole.

Prim waved her hand absently. “It'll clean just fine. Go rest. We'll talk later, okay?”

He nodded and leaned heavily against Collins as they moved to stand, Prim immediately moving to join them. They were both standing right in front of Quinn, blocking his eye line to the desk. He couldn't quell the need to look, just once more, to assure himself that the other him wasn't still trapped there, under the desk.

Collins moved to help him to the door and he stole a glance over his shoulder, breathing out a breath of relief only once he was assured the phantom was gone.

He didn't know why he felt the need to ask but he stopped himself before heading out the door, “What did you want to talk to us about anyway?”

She started to wave her hand in dismissal but paused, drawing her eyebrows down, seeming to study him carefully. He felt Collins' solid presence at his side.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to have the prisoners executed. I thought the airlock might be appropriate but I didn't want to make that decision without you both.”

Whatever fear that had just sunk its teeth into him morphed into anger at the mention of the prisoners.

Jackson, Hawkins and Gibson.

It wasn't enough that the Captain was dead. Quinn's every waking memory was corrupted with the thoughts of these men. He could barely eat without the image of Jackson forcing his dick into his mouth through the cage before he gave him any food. Hawkins tore at his flesh and left behind too many scars for him to ever forget. And Gibson- Quinn shuddered, the pain of his care still a bright and sharp memory.

Quinn didn't want to think twice about it. He just wanted them gone.

“Do it,” he said, swallowing down the knowledge that with those two words, he just sentenced three men to their deaths.

“Would you like to be there?” Prim asked.

Quinn looked to Collins who shrugged, squeezing Quinn's hand once. “As long as they're dead, I'm okay with it,” Collins said plainly.

“I think I'm okay too,” Quinn said, looking back to Prim, “Will you do me a favor though?”

“Name it,” she said with a sincerity that put a weak smile on his face.

“Just, maybe, don't tell them what's going to happen. Don't say anything to them at all. Just take them to the airlock and open the door.”

The silence was always the worst part. Being led through the ship, never knowing his own fate before being shoved through an open door.

Quinn thought it fitting.

Prim apparently did too, if the look on her face told him anything.

“I'll make certain of it.”

“Let us know when it's done,” Collins added, him and Prim both sharing an understanding between them as she nodded her assent.

Quinn felt the warmth of Collins' hand at his hip and he let himself lean against him. He focused on carefully matching his breath to Collins' as they wove their way through the hall and back to the quiet and safety of their room.

–

Prim had done exactly as Quinn asked. She informed her crew to bind the men and take them to the airlock without a single word spoken.

It was admittedly gratifying to behold. She watched as Gibson lost it first. He screamed and thrashed against Freely as they were led down the halls, demanding to know what was going on and proclaiming his innocence.

Hawkins was next.

He fed off of Gibson's fear and spewed vile threats at herself and her crew. Mostly though, he cursed Quinn's name and screamed at the top of his lungs the horrific things he was going to do to him.

Except he was never going to have that chance. He was going to die. He was going to be tossed away like trash, without a second thought.

Jackson held out until they were all kneeling in the airlock and the door was being sealed shut between them. He launched himself up at the last minute and sprinted toward the door, hurling himself again and again at the thick glass that kept them safe from the vacuum of space.

Prim stood silently with her crew, all of them expressionless as the prisoners made their pleas and useless threats.

With a signal to Freely, he slammed up the lever and the screams of the three men died with them as they were sucked out into nothingness.

It was the most feared end for those who made their lives out in this vast emptiness. As much as they all craved it, loved it even, the enduring, ever expanding endlessness of space was utterly terrifying. Like the vast oceans back on Earth, space was to be respected and feared in equal measure.

These men respected nothing.

The silence that followed the closing of the outer door had a finality to it that she found both deafening and soothing in the same moment.

It was done.

Freely and Lopez headed back to their respective stations without a second glace and Prim headed to inform Collins and Quinn, hoping that they sleep just a little bit easier now.

“Come in,” Collins called from inside the room. Prim was surprised he didn't meet her at the door as was decorum. Not that she expected it or enforced that kind of nonsense on her crew, it was just Collins' way. Too many years spent in the service and not enough spent living his own life.

She realized why the moment she slid the door open.

Collins was propped up on a few pillows with a book in his hand and Quinn soundlessly asleep with his head on Collins' stomach.

The sight made Prim smile.

“He's good for you,” she whispered, easing quietly into the room.

Quinn flinched a little in his sleep and Collins moved to card his fingers through his hair for probably the hundredth time.

“Too good,” Collins whispered back, taking off his glasses and setting them on top of the open book by his hip.

He looked tired himself, and worried.

“Is he okay?”

“No. He's not," Collins said. He wasn't harsh about his words. He sounded sad.

“Are you okay?”

Collins sighed and finally look up at Prim, “No.”

She pursed her lips and nodded, “If it makes you feel any better, they died terrified.”

Collins frowned deeply as he looked down at the man in his lap, his head rising and falling gently with every one of Collins' breaths.

“I would have had them skinned alive,” Collins said, not looking up from where his fingers were curled into Quinn's hair.

Prim huffed out a laugh, “I had a similar thought. But at least it's done. Maybe there's some peace to be had from that?”

“I hope so,” he said, “He deserves it.”

“So do you, Collins,” Prim said, knowing full well that he didn't believe a word of that. “And for what it's worth,” she gestured between the two men, “whatever you've got going here, it's cute as fuck. You deserve that too.”

Collins actually laughed, a wide grin splitting his handsome face as a blush seeped into his cheeks.

He'd be okay, she thought. They both would be okay, she'd make sure of it. She'd fold them into her little family and give them a change to find their footing again.

She headed back towards the door, “You need anything at all, you let us know, you hear me? And when you're ready for a distraction, I've got plenty of work for you to do.”

“Will do, Commander,” Collins said, the smile on his face coming just a little easier, “And Prim, thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, sir.”

She left them to rest and turned to head back up to the bridge, her mind already on the myriad of tasks on her plate and plotting their next course through the skies.

Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn, @whumplr-reader, @hold-him-down, @monochrome-episode, @dogface3000, @skyhawkwolf, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpterful-beeeeee, @maddam-redder, @susiequaz12, @pigeonwhumps, @starlit-darkness

#recovering whumpee #rescued whumpee #mentions of past noncon #panic attack tw #flashback tw #emeto #execution #death of minor characters

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longlivesteddie · 1 year

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tw: self rape aka Steve wasn't able to say no before and now he doesn't understand it's an option, past non con, Eddie Munson is a good boyfriend

I'm imagining Steve and Eddie making out and it gets heated and Eddie definitely wants to go further. But then he sees painted look on Steve's face and he asks what's wrong. And Steve tells him that he's having a migraine. So Eddie immediately stops their make out session. And goes to turn off the lights and bring whatever Steve usually needs during a migraine. Steve tells Eddie that it's fine, that they can continue. And Eddie has to explain that he doesn't want to have sex if Steve's hurting or not feeling it. And he asks him if he knows that he can always say no? Eddie expects Steve to nod or say yes. But Steve just averts his eyes and it breaks Eddie's heart and his fist itches to punch the cunt that did this to Steve.

#tw: mention of past noncon #steddie #putting my discord thoughts on tumblr #mine

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distinctlywhumpthing · 9 months

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In League — Nightmare

Masterlist

Summary: August still feels out of place in the house after trying to escape run away but a nightmare has him seeking Wyatt's comfort...

(This was in the Google Drive Black Hole until @peachy-panic's This Could Be The Moment and @hold-him-down's Not Ideal inspired me to polish it in the spirit of Bad Nights. If you haven't read these pieces (& entire series) yet, you should plan on getting zero work done this week because you now have more important things to do.)

CW: Late-19th century, indentured servitude/classism, explicit language, past-noncon implied, power dynamics, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

August didn’t like sleeping alone.

He missed being allowed to sleep in the chair, knowing all night that Wyatt was near, working at the desk or asleep in the bed. He would’ve kept to the chair forever if it had meant he didn’t have to be alone at night, in the dark where Keats could still find him.

The nightmare hadn’t been anything novel. He was always struggling to regain some ground, all the while only digging himself deeper. Sometimes Fionn was there, hurting. Keats would lay a trap and August would walk right into it. Without fail. Hopeless, thoughtless, thankless. He was too slow, too dim-witted not to fall for the tricks every time, even in his own dreams.

He’d awoken to his heart beating like a drum between his ribs. Chest both gnawingly hollow and achingly tight. The room was pitch-dark, with no moon or stars shining through the window. Even the fire had died in the hearth like the night was snuffing out all light. He’d played the unwitting accomplice, banishing any chance of warmth by casting all the blankets and even the pillows to the floor in sleep. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, shivering.

There were still many things he didn’t understand or trust about his place here and the older boy who had given it to him. But Wyatt had a way of making Keats feel like a small, distant memory and that was exactly what August needed right now.

When he’d asked to stay—or rather, accepted Wyatt’s invitation to stay by way of needlessly asking his permission, Wyatt had insisted August take his bed. A laughable stipulation, considering how much worse he’d had than an armchair by a warm fire, but Wyatt had insisted. So, August had Wyatt’s room and bed to himself at night while Wyatt slept in the spare bed in Theo’s room down the end of the hall.

August paused at Theo’s door, leaning around the frame, the corner of the wood pressing into his collarbone. Wyatt was alone, sleeping with his back to the open door. Theo’s was probably among the voices that occasionally rose from downstairs, a sliver of bright electric light seeping from under the parlour door and trying to climb to light the stairs. It was just enough brightness that August had been able to avoid the creakier of the floorboards in the old house. After hovering in the doorway uneasily for five full minutes to confirm Theo wasn’t coming upstairs, he tiptoed in, chilly air nipping at the strip of bare skin between his stockings and underbreeches. The rest of the house was always freezing in comparison to Wyatt’s room. August had eventually learned that none of the others ever bothered with fires, a realisation that had made heat spread through his chest like the very warmth Wyatt kept him in.

It was hard to distinguish Wyatt himself from the bedcovers, fabric from skin, where one stopped and the other began, in the darkness. The bed itself and the man on it a single unbroken silhouette, carved from shadow marble. His even breath the only sign he wasn’t stone. August felt even more obtrusive standing over him. He crouched instead, not sure if he should sit on the edge of the bed without being invited and reluctant to kneel on the cold floor.

He hesitated countless times, hand hovering in the open space between them, heart sprinting in his chest. What if he was given more than a hand to hold, the warm embrace he sought? Even in the face of the vows Wyatt made during the day, August had never met a promise that didn’t have a trap door. And coming to Wyatt’s bed like this in the middle of the night was as good a reason to use it as any. His nerves rose steadily until it was like his heart beat between his ears and it was all he could hear or feel, swaying in the darkness to the tide of his own pulse.

A clatter from downstairs almost had him bolting back to his borrowed bed, ill dreams or not, lest someone else catch him out of it. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he’d rather it be Wyatt than anyone else, when the tables finally turned.

Now or never.

He reached out, brushing his fingertips over Wyatt’s bare shoulder. As faint as the hope he clung to that this would be no different than any other time Wyatt had comforted him. “Wyatt?”

Wyatt grumbled, turning onto his side to face August but not opening his eyes. He let his arm fall open, extended out toward August.

His heart hammered on in his chest as he held his breath waiting for more of an indication from Wyatt. More of an invitation or a dismissal.

Was that space meant for August? Or was Wyatt only reaching out his hand?

They’d never lain side by side before but Wyatt was always looping an arm around his shoulders during the day, swift to pull him into an embrace in those embarrassing moments when he lost his composure.

Or was Wyatt simply fast asleep?

August twisted his fingers in the fabric of the nightshirt Wyatt had given him, knees starting to ache from crouching. He’d disturbed Wyatt enough thusfar. He ought to leave him in peace. But the thought of leaving had him swallowing a lump in his throat and blinking away tears, as though Wyatt were truly sending him away, rejecting him. An unwarranted, invented ache.

It was for the best that he hadn’t roused Wyatt fully. He should feel lucky that he hadn’t gotten more than he bargained for. That Wyatt wasn’t the sort to thrash him simply for the disturbance. At least, he hadn’t shown himself to be that sort yet. August uncurled his fingers, pulse throbbing in his fingertips from how tightly he’d bound them in the fabric in his fists. He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand and rose.

Wyatt sighed, fingers at the end of his open arm curling away from August, beckoning him closer.

August’s heart faltered in his chest and against all reason, his tears fell with renewed urgency. He sniffled and fruitlessly wiped at them again before ever so gently, lying down at Wyatt’s side.

He settled on top of the bedcovers since Wyatt hadn’t lifted them. It wouldn’t matter anyway once he was closer to Wyatt, in his arms. His heart still felt like it was beating too heavily in his chest. As though he were stealing something he didn’t deserve, hadn’t earned. He took a deep breath, forcing the air in past his galloping heart and chased away the memories of his nightmares and of Keats. Wyatt was nothing like him, had only ever welcomed him with open arms.

August inched closer, resting his forehead against the older boy’s shoulder, hands tucked up between them. Wyatt’s breath tickled through his hair, in and out. If August flattened his hand, he could feel Wyatt’s steady heartbeat, its comforting metronome. He—

Wyatt drew in a sharp breath and shoved August back. He crashed to the floor, yelping as his head cracked against the corner of the solid bedside table.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, scrambling off his back as Wyatt’s shadow sat up in the bed, looming over him.

Wyatt didn’t move, didn’t dignify his feeble apology with a response. But he had to be furious for how hard and fast he was breathing, for how rigid his shadow was, as though he truly was stone.

August’s heart carried on beating erratically in his chest. It didn’t feel right. It felt like it would swallow him, end him from the inside out, compounding his fear with each consuming beat. “I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely, voice shaking. He didn’t know what else to say. When Wyatt still didn’t acknowledge him, he inched forward, reaching out—

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Wyatt stood and August cowered back with a whine, hands coming up to protect his head. He couldn’t do anything right, perpetually reduced to crawling back like a puppy who’d been kicked but was too stupid to learn its place.

It was all he was, broken, desperate. Exactly as Keats had made him. “Please, sir. I beg your pardon.” He hadn’t called Wyatt that in weeks, had been able to rise just a little bit in his esteem, and even his own. Until now. He started crying in earnest, the tension from his uncontrolled heart and the open fall of failure overtaking him. “I’m sorry, sir. Please—”

Wyatt skirted away from him, bringing his hands up to his head in his rage. As far as possible from the pathetic mess of a boy who’d overstepped his welcome. He would have run if Wyatt hadn't been blocking his way to the door. Sobs halted his apologies so he pulled his knees up to his chest and waited, never taking his eyes off Wyatt.

But crying would not constitute an apology, hiding from punishment even worse, and he needed to fix this. If he wasn’t dead in a day on the streets, Keats would find him. To remain in this house, even chained in the basement, was preferable. He would offer anything, surrender any part of himself, to stay with Wyatt. Make himself smaller, bend, break to counterbalance this fault, to regain what standing he’d had. He had brought this on himself and he would face the consequences. Prove––

A light in the doorway silenced his undeserved tears and he held his breath.

“Wyatt?” It was Theo. And no one behind him, which was a small mercy, though it didn’t promise anything about what was coming for August. Theo lifted the candle, scanning the room until his gaze fell on August.

A whimper escaped his lips and before he could sort himself to make some attempt at apology, Theo was moving. He couldn’t help himself, he covered his head again.

Only Theo paid him no mind, just went to the chair at the foot of the bed and gathered Wyatt’s clothes in his free arm. He thrust them at Wyatt with enough force that August heard the impact, pushing them at the unmoving statue that used to be Wyatt until he was forced to take a step back and finally brought his arms up to cradle the clothes.

“Go on,” Theo said, keeping his voice low.

Wyatt didn’t move. August couldn’t see his face from this angle but after a moment it became clear that something was transpiring. Something excluding August.

“Get some air. Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

His stomach dropped. He didn’t want Wyatt to leave when things were like this, when he hadn’t told him that he hadn’t meant to be so much trouble and that he would face the consequences well. But he couldn’t find his voice.

With one more moment’s hesitation but not a second glance in his direction, Wyatt left and August was alone with Theo.

First thing he did was set the candle on one of the posts of his bed. A precarious placement that had once lost August the privilege of candles for an entire month –of bruised shins and stubbed toes– at Elmwood. But Theo didn’t have to worry about things like that. None of the other boys here did. At least, August didn’t think so; even if they didn’t have much, they were all equal. Theo bent down a few paces away, resting his forearms on his knees.

“August, you all right down here?”

He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he could say much of anything without just crying some more. He swallowed, to see if his throat was clear enough for words. It wasn’t.

“I know you’re frightened,” Theo said gently.

That only made the lump in August’s throat worse, sobs closer to escaping his lips.

Theo watched him carefully, as was his wont. August fought shy of meeting his gaze. It made him nervous, how heedful Theo always was. What might he observe and, worse, what might he tell Wyatt?

“You’re not in any trouble.” August couldn’t help but look straight into his eyes now. Watchful as they were, he didn’t find them deceitful. “I promise, everything will right.”

He hoped Wyatt would agree.

“Why don’t you let me help you up? We’ll sort you out, too.” He held out one of his hands. “It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you.”

When August reached out, his palm shone crimson in the candlelight.

To be continued...

@whumpy-writings , @writer-reader-24 , @deluxewhump , @no-whump-on-main , @maracujatangerine , @painsandconfusion , @wolfeyedwitch , @briars7 , @gala1981 , @redwingedwhump , @whumpflash , @poeticagony , @annablogsposts , @fleur-alise , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @crystalquartzwhump , @magziemakeswhatever , @neverthelass

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whumpcereal · 2 years

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behavior modification, future snippet #4

masterlist here; jack and joe's first time together post-captivity

content warnings for 100% consensual but graphic spice (oral included), mentions of past non-con, mentions of previous trauma, conditioned whumpee, bbu-adjacent, ham-fisted metaphors, adult language

To call this a drabble is to call War & Peace a light summer beach read (not that this is anything like War & Peace). It's long, so give yourself time to enjoy. Thanks to my cheerleaders, @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, and @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump. Set about a year after Jack returns home.

And... it's my birthday, so if you want to heap feedback upon me, I wouldn't be sad about it.

first time after: lightning glass

Jack stands at the water’s edge. The cottage is at the tip of the island, so the sun rises and sets against the water. Just now, it’s sinking into the west. He knows he’s been out here too long–and he’s definitely left Joe unattended in the kitchen far too long–but he can’t make himself go in.

It’s the air, salty and cool, brushing through his hair. The water. The way the sand slowly disappears beneath his toes. All of it, really. Open space. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. He’s spent so much of the last two years cooped up. His crate. The basement. Ivan’s bed. The hospital. The apartment. There’s something overwhelming about the notion that there’s nothing to confine him. The horizon stretches so far he cannot tell where it ends.

Jack is free.

Almost.

He turns and looks over his shoulder at the cottage. Its windows are amber in the fading light, and he can see Joe’s silhouette, probably doing something criminal to their foodstuff. He should go in. He wants to go in.

But there’s no one to tell him what to do just now.

It’s supposed to be better. It is better. It’s just that, sometimes, he still doesn’t know how to choose. And when he wants something, he isn’t sure he can have it. Because he isn’t supposed to want. Or, at least, he wasn’t.

There are so many things he wants now. He just isn’t sure that he deserves them.

He’s not sure he deserves Joe. Not as he is now.

Jack sighs and looks back to the water. It is calming, he guesses. In its own way.

The trip to Montauk had been Marilyn’s idea.

I think you boys need time away after–well, after everything.

It was the night after the press conference. Jack was meant to be asleep. He wasn’t. His body hadn’t come down from the day yet. He wasn’t sure it ever would. He was tucked in his bed with Carl, listening to Joe and his mother in the kitchen.

I’m not sure if he’s ready, you know? The–the interviews and the press conference? I don’t want him to–

Bear, he did so well. You both did. Jack is strong.

I know. Joe’s voice was hard, snappish. Then, softer. I know.

Jack closed his eyes then. He was strong. But he was so tired. He pressed his face into Carl’s fur.

I’m only saying that it’s been a long road to get here. You’ve both been shut up here so long–and the WRU people, I don’t think they’ll be content to leave you alone.

So you’re saying we’ve got to go?

Marilyn sighed. I’ve already phoned ahead. There’s a cottage on the Sound. I’ve booked you for two weeks. I’ll see if I can’t get the rest of this straightened out while you’re gone.

What if– Joe’s breath came out in a wet snap. Mama, what if it’s too much for him? To be alone with me like that? I don’t want to–

Joey, you’ve been alone.

You know what I mean. We–we used to do that all the time. Go to the beach. Sometimes–I–sometimes–

Jack knew Joe was crying. Again. Because of him. Jack bit his lip. He was strong. He was. Carl nuzzled his face.

Bear? Jack could practically see Marilyn crouched down in front of Joe, her green eyes just like his, but softer at their edges.

When we do the things we used to, it hurts. Because I don’t think he remembers them the way I do. Peters, he–he fucking–

Shhhh. Bear. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is making new memories, things that no one can take away from you.

Joe’s breath hitched. What if we can’t?

Jack felt his gut seize. If they couldn’t, it would be because of him. Because of his weakness. Carl felt him tense and batted at Jack’s shoulder with his paw.

Joseph Anthony, you stop it, Marilyn said. We haven’t fought this hard for you to scare yourself out of being happy now. Jack hasn’t fought this hard for you to give up on him.

I would never give up on him.

Then, don’t. And don’t give up on yourself either. I know you, Joe. I can see those wheels turning. You’re almost there–don’t be afraid to breathe.

Jack heard Joe’s feet head for his bedroom then, and he pretended to be asleep. They had already started touching again, so Jack wasn’t surprised when he felt Joe’s weight settle next to him on the mattress. Joe leaned down to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead.

I would never give up on you, baby. Stay with me.

As if Jack has any other choice.

But he does. He has choices now.

He wouldn’t choose to leave Joe.

His bare feet move a step closer to the water’s edge. The sun is almost gone, and the Sound is darker, waves sneaking up on the shore like thieves. It’s hard to tell what color they are now. Not quite blue, almost grey, sort of green. Jack wonders what it might be like to be a wave. To move freely, so close with its mates. To crash against something solid and have the upper hand.

“Jackie?”

Joe’s voice is almost lost in the wind, but Jack still turns. He can just barely make out Joe’s smile–tired, maybe, and a little worried, but still there, still real–in the gathering dark.

“Jackie, it’s suppertime.”

“Be right there,” Jack calls.

His eyes search for the sun one more time. A sliver of molten light peeks out over the Sound, and then it disappears. Clouds are starting to move in. The air feels suddenly wet, like skin after a bath.

He’s missed this. He’s missed everything.

The kitchen is warm and, well, a fucking disaster. But Joe insisted on cooking. The trouble with that is that Joe can really only make one thing–spaghetti–and that means there’s red sauce. Everywhere. Including all over Joe.

Jack closes the door behind him with a half-laugh. “Joey, what–”

“It’ll be delicious, I swear,” Joe says, rubbing a splotch of sauce from his nose.

“I know it will,” Jack replies. He wipes his sandy feet on the mat and pads over to Joe, wrapping his arms around Joe’s waist from behind. The gesture is soft, hesitant, but Joe squeezes him back.

“Was it nice out there?” Joe asks.

Jack can hear the concern in his voice; he must have been outside for longer than he thought. Jack knows that Joe worries, that he thinks Jack might disappear again. Not literally, of course, just–into himself. Like he was when he came home.

Jack doesn’t want Joe to worry, not anymore. He leans to kiss Joe’s cheek, noting that, inexplicably, there’s sauce behind his ear. He stifles a laugh. “It was nice. I think a storm is coming in, though.”

“Well, then I’m glad you came in,” says Joe. “We’ll stay cozy tonight, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Jack gives Joe one more gentle squeeze and then lets him go. It hurts him a little, to pull away. It took so long for them to touch again that Jack is almost greedy for it now. When Joe touches him, he feels safe, almost like himself. Like Joe’s touch erases Ivan’s. But Jack doesn’t want to ask for it. He isn’t supposed to ask.

Except that he is. He can. It’s just so hard to remember.

“Jackie?”

Jack starts. “What? Sorry.”

“You’re okay, baby,” Joe says softly. He turns from the stove, and his sweater is a Jackson Pollack of sauce and starchy water spots. He reaches for Jack’s hand, and Jack gives it willingly. It’s easiest when Joe initiates. Jack knows how to give someone what they want. It’s what he was made for.

It isn’t. But it is.

He must drift again, because Joe squeezes his hand. “Ready to eat?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He smiles. “Should I just lick your sweater, or what?”

“Funny boy,” Joe grumbles. “I set the table. Just give me a minute, and I’ll serve.”

Jack goes to the table, where Joe has gone to the trouble of making place cards, even though it’s just the two of them. Jack sits at the place marked Jackie ❤ in Joe’s hackneyed chicken-scratch. Taper candles burn in the center of the table, and red wine is already decanted in stemless glasses.Jack knows Joe wants tonight to be special. It’s their first night really and truly alone together in a very long time.

There were lots of nights like this one before. There haven’t been any since.

Jack wonders if Joe is as terrified as he is.

They make it through the meal in murmured conversation. Somewhere between his first and second glass of wine, Jack’s bare foot starts to rub over Joe’s cotton sock. Joe’s sweater hangs from the back of his chair, and he’s left in only his undershirt, which he, somehow, miraculously manages to keep clean during dinner. In the candlelight, Joe looks softer, not quite so tired. There’s a lazy smile on his face, a smudge of purple on his bottom lip. Jack can’t help but stare.

“--but Mama says that she should be able to find a place soon, so–” Joe stops. His nose wrinkles. “Do I have something on my face?”

Jack can’t help himself then. He leans forward, cupping Joe’s face in both his hands, and kisses him.

Joe makes a sort of muffled noise of surprise, and Jack pulls away, cheeks red. Every muscle is suddenly tense, and it takes a moment for him to realize that he’s waiting to be punished. Joe sees it too.

“Hey.” Joe’s hand slides across the tabletop toward Jack’s arm. “Hey, Jackie.”

“I–I’m sorry,” Jack blurts, squeezing his eyes shut. It was wrong. He shouldn’t have done it. It isn’t his choice. Or it is, but—“I didn’t–I shouldn’t have–it’s for you to decide, and I–”

Joe stops short of touching him. He isn’t smiling anymore. “Baby, I–”

Jack wraps his arms around himself, but it isn’t enough. He wants Joe. He wants Joe to hold him, to tell him that everything will be okay. It’s a relief to want that again. But Joe doesn’t move, and Jack doesn’t know how to ask him to.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says again. The red sauce is acid in his stomach.

“Don’t be.” Joe’s voice is so soft that Jack almost doesn’t hear it. “I just–you know that you can touch me, don’t you?”

Jack nods. Because he does know. Except that he doesn’t believe it, no matter how badly he wants to. He’s forgotten how.

Ivan is still there. Inside his head. Even after all this time.

“Baby?” Joe presses. His fingers inch closer to Jack but still don’t make contact. “Stay with me. Please.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can think of to say.

The windows rattle with a gust of wind. Jack can hear the soft pelt of rain on the glass. The storm is moving in.

Joe shifts out of his chair, gently unwrapping Jack’s fingers from his arm and taking his hand. He presses feather-light kisses to each knuckle and sinks to his knees beside Jack. He looks up, green eyes wide in the dim light.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Jackie.”

Jack looks down uncertainly. He doesn’t know what to make of Joe on his knees. That’s not Joe’s place. It’s his. Ivan told him–

“Jack.” Joe’s voice is stronger now. He reaches for Jack’s other hand. “You’re here. With me. And you didn’t do anything wrong. Do you hear me?”

Jack nods. He does hear Joe, almost. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows that Joe is right. That Jack is free. That he gets to choose. But even now, he can’t help the feeling that he’s fucked up.

Ivan would have muzzled him for using his mouth for anything other than its intended purpose; Jack can almost feel the leather on his skin. Ivan would have shoved him in his crate. And then—after Jack had time to learn his lesson—then, Ivan would have—

Joe squeezes his hands; they’re shaking. “You’re allowed to touch me. I want you to touch me. And I want you to do whatever it is that you want to do.”

“What if–”

Jack looks away, and Joe lets his hands go. “What is it, baby?”

“What if I don’t know?”

“What you want?” Joe asks.

Jack shakes his head. “If I–I don’t–I can’t–Joey, I’m not supposed to ask.”

“For what? Jackie?”

Jack hunches over himself, hiding his face in his hands. “I’m not supposed to ask for what I want. Because–because–”

Joe sits back on his ass. He looks utterly defeated. “Because you’re not supposed to want anything.”

Jack nods silently. A clap of thunder sounds miles away. The rain comes down a little harder.

“Jackie. I–I thought we’d worked past all that. You–you know that what Peters told you–it was wrong.”

“I know,” Jack whispers. And he does. He does– “But I don’t. I don’t–it’s so fucked up. I’m so fucked up.”

“No, you’re not,” Joe says immediately.

He presses up on his knees again, and, after a moment’s hesitation, wraps his arms around Jack’s middle. Joe’s touch is still light, careful. Jack wants to sink into it, but he doesn’t know how to let himself.

The clapboard shutters bang in the wind. Neither of them seems to notice.

“You’ve been through hell. You–that bastard fucked with your head. He hurt you. But you’re home now. There aren’t any–rules between us. We’re equal partners. And you can ask for what you want, same as I can,” Joe says, his voice firm. He leans back so he can look at Jack. “And we’re both allowed to say no. You’re allowed to say no, Jackie.”

“Okay,” Jack says meekly.

“Do you want me to let go?”

Jack shakes his head. “No.”

He wants Joe to hold him as long as he can.

“I don’t want to let go either,” Joe says softly. He presses his face to Jack’s body. “I love you.”

Electric blue slices across the sky.

“I love you too,” Jack says. He swallows another apology and returns Joe’s embrace, running his fingers tentatively through Joe’s dark hair. It feels strange to touch rather than be touched. He’s missed this too. “Joe, I–”

“What is it?”

“I want–” Jack’s stomach lurches at the words, “I want–would you–”

Joe seems to know what Jack cannot say. He kneels up, and his nose slides against the underside of Jack’s jaw. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Please, he thinks, but does not say.

Joe’s hands loop around Jack’s neck and guide him down for their lips to meet. It’s soft and gentle, Joe’s lips slipping against Jack’s. Jack’s lips part, and he tastes wine–he tastes Joe, and all at once, he can’t help himself.

He wants. He wants, and for a moment, he forgets. He presses hard against Joe, letting his tongue slip between Joe’s lips. Joe acquiesces. His head falls back, and he lets Jack explore, his thumbs anchored lightly on the hinge of Jack’s jaw.

“Come here,” Jack murmurs, sinking his teeth into Joe’s bottom lip. Joe groans, and the sound rocks Jack to his core. “Joey, come here.”

Joe rises from his knees. He kisses Jack again and pulls him to his feet.

“I’m here, baby,” Joe says, his voice suddenly low and husky. “What do you want?”

“You,” Jack says without hesitation.

He wraps his arms around Joe’s ribs and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Ginger, basil, sandalwood. He thinks of how he would wrap Joe’s hoodie around him at night, of how badly it hurt when Joe’s scent was replaced by his own filth. How, sometimes, he couldn’t remember where the hoodie had come from at all–just that it was important. That he needed it.

Joe presses a kiss to his temple and holds him close. “I want you. I never stopped.”

“Me either,” Jack says.

It isn’t strictly true; they both know it, but it doesn’t matter. Not just now.

They stay that way for a moment, just holding one another. Jack thinks he could hear their hearts beating if it weren’t for the rain. Light flashes against Joe’s skin, and thunder rumbles closer.

“Joe.”

It isn’t a question, because Jack still doesn’t know how to ask.

He knows that Joe wants him to take the lead. He understands it. Joe doesn’t want to hurt him, doesn’t want anything to send him back to Ivan’s basement. Joe wants him to feel safe. And Jack is supposed to make choices, supposed to take charge. And this–this is something he wants. Jack actually fucking wants something. It isn’t Ivan. It isn’t Bill. It isn’t any of the nameless, faceless men that Jack gave himself to because he didn’t believe he deserved any better. He never wanted any of it.

But he wants Joe.

He leans forward, cupping his hands on either side of the column of Joe’s neck, and he presses a kiss to the pink hollow behind Joe’s ear.

Joe’s breath shakes when he lets it go. “Jackie–”

Jack lets the tip of his tongue skate gently against Joe’s pulse point. Joe gasps, and Jack presses him closer. Joe tilts his head backward, and Jack kisses down his neck, each press of his lips so soft that he isn’t sure Joe can feel it at all.

But Joe does. “Jesus,” he murmurs, more breath than voice. His grip tightens around Jack’s ribs.

They haven’t gone this far. Not since Jack came home. Jack couldn’t; Joe wouldn’t.

“Can we?” Jack whispers. “I mean, do you think–”

Joe pulls back. “Are you sure?”

He isn’t. But he doesn’t know that he’ll ever be sure. He only knows that he’s afraid to stop now. That if he doesn’t seize the moment, it may not come again. He presses his lips to Joe’s.

“Yes.”

Joe’s hands soften, and one moves to brush Jack’s cheek. Jack knows he wants to ask again, but he doesn’t. “Okay then.”

Jack kisses him again, and then, he twines their fingers together. Forks of lightning crack the night sky in two, and thunder answers, just a little bit louder than the last time. It’s coming closer.

Jack leads Joe to his bedroom. They’d stashed their things in separate rooms when they arrived; there’s a delicate balance that can’t be upset. They are together, but there is distance. To keep Jack safe. To let him heal.

There was distance. There isn’t now. And Jack won’t let himself slow down enough to consider what that means.

He pulls Joe to him with desperate arms. He wants Joe. He wants this. He does. His lips crash against Joe’s, and then his tongue pushes past Joe’s lips, through them, pressing, moving, sliding. Jack angles his head, easing himself deeper, and Joe makes a little noise at the back of his throat. Their bodies are flush against one another, Joe’s hands still firm on his ribs. Jack bucks his hips forward, and for once, the electricity he feels isn’t pulsing from a collar at his neck.

But the feeling stops him. It isn’t–he isn’t supposed to–he can’t–

He tenses, and Joe breaks off the kiss. His lips are red and wet.

“Baby?”

“I’m fine,” Jack says, chest beating.

“You’re not,” Joe says softly. He starts to pull away. “We don’t have to–”

“No!” Jack cries. He grasps Joe’s forearms, and Christ, he’s about to start crying. “No, please, I want to. I want to, I just–please, Joey, don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Joe reassures him. He eases them down until they are sitting on the bed, still holding Jack in his arms.

Ivan never held him. Neither did Bill. They used him. Teased him enough to make him think he was complicit, that he wanted what they gave. Joe wouldn’t do that. He knows it. Or at least he should.

“Jackie–”

“I–” Jack buries his face against the soft white cotton of Joe’s undershirt. “I want to. But I’m scared.”

Joe’s ribs expand beneath his cheek. “It’s okay, Jackie.”

He doesn’t say that there’s nothing to be scared of because, of course, there is.

“Sometimes, it feels like he’ll know. If I break the rules.”

“Oh, Jackie–”

“I’m not supposed to feel good. Not unless you tell me.”

Joe’s arms tighten around him. “That isn’t true. You–”

“I know! I know. But it–it feels true.” Jack grinds his face into Joe’s chest. “And I feel like I’m supposed to be punished. For being so selfish.”

“You’re not selfish,” Joe says, his voice hard. “You’re–Jesus, Jackie. I told you. There aren’t any rules. No punishments. If you want something, take it. And if you don’t, that’s okay.” A kiss drops to Jack’s hair.

“I want it, Joey,” Jack whispers. It still feels like tempting fate. “You. I want you.”

“I’m yours,” says Joe. He ducks his head, tucking Jack’s chin with his fingers. He kisses Jack, gently. “If you’ll have me. But you don’t have to–”

“I know. I know I don’t have to.”

“Okay,” Joe says softly.

“Okay.”

Jack reaches up and presses a tentative hand to Joe’s cheek. Joe turns his head and kisses Jack’s palm. The rain is white noise around them. There’s a flicker of lightning in the windows, and the thunder sounds. It’s not to them quite yet.

They shift. Jack turns and pulls Joe down onto the overstuffed mattress with him. Joe’s hands are still shy, uncertain; it doesn’t seem he knows where to put them, or even if he should. Jack isn’t sure either. But he is sure that he doesn’t want Joe to stop touching him. He needs to replace the ghosts of unwanted hands with something warm and real.

He reaches for Joe’s hand and guides it behind his own neck.

“Kiss me,” he says. “Please.”

Joe complies, lips sweet and warm against Jack’s. “Now what, baby?” he whispers.

“Again.” And he doesn’t say please.

Joe does what he’s told. He kisses Jack’s lips, his nose, and then the hinge of his jaw. His lips skip a gentle patter down Jack’s scarred throat, until they find the divot between his collarbones; Joe pulls the crewneck of Jack’s sweater out of the way with his teeth and sweeps his tongue into the hollow.

It’s Jack’s turn to groan.

“Please,” he breathes. “Please, Joey.”

Please is for begging. The words echo in his mind no matter how much he wishes they did not. And maybe he is begging. He would drop to his knees for Joe without thought.

But Joe would never ask him to.

Jack’s chest rises and falls, faster than it probably should.

Joe waits. “What, baby?”

“Keep–keep going.”

Joe nods. Jack is relieved when he doesn’t ask if he’s sure. Joe trusts him. He can choose.

Joe’s hands are gentle as they slip down Jack’s body, upending the hem of his heavy sweater. Joe slides it over Jack’s head, and static electricity crackles between them. Jack’s hands are pinned above him, wrapped in the heavy wool, but somehow, he doesn’t mind. He tilts his chin, and Joe answers him with a kiss, tongue slipping against Jack’s bottom lip like a whisper. Joe tugs the sweater free and tosses it on the floor. His hand ghosts over Jack’s body, still covered by a white cotton tee-shirt. Joe stops just short of the button-fly on Jack’s jeans.

“Jackie?”

“It’s okay, you can–”

Joe shakes his head. “No. It’s just that–I feel like I should–”

Joe shifts, sitting up to slough off his undershirt. He lets it fall to the floor, where it lands on top of Jack’s sweater.

Jack’s breath stops. He’d forgotten just how beautiful Joe is. There’s another flash of lightning, and the blue light echoes for just a moment across the contours of Joe’s pale chest. Maybe a little less defined, maybe just a bit softer, but still gorgeous. Familiar. The thunder rumbles, and this time, Jack can almost feel it inside him.

“There. We’re even, right?” Joe asks.

They aren’t. Jack plucks at his own undershirt. “No.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to–”

Jack sits up and pulls his undershirt off before he can stop himself. “Now we’re even,” he says softly.

Joe’s eyes move over his body, and Jack resists the urge to hunch and cover himself. He looks away. He’s changed too. He’s thinner, of course, and laid bare this way, he knows that Joe can see his scars.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but he’s stopped by Joe’s lips, soft against the rough skin that rings his throat. Joe’s hands wrap around his bare shoulders, and the feeling is too much. Skin against skin, but not the way he remembers. There is no friction, no pain. Joe’s hands are careful. Tender.

Joe’s mouth travels from his throat down the length of his arm, his kisses peppering Jack’s wrist. His lips lay a gentle path across Jack’s belly so that he can do the same to his other wrist.

Jack doesn’t notice his own tears until one drops onto Joe’s cheek.

Joe looks up. “Jack?”

“I love you,” Jack says.

Joe thumbs away Jack’s tears, one by one. “I love you too.”

“I–I missed you.” Jack closes his eyes, and he lets Joe’s hands sweep to his face, Joe’s thumbs soft on the apples of his cheeks. “I missed this.”

“I did too,” Joe says softly. “You don’t know how much.”

Joe kisses Jack again, his need just barely disguised. The thunder cracks the sky directly overhead, and the house shakes around them.

The air in the bedroom feels suddenly charged. Joe’s fingers pluck at Jack’s fly; Jack rolls Joe’s sweats away from his hips. They are not measured; there is no distance left. Limbs knit together as fabric slides away; hips roll; lips crash.

Every touch of their skin is electric. Jack’s spine zings with unfamiliar bolts of pleasure as Joe’s mouth works its way across every inch of his bare skin. The soft swirl of a tongue around his nipple, an open-mouthed kiss beneath his ribs, a gentle nip at the crest of his hip.

Jack isn’t sure that he’s even breathing. It’s been so long. No one’s touched him this way in so long. Ivan was not gentle, and he’d made Jack believe that Joe–but no, no, Joe had never hurt him. Would never hurt him.

Joe loves him. And Jack loves Joe. Ivan can’t hurt him anymore. He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe.

The tip of Joe’s nose tickles through the soft trail of hair beneath Jack’s navel. Jack’s body moves on its own, arching to meet Joe. And then, Joe shifts, guiding Jack to the edge of the bed. He sinks to his knees between Jack’s legs, laying a gentle patter of kisses along the inside of Jack’s thigh. He nuzzles into the cleft between Jack’s legs, his breath warm and wet.

Jack is heavy with his own desire, but as Joe looks up at him, he can’t help the feeling that he doesn’t deserve this. It’s not Joe’s place; it’s his. He’s the one who should be on his knees.

When he speaks, his words sound fuzzy and far away. “Joe–Joey, you don’t–”

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” Joe murmurs. He presses his lips to Jack’s tip, and Jack shudders. “Please. You deserve to feel good.”

Joe takes him down then, slow, tongue sliding gently along the underside of Jack’s cock; he pulls back again, just as slowly. His hands find an anchor point on Jack’s hips, and he starts to move, deliberately working Jack deeper and deeper. He moves carefully. He does not tease. He keeps his eyes on Jack’s in the dark.

Tears spring to Jack’s eyes as Joe’s rhythm mounts. He doesn’t know how to process his own pleasure. His broken pieces start to whisper: he’s done nothing to earn it, he’s supposed to earn it. He doesn’t deserve this man. He doesn’t deserve to feel so good.

But he does feel good. And he feels good because Joe wants him to. Because Joe loves him. And–oh, God–and–fuck–and–

It doesn’t take long; Jack can’t resist. There’s nothing to fight.

Joe’s fingers sink into his hips, and, when Jack finishes, Joe suckles gently along Jack’s shaft. The wet heat of Joe’s tongue and the soft press of his lips coax every last bit of Jack’s release. Joe’s lips are red and shiny when he rises from his knees. He lays a trembling Jack back into the sheets.

The thunder rolls, distant now. The rain is soft on the window. Joe tucks in next to Jack, both their naked bodies slick and sticky with perspiration. Joe’s fingers playing absently with Jack’s hair.

“Are you alright?” Joe asks. “I shouldn’t have–”

Jack reaches to grab Joe’s hand. He kisses it. “Thank you.”

“Baby, you don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to,” Jack whispers. “I–I didn’t know I could feel like that anymore.”

He isn’t supposed to feel like that. He knows it. Boys like him aren’t meant to. But maybe, with Joe–

Jack knows that he’s supposed to ignore the things that Ivan told him, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, he can still hear Ivan’s words. Don’t you think it’s wrong to consign Joe to take what you give him?

He wants to give Joe so much more. Jack needs to know that he can do it–not because someone is forcing him to, but because he wants to. Because it will feel good with Joe.

It will feel safe.

“I told you,” Joe says. You deserve to feel good.”

Jack rolls so that they are face to face. “So do you.”

“I do,” Joe insists. “Seeing you like that? Doing that for you? I–Jesus, Jackie. I could live forever on that.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Jack says softly.

He rolls so that they are face to face, flush against one another. Jack’s cock is soft now, still twitching against his leg. Joe’s is not.

“I want you to take me,” Jack says.

Joe’s brow wrinkles. “What?”

“I want you to take me,” he says again. Then, softly: “I want you to fuck me.”

Joe’s arms tighten around him. “Baby, no–”

Jack shakes his head. “I want this. I–I want to feel you, Joey. I don’t want to feel–to feel him anymore.”

It’s Joe’s eyes that fill with tears then. “Oh.”

“And I want to make you feel good,” Jack says. He bobs forward and presses his lips to Joe’s. “Please, Joe. I want to.”

Joe hesitates. “I–Jackie, you don’t have to do this. Whatever he made you believe, I won’t–”

“I believe in you,” Jack says. “I want you.”

Joe’s fingertips trace over Jack’s cheekbones. “I want you too, baby, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“No, I won’t.”

Joe kisses him, slow and soft, and then he rises off the bed. He slips into the en suite and returns with a little black shaving kit. He sets it on the bedside table and kneels next to the bed, taking Jack’s hand.

“Baby, I want you. I need you to know that. I–I can’t say that I’ve never thought about what this would be like, because I have. But I–if we start, and you want to stop, we stop. If anything hurts, we stop. If something happens and it reminds you of–just–we’ll stop. This is not something you have to do.”

“I know,” Jack says meekly. “I want to. I do.”

Joe reaches out to cup his cheek. “And I–I need to see your face. And I want you to see mine.”

Jack can only nod.

“Can you lie back for me?” Joe asks.

Jack complies, even though it is not an order. He lets Joe slowly part his legs, bending his knees as he lays them out on the mattress. Joe kisses his knee, and then he dips his hand into the shaving kit. He uncaps the bottle of lube, and Jack’s belly quickens.

“We don’t have to–”

“No,” Jack murmurs, settling back against the pillows. He knows that he’s shaking, but it doesn’t matter. He needs Joe. He knows it. “No, I’m ready.”

Joe gently guides one of Jack’s knees up toward his chest, and he holds Jack’s eyes. “I’m going to touch you, Jackie. Okay?”

Jack nods, and he feels one wet finger whisper softly against his entrance. Joe’s fingertip moves in a soft circle before it presses gently in.

Jack closes his eyes. It isn’t Ivan. It isn’t. He wants this. He wants Joe.

Joe’s touch withdraws. “Jack. Jackie, I need you to look at me.”

Jack opens his eyes. Joe’s face is a mask of concern.

“Keep going,” Jack says. “I’m okay.”

This time, he holds Joe’s eyes as another finger presses inside. Joe is slow and tender, gently curling his fingertips against Jack’s walls. He pumps out and adds a third finger, working Jack open with care. Jack moans, and it is not because he is frightened; it’s because it feels good.

Joe pauses. “Baby?”

“Joey. I–can we–”

Joe’s up in an instant, his lips on Jack’s. He positions himself between Jack’s splayed legs, working himself with a wet hand. Then, Joe covers Jack’s body with his own, kissing Jack’s neck, his collarbone, his chest.

“You’re sure?” Joe asks.

“I’m sure,” Jack breathes.

Joe gently raises Jack’s legs, hitching them around his own hips. They are pressed skin to skin. Joe’s eyes are serious. He kisses Jack’s cheek.

“I love you, Jackie.”

“I love you,” Jack whispers.

Joe fills him slowly, like water from a tap.

It’s like nothing Jack has ever felt before. With the others, he was always reminded of his place. Fucked from behind. Hurt. The sweet boy. The little whore. The good toy. Boxed up and shipped out. Ivan told him that’s how it would end. That’s always how it was going to end.

But there is no ending. There is only Joe. Jack can feel it in the way Joe’s hips shift and roll, desperate to get closer, needy for him: they are one. Jack feels deep and boundless. Free.

“I love you,” Joe says again. “Fuck, I love you.”

“Joey,” Jack breathes. His head falls back as Joe moves. Their chests slip against one another, and Joe angles to reach for Jack, to stroke him in time with the roll of their bodies. Jack feels himself rising again. “Oh, God. Joe.”

“You’re safe,” Joe whispers, and he rolls against Jack like a wave. “You will always be safe.”

Jack wraps his arms around Joe, tilting his hips to let Joe thrust deeper. Joe’s hand falls away, but it doesn’t matter. They are locked together now, and Joe moves faster, falling into Jack with abandon. Jack’s body vibrates with long-deferred pleasure. It falls on him like a wave.

They move together until Joe’s rhythm breaks against Jack’s shore.

“Jack–Jack–”

Jack is warm. Jack is floating in Joe’s arms. Jack can only feel Joe.

Joe’s sweat damp curls are warm on Jack’s chest. Jack smooths the hair away from Joe’s face, and Joe presses a kiss to his breastbone.

“Are you alright?” Joe asks, still breathless. “Jackie?”

Jack nods, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of Joe’s neck. They’re quiet now, spent and boneless. Eventually, Joe falls asleep, his breath warm against Jack’s chest. Jack stares into the darkness.

Soft rain still patters on the window, but the thunder and lightning have gone. He thinks of the way lightning strikes turn sand to glass, binding it forever to the moment of its own destruction–but making something beautiful all the same. Something that someone will pick up and keep safe. Something stronger than when it started.

He sighs and wraps Joe in his arms. He knows there are things that he can’t escape, but at least, for now, he is safe—and he is stronger than when he started.

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @goldywhump, @reflected-pain, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-weridcity-werid (please send me a message if I missed you)

#behavior modification #jack kenyon oc #joe prescott oc #marilyn prescott oc #carl the dog is in here too #and the sparest of mentions of ivan peters #the sigmund freud of whump #tw past noncon #tw consensual spice #jack and joe bump uglies #and all is right with the world

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

Text

The Same Bed: Lost (And Found)

CW: Trauma recovery, healing internal and external injuries, references to noncon and choking, brief suicide mentions at the beginning, references to past pet whump, consensual spice between survivors, brief masochism funtimes

(using the “Lost” prompt for @whumpmasinjuly day 2 for this! Loosely interpreted, but still...)

“Hey.” Jake drops the stack of folders, stuffed with paperwork, onto the table. “I brought these by for you to look over. I think I have it all taken care of, though.”

“Cool.” Jenna doesn’t look at him, sitting with her chin in her hand, watching a TV in the corner. Jake follows her gaze to see the chyron running along the bottom of the screen, a news anchor talking animatedly. The volume is so low he can’t hear it, but the subtitles are on.

NOTED FORMER CHILD STAR OWEN GRANT FOUND DEAD IN APPARENT SUICIDE…

Jake takes a seat across the table. “Suicide? That’s what they went with?”

“That’s what I paid the coroner to go with, yeah,” Jenna says, leaning forwards a little. She’s cut her hair short, to her chin. It suits her. “Figured it’d be better to have open-and-close suicide case then a bunch of cops looking for a murderer they’re not gonna find. Cops hate that shit, but they love getting to wash their hands of something and say it’s not their problem. And that Grant asshole doesn’t have any living relatives to push for it to be a crime, right?”

“Right. He just had his mom, some distant cousins that hated him as much as everyone else did.”

“Good. Yeah, the coroner’s going to find that Owen went a little off the rails after losing his mom. It’s believable.”

“Yeah. He definitely went off the rails, anyway.” Jake hesitates, and then offers, reluctantly, “Thanks, Jenna. For your help. I know how you feel about Kauri-”

“You know how I felt about Kauri,” She answers breezily. She sits up, then, pulling one of the folders in front of her, opening it up and looking over what she sees inside. “It’s been years, Jake. He’s not who he was then, and neither am I. Plus, I don’t like the idea of people fucking with us after we’ve started to really get better. It wasn’t that big of an ask.”

“Jenna.” Jake barks out a laugh. “I asked you to drive around with a dead body in the trunk to help Antoni get rid of it, that's not a small ask!”

“It is,” Jenna says, almost primly, “When I don’t mind doing it. I didn’t mind following him to make sure he went to that house like we thought he would, and I didn’t mind helping Antoni out with the body. Besides, I used Vincent Shield’s money to bribe a coroner to say Owen Grant is dead by his own hand, you can’t tell me that’s not some poetic fucking shit right there.” She sighs, looking over at him. “You can always ask me for help, Jake.”

“Can I? Since goddamn when? You’ve been calling Kauri a whore for a decade-”

“Nah, I haven’t done that in a while. Since I decided to stop like five years ago. Since, you know, I realized… I was just taking out on him what I wanted to say to the other pet in the house I ran from.” Jenna sets the file down again. A frightened young woman’s face looks back up from a printed out copy of stolen WRU records. Someone new to hunt for, someone listed as ‘assisted walk-in’, an abduction in flowery language. Someone they can save and if they make it public, WRU can’t try to take them back without running afoul of the law again.

“Jenna, I don’t-... I don’t understand-”

“People change. I changed. Just… let me have changed, Jake. I was scared, and pissed off, and just… lost… for years. I was angry at her for nearly getting me killed, and Kauri reminded me of her, so I took it out on him. But, years back, that little one, uh, your brother-”

“Chris.”

“Right. Years back, Kauri called me for help with him. And I helped, because I’m not a complete asshole, just like seventy percent of one, and after that… I don’t know. Kauri really stepped up for that kid, and I could see how scared he was. Kauri and I are never going to like each other, but that doesn’t mean he’s not one of us.”

“Well… yeah, okay. Thanks. I won’t push you on it anymore.”

“Welcome. And thanks. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.” She waved at the ring on Jake’s finger. “Good fucking luck with that. Marrying two people sounds way worse than marrying just one.”

“Nah.” Jake shrugs, and opens a file himself. He circles what he sees - ‘referred by foster mother, assisted walk-in’. “It’s way, way better. They’re pretty cool to be married to.”

“If you say so. No marriage for me, thanks. Too much like being kept all over again.”

“That’s fair. Live the life you want to live, right?”

“Right.” She smiles, then, looking around the little kitchen in the small brick ranch she lives in. “Damn straight. Live the life you want to live, all yours, on your own damn terms. Okay, so I say we start with this one, she’s part of a bonded pair. We can get them both.”

“Where are they located?”

“That’s the best part. They’re handler’s pets. They’re local.” Jenna grins at him, sparkling and full of mischief. “Ready to break into a handler’s house and fuck some shit up?”

Jake can’t stop himself from laughing. “Clearly not as ready as you are.”

“... so yes or no?”

“Yeah, Jenna. Let’s do it. Let’s plan a raid.”

“Cool. So how do you feel about setting his house on fire?”

“... I might know someone who can help us with that.”

“She’s said sorry like seven fucking times.” Jameson lays on his side on his bed, his back pressed to the wall. “If she says it again, I might lose my goddamn mind, Allyn.”

“She just feels bad.” Allyn smiles at him, laying a hand against the side of his face, their thumb rubbing over his cheekbone, over a small scar. He shudders, closing his eyes as sparks seem to light and dance down his skin, buzzing just under the surface. When they move their hand away, he can still feel the weight of it, the ghost of pleasure.

“I know, but I already told her, I don’t mind hurting for her. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t even that bad, I’ve been hurt worse than that!”

Between them on the bed Trash Cat lays curled in a contented little ball, eyes closed. Her ear flicks whenever Jameson speaks, as if listening to him, keeping track of the emotion in his voice. Reading it for potential trouble.

“But she never wants to hurt you. She never wants to hurt anybody. I get it.” Allyn’s hair falls in loose red waves over shoulder and neck and lays against their face. He tucks a little of it behind their ear, watching their freckles shift as they smile at him, flashing white teeth against pink lips, sparkling gray-blue eyes.

He listens to their voice, tastes the rainshower that comes with it.

“I don’t mind hurting,” He repeats, but softer this time. “If it’s the right person hurting me.” There’s an unmistakable flirtation in his voice, then, although it’s tentative. He’s never sure how to start this, now that he isn’t having to guess at a master or owner’s mood, read the tension in the air and break it down by handing his body over to the whip and the cane until they are both bonelessly satisfied.

No, this is… something else.

Something honest.

Something equal.

If Allyn hurts him, he knows, it will be because he asked to be hurt. Not because it’s his place. The idea feels like wandering in a new landscape. Touching unfamiliar trees that at least still have bark and leaves, but wondering at colors and shapes he’s never seen. Lost, even with map in hand, because the place he is in is so like but not at all the same as the world he knows.

Jameson shifts forwards, as best he can, back curving a little so he can kiss them. Their lips are warm and soft and his own are a little rough and chapped. For a second they go still, and then they’re kissing him back. It’s perfect, at first, too perfect, and then both of them drop the instinctive training and the kiss goes clumsy and they both laugh as they bump teeth.

Trash Cat chirps, lifting her head to look back at them, and then slowly stands up. She stretches in a perfect arch before stalking down to the end of the bed.

“She’s giving us our space,” Allyn whispers against Jameson’s lips, and giggles. The sound of their laughter sends warmth down his spine, and he moves closer, until they’re touching from collarbone to knees, even their feet twining together. His bandaged hand moves slowly up their side, feeling the slight curve, nearly an angle, from narrow waist to larger ribcage. His thumb is so, so close to their chest, and they inhale in a soft hitch.

“She just doesn’t want me to push her off the fucking bed in a minute,” Jameson answers, a little breathy, and he hates his hoarse voice - can remember he had a normal voice, with Nanda, before Brute and Robert made him scream until it was gone over and over until it stopped coming all the way back.

“Can I-... can I try something?” Allyn asks in a whisper, and when Jameson nods, they give a little smile and reach up, taking his hand from their face and holding it in their own. Their soft sotto voice is like subtle droplets on Jameson’s tongue, a burst of the way the air taste just before it really starts to rain. He watches them, meeting their eyes with his own, as their thumb settles just over the center of his palm. Beneath that, a healing cut, where Nat had jammed a GPS tracker as deep as she could get.

And Jameson hadn’t screamed.

He knew how to hurt.

“Can I push down?” Allyn’s eyes search his. “While I kiss you, can I… push down on the cut a little bit?”

His mouth goes dry. Jameson’s body is a lightning rod, and he stares at the storm and wants to beg for the roll of thunder that follows the strike. He nods, a little jerk of his chin. “Yes,” He breathes.

Their lips are on his own, again, opening to slide their tongue against his, and he hums into the kiss, pressing his body to theirs. Warmth stirs deep in his stomach, his body waking up, answering the firmness of their kiss.

Then they press down, pain racing down Jameson’s arm and into his body, and he moans, unmistakable and louder than he means to be. He’s rolled onto his back with Allyn pressing into his hips before he can think, and Allyn’s mouth is on his neck, teeth bearing down on soft skin as they roll their own hips against his, and he moans again.

The front door closes, muffled downstairs.

Allyn pulls back, startled. Then they burst out laughing, leaning over until their forehead touches Jameson’s. “Oh, no, I forgot she was home.”

Jameson breathes in soft gasps, and laughs, too. He tips his head back, baring his neck. The place they were biting is cold where air and the remnants of drying saliva meet. “She’s not home anymore,” He offers.

Allyn leans down to bite again, and presses their thumb into his hand at the same time.

“I love this,” Jameson groans, eyes fluttering closed. His hips move to meet theirs right through their clothes. It doesn’t occur to either of them to take them off… not yet. “I love, love this-”

“I love it, too,” Allyn murmurs, nipping at his earlobe.

Neither of them says what they really mean. Both of them have loved men who could never fully love them in return. Both of them know the words have always been hollow. But both of them think it, if not consciously, then with every inch of skin where they touch.

I love you.

“Antoni.” Kauri’s voice, still hoarse as he heals from the hands that had tried to choke the life from him, is laced with a kind of affectionate irritation. “I don’t need it.”

“You do.” Antoni sets the mug down on the side table next to the bed. The tea within is faintly pink, see through, not marked with milk. Kauri can look down into it and see, a little muddied, the image of a cat face painted on the bottom. He sighs and looks up at Antoni, whose eyebrows raise. “You do,” He repeats. “Tea is good for sore throat.”

“Yeah, for like… when you have strep or the flu or some shit,” Kauri groans, but he pushes himself slowly up to seated, back cushioned by approximately eleven million pillows Jake and Antoni have both insisted on keeping near him at all times. Not that it isn’t really, really nice to have one to sit on when he leaves the bed and ends up in a chair like a dumbass. “I was choked, Ant, it’s not the same. Not even the first time I’ve been choked. Not even just Owen! There was this one guy I went home with once…” He smiles, but the laugh dies in his throat before it comes out as he meets Antoni’s dark eyes.

“I remember,” Antoni says. “I remember that night.”

“Of course you do.” Kauri sighs, and pats the bed beside him. Antoni sits, just at the edge, as if he might flee at any second. Like he wants to run from the pain still marking Kauri’s skin.

Kauri leans over, and places a hand over his. Long fingers that have been slightly cool for so long are warm from too much tea and time under the covers. His ring glimmers in the light, back on his finger where he plans to never ever take it off again. It overlays Antoni’s own.

“Ant,” He says, softly. “For the thousandth time. It isn’t your fault. I knew what might happen when I went into that room. I was… I was ready for it.”

I was ready to die.

“I should have been inside faster,” Antoni says, and he leans slowly over until his head rests on Kauri’s shoulder. The soft, messy nearly-black hair tickles Kauri’s cheek and he smiles, pulling Antoni’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, gently, one by one. Bruised knuckles, torn and bloodied the night of the rescue, now healed but still scarred. “The fight with the other one was not supposed to take so long. We had a plan, and we nearly-... you could have been dead-”

“I’m right here,” Kauri says, voice low. He turns and breathes deep. Antoni’s hair smells like tea-tree and mint shampoo, and there’s always something of a kitchen around him. Smells like flour and baking things and sweetness. “I’m right here, Ant. I am alive, I’m right here, look, I feel like a flip flop left out in the mud but I’m here.”

“If not for Vince-”

“Then you would have saved him.” Kauri smiles, and he keeps that smile in his voice. “And that’d be something, wouldn’t it? Secret runaway pet saves multi-millionaire movie star…”

“It would not matter. It would be nothing, if Jasha and I lost you.”

“You would still have had each other-”

“It would be nothing. You are the… the piece of puzzle that holds two others together. You are color, we have none without you.”

“Bullshit.” Kauri’s smile widens, though, and he flushes a little at the praise, at being told he is needed. Not just needed but wanted. That, at least, he’s never quite lost, and he wonders if that was inherent in Liam Harker, the man who once walked around in his skin. What parts of him have survived within Kauri?

Maybe just a need to be loved, and wanted, and needed.

Maybe Liam had that, too.

“Kasha, I love you,” Antoni whispers. It’s hard for him to say the words. Kauri kisses his forehead. Then the tip of his nose.

He pulls back. “I love you, too, Ant. You and Jake and I… we’re forever.” They sit in silence for a few minutes. In the background, a soap opera plays, which both of them are entirely ignoring. Then Kauri says, softly, “Antoni… will you go get my phone? I forgot it in the bathroom and I don’t think I have the energy to go get it on my own just yet.”

Antoni stands, retrieving the phone where it lays on the bathroom counter. When he comes back, he climbs right into the bed, lying on his side under the blankets, near to Kauri without quite touching him. Kauri doesn’t push, this time.

Antoni offers touch, when he wants it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Kauri says, taking it and tapping idly on the screen, listening to his fingernail click against the shining black. “About a lot. Since I, uh, didn’t die. Lots of time to think when your partners won’t let you leave the fucking bed.”

“Mmhmm.” Antoni doesn’t take the bait, but he smiles a little, pleased with himself. “What do you think about?”

“I think I should call my mom.” Kauri says it all in a rush. He barely gets the words out, even so. The old drumbeat begging him to run from what’s behind him is still so strong, it nearly drowns him out inside his own mind. But he clings to this thought, because he needs Antoni to either encourage him or talk him out of it. “Well, Liam’s mom. I was thinking, if I had died… she’d been trying to get ahold of me, but what if I died and like, she found out Liam was alive and then I got his body killed anyway? Before she could see him?”

“You are Liam, Kasha,” Antoni says. He watches Kauri with inscrutable eyes, looking up at him from where he lays propped up on one elbow.

“Yeah, but… what if I’m too different, and she hates me for stealing him? What if she thinks Liam is lost, and Kauri is what came back from the dead?”

“You cannot do this,” Antoni says, shaking his head. “Steal him. WRU stole, and he is not lost. You are him. I think it is a good idea to call your mother.”

“But… what if she hates me?”

“Then you never speak to her again, and she can go fuck herself.” Kauri’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline, and Antoni laughs, low and soft and deep. ‘What? You think I can’t swear?” He takes Kauri’s hand, and presses warm lips to the back, right in the middle of blood vessels and nerve-endings, making Kauri shiver pleasantly. “Call her. Kauri Grant is brave, and strong-” He kissed again. “Smart, and good. I think that Liam Harker would like this Kauri Grant. So I think Liam Harker’s mother will like Kauri Grant as well.”

Kauri swallows. “Are you-... are you sure about that? I’ve done some pretty seriously fucked-up shit to this body, Ant. Remember when I spent like a month straight on ecstasy?”

“I do, yes.”

“Plus, there have been, like, seven orgies…”

“Sssshhh. Kasha. Listen to me. She will love you. She loves you already, she is Liam’s mama and that means yours. And also… it will probably help if you do not talk to her about the orgies.”

“Right, right, keep a lid on the orgy talk. Got it.”

“Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t talk to me about the orgies, either.”

Laughing hurts, but Kauri discovers that once he starts, he can’t quite make himself stop.

“And… and, and then they… laugh at me.” Chris sits with his knees pulled to his chest, the heels of his feet just barely balanced on the edge of the chair, arms wrapped tightly around his calves. He won’t look at everyone else, keeping his chin tipped down so the shimmering light purple of his hair hides his green eyes. “And, and, and say, um, you-you wanted me to, and when I, um, when I say I, I, I-I didn’t, they, they, they… get angry.”

He has a silicone feather pendant on a small cord stuck in the corner of his mouth, slightly muffling his speech.

“They say then, um, then why did you you you sign up? Like… like they, they don’t already know that, um, that I didn’t, and… and then they, they say, let’s go again, and I start… I, I, I start crying, because, because they sound just, um, just like… like my-... like him. And they, um, they put me on my, my my my my, my, my… on… on m-my… stomach…”

There are tears in Chris’s eyes, running down his cheeks, but no one moves. No one speaks. Not yet.

“And, and, and then… I wake up.”

There’s a breath of silence, and then a man to the left of Chris leans towards him, putting a hand to his back. “I have dreams like that, too.”

Chris looks over at him, resting his head on his knees. His eyes are red-rimmed, wreathed in shadows. “You, you do?”

“Yeah. I’ve been married for, like, what, three years now?” The man gives Chris an encouraging, soft smile, rubbing at his back a little. “And free for ten. And I still, sometimes, I wake up just gasping for air because I remember how it felt. And sometimes I dream that my wife is the one hurting me like he did. Probably-... probably all of us have nightmares, right?”

He looks to the rest of the group of twelve, seated in a circle of folding chairs in a small side room in a community building they rent for these meetings. The others, men and women from their early twenties through their late forties, all nod.

“It just… it goes with getting better, is that-” The man’s eyes flicker to the therapist ostensibly in charge of this meeting. Dr. Francis just nods, gesturing with one hand for the man to continue. He has a cup of bad, bitter decaf coffee in his hands, slowly warming the styrofoam cup, with powdered creamer stirred in and bits still floating a little on the top, refusing to fully dissolve. “That your brain doesn’t always know that you’re safe. And nightmares are just… how your mind tries to, to put together the two parts of your life.”

“It’d… it’d be, be, be be-be nice if it could, um, could do that some other way,” Chris mutters, and there’s a scattering of soft laughter, kind and well-meaning, from everyone else.

“It would be,” The man says, and gives Chris a final pat on the back before sitting back. “But that’s not really how brains work.”

Dr. Francis clears his throat. “Isaac is correct,” He says, and moves to take his own seat, sipping his coffee and steadfastly making no expression at the awful taste. “It is, indeed, more common than not to have nightmares, and for many those nightmares can last for years. But they are just that - nightmares. They are your minds working inside of you to put together a life of subjugation with one of freedom, and struggling to reconcile the details. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t doing that. It’s only that our brains must adapt in order to survive at a lightning speed. But… it takes so much longer, doesn’t it, for our brains to realize those adaptations are no longer necessary.”

More nods from everyone around the circle.

“It… it, it does help,” Chris offers, without uncurling himself. “To know everyone else, um, does, does those dreams, too, that it it it doesn’t… they wouldn’t ever, um, hurt me… they wouldn’t.”

Dr. Francis nods. “But someone did. And our bodies and minds catalog those hurts, and hold on, because they are trying to prepare you for that pain to start again. Your body is trying, as hard as it can, to keep you safe. Let’s take a moment to close our eyes, and just-... you can do this silently, everyone - just say thank you to your body for keeping you alive, and safe, to get this far. Just a quick thank-you. All that fear and pain, that was adapting to survive. Let’s thank our bodies for those adaptations.”

There’s another silence, heads bowed and eyes closed. It looks like a prayer. Some of their lips even move, but no one here is thanking God, not really. Instead, they’re whispering a prayer of thanks to nerves and bone and blood that bruised and broke and sent screaming pain signals to brain cells that rearranged, rerouted, made new pathways of survival where none had previously existed. They are giving their gratitude to lungs that fought to expand even with hands around their throat, to a heart that refused to stop beating even as it broke again and again, to hands that slapped and punched, feet that kicked out, lips and tongue that held desperately to the memory of words they weren’t supposed to say.

Words like fuck you and I don’t want this and stop touching me.

Words like we did not sign up for this.

Words like no.

Dr. Francis ends the moment of silence by clearing his throat again. Some of the men and women in the circle have glimmering eyes when they look back up, rubbing just under them in ways they think are subtle, but which everyone recognizes and no one remarks on.

“Now,” Dr. Francis says, “We have someone new here tonight, and he would like to tell his story. Would it be all right if I call him in? Remember that there is no wrong answer here. And he won’t be listening to any of your stories, just telling his own.”

Some of the group meet eyes, and then they look back to the doctor and nod. Some carefully, others more enthusiastically. A few even smile, kind and soft, agreeable.

The doctor stands and steps out of the room.

“It’s the guy who came with you, right?” A woman asks Chris, and he nods without uncurling, chewing on the silicone feather. He starts to sway, just a little. “I wondered why he didn’t come into the room right away. He’s one of us, right?”

Before Chris can answer, the door opens again. Dr. Francis steps in first.

Vincent Shield steps in after him.

He moves with a slow, slightly shuffling step, showing the aches that haven’t quite faded in a body still working hard to heal itself. His movie-star megawatt smile is subdued, simply lips pressed together. The shadow of a bruise still wreathes his eye on one side, another clings to a cheekbone. Finger-shaped bruises are finally fading enough from his throat to not be immediately visible for what they are.

“Hey, Chris,” Vince says, voice low and slightly rough. Chris hums a greeting. There’s a whisper from a few of the circle participants, people who have seen his movies. Their eyes are wide, surprised, but no one comes at him. No one even stands.

They respect the circle, and the people within it.

“Okay, Vince,” Dr. Francis says amicably. “The circle agreed to hear your story tonight, and welcome you to our meetings from here on out. Gang, let’s make some room for Vince to sit down.”

“Uh, Dr. Francis-”

The doctor looks over at a woman in her thirties, while others are shifting their chairs with soft scrapes along hard floors so Vince can unfold a new one and put his own into the empty spot, slowly sitting down, looking around and smiling with a nervous shyness utterly at odds with the empty friendliness he has on the red carpet.

“Yes, Trin?”

“He’s… he’s not a Romantic, though,” Trin says, glancing to the side. “Sorry, Vince, no offense.”

There’s a bit of low laughter, not unkind, from the participants. “It’s not exactly something anyone should apologize for not being,” Isaac says, good-naturedly. Trin blushes a little and looks down and away, shrugging, smiling a little uneasily. “But she has a point, Dr. Francis, this is group for Romantics only, isn’t it?”

“Normally, yes. But Vince’s story is a little different. He’s been seeing me for a couple of weeks now, and I think it’s worth all of you hearing it. So many of you struggle with feeling separate from the world, and that’s because of the laws and societal isolation, of course, but… I want you to hear this. Your stories, your experiences, they are connected with the experiences and stories of people outside of WRU, outside the system. I think it could help to see that you are not set apart in that way. Vince, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Vincent Shield sits back. He doesn’t look like a movie star - his hair is shaggy and unwashed, he’s wearing an old Nirvana t-shirt he borrowed from Nat and sweatpants, a pair of sandals that don’t even match. You’d never know who he was, if you saw him on the street.

You might wonder if Kauri Grant was having a bad day, but looking at Vince, you’d never see the movie star beneath the real man.

“Hi, um. Hi everyone.” Vince smiles. “Dr. Francis asked me to talk to you all tonight. He thought it might help, and I’ll… I’ll talk about my, um. What happened to me, and then you can… I’ll step out and you can vote if you want me here. If you don’t, no harm no foul, I totally get it. I’m not sure I even want me here.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m… I’m really lost, if I’m honest. I’m totally lost at what to do with… everything now. I have this entire life and it’s just… hollow. I’m just doing what everyone told me I wanted to do, but-...”

“But it’s not what you want,” Trin suggests.

“It isn’t. I’m not sure it ever was, or if I just… was told so many times…”

“They tell you that you want it, the way they treat you.” That’s another young woman. “They tell you you’re a flirt, but they make you flirt to get everything, to get food, to get a place to sleep. They make you… they make you pretend, over and over, and tell you that you’re not pretending.”

“They call, they, they call you a slut,” Chris whispers. “And, and, and if you say you’re not, they, they, they say you’re so good at acting that, that, that you must really be…”

“Right.” Vince clears his throat. “Shit. I didn’t know that I would feel… I told myself for forever that what everyone told me was true. But I can’t… I can’t lie to myself any longer. I just can’t. It’s been eating me alive for so long, and I don’t know what it’s like not to feel that way, and… I guess we’re going to find out. But Nat suggested… therapy, and… maybe not lying to my therapist so much this time.”

“You lied to Dr. Francis?” A third person, a man Chris’s age, asks in a scandalized hush.

Vince smiles - it’s a real and sincere smile. He shakes his head. “No, my old therapist. I’m not seeing her any longer. I wanted to start over. I’m… I’m starting over. So. Uh, where… Dr. Francis, where should I start-”

“Anywhere you like,” Dr. Francis says, voice low and gentle.

“Uh, okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll start kind of like I start when I go to AA, if you all don’t mind?”

“I go to AA,” Isaac offers, a kind of hand outstretched, in words if not in gesture. “Every week. I’ve been sober for two years.”

“Congrats,” Vince says, sincerely. “I’m, uh, it’s been… a few weeks, but after I got to Nat’s I kind of, I fell off the wagon. I wasn’t sleeping, every time I closed my eyes I saw him... what happened. At the end. Drank until I blacked out and woke up on the floor with Nat’s, uh, that Jameson guy pouring water on my face. Then I got so sick I could barely move, turns out when you stop drinking and then start again, your liver gets really angry… it doesn’t matter. I’m starting over. So here’s to… three days sober, I guess?”

“Here’s to three days,” Isaac says, and smiles. “Three days is a start.”

Vince looks up, then, letting his eyes drift over the ceiling. He shifts and his chair creaks beneath him, as if castigating him for pausing for so long, for letting the silence draw out. Then he takes in a deep, deep breath. He fills his lungs with the oxygen until it burns, lets it slowly, slowly push out again.

“My name is Vincent Shield, and I’m an alcoholic. Sorry, just. That bit’s habit. Anyway… When I was twenty-one,” He starts, still not looking at anyone. His voice shakes a little. It’s thin and strained, pushed out past twenty years of keeping secrets and bruised from Owen’s hands. His throat wants to close around the truth, the way it has always wanted to close. The way he allowed it to close over and over for so, so long. His hands find the sides of the chair and grip, white knuckled. “When… when I was twenty-one, my best friend - my only friend, really, kind of my only real family, my parents had already stopped talking to me by then - told me he loved me.”

The room is silent, except for the soft hissing crackle of the coffeemaker and the hum of air conditioning blowing cold air through vents.

“I told him I didn’t… feel that way about him. He said okay. For a little bit, things were okay. I thought it was fine… and then he-... he acted normal for a while, but… but then he drugged my drink. And when I woke up, I was tied to a bed.”

Vince swallows.

“Naked.”

Perfect silence, nodding heads. They’ve been tied to beds, they’ve woken up naked, they’ve faced down what had felt like such a unique horror to Vince. A terrible thing that it felt like didn’t happen to other people, and here is an entire room of people for whom it was so commonplace they were told their entire lives revolved around it.

Here they all are, with new lives, hobbies, friends. Things they do that aren’t pretending to be someone else, or being… or…

“I was raped.”

It comes out all at once, a single breath of air, a slur of syllables. Iwasraped.

The next words, somehow, harder to say. He forces himself to speak more slowly. He makes his mind dwell on each and every single word. On what it means, on what it’s always meant, on what damage it’s done. He fights not to cry.

Vincent Shield confesses someone else’s sin.

And grants himself absolution.

“Owen Grant raped me… and it wasn’t my fault.”

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

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cryptidwritings · 11 months

Text

Dark Water

Chapter 29 : Misery Pt. 2

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content: stress position, torture/conditioning, asphyxiation, manhunt, threatened beatings, multiple whumpers, implied noncon.

As his teenage self watched his father leave, Isidro began to move forward through the field, passing through and dissipating the visage of his childhood. A breeze rolled, and his father fell apart like dust— swallowed by the gust— leaving him alone among the stalks and flowers as dark clouds rolled across the sky; splitting open with shards of light.

The crack of thunder sounded like that of a cane on the back of his knees. Isidro screamed out in pain and rocked forward, unable to fall though his legs shook with effort as ropes pulled his hands behind his back, lifting them to the ceiling as he blinked, and was suddenly back on The Cathal.

His grunts and hisses of pain continued through the exhaustion of his mind; he didn't know what he was saying anymore; if he was saying anything at all. He had asked 'why' a million times, each time hoping it would rationalize the pain.

Jacobsen came back with the cane, striking his lower back. His whole body tensed and he began to tremor, falling forward but catching himself quickly as a searing pain radiated from his shoulders. Sweat dripped onto the floor, pooling underneath his toes, and his eyesight waned to a haze.

"Let him down."

His body thumped. Too tired to scream. There was no specific site that hurt more. It all hurt. It hurt over and under, and between. He stayed silent, save for his hitching breath.

"See you tomorrow, Pulver."

Tomorrow. All the tomorrows. The tomorrows where he was pinned down and beaten. The tomorrow where he was forced to kneel by the helm without food or water. The tomorrow when he was hung upside down and made to recite orders until he passed out, then revived only to do it again.

He had no idea what the next day would bring as he awoke without a prodding kick or the bark of an order.

They left him alone? Jacobsen never missed a day. Isidro shoved himself into the corner of the room, flinching at every shadow that passed by on the other side while his brain frantically thought about what he had done wrong. Maybe the Captain didn't need him anymore. Maybe... maybe they'd let him go?

Isidro shook his head. No, no. That wouldn't happen. They'd kill him first... he stared at the door, holding his breath as footsteps approached, then passed.

He didn't realize how heavy he was breathing. His head rolled back, and he let the air out. He was so tired.

As soon as his eyes closed, the door opened.

He was barely awake as they dragged him out. The fresh air spurred his consciousness back to him, and he opened his eyes to a starry sky and the shadow of trees interrupting the glimmer of light. He was then tossed out on the sand of a foreign beach.

"Wake up."

Isidro immediately sat up, meeting Jacobsen's eyes. He wasn't alone. Four other pairs of eyes stared down at Isidro from the base of the gangplank, each with a differing expression.

"Run, Pulver," Jacobsen ordered, holding a club in his hand.

"S-sir?" Isidro's voice cracked. A breeze blew, making him shiver. Was he still sleeping?

Jacobsen stepped forward, kneeling in front of him

"I'm giving ye a two minute head start, lad," Jacobsen smiled, reaching up and tapping Isidro lightly on the cheek, then wiggling his face as the others chuckled behind him, "after that, we go and find ye, and whoever does..." he held up the club, and Isidro's eyes widened.

"If ye last until sunrise, I'll give ye a week off," he said, "what do ye say?"

Isidro's breath shook as he saw the others closing in. He shuffled back on the sand.

"Go."

Isidro scrambled to his feet and ran toward the thick treeline, not daring to look back as he stumbled around the trunks and over the fallen leaves and twigs. The hoots and hollers from the crew sounded like a pack of wolves, fueling him forward though his body began to feel heavy.

He couldn't collapse. Not now. He didn't know where he was. He took in a lungful of air and pumped his arms, then leaped over a fallen log. His legs shook on impact, and he smacked the ground, biting back a scream of pain as his skin skid on the forest floor. He pushed himself back up with shaking hands, continuing through the silhouetted trees, filtered through by moonlight and wind. The breeze made the hair raise along his body. Where was he going? What was he going to do?

Then, a disembodied voice in the panic:

"Use ye head, and keep out of sight."

He crouched; ignoring the pain. His awareness became less on his body and more on the sounds and sights around him as his hearing and eyes zeroed in to the shapes in the dark. His toes curled into the ground, and he swiped up the dirt, rubbing it into his skin. The new cuts burned.

"Turn ye surroundings into an advantage."

A snapping branch echoed to Isidro's right. He pressed his body into the nearest tree as the footsteps continued - closer, and closer.

"Come out, come out~" a sailor cooed as the tip of their nose appeared from behind the tree.

"Wait for an opening, and then-"

Isidro leaped, wrapping his arms around their throat and wrestling them to the ground with a swift kick to the back of their knees. Their croaking screams were quickly lost between the crook of Isidro's arm.

"Stay still," Isidro begged into their ear, "I won't kill you."

His words were immediately met by a club clipping his ear. He squeezed, waiting until he felt the soft thud of their arms as they fell still.

He grabbed their weapon and hurried away, shrinking into a nearby bush. His whole body was shaking with adrenaline as he gripped the weapon in his hand and clocked another body just ahead.

The blood rushed to Isidro's head, and he twisted the club in his grip.

Pass. Please, pass...

A sword parted the bush's branches, pointed right at his head.

"Found ye," the familiar voice came from outside Isidro's head, this time, "Ye really shouldn't run from a body. Have I taught ye nothing?"

Isidro swallowed hard, staring down the blade as Jacobsen scanned the surrounding trees, then reached out a free hand.

"The club."

Isidro flinched as Jacobsen's fingers curled - beckoning his obedience. He handed it over, gritting his teeth as it was yanked from his fist and the tip of the sword deftly swung under his jaw, lifting his chin.

"A deal's a deal, Pulver."

"You never said anything about swords," Isidro muttered, not wanting to move his mouth too much and risk a cut. He wasn't able to see the small features of Jacobsen's face, but he knew the asshole was smiling just by the tone of his voice.

"Ye think they'll fight fair?" Jacobsen shook his head, "my job is to prepare ye for anything... including punishing ye for mistakes," he gestured his head to the side, "face down, on the ground."

Isidro's breathing quickened, hissing through his nose.

"Why-"

His question fell with the force of Jacobsen backhanding him with the club, cracking against Isidro's head and sending him to the ground outside the safety of the bush.

"Why?! Because ye left him alive!" Jacobsen snapped as the club returned to its previous owner, "then ye ran? Bodies attract bodies, Pulver!"

Isidro attempted to stand as the ground spun out beneath him. A pair of hands pulled on his hair, yanking him upright before his lungs collapsed at the force of their fist beneath his ribs.

"Now ye made ye job harder!" Jacobsen goaded as Isidro stumbled away.

His world continued to spin as more boots approached from the thicket, grabbing at him and shoving him around from one pair of hands to another.

"Where ye goin', sailor!" One laughed, followed by a knee to Isidro's gut. He folded and wheezed, aiming for an opening. They reached out and blocked him, pulling him to standing in the center of the circle of four, with Jacobsen's small frame circling - watching, waiting.

"Come 'ere and show us what ye made of, aye!"

Their words were thick and low - their hands like tar; folding over his body to bury him alive. He kicked one off of him, thrusting an elbow into another that disappeared with a snap and scream. Soon he was more reaction than man; but even so they came back again, and his already exhausted muscles weakened in the overwhelm.

His screams were silenced as they pried his mouth open and shoved handfuls of rotting leaves into it; swallowing his agony as he was forced to the ground with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"They'll take ye dignity just as quickly as ye life," Jacbosen's voice was a million miles away, behind the veil of Isidro's muffled wail as his hands were pinned behind his back by another body's weight.

"We'll make sure ye have nothing to lose," the boatswain said.

The blade again teased Isidro's chin, and he fell still with tears in his eyes.

"Ye should be thanking them, Isidro," he continued, "Go ahead, say thank you."

Isidro couldn't remember much after that. His memory reeled back in as he was unceremoniously dropped in the middle of his room, quickly followed by a wave of ocean water from the swab bucket.

"Thanks for sparin' me, Mate," they slapped Isidro's shoulder, "always glad to be part of the fun, aye?"

Jacobsen shut the door; sealing out their laughter that echoed in the empty galley. Isidro's eyes stared into space underneath sopping hair; neither here nor there, but in a place between - being pulled to full collapse. Jacobsen had seen it time and time again. He poked Isidro's side with the toe of his boot, calling those lifeless, hooded eyes, to his.

"This is what ye here for, Pulver," his voice was low and soft, "to do what needs to be done to keep peace among the seas. For Redsor. For ye family."

At the mention of his family, the ache in Isidro's stomach crawled into his eyes. He looked away, blinking fiercely as a light whimper left his throat, followed by a sniff as he shoved his shaking hands between his knees.

Jacobsen pulled a paper and pencil from his pocket with a sigh, "Write a letter. Tell 'em ye alive," he dropped them at Isidro's feet.

Isidro's face twitched as he remembered the three silhouettes on the porch that early morning, months ago. He recalled his mother's face the night before as she wished him goodnight, but sat in front of the fire with him until dawn; both not wanting to speak of the inevitable but holding on to the present as if it were the only way to make it last.

"Hold fast, son," she whispered to him in a hug, "we'll be here waiting for you."

All at once his tears ran out. The aches and pains settled into his muscles, blooming on his face and creeping down his neck; but it didn't matter. This body was only a means to an end.

Isidro grabbed the pencil, then glanced up at Jacobsen as a new voice emerged - gravelly, and worn.

"Thank you, Sir."

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

#pirate whump #whump series #implied noncon tw #conditioned whumpee #tw torture #past torture mention #whump writing #whump community #dark water by jovi #writeblr

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thecitythatdoesntsleep · 2 years

Text

MAY 5TH “MIND IF I CUT IN?“

Ballroom | Knife | Stumbling || @themerrywhumpofmay

(TCW: threatening, vaguely implied noncon, mentions of war, harsh language, implied intimate whumper, implied slavery, death threats via dialogue, knight!whumpee, prince!whumper, royal whump)

"The Prince has requested you dance with him," A man in a dress suit spoke, leaning closer to Whumpee who had been sticking close to the walls of the ballroom.

"His Majesty can fuck himself, sir." Whumpee replied to the noble, whom was the only person they remotely respected of their own will.

“I’ve already told you, if this goes well and he dares to get intoxicated,” The noble man trailed off and leaned in as if he were casually speaking above the harps and violins around them. “You can seduce him, and surely talk his inebriation into signing you free.”

“I came here in a suit of armor and you’ve stuffed me into a corset, you’re telling me I have to catch his attention?” Whumpee gaped and both of them parted from conversation when the Prince started to stride closer.

“Let’s just hope you can dance,” A final mutter from the nobleman and he and Whumpee both bowed to show their respect at his incoming.

“I know you’re shy, Whumpee, but I shouldn’t have to pluck you off the wall, you’re far from a flower.” Whumper purred, watching Whumpee lift from their bow and the Prince extended his hand towards them.

They cringed inwardly, eased clammy fingers into a smooth but threatening hand. It snatched them closer and drug them out begrudgingly to the dancefloor.

All eyes turned to them, they were forced to wear a faux smile of bashfulness and glee; pretending to be bewildered that they would ever get a chance to dance with ‘His Highness.’

“You look beautiful tonight,” Whumper spoke lowly, watching the preying eyes squint in conversation as he’d leaned into Whumpee.

“You’re too kind my liege, I take it you enjoy the outfit you put me in.” They rattled back coyly, while earning a stern clench of the Prince’s jaw.

“It seems you haven’t learned how to accept a compliment yet, we’ll work on that.” Whumper denoted, both taking position at the center of the floor; a spotlight panning to them and the rest of the room starting to dim.

Whumpee hadn’t realized it was going to be such an event, whispers all around them as the dancefloor cleared but circled around like an arena spectating a duel.

“Don’t disappoint me, knight,” The Prince muttered in a quiet voice, “Or I’ll invade your Kingdom and violate your Queen.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened marginally, swallowed around their words and instead gave a small nod of acknowledgement. They understood their captivity, they had since they’d been taken as a prisoner of war, when they’d been sent in as a messenger of treaty.

Violins slowly started to hum and with the first step, Whumpee and the Prince were locked into a heated stare; both daring the other to fumble their steps and ruin the plan. If Whumpee wanted to play, Whumper had far more practice in skills of fancy and knew it well. Whumpee would have to be extremely poised, to be able to keep up once the tune increased.

As the two started to trade steps, held their left hands palm to palm and the right holding each others forearms; the crowd started to whisper and gossip. Each turn they took, every articulated tip-toe, people were making bets and telling stories about who they thought the stranger was.

Unannounced, untitled, merely plucked from their edge and thrust into blinding lights. Dancing with someone that other nobles would kill to have a single twirl with. Here Whumpee was, sweating bullets and feeling it drip down their scalp from under their pinned on wig.

When the music started to go up tempo and the Prince’s lip cocked into a half-smirk, guised as a charming stare; he added an extra two steps and gave a single tug to initiate he’d curl them closer, just to see if they could keep up.

Whumpee gave it their all, tried to loosen up enough that they could merely be toted along and counterbalanced his steps as though they’d been dancing all their life. When their arm felt a tug, they gracefully twirled in, met opposite hands as Whumper held their back to his chest for a single moment that captivated the audience with a lull of envy.

“You’re not as daft as I thought you’d be, but let’s see if you’re fit for a King,” The Prince whispered, as if he were giving them a bashful compliment in the backwards hug that had been paused for tabloid sake.

“You’re not the King yet, and you’ll never be in my Kingdom.” Whumpee whispered, tucking in shyly and giving a coy glance to a prying and curious Royal, that had stopped to admire their fluid pause. They looked like such a nesting couple, despite how much hatred fueled their comments.

He slung them outward and they resumed another hold, palms flat and hands cupping, Whumpee’s hand on his shoulder and his at their waist. More intimate, inches closer to reset their distance and increase Whumpee’s chance of fumbling their steps. Another stare-down and they’d picked back up to the live musicians; one step, two steps and they were working back around the ballroom in a large, exaggerated circle.

“If you make me look like a fool, I’ll cut off your ring fingers and send them to your family.” Another idle threat and Whumpee almost wasn’t taking it seriously anymore. He’d talked such a big game but so far, he’d done nothing than have guards throw them in holding and beat them up periodically when they didn’t gush information.

“If I impress you with this dance, you’ll pour us a glass of your favorite rum and let us escape to the garden for a drink.” Whumpee bargained and the Prince looked suspicious but pleased at how simple their request was. Perhaps Whumpee just needed a stiff drink, maybe his threats hadn’t overpowered his charm and they were falling already.

Sharp strings started to be backed up by cellos, harps and flutes, the symphony was reaching a climax and the sparkle in Whumper’s eye said they needed to be prepared for failure. They weren’t skilled in dance but they were skilled in fighting. They knew how to move with an opponent and thought surely if they could do it on the battlefield, doing it at a tenth of the speed, could only be easier.

The hard part, was always making sure they looked as haphazardly in-love with the face above them, scrutinizing, staring them down as if they were a target and he was a bow. Keeping their body and movements graceful, instead of stiff, while they had the attention of ten different Kingdoms in attendance.

Whumper lifted their held hands and Whumpee gave a slow twirl, feeling him pull towards himself after and they met chest to chest, palms meeting at their center between them. He grabbed their hand in a cupping fashion and they both stepped backwards, Whumpee picking up their unspoken cue and starting to turn clockwise.

Half way through the turn, Whumper turned back the opposite way and they quickly followed suit to meet again and swirl in a counter direction now. They repeated it, four, six times before returning back to holding waists and shoulders; cupped hands to their left once more.

The Prince gave a cocky smirk, uncaring this time about the preparation and as they quickly spun in a three-step pattern, he gripped at their back and they both knew the ballroom favorite was coming to an end.

It was signal enough and Whumpee struggled but gave in blindly, leaning against the Prince’s hold and trusting he’d support them as they slowly were tipped back. They lifted a slowly poised leg, just enough off the ground to make a statement of trust and graceful balance; a single arm wrapping around his neck with a gentle decline.

The lights snapped off and when the whole room brightened again, uproarious cheers and applauds came from all angles around them and Whumper carefully set them back on their feet. They gave another pause for the benefit of their audience and held each others forearms as every other sound but clapping and conversation drowned them out.

“I suppose I’ll have to get you that rum, if I’m a man of my word.” The Prince incited and they slowly weaved through the re-arranging ballroom to find a servant at the lounge.

Once they’d acquired their liquor, the Prince escorted them arm in arm to the garden; never once leaving their side and being allowed it as the guise of a courtship.

“I’m surprised you picked something self indulgent, when you seem so honorable and driven.” Whumper mused, taking a long sip of his crystal glass to imbibe himself.

“Are you saying I could have asked for freedom within a single dance, Majesty?” Whumpee inquired and recieved a low chuckle from the man beside them.

“I suppose you’re wise, asking for something small, first.” The Prince came to round the large fountain and sat at a ledge, pulling them into sitting with him.

“I employ good keep, not a single bruise on your face just how I instructed. Have they been treating you well?”

“Oh it’s been quite fair your highness, They’ve been quite generous in corrections and satisfactory in their egregious pleasure seeking.” Whumpee denoted, as if none of it had affected them in the first place and had merely been an inconvenience instead.

“You’re a prisoner here and until I hear from your Kingdom about my diplomatic reconditioning, you’ll be used how I see fit. For now I just want you pliant.” The Prince informed, waving his half empty glass in eyesight of a lingering servant and being ushered another fill to the rim.

“I have been pliant, I’ve made you look good tonight and caught the attention of the other monarchs; I’m not sure when you’ll manage to be satisfied.” Whumpee insisted and took a cautious sip of their own liquor, unflinching to the burn as it scalded it’s way down.

“If they’ve saw fit to correct you, obviously you’re still rigid in some sense of pride.” He chastised and they gave a flutter of lashes over the rim of their glass.

“Would you like to see how they’ve treated me, your Majesty? View the brutality at your namesake, driven so deeply into my skin a short dance almost sent me to tears?” Whumpee questioned, watching the depth in the Prince’s eyes start to drop as they dangled temptation in his face. They just barely pulled back the hem of their neckline, revealed a dark purple bruise that was just within alignment of their dress garment.

They took a solid drink now, needing a buzz to calm their spiking anxiety at the fact they were trying to seduce this ruthless man and it was somehow working. He drank with them, finished the glass and the servant came forward with a whole glass decanter to refill it. He took it from them this time, kept it for them and poured their glass full of his own accord.

“This might be the first thing I’ve had to drink since I was cleaned up and fed to attend. They kept me starved and weak, but knew I needed to not disgrace you this evening.” Whumpee recalled their torture in his cells to him as if it were a love story and it disgustingly held the same effect to him. He got a sparkle to his eye, looked at them with more enticement.

Surely if they got him drunk and filled his lustful appetite, he’d easily sign the treaty they’d prepared and they could escape soon after.

“They even branded me, your Highness.. I wear your crest on my body, forever now, nothing to be done about it.” Whumpee purred, shifting closer on the edge and coming to give a soft clink of their glass to his.

They both drank but he took greedy gulps and they took a swig and slowly spit it back into the crystal. He didn’t notice and they thanked both the liquor and the low lighting they’d carefully picked in the garden.

“Since I’ve become your property, I think it’s only right you examine your men’s handiwork and break me in how you’d have me, your highness.” They offered lowly and reached out to pull the Prince’s hand to their thigh.

When he didn’t pull away, they knew they had a chance at their plan after all.

“If we leave now, there will be talk,” The Prince worried aloud and Whumpee laughed.

“Isn’t talk what you love, Prince? If everyone is talking about you that means you’re of interest.”

“Meet me in the southmost tower in ten minutes,” The Prince ordered lowly. “I’m trusting you to show up or I’ll put a bounty on your head.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Prince.”

As he walked back the way they came, they let out a sigh and held their breath again. It was a step closer to what they needed, where they needed to be. Now all they had to do was go through with it, give themselves up as sacrifice and trick him into signing their peace treaty.

They knew what they’d face when they signed up and they’d promised their Queen success. No matter the cost. That’s why they hadn’t come yet, hadn’t invaded with an army to get her right hand back. Because they already knew they’d be captured and had planned it all along.

“Are you really willing to go this far for your Kingdom, knight?” The noble that had been helping them inquired, coming around the fountain to see them brushing themselves off.

“I told My Lady I would succeed in getting a signature, no matter the means and I’m a right-hand of my word. My body is a small price to pay to save families, soldiers and her Majesty of any more tragedy.” Whumpee admitted, standing to take to his side as they already knew he’d been sent to show them the route to the tower.

“You don’t think she’d find tragedy in your self-sacrifice?” The nobleman inquired as they walked back into the castle and took down a hall.

“She would, she’d mourn my death for a decade, at least. But that’s why she’ll never know what it costs for our survival in these lands.” Whumpee replied in a soft voice, hands shaking at their sides as they got closer to a cutout in a wall that revealed a spiral staircase.

“I hope her Majesty is aware of what a noble heart her right hand has, how much they’d give up for her and her rule.” Even in such a grim time, the nobleman smiled and they found themselves smiling too, basking in such a simple, kind emotion.

“Her Majesty knows I’d die for her,” Whumpee admitted, turning towards the stairs and only glancing back with a slightly wider smile.

“That’s why she agreed to be my bride.”

I vaguely remember @painsandconfusion asking for ballroom whump? Here love, a treat for you, I hope I didn’t just dream that up or that I’m confusing you with someone else. IF SO IGNORE BUT KNOW ILY and your whump keeps me shooketh not stirred.

#whump #whump community #whumpblr #royal whump #whump prompts #whump prompt #whump writing #the merry whump of may #mind if i cut in #tw threatening #tw whump #tw language #tw implied future noncon #tw implied past abuse #tw implied noncon #tw death threats #tw mentions of war

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cheesecakethots · 7 months

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i LIVE for the angst of a yandere initially being fucking awful to their darling after taking them, and overtime changing and becoming more loving, as well has having newfound and immense regret for what they’ve done. it is literally my fave yan scenario.

tw // pretty heavy angst, mentions of noncon

i specifically imagine it for shigaraki, going from being this disgusting manbaby who treats his darling like they’re nothing but a toy for him to use, only to later realise how much he loves them and mature in how he treats them, making his regret for the past even stronger.

him trying to coax his darling into coming out on a date with him - they can go anywhere, he doesn’t mind, darling has free reign to choose what they do. he tries to be so soft and quiet in his tone, as though not to startle them.

it’s only when tears start forming in their eyes and they mumble, “have i been bad?” that he realises how badly his past self fucked up.

the only other time he really took them out was when he’d decided they needed a punishment, and had made them stand and watch as he disintegrated the first group of people they saw out. he had then fucked them against the alleyway wall, bodies still around them both, just to really get the point across.

he wishes he could take back everything, but he can’t. as of now, he needs to take baby steps in order to bring you out of the very same hole he once caved into your mind.

(i love regretful yans urm send me some thots about them pretty please)

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squishablesunbeam · 1 year

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Defiance Pt. 5: Measuring Distance

Note: Look, they love each other okay. I'm going to struggle with this but it's the direction we are headed. I apparently have two ocs on my hands that are very much in love and they will be very messy and cute about it 🙄 please forgive any obvious relationship blunders. I don't usually go here! This is new territory and I tried to talk them out of it but they wouldn't listen!

TW: mentions of past noncon, recovering whumpee, ptsd symptoms, startle response, panic attack

Prev.

Cameron was learning.

He knew that Levi needed more space than most people. He'd always known that, but he also used to resent the hell out of it.

He realized that now.

Before, he'd taught himself to draw back from Levi and let Levi come to him when he was ready. But never without making Levi earn his attention back again. Cameron didn't fully realize what he was doing but he sees now that he'd been punishing Levi for needing to take time away from Cameron's company. He'd always taken it so personally, as if Levi was saying that Cameron was too much for him. It hurt, but he's coming to understand that it wasn't exactly the truth. So many assumptions were made back then, and zero communication. At some point, Cameron had stopped reaching back when Levi was ready to take his hand again and he'd let the only man he'd ever loved slip right through his fingers.

Things had to be different this time. They were getting a second chance.

Cameron swallowed down bile that rose up into this throat at the thought. Their second chance came with too heavy a price and Cameron was having a hard time separating them being able to reconnect with why Levi showed up on his doorstep in the first place.

He swallowed down a painful gulp of too cold water, thinking back on the long lists of therapists he'd looked up for Levi to try out whenever he was ready. Maybe he should give one a call for himself. Couldn't hurt.

He stole a glace across the table and couldn't help the grimace that marred his face.

Levi looked miserable, sitting across from him in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It was too much.

It's not that Levi hadn't gone out at all since the...incident? The rape? Since the attack? Fuck.

No, he'd gone out a handful of times but always alone. He'd insisted on that. Cameron knew that Levi was just testing himself, seeing what he could handle before allowing Cameron to see him so vulnerable.

He'd gone out for coffee a few times, or a walk around the block. He even went to get a few ingredients they needed to complete a pasta dish Levi had been wanting to make. Anything to try to get back to living again.

He still wasn't ready though.

Cameron knew that.

He knew it in the frazzled, clumsy way he'd always come back home, bumping into the corner of the wall or the kitchen counter or half missing the bowl that he usually put his keys in. He knew it in the way he lost the words he meant to say and had to just close his eyes and give himself a minute before trying again.

It shattered Cameron's heart every single time and he was desperate to just go with him. To hold his hand and tell him that he was safe and that he didn't have to always do it on his own, not anymore.

But Cameron was learning, and Levi did things in his own time.

Today though, Levi surprised him. He actually asked Cameron if he wanted to go out to lunch with him and Cameron couldn't breathe. His entire world exhaling into that singular moment.

Yes. Of course. Please. Anything you could ever want, it's yours.

At least, that's what he'd wanted to say.

He knew how big of a step this was for Levi, for them both, and he tried his best to keep his reaction as casual and nonchalant as possible in an effort to put Levi at ease.

Looking at him now though, Levi was anything but at ease.

“Hey.”

Cameron flinched when Levi did, both of them reaching for the water glass Levi almost knocked over in his surprise. It didn't spill. Levi steadied the glass and then breathed out a huge breath, steadying himself as well.

“Sorry," Levi pushed the word out from his chest, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“No, nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry I startled you.”

This was too much. They should leave.

Levi's eyes wouldn't meet his, focused on his now wet fingertips from the dew that had collected on the glass. Brushing the wet pads back and forth, frowning at the sensation as if it had personally offended him.

He finally shook himself, wiping his fingers off on his pants and looking up at Cameron's painfully open face.

“I'm okay,” he attempted to reassure him.

Cameron felt the corners of his lips twitch into some semblance of a sympathetic smile. He wasn't okay. He knew that much, but he would be. Cameron had faith in this man more than anything else in the world. He was strong and resilient and fiercely independent. He would be okay. Cameron just prayed that the gnawing ache in his gut that told him he'd never get to see it, that Levi would leave, again, he prayed that feeling was wrong. Cameron didn't know how to get them to that space where they both felt safe. But he was sure as hell going to try.

He would try to listen, and learn, and adjust to what Levi wasn't saying. Or better yet, just ask him.

“So, do you want to maybe talk about it? Or do you want me to just pretend like this isn't hard? Honest question,” he lifted up his hands in placation, “Whatever you need.”

Levi's lips twitched up into a small smile before falling again and Cameron felt a small stitch in his chest release. Ok, that sort of worked. Levi ducked his head so Cameron couldn't see his eyes under the brim of the old baseball hat he'd grabbed from Cameron's closet before heading out the door.

Always hiding.

“I just- I feel like everyone's staring at me.”

Levi lifted his hand, brushing his fingers lightly over the fading bruises on his face; yellow now and almost nothing at all. The cuts would take longer of course.

Two in particular. A thick purple line from the corner of his left eye, cutting over his cheekbone. The other hadn't healed much better. It was smaller and a bit lighter but, jagged, as if it wasn't cut so much as torn. He knew that's exactly what had happened. That one told a horrific story. Set at the edge of his mouth, split about a half inch down past his lip. That one had reopened many times in the first few days. Even now, it looked painful.

Cameron absently bit at his own lip as it itched in sympathy.

Levi brushed his fingers over the healing cut under his eye, for the hundredth time.

“No one is staring. I promise.”

Cameron caught a flash of Levi's eyes, the deep lines set between them softening just a little.

“You are,” he said with just a hint of a teasing smile. Cameron loved to watch Levi, and Levi knew it and loved to point it out.

Cameron beamed, teeth flashing in a wide grin at the familiar banter.

“Well, you are very handsome. Can you blame me?”

Levi ducked his head again, his hat almost shadowing the blush that was seeping red into his cheeks, almost. The spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose that Levi hated so much darkening against the soft bronze of his skin.

Goddamn, he loved this man so fucking much.

Cameron's hands itched with longing. Finally, achingly, he gave in and reached across the table. His eyes were on Levi. Watching him track Cameron's own fingers as he brushed one under Levi's palm, just under his pinky. He was asking, as gently as he could, and waited patiently for an answer.

His heart burst into rolling flames when Levi shifted, easing his hand into Cameron's and curling his fingers around his own.

“You ready to order?”

Levi jumped at the perky waiter's overly chipper voice, his knee smacking into the bottom of the table, his hand clutching desperately to Cameron's before he abruptly let go. Leaving him feeling empty, that burning fire in Cameron's heart rushing through his body with fear instead of hope.

“Oops. Sorry, man,” the waiter smiling brightly, seemingly amused by the show, “I snuck up on you two didn't I?”

Levi wiped his now sweaty palms off on his jeans, never looking up at the man.

“It's fine,” he said, the words catching in his throat.

“Did you have a chance to look over the menu?”

Cameron watched Levi trying desperately to calm down his body for just half a second before smiling warmly up at the waiter, “Could you give us a few more minutes?”

“Sure thing,” the man grinned brightly and whipped around with a bit of a flourish as he set off to help another table.

The silence that settled around them felt thick. Cameron could feel it cloying heavily in his ears. It wasn't the silence between them that was the problem. He wanted to freely give Levi whatever space he needed but without the overwhelming shame that he could tangibly feel rolling in waves off Levi's body. Levi deserved to take all the time he needed, and he shouldn't have to feel like he has to run away and hide in order to get it.

“Hey, babe, I have an idea,” Cameron offered, gently but with a small measure of hope threaded into his tone.

Levi looked up, swallowing thickly, his hands never stopping the nervous drag up and down his jeans. He was desperately trying not to spiral in this very public space.

“Listen," he said, firm but calm, holding Levi's panicked gaze, "There's a food cart a couple blocks away. It's pretty nice out. How about we grab something easy, kebabs maybe? We could find a quiet spot in the park instead? What do you think?”

Levi breathed, maybe for the first time in the span of a minute, the color that had drained out of his face slowly coming back again.

Cameron watched the muscles in his jaw jump as he fought with his own thoughts.

“You want to leave?”

Cameron made face as if he was considering his options, looking around the restaurant, “I mean, yeah, but only if you do. It's too crowded in here anyway. But if you'd rather just go home, we can do that too?”

“No. No, I, um, kebabs sound good. We can do that.”

Cameron pulled out his wallet and left $10 for his coffee and for the waiter's trouble, watching Levi take two full, measured breaths out of the corner of his eye. Once he looked a little more steady, Cameron reached out and flopped his arm down across the table, palm up.

“Shall we, my love?”

Levi huffed out a breath and actually managed a smile, dramatically dropping his hand into Cameron's, “You're such a dork.”

Cameron smiled triumphantly as they stood up, leaning against each other's shoulders, and sneaking out of the busy restaurant and into the sunlight.

~~~

Levi sat overlooking the quiet pond with his back pressed against a huge oak tree, Cameron's back pressed firmly against his chest.

He felt solid, for the first time in weeks, months even.

He took another slow, deep breath of what seemed like the clearest, cleanest air in the world and let it out even slower. Just like he'd watched on the youtube videos he'd found after Cameron fell asleep one night.

He'd panicked, at the restaurant. It wasn't the first time. Six out of the eight times he'd managed to leave the apartment the last two weeks had ended in a panic attack.

Cameron didn't know.

At least he didn't think he did. He knew Levi wasn't exactly fine, especially since the day he'd come back without the onions and garlic bread that he'd specifically gone to the store for. He just hoped he didn't know exactly how bad it really was.

It was so embarrassing.

That might be the worst part.

After suddenly finding himself unable to breathe in the middle of a crowded coffee shop and damn near blacking out on the floor, he found himself wondering if you could actually die of nothing but sheer mortification. He could still feel the way the floor seemed to dip and stick to his hands when he tried to push himself back up, only to end up on is ass again, a frail, old lady having to help him to his feet as everyone else just gasped and watched.

He felt his heart thump greedily in his chest and took another slow breath, scratching his fingers through the silky blonde curls of Cameron's hair. Levi kissed the side of his head and felt the man in his arms hum quietly as he held him just a little tighter, pressing his bare feet into the cool, green grass.

This was good.

Cameron hadn't said a word once they arrived at the park. He just sat Levi down, pulled his shoes and socks off, and snuggled up against his chest. He was surprised at first, half expecting Cameron to just step away and leave him to spiral until he got control over himself.

Levi had sat stiffy, arms not even touching him as Cameron leaned all his weight against him, until he realized that Cameron was giving him a different kind of space. Cameron was here, grounding him, but he couldn't see him. Not really. Just his legs, his feet, but not his face. He couldn't watch the tears that fell down his face, or see the redness that blotched over his nose whenever he cried. He couldn't see the panic and fear that took hold when the thoughts got the better of him or when he lost control of his breath.

He could feel him though.

Levi knew he could.

He could feel when his breath hitched or when he moved to wipe at his face. He could feel when his heart raced out of control, his lungs dragging in ragged, incomplete breaths, over and over again. He could feel his tears fall into his hair.

But this was different somehow.

Cameron just laid quietly against him, breathing evenly, his heart beating a steady pace under Levi's palm.

It was a kind of vulnerability that Levi had never felt before.

He felt safe.

Cameron twitched in his arms and Levi smiled. He must have dozed off. He took the opportunity to nuzzle his nose into Cameron's hair, breathing him in. The scent of his shampoo filling his senses. God, he used to get made fun of so badly for that when they were teenagers. Always buying the prettiest smelling shampoos and never giving a shit what the assholes said about it.

Levi had never told him, but he had always loved it. He loved trying to guess the scent when Cameron showed up smelling like a different kind of fruit or flower.

Cameron jerked himself awake this time, sighing heavily when he realized where he was, his hand coming up to squeeze at Levi's arm across his chest.

Levi kissed his head again, smiling into his hair.

"You smell like lilacs."

He took Levi's hand and hummed sleepily, kissing his fingertips.

"It's your favorite."

Something warm and fond spread through Levi's chest. He'd never told Cameron that, but he was right.

Lilacs were his favorite.

Taglist: @starlit-darkness, @the-soup-is-burned-too, @pigeonwhumps, @honeycollectswhump

#my ocs are being all angsty and cute #make them stop!#defiance #levi and cameron #past noncon mention #recovering whumpee #ptsd tw #panic attack tw #this will be a fucked up love story now #be warned #I keep feeling like I need to apologize for that but it is what it is #my brain can happily torture ocs but god forbid they fall in love!#ignore me 😂#help me tag this if I'm missing things please

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heartlyrins · 14 days

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OUTLUCK THE UNLUCKY !

˚₊‧desc— Kakavasha and his little sister has always been the polar opposite, they say he was born lucky and you were lucky to even be born.

˚₊‧TW— dark content, incest, angst, noncon, smut, manipulation, gaslighting, mental abuse, past child abuse, human trafficking mentions, past trauma, PTSD, porn with plot, baby fever, non-consensual breeding, mentions of lactation, sister wife!reader, yandere!Aventurine, 2.0 and 2.1 lore did not happen here, spoilers for Aventurine's backstory, both of them gone through some tuff stuff

˚₊‧A/N—I made a few changes to Aventurine's backstory and 2.0 w/ 2.1 lore didn't happen here. I changed up my writing style!! Do you like it? Don't read if it's not ur cup of tea hun

Ever since you were born just a couple of years after Kakavasha—your big brother. You were disgraced, labeled as an unlucky being said by the Sigonians.

Whereas Kakavasha was born on a rainy day which was perhaps meant to be a blessing. Meanwhile, you were born on an unlucky day and just moments after your birth, your mother died.

Though as you grew up, you became attached to your big brother. A contrast to your unluckiness, his blessing outpowers your curse therefore you two were bound to be attached to the hip.

A curse you were called, but never by your siblings. They loved you dearly which includes you sister who promised you and Kakavasha the dawn one day.

But the promise were never fulfilled because your sister had died as soon as your birthday arrived. You ran away with Kakavasha.

Soon the both of you were caught and sentenced to death by the IPC— but your brother got the both of you out of that punishment, you never knew how he did it and the only thing he told you was 'not to worry.'

You fit into the lifestyle pretty quickly, everything was done by your brother. You just had to sit still and be pretty, as he said.

Soon he became the very thing that ruined yours and his life—an IPC staff, but still you couldn't shake the very feeling that you both were still just a slave, no matter how much credits you were buried in.

You were granted a house, a luxurious one, probably afforded from the IPC's money. He was doing everything for you, even though you wanted to help him at least a little bit.

You wanted to alleviate his burden. But seeing the very thing that burdens yourself—you don't think that you could help.

So you did the only thing that you could manage, become a housewife for him. At mornings he would wrap his arms around your waist and sometimes you felt like a real marriage couple.

He gives you kisses on your cheek as he stares at the wound you received from chopping up the vegetables— again.

Sometimes he would bring your fingers up to his lips just to lick them clean just to see your embarrassed expression.

Which brings you to the present situation.

"Kakavasha—I.." you were cut off with a groan from him as he hides his face in your neck.

"Don't call me that, I go by Aventurine now with other people, remember?" his breath hits your soft skin before he snakes his hands under your blouse.

"We're not in front of other people now.. And it's not like I get to meet anyone else.." you mumble—far too late to take back your words.

He gives you an 'mm' before gripping your sides harder that it was sure to leave a bruise. From his reaction, you were sure he wasn't pleased with your words.

"You don't need anyone else but me, you know that right?" he mutters before helping you to put down the knife you were holding to chop the vegetables.

"I know that.. But I haven't gone out ever since we've gotten this house.. And that was a few years back."

"But I do let you out. To buy groceries."

"Kakavasha—you know that's not what I meant. I want to go out freely, without you sending those IPC guards after me or tracking me.. Or even—!"

"[name]." the tone in his voice makes you stop, you know that's when he's fed up with your words. He pulls his hands out of your blouse before staring at you.

He grabs the sharp and brandished knife before gripping your chin with his free hand to make you face the knife, you could see your reflection.

"Look at yourself." he grips your chin tighter, "Do you see your face? It's full with scars that results in whenever I'm not there—remember, you're the unlucky child who needs me as a lucky charm to protect yourself."

"You need me." he drops the knife on the cutting board before kissing your lips and biting your lips until it bled.

He sighs as his demeanor starts appearing right back and he smiles on again with the same, sly smile.

"Don't speak of this again." he warns you before kissing your cheek and walks away like nothing happened at all.

He waits by the door as he tries to fix his tie, horribly messing it up once again before you came to the rescue and does it for him.

"I'm going now," he says as he puts on his shoes, "I'm going to be late today, don't wait for me." he merely says before placing a kiss right on your forehead.

Once he leaves the house, everything seems dark. Sometimes it seems like that you were the epitome of darkness—and he was the light that shines on your life.

Whenever he isn't there, parts of you disappear.

"Big brother, we can't leave our sister behind!" the small you sobbed when he pulled on your wrist to drag you forcefully from the chaos.

"Sister sacrificed her life for us, we have to run,[name]. I promised sister I won't let anything happen to you." he stops for a moment as he looks right into your teary eyes.

You stared back at the chaos happening behind you, that day—everything was red like the clothes you wore on that exact day.

You were dragged once again to keep moving forward by Kakavasha, but once you stared right ahead—the little hand dragging you were gone.

The only light within your life was gone, where did he go? What are you gonna do? What would you do without the light that guides you—you thought as you broke down in sobs until your body felt a warmth wrapping around you.

You can hear your name from the distance being called once again, it's Kakavasha. You were sure it was as you open your eyes to come back to the real world.

"[name], wake up. You had a dream." your brother— the grown up version of him was her once again and you sigh in relief.

You hate that dream—it was the same dream with different endings. One that would have a happy outcome.

"Did you have that dream again?" he asks and wraps his arm around you, it was the same warmth in that dream.

You hum as he sighs once again, in a pitiful way or somehow a sympathetic one. Eitherway, his hand snakes just above your waistband and sticks his hand in your panties.

"Mmn—" you groaned and look at the time, "Stop it, I'm not in the mood.." you retaliate, sometimes he would back off at times like this—especially during your vulnerable moment.

"I saw a baby today at my workplace, one of my co-worker's no doubt. They looked so happy, can't we have one too?"

"I—you know we can't have that. We're siblings, what would the world says?" you push his arm off that's groping one of your boobs.

"I don't care what people says about us, I don't even care how the Aeons view us." he moans as he humps your ass.

"Stop it, 'm not in the mood right now.." You whimper and attempts to get away from his obvious dick imprint humping you.

He stayed silent and kept a tight grip on your hips, sliding your shorts and panties off with his other hand.

"We're not supposed to be doing this.." you mutter and almost retch as he forces his fingers in your mouth.

"Just be good for me, little sister. Haven't I done enough for you? I need this." he says, not giving you a chance to respond as he's already pulling his fingers out of your mouth and already sneaking between your thighs.

"You say things as if you aren't wet right now.." he spreads your lips apart to admire your pussy before giving a testing lick and moans at the taste.

He wraps his lips around your little nub as he sucks on it, thrusting his fingers inside whilst licking your slit up and down.

Your first reflex was trying to push his head off—moaning and struggling to push him off so you laid off the fight and just accepted it after awhile.

"Pussy's so wet, stop lying and just tell me that you wanted this." he pills away and sighs as he finishes his meal, your juices slipping down his chin.

He licks his lips and pushes his cock inside you, not even giving you a warning or time to wait. He groans as he pushes in all at once.

"So good, mhm. You're so good to me, lil sis. Gonna make you a fucking mommy! yeah, you want that?" he slaps your face almost gently to wake you up from your trance before groping your tits.

He leans down and sucks on it, appreciating the size of it while he sloppily thrusts his big cock inside of you.

"Fuck, fuck.. Can't wait to see these tits swell with milk." he moans and looks at your face, you seemed so out of it.

He can't miss the way that your lips scream the words trailing along, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" in an almost high pitched tone.

When you clench around him, he doesn't even stop for a moment. Just going at a faster pace which makes you even more out of it as you hold onto whatever you can.

And when he cums— he pulls out and shoves it back in all at once making you squeal and raise your hips as you came once again.

"We're gonna do this for at least another three times, I need to make sure you're knocked up." he groans as he felt you clench.

As he thrusts deeply once more, you can feel a part of yourself disappears. The warmth you felt from him was no more, instead what you felt was pleasure—accompanied by a sense of sadness.

You can feel tears hitting your cheek and you look up to see your big brother crying, while also trying to maintain a stable composure.

"I don't want to lose you." he sobs out as you reach for his cheek to caress the soft flesh. He leans into your soft touch with reluctance, so hesitant to show a moment of vulnerablity to everyone except for you.

"I can't lose you, please don't leave me as everyone did. You're not— you're not the source of anyone's misery, I didn't believe it when you were called unlucky. Because to me— you're the very thing that made me so happy, I want to be with you forever. I don't care if everyone else leave me."

You smile—not because you find this situation comforting, because it was so incredibly hysterical that he depended on you as much as you depended on him.

Once he's faced with your smile, he loses his composure and spills his seed in your womb while hiding his face in your neck again.

"I don't care how many nightmares I have from that night, I don't care if everyone blames you for our parent's death. All I want to be is with you."

That's when you realize, he is stuck with you just as you were stuck with him.

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distinctlywhumpthing · 1 year

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In League — Dead Ringer, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continued from part II) The foreshadowed and promised caning. August is punished by Keats and loses any progress he might have made in making a friend. Takes place two years before August meets Wyatt. Beta-read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, classism, degradation, manhandling, implied past noncon, burn mention, implied starvation, punishment (caning). Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

“It’s been a spell since I’ve seen you, Fionn,” Keats said, his back to August as he fingered Fionn’s bowtie. “I truly wondered if I’d gotten it right with this new one.” He circled Fionn, keeping an open hand pressed to his throat as he moved to stand behind him. A python holding its prey. “Isn’t he just perfect?” He leaned down, just shy of putting his chin on Fionn’s shoulder so their faces lined up as they regarded August.

Or, rather, as Keats did. Fionn started ahead unblinking, unseeing.

Their master must have been wise to his absence but rather than turn angry, he smirked and winked at August conspiratorially. “I think—” He pulled Fionn closer, forcing him to stand taller by the hand at his throat, and placed the end of the cane between Fionn’s feet. “He’s even better than the last.”

Fionn’s expression crumpled, something of a whimper escaping his lips. His hands at his sides were trembling fists.

Keats laughed, the movement shaking both of them for how close together they stood. His hand at the top of the cane between Fionn’s hips pulling him nearer still.

August averted his eyes, all too aware of Keats watching his every move, feasting on his reactions as encouragement.

“My, my, you have been missing me, haven’t you?” Keats continued, too loudly for it to be an honest exchange. All of this was just another game. “Poor wretched thing…”

How long had Fionn been up here alone? How long for him to be melting into the embrace as if it were salvation and not something wicked?

Some years ago, August had stumbled upon a tangle of limbs at Elmwood. A footman who’d always given him sour glances with one of the stablehands whom he wouldn’t have been able to pick out of the lot of them. He’d turned and run, abandoning whatever errand he’d been sent on and later refusing to return to complete it when he was discovered skulking in the servant’s hall. The footman had taken it on to make August’s life miserable, a display of influence and power, to dissuade him from becoming loose-lipped.

He didn’t realize that August was afraid to even admit to seeing the depravity, fearing any association with it. They’d all been warned about perversions at the workhouse. Had once watched a pair of boys whipped bloody on the racks before being dragged to prison for the crime. With little to look forward to after the workhouse, the boys often occupied themselves ranking the various types of labour they might find themselves indentured to. Among the worst were mining for the stories of being buried alive; factory work that would cost fingers at a time; being shipped to America only to drown on the voyage; and digging sewers whilst knee-deep in shit.

It was a taunting game to assign these wretched fortunes, same as it was an indulgent fantasy to allow themselves to wonder at being chosen by a tradesman, a farmer who’d never had a son, or a shopkeeper in the city in need of an assistant. But after that day, they had been armed with the ultimate derision, born of their shock and fear: Handsomer boys could be bought by twisted men and damned to suffer Hell twofold.

So, August was more than relieved when Keats said, “None of that today, Fionn.” Though the promise in his admonishing tone made August’s stomach flip. Fionn shivered as he was released but remained standing at sharp attention. “I’m not sure if August has informed you, Fionn, but he made a mistake earlier today and we agreed that the natural course of punishment would be the cane—”

“Sir, I thought—” The slap surprised August, a flash of pain on his cheek that brought tears to his eyes.

“You will learn to hold your tongue and speak only when invited.”

He clenched his fists at his side.

“Where was I? We agreed the transgression was deserving of the cane. I’m sure you’ll agree, Fionn.”

“Yessir,” came his well-trained reply, face betraying no emotion.

August swallowed. He hadn’t imagined they’d formed any sort of understanding in such a short time, let alone some sort of alliance, but it still felt like something of a betrayal for Fionn to simply accept this course of events. Perhaps it was purely self-preservation, which August ought to imitate rather than resent.

Their master tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “On your knees now like a good boy.”

There was less shame in simply sinking to the floor. At the very least, he’d be able to hide his reddened face from—

Keats snapped his fingers and August found himself hanging by his bowtie and collar, the oaf holding him from behind. He scrambled to put his feet back under him and straighten, reflexively gasping in a breath as he did, though he wasn’t released.

“You are slow,” Keats observed, grabbing August’s chin in a bruising grip. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him with those beady eyes. “I hope you’ll wind up being worth all of this trouble.” He released August and stepped aside. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Fionn was on his knees.

“What?” August should have expected the slap this time. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he did his best to ignore them. “He didn’t do anything. Sir, the…mistake was mine, the punishment should be as well.” Keats raised his hand and August cowered as much as he could with the lackey still gripping his collar.

Keats let his hand fall. He paced back and forth like he was having a constitutional through garden instead of threatening his kept boys, cane tapping along with his heels on the hardwood. “You were agreeable downstairs. You thanked me so graciously for sparing you from the cane.”

“Sir, please.” His voice notched higher, made thinner by the pressure on his throat. “I didn’t understand this to be what it meant. I never meant for—”

“You are astonishingly dull-witted.”

“Please, sir. I’ll gladly take the cane myself. He shouldn’t have to pay for my error.” Fionn hadn’t even spared him a momentary glance and August couldn’t blame him. There was little chance they’d find camaraderie after this.

“An admirable sentiment and certainly meaningful as we are learning that your shortcomings far outnumber your strengths.” August felt his cheeks burn, his blood boiling with hatred for this man who was so visibly sated by the suffering he could cause. “Perhaps next time you will employ more of your limited discernment to make a better choice.”

He seethed, holding tightly to his anger rather than dissolve into hot tears of defeat. He wanted to scream, to lunge at Keats and beat him with his own cane, but he couldn’t take a step – let alone hope to best two bigger men.

Keats was smirking. “Yes, best not to fight and make things worse for poor, old Fionn.” At that, Fionn let his gaze fall, just for a moment. Keats turned to see what August was observing but Fionn had already fixed his expression, returning to emptiness. “I was planning to be merciful. Rather than strikes to equal the worth of the item you lost me, just one for each hour that you’ve been here, succeeding only to disappoint.”

August couldn’t help but be relieved. It had to be less than ten, maybe fewer than six. Things really had gone downhill rapidly. Fionn had told him it was fixed, which explained how it could have all turned on him. He felt even guiltier. Fionn had tried to help him. Perhaps if August apologized enough, when this was over, explained that he truly had never intended to pass off the punishment and—

“Unfortunately, I have no way of telling the time…” Keats raised his hands in a theatrical shrug, cane swinging, hooked over one of his open palms. “We’ll simply have to take the whole day. Twenty-four hours.” August struggled against the hand restraining him, struggled to stop himself from swinging and kicking out. Keats grinned. “Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think, Fionn?”

“Yessir,” he whispered, no different than before but now he looked so small and frail, kneeling there, Keats looming over him. August squeezed his fist tighter, fingernails biting into the burn on his palm, pain radiating up his wrist.

Keats raised the cane. August wondered how Fionn managed to stop himself cowering or flinching. His obedience was frightening. Their master swung the cane up. August held his breath—

And Keats let the cane fall. “Can you count as high as twenty-four? Or shall poor Fionn have to take responsibility for that as well?”

August gaped at him. Fucking—

“Well?”

“Yes, sir,” August grit out. “I can count to twenty-four.”

Keats raised his eyebrows. “I hope for Fionn’s sake this isn’t more of your unfounded arrogance.” He turned his attention back to Fionn. “Jacket and waistcoat.”

Fionn removed the layers until he wore only his white shirt, buttoned up to the same fucking bowtie that was being used as a collar on August. He painstakingly folded each item before placing it beside him. Keats didn’t wait for any further sign once he had straightened again.

The cane whistled through the air and came down with a crack on the center of Fionn’s back.

“One.” August had almost forgotten to say anything. “Two—”

Keats wound up for every blow, putting his whole weight behind it. By the fourth, Fionn seemed unable to kneel upright and had sunk onto his heels, starting to bow forward. He was breathing through his teeth, tears streaming down his face, but he hadn’t made a sound.

Halfway, Fionn was doubled over, an even easier target with his back horizontal. His spine and shoulder blades caught the worst for how much they protruded. Keats delivered the blows even faster now that he didn’t have to pay so much attention to the angle.

When Keats landed a blow across the back of Fionn’s neck, the boy finally cried out. His scream cut off with the next and then he was breathlessly whimpering. Keats paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and spared August a grin that made him want to be sick.

“—Twenty-four.”

The air rang without the sounds of the beating. Keats was breathing heavily, more so than Fionn who hadn’t made a sound for some minutes and remained, still as death, curled on the floor.

Keats wiped his brow again, letting his handkerchief fall in a flutter to the ground when he finished with it. “You’ll still have plenty of time to think, to make sure this really sinks in.” He stepped closer to August, too close, so that he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re grateful for my merciful hand to guide you in bettering yourself.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud and spit in his face, but clearly a spoken answer was expected of him, judging by the oaf shaking him. “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing to be done about the bitterness that was evident in his tone.

His master chose to ignore it, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused in its frame, turning to look at August again, though he didn’t address him. “Fionn, be glad that you’ve no need for such corrections.”

“Thank you, sir,” he croaked, using his hands to push himself up just enough to bow his head at Keats.

August’s lip curled in distaste and Keats grinned, winking at him. He was glad Fionn couldn’t see the judgement he so poorly contained even knowing Keats had only elicited the response to get a rise out of him.

He didn’t breathe any easier when he was shoved away from the lackey’s grip. Nor when he and Fionn were locked back in alone. Even as the seconds stretched into minutes since their footsteps had disappeared, he still stood there rigidly, fingers balled into fists, seeing red. He thought of all the freedoms he’d enjoyed at Elmwood. His own time to walk into the village or on the meandering paths through the wood. The small shelf of books in the servants’ hall they could borrow from. Even at the workhouse, there’d been scraps of newspapers, empty cupboards and deserted corridors to hide away in, and his best friend. August really had found himself in Hell on earth.

It was Fionn that finally snapped him out of it. He whimpered, trying to unfold himself to replace the rest of his uniform.

August rushed to help him.

“Please,” Fionn whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Please, don’t.”

Of course not. August was the last person he’d want to help him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing it was no concession.

He retreated to the mattress Fionn had approved earlier, lying with his back turned to give the other boy what semblance of privacy he could. He stared ahead at the greying wood of the eaves and wondered how long it would take for him to match Fionn not only in looks but in spirit as well.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake-deactivated20 @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning

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smileysuh · 8 months

Text

the alpha's right hand

🌙 staring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Mingyu had thought he’d lost you - if even for a moment - and he’s not willing to lose you ever again. He doesn’t want you running into the woods anymore when you’re having emotions, he wants you running to him, and he kisses you as if to say ‘please, never leave.’ He had always thought Seungcheol would be his alpha, but you’d shown up and flipped his world upside down. Mingyu doesn’t care about appeasing his friend anymore- all he cares about is appeasing you- pleasuring you, giving you everything you could ever possibly want, everything you could ever need.

tw/cw. a/b/o au & power structures, mentions of a bad pack past, one mention of child death, blood/childbirth, exhibitionism/outside sex, clothed dry humping, fingering, mutual masturbation, hand job, big dick!Mingyu, pussy stretching, unprotected sex, pullout method, groping, overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, needy!Mingyu, hair pulling, orgasm control, small noncon/impreg thoughts, etc… I pet names: (hers) alpha. (his) Big guy, puppy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 14.4k

🍭 aus. a/b/o au, werewolf au, alpha!reader, beta!Mingyu, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. this fic is in the Blood Moon universe, if I end up writing another fic for this au, it will get a masterlist, but until then read cheol here

Mingyu loves thunder storms. There’s something almost therapeutic about the percussion of the sky, the flashes of light and the smell of rain in the air. It’s been a dry summer, and the water is a much-needed reprieve.

The beta wolf sits on his sheltered wrap-around cabin porch, a mug of tea in his hand while he watches the sky. Some of his packmates have called him crazy, but Mingyu doesn’t care. They can bundle up inside, but a summer storm is just what he needs to clear his head.

Whats the point of being a wild thing if you don’t appreciate the weather? Mingyu knows he shouldn’t question alphas, but Soonyoung and Jihoon are particularly prissy about rain. Seungcheol, however, doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s out chopping wood, a white t-shirt sticking tight to his muscles while he swings the ax down on a log.

Mingyu had asked if he needed any help, but Seungcheol had refused. The beta thinks his alpha must be bulking up in preparation for his child on the way, and Mingyu doesn’t blame him.

No one would be crazy enough to challenge Seungcheol as head alpha, but in the dark corners of Mingyu’s mind, he supposes there’s always a chance. And with a new baby, Seungcheol is at least partially exposed. Mingyu admires his alpha for taking extra precautions like this.

Seungcheol stops cutting wood, straightening and looking out toward the trees. Mingyu is on high alert immediately, putting his tea down and standing, sniffing at the wind.

The cedar and newly moist dry earth are predominantly the scents that overwhelm him, but there’s something else too,something underneath the natural pleasantries-

Then Mingyu hears the snapping of twigs, as if something large is coming through the brush a few hundred feet away. Mingyu knows immediately that it’s not a bear, no bears come through their property, they’d be stupid to try- no, the scent is a much more familiar one; wet wolf. But as far as Mingyu knows, the whole pack is inside their cabins-

Seungcheol squares his shoulders as he stairs out at the trees, and Mingyu bounds down the steps to join his alpha, staying a few feet back. The ax in Seungcheol’s hand glints in the grey light.

“Cheol?” Mingyu asks, looking for guidance.

“Shh,” the alpha tuts, grip tightening on the wooden ax handle.

Something large stumbles through the tree line. A huge, amber-coloured wolf. You’re much too big to be a regular canine, and Mingyu knows immediately that the animal in front of them is no animal at all, you’re a person- and his suspicion is confirmed when you shiver, slowly beginning the transformation back into your regular form.

Watching a werewolf shift is always a unique experience, and Mingyu’s breath catches during the three seconds it takes for the wolf to become a girl. You crumble against the grass, naked and breathing heavily.

Mingyu can’t help himself, he immediately tugs off his flannel, running toward you to cover your modesty. “Oh my god-” he whispers. “Are you okay?!”

You nod weakly, letting out a soft groan, and his heart races when you curl up against his thigh, fingers tugging at the denim of his jeans.

“Mingyu, step back from her,” Seungcheol commands, and for the first time in a long time, Mingyu questions his alpha’s judgment.

“But-”

“Just do it,” the alpha growls, eyes flashing red as he bares his teeth at Mingyu.

Mingyu lets out a breath, but he does as he’s told, retreating from you on the ground to go join Seungcheol.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Seungcheol says to you. “Where’s your pack?”

“I don’t have a pack,” you respond, fingers grabbing at the grass as you lift your head to look at them.

“I find that hard to believe,” Seungcheol muses. “Alpha females are rare, they always have a pack.”

“Not me,” you shake your head and Mingyu is doing his best to get this whole situation straight. You? A female alpha? There aren’t many of those- not pure blood ones anyways- usually female alphas become alpha when they mate with a male alpha, but you- “I ran away.”

“You ran away?” Mingyu asks in shock.

The life of a loner wolf can be deadly, let alone for a female-

“They tried-” you sit up, wrapping the flannel around your body, “They tried to marry me off to an alpha twice my age. I refused. And then I ran.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Seungcheol says after a brief pause. “But I still don’t see how you ended up here.”

“I heard you’re a pack with three alphas- I thought… I thought if anyone would take me in it would be you.” There’s a vulnerability in your eyes, and a sincerity in the shaking of your voice.

Mingyu can see that you’re desperate, and it feels as if maybe their pack truly is your only hope- the rain beats down harder, and Seungcheol has a staring match with you while you sit in the mud.

“We wouldn’t know what to do with a female alpha,” he says finally.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you insist. “Just give me a place to stay, a home, a family- and I promise I won’t challenge you. I’ll be loyal, I’ll back you up, I promise. I never wanted to be a pack leader- I never wanted the responsibility, please- I have nowhere else to go- everyone else would marry me off to another alpha-”

“Seungcheol?” a pretty female voice calls through the storm, and both wolves snap their heads towards the sound. Seungcheol’s glowing new bride is standing on the deck of her cabin, one hand wrapped protectively around her large baby bump.

“Go back inside!” Seungcheol shouts, and his wife does so without a second thought. She’s very submissive in this last trimester, and she trusts Seungcheol to make decisions for her best interest above all things.

“You have females here,” you say quietly.

“Not female alphas,” Seungcheol states.

“Still- maybe you need a midwife- birthing alphas can be a rough situation-”

Seungcheol adjusts his grip on the ax. “Are you familiar with midwifery?”

“Oh yes,” you nod. “I had four younger brothers, I was there during all their births.”

“If you have four younger brothers, why aren’t they with you?”

“I had four younger brothers,” you repeat. Even from a few feet away, Mingyu can see your eyes glistening with emotion, and it’s not the rain. “My eldest brother- he- well, he didn’t want to be challenged.”

“You’re from the Arcadia Pack,” Seungcheol says suddenly, and things click in Mingyu’s head a moment after the words slip from his alpha’s mouth.

The Arcadia pack is a nomadic pack, very off-grid, known for their archaic practices- Mingyu had even heard a horror story about one alpha eating his own male offspring, although, Mingyu had always thought that was just a spin on the Greek/Roman myths, made to scare betas about the dangers of being an alpha.

You nod, looking down at the ground.

A muscle in Seungcheol’s jaw feathers. “You can stay,” he says gruffly. “Mingyu,” the beta steps forward, “we don’t have any extra cabins, and I don’t trust anyone other than you to take care of her. You can do this for me, right?”

“Of course,” Mingyu nods, already running through his mind what possible things he could cook to warm you up.

Seungcheol begins to head back to his own home, but then he stops, looking back. “If Wonwoo has a problem with sharing his cabin, tell him to move in with Hansol and Seungkwan until I sort out sleeping arrangements. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

“Got it,” Mingyu nods enthusiastically, watching his alpha depart.

As soon as Seungcheol’s cabin door is closed, Mingyu’s body kicks into high gear. He wants to rush to you, but at the same time, he wants to warm you up, so he opts for running to his deck, grabbing his discarded tea before jogging back to you.

“Here,” he says, kneeling down to hand the mug to you. “It’s hot, drink it, and I’ll help you inside.”

You accept the cup with shaky fingers.

Mingyu gives you a moment to take a sip, then he reaches for you, grabbing your forearm and pulling you to your feet-

The flannel covering your naked body slips off your shoulder, and Mingyu catches a slight glimpse of your breasts before you’re tugging the fabric back around yourself. The beta can feel his skin heating, and he looks away, swallowing thickly. “Come on,” he says again, “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Sweet beta,” you laugh, leaning on him. “Don’t you know us alphas don’t get sick so easily?”

It’s so odd for him to be around a female alpha. He’s used to taking care of women- his beta little sisters who he’d grown up with, his alpha’s beta wife- he doesn’t know to handle you, not really, and he has no clue what to say as he helps you toward the cabin.

The door opens before you even get to the steps, and Mingyu’s cabin mate, Wonwoo, is leaning in the door frame.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he states.

“Well, you heard what Cheol said,” Mingyu insists, helping you up the stairs. “If you don’t like it, you can move in with Hansol and Seungkwan.”

“Where’s she even going to sleep?” Wonwoo asks, moving to the side so you and Mingyu can pass.

“My room,” Mingyu states. “She can have my room.”

“You? On the couch?” Wonwoo scoffs. “Good luck with that.”

“What’s your problem?” you say finally, looking Wonwoo up and down.

He meets your gaze. “In my opinion, we already have two too many alphas in this pack.”

“Well It’s not up to you,” you insist.

“You’re right about that, but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” Wonwoo growls darkly, narrowing his eyes.

“Wonwoo, please-” Mingyu groans, reaching out to grab his friend’s forearm. “Can you go grab her some clothes from my room, I have to start making some food for her, she’s cold-”

“She’s fine,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

“Wonwoo, please,” Mingyu repeats, and the other wolf finally lumbers off. “Look,” he says, turning to you again, “the bathroom is through that door right there. The water isn’t that hot, but it will be enough to warm you up while I get some ramen going-”

“I’m used to cold water,” you cut him off, handing your mug of tea to him. “I’m sure even warm would be better than I’ve had recently.”

Mingyu blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to say as you walk away from him, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you. The sound of water thrums to life a moment later and Mingyu finally shakes himself out of his daze.

Wonwoo returns holding a pair of sweats and a hoodie, he places them on the floor outside the bathroom door before joining Mingyu in the kitchen.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“She needs our help.”

“It shouldn’t be us,” Wonwoo points out. “It should be Jihoon or Soonyoung.”

“You sound like you’re trying to marry her off to one of them-” Mingyu’s nose scrunches with distaste. “Besides, if we did that, and they did get together, that would be a double alpha pairing and it would be very dangerous for Seungcheol.”

“So dangerous, in fact, Seungcheol might kick them out, or we might be forced to put them down. Two birds, one stone.”

Mingyu freezes, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He slowly turns to his best friend. “Wonwoo… I think you should leave.”

“You want me to leave?” Wonwoo asks in shock.

“I don’t think it’s good for you to be here right now.” Mingyu can’t believe he’s saying any of this- Wonwoo is his best friend- but… Wonwoo’s never acted this way before. Swallowing thickly, Mingyu squares his chest, straightening to his full height while he looks down at his friend. “Yeah, I think you should go to Hansol and Seungkwan’s cabin until we get this housing arrangement sorted out.”

“Seriously?” Wonwoo scoffs, but Mingyu doesn’t back down, doesn’t adjust his stance an inch. He stays steady, and after a few seconds, Wonwoo crumbles. “Fine. have it your way. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when this whole thing ends badly.”

Wonwoo doesn’t even bother packing a bag, he simply grabs his jacket off the couch and heads to the door, slamming it loudly behind him.

Mingyu finally lets out a breath, deflating, and then, he goes back to getting water boiled for ramen.

You listen in on the argument in the kitchen. These beta wolves don’t seem to be aware of how good a female alpha’s senses can be. You’re even more sensitive than males, it’s a natural adaptation to help mothers be better suited to take care of their young, and here you are, using it to eavesdrop on two stupid betas.

Well, the big one doesn’t seem so stupid. He seems kind of nice actually. But his friend? A dickhead.

You smile when you hear the front door slam, and you listen to the wolf lumber down the stairs, then the crunch of gravel as he walks away.

This will be a much easier living arrangement for you. Having one beta male around and in your space is going to be odd, but to have two would have been nearly too much for you. Their scent is everywhere, and when you get out of the shower, you find yourself staring down two towels.

You opt for the one that smells like the bigger wolf, and use it to dry off, trying to get used to his scent.

You’d heard one of them set clothes down outside the bathroom door, and you unlock it, opening it a sliver to peer out. You can hear the big wolf whistling in the kitchen while he cooks, and you quickly snatch the clothing into the bathroom, locking the door again.

Your pack has stayed in a few structures before, but many of them were hand built cabins deep in the wilderness. Running water - especially hot running water - is a luxury you’re not used to. When you wipe the steam off the mirror, assessing yourself through the reflective glass, you’re almost shocked to see how good you look.

You’d washed the dirt off your body- it’s been so long since you looked in a proper mirror, and you realize you even look pretty.

You shrug the hoodie and sweatpants on, marveling at how large they are on your much smaller form. They smell like the large wolf, everything does.

Standing in the bathroom, you do your best to psych yourself up. You’re an alpha for goodness sake- you don’t need to be afraid. Especially not when the wolf in the other room seems to be a complete softy- you can’t believe he’d given you tea and even his flannel- yeah, he seems nice, but you’ve not met many nice men in your life.

You exit the bathroom, tiptoeing to the kitchen. The wolf must be very preoccupied with his cooking because he doesn’t even look up. He’s focused on the ginger he’s grating, and the smell of the root mixes with the minced garlic already frying in a pot. It’s the first scent that’s not wolfish, and it makes your mouth begin to water as you watch.

“Hi,” you say finally.

The six-foot-two man jumps in shock.

He might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, he even clutches his chest.

“Hi,” he sighs.

“I’m y/n.”

He studies you. “Mingyu,” and then, he reaches out a hand.

You look down at his hand, and after a moment, you give it a small shake.

“Uh…” he licks his lips, “welcome to the pack I guess.”

“Thank you,” you nod, moving closer to look down at the garlic he’s cooking. You find there’s also green onions, and he adds the ginger while you watch. “Are you the pack chef?”

“Something like that,” Mingyu laughs. “I’m Seungcheol’s right-hand man. I do anything he needs, including cooking for new pack members it seems.”

“He didn’t tell you to do this,” you note.

“Okay, maybe I wanted to do this. Seungcheol has too much on his plate, he would have reminded me to cook for you if it had crossed his mind.”

You nod. “His mate is very pregnant. Must be hard for him.”

“Do you really have midwife skills?” Mingyu asks.

You nod again. “I live deep in the forest, it’s important for all the women to be part of the birthing process, including alphas.”

“Luckily we have a hospital half an hour away.”

“You can’t always make it to a hospital,” you point out. “Alpha deliveries can be sudden, and dangerous. If I was making suggestions to your alpha, I’d tell him to ask any and all female pack relatives to come and stay for a little while. If he has a mother, or sisters, or aunts, or cousins-”

“You really think that’s necessary?” Mingyu blinks at you, stirring the pot of golden aromatics while adding boiling water.

“I do,” you admit. “I’ve heard you’re an all male pack, except for the alpha’s mate, and I’d hoped there would be a few more women around-”

“A few of us have had girlfriends in the past, but nothing that stuck. It can be hard for them to deal with a pack that has three alphas,” Mingyu tells you, frowning.

“Four,” you correct. “It might be easier now that I’m here. I’ve always had good relationships with female pack members. I wouldn’t have been able to escape my last pack without them.”

“If you could help us find some female wolves to join, I’m sure all the guys here would be really grateful.”

“Including that buddy of yours?” you almost laugh. “What is it he said? He wants me to get with another alpha so you can take me out and kill two birds with one stone?”

“He didn’t-” Mingyu stammers.

“Tell me, of your two other alphas, which one do you have more issues with?” you ask, looking Mingyu up and down.

The large wolf sighs. “Soonyoung has been causing trouble lately.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“He was sort of hitting on Seungcheol’s mate for a while- looking at her a lot and stuff-” Mingyu adds the ramen to the pot, and you note how uncomfortable this is making him. He must not like confrontation.

Who would have thought, an alpha’s right-hand muscle man who doesn’t like fights.

“Are they going to have problems with me being here?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.

“I mean- if anything, uh…” Mingyu swallows thickly, and you watch his adam’s apple bob with effort, “they might hit on you.”

“But as you said to that other guy earlier, if I don’t want to be a danger to Seungcheol, it would be wise for me to stay away from them.” You look down at the boiling ramen. “That was a smart observation from you.”

“Thanks?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“After dinner, I’ll need to sleep,” you tell him. “I ran all day to get here. But I can’t rest in your friend’s room.”

“You can have my room,” Mingyu is quick to assure you. “It’s cleaner than his anyways.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The wolf opens a cabinet, pulling out a bowl. He spoons it full of ramen and hands it to you.

“Aren’t you eating?” you ask.

“No,” he shakes his head, “this is for you. Something tells me you’ll want to eat all of it, and I had dinner an hour ago.”

He’s right. Ten minutes later you’ve eaten all the ramen.

Your body is warm, for the first time in what feels like ages. When you head into Mingyu’s bedroom, and slowly lay down on his soft bed, the mattress makes you groan. You’ve been sleeping on hides on the forest floor for months now-

Before you know it, you’re drifting off to sleep.

You wake up to sunlight streaming through the window, and for the first time in a long time, you simply allow yourself to bask in it. You curl up against Mingyu’s pillow, breathing in his scent. The big beta obviously wears cologne, something spicy, but you can smell cedar and notes of pine too. He’s a woodsy guy, and it’s familiar to you.

Sitting up, you stretch your arms above your head, groaning softly at the feeling in your muscles. This is what freedom is, and you can’t believe you’ve finally found it.

Making your way to Mingyu’s closet, you find a red and black flannel, and you slip it on, enjoying the softness of it. Then, you grab a pair of boxers.

When you’d left your pack, you hadn’t been able to take anything, and in wolf form, not even clothes made the journey here with you. All you have right now is mens underwear, and they’re large around your hips, but they’ll do better than walking around with nothing.

The wood floorboards creek as you tiptoe to the door, opening it to peer into the room beyond.

You can hear Mingyu’s soft snores coming from his friend’s room. When you make your way to the front door, it squeaks on its hinges, and the soft sleeping sounds come to halt. Then, there are footfalls, and Mingyu peers out of his friend’s room, blinking at you as he rubs his eyes with one hand.

“You’re awake,” he says.

“Early riser,” you nod, taking in his bare chest and the pair of sweatpants that are hanging dangerously low on his hips. “I was going to go look around.”

“Okay,” Mingyu sighs, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a groan. “Give me a second and I’ll come with you.”

“You can go back to sleep,” you suggest.

“Nah, you shouldn’t be walking around alone.”

“I’m not in any danger.” You know how to deal with male alphas if you come across either of the two that are bound to be lurking around outside.

“I’m not worried about you,” Mingyu says, disappearing into his friend’s room. “Worried about the other guys.”

You crack a smile. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because flannels look good on you,” Mingyu returns, torso covered in a black vneck, “and I doubt many of the pack know there’s a new alpha yet. Not sure how they’ll react.”

You suppose he has a point, and you stay quiet as he approaches you, slipping his feet into a pair of shoes by the door. Then he looks down. “Give me a sec, I’m pretty sure Cheol’s mate has a similar size foot to you, I’ll grab you some flip flops.”

“I can go barefoot,” you insist.

“You are a wild thing, aren’t you?” Mingyu chuckles, running a hand through his messy hair. “Just wait here, please.”

He shifts past you, exiting the cabin. Instead of staying inside, you follow, stopping on the deck while he jogs to the small house a hundred feet away. You watch him as he kneels, shifting through some shoes before finding a pair, and then he walks back to you, squinting in the morning sun.

“Here,” he says, holding them out, “give these a try.”

You slip the flip-flops on, nodding. “They work.”

“Good,” Mingyu yawns. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

You follow him down the steps, enjoying his lumbering walk. He’s so big- and his strides are longer than yours, but he’s moving slowly, which makes it easy for you to keep up.

“So this is our pack compound,” he explains, still sounding a bit groggy. “Seungcheol and his mate live in that cabin, and then you’ve met me and Wonwoo-” so his bitchy friend does have a name. “There are seven cabins in total and I’ll walk you through them, we can see who’s awake.”

“Your pack doesn’t wake up at dawn?”

“Nah, we’ve got a lot of guys who sleep in,” Mingyu says, and from the way he’s still yawning, you can tell he’s not used to being up this early.

You’ve always liked mornings. Your pack is the type to be up and bustling about, but you think you could get used to the quiet of this place. Birds are singing in the trees, and the dew on the grass from last night’s rain is tickling past your feet as you walk through the area.

“This cabin belongs to Hansol and Seungkwan,” Mingyu explains, pointing at the next lodging you walk past. “They’re good guys, Hansol especially. When we joined all three packs, Hansol and Wonwoo were with me and Cheol.”

“So you’re very close then,” you nod, taking in the cabin with its dark windows. It’s clear the inhabitants are still asleep.

“Yeah, Hansol’s a friend,” Mingyu nods. “He’ll like you.”

“You think so?”

“Hansol gets along with everyone,” Mingyu says factually.

The next cabin is a short distance away, but unlike the last one, this one has signs of life. There’s even a man sitting on the front steps, and he stands as you approach.

He’s small in stature, but with the downwind sending his scent your way, you can tell immediately that he must be one of the other two alphas. He certainly holds himself like a man in charge, and you meet his gaze straight on.

“Jihoon,” Mingyu greets, coming to a stop a few feet in front of the stairs leading to the alpha.

“What’s going on?” Jihoon asks, scanning your form.

“We got a new member of the pack yesterday,” Mingyu explains. “This is y/n.”

The man scrunches his nose, eyes narrowing. “She’s an alpha.”

“From the Arcadia pack,” Mingyu nods, and a flash of recognition flutters over Jihoon’s features.

“Seungcheol is okay with this?” Jihoon asks.

“I wouldn’t be showing her around if he wasn’t,” Mingyu says, and there’s a firmness in his voice. “She’s going to help with midwife stuff.”

“Oh,” Jihoon’s head cocks to the side slightly. “That’s good to hear.”

“Is Seokmin awake?” Mingyu questions, and you both look past the alpha to see if his roommate is up.

“He’s never awake this early,” Jihoon scoffs.

“Well,” Mingyu turns to you, “guess you’ll meet him later.”

“Are you giving her a full tour?” Jihoon asks, eyes still lingering on your form.

“Uh huh,” Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, yawning loudly.

“Why isn’t Seungcheol doing it?”

Mingyu lets out a small laugh. “We both know Seungcheol has bigger things on his plate.”

“Bigger than introducing a new alpha female to the pack?” Jihoon cracks a smile. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You don’t have to believe it,” Mingyu sighs.

It’s interesting how he’s interacting with the alpha in front of him. You’d wondered what the dynamic might be like- but it appears that Mingyu truly only has loyalty to Seungcheol. As the head alpha, this is the way it should be.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything else, and Mingyu’s gentle touch on the small of your back prompts you to continue your tour.

“He’s cranky in the morning,” Mingyu tells you under his breath.

“And he can probably hear you,” you note, looking over your shoulder at the scowling alpha.

“My bad,” Mingyu says, but from the smile on his face, you know he doesn’t really care.

The cabins are all spaced nicely, giving earshot privacy but still mostly visible to each other as you continue down the dirt path that connects them.

The next cabin has not one, but two wolves sitting on its front porch, and they both stand like Jihoon had, looking at you curiously.

“What did you bring for us today, Gyu?” one of them asks while the other practically eye fucks you over his bowl of cereal.

“This is y/n, she’s joining the pack,” Mingyu explains.

“Really?” The prettier of the two bounds down the stairs, grinning. “Since when?”

“Last night.”

“I’m Jeonghan,” the wolf holds out a hand to you. “It’s lovely to finally meet an alpha female, especially one as gorgeous as you.”

The man still standing on the stairs lets out a loud scoff, and then he’s setting down his cereal to approach. “Don’t pay attention to him,” he says, “Jeonghan’s a flirt.”

“As if you’re any better, Joshua,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

“I am better,” Joshua grins, holding out his own hand to you. “In every way.”

You don’t enjoy the way he looks you up and down again, eyes taking their time to assess your outfit. You’re very aware of the fact you’re not wearing a bra, and when Joshua releases your hand, you’re quick to cross your arms over your chest.

“Where’s she staying?” Jeonghan asks, addressing Mingyu.

“With me for now, but Cheol’s gonna work out a sleeping arrangement.” Mingyu’s hand finds the small of your back, his touch as light as a feather. “We should keep going with the tour.”

“Need company?” Joshua questions.

“We’re good,” you say firmly.

With a nod goodbye, Mingyu and you head off again.

“Are they all like this?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

You let out a small laugh. “Horrible with women?”

“It’s a pack trait,” Mingyu jokes.

“You’re not so bad,” you tell him, and when you sneak a glance at the beta, you notice his skin is flushed.

He’s so cute you want to just eat him up.

“I uh…” Mingyu coughs, “that’s debatable.”

“I’m telling you you’re not bad with women, and I’m an alpha, which means you have to listen to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mingyu chuckles.

“Not ma’am,” you correct him. “Yes, alpha.”

“Yes, alpha,” he says, not missing a beat.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it, big guy?”

He lets out a small “shit” under his breath, and you realize you enjoy toying with him.

“So anyways,” he clears his throat, “this next cabin is Minghao and Jun, but they’re asleep-”

“Over half the compound is asleep,” you note. “Who’s protecting your boundaries?”

“No one?” Mingyu looks around. “I’m not sure what you’re used to from your last pack, but closer to the city, boundaries rarely get encroached on.”

“Oh, so I pulled a big no-no by just showing up, huh?”

“It was unusual, that’s for sure,” Mingyu smiles.

“My bad.”

The beta at your side only grins as you walk past another dark cabin. You don’t mind not talking, as it gives you a chance to listen to the sounds of the compound. More birds are singing now, and trees rustle with small wildlife. You watch two squirrels chasing each other, and the familiar sight makes you smile.

Yeah, despite the gang of clueless men, you could definitely get used to this place.

“So this last cabin belongs to Soonyoung and Dino-” Mingyu begins to say, and as the words leave his mouth, the lodging’s front door is thrown open.

A white-haired alpha struts out, his gaze fixed on you.

You stop in your tracks assessing his form for signs of aggression-

While he holds his head high, and walks like an alpha, the man in front of you is at least attempting open body language. He smiles, flashing his canines. “I knew I smelt something sweet,” he says loudly, thudding down the front steps and approaching.

So this must be the Soonyoung that Mingyu had mentioned. The alpha causing trouble.

He definitely looks like a bit of a flirt, and his eyes scan you up and down as the other wolves had. “Let me guess,” Soonyoung says, “Arcadia pack.”

“How did you-”

“Sweetheart, there aren’t many alpha females around these parts. It’s not rocket science.” Soonyoung comes to a stop in front of you. “The real question is, why are you here?”

“She left her old pack,” Mingyu answers for you. “She’s with us now.”

“Trouble in wilderness paradise, huh?” Soonyoung’s grin widens. “Their loss, our gain.”

“What are you doing awake this early?” Mingyu asks, and you see him stiffening beside you.

“I told you, I smelt something sweet.” The alpha is yet to take his eyes off of you, and you meet his gaze straight on, like a challenge.

“And I smell dog, but I’m guessing that’s you,” you say calmly.

Soonyoung lets out a bark of a laugh. “Damn, baby, you’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Enough of the babys and sweethearts,” you tell him. “My name is y/n.”

“Cute name,” Soonyoung says, but the compliment does nothing for you.

“Mingyu, I think my tour is done,” you sigh, looking to the beta at your side.

“What? But you just started.” Soonyoung whines, and the tone of his voice grinds your nerves.

“I’ve seen enough,” you say smoothly.

“Princess, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Soonyoung assures you.

A growl bubbles up in your throat, and you turn your icy gaze back to the alpha. “Nothing impressive, that’s for sure. And I doubt you have anything to show me that could change my mind.”

Soonyoung only smiles wider. “I like your fire.”

“Good for you.” You reach out, grabbing Mingyu’s forearm. “We’re leaving.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the alpha clicks his tongue. “You’re part of the pack now, it’s time to make friends.”

“Something tells me you’re not looking for any more friends,” you say coldly. “If you’re really that bored, go bug your housemate.”

“Dino’s not anywhere near as pretty as you, and he doesn’t talk back, so it’s not as fun.”

“I’m not here to entertain you.” You’re getting tired of this alpha already.

“Shame,” Soonyoung tilts his head to the side. “Something tells me you’ll be very entertaining.”

“She said we’re leaving,” Mingyu states, and it’s as stern as you’ve heard him be with anyone, let alone an alpha.

“Well,” Soonyoung sighs, “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

You feel the need to give him a snarky response, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, so instead, you turn on your heel, heading back the way you came with Mingyu scrambling to follow.

You can feel Soonyoung’s eyes on you, and it sets your teeth on edge. If there’s one thing you hate in this world, it’s presumptuous alphas.

“Sorry about him,” Mingyu apologizes quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” you assure Mingyu, knowing that he has no say over Soonyoung’s behaviour.

“I want to make it up to you,” the beta insists.

“Yeah?” you laugh. “And how are you going to do that?”

“You need clothes,” Mingyu says. “Let me take you to the city, and we can get you something to wear.”

“You know what?” you take a deep breath. “I think that might be the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Mingyu tries his best not to stare at you. He keeps his gaze fixed on the road the entire drive to town, even as you stick your head out the window and let out a soft sigh as you enjoy the air moving over your skin. He fights the need to ask you questions about yourself, about the life you had in the Arcadia pack, but there’s so much he wants to know.

He tries to be nonchalant as you head into an underwear store, but he can feel his ears burning as he lumbers through the thongs and bras. “I should really wait outside,” he says meekly, but you ignore him, grabbing his hand to tug him along as you pick out panties.

“I need your opinion,” you tell him, holding up two thongs, “Silk or lace?”

Mingyu lets out a deep sigh, eyes shifting to the simple seamless set. They’re more practical for the life the pack lives, and less devastating if they get tort to shreds during an impromptu wolf transformation.

“Really?” you ask, reading his gaze. You hold the red thong up, assessing it. “You really are a simple kind of guy, aren’t you?”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” you grin. “I just don’t know what I expected from a guy who wears flannel and jeans.”

“You should get what you want,” Mingyu says softly. “You’re the alpha, I’m just a beta. How should I know what you want?”

“Maybe I’ll have to try them all on,” you suggest.

He feels his throat constrict, and he swallows thickly, giving a quick nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You fill a whole basket with undergarments, and Mingyu feels his heart thundering louder in his chest as you make your way to the change room.

“Oh,” the worker there says when you approach, looking Mingyu up and down, “Men aren’t allowed in the changeroom.”

“How am I supposed to know what he likes if he can’t come in?” you counter.

“I’m sorry ma’am-” the poor worker looks as uncomfortable as Mingyu feels.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “I’ll just wait out here. In fact, I have an errand to run. You can try all this stuff on and I’ll be back in ten or fifteen.”

He hates the way you frown at the suggestion, but you give in with a sigh.

Mingyu watches you disappear into the changeroom, and the moment you’re gone, he all but bolts from the store.

Once outside, he takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He has to keep his hormones in check- but there’s a need growing in the pit of his stomach, and he’s not sure he can ignore it, especially not if you give him a whole modeling show of underwear-

God, he’s in big trouble.

“You were gone for twenty minutes,” you say when Mingyu shows up at the lingerie store.

“Yeah, well, it took longer than I thought it would,” the beta sighs, not meeting your eyes.

“What were you even doing?” you press.

“Had to get you a phone,” Mingyu explains, pulling the device out of his pocket. “But it wasn’t just the phone, the sales guy had to talk to me about data plans, and coverage and I-” He shakes his head. “Here, just take it.”

You look down at the cell, then back up to him. “Why do I need a phone?”

“So you can call people?” he suggests.

You cock your head to the side. When you’d lived in the wilderness, there was never a need for a phone, let alone the service to make one useful. “Who am I going to call?”

“Me?” Mingyu coughs awkwardly. “The pack?”

“Fine, I’ll take it,” you concede, grabbing the phone and holding it to your chest. “But only because you’ll have my number. I’m not giving it to the others.”

“Cheol will need it,” Mingyu points out.

“Fine, he can have it too,” you sigh.

“Did you find some stuff to buy?” the beta asks, looking down at the basket slung over your arm.

“Yup,” you hold up a few pairs of panties. You’d mostly chosen the simple ones, but there are a few racier designs too. “Should we go to the checkout?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu nods, following you to the till.

When the worker checks all your items through, the cost is pretty high, and you blink in shock at how expensive things like this can be. Mingyu pulls out a card, and pays without a second thought.

He even takes the bag of items, holding it tightly in a hand as you head out of the store.

“Tell Cheol thank you for buying all of this,” you say, immediately assuming Mingyu’s using a pack credit card. Your last living arrangement had had a similar setup, and it’s all you know.

“Oh, uh… Cheol didn’t pay for this,” Mingyu says awkwardly. “I did.”

“You did?” you blink. “The head alpha doesn’t control all the money?”

“No,” Mingyu shakes his head. “We all have jobs and our own banking situations.”

“You have jobs?”

“Well, Cheol comes from money, so he’s connected to a family business, but most of us do labour, construction, that sort of thing,” Mingyu explains.

“Do I have to get a job?” you ask.

“Sometime down the line,” Mingyu responds. “But for now, I think you should just get used to not being in the forest all the time. You don’t have to pay rent or anything to live on the compound, but if you want to go into town or buy clothes, you’ll probably have to get a job to finance that.”

“Are you sure you can’t just buy things for me?” you tease, poking at Mingyu’s side.

You enjoy the way he swallows, and looks to actually be considering your request. “For now I can,” he says finally.

“I’ll find a job,” you assure him. “I’ve got no references or past experience, but I have things I can do.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well, I’m pretty good at building things,” you tell him. “My old pack moved around a lot, but when we found places we liked, we could build pretty good cabins out of what was available. They’re not like the cabins you have, but… they’re something.”

“For some reason, I can’t picture you building yourself a cabin.”

“Well,” you consider it for a moment, “let me talk to Cheol, and maybe you’ll get to see me in action yourself.”

Mingyu lets out a laugh. “Now that’s something I’d definitely like to watch.”

It’s the evening of your second day with the pack when Seungcheol arrives at your cabin door. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” he asks.

“Of course.” You set down the bowl of soup Mingyu had cooked for you, grabbing one of Mingyu’s flannels to put on as you follow the alpha outside.

He takes you into the field, and the two of you turn to look back at the cabins. “So, I talked to my mom earlier,” Seungcheol says. “She agrees with you about having a few more females come through the compound to help with the birth.”

“That’s good news,” you nod.

“She’s been trying to talk me into it for a while, but, when you showed up and said the same thing- I guess it convinced me,” Seungcheol sighs. “Anyways, a handful of my relatives will be arriving tomorrow. We don’t have cabins for them, so they’ll be bringing RV’s, parking in this field and staying until my mate has our baby. Should be any day now, she’s been having pains recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” you nod sympathetically. You’d watched your own mother go through rough final trimesters, and you can’t imagine what it’s like for a woman without other females around.

Seungcheol seems like a put together guy, but men with ego can sometimes forget that women can provide things for each other that they can’t.

“Anyways,” Seungcheol looks at you, “there will be an extra bed or two in some of the RV’s. it’s not a long term solution, but I was thinking you might prefer that over staying with Mingyu.”

“Mingyu’s not so bad.”

“Wonwoo wants his bed back,” Seungcheol smiles.

“Oh, right,” you nod, gaze shifting to the grass at your feet. “Yeah, I can stay in an RV.”

“I was thinking of asking my mom if we could borrow one, or maybe even buy one. The compound needs more cabins, but those take time, and an RV feels like an easy option in the meantime… Mingyu mentioned you have some experience building structures?”

“I do,” you confirm.

“How would you feel about being part of the build process?” Seungcheol asks.

“I’d love that,” you say honestly.

“Usually builds are a pack project,” he explains. “A few of the guys can get a cabin up in month or two- you’d be working with them. Think you can take orders?”

“Depends who’s ordering.”

“Mingyu and Jeonghan usually take care of project plans and direction.”

“That sounds doable.”

“Good, then it’s settled.” Seungcheol nods to himself. “The cabin designs we use are for two bedrooms, so you wouldn’t have one to yourself. We’ve been thinking of pack expansion for a while, and with you here, it might be easier to get a female beta to join.”

“I’m really surprised your mate is the only female here,” you admit. “With thirteen male wolves, I would have thought at least a few would have partners.”

“What can I say?” Seungcheol shrugs. “Our pack is a boys club.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I heard Soonyoung was giving you trouble.”

You laugh. “Mingyu tells you everything, doesn’t he?”

“He’s loyal,” Seungcheol nods. “He said you put Soonyoung in his place.”

“I tried, but something tells me Soonyoung didn’t get the message,” you sigh. The alpha has tried to talk to you repeatedly in the short time you’ve been here, and it’s led to you putting yourself practically under cabin house arrest in a bid to avoid him.

“You still mean what you said about backing me up right? I shouldn’t be worried about you making an alliance with Jihoon or Soonyoung?”

“I’m with you, a hundred percent,” you tell him firmly.

“That’s good to hear,” Seungcheol admits. “It’s nice to have you in my corner.”

“It’s nice to be in a good alpha’s corner. From what I’ve seen of you, you seem like the kind of guy to follow.”

The alpha rubs the back of his neck, letting out a small laugh. “I appreciate that. Maybe you can convince a few of my cousins to join in when they come, they’ve been pretty adamant about not wanting to have anything to do with me.”

“Well, they’re coming to help your wife give birth, so that’s a step in the right direction,” you point out.

“I wish I could be as optimistic as you,” Seungcheol sighs. “Anyways, thanks for the chat. I’m glad you found your way to us.”

It feels nice to have some estrogen amongst all the testosterone in the compound. When the women arrive in their RV’s it’s the first time you feel like you can join the pack for lunch. Picnic tables are pulled up into the field, and fold up chairs are placed around a fire where Seungcheol’s mother roasts meat.

She wasn’t a born alpha, but she’s an alpha now, and there’s a calm peace that comes with having a matriarch around.

With her, are two of Seungcheol’s aunts, and four cousins. When these seven women combine with you and Seungcheol’s mate, that means there are now nine women puttering about. You’re still outnumbered with men by four, but it feels much closer to even.

One of Seungcheol’s cousins is very focused on his wife, and she goes into his cabin and doesn’t come out. Two of the others seem to be getting to know Joshua and Jeonghan, which feels like an interesting choice to you. The last cousin, however, is clear that her intentions are set on Mingyu. She follows him around like a lost puppy, and the sight makes you sick to your stomach while you gnaw on your food.

“Look at those two,” Soonyoung says, falling into the chair next to yours. “They’re cute, don’t you think?”

“Sure, cute.” Your voice is near a growl.

“She’s been into him for years, you know.” The alpha taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “Wanted to move here and everything.”

“Then why didn’t she?” You can’t believe you’re humouring him by entertaining this conversation, but you itch to know the gossip he has. Although, you’re not entirely sure you can trust a word coming out of his mouth.

“She was younger then, but now she’s grown.”

She’s definitely grown, and her low neckline shirt shows just how well she’s grown.

“Seungcheol would love for her to join the pack,” Soonyoung continues.

“Then maybe she should,” you spit, standing. You’re tired of this, tired of watching little miss Choi Seona hang onto Mingyu’s every word, standing as close to him as possible.

“Where are you going?” the alpha asks.

“For a run,” you say, already tearing off your hoodie.

“Oooh, need company?”

“No,” you respond firmly. “Don’t you dare follow me.”

If he does, he’ll get a full view of you stripping naked in the field behind your cabin before you take off, and if Soonyoung sees you nude, you might just have to kill him.

Luckily, no one follows you, and you’re able to slip out of your clothes unnoticed, your skin tearing as you transform into a wolf and bolt into the trees.

You only arrive back at the compound after the sun has set, and instead of heading to the RV, you push through Mingyu’s cabin door.

Wonwoo is sitting on the couch, and he blinks at you. “What are you doing here?”

“Need to use your shower,” you grumble, hardly looking at Mingyu who is standing in the kitchen stirring a pot of ramen.

“The RV has a shower,” Wonwoo says, and you know he’s not really trying to be helpful.

“I’m using your shower,” you say, firmly this time, and when you reach the bathroom, you slam the door behind you, locking it.

It’s bad enough that you have to stay in an RV with three of Seungcheol’s cousins, sharing a shower with them might be too much. You hope that by the time you get there, the girls are going to sleep, and you can skip any talks about the day. You have nothing to say to Seona.

The hot shower gives you peace. Your mind has been reeling all day, and it’s nice to finally just relax, letting the water wash over you. For some stupid reason, you hadn’t considered the idea that one of the women coming to the compound would like Mingyu, and you realize now that it had been a major oversight on your part.

Of course at least one of the girls likes Mingyu- what’s not to like?

He’s big and handsome and kind and caring-

To make matters worse, the two of them have a history, or so Soonyoung says.

You wonder if Mingyu has feelings for Seona. You wonder how deep the feelings are.

Pushing the thought from your mind, you finish your shower, taking your time to dry off and slip on your clothes. You’d chosen the panties Mingyu liked in the hopes that one day he might see them- but now, you think that day might not ever come… not of Seona has anything to say about it.

When you exit the bathroom, Mingyu is standing there waiting for you, and Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, looking at you with concern.

“Of course,” you say curtly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just… you disappeared at lunch, and you just got back- it’s been hours-”

“Aw, did you miss me, big guy?” you tease, forcing a smile. “That’s cute.”

“I was worried about our deer population,” Mingyu says, and when the side of his mouth quirks up slightly, you realize he’s joking.

“I didn’t kill anything,” you admit. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Do they feel good now?” He looks down at your thighs, bare in the shorts you’re wearing.

“Uh huh,” you nod. “I’m ready to pass out.”

“First night in the RV,” Mingyu muses. “Excited for girl time?”

“No.”

He laughs. “I didn’t think you would be.”

“Do I not seem like a girls girl kind of girl?”

“Not really,” he cocks his head. “The good news is they won’t be staying long. Seungcheol’s mom said his mate is really close to giving birth. It’s lucky they arrived when they did. Lucky you convinced Cheol to let them come.”

“I guess we’re all just lucky this week,” you sigh.

“Yeah…” he looks at you awkwardly, “we are. Or at least… I’ve been feeling lucky lately.”

“Must be nice having a handful of available females around,” you snap, “gives you your pick of the litter.”

“That’s not-” Mingyu’s voice catches. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Sure it wasn’t. Look, I’m tired, I should go.”

“You can take the couch if you want- or my bed, I could have the couch-”

“Wonwoo would hate me more than he already does if I did that,” you sigh. “But thanks for the offer.”

Mingyu sends you a small smile, and watches you go. As you exit the cabin, he calls out “Goodnight,” and you can’t bring yourself to say it back.

You stomp toward the RV. As you approach, you hear giggles, and you stop, listening by the window.

“I don’t know guys,” Seona’s voice makes you scowl, “I just think Mingyu is really sweet.”

“He was with you all day,” one of her cousins agrees. “And wasn’t he your first kiss?”

“Shhh! We’re not supposed to talk about that!” Seona whispers, but you can tell the answer is affirmative.

So there is something between Seona and Mingyu.

Soonyoung hadn’t been lying.

“I bet he likes you too,” the third cousin muses.

“He acts like he does,” the other agrees.

You’ve heard enough.

You can’t stay in the RV with them. Turning, you head back into the woods.

Mingyu wakes up with excitement coursing through his veins, and it takes a moment for him to remember you’re not in the other room. The morning sun is shining through his window as he pulls on his clothes- it’s funny how only a few days with you has reset his internal clock.

He exits his cabin quietly, not wanting to wake Wonwoo, who has been particularly grumpy since you arrived. Mingyu can’t imagine why though- it’s not like his friend has given you a chance, and he thinks Wonwoo will like you once he puts some effort into getting to know you, the way he has.

With his hands in his pockets, Mingyu heads to the RV, and he’s pleased to find the door open. He can hear a feminine hustle and bustle, and the smell of coffee makes him smile. “Knock, knock,” he calls softly, peaking his head into the living space.

“Mingyu!” Seona exclaims, rushing over. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept alright,” he nods, scanning the interior in search of you.

“Can I grab you some coffee? I just made a fresh batch, and I make the best in the whole pack.”

“Uh… no thanks,” Mingyu offers her a small smile. “Is y/n around?”

“Nope,” Seona shakes her head. “She never came in last night. We all assumed she was sleeping in one of the cabins.”

“One of the cabins?” Mingyu’s confused already. “Well she wasn’t with me…”

“Why would she be with you, silly? You’re not an alpha.”

The smile on Seona’s face tells Mingyu she hadn’t meant it as an insult, but her words still sting. “Well she’s not with Jihoon or Soonyoung, I can tell you that much,” he states.

His words make Seona’s expression fall, and Mingyu also hadn’t meant to be rude, but he can’t help himself. The idea of you spending the night with any of his packmates rubs him the wrong way, and he needs to be certain that the girls visiting don’t think you’re here to find an alpha mate.

“Like I said,” Seona sighs, “she never came in last night.”

“Okay, well, I better go look for her,” Mingyu nods, turning to go.

“But-” Seona starts, however Mingyu’s already walking away, sniffing at the air in the hopes he can catch your scent.

There’d been no rain last night, and no heavy winds, so as he walks into the field, it’s not difficult to catch your smell clinging to the grass. Mingyu guesses he shouldn’t be surprised to find your trail leading into the forest, but at the same time, it makes his stomach twist into knots.

When you’d left at lunch yesterday, there’d been a very real fear in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t see you again, and that fear has returned.

His pace quickens as he reaches the tree line. It’s harder to track you with the forest smells, but Mingyu does his best, stopping at a few points to take deep breaths. You have a note of citrus in your scent, and Mingyu’s come to enjoy the taste of it on his tongue.

But then, the smell stops, and Mingyu finds himself at the foot of a tree. For the life of him, he can’t figure out which way you’ve gone, and he cusses loudly, kicking the pine.

“What the fuck?”

Your groggy voice causes Mingyu’s head to snap up, and he peers through the branches- locking eyes with you.

“Alpha?” he calls.

“Mingyu?”

He watches you rub your eyes, sitting up on the branch you must have been laying on. “What are you doing up there?” he asks, relief flooding his system.

“Trying to get a decent sleep until someone kicked my bed- why are you out here attacking trees?” you retort.

“I thought I’d lost your scent-” he tries to explain, which causes you to laugh.

“You were looking for me?” you ask, beginning to climb down.

“Well.. yeah. You weren’t in the RV.”

“Couldn’t spend a night with those girls,” you respond, jumping the last meter and landing on your feet in front of him. “They gossip too much.”

“Really?” Mingyu cocks his head as he looks at you. “Gossiping about what?”

“First kisses, boys, that sort of thing.” You won’t meet his gaze, and Mingyu realizes immediately what you’re talking about.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah, oh.” You tug your flannel tighter around your body and Mingyu wants to take you in his arms-

“Wait… alpha, are you jealous?”

“No,” you snap.

“It looks like you’re jealous,” Mingyu points out.

“If you wanna get with Seona then you should get with Seona, why would I care?”

“I don’t want to get with Seona.”

You finally look at him. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “It was one kiss, we were both young. It happened years ago.”

“The girls said you were being attentive to her yesterday.”

“As attentive as I can be to Seungcheol’s cousin,” Mingyu explains. “It’s not like I’m going to be rude to her, or any of them.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re just a nice guy,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair and taking a deep breath. Your next words are quiet, “I guess when you were being nice to me, I thought maybe it was more than that.”

He swallows, reaching out to grab your hand. “It was more than that,” Mingyu assures you.

“Really?” You look up at him and he’s never seen you so vulnerable, so beautiful-

“I don’t just go around buying girls underwear,” he says, which causes you both to laugh. “In case you were wondering.”

“So you’re saying…” you step closer to him, and Mingyu’s body tingles at the proximity. “You like me?”

“That’s probably an understatement,” Mingyu admits.

“Good… I understatedly like you too.” You're still holding his hand, and you give it a small squeeze.

“But-” he blinks at you. “I’m not an alpha or anything-”

“I know you’re not, Gyu,” you laugh. “I think that’s part of why I like you so much. You don’t try to tell me what to do. You don’t try to control me. You just… exist with me. I’m not used to that.”

“I-” Mingyu’s brain is blank. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe you don’t have to say anything,” you suggest, leaning closer. Your gaze dips to his lips, and Mingyu’s tongue darts out to wet them-

You’re about to kiss him, he knows it, and his whole body feels on fire as you close the distance between your chests.

You let go of his hand, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “Do you want to kiss me, Gyu?”

The word ‘yes’ doesn’t even cut it, so instead, he simply presses his lips to your own. It’s not a sweet kiss. It’s not soft, or tentative- it’s hungry, and Mingyu’s hands grab at your hips, tugging you closer.

Your tongue glides over his own and Mingyu groans loudly, fingers digging into your flannel. He’s not sure what’s come over him, but he simply can’t help himself. He leans down, grabbing at your ass and lifting you off the ground.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, a mewl escaping you as Mingyu presses you back against the tree, pinning you there while he continues to kiss you like he’s never kissed anyone in his whole life.

You feel perfect in his arms, and he could get drunk from your lips. Mingyu can already feel his cock straining against his jeans, a need surging through him like never before.

Mingyu had thought he’d lost you - if even for a moment - and he’s not willing to lose you ever again. He doesn’t want you running into the woods anymore when you’re having emotions, he wants you running to him, and he kisses you as if to say ‘please, never leave.’

He had always thought Seungcheol would be his alpha, but you’d shown up and flipped his world upside down. Mingyu doesn’t care about appeasing his friend anymore- all he cares about is appeasing you- pleasuring you, giving you everything you could ever possibly want, everything you could ever need.

Nothing in Mingyu’s life has ever felt this right before, and he gets lost in the feeling of you as you claw at his shoulders, kissing him harder and taking his breath away.

You can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe Mingyu has you pressed to a tree, his mouth hot against your own-

After so many conflicting emotions in the past twenty four hours, this turn of events has you reeling- or maybe that’s just Mingyu. No one has ever kissed you like this before- like you’re the very air they need to breathe.

He’s intoxicating, and you need more.

“Gyu,” you gasp against his lips.

He hums, moving his mouth to your throat, peppering your skin in wet kisses that have you groaning.

“Put me down,” you say, voice shaky.

He doesn’t question you, setting you onto the forest floor-

And then you’re pushing at his chest. “Get on the ground,” you command him.

His pupils are blown with lust and he takes a haggard breath, then he does what you’ve asked of him. He stumbles back, landing in the grassy dirt.

You’re on him not a moment later, straddling his hips and cupping his face, grinding down against his lap while your need for him grows between your legs. You’ve soaked through your panties, but you can’t bring yourself to care-

He feels like heaven below you, seated upright, hands grabbing at your waist and the small of your back, holding you firm to him while you swivel your hips.

Your kisses move to his throat, teeth grazing by his jugular, and the beta below you shivers. “Alpha-”

God, it feels so good to have him addressing you properly, to be giving himself to you like this-

“I wanna fuck you,” you tell him. “I wanna fuck you so bad-”

“Please,” he practically whimpers, and the sound has you moaning loudly.

You apply pressure to his shoulders again, and he falls flat to the ground, looking up at you while trying to catch his breath.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to say anything.

It’s just you and him, nothing else matters-

A scream cuts through the trees, and your head whips in the direction of the sound. “Did you hear that?” you ask, freezing, your hips coming to a stop while you sit on top of the beta.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Mingyu groans, fingers digging into your skin, urging you to pick up your motions again.

The noise rings again, clearer this time, and you realize immediately what it is. “Shit!” you gasp, jumping to your feet. “The baby is coming!”

“Now?!” Mingyu sits up abruptly.

“Now,” you confirm. “I have to go.” You lean down to kiss him one last time. “We’ll continue this later,” you promise, and then you’re running through the woods back to the compound.

Your heart is racing in your chest. You’ve never run this hard before, and your muscles scream at you, but you push on, knowing that you need to get to Cheol’s mate. You need to be there for the birth- it will solidify you as part of the pack, and Hell, lives could be at risk.

You push out of the tree line, eyes zoning in on Seungcheol’s cabin. Women are running around, and a few of the men too. Seungcheol looks wild as you approach, darting up the stairs two at a time-

His hand stops you before you can go through the door. “You smell like Mingyu,” he says.

“Are we really doing this now?!” you ask, breathless. “I need to go help your wife!”

He lets go of your arm, and you enter the cabin, knowing that the next few hours are going to be crucial for not only you, but the entire pack.

Four hours after arriving to the delivery cabin, you exit it, looking around at the male pack outside. You’d thought it best to leave Seungcheol’s wife with his own family, and after the difficult labour, you need an estrogen break. You also need to let everyone know how things went, especially Cheol, who hadn’t been allowed inside due to the small space already being full of female wolves intent on keeping things as calm as possible.

One look at Seungcheol tells you he’s the furthest thing from calm- and you offer him a small smile. “Congratulations, you have a son,” you tell him softly.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, taking in your blood soaked flannel.

“The baby had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, but luckily for you, two of my brothers were born that way too. We sorted it out. Your mate, and your son, are both looking perfectly healthy.”

There are tears in Seungcheol’s eyes, and he moves to go past you, to enter the cabin, but then he stops, grabbing your arm. “We’ll have to talk about you and Mingyu later,” he warns, voice low.

“I expected nothing less,” you nod.

The alpha releases your arm, entering the cabin and shutting the door behind him.

Mingyu’s the next person in front of you, taking in your clothes. “I-” he reaches out and wipes some blood off your face. “I don’t-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him. You can tell by the way his gaze dips to your lips that he wants to kiss you, but you’re much too dirty for that, covered in all sorts of fluids you have no wish to spread across Mingyu’s pretty features.

“You need a shower,” he tells you. “And new clothes.”

“Not a shower,” you state. “I need a nature cleanse after all of this.”

“I know a river nearby,” Mingyu nods.

“Let’s go,” you say softly, ignoring the rest of the pack as you follow Mingyu down the stairs.

An unexpected hand reaches out and pats you on the shoulder, and you turn to see Jihoon nodding at you. “Good job.”

Another hand reaches out, then two more- they’re all avoiding the blood on the front of your shirt, going for back rubs, and you’re shocked to find that the touch isn’t unwelcome.

It feels like acceptance. Like you’re truly part of the pack now.

Even Soonyoung offers you a small smile as you walk past, and your skin feels alive with emotion as you head with Mingyu to the tree line.

The beta doesn’t say anything as he leads you through the forest, and you prefer it that way. You’ve just had to listen to a woman scream and cry and give birth for hours- the silence makes way for the noises of the forest, and they wash over you, relaxing your tense muscles.

Five minutes of quiet bliss go by, and then Mingyu tells you you’re close to the river. You can hear it over the sound of wind brushing through the trees, and the smell of running water hits your nose.

Your pace quickens, and soon, you reach a small alcove. The river has cut a chunk out of the hillside, and the water is still in comparison to the rush beyond. It looks clean, clear, and welcoming.

Without a second thought, you strip your shirt and bra off, tossing them onto the rocks. Your pants come next, and soon, you’re completely naked, stepping into the cool alcove.

When you look over your shoulder, you find Mingyu gawking at you, still completely dressed.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” you ask, ignoring the icy water as you wade to your hips.

The beta tears his flannel off, and you turn away, reaching down to cup the water and wash it over your skin. The liquid tints a soft red colour as you brush away the blood, working your hands over yourself until you’re clean.

You can hear the lapping of water as Mingyu approaches you, and then his large, warm body is wrapping around your back, pulling you tight to his chest.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you retort, turning in his embrace and encircling your arms around the back of his neck. Your breasts press against his bare chest, and he looks down at you with eyes full of wonder.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and then he’s kissing you softly.

You melt against him, letting out a groan-

You’d been in midwife mode, but the feelings of what had taken place just before hearing the initial scream come back quickly. The need you have for Mingyu returns with full force and you deepen the kiss, gliding your tongue against his bottom lip.

He stifles a moan, reaching down to grab your hips, pulling you flush to his body. You can feel his hard length trapped between you, and your pussy flutters at the realization that his cock is as big as the rest of him.

Before you can reach for him, Mingyu’s hand is slipping between you, his fingers seeking out your clit, and you moan loudly in his mouth. “I wanna-” he swallows, breaking the kiss to look down at you. “I wanna say you’re wet, but we’re in a river.”

“I’m wet,” you confirm, digging your nails into his broad shoulders. “You feel so good-”

His lips move down to your neck, and he finds your sweet spot much too fast. You gasp loudly, tangling your fingers in his hair while you grind down against his hand, his digits rubbing harder on your clit.

“No, you feel so good,” he grumbles, breath hot on your throat, making you twitch.

His touch rubs lower, teasing your opening, and you whimper in his embrace. Your eyes close and you lean toward him, resting your forehead on his shoulder while he presses a digit into your core.

“Shit, alpha,” Mingyu gasps. “You’re so tight-”

“Guess… guess you better work me open if I’m going to take you properly,” you tell him, tugging gently on his hair.

“Yes, alpha,” Mingyu pants, moving his finger in and out of your pussy, “I can do that.”

When you open your eyes and look down, you’re enthralled by his pretty cock, bobbing just below the water. You let go of his hair in favour of wrapping your hand around his length and Mingyu groans loudly by your ear.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, marveling at how your fingers can’t even touch as you slowly move up and down his shaft. “My big, sweet, beta.”

Mingyu moans again, pressing fevered kisses against your throat and your under jaw. He likes praise, and luckily for you both, you like praising him.

“Such a good beta for me,” you continue, gasping when he fucks his digit into your harder, palming your clit. “Stretching me so good- add another finger Gyu, I need it.”

You groan when he follows through, your pussy fluttering to accommodate the second intrusion.

The cold water is lapping at your sides, his forearm flexing with effort while he finger fucks you closer and closer to the edge. Your own hand is still wrapped around him, and you tease your thumb over the slit, making him gasp loudly.

“You like that, big guy?” You smile, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“Yes, alpha,” he nods, sucking on your earlobe.

“But you’re not going to cum until you’re inside me, right?” you question.

“No, I can-” he lets out a strangled sound when you pump him harder, “I can wait.”

“Good puppy.”

He whimpers at the pet name, licking your throat while his fingers continue inside of you.

You swivel your hips, grinding down against his palm, driving his digits deeper into your pussy while moans slip past your lips.

“Gyu,” you whisper, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Please, cum, alpha. Please cum for me,” he begs, sounding as needy as you’ve ever heard him.

Your pussy flutters at his words, and he continues to edge you on, moaning “please” softly in your ear until you’re on the cusp of pleasure.

“Gyu,” you groan, closing your eyes as your body tenses-

“Come on, alpha,” he encourages you. “Cum on my fingers.”

Your brain short circuits as your pussy clamps down on him, waves of ecstasy rolling through you, making you shudder in his embrace.

“You sound so good,” he praises you, sucking on your throat while his fingers continue inside of you, helping you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and clawing at his shoulder, tightening your grip on his cock. “Fuck, alpha-” he groans.

“Need you inside of me,” you tell him, letting go of his length to steady your hands on his shoulders.

He pulls his fingers out of your core, grabbing your ass to lift you up. Your legs wrap around his hips and one of his hands lines his cock with your pussy. His eyes look into yours, as if he’s asking permission, and you nod, bracing yourself for the stretch that comes a moment later.

“Fuck-” you groan, burying your face against his throat as he begins to fill you up.

Two digits were big, but his cock is bigger, and your inner walls work to accommodate him as he pushes in inch by inch.

You’re trembling by the time he’s fully inside of you, your hips pressed together. His lips press kisses to your hair, and his fingers dig against your hips.

“You feel like Heaven,” he breathes.

“But you better fuck me like Hell,” you retort, swallowing thickly as you get used to his size.

“You got it, alpha,” Mingyu nods.

Something tells you even if you weren’t in the river alcove, Mingyu could fuck you like a beast carrying you in this position, but the water makes it even easier for him to maneuver your body. It almost feels effortless, if it weren’t for his large biceps bulging as he begins to rut into you.

God, he’s so fucking pretty-

His cock hits all your spots, filling you just right.

If you’d been lost in his kisses, you’re practically brain dead from his cock. You’re clinging to his shoulders, eyes closed in bliss as he pleasures you, rutting into you faster and harder, making the water lap loudly at your sides.

Mingyu’s groaning in your ear, and the sound makes your pussy flutter around him, which only makes him louder. “Alpha-” he cries desperately, grip digging into your ass.

“That’s it, puppy,” you coo, threading your fingers through his hair. “You’re doing so good for me-”

He’s panting now, and you realize he must be close. You suppose that’s what happens when he gets to finger fuck you to an orgasm but you make him wait after stroking him off.

You hadn’t thought about what do to with his cum when you’d entered the water, and now, you’re realizing you’re going to have to make him pull out.

After just helping Seungcheol’s mate give birth, you’ve discovered you don’t want kids anytime soon, and Mingyu cumming inside of you could pose a bit of a problem to your future plans.

You’re going to hate to do this to him- even though you know he won’t protest.

In the dark corners of your mind, part of you plays with the idea of him refusing to pull out. Of him going full alpha and negating your wishes, of him filling you to the brim with his cum and forcing you to feel all of him.

But you don’t want an alpha. You want him. And it feels like freedom to be fucking a beta who is going to listen to your every word.

“Gyu,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.

He grunts.

“You can’t cum inside of me,” you tell him.

“Fuck, right- yeah,” he nods, swallowing thickly. “I can pull out.”

“But you’ll make me cum first, right?” you question.

God, it might just kill him to fuck you while you cum and hold off his own orgasm, only to pull out of you and jack off into the stupid river-

“Yes alpha, I’ll make you cum,” he promises, fucking you harder. “Please, I’m close- I need you to cum-”

“I’m close too,” you assure him, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of his massive cock stretching out your pussy. You can feel a vein running along the underside of his length, that’s how big he is, and it makes your toes curl. “Shit, puppy-”

“Please,” he whimpers, and you realize he’s nearly overstimulated.

Having Mingyu completely undone while he fucks you is the cherry on top of your pleasure, and you let out a choked gasp, holding onto him tightly while your second orgasm slams into you.

Your pussy clamps down on his cock and Mingyu lets out a loud moan, fingers digging into your hips roughly. He’s panting hard, cussing all sorts of swear words into your ear while he fucks you through your high, taking care of you until you’re done.

The moment you push at his shoulders, he pulls out of you, letting you onto your feet while he wraps a hand around his cock-

“No, let me,” you insist, pushing his fingers out of the way so you can grab his aching length with both fists.

You press your lips to his neck, kissing him and licking at his sensitive skin while you jack him off, and a second later he’s letting out a deep moan in the back of his throat. It’s something near a growl, and it’s one of the sexiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

“That’s it, puppy,” you praise. “Cum for me. Cum for me, big guy, just like that-”

“Alpha,” he whimpers, body jerking as your touch overstimulates him, and when he’s done, he pushes your hands away from his throbbing cock, struggling to catch his breath.

He leans down, resting his forehead against yours while you both stand there panting.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you tight to his chest. His heart is racing wildly, and you smile against his skin, pressing soft kisses there. “That was so good,” he tells you. “You’re so good-”

“You did all the work,” you whisper, holding him tighter.

“No, I just did what alpha asked me too,” he argues.

You decide to let him win this one, and you melt against his warm chest, snuggling closer.

You’re not sure how long you stand like that, but when Mingyu finally lets you go, he cups your jaw, bringing your lips to his.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and it makes your body tense. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said it-”

“No,” you assure him, pressing your hand on his chest. “I love you too.”

“You do?” Mingyu blinks down at you.

You nod. “In fact… I would have marked you, made you mine, but… I have to talk to Seungcheol first.”

“Right,” Mingyu swallows, “Seungcheol.”

“You remember your other alpha, right, big guy?” you laugh.

“Yeah.” The beta runs a hand through his hair, gaze shifting to the rocky shore. “We should probably head back.”

“That might be a good idea,” you concede. “Seungcheol probably needs you right now.”

Mingyu nods, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the water’s edge.

He lets you out first, and you have the suspicion he’s staring at your ass.

“Take my flannel,” Mingyu tells you. “Your clothes are ruined.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” you grin, reaching down for the long shirt that acts like a dress as you wrap it around your naked form.

Mingyu tugs on his jeans, and you fish your panties out of your clothes, slipping them on.

“You know, I got these so you could see me in them,” you admit, showing him your ass, “But you hardly got to enjoy them before we got in the water.”

“I have time to enjoy them,” he assures you, pulling you in for a kiss.

He smiles against your lips, and you laugh, looking up at him. “What?”

“I’m just thinking… thinking about the day you arrived here. How I gave you my shirt then, and now here we are, with you in another flannel.”

“You were my knight in shining armour,” you tell him, heart swelling at the memory.

“I can’t explain it,” Mingyu says, “but part of me knew even then- I knew that you were going to change everything. I’m so happy you came to us.”

You beam up at your new mate. “Me too.”

You’re not surprised to find Seungcheol waiting for you when you arrive back at the cabins. He’s on his porch, holding a tiny bundle of blankets, and he stands when you and Mingyu exit the forest.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” you tell Mingyu.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.

“I think this is something he’ll want to discuss alone, you know, alpha business.” You gently elbow Mingyu’s side and he flashes you a smile.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, breaking off from you to head toward his own cabin while you approach the alpha watching you.

“Hi,” you greet Seungcheol, stopping at the steps.

“Hi,” he responds, gaze following Mingyu.

“That’s a cute baby you’ve got there,” you offer, hoping to break some of the tension you’re feeling.

“He wouldn’t be here without you,” Seungcheol nods. “My mother said you pulled your weight today, and I wanted to thank you.”

“No need,” you assure him. “I was happy to help… is your mate asleep?”

“Yeah, she needs rest.” Seungcheol starts down the stairs. “Come walk with me.”

The two of you head out into the field, and you wait for Seungcheol to start the conversation you know you’re about to have.

The alpha stops in the middle of the open space, looking back at the cabins. “Is it real?” he asks finally.

“Hmm?”

“You and Mingyu,” Seungcheol clarifies, gently rocking the baby in his arms. “Is it real.”

“Yeah,” you nod, licking at the grass and everting your eyes. “I felt something the moment I saw him.”

“He’s a good guy,” Seungcheol sighs. “An even better beta, and the best right-hand man I could have ever asked for.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you agree. “And he knows how lucky he is to have you as an alpha.”

“And that’s how it’s always going to be,” Seungcheol breathes. “I’m his alpha. I can’t have him torn between us if disagreements ever arise. I could manage if someone else was loyal to you, but not him.”

“He’s still loyal to you,” you insist. “As I said when we met, I’m not looking to be a leader. He can be your right-hand man, and I can be your… left-hand woman.” You both chuckle at the notion. “No one will challenge you with me and Mingyu at your side.”

“I guess there’s truth in that,” Seungcheol admits.

“I admire you,” you continue. “Not only did you not choose an omega as a mate, you chose a human, and you made her into a beta. I don’t know many alphas that can say that. I think… I think if you get to choose your mate, I should be able to as well.”

“Is that an alpha suggestion, or your personal opinion?”

“Just an opinion,” you say softly.

There are a few beats of silence, and you listen to the wind rustling through the trees. It’s shocking how much has changed in just a few days. New life in the pack, both the baby and you. New love too.

“I don’t know you that well yet,” Seungcheol says, choosing his words carefully. “But if Mingyu trusts you, then I guess I do too.”

“Really?” you look at the alpha, eyes widening.

Seungcheol doesn’t meet your gaze, he continues looking out at the cabins, but he gives a curt nod. “If you both like each other as much as you obviously do, who am I to come between that?”

“Well, you’re the alpha, so the decision is really up to you-”

“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “This isn’t the sort of thing I want to be a deciding authority on. And… if it’s any consolation, the two of you have my blessing.”

Your breath catches, and your throat feels dry. “Thank you,” you say, voice cracking. “I uh… Thank you.”

“No need,” Seungcheol smiles, repeating the words you’d said to him only a minute ago. “Just…” he turns to face you, “don’t break his heart, yeah?”

“Alpha,” you laugh, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” Seungcheol nods. “Welcome to the pack.”

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🔮 preview. “You’re so pretty,” your mate groans, one of his large hands sneaking up to cup your breast. His thumb brushes over your nipple and you whimper at the feeling. Mingyu sits up suddenly, adjusting a palm to the floor so he can keep himself up while his lips seek out your breasts. He starts by sucking a mark into your skin, letting out a deep sound of pleasure while pressing his face between your boobs. You place your hands on his shoulders, using him as leverage to fuck him harder. The sound of your thrusts fills the small room, and you can hear how wet you are with each bounce. You bet Jeonghan and Joshua can hear it too.

cw/ tw. Protected sex, vouyerism (sex while others listen), slight exhibitionism (sex in an unfinished cabin), size kink, boob worship, mentions of claim marks, big dick Mingyu, praise, dirty talk, mutual orgasm, blow job, deep throating, etc… I pet names: (hers) alpha. (his) big guy, puppy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 400

🌙 staring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s not that working on building cabins out in the forest had been easy, but nothing compares to the difficulties of trying to focus on a build while Mingyu walks around shirtless, skin glistening in the sun with sweat. His scent perfumes the locations he’s working on, and it’s been three straight weeks of you trying desperately to ignore the wet of your panties sticking to your core.

The structure is definitely coming together though, and each day brings you closer to having a place you can call your own. Fucking Mingyu in the RV has been… interesting to say the least. He’s just so big- he doesn’t fit in the tiny bunk bed, so he’s taken to fucking you against the walls, the whole wheeled home rocking-

In fact, a few of your new packmates have come up with the saying, ‘When the RV’s a’ rockin’ don’t come a knockin'. You’re much too used to fogged up windows and biting into a pillow to stop screams from escaping the badly insulated vehicle, and the idea that soon you’ll have a cabin to fuck him in is making you all the more eager to get the project complete.

“When do you think we’ll get this done?” you ask, looking over Jeonghan’s shoulder at the project plans as you finish up for the day.

“Two weeks?” he suggests. “We’ve been making good time on this. Our window guys is set to come in a few days and then after that we just have to set up plumbing and electrical, then furnishings-” Jeonghan lets out a deep breath, considering all the moving parts. “Yeah, I could see you and Mingyu moving in here pretty soon.”

“Mingyu’s not moving in with me,” you insist.

Jeonghan flashes you a knowing smile. “Sure he isn’t.” The wolf rolls up the cabin plans, looking around the space. “You know, even though the windows aren’t in yet, I’m pretty sure if you and Mingyu wanted to christen the place, it’s far enough from everyone else that you could get away with it without Seungcheol knowing and getting mad.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you smirk.

“That’s me, I’m just full of good ideas,” Jeonghan returns your grin. “But at the same time… if you wanted us to hear you two, if you wanted to be loud, I don’t think any of us would mind.”

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hana-no-seiiki · 2 months

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Good news. Did some decent progress on What’s Up Danger so you guys will finally get fed this Wednesday! Bad news, the quality might not be the best since I’m fasting while writing it oTL

Anyways, here are some Batfam w/ Cat Villain! Reader moments/snippets.

TW YANDERE AND MENTION OF NONCON/SOMNO

Both Jason and Reader’s first words to each other were, “What the fuck.”

Reader referring to Jason being a giant, and violent asf esp in comparison to Dick. While Jason was confused at his heart beating so fast and mildly crushing on you while you were fighting.

Bonus points: You guys did the spiderman point meme.

You have the biggest age gap with Dick. I headcannon the boys to be close in age so there wouldn’t be any not so good implications when it comes to relationships, but it’s almost unavoidable unless Batman switches sidekicks every year or so. (You are younger than Jason but older than Tim)

But that is also another reason why you two didn’t click as well as you did with Jason

You’d often make jokes or use slang and Dick would just be “???” He tried his best though.

On the reverse side of things, and like I mention before Tim and you got along too well as friends. He’s one of the few people you could gush to about literally any fandom and he somehow (through stalking your searches and literally every gadget/appliance you owned) knew everything about it already.

You two have written several theses on fellow vigilantes and villains (mostly ‘dumb’ ones like who has the best cake based on so and so criteria)

Damian is the best when it comes to bantering with you mid-fight. It’s the combined years of sass and assassin training. Went from plain insults to whole ass (not so) subtly being horny when you beat each other down.

He’s also the worst (best?) when it comes to your nicknames. He insists that you two use it on each other. Some exclusive while others he’s usually fine hearing from other mouths.

There was one point in time where you were called Kitten while the boys forced/bribed you to call them Daddy

Tim and Jason have tattoos of you/related to you.

For Jason it’s your name with a few paw prints, and for Tim it’s when he first fought you (and got his ass whooped)

After Jason came back and revealed himself to you, he tattooed the scratch marks you left him on his back after doing the deed.

Damian secretly practices doing henna so he can draw on you during your “wedding” since he doesn’t want anyone touching you. Sort of defeats the purpose, but go off king.

Being the thorough guy he is, he uses lab equipment to make his own blends.

Bruce? Bruce hates your ass. Sometimes it’s in a hatefuckey way but most of the time he blames you for corrupting his kids.

So he corrupted you in turn.

I feel like he gets off to cucking them honestly (blame that one comic) but if Reader is AFAB I wouldn’t be surprised if he impregnated them.

He’s a softie at heart when it comes to you though, courtesy of your similarities with Selina.

Speaking of, Talia adores you.

Like if there was anyone she would want with her son it was you.

She thinks the fact that you haven’t been put behind bars is a testament to your skill, and after getting over your similarity to her “rival in love” she would actively get you to be with her son.

Eventually she realizes she loves you more than Bruce and well, that’s a story for another fic.

You have at least a dozen trackers on you at all times.

Most of them you’ve ingested and pooped out.

It’s mostly Tim of course. But the duty of actually feeding you that stuff usually goes to Dick.

Dick has uh- somnophillia’ed you a fair bit after the break up.

He really, and I mean really likes to watch you sleep.

It reminds him of those ‘catnaps’ you’d take while watching over the Titans.

There would be times where he’d just be in a daze/in autopilot for hours reminiscing about your past together

His favorite memories to go back to were your first fight together, first kiss, and times under the sheets, and a date you guys had before in a festival/circus.

He never takes the antidote for Poison Ivy’s sex pollen and always comes to you for it, regardless of his or your relationship status.

Tim has at least a million typewritten chats with AI you, and around a few hundred hours of voice chats.

You did eventually take his virginity.

He came as soon as he was inside you/you were inside him.

You have been offered to be a part of the bat crew or a vigilante. But,

you massacred many after Jason’s supposed death and feel too guilty to call yourself anything other than a villain.

Chokers with bells. It’s a popular gift to give you. Especially ones that are custom made with expensive ass materials and engraving.

Sometimes Tim just gives you weapons.

Alfred is your best source of blackmail material.

You’ve actively tried cursing him (with immortality). You love the man.

He’s secretly the president of your official fanclub/fansite but you didn’t hear that from me.

You fight a lot with Damian’s pets. Like in a way that you turn into a literal cat and hiss at them.

And last but not least, you’re vv close with every member of the Teen Titans (besties with Rachel and Garfield)

NOT PROOFREAD!!!

@sophiethewitch1

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iwaasfairy · 7 months

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┌─ “ ! „ TROPHY

tw. noncon, yandere, explicit gore, lobotomy, blood, pain, power imbalance, doctor kink, badly aged terms about mental health, domestic abuse mentions, somno implications, praise, choking wordcount. 4.7k

a/n. ♡ i realized all my iwa fics were mostly really fluffy and sweet, so here's a gross one. gotta keep up my reputation yk! tysm to the betas ily ily ily

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

The doctors have been standing around in a circle for what feels like hours, scraping their pens against the paper. Each check, each prodding, probing touch feels like it’s going on for the sake of going. Hours today, hours yesterday, on and on into infinity. Your skin feels cold, and you fidget by rubbing your fingers against each other for the briefest spark of warmth, before that too fizzles out into nothing. Because that’s what this is, right? A cold, barren nothingness that swallows up every inch of your body.

You can barely remember the look of the sky outside the metal barred walls that keep you, only catching glimpses that pass too quickly. Or the feeling of warm sunlight shining on your face as you rest against the windowsill, watching cars go by. The brief flash of a memory crosses over your view, a hot summer day and your hair sticking to your neck. Hands winding down your shoulders to keep you in a comfortable embrace, and a kiss to your cheek.

It’s nothing like the cold, sterile walls that you’re looking up at now, sitting on the cold metal stretcher with your wrists wrapped in leather. This is all you are now. This is what keeps you separate from the nutcases in the other wing. Little threat of re-offending.

One of the older men pushes his small, round glasses higher up his nose as he approaches, and waves a light past your eyes a few times, snapping his fingers all the while. “Any lightheadedness? Dizziness? Spots in your vision to be concerned about?” You wouldn’t know it with the callous way he regards you, but apparently they’re trying to help. That’s what they say, when they drag you out of your cage. The burning of the light makes your eyes water, but you blink that wetness away as best as you can.

“No, Doctor.”

The graying man runs his eyes along the sheet on his clipboard, and then his mouth corners pull down, as a few of the other equally graying men start mumbling among each other again, feeling far off. Everything feels far off with the stuff they’ve been putting in you lately. More drugs. More tests. It all feels like a never ending cycle — even though the sane part of you knows it isn’t. Or, wasn’t, until you bit one of the men who tried to lead your face to his crotch with the threat of beating you to death. You bit so hard that they had to amputate, is what you heard, before they shot you full of cotton.

And you’d cry, if you were any more awake. The tears don’t spill, they just sit on your vision and wobble at best. What all of the men in this room see when they look at you, is a violent young killer. They ask you about it when you’re shot up with fluids until you can barely hold your eyes open, and you have to pretend to really hear them. To be remorseful. How can you, when you can’t even remember your own face? You forget your name seconds after they call it. And most frustrating of all, is that you do remember that you can’t remember. This is forever, no matter how little threat there is of re-offending now that they’ve ‘found’ the right mix of chemicals to knock you out like a light.

They say you killed your fiancé with a kitchen knife.

You might have… the honest truth is that you don’t know. The pictures look entirely foreign, even though that face, that mouth, that tear-stricken expression is supposedly you. You don’t remember getting your head smashed against the kitchen counter until blood coated the entire bottom half of your face, and trying to get away. You don’t remember grabbing the knife and plunging it into your fiancé’s collar, or anything that came after it either. It’s like the blood running out of your nose got clogged up and now, you can’t recall anything at all.

Just these gray walls, and the cold floor of your ‘room’, and the brief walks you’re allowed to take outside under the cloudy weather that always surrounds the criminal hospital. All these men standing before you know more about you than you do yourself. More wetness wells up in your eyes, but it doesn’t spill. You don’t feel violent. But you also can barely hold your head up without the support of the metal brace, and they say you did what you did. At this point, your thoughts are too heavy and slow to disprove any of it, pooling in your mouth with your spit— and gliding down your throat each time you risk choking when you swallow.

“How about we call it for today?” A coarse voice sounds from the far off confines of the cloudiness that the drugs leave you with. But it’s a voice that sparks something yet, accompanied by the only young face that you’ve seen in a while. He’s tall and dark haired and intense, but looks too at ease when he walks along, stopping a few feet short. Everyone else looks like you’re a wild animal. But he’s warmer, like sand after a long day of baking in the sun. “You’ve done well,” he almost smiles at you, then turns to them. “That’s alright, isn’t it? My patient’s been awfully accommodating with all the tests.”

He carries this air about him that’s more familiar, where his hand lands on the top of your head and he gently brushes your crown in circles. You feel your head bobbing because of the pressure, and your eyes heavier than before. When you gain more awareness again, you’re already back in the small four walls that keep you enclosed— and the Doctor is crouched before you. Beautiful greens stare into your eyes, a few fingers holding your chin up. It’s warm. Your mouth feels dry and cottony when you speak, and hold your eyes open as best you can. “Sir.”

“Hm?” His free hand slides something into your ear, that’s cold and beeps softly, before he looks again. “Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?” After a bit of silence, he sighs, and you smell the musk of him, mixed with some cologne that stings your lungs a little. But it’s better than nothing, and your mouth waters like you’re really just a dog. “Your bouts of amnesia have been getting worse lately, hm, sweet girl? Naturally…” His fingers go from holding your head up to along your throat, brushing hot circles there for just a few seconds, before he takes the beeping tool out again. “I’m your main physician here, remember? You asked for me specifically.”

That seems to bring him a lot of pride, because when he hangs back more onto his heels, he gives you a tooth-aching smile. “Dr. Iwaizumi Hajime.” You suppose he wants to see some kind of recognition, but you’re not sure what to say. Aside from the vaguest hint of recognition of the handsome planes of his face, everything stays that same muddled sea of glue that you can’t pull your feet out of. You do your best to smile though, muscles aching.

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you still feeling ill?” he turns to his box of tools, and you slump along the wall as soon as he lets you go. Not enough to topple over, but enough to feel more like a filled sack of sand, than a human. “Still having hot flares?” He places his large palm over your forehead, and scans your expression once over again. “If it were up to me they wouldn’t pump you full of this shit, y’know. Sadly even your personal physician doesn’t have full say over that, of course, so I have to play nice with the other doctors.” Then he cups your cheek, and though maybe you’d shy away otherwise, the kind touch of another human being has your bottom lip wobbling. “There she is. You’ve been awfully docile these last few weeks. Haven’t heard you make a peep.”

The tone shifts to one of slightly more concern, and your heavy lids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t, sweetheart.” He starts packing up his things ever so neatly when you just start getting feeling back in your fingers— and you probably shouldn’t, but with enormous effort you manage to grab onto the bottom of his white coat, surprising the doctor enough that it goes quiet. You just want… to talk to another person a little longer. Does that make you a bad patient? Your tongue is molten against the bottom of your mouth, but your fingers still tighten clumsily into the fabric.

Dr. Iwaizumi only thinks for a moment when heat creeps up to his ears, before he closes the gap. Closes the gap and … has your mouth against his, a wet tongue that isn’t your own invades your space like it isn’t anything at all, and spit that mixes with yours as your lips are opened with some effort. He kisses on you, licks into your mouth as you let your eyes fall shut and your hand clings onto him -unsure where to go- to flee. And get kissed deeply, passionately, your head knocked against the wall at your back. But he’s warm, and your goosebumps let up for the first time, even as he doesn’t allow you to pull back with both hands around your cheeks. Not until your body automatically starts making a noise, and you start to struggle.

You gasp out for air like you’ve forgotten where it goes— but the brunet barely leaves you any space at all, as a string of spit breaks between you two. And he wipes his thumb over your bottom lip, before sliding it onto your tongue with a gravelly moan. “Ahh, I missed you.” The pressure of his thumb keeping your wiggling tongue in place is suffocating. He leans in to brush his nose and lips along your jaw and cheek. “Always miss you when I have to go.” There’s a soft kiss that tingles across your face, before he pulls back. The noises of other cells echo down the hall, and though you can’t see them, the yelling gets louder. He doesn’t even blink, though. Is this yet another thing you’ve forgotten about?

Judging by the way he takes his thumb out of your mouth to slide it into his own, and then looks at you with such love-stricken adoration, you must have. Your shell-shocked quiet doesn’t stop him from giving you another barely-hidden smile, and he brushes his knuckle under your eye to get rid of some wetness there. “I’ve got to go check up on some others, or else they’ll come looking for me.” He packs up the last of his tools, wiping them clean, before tracing his eyes along your features again. “You’re such a doll. Can’t believe you have to be locked up here.” He stands, then clicks his tongue as he seems to stare through the walls with narrowing brows. “I handled you just fine before, didn’t I?”

You can’t say anything. Not only because you’re still bursting with adrenaline, but it’s not like you remember. He seems to come to this conclusion at the same time, because he then softly laughs. “Ah, you wouldn’t know. Forget I said anything.” He takes a moment to adjust himself in his pants unashamed, then tucks his shirt back properly in— clinging to his built figure too much. With another pat on your crown, he nods. “You’ll start waking up more in an hour or so. I’ll be back.”

With that he leaves you behind, and the heavy metal door gets slid back into place before you get the chance to make another peep. And tears well back up before he even locks the hatch.

The darkness of the room is in sharp contrast with the bright overhead light that’s beaming down on your face. You can’t help it, you’re trashing against the straps that hold you to the table, and the rag that’s in your mouth does nothing to prevent the feeling of sheer panic that takes over you. As several white shapes roam around you with low commands that you can’t make out over the sound of your own crying, you miss the numbing. It was better when you couldn’t feel a thing at all -at least then you wouldn’t be choking on your own tears as you try to take deep breaths.

Everything’s blurry.

But the slight edge in one of the voices pulls for attention, trying to focus on the sound. If you can’t see through your tears, you can listen. “Aren’t we being too hasty? Her memory and attention span have been basically stagnant since June— which means she’s not worsening.” There’s that voice that has been chasing you every waking hour of the last -week, maybe more- rough and low, but comforting nevertheless. You can tell that one of the blurry white shapes moves closer to you, and try to angle yourself to get closer. Even an inch closer would be better.

“No offense Doctor, but your judgment has been overruled. You’re speaking solely out of personal care for the girl.” Another old voice cuts in. “She’s been deteriorating every day, and we simply do not have the funding, Iwaizumi. The only reason we’re allowing you here is for educational purposes. But don’t forget you’re still on probation until the end of this year.”

A hand wraps around your own, feeling much warmer than you are. You cling to it with all the strength you have. Sadly it isn’t much. Your fingers barely obey your will to curl back around the touch, the only thing that’s keeping you tethered to the real world. “I’ll take personal responsibility for her, Sir. She’s been improving in my care—”

“Enough of this.” The older voice cuts in. “Like I said, you have been overruled. This is the quickest and cleanest cure for violent insanity in women.” You can’t help but start thrashing against the binds, and try to speak around the gag that keeps your mouth jerked open, but nothing other than a soft crying comes out. You’re not sure if it’s the panic or the drugs anymore. Multiple of the men round on the table, and you’re pressed down deeper into the leather covering. You don’t want to hurt anyone again. Promise. Promise. Your arms are held down, and your forehead’s pressed down too.

“She bit a guard’s finger clean off. We can’t possibly justify not treating such a danger.” None of this is my fault, you think— but they have yet to ask you. They have yet to listen. You suddenly have an overwhelming sense of loneliness, remembering flashes of faces you must have loved. People who must have loved you - though you can’t recall them. There’s an awful scraping noise as the metal tool table is rolled closer, and some man with a mask dips into your view.

You never meant to hurt anyone.

You’re bawling now. The adrenaline pumps through your veins as you stare up at the light, then swallow around the gag. There’s some more rummaging as the warm touch leaves your hand, and you sniffle. You squeeze your eyes closed tightly. A wet wipe is dragged over your eyes without warning, swiping your hot tears away, and finally your wiggling stops. There’s no use. The leather’s digging into your skin, and the sad moaning that you can bring out doesn’t convince any of these men that you’re sane. Maybe you’re not. Would you even know it? They clean your face with rough swipes, and then something even more restrictive is placed over your head. “Alright, she’s sanitized.” You try not to choke on your hiccups. “Surgery in session. Doctor...”

You just want to go home. You want to go home, please.

There’s a prick under your brow that takes you by surprise. It’s sharp, and though you can’t feel it sting like it would without any drugs— it’s still uncomfortable. The gear around your face keeps you from moving, keeping you stuck to the table, but your breathing instinctively gets more shallow, and rapid. Before you can say, or do, or think, a loud smack knocks your head back and heat spills all over your face. A push so hard against your skull that makes your body tense so tight your bones feel like splintering. The pressure’s unbearable— more than just painful, it’s a loud thumping, shaking your entire skull. You want them to stop.

Pain, p-p-pain rocks you upside down.

The pain ebbs in over your entire face —suffocating you from the inside, like a knife’s being wedged along the inside of your eye socket— scraping, and the blood’s everywhere. Streaming all over your face and swelling your eyes and cheeks and head. Your nose is full of it, forcing you to choke down the thick coppery heat. It grinds before it snaps, and the resonating clack of your bone giving in is loud enough to deafen everything else. It hurts. It hurts. You’re sleepy. Sick and in pain and wired too tight all at once, not able to think before another thump knocks you over the head and your head vibrates until it explodes. Or not.

Please stop.

it hur-ts. hurts.

It floods your ears with static, indescribable pressure, and worms deeper until everything’s black - out like a lightswitch.

…

He feels bad.

They’re jamming the metal rod deeper and shaking it hard enough to rock your head. Your poor, pretty face mangled and covered in a fresh, red-hot coating that will be his job to clean up later. Iwa’s breath is bated, and the coppery tang sticks to his lungs.

The halls echo with his rhythmic steps. Iwaizumi hates the smell of this place, treated air that circles around a thousand times before getting out. He hates the monotonous routine of it all— and he hates above all else that people are constantly on his back to leave you for some retarded nut that takes up all of his patience. But he is a Doctor. It’s expected of him, and if he gets fired before you get discharged - what was the point. He gets to your door, that familiar door with the pretty sticker of your name, and pushes in with the creaking of the metal. You’re still on the bed, barely looking up, and in some ways it hurts his heart a little.

He hadn’t really meant for it to go this way. All he ever wanted was to be near you. To have you close enough to touch and smell and hold, and for a moment after the judges’ ruling, he got his wish. With a procession that dumped you inside the barbed walls of the hospital, he’d volunteered to oversee you - and every other doctor was swamped enough not to blink twice. He’d worked so hard to get you right here— your pretty face cupped in his hands, getting to kiss you, long to come back to you each evening he’d lock up.

But then you had to bite one of the guards. He isn’t even mad about it either. The sweaty, mustached swine had been eyeing you from the second you came in, and you’d protected yourself so valiantly for such a sweet, little thing.

But it did throw a wrench into his works - and everything kept spiraling.

“Hello doll, I missed you.” He breathes out, then pulls you upright onto the bed when you face him. “Are you hurting? Are you feeling sick?” The bruising around both eyes has gone down entirely, but there’s still a ghost of color painting your eye sockets. Still, your eyes follow his voice, but you don’t respond. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “No? That’s good. You’re looking much better today.” You’re so warm against him, and your scent floods him as he nuzzles into your cheek with a smile. It’s not like he’s happy with this outcome. He didn’t want this to happen.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week while you’ve been in the ICU. Missed you,” he places both hands on your face, making you smile just slightly, before kissing you on the mouth. You don’t really react, but you don’t push him away either. He kisses, and kisses, only taking brief moments between to look at you. “So much. Missed you so much. My sweet girl.” As you sit still and quiet, smiling, he can’t help but imagine taking you home already. You’ll be discharged soon enough, judging by your recovery— and when you do, all your family will have gone. Moved, or have passed away, or simply too old to be caretakers. And hey, he’s more than proven himself capable of caring.

“Do you want to kiss me more?” he asks as he leans down to you a little, capturing your attention again. “Yeah? You want to kiss more?”

“Kiss,” you parrot, and your pretty smile brightens. Fuck, he loves you. He’s not been able to stop since the day he first met you. Of course he’ll indulge you. Last time he allowed himself to let loose, things didn’t end so well. But that was before, and now he’s made very sure that no one will interrupt you both. His mouth meets yours as you sit still like a doll, nice and polite, and he opens your lips with his own, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You taste so fucking good. Maybe it’s his almost compulsive imagining leading up to this moment throughout the week, but there’s nothing better. You taste sweet and let him lead you back as he wraps your arm around him, pulling you closer.

Your arms hang limply around his waist, but no matter. It’s not like that’s stopped him before. He takes a quick scan of your fluttering lashes before you open your mouth, and he leans back in to kiss you again. Tongue sliding in to taste all of you until his entire body feels tight and his cock is so hard it’s starting to hurt against his pants. You simply oblige when he starts pushing you back onto the bed. “Back, back, back, that’s a good girl. Such a good, pretty girl for me.” His hands slide down your shoulders, over your chest as his breathing catches, and then settle at your hips to pull your butt closer to the edge. And you are pretty. It’s almost a bit unfair how good you look with your eyes half lidded and a barely there smile on your cheeks that makes him all warm inside.

“Do you know what I’m doing? What we’re gonna do?” he asks after a few seconds, and despite feeling horrible -he really does- his cock twitches when you shake your head a few times. He slides your flimsy blue gown up your thighs a bit, and moans at the sight of the smooth soft skin revealed to him. “That’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fuck, you make him feel like a timid virgin all over again, looking so damn erotic splayed out before him with no shame. He wonders if before, you’d have blushed. If you’d have whined and played coy, or if you’d have been so damn needy for his presence that you’d spread your legs for him even easier.

This is more than good enough though. He undoes his belt with slightly shaky hands, feeling the heat of your body on his skin, and then shoves a hand down his pants to take out his awfully throbbing cock. When he takes your thigh into his hand again and squeezes, you make a little moan that sounds almost like a purring cat- leaning into the warmth of his touch. His throat closes up, but he forces out a sentence as he leans in. “I’m just going to stick my hot cock inside you- you like that, don’t you? Fill you up, get nice and close?” Iwa’s mouth’s basically watering as he kisses you. He’s unable to help it. “Yeah, you like that. I know you do, pretty girl.”

He wraps a hand around the thick shaft and gives it a few slow pumps, biting back a moan. Then he sinks to his knees to hike your legs up over his shoulders and thumbs over your pussy a few times. Clear slick makes you all wet and sticky, drooling pussy waiting for his touch. He doesn’t make you wait long, because his tongue swipes out to lick up against you— sliding the wet muscle over your pussy and rubbing over the sensitive nub at the top. You let out a slight moan, and your legs twitch as he continues, licking and sucking and abusing your poor, needy cunt by rough fingers that trail around your hole before just barely slipping in to stretch you out. “Look so good, baby. You always look so good.”

“I knew,” he gets up from the floor to stand back between your legs, “that you’d still be a needy whore. Your pussy needs me even when you’re sleepy, so- fu-agh-” His cock brushes up against you as he lines up, and leans into you to grab a handful of your tits. “Can you say ‘thank you’?” You whine instead, and sort of wiggle in place, like you can’t articulate what you need. But he gets it by the way you grind yourself against the flushed, swollen head of his cock, and your mouth hangs open desperately. “Say ‘thank you for taking care of me, Doctor’,” he breathes out, while pushing into that tight, hot pussy that instantly clings to him.

You whimper, and he laces one of your hands with his by force, pulling you closer, deeper onto his cock as he slides in inch by inch. You feel so fucking good, hot enough to make his entire brain cloudy. Fuck. “I missed you so much, baby. You feel so fucking good- god.” You’re squeezing around him hard enough to make it hard to keep back the groans that spill out of him involuntarily. It’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose, but one glance at those teary, far-off eyes tells him more than you could, yourself. “Come on, say ‘thank you’. I know you can.” He winds his other hand around your soft throat and squeezes a little, until your back curls off the table and his cock bottoms out, nice and snug in the tight pouch of your tummy.

“Than’ you-” you slur back when he shakes your face a little, and though it’s a weak whimper, it’s enough to make him shudder.

“That’s a good pet- fuck. Agh-uh, my precious girl.” He pulls back and slides in again harder and deeper, speeding up the rhythm of the bed clanging against the wall. You know, he’d feel bad. He would— but your pussy’s sucking him in so deep, and your legs wrap around his thighs like you want to be even closer, like you’re still enjoying it. He leans in to kiss you again, and whispers your name like you’re cherished. You are. Each time he pulls back, more slick and wetness spills and makes the place you’re meeting into a mess, tits bouncing.

He hikes one of your legs up to your side instead, dangling over his arm to get closer, fuck you even deeper. And even you must feel the change, because you start moaning and wiggling despite yourself- as his cock fills you up again and again, bumping up against the soft heat of your walls. “You can still cum, can’t you?” His jaw clenches, and he reaches between your two sweaty bodies with messy circles over your puffy clit, unable to hold out for much longer. You’re just squeezing so fucking tight. “Cum, cum on my cock- gh-that’s it. That’s what you’re best at, aren’t you, baby~” God, you’re going to make him knock you up. Always clinging to him so fucking tight.

Your walls clench hard enough to make him see double, and before he’s even got the chance to pull out, hot ropes of cum fill you up until you’re sucking him dry.

#iwa x reader #iwa kinktober #iwaizumi smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq iwa #haikyuu x reader #tw.dark content #tw.noncon #tw.blood #tw.gore #tw.manipulation #💫ch.iwaizumi

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depravitycentral · 5 months

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Daichi Sawamura Yandere NSFW Profile

Yandere! Daichi Sawamura x fem! reader

TW: dub/noncon, kidnapping, masturbation, voyeurism, groping, cum eating (literally and in a kinky way), Daichi is icky and you should never eat any food he provides for you, roleplaying, begging, breeding, Daddy kink, mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of lactation kink, mild undertones of misogyny, obviously this is post-timeskip Daichi, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10.0K

HABITS:

Before you walked into Daichi’s life, he wasn’t an avid fan of touching himself. He had no problems with sex – it was normal, natural, and he was most certainly no stranger to the incessant pull of hormones, to the intensity of late night bouts of horniness.

And yet, he’d never really been one to get himself off obsessively, to wrap his fingers around his aching cock and jerk away until a stuttered grunt and sharp exhale of breath tumble past his lips as ropes of white splatter against his chest every night.

Sure, he had stress from his everyday life; stress from his job, his friends, his parents, everything – and he’ll admit that his hand, some lube, and a rather explicit video certainly helped make the stress go away, if only for a bit. He wasn’t necessarily unpopular with women before meeting you, but he’d never really held much of an admiration towards any particular girl for any longer than a week or two, anything deeper than a fleeting attraction that eventually died down and turned to something more platonic.

His feelings are guarded, and it most certainly did not feel right to be fucking his fist to the thought of some girl who he’d never spoken more than fifty words to. Past girlfriends have helped curb his libido a bit, offering him a better alternative than his hand, but Daichi has never felt that enthralled by touching himself and others.

However, once you step into his world, suddenly Daichi’s entire outlook on sex and masturbation changes drastically. He prides himself on being a man of restraint, of respecting the boundaries of others, but where you’re concerned?

Well, is it respectful of him to be daydreaming about bouncing you up and down on his cock, hearing you cry out his name and watching your pretty tits bounce along with you?

Is it disrespectful to think of the way your ass would jiggle as he spanks you, how your voice would sound so airy and breathless when you call out five – oh! Five, Daddy!

Is it crude of him to imagine the way you’d choke and gag as you pull off of his cock, a string of saliva connected to your puffy lips to his swollen tip, cum smeared all along your cheeks as you beg him to let you give him just one more, wanna make you feel good one more time, please!

He’s normally not especially sexually driven, but it’s almost like a switch gets flipped once Daichi realizes how fucking in love he is with you – mind, soul and, of course, body.Lonely nights spent thinking of you and your perfect figure that Daichi desperately wants to touch become more and more frequent, more and more urgent because when he’s laying underneath his covers, his body growing hot as he thinks about what could be hiding under your clothes, how can he not vividly begin imagining the gentle curve of your ass, the plush of your thighs and the wonderful, sweet treat laying between them?

How can he not fantasize about tasting your slick, dipping his tongue between your folds and feeling your fingers tug at his hair while your pretty whines fill his ears?

Because of his stance on getting busy with himself being a time for imagination of someone, Daichi is actually quite touch starved, and once he has his hand wrapped around his achingly hard cock with you in mind for the first time, he starts to question why he didn’t start doing this much sooner.

When it comes to touching himself, he has a pretty set in stone method for how to best get himself off, for how to make the experience the best that he can.

(Everything he can do to himself is subpar in comparison to you, though – just the thought of what your soft fingers could do, your warm mouth, your soaking pussy, your bouncy tits, your pert little asshole is enough to get him groaning and wishing you were with him.)

Daichi has a pattern established on how he touches himself, and he rarely strays from it. It works very well, and it allows his mind to run wild with fantasies of you. Daichi is a dom through and through, and every fantasy he harbors between the two of you (and there are many to choose from) involves him in the more dominant position - him above you, thrusting into you as deeply and sensually as he can, whispering in your ear how good you are for taking his cock so well.

Him sitting up in bed, your legs straddled around him and your fingers splayed over his chest while he moves you up and down, growling out your name and sucking hickies into your neck, occasionally coming up to smack and grab at your ass. He’ll even grab you firmly and thrust up into you from time to time, the abrupt change of pace and force making you cry out and collapse forward, pressing your chest into his face while he sucks at a nipple and growls under his breath.

His obsession with caring and watching over you that plagues his everyday interactions with you translates into the bedroom too - every sexual urge and desire he has about you is really about taking care of you and your needs. He’s the ultimate pleaser, in all honesty, though he does his fair share of teasing at times.

Of course though, he has a few selfish fantasies (namely, he’d love for you to give him head, to be on your knees, sucking and drooling all over his cock while he runs his fingers through your hair, grunting out praise for you and thrusting into that tight throat of yours) that he indulges in once in a while, but generally when he’s alone with just his fist as a poor stand in for your warm, tight, dripping cunt, he focuses on mainly the idea of pleasing and fucking you.

And while he doesn’t ever want to admit it, Daichi has a bit of a dirty secret when it comes to how he masturbates – he’s very much the standard fist fucker, jerking himself off until he’s nearly numb, until he’s panting and his cock is left bright red and swollen, aching for more but too sensitive to endure anything else.

He doesn’t do anything too risqué when he’s jerking his wrist up and down, flicking it slightly as he nears the tip and occasionally letting his thumb glide over his slit, making his hips jerk. He’s not too crazy in that regard, but the small glass jar he pulls out from under his bed and sets on his bedside table is anything but normal. Its half filled with white, sticky semi-liquid, a light film covering the entirety of the jar, looking sinister and kept safe and out of harm’s way so as not to spill a single drop.

When he’s in the mood, his cock already flushed and desperate for contact (which is after nearly every interaction with you, no matter how small or innocent), he’ll just gulp and bite his lip, retreating away to his bedroom with excitement building in his gut. He’ll start by locking the door and dimming the lights, before heading over to his bed and stripping down to nothing.

He’ll twist the lid of the jar off, the potent smell enveloping his senses and leaving him to wonder how you’d react to the aroma, whether you’d be flustered and shyly look away, or whether you’d grab the jar and bring it up to your nose, deeply inhaling and letting your eyes roll to the back of your head, moaning something about how he smells so good, how you want to taste him, how you need him.

Setting the jar back on the table, he’ll sit on his mattress so that he’s leaning back on his knees, his entire chest upright and exposed as his cock slaps up against the skin of his lower stomach, red and drooling precum and absolutely begging for attention.

He’ll run a hand along his chest, scratching lightly at the hard muscles and reaching down to his dark pubic hair, a low groan escaping his throat as he closes his eyes and imagines it’s your wandering hands, so much smaller and softer than his own.

He’ll imagine you laying down before him, spread out and looking so welcoming and ravishing, your hair all wild and your eyes wide with desire, lips already swollen from kissing and dark marks sucked into your neck claiming you as his his his. His cock bobs at just the thought, a thick glob of precum oozing from the tip.

He’ll start slowly, ghosting a hand over his raging erection, feeling how he twitches slightly at the airy contact. He runs his fingertips over the prominent vein on his left side, feeling the way it stands out against the smooth skin of his length, the touch making his toes curl and his thighs twitch.

Sometimes he’ll imagine your soft, perfect lips wrapped around his length, sucking and swirling your tongue around his sensitive head while his fingers are buried in your hair.

Other times, he’ll imagine you under him, looking up at him with those wonderful eyes clouded in lust and ecstasy as he absolutely destroys that precious little pussy of yours, pounding into you so hard that you’re fisting the sheets and crying out for dear life because fuck he’s hitting so deep, and you’re going to come much too soon.

The only sound filling the room while his fist works at his length is the dull thump of his pelvis, along with ragged breathes and little growls of your name and fuck yes, good girl, god just like that, fuck baby how’re you so damn tight mixed with incoherent little gasps of mine as he nears his high.

His pace starts to speed up too as he gets closer and closer to his release, grunts escaping him while he chants your name under his breath, until eventually his hips are bucking over and over into the air, desperate to be thrusting as deeply inside you as possible, and his orgasm tears through him with a low, throaty grunt.

Quickly he’s scrambling to grab onto the jar, knocking things over in his haste as he groans loudly, chanting your name and going on about how you’re so good, so fucking good, fuck wanna – wanna fuck you so bad – take it take it take it – !

His eyes squeeze shut as thick ropes of cum shoot from his red, engorged tip and directly into the open jar, the spurts blending in with the other older, thicker loads stored in the container, and he’ll lowly growl your name, imagining praising you for taking his cock so well and how you’re such a good girl for taking every last drop of his cum while he empties his balls inside the container, keeping his hand lightly pumping to make sure he gets every last drop out. He’ll even grip the base and shake himself a bit to make sure everything he has to offer comes out, drooling from the swollen slit and dripping in big fat drops into the jar.

It takes him a few minutes to recover, and once he does, he’ll smile crookedly down at the glass, bringing it up to nis nose to lightly sniff, the image of your face when you bite into the little snacks he makes you flashing through his mind.

You’re so cute when you’re munching on the little mini bite sized sandwiches he brings you every week during your lunch break, your adorably clueless self never wondering why there seems to be so much mayonnaise, why there’s always a slightly bitter, salty undertaste.

But Daichi doesn’t mind – it’s worth it to see you lick your fingers clean, his mouth going dry at the thought of you licking his cock clean in the same manner, and as he shuts the jar lid and carefully places it back under his bed, knowing he’ll likely have it filled the other half way by the weekend with the sheer amount of cum he produces and the frequency with which he collects it.

And as he leans back against his pillows, he’ll be more lonely than ever, because all he wants in that moment is your warm, beautiful body to be there with him, cuddling into his naked chest and telling him how much you love him.

All he wants is your soft, sticky body clutching onto his, your face nuzzling into his chest and the mixture of his cum and your slick dripping down your thighs and onto him to lull him to sleep. You’re so perfect, and as Daichi slips into a land of dreams filled with your face, he can only hope the day soon comes when his imagination becomes reality.

FAVORITE BODY PART:

Your thighs

He can’t quite explain it, but there’s just something about the expanse of your thighs that gets him gulping, having to adjust both the collar of his shirt and the waistband of his trousers. Size is completely irrelevant to him; you could have the leanest thighs with hardly any fat, the most muscular legs he’s ever seen, or a lovely plush to them that jiggles with your every move, and he’d still be completely, whole-heartedly in love.

There’s just something about the smooth expanses of skin that really get Daichi hot under the collar - maybe it’s the fact that they look so soft and squishy, like he could just reach out and grab a handful, get you flustered and squeaking in surprise as he massages the soft flesh under his palm.

Maybe it’s the way they splay out when you sit down, looking perfect, so fucking tempting, like they could suffocate him so easily and fuck, now he’s hard and staring at your thighs from across the room and god, where’s the nearest bathroom with fairly soundproof walls?

Or maybe it’s because he just knows that there’s a wonderful, sweet surprise waiting in the middle of them, ready for him to love and touch and taste and god, he’s never wanted to fuck something so bad, never wanted to shove his cock into something so much, to fill to fucking brim with his cum and make a completely fucking mess of something as badly as he does your luscious fucking thighs –

Regardless, he’s completely in love with the supple flesh; he wants nothing more than to run his hands up and down them, take a handful and squeeze, nibble until a nice, possessive hickey taints the delicate skin. He wants to touch you so badly, to get the opportunity to love and worship every inch of the supple flesh, to show you just how beautiful you are, how much he loves and appreciates your body.

Each time the thought of them flashes through his mind (something that happens very frequently), he’s practically drooling, his mouth watering and saliva pooling up in his cheeks at just the thought of getting to touch them, of getting to knead your soft skin and hear the way you sigh out in pleasure, of sucking dark hickeys into the delicate skin of your inner thighs, of getting to push them together and fuck the space between them.

It’s honestly pretty bad how quickly and easily your thighs can arouse him - when he sees you wearing anything shorter than full length pants, he has to will his eyes away for fear that he’ll grow hard right then and there, his face flushing red and his throat growing dry.

It’s all too easy to imagine those thighs hooked up over his shoulders, bending your body in half while he pounds into you again and again and again until you’re incoherently crying out, fingernails scratching down his back while he hisses and grunts and pounds into you deeply enough to imprint the shape of his cock onto every part of you.

And once he’s stolen you away, Daichi’s obsession really begins to show – constantly touching you, always groping you and resting a hand against them (preferably between them when you cuddle or watch TV, because the heat alone is enough to have his eyes fluttering closed, a sharp inhale sounding while he shifts around below you) always eyeing them from the corner of his gaze, always forcing you to throw a leg over him when he’s cuddling you in the much too large bed Daichi bought for the two of you.

(He’d purposefully bought such a large size, if only because he wants to have all the room in the world to spread you out as he sees fit, to get you open and exposed and vulnerable to his probing stare, his wandering fingers, his eager mouth.)

If he could, he’d have a hand on your thigh at all times of the day, regardless of who you’re with, where you are and what you’re doing - he just can’t control himself.

His chest

While he isn’t overly buff, he’s put in his fair share of physical care and generally keeps himself in pretty good shape not only for his job, but for his own health as well.

He most definitely has muscle, and his upper body is actually quite defined – pectorals that physically stand out, a pair of pebbled, sensitive nipples, planes of light abs that flex and harden under your curious fingertips. He works hard during required workout sessions for the force, and although he isn’t the most purely athletic on the force, he does regularly visit the gym and lift.

And once you walk into his life, suddenly Daichi has someone to impress, someone to imagine gushing over his muscles and trailing their fingers over him in awe. And really, you’re by far the best motivation he could ever ask for; he wants you to be impressed, to be in awe at his body and the muscles lining his form, if only to prove that he can provide for you, that he can protect you and take care of you like he should, like you deserve.

And that’s what running through his mind as he pushes the bench press above his head, as he grits his teeth and pushes himself just a bit further, just a bit harder, because imagining the look of awe and attraction in your eyes the first time he’s shirtless around you is enough to have him eagerly upping his regiments, wanting to resemble to cover models for the men’s activewear magazines he sees around.

He has a lot of fantasies that involve his chest where you’re concerned – he wants you pressed up against him, your warm, soft and supple body flush against the hard lines of muscle.

He wants to feel your breasts pushed up against him, feel your hard nipples against his own, the swell of them against him as he pulls you closer, kisses you, hands grabbing fistfuls of your ass while he groans into your mouth.

He wants to hover above you and absolutely destroy that cute little pussy of yours, to leave you sobbing and writhing around below him in pleasure with your hands firmly pushing against his chest, arms too weak to even remotely put up a fight as he just keeps going, as his cock drives into you again and again and again.

The ideas make his head spin, his throat feel dry with want and his fingers idly clenching into fists, the desperation to have your admiration and awe pointed at him so potent that it’s nearly painful.

And once you’re trapped in his home, Daichi tries to speed up the inevitable by simply forgoing any type of shirt in the presence of you – his muscles are on display, abs tightening and flexing when he reaches up to get something off the top shelf, clenching his core tightly when he forces you to sit on his lap while he feeds you dinner.

Having a strong, masculine chest only furthers his idea of him being your strong, brave protector in his mind, and you being his sweet little darling, the one who is so delicate and in such desperate need of saving.

Daichi is proud of his physique, and while he tries not to let it show, the first time he’s half naked around you the desperation to get your approval is practically palpable – so really, just run your hand from nipple to nipple, trace the hard lines of his abs, the deep v right above the hem of his pants, and whisper a sultry voice, you’re so handsome, Daddy, and Daichi will nearly come right then and there.

He just wants your approval, so badly that it nearly suffocates him.

DRIVE:

Before meeting you, his sex drive was low – occasionally getting himself off, though often finding himself too busy to really indulge in even a quick session with his wrist tugging and jerking on him while he grunts and groans.

It just wasn’t important to him, something that he didn’t have the time, energy or interest in investing in. He didn’t have anyone to think of or imagine, and while there were plenty of pretty women he got along with, he could never manage to form developed enough feelings to get to the stage of wanting to be with most of them in that way, of wanting to see them naked and touch them.

However, this does a complete 180 when his obsession with you forms - suddenly he’s wrapped up with all of these lewd ideas of you, all of these fantasies that make his face turn red and his entire body feel like it’s on fire.

Frequent wet dreams that leave him washing his sheets three or four times a week have him focusing on hazy imagery of you reaching down to spread the lips of your cunt for him, letting him see the shining wetness inside, the clenching hole he so desperately wants to fuck, the slick he wants to lap up every drop of.

Ideas of you on your knees, looking up at him through teary eyelashes while you gag and choke against his cock have him groaning and steadying himself against the wall, his knees quite literally going weak at the mere thought of you.

He’s horny for you at all times, and nothing can sate his desire for you and your body until you’re there in front of him, naked and getting your brains fucked out by your beloved. Getting himself off makes it more manageable, but he isn’t truly happy until his thick, aching cock is buried as deeply inside you as possible, where it truly belongs.

He wants to fuck you all the time, and with every innocent expression you give him when he’s with you and every time he sees that fucking skirt you love ride up just a tad, it gets harder and harder to deny himself of his urges.

With every little sound you make as you work on your work assignments, as you stand stirring something over the stove or settle into bed, the urge to pin you down and claim you as utterly and completely his (via stuffing you full of his cum and leaving so many hickeys on your neck that you’ll look like you were attacked by a wild animal, of course) becomes more intense. It becomes more difficult to hold back as his fingers dig into his palm, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he tries not to think about the way you’d sound begging for his cock, how you’d plea and cry out for him to fill me up, please please Daddy! I’ve been so good, want your cock, wanna be fucked stupid, please!

Daichi is a bit of a demon in waiting, and once you’re in his grasp, he’s throwing the idea of holding himself back out the window, because fuck it all if you don’t look like the sexiest thing he’s ever seen all dolled up in his t-shirt and the lacy pair of crotchless panties he’d forced you into that morning.

You’re gorgeous, and because of you his libido spikes to the point of him feeling overwhelmed by every little thing you do – but surely, you must want him just as badly as he needs you, right?

However, Daichi will not force anything sexual on you. He wants it to be consensual, for the both of you to enjoy it, and he can’t enjoy himself if you’re in tears and begging him to stop.

(Unless you’re begging because he’s made you come so many times that you can’t even think, something that crosses his mind often late at night, when there’s a flush high on his cheeks, his fist moving so quickly that he can’t hope to stop himself, not when the orgasm he’s so desperate for – that he pretends you’re desperate for - is so fucking close -)

His morals where you’re concerned are fairly skewed, but even Daichi, in his state of absolute obsession with you, knows that sex absolutely needs to be consensual, regardless of the fact that he could die happy if you’d just move those panties to the side and give him five minutes to do whatever he desires, five minutes of pure, unadulterated pleasure that could give him enough material in the spank bank for the rest of his lifetime.

So, he steals himself and tries to ignore it the best he can, but sometimes it gets to be too much, the yearning and desire at such a level that Daichi is helpless in the face of how his cock throbs, aching and practically begging him to get release, to bury himself as deeply inside your tight little pussy as he possibly can.

And anything can trigger this intense reaction, really – seeing you bite your lip while you contemplate whether it’s worth cuddling with him to get the warmth that the blanket he’s using has to give you is enough to have Daichi groaning, a rather noticeable bulge in the blanket right over his crotch making the decision for you.

When you idly hum a tune to a song you love, immediately Daichi’s wondering whether you’d like him to fuck you to that song, to let your cries and moans blend in with the singer’s voice, his own groans and grunts matching the bass perfectly.

He really doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but the pure lust you inspire within him, the desperate desire that your mere presence ignites in his heart isn’t always easy to ignore - he gets desperate, his body telling him to drop everything and come, and sometimes he can’t even make it to the bathroom.

Which leads to him jerking it right in front of you, his trousers zipped down to expose the thick, tan length as his hand mercilessly pumps up and down, up and down, again and again. It obviously makes you uncomfortable (because it always, always happens when you’re in the same room, when you were just doing something that gave him such intense mental imagery that he just couldn’t hold back the lust), but Daichi can’t bring himself to care.

He’ll shamelessly be grunting your name, not scared to praise fantasy-you while you stand a few feet away from him and watch with wide eyes as he steadily yanks at his intimidatingly thick member.

His eyes go from squeezing shut tightly and peeling open to stare you directly in the eye as he groans out fuuuck, shit baby so fucking tight – hngh, gonna – gonna make you come for Daddy, fuck, his fist squeezing his cock in an effort to mimic the way your own walls would milk him dry.

He comes faster knowing you’re watching, knowing that the presence he so desperately longs for is right next to him, that your soft skin and pretty lips are right fucking there, perfectly visible for his eyes and imagination to run wild.

He’ll grip himself tighter and tighter, telling you that you’re so damn tight baby, oh f-fuck, clenchin’ me too damn much while his head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed as the pleasure mounts and mounts and grows, everything feeling hot and heavy and ready to absolutely burst –

His cum is suddenly landing in long, thin white stripes across his chest as he heaves, his eyes fluttering open to stare at you as the last few spurts land against his tan skin, his fingers – trembling ever so slightly – give himself a few good shakes, just to make sure he gets absolutely everything out. And all the while he’ll just grin, the sight almost boyish as a breathless chuckle tumbles past his lips.

He wishes that could’ve been inside of you, that he could’ve stuffed your sweet little pussy full of his cum until you were begging for more, but he notices the way your thighs clench together, how your face is flushed from embarrassment but also arousal, and it makes him fucking smug.

He knows it’s only a matter of time until you cave and beg him to touch you, and Daichi can’t wait for that day. You better know what you’re getting yourself into because once he’s done with you your throat will be raw from screaming and you won’t be able to walk for a few days.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

During sex, Daichi is quite vocal – there’s a lot of noises, mostly grunts and groans, along with the occasional growl.

He’s cursing under his breath when you tighten up, the sensation of your walls clenching down at his length making his breath come out in harsh pants. when you let out a particularly sexy moan that goes directly to his cock, he’s gasping sharply and muttering your name, his words slurred slightly as he tries to veer himself away from his impeding orgasm.

He’s incoherent as he tips over the edge, ropes of cum staining your tummy, pussy, tits, face, anything and everything – his words don’t make sense (tangled moans of so good and ‘m coming and take it please please please -).

It’s never quiet in the bedroom with him between his words and the sounds of his balls clapping against your ass and chin, the lewd squelching noises ringing in his ears while he fucks you hard enough to see stars.

There’s all kinds of noise, and there’s almost always a constant stream of commentary coming from him as well. He can’t help himself; the sight of you below him, writhing in pleasure as he thrusts into you and rubs quick, tight circles along your clit is just too much for him to not say anything about.

You’re just so fucking cute when he’s got you split open on his cock, your breasts bouncing in every direction as his hips snap into yours so harshly you’re sure you’ll break, that he’ll tear you in two.

He is quite the dirty talker, and while most of it is short and possessive mutters of mine, Daichi isn’t afraid to express just what you’re making him feel. He’s grunting out that you’re mine, babygirl, this pussy fucking belongs to me as he sinks in inch by inch, slowly filling you and making your eyes squeeze shut as he just keeps going, his length never seeming to end even as his tip nudges against parts of you that you didn’t know existed.

He’s burying his face into your neck as he bends your knees against your heaving chest, the angle letting him hit deeper and harder, your walls milking him for every last drop of cum as he groans lowly that he’s gonna make you come, wanna make you squirt, fuck want you to make a mess for me, let go baby.

He’s running his hand through your hair and tilting his head back with closed eyes as his hips jerk up lightly, thrusting without his control as he nearly whines out about how that’s it, oh fuck baby, look so pretty sucking my cock, like you were made to choke on me ngh –

It really gets him off to see you respond to his words; when you clench around him as he’s telling you how good you’re being for him, how you’re such a good girl for Daddy, it only makes him want to go harder, deeper and faster until you’re spasming around his cock and milking him for absolutely everything he’s worth.

When he tells you that he’s so proud of you while you drool and gag all over his cock, Daichi loves to see your eyes light up, the way your thighs rub together as you move to suckle at his balls, your hand taking over and spreading his precum mixed with your saliva all over his twitching length.

When you make that fucking adorable little gasp as he tells you how he’ll never get pussy this good from anyone else, his heart melts and his desire to see you come undone because of him skyrockets.

He’ll call you his baby girl, tell you how good that pretty little mouth feels wrapped around his cock, or how tight your precious cunt feels around him as he ruts into you.

He’ll rant and rave about how good it feels when you come on his cock, your walls spasming and massaging at his length, triggering his own orgasm that fills you up with white until it’s leaking down the sides, spilling out of your messy little hole because it’s all just too much.

It’s always positive praise; he’s not a fan of degrading you, if only because he genuinely views you as perfection, as someone who deserves to be loved and cared for, not ridiculed and humiliated. It’s designed to subtly show how dominant he is (as if the bruising pace of his hips and the sheer power behind his fingers gripping onto your waist weren’t enough) and to show you how much he’s enjoying whatever it is that he’s doing to you.

Sex with him is never quiet; between your moans and his grunts and hissed words, and of course the slapping of skin against skin and the squelching of his cock stirring up your insides, the bedroom (or kitchen, or shower, or wherever else the two of you find yourself getting down and dirty) will be filled with the passionate sounds of your lovemaking.

And of course, the unmistakable sound of Daichi cursing and calling you his good little girl, his little angel.

Daddy kink

Daichi is dominant in bed. There’s very little chance of you ever convincing him to let you take control between the sheets, and while he may briefly entertain the notion as he lets you push him onto his back and climb on top of him, your moment of power won’t last long.

Soon, he’ll have his hands on your hips, a small smile on his flushed face as he guides your pelvis to grind against his own, dirty words falling from his lips as he commands you to touch your clit for me, wanna see you all gooey and wet for me.

In the bedroom he wants full control, to be the one calling the shots and deciding what goes on, how you get off and whether or not you’re being a good enough little girl to even get touched.

He wants to be the one deciding whether you come from his fingers or tongue – he’ll murmur into the skin of your thighs as he plants kisses leading from your knee to your folds that you’d better behave, wanna see you come on my cock tonight, not my tongue.

He wants to be one to control how many times you orgasm in a single night – he’s warning you that he wants at least four babygirl, and I want them loud; tell me you’re feeling good, and Daddy will keep letting you get there, okay?

It stems from his compulsive, obsessive need to protect you and care for you. He sees himself as your protector, your caregiver, and in order to fully care for you, he needs to make sure you’re getting what you need from sex. He honestly feels like he knows what’s best for you, that his decisions are really the correct ones, even if you don’t see the truth in them now.

He knows that the solution to your homesickness is to fuck you stupid on his cock. He knows that when you’re getting mouthy with him, shoving his girth into your throat until you’re gagging and tears prick the corner of your eyes is the only way you’ll learn some respect. He knows that when you’ve had a long day alone while he works on the force, you need a reminder of how much you mean to him, and what better way to show that than spend hours between your legs, your slick smeared from his chin to his cheeks?

He genuinely believes that he has your best interest at heart every moment, and when you’re such a crying, babbling mess as he impales you on his cock over and over, obviously you can’t make any decisions, let alone speak a coherent sentence, so it must be his responsibility then. You’re just too cockdrunk to know what you really need – so Daichi knows for you.

As a result, there is absolutely no chance that you’ll ever dominate him, no matter how badly you want to - he takes care of you outside and inside the bedroom, and he isn’t relinquishing control no matter how hard you beg.

Even if you get down on your knees and grasp at his pantleg, pleading with him to please let me peg you, please? I’ve been such a good girl lately, I’ll do anything you want if you’ll just let me!, he’s still not budging, just sighing and telling you to quite being such a brat.

Even if you perch yourself naked on his thigh, desperately rubbing your cunt against the knee of his pants, smearing your pretty slick all over the material, Daichi won’t let you tie him up and use him how you please, even though he’s hard as hell. He’s fairly lenient on a lot of other aspects of your captivity with him, but the second you ask if you can top him, if you can call the shots, Daichi can’t help but laugh because do you really think you could do it by yourself?

Do you really think you have the ability to control a man as strong and large as him? Don’t make him laugh.

He wants to showcase his dominance over you in every single way he possibly can when you’re both naked and sweating, and though he does a lot of this through raw physical maneuvering (grasping your hips and controlling the pace when you ride him, pushing your knees up to your ears when he folds you into a mating press, leaning forward so that his entire chest is flush with your back as he ruts into you from behind like a dog in heat) it doesn’t just stop there; you are required to call him Daddy in bed, regardless of whether you want to or not.

Something about the power that comes with it goes to his head; the complete and utter trust that you have in him in order to give yourself over to him like that, to hear you refer to him as such a power figure.

It makes him dizzy with pride, arousal and adoration, and he’s honestly in heaven each and every time you gasp out the name. When he slurps against your folds, tongue eagerly working at your clit, his eyes roll to the back of his skull when you grasp at the pillow under your head and whine out a Daddy, mm, oh just like that, please don’t stop!

When you moan it out while he sends a sharp slap to your ass as he pounds into you from behind, his thrusts only get harder, more aggressive, surely strong enough that you’ll have two large bruises on your ass the next day from where his hips smacked against your skin over and over.

Every time you whimper it as he doesn’t stop his ministrations against your engorged clit even after you’ve reached your high and told him you’re too sensitive, that you can’t Daddy, oh please it’s too much, he just growls and keeps going, the power going to his head because he knows you need one fucking more.

He loves the nickname so much, in fact, that he’ll start requesting you to refer to him as that outside of the bedroom as well – when you’re tired, he’ll only let you go to sleep if you ask him in a sweet voice whether he’ll tuck me in, please Daddy? You do it just how I like it.

To him this is, of course, code for you asking him to fuck the absolute shit out of you without actually having to say it, and most of the time it works – Daichi’s libido is extremely high when it comes to you.

But on the nights where he won’t give in until you swallow your pride and push your arms together in your front, squeezing your breasts together so that the outline of your nipples show while you whisper out a please Daddy, can’t sleep without your cum in my tummy, his pupils dilate and he gulps, quickly ushering you off the bedroom when you know you’ll spend the next two hours with your face buried into the mattress and your ass high in the air while he gropes your tits and fucks you like a man possessed.

He wants to give you the love and pleasure that you deserve, so just let your Daddy take care of you.

Roleplaying

While Daichi could never, ever get bored of fucking you, he likes to mix things up in the bedroom occasionally. His hard and fast rule of always being the one in charge never changes much, but he’s a proponent of roleplaying when the both of you are getting intimate.

Perhaps it’s the product of years of relatively secretly watching porn, or perhaps it’s all those horrible ‘sexy’ costumes he’s seen during Halloween. He’s not sure, but regardless, he’s very, very interested in playing out some common sexual tropes with you.

Of course, he’s more than willing to play the police officer that catches you in the midst of a very minor crime – a speeding ticket, where you’ve got to do him a favor to get out of the cost.

(Generally, a very, very messy, drooly blowjob does the trick; he wants spit dribbling down your chin and down his length, his balls coated in a sheen of it while you gag and choke, his groans of I suppose I can let you go this once making relief sink to your guts.)

His favorite cop fantasy is finding you committing public indecency – you’ll make up some cover story of how you lost your shirt and bra at a friend’s house and now you’re in the middle of the park, the world subject to seeing your pretty tits and tummy. Daichi will pretend to scold you, chiding you for being so reckless, but it’s hard to take him seriously when those brown eyes are staring at your chest the whole time, fixating on how they jiggle with every step you take, just practically begging to be touched and groped.

(He’ll tell you that he has to take you back to the station – the bedroom – and teach you some common decency; ironic, considering more clothes come off than on when this happens, but your face will be buried in the pillows as he pounds against your ass so hard you’re seeing stars and tearing up, so you can’t focus on that too much.)

He enjoys other roleplay dynamics as well; anything with a clear power imbalance.

He’ll be the CEO of an important company and you his sweet little assistant, delivering paperwork and reminding him about that big meeting he’s got later in the day.

(Soon your skirt shortly flipped up over your ass as he pounds you against his desk, the wood creaking with every thrust as he relieves the pent up stress he’s feeling because this is a very important business meeting he’s got.)

He’ll play your patient and you his nurse who’s oh so willing to do anything her patient needs to get healthy again, even if the doctor’s prescribed cure is as many orgasms as possible.

(He likes when you look over every single inch of him, especially if you have to undress him – he’ll be commenting on how lewd it all is as you peel off his shirt, but his breathing is noticeably heavier and his pants are noticeably tighter – not to mention damp.)

He’ll play the fireman saving you from a burning house, and you’re just so grateful for his heroics and courage that you must repay him somehow!

(And who would he be to turn down your offer of letting him blow his load right into that tight little cunt of yours – as repayment for his hard work, of course!)

He’ll be the professor and you a college student, your grades desperately needing raising as you slowly shimmy off your cardigan, revealing the extremely tight and cropped shirt you’re wearing, the white fabric letting him see everything from your waist and above.

(He’ll have you lean forward, looking at him with sultry eyes as you ask if there’s anything you could do, because you’ll do anything to preform better, sir, because I promise you once I start something, I don’t stop until I finish it.)

He’s game to try almost any scenario, and for the most part it all ends with roughly the same thing – he’s fucking you until you’re nearly sobbing from the overstimulation, his calloused hands running along your body as his labored breaths sound in your ears, his depraved moans in both the scene and of his own volition making your head spin.

He’s a sucker for nearly any kind of roleplay, and if you were to bring up a certain scene? Oh, well – Daichi will almost never say no, but you’d better be prepared to dive deeply into the context because he will be making you play your character.

It’s just so hot to him how your relationship suddenly becomes taboo in the blink of an eye, and yet despite all the compromising situations you pretend to play out, Daichi likes that you’ll start associating him with a character who’s life is inarguably intertwined with yours – after all, where would the multi-billion dollar CEO be without the tight piece of ass he keeps in his office just to service him when things get a bit stressful?

You’re more than that to him, but the effect is the same – he’d be nothing without you, and doesn’t that just make you feel so very special?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Breeding

Diachi is very much a family man. He’s known from quite early on in his life that he eventually wants children, that he’d love to have a few sons running around shooting Nerf guns at one another, to have a few daughters running around playing tag and pretend.

It’s so heartwarming to him, to think of having his very own family, and once you wander into his life? Well, that desire for children and the parental gene that was semi dormant before suddenly become wildly active – Daichi so badly wants to knock you up, to fuck a baby into you that it becomes something he fixates on any time the two of you have sex.

He still fucks you with the goal of making you both feel good, but now he wants to make you feel good so that his seed will take, so that your tummy will be growing round with his baby.

Each time the two of you are in bed, his hands groping and wandering at every inch of your lovely body, Daichi is imagining the way you’ll look once you’re pregnant.

His fingers squeeze and press into the delicate skin of your breasts, imagining how they’ll swell up, your nipples darkening as milk weighs them down. He imagines how heavily they’ll be as he cups one in each hand, his lips closing around the buds as he suckles, mind filled with fantasies of how you’ll look with droplets of white leaking form your puffy, engorged nipples.

He presses down on your tummy as he fucks into you, marveling at the image of your belly so big you can barely walk, your frail body needing his support to do the simplest tasks, totally dependent on him as you carry what he gave you.

He’ll lick and suck at your clit and pussy, imagining how you’ll grow swollen and hypersensitive, your body having gone without his cock for far, far too long – he can only imagine how insatiable you’ll be after you recover from birth, practically forcing him to stuff you full of him him him.

He will be coming inside you every time, not letting you anywhere near birth control, not having a single condom laying around your shared home – no, it’s just his bare cock and your sweet, fertile and unprotected cunt, joined together and creating something wonderful.

Every time that he fucks you he has the trusty plug nearby, stopping you up once he pulls out to make sure that none of the creamy, sticky white stuffed between your legs leaks out.

He’s spending a few moments to caress your stomach as he tries to catch his breath, dark gaze mesmerized by the image of his cock stuffed into your cunt, almost talking himself into believing your tummy is already swollen from the cum he’d just filled you with.

Daichi will get you pregnant, whether you want him to or not, and once the news comes he couldn’t be happier – after all, you’ll make such a wonderful mother, your stomach round and full and your tits leaking with milk.

Breast Fixation

While your thighs are his favorite part of you (though he doesn’t really have a least favorite part of you – you’re his ideal woman after all), there’s something about your breasts that make Daichi absolutely swoon.

He’s never really identified as a tits man before, firmly preferring legs and thighs. Every bit of porn he’s ever watched he’s all but fast forwarded through the fondling portions, the zoom-ins of the woman’s breasts not doing a huge amount for him compared to way the camera captures the lovely curve of her calves and the plush of her thighs.

But the second that your soft, supple mounds are in front of him? Well, Daichi’s body is reacting before his mind can catch up, before he can realize that he’s reaching out and kneading at the soft flesh, callused hands rubbing and squeezing, a harsh moan tumbling from his lips because fuck you’re so soft, how is that even possible?

He’s reaching out to fondle you at the most random times; in the morning, when your sleeping body is spooning up against his own, he’s reaching around to carefully squeeze and lightly toy with your nipples, feeling the way the soft flesh slowly hardens, how you twitch in your sleep slightly at the minute pressure.

He’s reaching across the dinner table as you chew at your food, fingers giving a firm, purposeful squeeze before he sits back down, content to finish his chicken as he dreams about exactly how your tits will look tonight as he fucks you hard enough to make them bounce.

He’ll teasingly pinch at your nipples when he walks through the door from work, his officer uniform on as he grins and sees the outline of them through the incredibly tight shirt he’d had you put on this morning. And during sex, this doesn’t change; he’s rolling and pulling at your nipples, addicted to the way they pebble, how they slowly tighten up when he blows air onto them.

When his hands aren’t groping your thighs there’s a strong, strong chance that they’re instead present at your chest instead – idly fondling, making you squirm in place as he pushes his hips up against your ass, a murmur of do you feel what these pretty tits do to me babygirl? Can you feel how bad I wanna fuck them?

(And once you get pregnant? God, it’s game over for your chest – he’s fascinated by the way they swell up, how your nipples grow darker and areolas larger, how they’re heavier in his hands. And the second that you start lactating, Daichi is done for – you aren’t allowed to wear a shirt anymore, so that he can constantly be gazing upon your swollen belly and leaking tits, so that he can come by and squeeze one, watching a spurt of milk dribble down, rubbing it all along your skin. He likes nursing on you, muttering how you’ll be such a good mom, how his child is gonna be spoiled for life after getting to suck on tits this fine, this perfect and tasty.)

Really, he just loves your breasts, no matter the size, and Daichi has no shame showing his love – you’re perfect after all, so why should he ever be ashamed of recognizing that?

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Daichi is completely swamped with explicit fantasies between the two of you, there’s most definitely a hierarchy in terms of what he deems the hottest, what’s most appealing to him, what he’s most desperate to try out with you.

(Of course, he’s not complaining about the onslaught of sexual thoughts he harbors for you – oh no, how could he? How could he possibly be upset when he’s waking up sweaty and panting from dreams starring you without any clothing on? How could he be upset when he’s spending nearly every night wringing himself dry to you, his cock swollen and sore and still aching for more, aching for you? The only downside is the cost of having to replace the bottle of lube he keeps on his nightstand – he goes through an entire bottle in roughly two weeks, spreading so much around his length just to try and replicate what he’s sure is your incredibly wet, warm pussy.)

He’s watched his fair share of porn over the years, and slept with a few different women. Consequently, he’s aware of most kinks and activities in the bedroom, and as a result he feels he has a grasp on all kinds of different things he could do to get you moaning and gasping, your nails raking down his back, your lips parting into that pretty ‘o’ shape when you come.

However, most of his favorite – most eager – fantasies are more conceptual than specific situations. He’s constantly fantasizing about knocking you up; stuffing you so full of his cum that you’re leaking down your thighs, your skin stained with the creamy white while you shake and shudder underneath him, looking so pretty and warm.

He’ll fantasize about making you squirt, your pretty thighs quaking as his fingers rub desperately over your clit, your cries making his cock so hard it hurts. He dreams about fucking you up against a wall, using every muscle in his body to hold you up while he destroys you with his length.

However, Daichi’s biggest fantasy is to hear you beg for him. Nothing gets him harder than hearing you say how badly you want him, how much you need him. Nothing is more appealing to him than having you verbalize how badly your body craves him, how you’ll never be truly happy and satisfied until he’s buried balls deep inside you, drooling pink tip nestled snugly against your cervix.

It’s the stuff of wet dreams – in fact, many, many nights Daichi has awoken an hour or so before his alarm, sweat dripping from his temples and the very obvious tent his cock is making in his bedsheets letting him know that the ringing please Daichi in his head is the culprit. It satisfies his protective and possessive side, knowing that he’s the one you’re craving pleasure from, that only he can give you what you want, what you deserve.

As soon as he imagines you saying please, oh god please he’s rock hard and desperately craving a release from your fingers, mouth, and pussy. He’s craving to hear the way your voice changes pitch as you get closer and closer, how your back arches up slightly and your grip grows more insistent against his biceps, your voice turning whinier and your words slurred and your pussy getting so goddamn tight -

The more he imagines you begging for him, for his cock, his cum, anything, the closer he gets, and it’s a sure fire way to obtain a shatteringly powerful orgasm for him. It just turns him on so much.

His lips press light kisses against your neck, tickling the sensitive skin and making you gasp slightly. His hands ghost against your bare sides, calloused fingertips marveling at your soft skin and making you shiver. He’s above you, hovering over you so that all you can really see is him – his shoulders, rounded with muscle, his jawline (sharp, with a hint of stubble lining the skin), his brown locks falling slightly into his half-lidded eyes, his mouth set into an expression that you can only describe as a mix between utter adoration and lust. It’s a bit overwhelming, and between the pounding in your lower body and the way his fully erect cock is resting against your thigh, you know you can’t just lay down and wait. You need him.

Now.

“P-please…” You whisper, eyes squeezed shut as you buck your hips, desperately trying to get some friction to calm the pounding of your lower body. Daichi chuckles, pressing one last kiss against the soft skin of your neck before sitting up. He stares down at you, taking in the messy state of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest, how your lips part just slightly. He smirks down at you, fingertip tracing your jaw as his mind focuses on how fucking perfect you look in this moment. Flustered, disheveled, desperate all for him – exactly how he likes you.

“Please what, baby girl?” He asks, voice low. You gulp and avert your eyes.

“Please, Daichi. T-touch me…” You whisper, still looking away from him. Daichi’s heart swells as his cock visibly twitches against your thigh - you’re just too adorable like this. So needy and horny all for him…

“Now now, princess. You know only good girls who look at Daddy when they beg get what they want.” The finger tracing your jawline moves down your neck, ghosting over your jugular before dipping down over your collarbone to trace around an areola. You shudder, opening your eyes and looking shyly up at him.

“Daddy, please. I need your big, thick cock.” Your voice is whiny, high pitched and so needy, just how Daichi likes it. His heart flutters at the praise; you know exactly what to say to get him aching for you, his primal instincts taking over and pushing him to just ravish you until you’re shaking and too weak to properly stand. And you can feel how it’s affected him; his cock twitching against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, only coaxing on your own desire to be filled, to get the pleasure your body is craving. His fingers close in on a nipple, watching as it hardens below his calloused fingertips.

“What does my baby girl want this cock to do, hm?” He asks, accompanying his words with a thrust against your thigh. You moan, shivering at the friction against your skin. Daichi smirks once more, pinching your nipple between his pointer finger and thumb. You whimper at the feeling, and as he lightly pulls and tugs, your eyes fly open, catching his brown gaze that’s boring into you so intensely that you’re sure he can see right into your soul.

“W-want Daddy to fuck me, please! I n-need Daddy’s cock inside me, want him to make me come so bad. Please, please!” You beg, your voice so clear and ringing out in the hot silence of the bedroom. Daichi pauses for a moment, his lips parting just slightly as he commits this moment to memory - you looking up at him in such desperation and desire, your arms tossed above your head, hair spread out and looking like a halo, and of course your naked, shivering body that’s just begging to be touched, loved, fucked. The next thing he knows, he’s lost complete control over himself, and he’s leaning down, capturing your lips in a heated, messy kiss.

When he pulls away for air a few moments later, he’s panting and practically buzzing with excitement and need. He leans down and licks the shell of your ear, and growls. In the low, gravelly tone you’ve learned to associate with a sore pussy for several days afterwards he groans, “Get ready baby girl, gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be screaming Daddy’s name all night.”

And with that, he pushes in, cursing sharply at the feeling of how you clench down on him as your startled moan rings through the air. He grunts; you’re so fucking warm and wet, and immediately his hips are snapping back, thrusting, creating a bruising pace that leaves you scratching at his back as you chant ‘yes, Daddy, yes’ under your voice over and over.

“A-ah, oh Daddy yes yes yes please ngh, oh more -!” You cry out, throwing your head back and clutching desperately at his shoulders, hearing him grunt from deep within his chest.

“More what babygirl? Tell – fuck, you’re so fucking tight – tell Daddy what more you want.” He growls, slowing his pace ever so slightly as you whine and buck your hips.

“Want Daddy to fuck me stupid, wanna be his silly little – little girl.” You’re desperate at this point, the stretch of his cock and painfully slow movement against your walls not giving you nearly enough stimulation.

Daichi smirks, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “Yeah? Wanna be Daddy’s dumb little girl, all stuffed full of cock?”

You nod your head, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut as he slowly starts moving again, the slap of his balls against your ass making you cry out in pleasure and happiness.

“Fuck you’re so pretty, my pretty little baby, getting destroyed on Daddy’s fat cock, fuck –“ His words are nearly unintelligible, said mostly for his benefit, but it only makes you cry out louder, a few tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as the minutes pass by, the trace edges of your orgasm creeping up on you.

And Daichi can feel the way you slowly grow tighter, your moans changing in pitch and volume. He grunts, snapping his hips into you and asking you in a shaky voice, “Something the matter babygirl?”

You whimper, eyes peeling open to stare into the brown depths of his own. “Gonna – gonna come Daddy, please let me come, wanna come so bad!”

And when you’re looking at him with teary eyes, desperation written across your face as your walls clamp down on him hard enough to leave him breathless, how could he possibly deny you?

“Shit, yes – fuck, come for Daddy, cream all over this cock.”

And all Daichi can do is bury his face into your neck, and keep his hips pistoning into you as he reminds himself that this is finally real, that he’s finally getting to be with you and touch you, and when you clench down around him a good five minutes later, a moan of his name ripping from your throat as you come, Daichi thinks he must have found his heaven on Earth. After all, nothing else can explain the way your body makes him feel, the way you make him feel.

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