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solar-wing · 18 days ago

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⚣ Shadowing Nightwing 🌗

🌃 Nightwing & Shadow 🌃 | 🌙 Nightwing's Shadow 🌙 |

⚣🌗 A/N → yall... i- i have no words for this. Final installment of the rewritten Nightwing & Shadow series. Hard to believe I first did this story over a year and a half ago and I'm just now finishing the third installment of the new version of it. And since it took so long, I decided to go all out...and I do mean all out. Someone get me to a church. ANYWAY, I hope you guys enjoy this! no i seriously do cause this right here is NAAAUUSSSSTTYYY! WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | Omegaverse | Yandere Themes| Heavy Themes of Dub/Non-Con | Coercion | Finger Play | Oral Play | Full Smut | Manhandling | M-PREG | Knotting | Captivity | Mild Descriptive Violence | Mentions of Abortion | Heavy Implication of Gender Roles | ETC |

⚣🌗 Summary → Shadow, once a beacon of justice and independence for Omegas everywhere, has been reduced to nothing more than a subservient house Omega under the suffocating control of Dick Grayson. Living beneath the relentless gaze of Nightwing and Batman isn’t for the faint of heart—but they’re about to learn the hard way that Gotham’s Omega Savior is far stronger than they ever gave him credit for. After all, a shadow doesn’t just follow—it leads, outpacing those who underestimate it.

⚣🌗 Words → 15.4K (Post) | 45.3K (Total)

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🌗

Y/N lay on his side, staring blankly through the window from the grand canopy bed in one of the many guest suites in Wayne Manor. The sheets were soft, expensive, and suffocating. Dick had insisted on carrying him all the way up here after their first heated "reunion" in the bathroom. Even now, Y/N’s body ached from the aftermath—his abused genitals throbbing with soreness and unwanted arousal.

The bedroom door creaked open, breaking Y/N from his haze. Dick strolled in, his casual confidence evident in every step. He was dressed down now, only in a pair of sweatpants with no shirt, but his presence was no less oppressive. His smile was soft, but his eyes were filled with that familiar, possessive hunger.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Dick asked, his tone low, almost tender.

Y/N clenched his jaw, refusing to respond. He’d learned that silence was his only weapon in this warped power dynamic. But the Omega’s silence didn’t seem to faze Dick—if anything, it seemed to amuse him. He approached the bed, settling himself on the edge beside Y/N, his hand reaching out to stroke Y/N’s hair.

“You’re still mad,” Dick observed with a chuckle, his fingers trailing down to caress Y/N’s cheek. “But that’s okay. You’ll get used to it here. To me.”

The Omega's skin burned under the Alpha's touch, and his stomach twisted in a mix of anger and disgust. Y/N jerked his head away, his voice strained. “That’s what you think. If you think abduction and holding me hostage are elements of a loving relationship, you and your family are more delusional and detached from reality than I could believe.”

Dick’s smile faded slightly, but his eyes remained dark and determined. “I know you think that now, but things change, Y/N. You’ll see. You just need to accept it.”

Y/N felt a surge of defiance swell within him. “Accept what? Being your prisoner? Your breeding stock?”

Dick’s expression hardened, and he leaned closer, his lips hovering near Y/N’s ear. “Accept that you’re mine, Y/N. You were always meant to be.” He pulled back, his tone softening again, almost coaxing. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to make you see that.”

Y/N's eyes narrowed, feeling a fierce determination flaring within him as he stared into the Alpha’s cocky gaze. He knew he couldn’t react, couldn’t fight back, at least not yet. As much as everything inside of him wanted to be anywhere but where he was at that moment, he was well aware that things would not be that simple or easy.

This was of course the Dark Knight, and his long-time sidekick he was dealing with.

The door opened again, and Bruce entered, his presence as commanding as ever. Speak of the devil…

“I trust you’re settling in,” he said, his gaze shifting between Dick and Y/N. His voice was calm but authoritative—a reminder of the invisible chains that bound Y/N to this manor.

“Oh, it’s an adjustment,” Y/N replied tersely, his voice betraying the dull, persistent ache in his lower regions—a testament to the rough "welcome" he'd endured just minutes ago on the cold porcelain counter. The soreness was mingled with an irritating warmth, a reminder of the Alpha’s invasive presence still lingering inside him.

Dick’s eyes glinted with pride as he picked up on the Omega’s resentful arousal. He said nothing, but his hand found its way to Y/N’s thigh, his fingers pressing down firmly. Y/N’s body tensed instantly, a sharp breath escaping him as he fought the urge to pull away. Bruce’s eyebrow arched at the sight, but he remained silent, satisfied with the subtle exchange.

Bruce nodded, his expression a mix of stern authority and old-fashioned pragmatism. “Good. We’ll give you time to settle in. I’ll have movers bring over your belongings from your apartment, and you can make this room your own. It’s important that you feel at home here—both for your own adjustment and for the future we envision.”

He turned to Dick, his tone shifting to that of a strict father setting boundaries. “Dick, you’ll be returning to Blüdhaven for a while, to give Y/N the necessary space to process his new surroundings. I expect you to sleep in your own room tonight and not push things too far, too fast.”

Too late for that.

Y/N’s chest tightened with a mixture of relief and dread, knowing that Bruce’s orders were likely temporary and primarily symbolic. It was less about respect for Y/N’s needs and more about enforcing his own twisted version of order. Still, he forced a nod, keeping his face neutral.

Bruce’s gaze returned to Y/N, his eyes sharp but not unkind. “As for returning to the field as Shadow, that won’t be happening right away. I believe it’s best for you to focus on adjusting to your role here—accepting Dick as your Alpha and, in time, embracing your place as an Omega. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but there are certain… expectations when it comes to family, structure, and tradition. I want you to take this time to understand that before we reintroduce you to the dangers of vigilante work.”

Y/N's stomach churned at Bruce’s words. The idea of being kept away from the field, especially under the pretense of “adjusting to his role,” was suffocating. It wasn’t just about him being Shadow—it was about keeping Y/N contained, trapped in a place designed to break him down and remold him to fit their desires. This was as much about control as it was about protection—protection from what, Y/N wasn’t even sure anymore. He simply nodded again, knowing full well that compliance was his only path forward.

“Fine,” Y/N agreed, his tone deliberately flat.

Bruce’s gaze remained steady as if assessing the Omega’s compliance. Satisfied, he nodded. “Good. I’ll see you both in the morning. Alfred starts breakfast by 7 so I’ll expect you both down there promptly. Dick, behave..”

Dick’s jaw tensed, a flicker of defiance flashing in his eyes, but he nodded, though it was clear the agreement was reluctant.

After Bruce left and closed the door behind him, Dick, seemingly content with Y/N’s outward submission, stepped closer. “Come on, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice layered with false gentleness as he extended a hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Y/N resisted the urge to pull away, but he took the offered hand, letting himself be pulled off the bed and led into the adjoining bathroom. It was lavish and expansive, much like the rest of the manor, with a large marble shower already running, steam billowing around them.

Dick sat Y/N gently on the bathroom counter, his hands lingering on Y/N’s thighs, thumbs tracing the flesh possessively. Y/N clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the ache in his groin—a mix of soreness and lingering arousal from earlier. The Alpha’s scent was thick in the air, mingling with the steam, amplifying Y/N’s conflicted arousal. Dick’s touch was deceptively soft, as he helped Y/N out of his ruined suit, peeling away the fabric to reveal marked skin.

Once Y/N was fully exposed, Dick’s gaze lingered over the bruises and love bites scattered across the Omega’s body. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to each mark, his voice low with a mix of apology and pride. “I know it’s a lot, but you wear them so well, baby.”

Y/N remained silent, his body tense, as Dick lifted him from the counter and carried him bridal-style into the shower. The water was hot, stinging against the sensitive spots on Y/N’s skin. Dick began to wash Y/N’s body with deliberate care, his hands rougher than necessary as they explored every inch of the Omega’s form. Y/N’s body responded, unwillingly, a traitorous heat pooling between his thighs. Dick’s fingers lingered there, massaging the slit between his legs slowly, his thumb teasing the slits while his other hand groped the small phallus organ that pulse slightly under his large grip..

Y/N tried to suppress a gasp, but the soft sound escaped him, earning a pleased hum from Dick. “See? You can’t help it. Your body knows who you belong to,” Dick murmured against Y/N’s ear, his voice filled with possessive satisfaction.

Y/N bit down on his lip, his hatred for Dick intensifying. He hated how his own body betrayed him, responding to the Alpha’s touch with a mix of desperation and resentment. The humiliation of it all only fueled his silent resolve: he’d find a way out of this, no matter what.

When the shower was done, Dick carried Y/N back to the room, giving him a rare moment of privacy. “You can dry off and lotion up,” he said, stepping back and out of the room with a promise to return swiftly.

Y/N took the opportunity to quickly dry himself and apply lotion, his movements efficient but hurried. As he finished, Dick returned with a pair of boxers and one of his shirts, laying them out on the bed. “Here, put these on,” the Alpha instructed, a smirk forming on his lips as his eyes roamed over Y/N’s vulnerable form, his gaze filled with an obsession that felt suffocating. “I want you to smell like me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, suspicious of the Alpha’s intentions, but he took the clothes without argument. Dick turned around to give him a semblance of privacy, though Y/N could see the Alpha watching through the reflection of the large window in the room. Y/N quickly changed, the shirt and boxers feeling too intimate against his skin, the scent of Dick overpowering.

When he was done, he cleared his throat, signaling to Dick. The Alpha turned, his expression softening slightly as he approached Y/N. He leaned down, their faces inches apart, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to the Omega’s lips, his hand resting possessively on Y/N’s knee. Y/N didn’t return the kiss but maintained eye contact—an act of defiance that Dick acknowledged with a knowing smile.

“I humored you this time,” Dick said, his voice low. “But remember, I don’t need permission to look at your body. It, and you, belong to me.”

He suddenly yanked Y/N down onto the bed, positioning himself between Y/N’s legs. Y/N gasped at the unexpected motion, his legs spreading involuntarily, the heat of Dick’s body radiating against his own.

“Got that, babe?” Dick murmured, his lips pressing against the junction of Y/N’s neck and shoulder, right where his scent gland pulsed. He nipped at the skin, his teeth leaving a small, possessive mark.

“Got it,” Y/N gritted out, his fingers clenching into the sheets, his anger growing alongside the persistent, frustrating arousal.

Dick chuckled, his mouth curling into a cruel smile. “That’s my good boy.” He pulled Y/N up toward the head of the bed, positioning himself between Y/N and the door as he tucked them both under the covers, clearly disregarding Bruce’s faux order to sleep in his own bed. “Tim and Damian will help unpack your things tomorrow. Jason’s keeping an eye on your old place, so nothing goes missing—and maybe, in the future, we can go back there. Invite your old friend over, just so he can hear me fucking you against the door.”

Despite the crude words, a traitorous pool of arousal gathered in Y/N’s stomach, his body responding against his will. But beneath that, simmering beneath the surface, was a cold and calculated rage—a plan slowly forming in his mind.

Dick’s eyes flashed with a dangerous mix of victory and excitement as they lay on the soft, expensive sheets. “This is all I need, baby. Just you… here, with me.” He reached out, his hand resting possessively on Y/N’s thigh, his grip firm and claiming.

Y/N’s skin crawled at the touch, but he forced himself to remain still. He would endure this for as long as it took—until he could finally break free.

He’d get out of this. He’d get his revenge. And when he did, it would be slow, humiliating, and thorough.

Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. Y/N settled into a strange routine, with Dick constantly shifting between obsessive affection and domineering control. Whenever Dick was around, he oscillated between being tender and aggressive—bringing Y/N flowers one moment, only to pin him against the wall and rut into him the next. Nights were filled with rough, claiming sex, where Dick alternated between slow, sensual thrusts and raw, relentless fucking, always asserting dominance over Y/N’s body.

Whenever Dick left for Blüdhaven, Y/N felt a fleeting sense of relief. The days alone in Wayne Manor gave him moments of reprieve, but they were never truly free of surveillance. Alfred, true to Bruce’s orders, kept a watchful eye, making sure Y/N stayed within the designated rooms and didn’t do anything “out of line.” Meanwhile, Bruce’s strict regimen remained unwavering. He reminded Y/N of his role—both as Dick’s Omega and as a future asset to the Bat-Family.

Y/N’s introductions to the rest of the family were tense and calculated. Tim approached him with clinical curiosity, often observing Y/N’s behavior while trying to maintain an air of aloofness. Damian was less subtle, his disdain evident but mixed with a strange fascination—curiosity, perhaps, about how someone could challenge Dick’s claim so defiantly. Jason, surprisingly, was the least invasive, only stepping in occasionally, as if the whole ordeal bored him.

Despite the façade of family acceptance, Y/N’s presence remained a source of underlying tension. Everyone noticed that the bond between Dick and Y/N wasn’t taking hold as expected. The Omega’s stubborn resistance to Dick’s advances was palpable, his hatred simmering just beneath the surface. It wasn’t lost on Bruce, who often reminded Dick of his responsibility to “tame” Y/N, using the Omega’s reluctance as fuel to justify the invasive measures to come.

As time dragged on, it became clear to Dick's family that Y/N wasn’t relenting. His resistance gnawed at Dick’s patience, and the Alpha’s attempts at romantic gestures grew increasingly desperate. His frustrations were visible—every unreciprocated kiss, every empty “I love you,” only fueled the darkness within him. And as Y/N remained indifferent, the seed of an idea began to take root in Dick’s mind—one that Bruce subtly encouraged: ensuring Y/N’s loyalty by breeding him.

Though, it wouldn't go as expected.

Dick had been gone in Blüdhaven and for other missions for some time, far too long in his own head while Y/N would argue that it wasn't long enough. The night of his return, he'd opted out of patrol for that night, instead volunteering to give Alfred of reprieve from monitoring the Bat-Computer and the comms along with the Omega. Bruce figured it was a good idea as a way to start getting Y/N acclimated to their operation and procedures even if he still hadn't relented on letting him return as Shadow yet.

That's when it began.

Y/N had reluctantly accompanied Dick, who insisted that he wanted to “spend time together.” Dick was stationed at the Bat-Computer, coordinating comms and responding to Batman’s orders while Y/N sat beside him, scrolling through his phone. The space was dimly lit, filled with the soft hum of machinery and Dick’s occasional typing.

Dick, sensing Y/N’s boredom, pulled him closer, grinning when Y/N tried to inch his chair away. “Why do you always do this, baby?” Dick teased, his hands tugging Y/N onto his lap. Y/N squirmed in protest, but the motion only seemed to excite Dick more, as the hard length beneath Y/N’s thighs made clear.

“You know,” Dick began, his voice low, almost tender, “I can’t wait for when we have traditions like this—monitoring the city together, planning missions side by side.” His words dripped with longing. “Maybe our kids will take after us someday, running comms while you and I are out in the field.”

Y/N stiffened, his back rigid against Dick’s chest. The Alpha’s words struck a chord, one filled with implications Y/N wasn’t ready to face. “I’m serious,” Dick continued, pressing soft kisses along Y/N’s neck. “We’ll have a big house, kids who’ll inherit our skills. I’ll be the best dad—always making sure you’re happy and safe.”

Y/N tried to ignore the warmth pooling in his stomach, a traitorous reaction to Dick’s fantasies. He focused on his phone, willing himself not to respond, but Dick’s hands began to wander. Gentle caresses turned into possessive strokes, and soon Y/N found himself pinned against the Bat-Computer, his thin sweats pulled down to his ankles.

Dick thrust into Y/N slowly at first, relishing every inch as he filled the Omega, his hands gripping Y/N’s thighs to keep him in place. The slick sounds filled the cavernous room, mingling with Y/N’s soft whimpers as Dick’s pace gradually increased. Y/N tried to focus on the dull glow of the monitors, tried to detach himself from the overwhelming sensations, but it was impossible. Dick’s voice was a constant murmur in his ear—equal parts loving and possessive.

“You feel so good, baby,” Dick groaned, his movements becoming more forceful. “I love how wet you get for me.”

Y/N’s body reacted despite himself, his insides clenching around the Alpha’s cock. The humiliation only fueled his anger, but it also fed into his arousal—a maddening mix that left him trapped between hate and want. Dick’s thrusts grew erratic, his desire for control evident in every rough stroke.

Dick paused suddenly, leaning back just enough to observe Y/N’s body. His gaze darkened, a smug grin curling his lips as he noted something amiss. “You know, you haven’t leaked for me in a while,” he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. He ran his thumb teasingly over one of Y/N’s nipples, as if to draw out the desired response. “Not a drop. What happened, baby? Are you so mad at me that your body’s forgotten how to be a good little Omega?”

The mockery in his tone only added to Y/N’s humiliation, but before he could respond, Dick’s demeanor shifted, and the Alpha pulled back just enough to look Y/N directly in the eyes, a dark intensity replacing his earlier gentleness. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me, haven’t you?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear mingling in his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

Dick’s hand suddenly moved to grip Y/N’s arm—one that housed the small contraceptive implant. He squeezed it roughly, his fingers digging into the flesh. “This,” he growled, the word dripping with accusation. “When were you planning to tell me about this little device, hmm?”

Shock and dread washed over Y/N. Shit. He tried to pull his arm away, but Dick’s grip was unrelenting. “How—how did you know about it,” Y/N managed to ask, his voice barely a whisper.

Dick’s smile was cruel, filled with both satisfaction and anger. “Oh, baby, did you forget whose family you're part of now? Did you really think you could hide something like this from us, from me?”

Y/N’s throat tightened, and he struggled to find the words. “It’s not—”

“Not what?” Dick interrupted, his voice cold. “Not something meant to keep you from giving me what I want? From fulfilling your role as my Omega?”

Y/N’s eyes burned with unshed tears, a mix of rage and helplessness. “It’s my body, Dick. I get to decide.”

But the Alpha wasn’t listening. His free hand moved to Y/N’s throat, holding him firmly but not enough to restrict his breathing. “Not anymore,” he hissed. “You belong to me, Y/N. Every part of you.”

Dick’s thrusts resumed, but this time they were brutal, driven by a need to reassert his control. Y/N gasped at the intensity, his body jolting with each thrust, the computer’s edge digging into his back. Dick’s hand moved from Y/N’s throat to his jaw, forcing Y/N to meet his gaze. “I’m going to have it removed,” he declared, his voice filled with dark promise. “And then we’ll see how long it takes for you to accept your real place here.”

Y/N’s hatred for Dick solidified in that moment. This wasn’t just about domination—it was about breaking him completely, about taking away even the smallest semblance of control he had left. But Y/N vowed silently: he wouldn’t break, not like this. He’d find a way to use even this violation to fuel his escape, to strengthen his resolve.

But it was a bitter comfort in the face of what was to come. The weeks following the discovery of his contraceptive implant would be some of the darkest Y/N had ever endured. Dick's anger was palpable, simmering beneath every interaction, his obsessive need to dominate Y/N now mixed with betrayal. The Alpha’s desire for control grew more aggressive, his touches rougher, his demands more insistent. Where once there was the occasional hint of tenderness, there was now only a relentless, violent hunger.

Dick’s need to assert dominance over Y/N became brutal and unrelenting. He fucked Y/N whenever and wherever the urge struck—against walls, across tables, even in the middle of the night while Y/N slept. Dick's hand would clamp down over Y/N’s mouth, silencing any protest, and his hips would thrust with a single-minded need to remind Y/N of who owned him. Y/N’s body bore the marks of this unending battle: bruises, bites, and the ever-present soreness that followed each rough encounter.

At first, Y/N fought back fiercely, swinging between rage and disgust at the Alpha’s behavior. But resistance only seemed to heighten Dick's obsession, making him more desperate, more cruel. Dick’s eyes glinted with a dark satisfaction whenever Y/N struggled, as if every ounce of defiance was just further confirmation of the Omega’s need to be “broken.” Eventually, Y/N's resistance waned—not because his spirit was crushed, but because he understood that biding his time was his only option. He could no longer afford to waste energy fighting back physically; he needed to play the long game.

But a near breaking point came with the decision to remove the contraceptive implant. After discovering it, Dick wasted no time in making arrangements. Within days, Bruce had called in a favor with one of his surgeon contacts, setting the wheels in motion for a rushed, unsanctioned surgery. Y/N’s protests were loud and filled with rage—this violation was a line even Dick hadn’t crossed before, a forced act that stripped away the last shred of Y/N’s bodily autonomy.

“You can’t do this!” Y/N shouted as he was restrained by Bruce and Tim, the sterile scent of the operating room mixed with the sickly sweet smell of his own fear.

Dick’s expression was cold, determined. “You don’t get to decide that anymore,” he said flatly, his eyes devoid of their usual playful arrogance. “Not when you kept this from me.”

The procedure itself was quick but traumatic, the pain both physical and symbolic. As the surgeon removed the implant, Y/N felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over him, like a final tether to his autonomy being severed. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, biting down on his lip so hard that he tasted blood.

In the days following, Y/N was a mix of raw pain and seething rage. But amidst the anguish, there was a small, bitter hope—a sense that this forced change might actually work in his favor. Behind his flushed cheeks and angered breaths, the embers of his hatred burned hotter than ever. He would use this moment—this twisted, unwanted intimacy—to stoke his plan for revenge.

After the removal of his IUD, it wasn’t long before the familiar, overwhelming warmth flooded his veins, turning his thoughts hazy with lust. His scent, which had been muted and suppressed for so long, became potent—thick, heady, and impossible to ignore. The air in the room turned cloying with pheromones, the distinctive musk signaling his vulnerability as an Omega.

The scent reached Dick almost immediately, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the potent aroma. The Alpha’s reaction was instant and primal, his pupils dilating as a rush of possessive desire surged through him. Y/N’s heat had triggered an impromptu rut, the feral side of Dick emerging with brutal force. His muscles tensed, every instinct urging him to claim Y/N thoroughly and completely.

Dick wasted no time. With a guttural growl, he grabbed Y/N and effortlessly hoisted him over his shoulder, his grip firm around the Omega’s thighs. Y/N let out a startled gasp, his body trembling from the sudden shift in position and the Alpha's dominating hold. Dick’s hand landed possessively on Y/N’s ass, a rough squeeze meant to both assert control and savor the Omega’s helplessness. The position only intensified Y/N’s arousal, the heat of his slick seeping through his underwear as he was carried like prey by his captor.

The room spun in Y/N’s vision as he dangled over Dick’s shoulder, the Alpha’s hand stroking the back of his thigh possessively. “You smell so fucking good, baby,” Dick rumbled, his voice thick with desire. “I’m going to take you apart.”

Every step sent jolts of stimulation through Y/N’s channel, his arousal heightened by the rough handling. His hands instinctively clutched at Dick’s back, his fingers digging into the taut muscles beneath the fabric of the Alpha’s black shirt.

“Put me down, Dick,” Y/N managed to protest weakly, but the heat-induced haze made it sound more like a plea than a demand.

“Oh, I will,” Dick replied darkly, his grip tightening as he crossed the room. “Right after I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”

Dick strode confidently toward the bed, his steps purposeful and filled with possessive intent. He tossed Y/N onto the mattress, the Omega landing with a soft thud, legs splayed as he tried to regain his composure. But the moment his back hit the bed, Y/N knew there would be no escaping the Alpha’s determination—no mercy, no reprieve. Only the raw, primal force of Dick’s rut colliding with his heat.

For the next several days, the bed became their battleground. Y/N’s slick drenched the sheets, his body leaking copiously—more than it ever had before, as if making up for lost time. The resurgence of his body’s natural lactosecretion only added to Dick’s fervor, his dark satisfaction evident in every claiming thrust. Outside of heat, Y/N remained stubbornly dry, a fact that gnawed at Dick’s psyche, intensifying his obsession with conquering the Omega completely.

“Fu-FUCK… a-ah, D-Dick hurry u-up… FUCK… pl-please,” Y/N groaned, his hands balling into fists as he pounded them against Dick’s sweaty back. Each teasing, agonizingly slow thrust left Y/N on the brink of insanity. He could feel the soreness in the junction between his neck and shoulder—a place sore from the numerous times Dick had sunk his teeth into it.

Y/N had lost count of how many times they’d fucked over the past week. The air was thick with sex and sweat, a stifling combination that blurred the line between pleasure and torment. The first heat after suppressants was always the hardest, the body’s natural rhythm disrupted, leaving Y/N’s mind fogged by lust. Dick’s anger seemed to vanish the moment he caught the first whiff of Y/N’s scent, his dark eyes gleaming with unbridled hunger.

Y/N wasn’t permitted to leave the bed except to shower or use the toilet. Even those brief moments of respite were often interrupted by Dick’s spontaneous urges, pressing Y/N against the shower tiles or fucking him on the cold bathroom floor. Each time, Y/N’s brain fogged over with carnal need, even as his resentment simmered beneath the surface.

“What's that baby?” Dick taunted, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continued his torturously slow thrusts. He barely grazed Y/N’s prostate, making the Omega whine in desperation. “You want me to fill you up, huh?”

“Do that again!” Y/N begged, wiggling his hips to create friction against Dick’s swollen cock. His walls clenched tightly, trying to keep the Alpha inside, desperate for the fullness that was constantly being denied.

Dick chuckled, the sound dark and low. His tongue flicked over one of Y/N’s leaking nipples, drawing a sharp gasp from the Omega. “You want my knot, little Omega?” he whispered against the sensitive bud, sending shivers down Y/N’s spine.

“Please…” Y/N’s voice broke, his body trembling with need.

“You gonna give me what I want?” Dick murmured into Y/N’s ear, his words like a dark promise. He released Y/N’s hands, allowing the Omega to scratch at his back—an act Dick encouraged by having Alfred remove all nail clippers. A testament to how much Dick liked being marked by the submissive just as much as he liked seeing the Omega marked by him. Even when Y/N had tried to bite his nails, Dick cuffed his hands behind his back for two days as punishment.

“Yes, yes I will! I promise!” Y/N cried, his words spilling out in a haze of desperation.

A guttural growl rumbled from Dick’s chest. He grabbed Y/N’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat while his other hand wrapped around the Omega's painfully engorged phallus member. The hot and throbbing opening between his slick-covered slits beneath the small shaft of his penis was in no better state with the Alpha's girth stretching the rim.

Dick pumped his fist, the motion rough and unforgiving. Y/N whimpered, his body arching as the dual sensations threatened to overwhelm him. His walls tightened around the Alpha's cock, the pressure increasing with each stroke.

“You’re gonna look so good carrying our baby,” Dick growled, delivering a punishing thrust against Y/N��s prostate at the mention of pregnancy. “I can’t wait for everyone to see your round belly, knowing it was me who knocked you up.”

The words, meant to be a show of dominance, sent Y/N into a spiral of pleasure and loathing. He screamed, his body shaking with overstimulation as Dick’s knot began to swell, locking them together. The Alpha’s teeth sank into Y/N’s shoulder, marking him again as his semen flooded the Omega’s insides.

“You’ll always be mine, no matter what,” Dick muttered, his voice filled with raw possessiveness. Y/N could feel the Alpha’s triumph in every word, his body still throbbing from the intense knotting.

The following 21 days were a blur of sex and psychological torment. Even after the mating cycles had broken, Dick continued to fuck Y/N relentlessly, determined to cement his claim in every way possible. The bed became their primary battlefield, but it wasn’t the only one—walls, tables, and the floor were all fair game in Dick’s obsessive pursuit of dominance.

Despite the physical exhaustion, Y/N’s mind remained clear—even with the consistent clouded mentality: this was all part of Dick’s attempt to establish complete control. And while his body couldn’t help but respond to the Alpha’s touch, his mind remained fiercely resistant.

Dick’s excitement to confirm a pregnancy grew with each passing day, and he became increasingly impatient. He refused to settle for a drugstore pregnancy test, insisting on seeing a doctor for definitive results. Bruce, as always, called in a favor to make it happen.

For the Alpha, the waiting results were not what he was expecting, much less hoping for. But for the Omega, it was a sign that there was a chance, a small window of opportunity.

When the doctor confirmed the negative result, Y/N could see the rage and disappointment flash across Dick's face. The Alpha's grip tightened around his arm, his fingers digging into the flesh. "How is that possible?" he demanded, his voice laced with anger.

“You didn't deliver on your promise,” Dick seethed after receiving the news.

The doctor’s explanation was simple: Y/N’s body was actively rejecting Dick’s mark and his sperm. The emotional turmoil Y/N harbored was severe enough to trigger a physiological response, preventing pregnancy. It was a rare but possible occurrence among male Omegas—one that worked in Y/N’s favor.

Dick was livid. His hands clenched into fists, his eyes flashing with a dangerous mixture of hurt and fury. “You promised me!” he shouted once they were back at Wayne Manor. The echo of his voice filled the grand hall, adding to the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the estate.

“Well, you should know better than to believe anything we Omegas say when we’re that frustrated and horny,” Y/N retorted, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Dick’s rage was palpable, but so was the growing tension between them. Y/N’s resistance had driven the Alpha to desperation, and the failure to conceive only made Dick more aggressive. He abandoned any pretense of kindness, reverting back to the cocky bastard Y/N had first met on that rooftop—only worse.

Dick made good on his earlier promise. One evening, he drove Y/N back to his old apartment, the sight of the familiar building pulling a pang of bittersweet nostalgia from the Omega. Y/N’s heart ached as they approached the entrance, the memories of a life he’d once known flooding back—moments of freedom, fleeting happiness, and a time before Dick’s suffocating presence.

But this wasn’t a visit for sentimentality. As soon as they stepped through the door, Dick’s demeanor shifted from quiet control to something darker, more menacing. He pressed Y/N roughly against the front door, his hands gripping the Omega’s wrists and pinning them above his head. His body loomed over Y/N’s, his voice a low growl that vibrated against Y/N’s ear.

“Do you know why I brought you here, baby?” Dick’s tone was a mixture of mockery and raw desire. “Because I want to remind you and someone else of who owns you now—who you belong to.”

Before Y/N could respond, Dick’s hand slid down to yank at the Omega’s clothing, tearing the fabric away in his haste. Y/N shivered, a mix of fear and unwanted arousal surging through him. The Alpha’s scent was thick and oppressive, making it hard to think, to focus on anything other than the heat of Dick’s body pressing against his own.

With one hand still pinning Y/N’s wrists, Dick used his other to fumble with his own pants, freeing his hard length. The desperation in his movements was palpable, driven by a primal need to assert his claim in the most degrading way possible. He aligned himself at Y/N’s entrance, his voice dripping with possessive lust as he taunted, “Let’s make sure Leo hears every fucking sound you make, sweetheart.”

Dick’s thrusts were brutal from the start, his pace unrelenting as he forced Y/N’s body against the door. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the small apartment, accompanied by Y/N’s unwilling moans and Dick’s deep, guttural grunts. Each thrust was a punishing reminder of the power imbalance between them, of the dominance Dick sought to enforce not just over Y/N’s body, but over his very soul.

“Make sure he hears you, baby,” Dick ordered again, his voice low and harsh. He drove into Y/N with renewed force, his hips slamming against the Omega’s ass, each thrust calculated to elicit the loudest possible reaction. “I want him to know exactly who’s inside you right now.”

The mixture of pleasure and humiliation tore at Y/N’s sanity. His walls clenched reflexively around Dick’s length, slick pooling beneath them as his body betrayed him. He hated the way his voice rose in a series of helpless cries, hated how his body arched back to meet Dick’s brutal thrusts, but the Alpha’s relentless rhythm and taunting words left him powerless.

“You like this, don’t you?” Dick growled, his voice laced with both anger and twisted satisfaction. “You love being fucked like this, knowing your old flame is on the other side of the door, listening to every moan, every scream.”

Y/N’s response was an incoherent mixture of sobs and gasps, his mind too clouded by sensation to form words. But his silence wasn’t enough for Dick, who wanted more—who needed more. He leaned in, his breath hot against Y/N’s ear as he whispered, “Tell him, baby. Tell Leo who you belong to.”

The words struck Y/N like a physical blow. He tried to resist, tried to bite down the humiliation, but Dick’s hand found his throat, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. “Say it,” Dick demanded, his voice dripping with possessive fury. “Or I’ll make you say it.”

“Y-you,” Y/N finally managed to choke out, his voice breaking with the effort. “I-I belong to you, Dick.”

A dark, triumphant grin spread across Dick’s face, his pace becoming even more punishing as he reveled in Y/N’s forced confession. “That’s right, baby,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of cruelty and satisfaction. “You belong to me. Not him. Never him.”

Dick’s eyes flashed with a sudden, darker fury. He paused just long enough to lean in close, his breath hot against Y/N’s ear as he hissed, “If you were actually trying, you’d be pregnant with my child by now.” The words dripped with cruel mockery, each syllable soaked in bitter resentment. “Maybe you just need a reminder of what happens when you disobey me, hmm? Maybe that’ll teach you not to break your promises.”

Dick’s thrusts became rougher, driven by a wave of possessive rage. “And knowing he’s out there, listening to me fuck you senseless… maybe that’ll finally make your body accept me,” he spat, his voice dripping with twisted satisfaction. His words weren’t just directed at Y/N—they were a deliberate, taunting jab at the Alpha waiting helplessly on the other side of the door.

“Did you ever leak for him like you do for me?” he sneered, his voice loud enough to ensure that every word carried beyond the walls. “Did you let him knot you, or did you save that privilege for me alone? Because you and I both know who really owns you, don’t we?”

The dark emphasis in his tone was unmistakable, each declaration a bold, deliberate statement of his claim over Y/N—a challenge meant to wound not just the Omega but the Alpha outside, forcing him to hear the brutal, carnal proof of Y/N’s submission.

“No, no, no, no,” Y/N sobbed, his body shuddering under the assault of Dick’s words and the punishing rhythm of his hips. Every vicious thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and humiliation through him, his slick gushing between them, amplifying the lewd sounds of their bodies colliding.

“Good,” Dick growled, his voice dripping with sinister satisfaction. “Because you’re mine—every inch of you, inside and out. Only I get to breed you, fill you up until you’re swollen with my kid.” His hand tightened around Y/N’s throat, not cutting off his air completely but exerting just enough pressure to make him gasp. “You hear me? You’ll only have my knot, push out my children. Only me.”

As if to emphasize his claim, Dick angled his hips sharply, driving into Y/N’s prostate with brutal precision. The force of the thrust ripped a guttural scream from the Omega, his body convulsing with overstimulation. The wet squelch of his slick filled the air, mixing with Dick’s guttural groans, creating a cacophony of raw, primal lust that echoed off the apartment’s walls.

“Say it,” Dick demanded, his voice a low snarl. “Tell me you’re mine, that you’ll give me what I want.”

“I’m yours,” Y/N choked out, tears mingling with the sweat on his flushed cheeks. “I-I’ll give you everything, just… just stop.”

But there was no stopping. Dick’s final thrusts were wild and merciless, each one accompanied by a surge of possessive triumph. His knot began to swell, locking them together in a forced bond that marked his victory. Y/N’s body trembled uncontrollably, his own orgasm ripped from him as the Alpha’s knot throbbed and expanded, pushing his seed deep into Y/N’s depths. Slick and cum oozed down the Omega’s thighs, a messy testament to the sheer force of Dick’s claim.

“Fuck, yes,” Dick groaned, his voice raw with satisfaction. “You’re gonna look so fucking good pregnant, baby. I want everyone to see what’s mine—round with our child, dripping with my cum.”

With his knot fully seated, he bit down victoriously on Y/N’s shoulder, his teeth sinking deep into the sensitive flesh, a searing reminder of ownership that burned both physically and emotionally. “He’ll never have you,” Dick declared, his voice low and raw. “You’re mine, now and always.”

The words were as much a declaration as they were a threat—a dark promise of more to come, a twisted vow that hung heavy in the air long after the final echoes of their coupling faded.

It was now going into six months—six months since Y/N’s arrival at Wayne Manor. The constant battles for dominance, the brutal sexual encounters, and the psychological warfare had taken their toll. But Y/N’s resolve remained unbroken. Beneath the façade of compliance, he was carefully laying the groundwork for his escape, gathering allies and resources while subtly manipulating the tensions between Dick and the rest of the Bat-Family.

And with Bruce finally sensing the strain between his son and the Omega, he began to question whether Dick’s approach was truly effective. The cracks in their control were small but significant—moments of hesitation, shifts in focus, brief concessions that Y/N seized upon with all the desperation of a man drowning.

Y/N had started to sow doubts strategically. He knew Bruce respected order above all else, and he used that to plant seeds of uncertainty. During seemingly harmless conversations, Y/N let slip mentions of his “adjustment difficulties,” emphasizing how forced compliance was hindering any real bond between him and Dick. He portrayed himself as malleable—capable of genuine acceptance, but only if given the opportunity to heal.

It was subtle, careful work. Y/N knew he couldn’t afford any mistakes; one misstep could shatter everything. But as he watched Bruce’s stoic expression shift into contemplation during one of their tense discussions, Y/N felt a flicker of hope he hadn’t experienced in months.

At night, Y/N lay awake, replaying each step of his plan in his mind. He could see the path ahead with a clarity sharpened by months of suffering. He knew it wouldn’t be easy—Dick’s possessiveness had only grown more suffocating, his surveillance more intense. But the cracks were there, visible in the way Bruce hesitated before issuing orders, in the way Alfred’s cold disapproval softened into the barest hint of pity.

Soon, Y/N told himself, the word a silent promise. The Bat-Family’s fortress of dominance was beginning to crumble, and Y/N intended to be the force that brought it down.

He would escape. He would reclaim his freedom. And when he did, he would make sure the world knew the truth about the Wayne family's dark, twisted control.

But for now, Y/N remained patient—like a predator watching for the perfect moment to strike. Because the longer he played his role, the deeper he burrowed into the Bat-Family’s trust. And the deeper he got, the more power he would have when the time came to tear it all apart.

Y/N’s life at Wayne Manor had shifted in unexpected ways since the last doctor’s visit confirmed the ongoing rejection of Dick’s bond. Bruce, accepting the expert’s recommendation, realized they were going to need a more measured approach. The stark realization that aggressive dominance wasn’t working led to a change in strategy. And while Dick remained desperate to cement a bond, Bruce encouraged him to ease off—give Y/N space to “heal” emotionally. It wasn’t a gesture of kindness, but a calculated move to reset the strained dynamics and, hopefully, break down Y/N’s resistance.

And it was just the calculated move the Omega was patiently waiting for.

Gradually, Dick loosened his grip. Y/N was allowed to leave the manor as long as he had a chaperone—Bruce, one of Dick’s brothers, or Alfred. He could also return to his old job at Wayne Enterprises, a move intended to “normalize” his captivity under the guise of giving Y/N more autonomy.

His return to Wayne Enterprises marked his own calculated step forward in his plan. With Bruce's suggestion to allow Y/N more freedom in hopes that it would get him to start letting down his guard, he could start to see the small little cracks in the oppressive intensity that had defined his existence at Wayne Manor since he'd arrived. Yet Y/N knew better than to actually let his guard down. The Wayne family was still watching, and he had to move cautiously, maintaining a balance between compliance and covert rebellion.

Every morning, Y/N followed a well-rehearsed routine: waking up to Dick’s possessive embrace, enduring his aggressive attempts at bonding, and then donning the façade of a compliant Omega as he prepared for work. He exchanged curt nods with Bruce at the breakfast table, endured subtle yet protective gazes from Damian, and caught Tim observing him with clinical curiosity. Alfred remained watchful, a silent sentinel who noticed every detail, no matter how small.

As Y/N made his way to Wayne Enterprises each day, he carefully crafted his persona—a seemingly resigned Omega who had accepted his place in the family. It was an act designed to lull the Bat-Family into a false sense of security. The truth was far more sinister: Y/N was navigating a deadly game of deception, one that required every ounce of his cunning.

The familiar scent of coffee and corporate politics would greet Y/N every time he stepped into the building. He kept his demeanor casual, but his mind was constantly alert. His co-workers welcomed him back with a mix of curiosity and genuine warmth—though a few appeared overly interested in his apparently public relationship with Dick Grayson. Y/N wasn’t naive; he knew that among the seemingly harmless smiles and greetings were likely a few informants, keeping tabs on him for Bruce or Dick.

The cautiousness didn’t extend to everyone. Among those Y/N was genuinely happy to see was Wyndall. The Omega’s soft-spoken nature had always been a source of comfort amid the high-pressure environment of Wayne Enterprises. Wyndall had been one of Y/N’s closest friends before the fateful night when Y/N, as Shadow, had intervened to save him from Nightwing's scheme. Thinking back, it'd made sense why Dick chose to target Wyndall when setting his trap for him.

Wyndall was a kind, gentle soul, and Y/N knew he could trust him. Obviously, he couldn't just jump in and tell the Omega everything. He had to wait it out, knowing Dick and Bruce were keeping eyes on him. But, as one of Y/N's only friends in the company, their friendship is rooted in shared experiences as Omegas navigating the power dynamics of Wayne Enterprises, he knew he could trust Wyndall.

“It’s good to have you back,” Wyndall said during their first lunch together. His eyes reflected both warmth and worry. “This place just wasn’t the same without you. Too many stuffy Alphas trying to boss us around.”

Y/N forced a smile, masking the darker memories that Wyndall’s words unintentionally stirred. “Yeah, I missed the banter too. It’s been… a long six months.”

In the weeks that followed, Y/N fell back into a predictable routine at work. He was careful with his questions and subtle in his interactions, knowing that any misstep could raise suspicions. He made sure to blend into the background when necessary, never drawing too much attention. It was crucial that he appeared content—another cog in the Wayne Enterprises machine. Yet, beneath the surface, Y/N was working tirelessly, each day bringing him closer to freedom.

Y/N and Wyndall continued their interactions with the kind of ease that came from years of shared experiences, but there was an underlying tension to Y/N’s behavior—an anxious edge that Wyndall was quick to pick up on. Though their conversations seemed casual, Y/N’s eyes would constantly dart around, his voice lowering to hushed tones whenever the conversation veered toward sensitive topics.

“Are you okay?” Wyndall asked one afternoon as they sat in a quiet corner of the office cafeteria, concern etched across his face. He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been… different since you came back. Always on edge, like you’re expecting something bad to happen.”

Y/N hesitated, eyes darting around the bustling cafeteria. He knew he had to be careful—he couldn’t risk even a single misstep. The looming presence of Dick and Bruce was still very much a reality, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, even in this seemingly casual setting.

“It’s… complicated,” Y/N finally whispered, his voice barely audible. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s important, and you’re the only person I can trust.”

Wyndall’s concern deepened, his voice gentle but insistent. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what he was about to reveal. “Do you remember that night here at Wayne Tower? Last year, when you were cornered by Nightwing?”

Wyndall stiffened at the memory, a mix of fear and bitterness flashing across his face. “Yeah, I remember. I sent a distress signal, but the police thought I was just a hysterical Omega making up stories. No one followed up on it.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, a surge of anger rising in his chest. “I know they didn’t,” he said quietly. “Because I was there.”

Wyndall’s eyes widened, his confusion palpable. “What do you mean, you were there?”

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “After you sent that distress signal, Shadow showed up to help you. He fought Nightwing off long enough for you to escape, but… you never saw what happened next, did you?”

“No,” Wyndall admitted, his expression growing more bewildered. “I just assumed Shadow got away. No one’s heard from him since then.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to the table, his fingers fidgeting restlessly. “He didn’t get away, Wyndall. Nightwing caught him and delivered him straight to Batman.”

Wyndall’s face shifted from confusion to shock, his voice incredulous. “Wait, how do you know all of this? Did Shadow somehow get a message out?”

“No,” Y/N said, his voice low and pained. “I know because… I am Shadow.”

For a moment, Wyndall simply stared at him, his expression a mix of disbelief and astonishment. “What? But… how? Shadow was an Alpha. He fought Nightwing and held his own—”

“Because that’s what everyone assumed,” Y/N interjected, his voice urgent but steady. “Everyone believed Shadow had to be an Alpha because no one wanted to imagine that an Omega could stand a chance against someone like Nightwing without being one or even a Beta. But I’m telling you the truth, Wyndall. I am Shadow.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, and Wyndall’s eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. “Why are you telling me this now?” he finally asked, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Y/N leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper but heavy with desperation. “Because I need someone I can trust, Wyndall. And right now, you’re one of the few who can help me.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “Those vigilantes—Nightwing, Batman, Red Robin, Robin—all of them, they aren’t the heroes everyone thinks they are. They claim to protect everyone, Alphas, Betas, Omegas alike. But behind the mask, they’re just like the people we’ve had to fight against all our lives—using their power to control, to dominate, all in the name of the so-called ‘greater good.’ They see us Omegas as objects, as lesser beings meant to be used and owned.”

Wyndall’s eyes widened, a mix of shock and horror etched across his features. “I… I don’t understand. How could you know all of this?”

Y/N’s voice turned bitter, the words laced with the pain of everything he’d endured. “Because I’ve been their prisoner for the past seven months, Wyndall. That night, when Nightwing attacked you, it was all a setup to lure me in. He ambushed me, forced himself on me, and then dragged me straight to his ‘leader,’ Batman. They didn’t care about right or wrong—they just wanted to control me.”

The horror in Wyndall’s expression deepened, and Y/N pressed on, his words filled with raw emotion. “Batman forced me to join his little band of vigilantes, but that wasn’t even the worst part. He handed me over to Nightwing, made me his breeding stock, his Omega—forcing me into a role I never wanted. They used my biology against me, calling me a ‘liability,’ and made it clear that if I didn’t comply, I’d remain their captive indefinitely. I was stripped of everything—my freedom, my autonomy, my very identity—just so they could break me into the ‘doting husband’ Nightwing wanted.”

Wyndall’s face paled, his voice trembling with disbelief. “But… why would they do this? They’re supposed to be the protectors, the ones who fight for people like us.”

“They’re just as ruthless as the worst Alphas we’ve faced,” Y/N replied bitterly. “They justify their actions as ‘necessary’ for Gotham’s safety, but it’s all about power. They took everything from me, and now I need to take it back. I need your help to get away from them, Wyndall. I need to be free.”

Wyndall’s face was a storm of horror, shock, and overwhelming guilt. The hero who had once saved him—the Omega who had answered his call for help, risking everything—had been reduced to a prisoner, punished for simply wanting to protect others. Y/N’s revelation struck him deeply, each word a painful reminder of the countless Omegas Shadow had saved, only to become the one who needed saving most.

The fallout from Shadow’s disappearance had been swift and brutal. Without the Omega Savior patrolling the streets, crimes against Omegas surged. Alphas and Betas, unrestrained by fear of reprisal, resumed their abusive behaviors with a renewed sense of entitlement. Wyndall himself had narrowly escaped several attacks, each incident making him wonder where the vigilante who had once been their shield had gone.

Now, knowing the truth, anger burned within him—an anger fueled by betrayal. The same heroes Wyndall had once looked to for protection were nothing more than hypocrites, preying on the very people they claimed to protect. It was a story Wyndall knew all too well; he'd seen it before, but this? This was the breaking point. They had used him as bait to ensnare another Omega—his own friend.

But the family of vigilantes had miscalculated. They didn’t know that Wyndall had connections of his own. Many of those Y/N had saved had become allies and friends, loyal to the vigilante who had risked everything for them. One Alpha in particular—Leo—had been frantic over Y/N’s sudden disappearance, even more after an apparent incident at Y/N's apartment. When Wyndall told him the truth, Leo would be more than ready to act.

Wyndall’s eyes blazed with fierce resolve. “What do you need me to do?” he asked, his voice steady and filled with unwavering determination.

Tears stung Y/N’s eyes, seeing his friend's absolute support. He knew it wouldn't be easy, had witnessed how resourceful and and calculating the Dark Knight and his entourage of so-called heroes were. But, he could also feel that small spark of hope, a flame that was so tiny, but all he had to hold on to for the seven six months he was in that manor by himself, get just a bit bigger. It was a reminder that now, after so long being ioslated, he wasn’t fighting this battle alone anymore.

Tears pricked Y/N’s eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude overwhelming him. He hadn’t expected such unwavering support, even from Wyndall, and the weight of it settled heavily in his chest. Y/N had seen firsthand how calculating and ruthless Bruce and his so-called heroes could be. He knew escaping them would be no easy feat. But in this moment, he felt a small spark of hope—a spark that had kept him alive through the six agonizing months of captivity.

It wasn’t much, just a faint, flickering flame that had been his only source of light in the darkness. But now, that flame burned just a little brighter, fanned by the knowledge that he wasn’t alone anymore. For the first time since his capture, Y/N felt a surge of genuine hope.

Over the following weeks, Y/N's life at Wayne Enterprises fell into a careful rhythm. He balanced the act of appearing compliant with his covert plotting. Each morning, he endured the routine of waking up in Dick’s suffocating embrace, forced smiles and empty pleasantries with Bruce and the rest of the Bat-Family. At work, however, Y/N found a semblance of freedom—a familiar but cautious sense of normalcy.

Bruce seemed genuinely pleased to have Y/N back in the corporate fold, which worked to the Omega's advantage. One afternoon, Bruce invited Y/N to lunch under the guise of a business meeting. Y/N kept his face neutral as Bruce droned on about Wayne Enterprises' future and potential joint projects with the city’s police department, but internally, he was calculating how to extract more information that could aid his escape.

"I’m glad you’ve come back to us," Bruce said earnestly between bites of a gourmet salad. "I’ve always believed you were a good fit here, even before things... escalated. You’ve always had a strong sense of justice, Y/N. And I know that’s something Dick admires in you too.”

Y/N forced a small smile, hiding the unease that gnawed at him. He nodded politely. “I appreciate that, Mr. Wayne. I just want to make the best of things, you know?”

Bruce’s expression softened, and he leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, I’m very fond of you. You’re strong, resilient—an excellent match for my son. It’s not easy being part of this family, but you’re handling it well.”

Y/N felt a bitter laugh claw at the back of his throat but managed to keep it suppressed. “Thank you, Bruce,” he replied simply, knowing full well that pushing back or showing resistance would only complicate things further. He needed Bruce to believe in the facade he’d carefully constructed. Even if the billionaire was aware of his scheming which he wouldn't be surprised by, the smartest thing for him to do would be to continue the act. It'd gotten him this far.

After the lunch meeting, Y/N made his way back to his office, his mind already buzzing with plans. As he stepped inside, he found Wyndall waiting, holding a stack of documents that were mostly for show. Wyndall’s eyes held a flicker of excitement, a silent acknowledgment that their plans were advancing.

“Everything go okay with Bruce?” Wyndall asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Same as always,” Y/N said dryly, then added with a teasing smirk, “I noticed he’s been laying on the charm with you lately.”

Wyndall’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he rolled his eyes. “Please. The man flirts like it's part of his job description. But hey, if it keeps him distracted and off your back, I’m not complaining.”

Y/N chuckled, but his eyes were serious. “Keep playing along, Wyndall. The less he suspects, the better.”

As the weeks passed, Wyndall became Y/N’s lifeline, relaying coded messages to trusted contacts on the outside. Y/N’s old college friends, the ones who had helped him build his vigilante persona from scratch, were still well-connected and resourceful. They had provided Y/N with gear, information, and safe houses back when he was still able to operate freely. Now, Wyndall was reconnecting with them, subtly conveying Y/N’s situation and gauging their willingness to help.

“Good news,” Wyndall whispered one morning as they met in the break room under the guise of grabbing coffee. “I’ve reached out to Leo and some of your old allies. They’re all in. They’re ready to move as soon as you give the word.”

Y/N’s heart lifted, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel hopeful. “Thank you, Wyndall,” he murmured, his voice sincere. “I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

Wyndall shook his head, his voice equally quiet but firm. “No, Y/N. We owe you. You saved us all when no one else would. It’s our turn to save you.”

Despite the growing sense of hope, Y/N knew he couldn’t afford to get complacent. Every move had to be calculated, every interaction with the Waynes carefully managed. He continued to play the dutiful partner at Wayne Manor, enduring Dick’s increasingly desperate attempts to bond with him. Though the sex was no less aggressive or possessive, there was a desperation to it now—a frantic need to solidify a connection that simply wasn’t taking hold.

His obsession with impregnating Y/N persisted, though the physical intensity of his efforts varied. Despite Bruce’s suggestion to ease off, Dick remained fixated on the idea that a child would be the ultimate bond between them. He believed that Y/N's resistance could be overcome through sheer persistence and frequent sexual encounters.

His desperation was rooted in the unique nature of bonding itself. It’s not just a bite or a single act of marking; it’s a series of connected actions—intimacy, emotional vulnerability, and a deep mental connection that needs to be nurtured over time. Bonds that form willingly tend to be stronger and healthier, but forced bonds are often unstable, marked by volatility and strain. It is why mating bonds hold a higher status than legal marriages; the physical and psychological ramifications of breaking one can be devastating, even fatal, to one or both partners.

The theory that pregnancy could facilitate bonding has persisted for years, though it has never been definitively proven. Researchers have long speculated that a pregnancy between an Alpha and an Omega, or even a Beta and an Omega, could help solidify a bond—even in cases where one partner is unwilling or resisting. The rationale is that the hormonal and biological changes triggered by pregnancy may influence the subconscious bond between partners, making it more difficult to resist.

For Alphas like Dick, this theory isn’t merely speculative science—it’s a lifeline, a desperate bid for control. The idea that a child could finally cement the bond between him and Y/N has become an obsession, a relentless pursuit driven by his natural dominant Alpha nature, paired with his possessive attitude and fear of losing Y/N entirely. To Dick, a child isn’t just about family or legacy; it’s the ultimate means of tying Y/N to him permeanently, both physically and emotionally.

Despite Bruce’s insistence on a more measured approach, Dick continues his efforts to impregnate Y/N. The physical intensity of his encounters varies—sometimes brutal and aggressive, other times slow and almost pleading—but the end goal remains the same: breaking Y/N's resistance and establishing a bond that has so far eluded him.

For Y/N, each encounter is a twisted blend of rage and resignation. He knows exactly what Dick is trying to achieve, and while the physical invasion is brutal in itself, the deeper violation is the attempt to force a bond that could have devastating consequences for both of them—especially for the Omega.

The safest way to dissolve a bond is gradual separation, letting it fade over time. Abrupt breaks or disruptions, however, can be severe. Infidelity, abuse, emotional strain, or even minor conflicts can weaken a bond, causing mild depression, anxiety, and a lingering sense of emptiness. But with a stronger, more established bond, the fallout is far worse: severe trauma, debilitating illness, and, in extreme cases, even death.

This is Dick's ultimate goal and the reality Y/N faces—control through leverage. If he succeeds in cementing a bond, any chance of Y/N escaping the Waynes' grasp would be shattered. Y/N's resistance isn't merely about preserving his autonomy; it’s about protecting what little remains of his mind and spirit, still unbroken.

Every time Dick’s efforts fall short, it only fuels the Alpha’s resolve to try again, believing that persistence will eventually wear down Y/N's resistance. Dick’s actions are driven by more than just possessiveness—they're also fueled by a deep-seated fear. If he fails to bond with Y/N, he risks losing him entirely, and that’s something Dick is determined to avoid at all costs.

Even Bruce, as calculated as he is, understands the stakes. He knows that Dick’s obsession is not just about Y/N as an Omega; it’s about what Y/N represents to Dick—an unfulfilled desire, a sense of ownership that remains incomplete. Bruce’s suggestion to ease off on the intensity was not out of compassion, but strategy. He recognizes that forcing a bond could backfire, potentially breaking Y/N’s spirit beyond repair or even driving him to further rebellion.

But for now, Dick remains undeterred, holding onto the belief that Y/N’s body—if not his mind—will eventually submit. The desperate cycle continues, each encounter a brutal mix of possessive lust and forced intimacy, leaving Y/N with the bitter understanding that Dick will not stop until the bond is made, one way or another.

Whenever Y/N was at work, Dick would often show up unannounced, using the guise of a lunch date. But those visits, once casual, quickly escalated into increasingly aggressive displays of possession.

After one particularly disruptive incident, Bruce had to intervene. “Dick, you need to control yourself,” Bruce warned, his tone stern but not entirely unsympathetic. “Your behavior is affecting Y/N’s work—and the company’s reputation.”

Dick’s response was defiant. “I’m just trying to solidify our bond, Bruce. You of all people should understand that.”

But even Bruce’s reprimands couldn’t completely curb Dick’s obsessive behavior. He found ways to maintain his hold over Y/N, even outside of work.

One night, Dick’s patrol had taken an unexpected detour. With the city quiet and most of Gotham’s rogues either hiding or licking their wounds, there was more than enough time for him to indulge his carnal desires. It was the perfect opportunity to take Y/N for a spin—both literally and figuratively. As Nightwing, he often let his impulses run wild, and this night was no different.

The Batmobile’s interior was dimly lit, the blue glow of its dashboard casting dark shadows over Nightwing’s form. His muscular frame, clad in the iconic black and blue suit, exuded raw power. The sleek, black leather hugged every inch of him, making his presence even more intimidating, yet undeniably alluring. His signature bird emblem gleamed against the dim light, and his grin was nothing short of devilish.

Y/N was thrown onto his lap the moment the autopilot was engaged, forced to straddle the Alpha in the cramped vehicle. “Let’s see how fast we can go while you ride me,” Nightwing taunted, his voice deep and filled with lust, the heat of his breath fanning Y/N’s cheek. It was a dangerous game, but one that had become all too familiar between them.

Y/N's body tensed instinctively, trying to maintain the last fragments of resistance. “You’re insane,” he managed to whisper, but his tone lacked conviction. His Omega instincts were betraying him, responding to the heat and the primal energy radiating from Nightwing.

“I might be,” Dick admitted with a smirk, his hands already moving to slide up Y/N’s thighs, feeling the taut muscles beneath. “But you love it, don’t you?” He continued his teasing touches, rough hands squeezing the Omega’s hips possessively before pushing up Y/N’s shirt, exposing his chest.

Y/N shivered at the contact, torn between defiance and the undeniable pull of his biological instincts. His body betrayed him, slick starting to pool beneath him, dampening the fabric of his pants. It was humiliating to be so responsive, but it was the truth—his Omega nature couldn’t resist the call of a dominant Alpha, especially one who wielded power so effortlessly.

Dick noticed immediately, a satisfied chuckle escaping his lips. “See? I knew you couldn’t help yourself. You were made for this, Y/N.” He shifted his hips upwards, grinding against Y/N’s entrance, the bulge in his suit pressing insistently. “You can try to fight it, but we both know who’s in control here.”

Y/N tried to maintain his composure, his breathing shallow and erratic. He could feel the hard press of Dick’s arousal against him, the thick heat promising both pleasure and domination. The confined space of the Batmobile only added to the intensity, making it feel as if there was nowhere to escape—even if he wanted to.

“Remember the first time we were here?” Dick whispered into Y/N’s ear, his voice dripping with sinful nostalgia. “You were so stubborn then, trying to push me away even as your body begged for more. I told you then that I’d make you mine, and look where we are now.” He nipped at Y/N’s earlobe before tracing a line down his neck, the touch both possessive and tender.

Y/N whimpered, torn between pushing Dick away and giving in to the overwhelming desire. His slick was embarrassingly copious now, dripping down his thighs, betraying his internal struggle. Dick’s touch was rough, his fingers sliding into the wet heat with a confidence that spoke of ownership.

“Feel how wet you are?” Dick taunted, pumping his fingers inside Y/N with slow, deliberate strokes. “All for me. You’re practically begging to be fucked.” His voice was thick with lust, his blue eyes gleaming behind the black mask as he watched Y/N’s face contort with conflicting emotions.

Y/N’s head fell back against the cool glass of the Batmobile’s window, his body trembling as Dick’s fingers played him like an instrument. He hated how good it felt, how his Omega instincts urged him to submit completely, to let the Alpha take control. The shame was there, but it was drowned out by the flood of arousal that Dick had expertly drawn from him.

“Say it,” Dick whispered harshly, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear. “Admit that you want it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his voice barely audible as he struggled to find words. “I… I hate you,” he choked out, his tone laced with both anger and reluctant desire.

Dick’s grin widened, his fingers thrusting harder in response. “I can work with that,” he said with dark amusement. “But I want more than just your hate. I want you to admit that you want this—that you need it.” He leaned back, his free hand moving to undo his own zipper, releasing the long, throbbing length that had been straining against his suit.

Y/N’s eyes widened, the sight of the Alpha’s cock sending a fresh wave of arousal through him. What he lacked in girth, he made up for in length, the tip already glistening with precum—a sight he had become shamefully accustomed to. “No,” he managed to whisper, shaking his head weakly. But his body betrayed him, shifting forward involuntarily, driven by instinct.

“Yes,” Dick insisted, his voice low and commanding. He positioned Y/N over his lap, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the Omega’s dripping entrance. “Say it, Y/N. Admit I'm your Alpha.”

Tears of frustration welled up in Y/N’s eyes, his body shaking with need and defiance. But the pressure was too much, the thick heat of Dick’s cock against his opening breaking down the last of his resistance. “You… You're my Alpha,” he finally confessed, his voice a mix of desperation and surrender.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dick growled, and with a sharp thrust, he buried himself inside Y/N, filling him completely. The Omega cried out, his body arching as he felt the throbbing tool plunge deep into his depths, stretching him open. It was both painful and satisfying, a reminder of the power dynamic that defined their twisted relationship.

Dick’s hands gripped Y/N’s hips, guiding him into a punishing rhythm. “Ride me, baby,” he ordered, his voice rough with pleasure. “Let’s see just how fast we can go.”

Y/N’s body moved on instinct, hips grinding down as he adjusted to the fullness inside him. The car’s interior was filled with the obscene sounds of their coupling—the wet slap of skin against skin, the creak of leather, and the muffled groans that escaped Y/N’s lips.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Dick grunted, his hands digging into Y/N’s hips as he thrust upwards, meeting the Omega’s movements with brutal force. He was relentless, his pace quickening as they chased their shared release. “You were made for this, Y/N. Made to take my cock, to be filled by me.”

Y/N’s mind was a haze of pleasure and shame, the desperate need to climax overtaking any rational thought. He hated how much he craved the Alpha’s touch, but in this moment, he was helpless to resist. “F-Fuck,” he stuttered, his voice breaking as he felt the familiar tightening in his passage.

Dick’s grip tightened, his thrusts growing more erratic as he neared his own release. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice hoarse. “Cum for me. Show me how much you love being fucked by your Alpha.”

With a final, shuddering moan, Y/N’s body gave in, his climax crashing over him in waves. His slick gushed around Dick’s cock, the wet heat driving the Alpha over the edge. Dick buried himself deep inside, his knot swelling as he filled Y/N with his seed.

For a moment, they were both still, their heavy breathing the only sound in the car. The bond they both sought to forge and resist hung thick in the air, a reminder of the twisted connection that kept them tethered.

“Filthy Omega,” Dick whispered harshly against Y/N’s ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “Look at the mess you made. Slicked all over my cock like a needy slut.” The Alpha’s words were a twisted mix of degradation and praise, sending a new wave of heat rushing through Y/N’s trembling body. The confined space of the Batmobile only seemed to amplify the raw, primal energy between them.

Dick’s hands gripped Y/N’s hips with a bruising force as he pulled out, letting his spent cock slip free with a wet sound. Y/N’s thighs quivered, slick and cum dripping down his skin, creating an obscene trail of fluids that smeared over the dark leather of the center console. The Omega’s breath came in ragged gasps, the lingering pleasure of his climax mingling with a deep, humiliating shame.

“But don’t worry,” Dick continued, his voice low and possessive, lips brushing against the shell of Y/N’s ear. “I’ll clean you up. Just like I always do.” There was a sinister tenderness in his tone, as if he relished the contrast between his rough dominance and the twisted care he took afterward.

Before Y/N could fully comprehend what was happening, Dick roughly lifted him off his lap, flipping him over the center console with practiced ease. Y/N’s face pressed into the cool leather of the passenger seat, his ass raised high in the air while own his aching, leaking Omega penis was trapped awkwardly against the console. The position was utterly degrading, a blatant reminder of his vulnerability and the absolute control the Alpha held over him.

“Stay right there,” Dick ordered, his grip firm as he held Y/N’s thighs apart, exposing the slick, swollen flesh still glistening with his cum. There was no mercy in his touch, only a possessive hunger that burned in his eyes as he took in the sight of the Omega’s dripping hole.

Y/N’s instinct was to close his legs, to hide himself from the Alpha’s ravenous gaze, but Dick’s hands kept him spread open, fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising intent. “You taste so good, baby,” he murmured, the anticipation thick in his voice.

And then, without any warning, Dick’s mouth was on him.

The first swipe of the Alpha’s tongue was hot and wet, lapping hungrily at the slick-smeared grooves. Y/N’s body jolted, a shocked gasp escaping his lips as the sensation rippled through him. He tried to squirm away from the overwhelming contact, his instincts telling him to flee, but Dick’s hands were relentless, holding him in place with a force that made it clear there was no escape.

“Stay still,” Dick commanded, his voice a guttural growl as his tongue delved deeper, greedily tasting the mix of their fluids. The sound of his mouth working over Y/N’s sensitive flesh was lewd and messy, echoing obscenely within the confines of the Batmobile’s soundproof interior.

Y/N’s entire body trembled, every nerve ignited by the Alpha’s relentless assault. The shame of being spread and licked clean like this was almost unbearable, yet the sensation itself was maddeningly good. His mind screamed at him to resist, but his Omega instincts betrayed him, sending pulses of pleasure through his overstimulated core.

“Look at you,” Dick mocked between rough licks, his breath hot against Y/N’s slickened skin. “Still so sensitive… still leaking for me.” His voice was a mix of cruelty and dark amusement, each word punctuated by another obscene slurp. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be fucked, bred, and tasted by your Alpha.”

Y/N’s thighs quivered uncontrollably, his breath hitching with each swipe of Dick’s tongue. He tried to press his hips forward, seeking some kind of relief from the intensity, but Dick’s strong grip kept him pinned firmly in place. The Alpha’s mouth was merciless, alternating between long, languid licks and sharp, teasing nips that sent jolts of pleasure-pain through Y/N’s body.

Tears pricked at Y/N’s eyes, a mix of humiliation and desperate arousal welling up inside him. He hated how much his body responded to this, how his instincts pushed him to arch further, to present himself even more to the Alpha’s insatiable mouth. “P-please,” he finally managed to whisper, his voice barely audible and thick with shame.

“Please, what?” Dick mocked, his voice muffled as his tongue continued its sinful exploration. “Please stop? Or please keep going?” He pulled back just enough to let the words hang in the air, the wet, slick sounds of his mouth pausing for a moment.

Y/N squeezed his eyes shut, the shame of the situation overwhelming. “Please…” he choked out, not even sure what he was begging for anymore.

Dick’s laughter was low and satisfied, a dark rumble that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. “Good Omega,” he murmured approvingly, before diving back in with renewed vigor. His tongue pressed deep, swirling around Y/N’s entrance, tasting every last drop of slick and cum that still clung to the Omega’s abused hole.

The rest of the patrol was spent with Dick’s tongue buried deep inside Y/N, licking and tasting until he was satisfied. The Omega’s cries were silenced by the Batmobile’s soundproof casing, the outside world blissfully unaware of the depravity taking place within Gotham’s iconic vehicle.

And when it was finally over, Y/N was left trembling and spent, the lingering taste of shame and reluctant pleasure still heavy on his tongue.

It wasn’t just confined to work or the Batmobile. About a month after the apartment incident, Dick fell into another rut—a state that left Y/N bracing for days of relentless, obsessive attention. And the Alpha did not disappoint.

The first night, there was no pretense of gentleness or affection. The moment Dick caught Y/N’s scent, his eyes darkened with raw, desperate hunger. He didn’t waste time with words or coaxing; instead, he moved with urgency, his hands roughly grabbing Y/N’s arms and pinning him against the nearest wall. The Omega struggled instinctively, trying to twist away from the Alpha’s iron grip, but it was useless.

“You know exactly what’s coming,” Dick growled, his voice hoarse and rough, thick with desire and frustration. “No fighting it.”

Before Y/N could even attempt to pull free, Dick lifted him off the ground with frightening ease, throwing him over his broad shoulder. The familiar feeling of being draped over Dick’s muscular frame sent a mix of anger, humiliation, and an involuntary thrill through Y/N’s body. His legs dangled uselessly, and his vision tilted as he was carried down the hall like nothing more than a prize to be claimed.

“Sooner or later, this bond is going to take,” Dick murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and lingering frustration. “And once it does, you’ll finally be mine.”

The sessions were grueling. Each attempt at conceiving and bonding left Y/N’s body sore and leaking with slick and cum. But despite Dick’s persistence, Y/N’s body continued to reject the bond. The psychological strain, however, was beginning to show. Every time a bite faded and every time knotting knotting that failed in resulting in pregnancy, the Alpha’s frustration became more evident.

“You promised me,” Dick murmured darkly one night, his sweaty, muscular body pressed against the Omega's as his hand possessively stroked his abdomen. “We’ll have a family. I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Y/N’s only response was a silent, simmering hatred masked behind feigned exhaustion.

Sensing Dick’s growing frustration, the Wayne family attempted to step in. Concerned by the mounting tension, Bruce called the doctor once more, seeking answers to Y/N’s continued resistance. The doctor’s explanation remained unchanged: Y/N’s body was actively rejecting both the bond and Dick’s sperm, a direct result of severe psychological trauma that had created a physiological barrier. It was a rare but documented occurrence, particularly among male Omegas, who were not only the most vulnerable in societal dynamics but also among the most coveted and frequently subjected to forced bonding attempts.

The news struck Dick hard. His confidence, usually unwavering, began to crack. Y/N, however, saw it as an opportunity. The more desperate Dick became, the more vulnerable his family’s control grew.

Despite the emotional toll of Dick’s rut, Y/N continued his secret alliance-building at Wayne Enterprises. His interactions with Wyndall became more strategic, filled with coded messages and clandestine planning. The growing network of Omegas—many of whom were eager to support Shadow—provided a sense of hope, albeit a fragile one.

Y/N’s initial assessment of the Bat-Family, made during his first few weeks at Wayne Manor, had been thorough but cautious. He’d known from the start that escaping would require understanding not just the physical layout of the manor, but also the dynamics and individual traits of its inhabitants. The Waynes weren’t merely skilled fighters; they were highly trained vigilantes, each with a distinct approach to strategy and conflict. It made them formidable as a unit—and unpredictable as individuals.

Despite the varying levels of threat each member posed, Y/N had found ways to navigate their behaviors and interactions. It wasn’t about defeating them outright; it was about identifying who could be manipulated, distracted, or potentially turned against one another.

Damian, for example, was observant but impulsive. His youthful arrogance and quick temper often led him to act before thinking, making him a potential loose cannon. Y/N knew that if it came down to it, he could exploit Damian’s need for validation and his rash tendencies, possibly leading the youngest Wayne into a trap of his own making.

Tim, on the other hand, was far more methodical. The former Red Robin had an analytical mind and an impressive ability to piece together puzzles, making him a significant threat to Y/N’s plans. Y/N would need to be especially cautious around him, careful not to leave any traceable patterns or inconsistencies that Tim could latch onto. Tim’s tendency to overthink was both a strength and a weakness, and Y/N planned to use that to his advantage—feeding him conflicting information that would hopefully slow down any investigations.

Jason, meanwhile, presented a different kind of risk. Unlike his brothers, Jason was less interested in subtlety and more inclined toward direct confrontation. His approach was aggressive, even ruthless, which could be both an advantage and a danger to Y/N. If Y/N could find a way to manipulate Jason’s anger—perhaps by playing into his ongoing tensions with Bruce—he could turn Red Hood’s unpredictable nature into a useful diversion. But it was a risky move, one that would have to be executed perfectly to avoid immediate, violent repercussions.

Bruce himself was a more complex adversary. As both Batman and the head of the Wayne family, he was the lynchpin of their entire operation. Bruce’s reputation as the world’s greatest detective wasn’t merely a title; it was a proven reality. He had an uncanny ability to see through deceptions and understand the motivations of those around him. However, Y/N had noticed one critical factor: Bruce’s loyalty to his sons often clouded his judgment. Y/N realized that Bruce’s greatest weakness was his desire to maintain the family’s unity and ensure his children’s happiness, particularly Dick’s. This vulnerability could be exploited—albeit carefully. It was likely the only reason Bruce had agreed to allow Y/N to return to Wayne Enterprises and to have some semblance of freedom.

Despite Bruce's reputation as the ultimate tactician and the "World's Greatest Detective," Y/N’s real adversary wasn’t the Batman. It was the unassuming figure who, for decades, had stood silently at Bruce’s side, managing the household and, in many ways, the family itself: Alfred Pennyworth.

Alfred was a master of observation, capable of picking up on even the smallest discrepancies in behavior or routine. Y/N had quickly realized that the butler’s quiet presence wasn’t merely a sign of deference; it was a strategic position that allowed him to monitor every aspect of the manor and its inhabitants. Where Bruce’s vigilance was focused outward, constantly searching for threats to Gotham, Alfred’s was internal, designed to maintain control over the household’s dynamics and detect any signs of rebellion or dissent.

Still, Alfred’s vigilance remained a constant threat. The butler’s piercing gaze and unyielding loyalty to the Waynes forced Y/N to tread carefully. Every move, every interaction was carefully calculated to avoid arousing Alfred’s suspicions.

Though, during one late-night conversation, Alfred confronted Y/N directly. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you, Master Y/N? I imagine you’ve considered all the possible outcomes of your situation.”

Y/N met his gaze evenly, refusing to flinch. “I’m just trying to make the best of what I have, Alfred. Isn’t that what we all do?”

The butler’s expression was unreadable, but his words were clear. “Just remember, some battles are won not with cunning, but with endurance. This family is not easily bested.”

If the Bat-Family were a fortress, Alfred was its foundation—unshakable, impenetrable, and always aware.

Y/N had been somewhat prepared for the challenges presented by the Waynes. He’d expected Bruce’s overprotectiveness, Dick’s possessiveness, and even Damian’s unpredictability. What he hadn’t fully anticipated was the sheer extent of Alfred’s influence. The butler wasn’t just a servant; he was the glue that held the family together, the one who managed both their personal lives and their vigilante endeavors with meticulous precision.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to realize that if anyone could see through his carefully constructed facade, it was Alfred.

The butler’s scrutiny was constant, though never overt. He never interrogated Y/N directly, nor did he engage in overt displays of power. Instead, Alfred’s approach was subtle—an innocuous question here, a knowing glance there. It was as if the butler had a sixth sense for deception, able to detect the faintest hint of dishonesty in the air.

Alfred’s presence was pervasive, almost omnipresent. No matter where Y/N was in the manor, Alfred always seemed to be nearby—whether it was delivering a well-timed cup of tea, silently observing from a doorway, or appearing suddenly to provide a neatly folded towel when Y/N returned from a shower. Y/N had once joked to himself that Alfred could probably hear a pin drop from three floors away.

He wasn’t wrong.

It was the incident with the break-in that solidified Alfred’s position as Y/N’s most formidable opponent. Y/N had been in his room, scribbling notes in a coded shorthand he’d developed to document the mansion’s security layout and defenses. The sound of shattering glass downstairs had immediately put him on edge. He was about to investigate when his designated phone rang, Alfred’s voice calm and authoritative on the other end.

“Master Y/N, please remain in your room and lock the door. Master Dick insists.”

Y/N had considered ignoring the instruction, but his curiosity got the better of him. He made his way downstairs, staying low and quiet, only to witness Alfred dispatching one of the intruders with surprising efficiency. The old man’s movements were precise and practiced, each strike deliberate and effective. The sight was both impressive and unnerving, a stark reminder that Alfred wasn’t merely a caretaker—he was a trained operative, one who had likely seen and done far more than most of Gotham’s criminals.

But the true revelation came when Y/N spotted the second intruder sneaking up behind him. Before the guy could strike, Alfred was there, intercepting the attacker with a level of skill that bordered on lethal. The quick takedown was both brutal and controlled, a clear demonstration of the butler’s combat prowess.

It was at that moment that Y/N understood the full extent of Alfred’s capabilities. The butler wasn’t just aware of Y/N’s movements—he was actively countering them, anticipating potential threats before they could fully manifest. If Y/N was going to succeed in his escape, he would need to be more cunning than ever before. Alfred would be the one who could unravel his plans before they even began, the silent force that could keep Y/N trapped indefinitely.

“So...Alfred is the real boss around here,” Y/N muttered to himself one night, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of his room. It wasn’t an exaggeration. The butler was the linchpin, the one person Y/N would have to outmaneuver to gain his freedom.

As Y/N continued to build his network of allies at Wayne Enterprises, he remained hyper-aware of Alfred’s constant surveillance. Each interaction, every coded message to Wyndall or whispered conversation with a trusted colleague, had to be meticulously planned and executed. There was no room for error. One misstep, one poorly timed message, and Alfred would undoubtedly be there, ready to intervene.

The looming presence of the butler was both a challenge and a motivator. If Y/N could manage to deceive Alfred, he could deceive anyone. It was the ultimate test of his cunning and resolve—a psychological chess game where a single wrong move could cost him everything.

“Don’t think I’ve lost sight of your true intentions, Master Y/N,” Alfred said one morning, catching Y/N’s gaze in a moment of startling clarity.

Y/N’s heart raced, but he managed a small, defiant smile. “You’d be a fool to think I’m not planning something, Alfred.”

The butler’s eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of respect behind the suspicion. “Just remember, Master Y/N—escaping may not be the hardest part. Surviving the aftermath will be.”

He would escape and he would survive. Alfred Pennyworth might be the final boss, but Y/N was prepared to play the long game—one calculated move at a time.

This story concludes on Archive of Our Own...

☀️ | Dick Grayson/Nightwing | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

🌗 | Nightwing & Shadow | 🌗 (this image was generated by Bing AI)

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sigilslvt · 2 months ago

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In Too Deep • Suguru x Reader x Satoru Fic (GOOD ENDING)

☣︎ Summary: You've known Satoru Gojo for 15 years, naturally falling in love with him and ending up in a relationship. What happens when you come home from a 4 month long mission to watch your life fall apart?

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader x Suguru Geto

Tags: fem! reader, cheating, pregnancy, parenthood, marriage, brief attempted self mutilation, ANGST, polyamory, anal (male receiving), oral (female and male receiving), collar play, smut, p in v, rough sex, creampie

WC: 12.2k

Art: yoroz_rozx13 on Twitter!

A/N: The bad ending has another few thousand words and will be posted by the end of the week, I'm gonna let you all sit with this mushiness for a bit!

You were supposed to be home from your mission next week, but had asked the elders to cut you loose early, since you’d gotten some surprising news that meant you needed to keep yourself safe. Thankfully they said yes on account of your ever-evolving skills and usefulness, which brought you to this. Home. You’re finally so close to home after 4 months. You’ve dreamed about this moment from the second you left, just aching to be in your bed by Gojo’s side again.

You smile as you lean against the wall of the elevator, headed up to the condo. Every moment that’s led to this playing through your head. Meeting each other as snot nosed 6 year olds, becoming best friends after bonding over your strength, falling in love in high school through all you both had been through, and finally marrying him 6 months ago. The past 15 years have been a dream. Your hand rests below your navel as you smile, eyes closed pulling the memories from your mind and playing them behind your eyelids like a movie.

When the elevator doors open, you walk to your door and shove the key in only for it to push open, making you raise a brow. “Why leave the door open?” You whisper to yourself. Nudging it open slowly, you peer in, hearing music playing from far in the back. “Satoru?” You call out, getting no answer. A pout forms on your face as you lock the door behind you and walk toward your shared bedroom.

The hall is littered with his clothing, making you smile to yourself thinking about how sloppy he always is when you’re away. Finally reaching the room, you open the door, seeing him sprawled out on the bed... with a woman straddling him, marked from head to toe in love bites.

“What the fuck?” The woman exclaims, turning to you and covering her breasts. Your eyes, however, are stuck on Satoru, whose expression is that of annoyance.

“Get off and get out.” He rolls his eyes as he talks to the girl, pushing her off. He sighs and walks to the bathroom as the woman runs out of your home, clothes in hand. You blink away the shock, slamming your fist into the bathroom wall as the shower turns on, watching him get in.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!? Gojo, what the fuck were you doing!? We’re married! You cheated!” You scream, hot tears falling down your cheek. Your heart is pounding in your chest, mind replaying the moment you just lived in your head again, disbelief clear on your face.

“God, you say it like I killed a baby or somethin’.” He responds sluggishly.

Your eyes widen: he’s struck a nerve. More importantly— “You’re drunk.” You spit.

“Ding ding ding!” He shouts from the shower with a giggle that would normally make your heart swell, but instead, you feel only anger. You open the glass door and stare at him in shock.

“Satoru, why...? I thought you loved me... a-after everything we’ve been through… we’ve known each other over half our lives, h-how could you just throw it all away?” You ask, broken and confused.

“I do love you, sugar, but you were gone. Y’chose the job. You left me. Y-hic-you left.” He shrugs, but the hurt in his voice is clear. Your mind goes back to the day you left. The argument you had.

He’d been trying to convince you to stay for hours. He’d pulled out all the stops— homemade breakfast, a few fuck sessions, flowers, jewelry, and even begging on his knees. He kept saying he had a bad feeling about you leaving. Like he’d never see you again. You left anyway.

“How many times!?” You shout. He looks like he’s out of it, not understanding your question. “HOW MANY TIMES, SATORU!?” You get louder.

“Too many to count, honestly.” He lazily responds like it’s insignificant.

And that’s it. Without entertaining anything further, you turn on your heel and run. Far away from the place you once called home.

You feel like you’ve been running for days before you finally reach the front door to a familiar house. You knock hard, crying and clutching your body in your own arms as if they could keep you steady. It only takes a few moments before you get impatient and move to knock again, but the door opens and your fist is caught in the hand of someone you’ve kept yourself from for three years.

“Well, well, well... long time, no see, angel.” Suguru’s low voice sounds out. He sees the tears in your eyes and frowns before tugging you inside, slamming the door closed behind him. “What did he do?” He asks firmly, pupils already constricting, grip tightening subconsciously. You wince at the pain. “S-Sugu.” You whimper out.

He lets go, backing away immediately and you rub your wrist before looking back up at him. “He cheated... he cheated and he didn’t even care, he said he’s done it a lot...” you answer his question as you let out another sob. Geto slams his fist against the wall closest to him, breaking it.

The look on his face is nothing less than pure anger, hatred even. He can’t fathom the fact that the one girl he’s ever loved is broken in pieces in front of him because of the man he once called his best friend. “I’m going to kill that fuckin’ idiot.” He starts for the door.

“YOU CAN’T!” You shout, grabbing his jacket tightly.

“Why the hell not!?” He asks, eyes darkening.

“B-because we’re... I’m having his baby...” You confess, making his eyes widen. “I need you to help me disappear. I-I know it’ll be hard because he can sense our cursed energy, but I’ll work hard to conceal mine a-and I know you can do it, you’ve hid all this time. You’re the only one I trust… please?” You ask of him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Toru had gone to sleep after his shower, the world around him dizzy. When he wakes the next day, the previous night comes to him in bits and pieces. He remembers you coming home early... having sex... and a shower? He sighs and calls your name out loud. This was why he hated drinking. Black outs were no fun. Piecing together reality and imagination was annoying. The headaches? Worse.

Standing up, he makes his way to the living room, seeing your bag. “So she did come home...” he smiles, reaching for it and starting to unpack for you. A few items later, he finds a long box and opens it, seeing 3 pregnancy tests that say ‘positive’. His eyes widen and he gasps, dropping them. Everything that happened the previous night now coming back to him.

He rushes to his phone and calls you, getting your voicemail immediately. He hangs up and tries seven more times before leaving a voicemail. He wanted to say you didn’t understand, he was too drunk to explain the right way. He wanted to tell you how he felt. “In a world full of people I didn’t choose to be born different from, let alone this much stronger than, I always felt alone… and then you came along. And as long as you were around, I didn’t have to remember that lonely feeling. But then you left… you left and I… please… please just call me.” he murmurs into the phone before hanging up and crying as he grips the tests again. He ruined it all. Over one stupid night. Because of him, you must think your entire relationship has been a lie.

You listen to the voicemail while waiting for Suguru to finish with a meeting here at the temple, crying silently. The plan is to lay low after this and let Manami run things on the front end so that people would think Geto disappeared. You’ll simply stay with him in his home, disconnected from the temple entirely in case Satoru checks.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Two years have passed since d-day. You still wonder if he looked for you at all or if he’d simply moved on. Standing at your dresser, you sigh, closing the case that held your old wedding ring before turning to see Suguru playing with the babies, making your heart flutter. Smiling widely, you walk to them and kneel down, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. Your son didn’t like that very much and smacks Suguru with one of his tiny hands, earning a giggle from you. “Mafuyu!” Sugu pouts, drawing his name out like a whiny child.

Asuka hits Mafuyu back with a stuffed animal and it makes Geto bellow out a genuine laugh. Daddy’s girl. You pick both of your sweet children up and bounce them. “Y’guys wanna go to the park?” You ask, knowing they aren’t quite old enough to answer, but they’ll enjoy it regardless. You look to Suguru and smile softly. “Go ahead and get to your meeting, we’ll be back before you.” You hum before leaving.

The trip there is painless. Not often do you go out in order to avoid Gojo, so you do your best to make the most out of it, stopping to get ice cream for your babies to let their face and hands eat more than their mouths. It’s a wonder none of it flies to the front seat with you.

You take the babies out of their car seats and walk them to the area of the park that says it’s for toddlers only, letting them loose there.

You’re smiling as Mafuyu slides down the slide and into your arms, Asuka following closely behind. Your guard isn’t as high as it once was, as you’d gone so long without an issue. You simply focus on your perfect twins in this moment. “Is it really you...?” A voice sounds out behind you. You turn to see Yaga staring directly at you and the babies and your eyes widen.

“Please leave us alone...” Your voice comes out shakily, backing up as you fumble around for the twins.

“I-are you safe?” He asks, but you turn and run, unwilling to allow even that information to get out. The second you get to the car, you strap Mafuyu and Asuka into their car seats and waste no time on putting yours on before you rush home, making sure you aren’t followed.

Back at the park, Yaga texts Satoru to meet there as soon as possible. Gojo, hungover and exhausted, teleports there, tripping and stumbling over his feet when he lands. He hiccups and reaches in his pocket, grabbing a tiny bottle of vodka out and downing it.

Things have been rough for him the last two years. He had tried to find you for over a year before breaking down, knowing you wouldn’t be found because you didn’t want to be. Knowing you likely had help. It didn’t take long to find out Geto was either protecting you or with you. But he disappeared before Satoru could get any answers, too. So he became a sad shell of who he once was. Yaga sucks his teeth and smacks the back of Satoru’s head, actually making contact with it, as the white-haired drunk had stopped bothering to use his ability all the time.

“I saw her. With twins that had bright white hair like yours... I saw her, Satoru.” Yaga says, his own voice wavering. You meant a lot to him, too, after all. You, Shoko, Geto, and Gojo were all his star pupils and now you and Geto are both gone, Geto having taken a dangerous path with you likely following him.

Satoru’s eyes widen as his world lights up before him and he tears up, all his hope returning and all his questions flitting through his mind quicker than he can process them. “T-Twins…? Where? Is she safe? Where!? WHERE, Yaga!?” He shouts, distressed and crying as he clutches Yaga’s vest. The dark purple rings around his eyes are even more apparent with how strikingly bright his cerulean orbs have gotten.

Yaga sighs, feeling a fraction of Satoru’s pain. He feels pity for the man. “They looked good. Healthy. But… she ran when I confronted her. Satoru, look... I’m not the best person to get advice from, but... I don’t think you should rush head first into trying to get her back if you find her. The priority should be your kids. Always the kids.” He tells the broken man.

“Kids. I can’t believe I-I have kids... She had them...” he murmurs to himself. This changes everything for him. No more will he sit around and drown in his misery and booze. He needs to get clean. If not for himself, then for you. For the kids.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Geto had become overprotective since the incident with Yaga. It’s been seven months and he’s still afraid Satoru will show up and try to win you back, but even more afraid that the kids- HIS kids, will be taken, too. He loves them more than his own life, there’s no way he could continue to live without you, Mafuyu, and Asuka. Not after almost three years of pure bliss. Not after he was finally the one you chose. He’d been waiting on this since you guys met during your first year of high school. Back then, he was too late. Gojo’d already had his claws in you. He’d be a fool to make it easy for the man to rip away the woman and kids of his dreams.

“Suguru?” You snap him from his thoughts, bending over and kissing his forehead, right between his brows to smooth the wrinkles there. He smiles up at you and presses a sweet kiss to your stomach in return.

“Yeah, baby...” he hums. You pout, unsure if he’s okay. Since you’d been seen by Yaga, he’s been a ball of anxiety and a part of you knows it’s because he’s worried that he’ll be left in the dust if Gojo comes back.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere... except for the store because I’m craving pickles and salt and vinegar chips and I’ll die without them.” You joke, earning a chuckle from him. The tension in his shoulders visibly subsides and he rolls his eyes, bringing you closer to him by your thighs.

“I love you.” He murmurs and it sounds like the sweetest song you’ve ever heard. Like he’s a siren just drawing you in with every word.

“I love you. A million times more.” You say and you know it isn’t true. You know that nobody has ever loved anyone more on this Earth as much as Sugu loves you. He knows you know it and lets you go with that.

You quickly make your way out of the house, wanting to be back before the twins wake up from their nap and give their father hell about their mommy being gone. You find yourself in the store, reaching for the pickles, but having a tough time. When you finally get them, you stand up and your stomach knocks down a few jars on the way up, causing them to shatter all over the floor. You’re embarrassed, but someone comes behind you and slightly moves you out of the way of the glass. People are staring and you’re about to bend over to start cleaning it up when the person behind you speaks up. “I’ve got it, ma’am. You can keep shopping, now.” He speaks, facing toward the people staring and not you. You freeze. Satoru.

“T-Thank you.” You whisper, trying your best to be as quiet and sound as unrecognizable as possible. You turn to leave, but before you can walk away, a hand wraps around one of your arms. It’s strong. Familiar. Facing the owner, you see Satoru’s wide piercing blue eyes, the look on his face none other than one of shock and pain.

“I... you...” he murmurs. Before you know it, he’s teleported you out of the store and up to the roof. “Sug-“ He starts to speak, but you interrupt him.

“Don’t. Call me that. Ever.” You spit. You thought the anger was gone, but seeing him, it all came rushing back. You place a hand on your bulging belly, backing up from him like being near him physically pains you.

He sighs, shaking his head and backing away. “I’m sorry...” He spoke, his voice cracking.

“Bullshit.” You respond, not missing a beat, pulling a wince from him.

“You don’t understand, I was drunk, what I said wasn’t what I meant. I meant I’d done it with her that night more times than I could count. I had never cheated on you before then, I swear to you” He explains.

A harsh judgemental scoff flees from your lips. “That’s supposed to make it better!?”

He shakes his head knowing he started off horribly. “No... but… it had been a long night. You were gone... and I just wanted you. I wanted you back and all I could think about was that you left me. That I wasn’t there to protect you. That I missed you. I was so scared I’d never see you again. At some point, I’d gotten so drunk that all I could see was you! You leaving, you not being able to speak with me for months, you possibly dying... A-And she walked in the bar and she… she looked so much like you… so much so that I stupidly fucking pretended she was. I wasn’t in my right mind, I was so fucked up with anxiety and depression and I was drunk, please tell me you understand!” he pleaded.

Your eyes tear up immediately, but you blink them away. What kind of sorry ass excuse is that? It didn’t even explain why he spoke to you the way he did, but it doesn’t even matter– this was over. “No.” You verbalize the decision you’d made long ago, beginning to walk away.

He looks at your stomach, desperation clear on his face. “And what about our kids? You have to let me see them at lea–”

“My kids. They’re my kids. And Suguru’s. You lost every right to them when you decided to be a shit excuse of a man. Is that how you want someone to treat your daughter!? How you want your son to treat women!?” You roar at him, walking up to him and pushing him again and again, not even realizing he’s not using his technique. “We’ve been just fine. Sugu stepped up and he’s been an amazing father. He’d never cheat if things got rough. Never treat me the way you did when I got home. I used to spend countless nights waiting for you to come home and you never did because you’re ‘the strongest’ and you were always needed! Did I cheat? No. It’s just an excuse for you. You didn’t even have the common decency to fucking apologize when caught, you acted like I’d stomped on your parade, you make me sick.” You spat.

Satoru is crying streams of tears now. He knows what you said is true, but he’d never thought the words would come from your mouth. He at least thought he’d be able to meet the kids. His kids. He had always imagined a life with you. Four kids, a huge house, all crazy talented sorcerers. It’s so close and yet… “I ju– I wanna see what they look like... boys? Girls? Both...? Please, su– please?” He asks, correcting himself before he uses his old pet name for you, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You shake your head and stand your ground, though your resolve wavers seeing him like this. Remembering the love you had for each other. “Leave us alone, Satoru. Or I’ll find a way to make sure you never find us again.” You threaten, leaving him alone on the rooftop, making your way down the stairwell.

You make your way home, your pregnancy cravings long forgotten, your mind only on the wish for Sugu’s loving embrace. He greets you at the door with a kiss to your stomach. “How’s the little fighter?” He asks, large hands rubbing your bump, calming you almost immediately.

“Good...” You respond, relief clear in your voice. You decide it’s best not to tell Geto what happened for fear of pushing him into doing something that may cost him his life.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Two months have passed since leaving Gojo on the roof. You were now in the hospital. “Come on angel, you can do it... I got you... I’m here...” Suguru reassures you as you scream loudly, holding onto his hand so hard you thought you’d break it. Your torso is hunched forward, legs spread while your doctor encourages you to keep pushing.

“I... can’t...” you pant. Your body is on fire and every muscle feels like it’s being torn to shreds. Were the twins this bad? God, you had forgotten. You push again. “One more time pretty girl, you’ve got this...” he kisses your sweaty forehead. You nod and push hard one last time before the room fills with cries. You cry joyfully at the sound of your child, Sugu cutting the cord before taking them to you.

“We’ve got a beautiful girl, angel… You gave us a pretty girl…” he coos proudly, placing the baby on your chest.

“Oh... oh my God...” you cry. Her eyes are purple, like Suguru’s. “Izumi... her name... is Izumi.” You whisper, stroking her already thick black hair. Looking up at him, your eyes widen. He... that couldn’t be possible. He’s crying. You lost your breath at the sight of something you’ve never seen before. “S-Sugu...” you whimper.

He smiles and gets down on one knee. You stare in disbelief as he takes out a ring as big and bright as the moon, practically. “Please... marry me... I’m so in love with you that I can’t imagine I could even breathe without you. Let me have the honor of becoming your husband. I swear I’ll always do right by you. Always cherish you. And I will always keep you safe.” He declares, the nurses and doctor around you letting out oohs and awws.

You nod quickly, no hesitation or doubt in your mind. “Yes… God, yes, I love you so much, baby.”

The pieces are starting to fall together, but in order for all of them to fit, a large one needs to be removed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You stopped hiding to get your divorce with Satoru and much to his displeasure it was all done through lawyers. No contact. He didn’t try to fight it, knowing worse things would come if he did. During that time, Geto had spent his time atoning for his offenses against humankind. It took a few months for Jujutsu Society to accept him, but in this new world with so many more curses, much of them stronger than what the world was used to, they had no choice but to welcome him again and accept his help.

Now, you’re standing in front of a mirror with a wedding gown on again, the sweet sound of giggling ringing through your ears like bells. The twins are in the room helping Izumi walk, as she’d just learned to do so. You can’t even begin to believe they’ve grown so fast. The twins are three years and ten months old and the baby is finally a year and one month old. You smile as you watch them, bending down to pat their heads, the twins looking so much like Toru when they peer up at you with their pretty blue eyes. You sigh and shake the thought away.

Before you know it, Shoko’s coming into the room and telling you it’s almost time to walk down the aisle. She picks Izumi up and brings Mafuyu and Asuka to Manami so they can bear the rings when the time comes. Music starts playing and she comes to you, looking at you with a smirk. “You ready for this?” She asks, fixing a strand of your hair back to place.

“Never been more ready.” You respond, a bright smile on your face, eyes lighting up. Shoko observes the glow on your face, her heart swelling.

“I’m happy you brought him back. I haven’t told you how thankful I am, so I guess there’s not a better time. We all were there, we were all lost for a while after he defected… I didn’t think this was possible, so truly, thank you. I’m just sorry that things happened the way they did.” Her voice is apologetic and your soft smile is a welcome response, you suppose, because with that, she walks to the big doors in front of you and grabs the flower basket. The doors open to reveal the venue being entirely full and she walks down the aisle, handing Izumi flowers to drop along the way.

Your music starts to play and your hands get clammy, your mouth going dry. You feel like the people waiting for you will see your heartbeat the second you’re within sight. That worry crosses your mind and just as you start to shift on your feet, you feel an arm loop into yours. Nanami.

“Are you thinking of chickening out? Looking for a getaway driver? That doesn’t sound like you.” He teases, smiling down at you. You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding immediately, the relief of not being alone washing over you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You say, feeling strong enough to move, now. Your feet carry you forward at the pace of the piano playing and Nanami keeps you steady. The second your eyes land on Suguru’s, you feel the urge to run to him, repeatedly telling yourself not to break into a sprint.

He looks perfect. Hair tied up into a bun, two strands left out on the sides of his face deliberately. He’s wearing a dark blue suit, almost black to anyone who isn’t looking closely enough, but oh you are. His smile is full, crinkling his eyes until they’re almost shut. There’s so much love in his expression that you think you may break under the weight of it all.

And then you reach him. Nanami hands you over and Sugu immediately goes in to kiss you, forgetting the moment when Nanami stops him and shakes his head with a chuckle. Your lover sheepishly grins, embarrassment clear on his face. The pastor tells everyone to sit and the ceremony begins. When it’s time for your vows, he goes first.

“When was it that we fell in love, when we were 24 or 18, maybe 10? I don't know… I don’t know because the truth is: I can't picture a time that I wasn't in love with you. I always knew you were the one that could look into my eyes and see my soul. I don't question your commitment to us and our family and I know there's nothing we can't work through. I accept you as my partner and as my best friend above all else. It's a miracle to find the kind of peace and happiness that you've given me and in honor of that miracle, I pledge before our family and friends to love, protect, and to cherish you forever." He says… and you don’t even realize the tears that are falling from the outer corners of your eyes until he’s wiping them.

And you realize he always has. Even back in high school. Whenever you were hurt out on the field or by Gojo being insensitive or by the loss of your parents, he wiped your tears. He held you. Ever the reliable friend. You think you’ve always loved him to some extent because of that. Even while you were with Gojo. No matter how that may be perceived, it’s the truth.

You smile, sniffling and chuckling. “Well, I don’t know how I’m supposed to follow that.” And your guests all laugh, but you’re only focused on Sugu’s sweet songlike laugh. "But, I’ll start with this… I look at you and I see my best friend. Your energy and your passion inspire me in ways I never thought possible. Your inner beauty is so strong that I no longer fear being myself. I no longer fear at all. I never thought that I could find someone that I could love that would love me back unconditionally. I always thought love came with conditions and pain. Then I realized that even when we’re apart, you’re always with me. I realized that you’ve always protected me, always wiped my tears. You give me purpose when I feel I have none. Without you and our little family… my soul would be empty, my heart broken, my being incomplete. I thank God every day that you were brought into my life, and I thank you for loving me."

Now, it’s Suguru that’s crying. You can see him shaking and you know it’s because he desperately wants to kiss you right now. You almost laugh, but instead you continue to cry tears of absolute joy.

When you’re finally pronounced husband and wife, Suguru wastes no time in gripping your waist, dipping you down, and kissing you deeply. You let your bouquet dangle and your other hand grips the back of your neck to keep you steady while your lips work against his, pouring all of your love into the liplock. You never expected to feel this much love after having your heart broken, but here it is. All enveloping You broke your kiss to look through the glass windows of the church and at the moon, seeing the shape of a man high above for the briefest of seconds, but not giving it a second thought as it disappears almost instantly, you thinking it was simply a bird.

Meanwhile, Toru lands on the nearby rooftop watching you enjoy your wedding and he cries and cries and cries, screaming to the sky. He can’t do it. Not anymore. He takes out the blade he’d taken from Toji after his defeat and aims it at one of the cerulean blue eyes that have defined him for so long… and he stabs it as he lets out a blood curdling scream. The world goes black soon after…

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

He wakes within four white walls three days later, a straight jacket on him as he cries, sad to see that his eye has been healed despite him trying to rid himself of the six eyes. He knows he can escape. Knows that whoever put him here knows. But, he stays put. Too tired. Too broken. He practically goes catatonic for the next six days aside from crying.

“He’s done nothing but cry your name. We had to hook him up to an IV at one point because he’d gotten so dehydrated. He won’t eat... won’t sleep unless we sedate him. I wouldn’t normally contact you about him, but we think the only thing, the only person that can get him out of this is you. He needs you. He’s sorry for what he did, I think he’s shown it enough... this isn’t the Satoru we knew. And you won’t be the woman I’ve always thought you are if you leave him like this.” Yaga tells you sternly.

You sigh, the baby in your arms and the twins holding onto your legs tightly. You look tired and beaten. The truth is, you haven’t stopped crying since hearing what he’d done. You feel at fault, hilariously enough. You’ve been telling yourself that the least you could have done was let him see his children. Suguru stands behind you and clears his throat. “You should go... he needs you... and the kids... I’ll take Izumi.” He speaks softly while massaging your shoulders, making your eyes tear up.

You give him Izumi and pick the twins up, taking a deep breath before nodding. Yaga opens the door up and you walk in, almost collapsing at the sight before you. “Toru...” you whimper, seeing his frail body on his knees in the middle of the room, just staring at the white wall with tears coming down his cheek. This isn’t right, it isn’t him. His hair is disheveled, skin pale, lips dry and cracked, not nearly as beautiful as you’d always known him to be.

He doesn’t even raise his head when he speaks. “Could tell you were here. Can always see you so clearly even when you’re not next to me. You’re just my imagination torturing me. Again and again and again.” He croaks out before raising his head, seeing not just you, but the kids. His eyes light up and it’s like his skin brightens. “Sugar...” he smiles, his heartbeat picking up. You kneel down and cry, letting him rest his head on your chest between the twins. “I’m really here, now...” You tell him. You vow not to leave again, not ever.

“I love you... I love you, I love you, I love you...” Toru sobs. You whimper softly and press a kiss to his head.

“I know.” You respond. “Here... this is Mafuyu.” You nudge Toru so he’s sitting up. He loses his breath at the sight of your son and smiles.

“H-Hey... you look like me, kid...” Toru murmurs.

You scoff and roll your eyes with a smile. “Yeah, he’s your twin. It’s kind of annoying, actually.” You pout. Oh he’s missed that face of yours. “This is Asuka.” You smile widely. Asuka hides her face in your neck, frowning at the stranger in front of you.

“Feisty like her mother. And twice as beautiful.” Gojo compliments, earning Asuka’s smile.

“These are m-our kids... ours, Toru.” You stroke his hair. “You have to get better... for them... for yourself.” You tell him, trying to get through.

“For you.” He responds, still a shell of himself.

“N-no, Toru... not for me. Our time has passed, I’m with Sugu. We have a baby girl together. But you need to be better for you. This isn’t the man I loved that I see in front of me right now.” You sigh, crying silently.

“You’ll love me if I change?” He asks. He sounds so utterly broken. You whimper and look away for a moment. Looking back to him, you take a deep breath.

“No... I’ve always loved you, Toru. But for the last three years, it’s only been as the biological father of my children. I can’t see it any other way.” You explain.

You can see that his fractured mind can’t grasp it. Won’t. “But you love me...” he smiles.

You look down at the man you once loved more than life... the man who broke you... and you sigh, knowing he’ll latch onto any last remnant of sympathy you hold for him. “Toru... I forgive you. We all make mistakes... I did when I kept the twins from knowing their birth father. They deserve to know you... and you deserve to know them.” You put the twins down, moving to remove the straight jacket, hating to see him in it. He’s so frail now. You want to break down, but he needs you to be strong. “Mafuyu... Asuka... this is Toru. He and mommy were married before mommy and daddy were. He’s... your other papa.” You try to explain without confusing them too much. After all, they’re only three years old.

Toru’s eyes light up as the twins nod and look at him curiously. It’s like they gave him strength. He reaches out weakly. “Can I hold them...?” He asks. You nod hesitantly, looking down.

“Go on, I’m right here.” You tell them. Both, walking hand in hand, walk to Toru and he scoops them up, smiling widely at them before looking at you again.

“They’re perfect.” He murmurs. You nod and chuckle as Mafuyu tugs at his hair and Asuka observes his pale face. For a split second, your heart stops and you imagine what your life would have been with him. He would have been a good father... but you love Suguru. Even if you still love Toru so deeply it hurts, you couldn’t do that to Sugu.

Suguru walks in with Izumi and sits next to you while Toru plays with the twins. You lean your head on his shoulder. “I love you, you know that right?” He asks you. You frown at his tone and look up at him.

“Of course I do. I love you too, Sugu. Always” You reassure him. He shakes his head, rubbing the baby’s back as she sleeps.

“He and I were friends, too, you know that. Best friends. It hurts to see him like this for me, too...” he murmurs, making you sigh.

“I know.” You tell him, sadly. You hate what’s become of you all. There was once a time where you were best friends, all three of you. And then when Sugu went rogue, things changed. Satoru held you closer and Sugu loved you from afar.

“I see the way you look at him... you still love him. I don’t want to take that from you. I don’t want to lose you, either.” He speaks up again, making you frown. You don’t like how this conversation is going and you try to speak, but he hushes you. “I don’t plan on ever letting you go. But... he needs you. And you need him. Someday, the kids will need him, too. Maybe... maybe we take him home and we take care of him? Maybe we… we try to be what we used to be? A-As a start. I don’t want to see you both broken anymore. Yeah, we can be how we used to be. Before I lost my best friend and my first love. Before we all broke apart.” He finishes, now letting you speak.

Your eyes are wide and you’re crying without realizing. Speechless. After a few deep breaths, you slowly shake your head. “Sugu...”

“I’ll be fine. It’s what’s best. Besides, once upon a time, Satoru and I felt for each other the same way we feel for you. It isn’t like I’ll be sidelined.” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

You choke out a strangled laugh, remembering when they had their bisexual awakenings as teens– Harry Styles. “Is that… what you want?” You ask.

He shrugs, an understanding smile on his face. “I get to be with the love of my life, get to raise perfect kids, get my best friend back, and I get to see you both happy again. Yeah, that’s what I want.” He assures you, nudging you before taking your chin into his fingers and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before you both go back to watching Toru interact with the kids.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s been a week since you took Toru home with you. He’s out of clothes and needs to grab more back at his house, he told you. He had asked for you to come with so you could talk alone and Suguru had agreed, which made it easier for you to say yes. He’s gotten less delusional, taking things slow. He knows it’ll take time. You two hadn’t spoken about your relationship or touched each other other than when you bathed him when he was weakest on the first night home. He’d bulked up, honestly, he could eat for days. And he did.

You awkwardly fit within his embrace as he teleports you with him and when you both land at a familiar door, your eyes widen. “T-Toru...” you murmured, shocked to be at the place you ran from almost four years ago, now.

He nods. “I know.” He sighs, holding your hand as he leads you inside. Everything is the same as it used to be... Tears well in your eyes, the memories you both made for the 18 years you’ve known each other playing through your mind. He looks at you and shakes his head, caressing your face as he stands in front of you. “Don’t do that, please... we’re working on it, I’m going to make it up to you.” He tries to get through to you.

You shrug him off and smack his head playfully. “I’m having happy thoughts, idiot.” You smile. He chuckles and shakes his head at you, pulling you close.

“Please tell me I can kiss you.” He hums, eyes closed while his lips just hang above yours. All is right in the world while his arms are around you. You know you’ll love him forever. And yet, you hesitate. You wonder if it’s right. If it’s too soon. He rubs his forehead against yours to smooth the wrinkles that’d formed from the worry. You start to nod and that’s all it takes for him to kiss you deeply. It’s like he was taking you all in through the action, like you fuel his very existence.

You never realized how much you missed him touching you, but in this moment, it’s all you want. You feel his hands moving to cup your face, smushing you closer to him before they move to your neck, his thumbs brushing under your jaw, making you bite his lip. He hisses in response, making your core ache.

You break away from him after what feels like forever, breathing heavily. He’s just staring into your soul through your eyes and speaking to you without needing to use his voice. You know what he wants. What he needs. You kiss him slowly this time as he hoists you up onto his waist, walking you into what was once both of you guys’ room. You caress his face gently with one hand, the other in his hair, tugging at the snowy locks and earning a groan from him. Whimpers flow into the kiss as his hand comes across your ass– hard. A giggle leaves your lips when he throws you onto the bed and crawls over you. “What a macho man now, hm?” You tease him, winking.

He flashes the most gorgeous smile at you and your heart skips a beat. “Be good f’me, yeah?” He purrs. You know he isn’t asking you, so you nod as he kisses you harder this time, wedging himself between your legs. He trails kisses from your lips to your cheek, down to your neck until he stops to mark you harshly, dark red bruises a stark contrast to your normally clean complexion. Your weeping hole clenches around nothing and you get impatient.

“Toru...” you breathe out. He simply smirks as he moves to your collarbone, reaching for your shirt to strip it from you. With each love bite he leaves, your body is lit ablaze. Once he’s stripped you from your shirt to see you’re not wearing a bra, he marvels at your breasts, taking them both into his large hands, taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking on it hungrily, tonguing it while it’s in his mouth. He repeats the action with the second nipple before releasing it with a pop. He moves lower, kissing down your tummy and your breathing hitches.

Your back arches to bring your skin firmer against his feathery lips, making him press you down. “Sugar.” He warns against your skin, nipping at it harshly. You whine and bite your bottom lip, not wanting to push him further, but wanting to feel him already. When he reaches your waist, he marks both hips before removing ridding you of your shorts with his teeth, keeping his eyes locked on yours. He eyes your sodden underwear, pausing to press a kiss to the newly exposed wet spot, making you suck in a sharp breath and shudder. He laughs lowly at you as you pout, wanting him to take them off. “Say please.” He orders with a smirk. You hate that he can still read you so well, but you immediately comply.

“Pretty please... daddy...” you smirk, knowing that word makes him feral beyond reason. In an instant, he removes your underwear, spreading your thighs wide as he nibbles on the insides of both of them, marking you even more. You whimper and whine until he finally reaches where you ache for him most.

“Real cute, sugar...” he coos against your moistened folds before spreading them with two fingers and delving his tongue into your sweet core, curling it up just to get a taste. You whimper gratefully, gripping the sheets as he sucks on your clit, making your hips buck and back arch again. He moans against your skin, the vibrations from his voice adding to your pleasure.

Seeing him like this again, you can’t help but shudder. He’s so beautiful, so ethereal. All the love you’d once felt for him had already been coming back bit by bit, but it just feels like it’s flowing into you, filling you more and more by the second. You can tell he worships you. Not just in the way that he ravishes your clit, but in the way he looks at you.

He stops spreading your puffy folds to bring two fingers to your entrance, plunging them deep into you and curling up, wanting to bring you to the point of no return before finally fucking you like the good girl you were for him. He’d fucked into his helpless pillows night after night after night thinking of your pussy and it simply didn’t compare. It never could. Now that he has it back, he’s sure to treat it right.

He takes his time on your cunt, finger fucking your hole and licking stripes between your folds. “Tell me it feels good. Please fuckin’ tell me, sugar.” He hums into your folds before moaning and sucking on your clit again, flicking his tongue on it once inside his mouth.

“Fuck, Toru!” You groan out, your head falling back against the bed as he devours and fingers you at the same time. He grips your thigh tighter as you shake from the pleasure, pressure building up up up in your stomach. He has other plans in mind, unbeknownst to you. You cry out, “I’m– I’m– I’m–” you begin to repeat yourself, unable to get the words out.

And then you’re suddenly void of his fingers and lips alike, making you whine in protest. He simply chuckles before he moves up, delivering a crushing kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on his warm, swollen, lips and it makes you fucking keen. You don’t even realize it when he’s pulling his pants down, just enough to free his cock out– red and leaking pre-cum. You feel his length sliding back and forth between your sopping wet folds before he shoves himself so deep inside of you, you think you’ll split. “Ah!” You hiss as you come undone beneath him from just that one thrust, your walls twitching around his length as you cum around him.

He grunts and places a hand beside your head and the other on your throat. “Such a good sweetheart, cumming for daddy in just one thrust.” He grins, making your orgasm even more euphoric. Not giving you a beat, he thrusts inside of you, every stroke seemingly deeper than the last as he progressively fucks harder and harder into your fluttering cunt. “Ahhh, fuck yeah, that’s a good girl. What a fucking good girl you are... still so fucking tight, baby.” He praises you, his hand tightening around your throat until your cries become tiny squeaks.

He buries his face in your neck, nipping at your earlobe. “God, I missed this pussy, baby, I missed my fucking sweetheart.” He hisses, his breath hitching in his throat. He pulls out of you and sits up, slapping his length against your folds and chuckling as you squirm beneath him, aching for more.

“Toruuu… put it back in…” You sigh out, pouting up at him. He bends down again to bite your bottom lip before sitting back up with a smirk.

“Don’t worry, ‘m’gonna give you what you want.” The promise leaves no doubt in your mind and you nod before he abruptly flips you onto your stomach and spanks you so hard it feels like your skin is rising in the shape of his hand. “Let’s make it a pair.” He growls, spanking the other cheek so hard it does the same. You yelp from the pain, your pussy clenching around nothing as it aches for him again. He positions his leaky tip against your hole again and props himself up, pushing himself inside of you slowly this time.

“Ohmyfuckinggod...” You moan, your face and chest red from all the whimpering you’ve done. He feels so good inside of you, it’s like your pussy has its own feelings for him. He reaches so deep into you that you think you’re going to split in two. Despite that, you’re still squirming trying to get down, down, down so stuff yourself more with him.

Chuckling at your reaction, he reaches around to grab your neck and turn your head up to look at him as he strokes into you. He kisses you greedily, moaning into your mouth. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls and through the condo. His large hand pushes your face into the bed, going deeper and harder, but keeping the same torturously slow pace. You crane your neck just enough to watch yourself in the bedroom mirror as your orgasm starts building again and he doesn’t miss that. “Such a fucking slut... you like what you see, baby? Like watching me stuff you full?” He asks. When you don’t answer, he stops.

“Come on sweetheart, you heard what I asked.” He states firmly. You whine and simply offer him a nod, unable to form words quite yet. “Say it.” He spanks you and stops stroking, making your walls squeeze his length and you whine out for him to continue, fucking back onto his cock as much as you can.

“Yes, daddy, I love it, fuck!” You hiss out, earning a satisfied growl from him as he starts fucking into you again, quickly this time. You clench the sheets as the pleasure pools in your core and he can tell what’s coming.

“Squeezing so—ngh, fucking tight baby, I’m gonna cum inside, ‘kay? Want you to cum with me.” He grunts out. You moan an “Uh-huh!” before he starts railing you impossibly harder, snapping that rope inside you, making you cum around his length, squeezing so tight he can barely move. He puts all his weight onto you as he releases rope after rope of hot cum into you, filling you to his heart’s content.

It takes a few minutes before he’s finished and you’re both panting hard. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “Fuck, I love you, sugar.” He chuckles. He’s missed seeing you under him like this, twitching inside you.

You look at him with eyes half lidded, on a high. “I love you, too.” You smile weakly, slumping forward. That’s when you look back to the mirror, this time spotting a figure in the doorframe, making you jump and shout, covering yourself. Suguru.

“Took you long enough, emo boy.” Toru grins over at him knowingly.

“I’ll make rainbow dragon eat you if you test me, dickhead.” He responds quickly, making you giggle. “It’s my turn.” He grumbles, making your eyes widen. He’s already stalking toward you like a lion zeroing in on its prey.

“T-the kids, where are the kids?” You ask, panicking at the thought of Suguru fucking you right now. You’re sore, but that’s not the issue. The issue is you know he’ll have no remorse after what he’s just seen. He’ll want to one up Toru.

Suguru smirks darkly and reaches the end of the bed, tilting your head up by your chin. “They’re with Yaga. Toru told me you’d be coming here. Invited me over. Figured he was up to something nasty. Tell me you want me, baby… y’didn’t forget about me, right?” He growls lowly against your lips before kissing you hungrily.

Toru clears his throat and shakes his head. “I invited you over for the both of us. We both get her.” He clarifies. Oh. Fuck. Suguru waves him off with a roll of his eyes and pushes you back down onto the bed, not paying any mind to Toru. The only thing on his mind is you. He grins as you cower into the pillows, his hands spreading your thighs.

“Sugu…” You hum. He simply sucks his teeth and slips his hand up to squish your cheeks, making your mouth open. You know what’s coming next, it’s something he does only when he wants to fucking ruin you.

“Wider.” He hisses and you comply, opening your mouth as much as you can with his grip on your face. You stick your tongue out, welcoming the fat glob of spit he delivers onto it with a dazed smile, pulling your tongue back into your mouth to swallow. You stick it out again, showing him you’ve swallowed with an “Ahhh~”

You hear Toru huff in the background and Sugu turns to him, nodding his head toward you. Toru needs no further convincing, moving above your head and kissing your forehead. Suguru undoes his pants, pulling his cock out and stroking it. Seeing it after just having seen and felt Satoru’s, you realize he’s much thicker and longer than Toru. Chills travel up your spine and you feel your core ache as you stare down at Suguru in all his glory.

That’s when you feel a strong hand grip your throat and you look up to see Satoru glaring at you like you’d done something wrong– he’s jealous. You’re about to laugh when you feel yourself being split in two by Sugu’s throbbing cock, your mouth getting stuck in an ‘o’ as you choke out a moan, brows knitting together in pleasure. His delectable double frenum ladder piercings sliding against your mushy walls so fucking tastefully. Satoru takes the opportunity to slip himself into your mouth, thrusting in in in all the way down your throat.

Geto gives you no time to adjust, using the cum Toru had filled you with to glide himself in and out of your mushy walls roughly, drilling into you like he was punishing you for having fun without him. You find yourself reaching out to try and place a hand on his abs and slow him down, but you’re stopped by Gojo, who grabs both of your hands and pins them to your chest with one hand. He chuckles down at you, propping himself up on his other hand and fucking into your messy mouth, a long groan drawing from his lips.

Geto chuckles out, looking to Satoru. “Gonna cum already? Can’t blame you. After all, I have been training her mouth to handle me and yo-ngh you don’t come close.” He hisses out between grit teeth, a teasing smirk on his lips. Just like when you were all in high school. Always pissing each other off about who was stronger, who was smarter, who was blah blah blah -er. His hand snakes up to your face, pressing your cheeks in for him. “Gotta hollow your cheeks more, angel, you know he’s not as thick as me. Should be easier to take him.” He huffs, his grip tight.

You prepare yourself to receive whatever Gojo gives you as punishment for Suguru’s teasing, but when you look up and blink away the fat tears in your eyes, you see him… struggling? His brows are knitted together in pleasure as if Sugu’s teasing has only made him more sensitive and it’s confirmed by the globs of precum that seep into your throat, the salty taste unmissable. You moan at the sight of the white-haired angel above you just ruined by your husband’s words and your mouth.

Geto doesn’t miss the look on Satoru’s face and he scoffs. “So easy. Go on, pretty girl, suck him harder. Harder. Need me to show you harder?” Sugu grunts, smacking your face twice before slamming himself harder and impossibly deeper into your reddened, swollen cunt. You cry out, the sound muffled by Gojo’s cock, making his hips stutter while he fucks his cock into your greedy mouth.

You do as told, hollowing your cheeks out even more around Satoru’s length, flattening your tongue so it glides along the top of his shaft. And before you know it, his heavy balls are resting against your nose while he twitches and releases thick ropes of cum deep down your throat. Sugu sees this as an opportunity, grabbing Gojo by his hair and making him look down at where he’s stuffed you full. “See this? Huh? See it?” He huffs out, tightening his grip on Toru’s strands to elicit a moan of an answer from him. “This is how you fuck her pretty little fucking pussy. How you own it.”

And then he’s moaning while his hips just smack smack smack into yours, bullying himself into you like a man starved until he, too, paints your walls with his cum the moment your fluttering hole signals that you’re cumming, too. He pulls out with a smirk, rubbing his still leaking tip against your clit to overstimulate you. Toru pulls out of your mouth and all three of you are left panting, with him falling beside you, curling up behind you, his heavy arm draping over your waist.

“”M gonna go pick up the kids. Just wanted to make sure you were fucked right at least once today, pretty girl.” Suguru speaks up, already redoing his pants. Toru pokes his tongue out at your dark-haired lover and you giggle.

“Bye baby.” You hum, earning a wink from him before he leaves.

You end up falling asleep for hours with Toru by your side. When you get home from your day with Toru, you smile, seeing Suguru with the kids. He’s always been such a beautifully perfect father. You hold your hands out and call for the twins. Mafuyu teleports half the distance before reappearing and your eyes go wide. You hear Suguru choke on his own saliva in the background. “D-did he ju-“ You start, but Toru interrupts.

“Hecks yeah! Up top, dude!” He shouts, high fiving Mafuyu and picking him up to spin him around. Asuka smacks her father’s leg and whines. She’s always been the jealous type, so this surprises no one. He picks her up too and snuggles her. Suguru leaves for a moment and comes back with Izumi in hand and you lean against the front door, taking in the sight of your beautiful children and the handsome men in front of you.

You’ve been blessed beyond belief. “I love you both more than my own life.” You smile softly. Suguru looks at you and notices the tears in your eyes, coming close to kiss your forehead.

“Give mommy a kiss, Zuzu.” He coos, letting the baby do a kissy face to you before you kiss her.

“Thank you, my love!” You giggle. You look to the back to see Toru gone, making your brows furrow. “Toru?” You call, walking into the living room. No answer. “Toru!” You shout again, going up the stairs and not finding him. Your heart begins to race and you look outside, unable to find your twins or the love of your life.

“Toru!” You scream at the top of your lungs outside as the wind whips around you.

“Mommy!” You hear from above and your eyes widen to the sight of Asuka falling from the sky.

“Oh my God!” You cry out. Before you can think, Toru teleports to her mid air and she giggles. You place your hand over your heart, trying to calm your breathing to slow its beating. “What. Are. You. DOING!?” You scream into the air, watching him laugh and joke with the kids. He comes down, nonchalantly shrugging.

“Teaching them how to teleport by putting them in a position where they have to.” He responds matter of factly. You squint at him in disbelief, smacking him upside the head.

“I’ll kill you the next time you take them without letting me know. Are you really that excited for their abilities to come, doofus!? What if Asuka doesn’t have that ability at all?” You sigh, taking the kids into both of your arms.

Toru laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Of course, they’re my littlest sugars and they need to be trained well. We can teleport places all the time together, it’ll be so cool! Asuka almost had a bit of an accident because daddy has butterfingers, but all is fine here.” He reassures you.

You see Suguru relax and shake his head. “Airhead.” He shrugs, walking away.

“EMO BOY!” Satoru retorts, pouting before smirking at Mafuyu. “Who’s up for round 2?” He asks. You immediately step in.

“No sir! Bedtime it is.” You poke your tongue out at him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s been a year since you, Toru, and Suguru had gotten together as one. You wake and realize they were both being as possessive as ever even in their sleep, because they have your body slanted so that they can have you on top of both of them. You smirk and see Toru down cuddling your waist as he curls around your legs and Suguru has his arm around your chest, grabbing your boob and his head resting on yours. You can’t believe how touch starved they are sometimes. But this was how things are. Peaceful. Beautiful. Perfect.

“Good morning...” Suguru mumbles, scaring you. You raise a brow at how quickly he’d woken after you and he chuckles. “I felt your chest rise suddenly when you first woke up. You do it all the time. Like you’re waking up from a nightmare.” He hums, already aware of what’s on your mind.

You shake your head and smile at him. “Anything that takes me away from this life– my two men and my beautiful kids, is a nightmare. Good or bad.” You tell him. You feel Toru stir and wedge his hand between your thighs.

“Well, that’s nice to wake up to.” He grumbles, cuddling closer to you. You grin and raise your head up to kiss Suguru and his hand goes from your breast to your throat, keeping you there for a deep kiss. “No fair, emo man.” Toru pouts below you.

“Bite me, chicken legs.” Suguru retorts before moving to your neck. Toru huffs and moves his hand higher between your legs, reaching his favorite honeypot.

“Two can play at that game.” He smirks.

The morning goes by rather interestingly and you play it over and over again in your head as you drive the kids to Yaga’s. You walk into his home and are met with Megumi and Tsumiki, two kids Satoru had saved years ago and placed under Yaga’s ward. “Long time no see... I’ve missed seeing your face around here.” Megumi smiles at you. You roll your eyes, but he was right. In the last 5 years, you’d probably seen him once or twice. He’d grown up.

“Moms are busy bees, Gum Gum.” You tease, using his childhood nickname. Yaga walks in and the twins run to him, Izumi waddling behind them. “Thanks so much for taking them.” You nudge him as he picks all three of them up in his scarily large arms.

He nods and immediately takes them away, cooing and baby talking to them. You, Megumi’s, and Tsumiki’s eyes go wide at the sight before you and you slowly back out, closing the door behind you. The entire drive home, you think of ways to make fun of him for that later and when you get home, you were excited to tell Sugu and Toru how much of a softie their old teacher has become.

You unlock the door and walk in, not seeing either of your doofuses. Probably sleeping. When you walk into your guys’ shared room, however, you’re met with a view that will be burned into your memory for all time. “Uhhh...” you whisper into the air. And the world stops.

Suguru looks at you with an unreadable expression, Satoru’s head in one of his hands, pressed down into the bed, his other hand mid air about to spank Toru. And his cock? Buried to the hilt inside of your snow-headed lover. “Wh...” You try to speak, but you catch sight of Toru’s expression, his face red and his body sweaty beneath Suguru’s. You would have never thought you’d see this... never thought it’d happen.

“Cat got your tongue or something, angel?” Suguru asks as he rubs the flesh of Toru’s ass, slowly moving within him. Grinding. Teasing. You choke on your words and slowly back against the door hearing Toru whimper. Is this even real? How long have they even been doing this? Shaking your head, you start to turn around, but Toru speaks up.

“Wait, wait, wait... please don’t leave.” He whines, his voice worn and tired. You look at Suguru as he continues doing what he does best and then back down at Toru.

“Why?” You ask him, wary. He grunts and moans before speaking again.

“W-wah-wanna feel you, too.” He admits, his face becoming redder. Your breath hitches in your throat and you gulp. Suguru smirks knowingly and all you can focus on is his cocky smile and the wet sounds coming from their connected bodies.

“Come on, baby... I won’t bite. Much.” He winks at you, moving rougher. Your heart squeezes as you comply and remove your belongings. You step closer and closer, removing your last article of clothing as you reach the edge of the bed.

“Come here, sweetheart...” Toru coos. Suguru stops thrusting for a moment so that you can get under Toru. He spreads your legs so wide it feels like you’re going to be torn in half as Toru kisses at your neck, nipping to leave his mark on you. He pulls away and spits on his fingers, staring you in the eye as he moves his hand to your pussy, pleasantly surprised to feel you already wet for him. Your back arches up as he rubs your bundle of nerves slowly, wanting him to fill you up already so badly it hurts.

“Please...” you beg him, earning a chuckle from both Toru and Suguru.

“Your wish-“ he thrusts deep into you without warning and you cry out. “My command.” Toru finishes, smirking at the look of pleasure etched on your face.

You lose your breath feeling the sudden pleasure of being filled by him, the knowledge that Suguru is inside him only turning you on more. He begins licking and sucking on your perked nipples when Suguru grunts. “Brace yourself, my love.” He groans before forcing himself deeper into Toru, which pushes Toru deeper into you. Your walls clench around his cock and you moan loudly, wrapping your arms around Toru’s neck to keep you steady. Toru whimpers shakily at the feeling of being pleased on both ends, trying desperately not to cum already. You’ve never heard him sound like this before. Utterly ruined.

“Good girl...” Suguru smirks, pulling out and then forcing himself back into Toru. He spanks his ass roughly before holding your legs apart and using them as leverage to fuck into him harder, pulling you in with each thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You choke out, Toru’s moans against your neck making this even more exhilarating. The way his dick twitches and swells even more within you makes you feel like you’ll split.

“Come on, baby, let me hear you again...” Suguru begs. Both you and Toru cry out as he fucks even harder, making Toru grind into you rougher. The feeling makes your mind go blank and you clutch the sheets, unable to keep yourself steady anymore with the way you’re fucked out.

Suguru abruptly pulls out of Toru, making Toru whine for his cock again before he slides the condom off, moving around to your head. He smirks down at you and leans forward to grab your face roughly. “Edge of the bed. Open wide, angel.” He directs.

You and Toru reposition yourselves so that your head hangs from the bed and you open your mouth. At the same time, Suguru and Satoru force themselves inside of you, Toru deep inside of your core and Sugu hitting the back of your throat. You cry out, but the sound is stifled by Suguru’s length in your throat, his hand firm on your face. “That’s a good little slut... take it.” He snarls, fucking your mouth hard.

Toru scoffs, getting on his knees and sitting up while he holds your thighs. He folds you up slightly as he begins to pound into you, making your weeping pussy tighten around him, the slick stringing between you two. His hand finds its way to one of your breasts, slapping it hard and pinching your nipple. “Scream for me, my bad girl, scream for my fucking cock. Gonna make you p-hah- pay for interrupting a good fucking.” He warns, moaning as he strokes slowly, but roughly into you, teasing you. You cry out at the pleasure of feeling him getting so fucking deep into you, trying your best to be attentive to Suguru as well.

You suck Suguru’s length hard as you close your eyes, feeling his piercings hitting deeper inside your throat, making you gag, your throat tightening around his tip. You open your eyes again to see Suguru and Satoru making out above you, making you squeeze even tighter around Toru’s cock. He pulls away from Suguru to moan. “Fuck yeah, milk me, baby, milk my cock...” he smirks. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body shudders, your stomach tightening as you feel that oh so familiar feeling building up. You’re surprised when Suguru pulls out and grunts out moans as he cums on your chest, making you cum hard onto Toru’s dick.

“F-fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” Toru whimpers out, spurting his cum inside of you deeply. You’re still shaking from your orgasm. Suguru backs up and moves to the drawer, pulling out his favorite accessory. Your collar and chain. You whimper seeing it and Toru smacks your face roughly. “Don’t whine, you’ve been such a good girl so far.” He warns you, pulling out of your leaking hole.

Suguru nods at Satoru, switching spots with him. He flips you on your stomach and pulls your ass up into the air before collaring you, gripping the chain roughly enough that you don’t even need to prop yourself up.. He shoves himself into you, making you scream out and clench the sheets. “Sugu!” You shout, only for Toru to use that opportunity to push himself deep into your mouth.

Satoru bends over and uses his fingers to collect the cum from your chest that Suguru had left, tasting it and making Suguru groan loudly. “So fuckin’ dirty...” he praises Toru, fucking you harder and quicker as the chain rattles with each thrust. You suck Toru’s cock deep into your throat enthusiastically, cock drunk moans vibrating through his length as you let them flow. Toru moans before holding your head steady so he can start thrusting into your mouth, kissing Suguru again.

The sight of them above you has your pussy twitching, making Suguru’s breath hitch. He begins rubbing your clit, making you continuously clench and release around his length the way he loves so fucking much. Toru moans above you and clutches your throat above the collar as he face fucks you, cutting off your airway ever so slightly. Your eyes tear up and your face turns red as you ascend to the greatest fucking plane of existence.

Toru grunts and sucks in a sharp breath. “I-I’m gonna!” He shouts before cumming into your waiting mouth. You swallow his hot cum and lick the remnants from your lips like a mindless slut when he pulls out, making him chuckle. He strokes himself trying to prolong his pleasure while watching you and Suguru, giving Suguru an idea.

He pushes your body down into the bed as he enters you again, grinding into you hard. “You watch him stroke that cock and take all of mine, babygirl, take. it. all.” He growls in your ear, pulling the chain leash tightly.

“Y-yes daddy!” You cry out, cumming hard at the sight of Satoru stroking his length. Your pussy clenches so tightly around Sugu that he cums immediately with a hiss. You’ve become a puddle of a mess and he pulls out of you to kiss your ass before spanking it. “Such a good girl, baby...” he praises you as Satoru bends down to kiss your lips, no longer stroking himself.

All you can do is smile in a daze, your body used and sore in ways you never thought possible.

And you spend God knows how many days in that same state. The rest of your life filled with love, family, and pleasure like you’ve never known.

#jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fic #jjk smut #geto smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut

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lxclerc · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐝𝐫𝟑

summary... it’s never the right time for you and daniel, always something pulling the two of you away from each other. requested... yes by literally everyone. yall were coming at me with pitch forks for this warning... age gap (7 years), emotional cheating, physical cheating, angst, angst, angst, light smut (more on fade to black) pairing... daniel ricciardo x horner! reader

note... i am tagging each and everyone of you who asked for a part 2 bc this fic has quite literally loomed over my head ever since i posted it a year ago. literally everytime i open this godforsaken app, someone is offering me their first born for the part 2 so yall better give me all the notes!!!

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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high tide came and brought you in

“if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”

the question caught you off guard as your friend drunkenly pondered over it out loud. where would you go? you were sober enough to say home, the most acceptable answer that would not invite any other follow up questions. it’s simple and doesn't need a discussion. the reason it caught you off guard wasn’t just that though but because your answer was instantaneous in your head. your answer isn’t a where but rather a who, came your bitter realization.

and you knew that if you could go anywhere in the world right now, it’d be him you’d go to. he always lingers in the back of your mind, everything that reminded him of you tends to bring a certain kind of aching and longing you’ve grown to resent over the months and years spent without him.

daniel sent you away and deep in you, you know he meant good. he’d done a selfless thing, loving you and setting you free. but missing him was unbearable, loving him all consuming and you resent him for doing this to you. you resent the world for making you fall for a man without letting you have him.

still, you did as he told you. you went back to school, pursuing a career in a field you knew he’d be proud of, achieving your dreams and living your life as though a part of you hadn’t been left with him.

your friends carry on with the party. half of university was partying which is a scene familiar to you. this time, it’s on the beach, the salty air and sound of crashing waves echoing with the sound of the music and chatter. still though, you can’t help but scan the place as though looking for him among the crowd of people the same way you always would. you miss the way you’d find his eyes already on you, pools of brown dripping like honey on your skin.

but he’s never there and you feel dirty whenever another man looks at you, their gazes too eager as they look at you as though you’re a piece of meat, never gentle like his as though you’re aphrodite herself walking among mere mortals.

you miss him is the ugly truth. you miss him so fucking terribly it makes you angry. you don’t want to miss him. you no longer want to love him. loving him hurts, as though he’s clawing at your chest and squeezing your heart together in a sick sort of torture.

but even before he touched you, you were his. all he had to do was look at you. you exist in two places – here and wherever he is.

eventually as the night progresses on, you move away from the party. you’re in some fancy country club and the tile is expensive on your feet as you step out of your heels and walked towards the beach, feeling the cool sand against your skin.

in hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in a place like this but despite looking for him wherever you go, you’d never expect to find him. searching for him has become a comfort the same way longing for him has – in a sick, twisted and painful way.

but he’s here now and in the one time you hadn’t searched for him, he found you. the moment you’d spotted his figure looking out at sea, he turned to you as though a gravitational pull connected you to him.

one year, three months and fourteen days. that was the last time you saw him but he looked no different from the man who’d brought you back to your hotel room only to say goodbye.

and then he smiled and it was as though the sun shone on you again.

“honey,” he says and your heart trembles.

daniel.

it was too early. and you’re drunk and you aren’t entirely sure if you were dreaming or not.

but he stands before you, eyes of brown looking as though you’re aphrodite herself and he can’t quite believe he gets to stand before you. eyes of brown that seem to be sobbing without tears. daniel.

you’re still not talking and he’s letting you, watching you so intently as though he’s memorizing your face. he looked the exact same but you know what he must be seeing. you look nothing like the woman he left behind. you’d cut your hair short and dyed it. long gone were your summer dress, replaced by tight fitting ones that showed off your body. you feel different and you tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. you hated seeing the woman who couldn’t make him stay.

but in his eyes, you see your reflection and you recognize her well.

“daniel,” you muttered as the crashing waves touched your feet. would you love me now? you wanted to ask.

he smiled again. “you look beautiful as you always are.”

please touch me, you wanted to beg. soft eyes and soft soft hands. you’re lonely without him.

you manage a grin. “sure, old man.”

the laugh that he let out echoed against your soul. “i’m being honest.”

you missed him. god, you missed him so fucking much.

but daniel still would not let himself love you. not yet, not now that you’re finally building something for yourself. you have friends and have set goals. not yet.

“y/n!” someone calls from behind you but you’re hesitant to take your eyes off of daniel, terrified he’d become a figment of your imagination the moment you do. but your friend's familiar calls force you to. “come on, we have to go.”

you ignore her, turning back to daniel and he smiles at you, offering his hand for you to shake. this is the best he can offer for now. “i’ll see you around, kid.”

you wanted to cry, wanted to scream that it’s so unfair, but you smile sadly as he shook his hand, his calloused fingers so familiar against yours.

“in a few years,” you say.

and as the ocean brought him back to you, the waves must return to the sea.

but you were still gone and gone, gone and gone

the next time you see daniel again, you were twenty four. you’re in your last year of university, applying for your doctorate. you loved academia, you loved your two cats and your little apartment downtown, you loved science and the galaxy it holds and you eventually realized that this is why he let you go. he wanted you to have this — be more than someone who just follows a man around country after country.

he wanted you to grow, wanted you to find the things you really loved without influence from him. he wanted you to find your independence and learn to stand on your own two feet.

max brought you here. it’s his first world champion and as his self proclaimed best friend, he refused to allow you to skip this one and so you pulled up your big girl pants and got on with it, arriving in abu dhabi on friday.

by some cruel twist of fate, he’s the first person you find the moment you enter the paddock. it would have been rude to ignore him and so you smile even though you can clearly see the woman next to him and the way she stands close.

goddamn it.

it hurt. it hurt seeing her there. it hurt seeing her cluelessly smile at you. the way he looks at you now, eyes of brown full of silent apologies, looking as though he wanted to reach over and touch you, to comfort you.

you release a shaky breathe, raising your hand in an pathetic attempt of a wave before you walk past him. you aren’t the same young kid like before. now, you have enough self reservation to not actively put yourself in a situation that would only hurt you. you don’t need to play besties with daniel’s new girlfriend.

the moment you enter the red bull motorhome, you hit max at the back of his head.

“what?” he exclaimed as you glared at him.

“you’re an idiot,” was all you said before moving towards your father. you’d ignore daniel and his girlfriend. you’re here to support max – even if he is a stupid idiot – and there’s no need for you to obsess over daniel.

but of course, you still do anyway. even as you watch the race, you’re watching him. he looks good, amazing, fucking edible. he looks like he stepped right out of your dirtiest dreams, all thick neck and stable arms. he looks beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and you selfishly want him just for you. but you’ve always wanted that and you’ve never been allowed to have him.

and then you’re watching her. she’s grace herself, really. she’s exactly the kind of woman he needed and you wonder if she knows about you and then you wonder what it is about her. what is it about her that made it so that daniel thought she’s good enough for him to love when he never could you?

“mate, it’s getting creepy,” max said as he took the seat before you. he looks tired but he looks determined and the way the hair falls over his face makes you smile. max is a very special person to you and you know that he always will. you hold him close to your heart and you know you’d move the earth for him.

you reach over, fixing the collar of his red bull shirt. “shut up.”

“her name’s caroline,” max says. “if you want to get to know her then just approach her.”

you glared at him. you don’t want to know her name. you don’t want to know what her laugh sounds like or the color of her eyes. you don’t want to know what made daniel fall in love with her. you don’t want to know her.

“shut up,” you say again. “i’m still blaming you.”

max laughed and you think him annoying you might just be his way of distracting himself from the race so you let him. you let him talk on and on and on the entire time till he’s needed back in the motorhome. you let him steal yur ice cream and tap your nose.

but when you turned back to her, caroline, you find him staring right back at you, anger and jealousy in those brown eyes you missed so much.

and it was like you’re twenty again, petty and young as you glared right back at him. he had no reason to be jealous when he has her beside him. he has no right to be jealous when he’s the one who’s never allowed the two of you to be more.

these hands had to let it go free

that night, he called you for the first time in three years. his name lit up your phone and your hand shook as you picked it up. his picture, smiling up at you taken at your twentieth birthday stares right back at you.

“daniel,” you breathe out as you press the phone against your ear. you’d arrived back in your hotel room two hours ago smelling of champagne and victory. max’s world championship trophy is laying next to you after being forgotten because your best friend was far too drunk to grab it before his girlfriend dragged him out. throughout the party, you avoided daniel like the plague, keeping to your side of the room and never straying towards him.

“i missed you,” he says from the other end, voice cracking and slurring. he’s drunk and you push back the blanket as you enter the bathroom, hand gripping your phone. “but fuck it, i don’t miss this.”

“what are you saying?”

“he’s my best mate, y/n.” there goes your name. not sweetheart or honey. he says your name like it’s sacred, something he’s only ever allowed to say when he’s at his most vulnerable, completely raw and baring his soul to you. “and i wanted to fucking punch his face the entire night.”

you close your eyes. this is familiar to you. daniel and his raw honesty when he’s drunk. daniel and his jealousy of max. this is all so familiar to you that you feel twenty again. you feel young and out of control and so drunk in love with a man you can’t have that it physically hurts. he’s ripped you off the past few years where you’ve grown into yourself. you’re twenty again and so tragically in love.

“i wanted to punch his fucking face because his touching you, because i’m not allowed to touch you,” he continues as you sink to the floor.

“you’re the only one who’s never let yourself touch me, daniel,” you whispered on the phone, broken down from one phone call.

he laughs bitterly and you might as well not have said anything. “and here i am, can’t even sleep next to my damn girlfriend because i keep thinking of you. it’s so unfair.”

you wanted to laugh too. unfair? how does he get to talk about unfair when he’d been the one to create this mess for the two of you? how dare he talk about being unfair when he’s the one who’s with another girl? this is unfair. it’s unfair to you. he doesn’t deserve to talk about it being unfair.

the night he left you in your hotel room on your twenty first birthday, you’d called his name again and again like a child. you hoped by some magical thing that he’ll appear. you were desperate.

“you shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “not yet. we both weren’t ready.”

you wipe the tears falling to your cheeks. “and when will that happen? when will we be ready? maybe it’s time to accept that it isn’t us.”

you heard him let out a shaky breath. “don’t say that. don’t say it.”

“i’m so tired of waiting. if it wasn’t us then and it isn’t us now, why do we still believe that it’s us someday?”

“ask me to stay,” he whispers. “ask me to stay and i will. ask me to drop her and i will. i will drop everything if you ask me to.”

you cry, pulling your knees against your chest. “goodbye, dan.”

struggled through the night with someone new

the next time you see daniel again, you invited him. you’re twenty five, it’s two thousand and twenty two, you’re engaged and you’d gotten arrogant.

you met your fiance, james, in university. you’re in the same program and the same friend group though you never paid much attention to him. for the most part, you never really paid much attention to anyone. six months later and he asked you on a date, one you’d declined without a second thought. it didn’t matter how many guys asked you out, you always declined, daniel in the back of your mind always reminding you of what you’re truly waiting for.

but james never treated you any differently. he never made it awkward and never put you on the spot. for the most part, you both acted like it never happened. but you applied to the same doctorate program and coincidentally ended up in apartments right next to each other. he was a comfort, a friend you already knew that you could rely on. he never made anymore advances towards you but it was inevitable to grow closer.

he’s stability and curiosity. he never once pulled back whenever you touched him or apologized for liking you. it was a breath of fresh air – to be admired so freely. you did your thesis together, hands tightly clamped together as you defended it.

you were the one to ask james out on a date, knowing he wouldn’t again in fear of making you uncomfortable. and after leaning on each other as friends for so long, transitioning to become lovers was so easy, you didn’t have to worry what anyone would say or think of you. you didn’t have to worry what your family would think. everything was easy with him.

james was so different from the type of love you were used to. you could love him without guilt, without pain and longing. you could love him simply, easily. you didn’t need to ask him to love you back, didn’t need to wonder if he’d still love you tomorrow. it was so easy being with him and you’d gotten lazy. waiting and hurting and crying for daniel was exhausting.

you wanted a love you didn’t have to fight for.

you’ve convinced yourself that you no longer felt anything for daniel, gaslighting yourself into believing that you’d close that chapter and left it in the past. you can move on now. there was no need for you constantly being miserable and lonely waiting for him to be ready.

and yet here you were, your fiance’s arm around you as you stare at the front door. you shouldn’t have invited him. there was no reason for you to do so but you wanted to prove yourself. you wanted to prove to yourself that he no longer affected you. daniel is in the past and you’ve told yourself repeatedly that you’ve let him go but now you wanted to show yourself that you have.

if you’re lucky, maybe he wouldn’t attend at all.

“are you okay, love?” james whispered against your ear, having noticed your stiff posture. you spent weeks planning your engagement party, stressing over the smallest details but now you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.

you loved this about him – the way he’s able to read you like an open book. james knows there was someone before him – someone who’d left you broken and torn apart. he just didn’t know that person would be attending today.

you nod, taking a sip from the champagne glass you’d been holding as an excuse to stop your hands from fidgeting. “just a bit nervous from the crowd.”

“don’t worry too much. it’s just friends and family.” he gives you an assuring smile, accepting your reasoning as he pulls you closer towards him to try and comfort you.

you’re an idiot, the biggest one there is. max told you himself after you told him that you sent the invite to daniel. you’re a massive idiot and you’re in denial and you set your own trap, tempting yourself when there was no need to and now you were going to hurt james because the moment daniel entered the room, your breath was knocked out of you, heart beating furiously as though it recognized him.

it was daniel. how can you be so stupid?

his eyes meets yours and you missed the way those eyes of brown settle on your skin, grazing as though his soul was touching yours. but they’re sad this time – sad and exhausted and defeated and you can practically hear the way your heart shatters. it was daniel. it has always been daniel. it will always be daniel. how stupid were you to think otherwise? how stupid were you to believe you could ever forgot the way your heart and soul roars back to life the moment he enters the room.

you’ll break james’ heart, you’re breaking your own and you’ve broken his.

the entire time, you and james had stood before the door, greeting all of your guests and showing them where they can wait. you absolutely had no plans to greet daniel. it was bad enough that he was here, but james, sweet sweet james, who had no idea what he was doing dragging you towards the formula one driver, hadn’t gotten the memo.

he didn’t know that having daniel’s eyes on you so close would set wildfires in your stomach and he didn’t know how exhausting and difficult it was to contain those wildfires. he didn’t know that he was burning himself as he all but dragged you in front of him.

“hey,” your fiance says cluelessly. “daniel ricciardo!”

daniel is looking at you and you feel frozen under his gaze. it’s heavy. he makes you feel heavy, like you were cheating on james simply by looking at you. you feel nauseous but with guilt eating up at every cell in your stomach. but you shouldn’t feel guilty. he had no right to make you feel guilty for moving on. he moved on. last you him, he had a girlfriend. why aren’t you allowed to do the same? why can’t you go on with your life and build a future with a nice man that isn’t him?

“i’m a big fan,” james says cheerfully, offering his hand for daniel to shake and forcing him to tear his gaze away from you.

daniel forces a smile to his face, moving to shake his hand and you know this is the part where you’re supposed to introduce him. daniel is your guest after all and so you clear your throat, hoping your smile isn’t as stiff as you feel like it is.

“james, this is my friend daniel. daniel, my fiance james.” you manage to let out, gripping your champagne glass to avoid having to touch either of them the same way you avoid the way daniel’s eyes hardened when the word fiance tumbled from your lips.

“it’s really nice to meet you, mate,” james says with a massive smile. god he’s so nice and sweet and you hate what you’re doing to him.

daniel says nothing, only smiling and you end this entire interaction the moment you get a chance to. pointing at the snacks table, you turned to him. “there’s food over there and max is around here somewhere. nice seeing you again, daniel.”

you were lying through your goddamn teeth. thankfully, he seems to have taken the hint, walking away without saying another word.

the entire night, you feel his eyes on you. even as james makes his speech declaring his love for you, daniel stares at you with hooded eyes. he looks pissed and sad at the same time and you wanted to scream. stop looking at me! you couldn’t take anymore of this. he’s looking at you as though you’re under a microscope – staring into your soul like he could reach you there.

you’re an idiot and now that he’s in the same room as you are, the illusion has left you. you’re not over daniel because you can never be over him. he’s engraved in your soul, his fingerprints all over your heart. he was, and still is, the sun that made your universe turn. you’re choking and you needed to get away lest you burst.

daniel is overwhelming. he’s terrifying and addicting and you hate him but you’re madly in love with him. and worse of all, you’ll spend the rest of your life being in love with him. you’ll spend the rest of your life wanting him and hurting for him and and longing for him and that’s a goddamn fucking tragedy.

you manage to get through the party, practically dissociating yourself. eventually the guests leave one by one, only your family and closest friends left. you sit on the foyer with max, the dutchman watching you drink champagne straight out of the bottle.

“you shouldn’t have invited him,” he tells you quietly. “you were fucking yourself over.”

you roll your eyes. you stare inside the house where daniel is talking to your father. your dad offered his home for your engagement party. you know he likes james. your mother too and your little siblings can’t get enough of him. that fact almost makes you want to throw up.

“i thought i was over him,” you say.

it’s max’s turn to roll his eyes. “you’re just a good liar. you’ll never be over daniel and he’ll never be over you. even i know that.”

you glared at him. you already know what he’s telling you and quite frankly, you had no desire to hear it again. “i hate you.”

“neither you nor dan would survive this long without me.” max laughed and you threw the throw pillow at him.

not that he’s lying. you met max the same time you did daniel and you clicked immediately. he knows everything, comforted you many times as you pined over dan. he’s your best friend and he’s also daniel’s best friend. he knows more than anyone how deep the connection you two shared.

“go home already,” you tell him. you’re tired and slightly drunk and you just want to go to bed now. “and make sure you take him with you.”

max laughed at the way you said him like it’s a bad taste on your tongue but did as you said anyways.

that night, you laid on the bed you and james shared, you couldn’t sleep. he’s fast asleep next to you, his arm over your stomach as you lay wide awake. you shouldn’t have invited him because now he’s turned your world upside down again. everything you’ve built for yourself was gone the moment his eyes met yours. he’s a plague, sucking all the happiness out of you.

eventually though, the restless night was about to get worse as you picked up your phone, scrolling through your contacts till you found his name. you stared at it for a while, knowing that you shouldn’t but you’re rattled and your self control is at an all time low. you shouldn’t have been trusted to make any types of decisions.

you come back to what you need

daniel was waiting for you when you parked your car outside his apartment building, hand gripping his phone as he watched you step out of the vehicle. four years since he first let you go and one year since he last saw you and you look as beautiful as you ever were.

he shouldn’t have told you to come but he’s so exhausted from staying away, from waiting for the right time. there will never be a right time and tonight, he’s done holding back. he wants you, he always has and he no longer has the energy to stop himself from wanting you.

“i shouldn’t be here,” was the first thing you said as he opened the door for you.

a lazy, almost mocking smile covered his lips. “and yet here you are.”

you glared at him but daniel’s heart was soaring. it’s been so long since you were this close. he can smell the perfume that followed you and the scent of your shampoo. he’s so so tired, he just wanted to hold you.

he’s going to make this as hard as possible, you realize. you’re no longer a child, he doesn’t need to play nice and easy with you anymore. you’re a woman now and he’s going to treat you like one. but you just need to get over this. you need closure. you need to put him in the past where he truly belongs so you can go about your life. you need him out of your system.

daniel may be everything you wanted but it’s time to accept that he’ll never be what you need.

“why did you come?” you asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as you can. three years pining for him in red bull and four years of longing for him and everything leads you here.

daniel cocked an eyebrow. he’s done with playing nice. “you invited me.”

okay, you walked right into that one. “you still shouldn’t have come.”

daniel wanted to laugh. “i guess we both like doing shit that we shouldn’t do. now the question is, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

“i’m getting married, daniel,” you whispered. “we need to accept that it isn’t us.”

“i thought you did that in abu dhabi.”

he’s being an asshole. “you’re the one who told me to leave. you don’t get to be mad that i’m moving on.”

“you’re not moving on,” he laughed, leaning against the wall.

you glared at him. “yes, i am. i’m getting married!”

he looked at you as though you said something hilarious and you wanted to punch him in the face for it. “and yet you’re here.”

“for closure.”

he stepped towards you and you found yourself holding your breath. from this close, you can see the freckles on your cheeks, the ones you used to spend all your time trying to memorize. the curve of his plump lips and the intensity in his eyes. and when he touched, it felt like the first drop of rain after a million years of dessert. his hand perfectly fitted on your hips, warm and so achingly familiar.

his hand snaked from your hip to your legs, finger light on your skin as he ever so slightly tugged at your shorts. you need to pull away but your body needs him closer. you want him. you want him to get closer. you want him to touch you more, to feel his skin against yours. you can have every single inch of his body pressed against yours and you’d still begged to get closer.

his lips graze your cheek before it reaches your ear, even breathes in contrast to your desperately shaky ones. “is that really what you want, baby?”

with every ounce of sanity you have left, you forced yourself to nod and you can feel the way his lips formed into a mocking smile against your cheek.

“really?” he mocked. “then why are you clutching my shirt like you want more?”

you hadn’t even realized the way your fist is holding on to his shirt, pulling him closer towards you like you’re terrified he’d disappear right between your fingertips.

“fuck,” you muttered, the heat of his skin against yours dizzying. james is nowhere near your mind as your hand slips under his shirt, self control flying out the window as you feel the curves of his abs. you want him. you’ve always wanted him so desperately that you’re willing to go to hell for it. “fuck me.”

he kissed you then, fire in his lips as it finally finally touched yours. this is all you’ve ever asked for and it’s worth the damnation you’d be paying in return. you pull him impossibly closer, going on your tiptoes. you need to get closer. closer, closer, closer.

like an addicted chainsmoker to cigarettes, you can’t get enough of his kiss. you want to inhale the fumes of his breath, of him, deep into your lungs. he tugs at your shirt and you pull away enough for him to get it off.

you grunt in complaint when he pulled away from you, only to swallow it back as his lips attached to the skin of your chest, licking and nibbling as it slowly made it way down.

“oh,” you breathe out as he lips attached to your breast, your fingers tugging at his curls as his tongue circled your nipple.

you should have stopped him the moment his hand unbuttoned your shorts but as he bent you over and his hand slipped between your folds and he trapped your moans with his mouth, you were far too gone. god be damned, morality be damned. you’d crawl through hell for this.

but eventually, reality comes knocking and morning comes and your bliss ends. you woke up from your phone ringing, cocooned in daniel’s arms.

“don’t answer it,” he mutters but sleepily, you grab your phone from the nightstand, seeing james’ name on your screen.

and that snaps you out of it, being reminded of what happened the night before and what you did and you all but jumped out of his arms as though his touch burned you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you hurriedly put on your clothes, daniel watching you still naked from his place on the bed. you turned to him, “this never happened.”

you watched as anger slowly filled his eyes. “are you being serious right now?”

“i’m getting married, daniel!” you’re panicking now, screaming as your phone rings again.

“then why the fuck were you knocking on my door at two in the morning?”

you ignore him, gathering your things. “it was a mistake.”

he’s glaring at you now, looking like he wanted to start screaming. but he remains silent, only glaring as you gather your things and put on your clothes.

you look at him again, apologies and sorrow in your eyes. “i’m sorry but this isn’t me. this can’t be me.”

and then you left, not allowing yourself to look back as you ran to your car. maybe in a parallel universe or a different world, you sit next to each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list, but for all the universes and worlds there are, this one was not enough, not for now and not for you and daniel.

when you finally arrive home, your father is in the kitchen, eyeing you up as you walk past him. “where were you? james was looking for you.”

you grimace. there’s a knowing look in christian’s eyes as though whatever you reason he already knows will be a lie. and unfortunately, he’d be right. “i was out with friends.”

“at seven in the morning?” he narrowed his eyes and you hated his timing. of all times, did he have to question you now?

“breakfast.”

you all but run to your room before he can question you further, thanking all the gods that james isn’t there. for a moment, you stood stunned, reeling from the past twenty four hours as the guilt settles in your chest. you need to get as far away from daniel as you possibly can. you can’t be the type of woman who cheats on her fiance. you refuse to be. you refuse to break a good man’s heart like that.

and yet as you finally calm down enough to try and fix yourself, your phone buzzes, his name appearing on your screen saying he sent you a text message.

daniel i’ve loved you in every way i can. i loved you selfishly and so i tried loving you distantly, i tried loving you selflessly, i tried loving you correctly but i just want to love you now. if i could do it all over again, i would love you better but i can’t love you more than i do now.

this love came back to me

the wind is chilly as you step foot in hungary and the dress you wore is definitely not meant for it but still, you persevere, finding your way to the red bull motorhome and greeting your father. the last time you attended a grand prix was abu dhabi 2021 and yet it still feels like home.

“there’s my biggest fan!” max cheered the moment he saw you, immediately wrapping his arms around you. he hasn’t seen you for nearly a year and he missed his best friend. to be fair, no one has seen you for nearly a year, disappearing from the face of the earth after your failed engagement.

after the night of your engagement party, the guilt ate you alive as you realized that you were exactly the kind of girl you didn’t want to be and so you came clean to james. he screamed and cried and said you could work it out but you were exhausted from lying to yourself. as long as there was daniel, you can never be happy with anyone else and no man deserve to be someone you simply settled with.

you realized then that you’d lost yourself. you don’t know who you are, don’t know who you’ve become and so you left everything you know, ignoring everyone’s calls as you attempt to find yourself.

“actually, i’m supporting ferrari,” you joke once max finally lets you go.

“i’ll disown you!” your father screamed from across the garage, making you and max laugh.

“have you seen him?” max asked, whispering as though he’s telling you a secret.

you shake your head. coincidentally enough, or ironically, the first gp you attend in a while, daniel is announced to race in. and max, quite frankly, is far too excited for the two of you to see each other again. he’s had enough watching you both be stupid.

after catching up with max and the mechanics you still know, you find yourself in a cafe with your father, talking about everything and nothing at all. christian watched your every move and you can see the worry in his eyes. he’s part of the people you ran from and you know that it was a cruel thing to do to your father.

and then he was there and you’re all too familiar with the feeling of your world freezing the moment your eyes meet. he looks better, happier and you’re sure you look different too, hopefully more grown.

“you’re here,” he says, unbelieving.

you smile, genuine and free this time. “i’m here.”

and this time around, you were both tired of fighting it. it’s him. it’s always been him. there was no point denying it. he’s the only person you’ll ever want. you are totally and irrevocably in love with him – the kind of love that’s so intense it feels like an explosion of fireworks throughout your whole body. the love that leaves you sleepless but exhilarated, speechless but poetic, lost but exactly where you're meant to be.

and in that moment, your lives flashed before your eyes – marriage, children, growing old together.

daniel ricciardo is the defining moment, the collision of stars that slammed into you so hard it tore your heart in pieces and only he can put it back together again.

he smiles at you and you smile back.

hello, love, welcome home.

and finally, finally, it felt like the world isn’t burning anymore.

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#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo angst #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #formula 1 one shot #max verstappen

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benedictscanvas · 10 months ago

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coat stays on - remus lupin x reader

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: it’s just sickly sickly fluff my loves

a/n: @burnthoneydrops encouraged me to post this weeks ago and honestly i totally forgot about it but she’s wonderful and i can’t deny her!! i hope you enjoy, it’s the first i’ve written for remus so i’m a little conscious of it! i’ve also just opened up requests and you can see the characters i’ll write for here, please send in all the fluffiest fluff your hearts can think of <3

- - -

If your hand was starting to feel a little clammy in the crook of Remus’ arm, you weren’t saying anything. The streets were lined with market stalls and lots and lots of people, more importantly, and you were pretty sure if you let go of him right now you might never see him again.

“Doing alright sweetheart?” he asked, leaning his head down to your ear so you’d hear him properly because the man refused to raise his voice even a little, “Still with me?”

You squeeze him tighter to you and rest your head on his arm briefly rather than answering. The two of you had long since lost the others in the crowd, likely because you weren’t clinging to them as you did Remus. It would make you feel silly if it didn’t make you feel ten times better.

It had been Lily’s idea to venture out into the Sunday markets in town, but she clearly hadn’t thought about the timing. Just days before Valentine’s Day and it was packed, almost shoulder to shoulder as you traversed the street. But the 5pm February darkness had enveloped the cobblestones and most of the stalls had decided to illuminate their wares with pretty fairy lights on strings, wrapped around the poles. All kinds of colours. There was a helter skelter a little ways down that was lit up in warm gold.

Despite struggling with the sheer volume of people, Lily had been right that it would be something you’d enjoy.

Remus steers you towards a stall with a blue and white striped roof, filled with fudge of every flavour you can think of. He’s quiet as he stares at them all in turn, but when his eyes land on your favourite, you watch him smile and point it out to one of the sellers.

“That’s not fair,” you murmur, nudging him with a sharp elbow, but either he doesn’t hear you or he ignores you. To get your own back, you signal to the other seller and ask for Remus’ favourite in return.

“Here we are,” he says, handing you the paper bag once you’re a little away from the stall. You’re smug as you hand him one right back. He looks inside before he pouts at you and its adorable. He’s adorable.

“Thank you,” you grin and he rolls his eyes but still thanks you back. Then he points over your shoulder, where the buskers are playing, to the little tables for resting shoppers. There’s an empty one. The two of you share a brief look before you scurry over to claim it. When you sit across from him, you have to let go of his arm and it feels all wrong.

Until, of course, he shuffles his chair around the table so you’re sitting next to each other instead, facing the band.

You’re both content to nibble on your respective fudge for a while, listening to the music, but Remus breaks the comfortable quiet.

“I’m sorry we lost the others,” he says, face close to yours in a way that makes your chest ache, “I know you and Lily were looking forward to this together.”

He’s right in one way, because you were. But it was also inevitable that you’d only get half of Lily’s evening and that James would get the other, something you were thrilled about, honestly, if it meant that during that other half you got Remus.

You couldn’t quite tell him that, yet, so you settled for the next best thing.

“Sirius was in one of his moods,” you shrug, “I think we’ve come out of this one on top.”

Remus doesn’t laugh. You find it quite hard to make him laugh and you used to be conscious of it. You’ve since found that the little smile he does towards his lap is even more gratifying, like he’s holding in a belting laugh out of something that looks like fondness.

He’s doing it now, bottom lip caught by his teeth.

“Right as always,” he muses, looking back up at you, soft as ever. You struggle to keep the awe from your face.

“I am often right,” you whisper back, breaking off another chunk of fudge and popping it into your mouth, “It’s really pretty here at night. Shame about the people.”

“They’re awful, aren’t they?” Remus says, only joking a little, “Although, I’d rather you didn’t come here at night when no one’s around, hm?”

You nudge him again just because you can. He catches your elbow as if punishing you but all he does is run his hand down from your forearm to your hand to see if you’re cold.

“Mr Protective, you are. As if I’d want to come here on my own, idiot.”

“You’re cold,” he says instead, mutters it like he’s talking to himself as he squeezes both your hands in his own. You wonder if he even heard you call him an idiot like he was your favourite person on the planet.

“It’s an evening in February, lovely, of course I’m cold.”

You watch his pink-tinged cheeks to see if the blush deepens at your best name for him, but you can’t tell if it’s just from the chill in the air. He starts unbuttoning his coat, leaning forward in the chair to take it off.

“Woah, slow down there Rem,” you insist, holding your hands out to him to stop him, “I am fine. Since when do you worry about me so much?”

He doesn’t answer straight away but he does put his arm back into his coat. He’s thinking about what to say, something you’ll always let him do, but it means he’s going to answer seriously. It’s worrying when you’d just been teasing him.

“I always worry about you, I think. Absentmindedly. Wondering if you feel alright, if you’re comfortable. You haven’t looked very comfortable this evening.”

He doesn’t lie to you, ever, but you’re pretty sure that’s the most honest Remus has ever been with you. He can’t even look at you either, just staring at the floor and scuffing his shoe against the chair leg.

“Remus…”

“I don’t like you cold. And I don’t like to think of you alone. Sorry. I know you don’t need looking after like that.”

And he sounds heartbroken enough to break your heart.

“No, I don’t need looking after,” you confirm softly, because it’s true. He’s always said you’re the most independent person he knows. But you still wind your arm through his and tug him into your side, “I’d quite like it if it’s you, though, I think. If you’ll let me return the favour.”

It’s always the returning that he’s not so adept with. Your affection and your time and your energy are all things he struggles to see he deserves. It’s mostly why you worry about him too.

“Don’t take your coat off for me though,” you warn, putting your head on his shoulder, “You idiot.”

This time he definitely hears you and he must hear how utterly smitten that word is. He’s your idiot. He has to know it by now.

“Okay. Coat stays on,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss to your crown and then place his chin there, gentle as ever, “Also, I lied. I’m very glad we lost the others, by the way. Not sorry at all.”

So maybe he did lie to you sometimes. It was a lie you didn’t mind, even if you’d pretend to.

“Yeah? Why’s that now?”

He slowly nods his head until his nose is nuzzling you instead of his chin, and you feel another feather light kiss, this one near your ear.

“Like you lots. Even more than them,” he breathes, and you try not to melt into him then and there.

“Oh lovely,” you whisper, “Like you lots too.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin fanfiction

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wolfjackle-creates · 3 months ago

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I took part in the Demon Twins Who Wrote That game over on the Haunting Heroes DPxDC server and author reveals were today. So now I can finally post the fic I wrote for it!

No Place Left to Hide

Danny is on the run. He wants nothing more than to see his family, but they're out of his reach at the moment. Then he sees a magazine article and accompanying photo of Damian Wayne. His long-lost twin brother. Maybe he does have some family he can check on. Just to spy from a distance, of course. Getting too close would only make his situation worse. But when he gets caught in the halls of Gotham Academy, he might not have a choice in the matter.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: T

Warning: a trans Danny mentions his deadname to Damian

-----

Danny stared down at Gotham Academy. Damian was just inside those walls. All he’d have to do was go intangible and he’d be able to see his twin for the first time in eight years. The thought made his core ache, a throbbing that echoed in his still-healing injuries.

He was descending before ever consciously making the choice to actually see his brother.

It was stupid. What if Damian caught him? Told Talia, or worse, Ra’s? Then it wouldn’t just be the Fentons and the GIW after him, but also the League of Assassins. And he was already injured.

But he had to see. He hadn’t seen Damian in years. Had lived half his life without his twin at this point.

He should leave. He shouldn’t be here at all.

A moment later, he’d phased through the roof and floated invisibly in the middle of a locker-lined hallway. He allowed gravity to once more take control of him and his feet settled on the linoleum floor.

Now, to find Damian. Just to see him, make sure he was safe. The rest of his family were out of his reach; the GIW was monitoring them too closely for Danny to risk visiting. Or even just check in from a distance. And Danny’s core was demanding he check on his loved ones.

He’d been debating risking a visit to them regardless of the risk when he saw the magazine article: Wayne Boy Volunteers at Animal Shelter. The attached picture brought a smile to Danny’s face. One of the few genuine smiles he’d worn since being forced on the run. In it, Damian was glaring at the camera, but his arms were gentle as he cradled a puppy. Behind him stood Bruce Wayne, grinning widely. In the article, Bruce talked about how proud he was of his youngest son and his big heart. Back when they’d been with the League, Danny had been the only one to know of Damian’s gentleness.

Reading the article, seeing the picture had healed something in Danny. Damian had gotten out. Something he’d thought impossible when he left half a lifetime ago.

And now he was here to confirm it. To check on the twin he’d left behind. Make sure he was healthy and safe and happy. He’d never seen Damian be any of those things before. Not beyond fleeting moments carved out in secret.

Though… He looked around the empty hallway and bit his lip. The school was huge and he had no idea what Damian’s schedule looked like. Where should he even start?

Footsteps echoed down the hall and Danny instinctively moved to the side to let whomever it was pass.

Only to feel a hand grip his shoulder.

Danny just barely kept himself from twisting and throwing a punch at the person. He wasn’t able stop himself from jumping a foot in the air, though. And if he hung in the air a bit longer than gravity should’ve allowed, well, Danny could only hope the person gripping his arm didn’t notice.

“Wayne, why are you in the hallways out of uniform rather than in your class?”

Danny blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked. This guy couldn’t actually have mistaken him for Damian, could he have? They weren’t identical twins. They didn’t even have the same skin tone!

Though Danny did suppose he’d gotten more tanned lately. Being on the run meant he was spending much more time outside than normal and he always did tan pretty well, one thing to thank Talia for he supposed.

The hall monitor rolled his eyes. “Where are you supposed to be right now?”

Danny opened his mouth, then shut it again. Should he disappear? But what if the teacher reported it? Would the GIW come to investigate? Would Damian, growing up around Lazarus pits, ping on their sensors?

He stayed put and he stayed silent.

The teacher sniffed and pulled out his phone. After tapping a bit, he announced, “History with Mr. Binder. I’ll accompany you back and we will be contacting your father about this behavior.”

He grabbed Danny’s shoulder again and marched him through the hallways. Danny allowed it, not sure what else to do. And still so desperate to see his brother.

When they reached what must be Damian’s classroom, the man knocked once, then pushed the door open.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Binder. But I found one of your students wandering the hallways.”

Danny had barely glanced inside the classroom when his eyes fell on Damian. Everything else fell away. He didn’t see the other kids, didn’t hear Mr. Binder’s response. All he could see was Damian.

Even sitting, it was clear Damian was taller than Danny. His hair was shorter, his muscles more defined. And he was holding his pencil like it was a dagger he was going to throw through Danny’s throat.

Danny grinned and, speaking a language he’d barely used in eight years, said, “It’s been a long time, brother.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed further, but he kept his posture relaxed. Except for his grip on his pencil. “You’re no brother of mine. Who are you?” asked Damian, also in Arabic.

Danny clutched his hands to his chest. “How could you not remember me?” he wailed. But he couldn’t keep up the feigned offense for more than a second and grinned. “Though, I suppose you did used to call me sister. A lot’s changed in eight years, brother. Liat died in the league; I go by Danny now.”

At Danny’s mention of his deadname, the pencil fell from Damian’s hands. The sound of it hitting the floor was loud in the otherwise silent room. But when Damian spoke, his voice was steady. “Prove it.”

Danny inclined his head in a mock bow. “If you insist,” he said, switching to English. “The sun did not shine, it was too wet to play. So we sat in the house, all that cold, cold, wet day.”

Damian stood, sending his chair tumbling to the floor. “Enough!”

Danny obediently stopped reciting and grinned at Damian.

Damian hated The Cat in the Hat. Danny had heard it when he’d been sent to a daycare on one of his first missions to slip a child a mild poison that’d leave her sick for a few days and a letter for her father, a man who’d been planning to betray the league.

Danny had fallen in love. He’d smuggled the book out with him when he’d finished his task. The idea of a cat in a hat coming to the league and causing a bit of destruction helped him withstand the endless trainings and trials. Besides, their grandfather and mother deserved it. And Damian just didn’t see.

Though now Danny realized that was because Damian had never been allowed to glimpse what life could be outside the League. Danny, on the other hand, had been trained in spying and infiltration. Which meant he had to understand how kids his age worked and thought and acted. So he had to be around them with some regularity.

What he’d learned was that he wanted their lives, not his own. A lesson he tried, and failed, to teach Damian.

Before either Damian or Danny could think of something to say to each other, the History teacher cleared his throat. “Damian, what is going on here?”

Damian immediately stood to attention, just as Talia had taught him. “I apologize for the intrusion. My… brother came for an unexpected visit. May we be excused to the office so I can call my father?”

“I wasn’t aware you had another sibling your age,” said the teacher with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s from my mother’s side,” said Damian.

Danny hummed. True enough, he supposed. They did share a biological mother. Even if Danny refused to ever acknowledge her as such ever again.

He really didn’t have much luck with mother figures, did he? Maddie had turned out to be just as bad as Talia.

In the end, the teacher really didn’t have a choice but to let them go. Though the hall monitor who had caught Danny insisted on accompanying them all the way to the office despite Damian’s protests that he knew the way.

Danny hid a scowl at the situation. He’d had no intentions of meeting Bruce Wayne and now it looked like he’d either have to reveal his powers and run or meet his biological father. His core ached at the thought of leaving Damian, though. And he couldn’t risk letting Ra’s or Talia find out about his powers.

He ignored the longing he felt at the potential for a true family, for a father who loved him unconditionally. He was zero for three on parental figures. No way was he going to try for a fourth.

“How are you here?” asked Damian in Arabic as they walked.

Danny shrugged and answered in the same language. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be. Saw you in a magazine and figured I’d check in.”

“In a—” Damian cut off with a noise of frustration. “I thought you were dead. Did Mother put you in a pit?”

“As far as I’m aware, both Talia and Ra’s are also under the impression I am dead-dead. Though now that we’ve had contact, I don’t suppose that will last much longer.”

“How did you survive?” demanded Damian.

Danny stared ahead and bit his lip. After a moment, he said, “I did try and take you with me, you know. You were the only thing I regretted leaving behind.”

The resulting silence lasted until they reached the front office. Danny didn’t know how to break it.

They were instructed to sit in plush seats facing the office staff where they could be observed as Damian spoke to their his dad.

Damian pulled out his phone, but before he dialed, asked, “How did you get caught? Have you forgotten all your training?”

Danny didn’t bother to try and hide his blush. He’d been relying on his powers and must’ve let his invisibility drop by mistake. It was just…he’d been on the run for almost two months now. He was hungry and tired and in pain. If Jazz knew, she’d scold him for neglecting himself. He should’ve expected something like this would happen the moment he got distracted.

But how to explain that without explaining everything? “The last few months have been hard,” he settled on. “Due to certain circumstances, I am no longer welcome at the place I’ve called home the last few years and had to leave suddenly. Thus, I am not currently at optimal physical health. I grew careless.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his phone. Rather than answer, he opened his contacts and dialed the one labeled “Father.”

Danny probably should be more cautious. He probably shouldn’t trust Damian. But this was his brother. The only good thing from his early childhood.

And he was so, so tired.

Danny let himself slump against Damian’s side. Damian tensed for just a moment before he relaxed.

“Hello, Father,” said Damian into the phone.

Danny let his eyes drift shut as he listened to Damian’s side of the conversation.

“No. I am well. But there’s been a situation.”

Danny snorted at that description, and Damian pinched his thigh.

“It is not something I can explain over the phone, but I need to be picked up from school. Immediately.”

Bruce Wayne’s voice was just indistinct enough that Danny had a hard time understanding it, though he could hear the worry in it.

“It is a family matter. You will wish to be here quickly as there is a strong possibility we will not have the chance again.”

“Think I’m that good, do you?” huffed Danny under his breath. Damian just pinched him again with a tut.

“Could you stop and pick up a smoothie on your way in? With extra protein powder?”

Danny’s breath caught. Was Damian asking on his behalf? It’d been so long since he’d been around Jazz or his friends. He hadn’t had anyone look out for his wellbeing in months.

He screwed his eyes tight against the burning and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

The rest of Damian’s conversation consisted of stilted goodbyes and promises of explanations once they got home.

Despite his apprehension at meeting Bruce, sitting in a comfortable chair leaning against his brother after months of being on edge was enough for him to slip into a shallow doze. Damian would keep him safe. Whatever disagreements they’d had as children, that had been a constant. Danny was vaguely aware of the office staff talking and making noises. Damian’s shoulder shifted slightly as he did something on his phone. But Danny was more asleep than awake.

Until Damian tensed and shrugged his shoulder. “Father’s here,” he whispered in Arabic.

Danny was instantly awake, though he kept his posture relaxed. Bruce Wayne was someone who had attracted the attention of Talia al Ghul. Whatever face he presented to the public had to be a lie, and Danny didn’t know what to expect from him.

One thing Danny did know, though, was that he refused to go back to who he’d been with the league. The formality was so exhausting. And his very core rebelled at the thought of going back to a life of violence and suffering. He’d left to be a regular American kid, and that was what Bruce Wayne would meet.

Maybe his second death made that life impossible, but while he still had breath in his lungs and a heart that beat, he was going to cling to the dream.

So, rather than follow Damian’s lead and sit up straight and formal, Danny stretched his arms up and yawned loudly. “Ope, sorry for falling asleep there on you Dami,” he said in his strongest Midwestern accent.

Damian shot him a look, but didn’t respond. Still, when he stood, he offered a hand to Danny to help him up as well.

Danny grinned as he took it. Then he took a fortifying breath and turned to face Bruce Wayne, his biological father.

Bruce stared at him, face blank. His eyes lingered on where Danny still clasped Damian’s hand. To his disappointment, Damian let go at the look.

The stern look only lasted seconds before Bruce smiled broadly and his body language became relaxed and open. “You must be a friend of Damian’s! I take it this is for you?” He held out the smoothie for Danny.

Danny hesitated. His stomach ached with hunger, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. This was his biological father.

Damian misunderstood his hesitation and grabbed the smoothie himself. He took a deep swallow and in Arabic said, “It is safe, brother.”

If Danny hadn’t been staring so intently at Bruce, he would’ve missed the small twitch the man made at the word “brother.”

Danny grabbed the smoothie and took a long drink. He couldn’t stop the quiet sigh at the taste. It was the best thing he’d had in weeks. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m parked right out front! Let me just sign you both out and we can be on our way.”

“Oh, you just have to sign out Damian. I’m not a student.”

“Well, I suppose that explains the lack of a uniform! How do you know my Damian, then?”

“Father,” hissed Damian. In Arabic he said, “I will explain what I can in the car as I promised.”

Danny just took another sip of his smoothie and remained silent.

Bruce’s eyes flicked to Danny, gaze sharp. But he remained relaxed and ruffled Damian’s hair. “Of course, of course.”

Damian glared at him as he smoothed his hair back down.

Bruce laughed with the office staff and signed the requisite paperwork, then the three were making their way outside.

The car out front was a fancy sports car. Danny hesitated a moment before entering. He glanced down in both directions, but knew a school like this would have too many cameras to hide from.

And now that he had Damian in front of him, he was certain his core would protest if he tried to leave.

Damian made a sharp gesture to him, ordering him into the car. Danny slid in. The door shut behind him. He gripped his smoothie with both hands to mask their shaking and took another sip.

“Father,” started Damian. “This is…” he broke off.

“Yes?” prompted Bruce after a moment.

“This is my twin brother, Danny. Your other biological son.”

Bruce froze. Danny didn’t even think he was breathing. One hand rested on the gear stick where he’d been planning to put the car in drive, the other dug into his own leg.

“What.” Bruce’s voice was hard and flat, not a hint of the jovial man from the office.

“In his defense,” said Danny. “He thought I was his twin sister. And that I was dead.”

Bruce’s eyes closed and he took several deep breaths. “Your name is Danny?”

“Yep.” Danny popped the p. “Chose it myself six years ago.”

“It’s…a good name.”

“Thanks! It was my dad’s dad’s name.”

“Your dad?” asked Bruce.

Danny hummed. “Yeah. Got myself adopted after I ran away from Talia and Ra’s. But that living situation fell through a few months ago.” Which, really, understatement of the century, but Danny wasn’t going to go into it. “So I had to leave. Thought I’d check up on Damian. Mind if I come over to visit after Damian gets out of school for the next few days? I’ve got a hotel room lined up in the city,” he lied. Squatting was way easier when you were half-ghost.

Damian broke in at that. “You will be staying with us, not in some hotel,” he spat the last word. “And not just for a few days. Live with us.”

“Can’t stay more than a few days, I’m afraid.” The GIW or his parents would definitely find him if he did. “But if no one minds, I won’t turn down a room if you’ve got a spare.”

“Father’s house is large,” said Damian. “There are plenty of spare rooms.”

“Damian is right,” said Bruce. “I insist you stay with us. We can discuss more over lunch when we’re comfortable.”

Danny shrugged. “If you insist.” He’d disappear, of course. Too risky to stay and lead the GIW to Damian when he still wasn’t sure of the connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus pits.

Bruce let out a long sigh and put the car in gear. “I do,” was all he said.

Danny watched the scenery go by, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes glued to him.

After several long minutes of uncomfortable silence, Bruce spoke again. “I am glad to meet you, Danny. I’m happy you came to Gotham.”

Danny hummed. He supposed time would tell if any of them would come to regret it.

-----

Hope you enjoy!

#dpxdc #danny fenton #damian wayne #demon twin au #i have so much i could say about this #it is based on the very first plot bunny i ever got for dpxdc #one that ive never really done more than gesture at #only talked in detail about it in private #because i was focusing on other things #so i am so happy i got to finally write this #danny falling asleep on damian #and the smoothie #are two things that i have been thinking about for like 2 years at this point

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skzdust · 6 months ago

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You're Better

Part 2

This is smut. MINORS DNI.

Request from @velvetmoonlght! I'm sorry it took so long, hope it was worth the wait!!

Summary: Felix and you have had a slightly strange relationship since fucking in the library last week. You're getting together for a "study session" tonight at Felix's apartment, but what happens when his roommate Bang Chan gets home...

Pairing: Academic rival!Felix x afab (she/her) reader

Includes: rivalry, penetrative sex, rivals with feelings, enemies to lovers, unprotected sex (please use condoms and pee after sex!), oral sex (m receiving), begging, hair pulling, "good girl", surprise but consensual voyeurism, fingering

Word count: 1.5k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!! Thank you for reading!!

Part 1 | Part 3

Masterlist

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When you’d gone over to Felix’s apartment, you’d planned for it to be a study session, you really had.

But you weren’t complaining now that his fingers were inside you. You moaned, leaning your head back. “Fuck, Felix.”

“You want more, baby?” He curled his fingers up, hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Yes, please, want your cock inside me.”

Felix made a strangled groan. “God, I’m so screwed.”

“What?” You opened your eyes, looking up at him.

“You.” He said simply, moving faster.

You swallowed another moan, keeping eye contact with him. “What does that mean?”

“I still hate you.”

“I thought you wanted to go on a date with me?”

He thrust his fingers into you, and you inhaled sharply. Pleasure washed over your body like a wave, and you whined as his other hand tangled in your hair.

“I did. I do. That’s the issue.” He all but growled. “I want to be better than you at everything, and I wanna fuck you sore, but I also wanna take you out to dinner.” He says it with disdain, his grip tightening in your hair.

“So?”

“I’m not used to it. I don’t like it.”

“Have you considered maybe you just have a little crush on me?” You grinned.

He rolled his eyes and pulled his fingers out of you. “Want me to stop?”

“No, no!”

He teased around your entrance. “Then we’re done talking about feelings.”

“Okay, we’re done talking about feelings.” You whimpered. “Will you fuck me now?”

He laughed, low and dangerous, unwinding his fingers from your hair and letting you go. “Yeah, baby.”

Felix and you have had a strange relationship since first fucking in the library a week ago. You’d come to his apartment one evening a couple of days later, needy, and he’d happily fucked you again. And now here you were, on his couch, a throw pillow propping your hips up as he unbuckled his belt.

The date he’d mentioned—as well as further discussion on what exactly this meant—hadn’t happened. You’d had a brief talk in the library about sexual boundaries, clarifying and elaborating upon what you’d agreed to in the heat of the moment, and you mentioned your IUD. Your conversation just now was about as deep as you’d gotten emotionally, though.

But you didn’t even care about that as his belt fully came off and he pulled out his cock. Actually, the ache between your legs became the only thing you really cared about.

He looked at you, gently stroking himself. “Open your mouth.”

“What?” You said, but followed his instruction.

“Good girl.” He pushed the fingers that had just been inside you into your mouth. “Wanna clean off my fingers for me before we start?”

You moaned around his fingers, tasting yourself. He pressed down on your tongue, and you opened your mouth wider. “Good.” He muttered before taking them out, leaving your lips parted and your eyes big. “God, you look like you were made to take cock in that pretty mouth.”

“Then take my mouth.” You whispered.

He lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“If you want me to suck you off first, and then fuck me…” You bit your lip, wondering if he’d go for it.

“God, baby, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He whispered, then motioned to the floor with a nod of his head. “On your knees, ‘kay?”

You couldn’t get there fast enough, kneeling by the couch.

Felix’s fingers ran through your hair, and you closed your eyes, the sensation intimate.

“Can you open your mouth for me, gorgeous? Can’t wait to feel your throat around me.” He gently tugged back on your hair so you were looking up at him.

Jesus. He was pretty from every angle, but looking up at him from between his legs was a new one. You opened your mouth.

Felix maintained eye contact with you as he eased himself into your mouth, letting out a low moan. “Shit, you feel good.”

Felix began to gently fuck your mouth. His fingers twisted in your hair, and the not quite pain only turned you on more. You whined, high and pathetic.

“Want me inside your pussy, baby?” He crooned. “Want me deep inside you? Want me to cum inside?”

“Yes,” You moaned around him, your eyes unfocusing as you focused on breathing between his strokes. “Yes, I do.”

“Good girl. Good, good girl. Fuck, so good for me.”

He kept going, and you swam in a haze of strong sensations and “good girl”s and the aching need burning in your veins until you could tell from the sounds he made and the way he twitched that he was close, and he—

The lock to the apartment door clicked and opened.

You both froze, looking up.

Felix’s roommate, Bang Chan, stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “Um…”

“Chan!” Felix nearly jumped away from you, fingers shaking as he did up his fly. “I—er—sorry to do things in the living room—”

“No need to apologize.” Chan’s eyes dropped to you, and he smiled. “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

“You know my name?” You turned to Felix, wiping the spit off your chin. “Have you been talking about me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Only to complain.”

“Complain about how you drive him crazy!” Chan locked the door behind him. “Felix is really into you, and—”

“Shut up!” Felix death stared at Chan.

You laughed. “So you do have a little crush on me!”

He turned his glare on you. “Chan is messing with you.”

“Sure.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well, I mean, don’t stop on my account.” Chan waved his hand and started to walk to his room, you guessed.

“Y/n…” Felix looked at you.

“Yeah?”

“We talked a little about voyeurism when we were in the library, if you remember that.”

“I do.” You nodded, smiling. You could tell where this was going, and you were excited.

“Do you want to ask Chan if he wants to watch?” He all but purred.

“Chan?” You said loudly, in response.

He turned around. “Hm?”

“Do you wanna watch?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Do you wanna watch Felix fuck me on your couch?”

Chan looks to Felix. “You’d be okay with me watching?”

“More than okay.” Felix’s hands suddenly moved back to your hair. He knew it was your weak point, and you moaned as he tugged on it. “C’mon, come watch me fuck my girl.”

If you weren’t kneeling, you might’ve fallen over.

My girl.

Felix’s girl.

It turned you on more than you could effectively express.

Chan sat down in one of the living room chairs, unzipping his pants. “Don’t mind me.”

Felix smirked. “Let’s put on a show for Chan, baby.”

You nodded, opening your mouth again.

“You’ve earned my cock at this point, on your back.”

You eagerly climbed onto the couch, pushing the pillow back under your hips and spreading your legs. Felix lined himself up with your entrance, then looked over at Chan. “Watch her face. She just falls apart on my cock. You’ll see.”

Your body was on fire with desire, and Felix’s words only stoked the flames. When he pushed inside you, your mouth fell open, the taste of his cock still on your tongue, and you let out a moan that might’ve been Felix’s name.

“Fuck.” Chan said, his voice heavy. “She is falling apart. It’s really fucking hot.”

“Isn’t it?”

Something about the way they talked about you, as if you weren’t there, was turning you on even more. Your hips bucked up, seeking friction.

Felix held them down. “Oh, baby, let me take my time.” He seated himself entirely inside you, and then… nothing. He didn’t fuck you, just occasionally twitched inside you.

You whined. “Fuck me, please.”

Chan’s voice was a low rumble. “She’s so fucking needy.”

“I know.” Felix gave you one thrust, and you sighed in pleasure.

“Felix, more, please.”

“Begging.” Chan noted. “Bet you love that shit, Lix.”

“You’re right, I do.” Felix thrust into you twice. “When she tells me she’s close, and begs me to keep going, begs me to cum, that’s the best part.” He stilled again. “But I wanna drag this out, since you’re here. Drive her a little insane.”

“Felix, please, please don’t drag it out, let me cum.”

He laughed and looked at you, eyes smoldering. “I’m gonna fuck you how I please, alright, baby? Tell me yellow or red if you need to, and we’ll go from there, but if you don’t, I’m gonna keep teasing you.” He fucked into you again, looked back at Chan. “I’m gonna let her cum, but I wanna make her work for it, first.”

“Yes, Felix.” You whined.

“Don’t make her wait too long.” Chan said. “I wanna see what that pretty face looks like when it’s too drunk on your cock to think.”

You involuntarily tightened around Felix at that, and he groaned. “I think she’s pretty cock drunk already, but don’t worry, Chan. We’re just getting started."

#stray kids #stray kids fic #felix #bang chan #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #felix smut #x reader #x reader smut #skzdust writes

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cinnamonest · 2 years ago

Text

Malebolge

Yandere/Dark Morax x Reader

WORDS: 18.2k

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And thus, here it is.

Important note that I'm largely basing this on [[this post]] I made ages ago about a conquered and captive goddess!darling during the war era because 1) it has never left the back of my mind since making that post, 2) I have watched way too many of those Chinese historical palace dramas where they're essentially confined to the palace and I find that very hot and 3) utterly brutal war era Morax >>>>>>>

Warnings/Notes: DARK CONTENT, fem reader, noncon/rape, captivity, rough sex/pain/more or less physical abuse, moderate but not full-on asphyxiation, draconic features (namely claw-like nails, horns, and most importantly dual reptile dick because I am both incredibly degenerate and greatly appreciate that this seems to be a not uncommon HC so I know I'm not alone), double penetration (vaginal/anal), degradation, forced cultural assimilation, brief mentions of death scare/past death scare, Xiao is there for like .008 seconds with no dialogue

Also I have learned more about lizard mating in the past week than any human should ever have any business knowing so if you want lizard seggs info I now know way too much of it

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Malebolge (n.) ( /mælˈboʊldʒ/):

The Dantean 8th Circle of Hell. An inescapable cavern.

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You winced at the slightest of shifting, the unconscious action creating a sting that stirred you from a deep slumber.

In the half-awake state, you grunted as you shifted again, this time rolling more onto your side, but the soreness merely shifted with you.

There was no position in which you could be comfortable. No matter what way you lay down, there was pain. Stinging pain, aching pain, throbbing pain, a multitude of acute points of pain dotted all over your body. As it always did, the painful sensation began to pull your mind into the waking world.

Your back and hips were scratched. That was the stinging pain. Marks where claws had gripped into your flesh, leaving inflamed, reddish lines over your flesh.

Your thighs and sides where bruised from crushing grip. If you lay on your stomach, your chafed and swollen nipples would sting even at the lightest contact with the sheets, and the position would only intensify the perpetual dull, throbbing ache inside of your body, internal bruises and the muscles of your orifices pulled and stretched and rubbed raw to the point they never ceased to ache.

It was nothing compared to moving, to the deep ache in each limb with the slightest of exertion, but even at rest, with no movement at all, a dull, throbbing ache pulsated across your body.

It wasn't the physical pain itself, though, that was unbearable. Pain was part of life. Pain was something every entity that lived long enough was all too familiar with — for deities like yourself that lived often longer than they could even recall, life was full of quite a great deal of pain.

What you hated about the pain, rather, was the way it always triggered a deep swell of bitterness and anger in your chest and stomach. What it meant. That it brought on a surge of emotions and thoughts far more unbearable than the soreness itself.

"Mm—?!"

You inhaled a sharp breath as pressure pushed against your stomach, a force that pulled you backwards across the sheets. Your back pressed into a soft warmth — not without sending a shooting pain across the surface along your spine, where the muscles had been pulled to the point of soreness from strain, a sore internal ache of your sphincter from stretch and wear, and a sharper sting against the irritated, raw flesh of your backside and the backs of your thighs.

The arm locked tightly onto your body, upper arm crossing over your stomach, forearm turned and pressed against your chest, all keeping you in your place. You could feel a gentle, slow rise and fall of the chest pressed to your back, bare skin on bare skin, without any layers of clothing separating your bodies.

Your eyelids just barely parted, only to squeeze shut once more at the morning light shining directly into your eyes. A small ray of light, given how small the tiny, high-up, barred window was, but it managed to be ever so inconveniently placed right at your frame of vision. You grunted at the burn, but it served to pull your consciousness out of the haze of drowsiness and into full alertness. There was no telling exactly what time it was, but the sun was up enough that you would likely be getting up very soon anyway. Those attendants — some of them devout human servants, some subjugated higher beings — always came by at a consistent time each morning to bring food and water, which often was your wake-up call each day.

You closed your eyes once more, trying to ignore the stinging and throbbing that ran all across your body, hoping to maybe get a few more minutes of sleep.

You shifted slightly to alleviate awkward positioning, rolling further onto your side, only to grimace as the shifting of your pelvis reignited a soreness, a dull ache not on the outside flesh, but a deep internal bruising. Your body jolted and stiffened, toes curling and face contorting with the pain.

But as you began to relax your muscles again, as the pain ebbed away, your brief jolting seemed to have awakened your bedmate, feeling a stirring and shifting behind you, the arm around you shifting in its position. The movement caused you to roll onto your back. Your eyes slowly opened again, and a soft noise escaped your throat.

You went still, thinking that it was a momentary unconscious reaction, but after a moment, the bedsheets shifted again as Morax moved, slightly propping himself up on one elbow, high enough of a point to look over to your face from above. Perhaps you could have closed your eyes and feigned sleep, had you thought to do so, but your instinctive reaction was to turn your head and raise your gaze up to that which looked down at you.

You were given a soft smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

The question, although you sensed genuine well-intent in it, was biting, almost mocking. You felt your jaw clench and irritation rise in your chest, fighting back the urge to become immediately spiteful.

As always, you had had trouble falling asleep, waking up multiple times in the night. The throbbing kept you from drifting off, and you hadn't been allowed to get up and wipe yourself clean of the slime sensation of fluids leaking out between your legs, thus forcing you to deal with the unpleasant, icky feeling all night — which now persisted as an equally unpleasant dried substance tacked on your inner thighs. Even after you'd fallen asleep, the slightest of movements in your sleep would jolt you awake with soreness. The same routine you underwent each and every night.

And yet—

"Yes..."

—was the word you forced out of your mouth, equally forcing the corners of your mouth upward, albeit weakly.

"Mm." He lowered himself back down, gently extending the arm that had been around you once more, turning you to face him and pulling you closer. A soft sound came out of your throat, but you made no effort to pull away. Your face came to rest against the god's chest, forehead brushing up against his collarbones.

"There's no need to rise just yet," he continued, stroking a hand up and down your back — not without running over sore spots, but only lightly. "You should rest a while longer. You're undoubtedly worn out."

Once more, you had to bite your tongue to prevent saying something you shouldn't in response to the implication of the words and the vague feeling of degradation it carried.

The touch of bare flesh to bare flesh was an electrifying sort of feeling. Whether or not it was so in a positive or negative sense was, of course, dependent on the circumstances, but even if you could forget or disregard all of the circumstances you yourself were under, just the mere sensation consumed your sense of feeling. Touches from another person lingered in a way that touching objects or the feeling of one's clothes on their body did not. The brushing of another person's skin up against vulnerable areas usually kept covered would maintain a lasting feeling of awareness of that touch, lingering for a while thereafter.

And, of course, that touch of bare skin carried with it a sense of shame. A sort of subtle reminder. Of course, that was not even really the intention, seeing as you naturally fell asleep this way, but you were certain he knew the feeling it invoked in you, and even more certain that he found your embarrassment satisfying. Even now, you swore you heard a sort of heavy exhale in amusement as you stiffened when your bare abdomen pressed against his. You suppressed a shiver as your sore, inflamed nipples brushed against his skin, but couldn't help the grimace of your face. You tried to close your eyes, thinking perhaps you could sleep again.

But then, you stiffened further as he ran his hand down your back once more. Your shoulders bunched up, your breath hitched.

The motion was so gentle. Fingers barely brushing over your skin.

Nonetheless, those same soft, gentle touches of his fingers running down your back ignited a residual, burning pain. After a moment, he transitioned to using a finger to trace over scabbed scratches running down your back, as if it were a pattern. The hand trailed lower, softly meeting your hip, causing you to jolt as it bumped onto a bruise.

It then came down further still, to grasp at the fleshy, soft curve of your ass. Just the mere contact to the spot stung. The flesh was raw and sensitive to every little touch. Even the sheets brushing against the flesh sparked pain. You inhaled a sharp breath through your nostrils, one you were certain could not have gone unheard, but was not acknowledged nonetheless.

But it was so gentle. The touches were so light and so careful, as if handling something of great fragility. It was almost impossible to believe they were the same hands from which the pain originated.

He exhaled, breath warm against your face, and tilted his head down, grabbing your own chin to tilt yours up. His hand rested on your hip. Your heart began to beat faster.

And then, just as your lips were so close to meeting that you could feel their warmth, there was a knock on the door. You both turned your heads over to the sound, but you lay still as he stood, threw on the robe beside the bed, and walked over to the door, opening for a mere moment and exchanging a brief murmur of acknowledgement before taking something into his hands.

Right. This would be around the correct time, when you were brought food each and every morning. You weren't certain if it was merely customary for the harbor people to eat their meals in their bedrooms, or if it was just done to keep you confined to one room as much as possible... but if you had to guess, it was very likely the latter.

You let your eyes close again, only vaguely processing the distinct sound of a tray being set on the table at the end of the room, and the footsteps coming back over to you. His hand slid underneath your form and lightly pressed upward, prompting you to sit upright, which you obediently followed.

The shifting caused the sheets to fall down from your body, exposing your bare chest. It wasn't as if it really mattered, all things considered, but you nonetheless raised your arm up across your breasts to cover them to the best of your ability.

Your own robe was right there, well within reach, having been carelessly slung over the bedpost to your side. It would be a simple extension of the arm to grab it and pull it onto your body, to cover your nakedness.

But you didn't dare do so yourself. That was, you knew from experience, one of many possible missteps that risked upsetting your master. It was doing something on your own, determining something for yourself. Such a simple act was a transgression, because it was an assertion, a nonverbal declaration that you would and even could take an action, transition from one state of condition to another, not only without explicit permission to do so. Likewise, it not only made an assumption that you would be permitted to do so, but it was also an assertion that you could do anything at all for yourself, a notion that you were supposed to leave no possible implications of being the truth. Such a simple, brief action would be an act of both defiance, arrogance, and independence alike.

Thus, you stayed perfectly still. After a moment, thankfully, it was retrieved for you, and you held your arms out weakly at it was secured around your body. After another moment of hesitation, knowing not to leave the bed of your own volition as well, you waited until you were gently held at the waist and pulled to the edge, a non-verbal command to stand. You stood and waited for the hand on your back with the lightest of a push, a motion permitting you to walk over and sit. You murmured your thanks as you were handed food, and bit your tongue when you were given an affectionate — and that much more belittling — pat on the head.

You swallowed your food without really tasting it, a mechanical process you went through each day to keep yourself alive (and, of course, because the prospect of a hunger strike would certainly not be well-met). The atmosphere as you ate was quiet, outside of the light sounds of utensils hitting the ceramic and the faint sound of your chewing. It was an awkward, heavy sort of silence, but silence was, in a way, good. Silence, boredom, they were neutral. Not particularly good on their own, but they were also an absence of anything negative. All far superior to less pleasant alternatives.

But you couldn't distract yourself from the sense of shame this morning ritual always carried with it. It was so domestic, so compliant on your end, perfectly trained to a set routine.

It was not only your own demeanor, though, in which the calmness and gentleness of it bothered you. Just as you did not create conflict or instigate any unpleasant interaction, neither were you presented with any hostility, cruelty, or aggression, so long as you performed your role without any mistakes or resistance.

But you almost wished you were.

Your long life had by no means been sheltered from witnessing the brutality of the world, even if you had thankfully not been subjected to it prior. You'd seen various gods and deities of different kinds, many of whom would savagely beat and maim subjects and underlings, even kill them, without a second thought. Inflicting the most unfathomable suffering on the lesser creatures for no purpose other than amusement.

That had not been the case with you at all.

The draconic Lord was not needlessly ill-natured, but perhaps that would almost be preferable. Any interaction always ended up with a burning feeling in your chest of humiliation, always spoken to like a stupid child or animal ➖not in a cruel sort of degradation and condescension, but an endeared, affectionate sort, that made it all that much more unbearable.

At least with an outwardly cruel master, you would be able to find solace in spite, feel a sense of dignity that came with hatred for an oppressive figure. The form of degradation you were forced to endure, however, was not like that of a tormentor or oppressor that would maim and brutalize their subjects within an inch of their life at random for amusement, nor do irreparable harm to their bodies by starvation or mutilation. Likewise, there would be a sort of pride you could maintain if you were kept in horrid conditions; if you were imprisoned in some filthy dungeon, starved and beaten and barely kept alive, enduring that would be a mark of pride. It would validate you as an opposing force, you could look your tormentor in the eye knowing you did not succumb, you could still hold your head high.

Yet, you were kept healthy and well-fed. Everything you were given to wear was of utmost quality, and most often pure silk, gliding smoothly against your skin with every movement. Your conditions were those of a life many mortals and immortals alike would dream of having. And you were never treated with severe, true violence — nothing that would break your bones, nothing that would injure you to the point of needing medical attention or threaten your life.

And yet, in its own way, that in and of itself felt like its own form of degradation, in part because it was all forced upon you, unable to be denied even if you wished. To be cared for in such a way, but given no agency of your own. Treated like a prized possession, and yet almost nothing that happened in your day, almost nothing you yourself even did, was of your own volition, all forced upon you.

It was, you knew deep down, the life of a pet. Perhaps better analogized to a child or a toy, but nonetheless looked down upon as a fragile, helpless, stupid creature; inferior, yet simultaneously treasured and treated with a sense of affection.

And yet, all the same, your body was sore, scratched and bruised, pinpointed spots of throbbing and aching and burning pains littered across your flesh, and deeper aches still from the insides of your bodily orifices.

In many ways, it was one of the worst parts of each day, to come out of the dreaming world and be confronted with the multitude of little indicators and reminders of your subjugation. Every aspect of your life had been moulded into matching the culture of your ruler deity, stripped of your own, which had had, as you'd learned, a great deal of differences, despite not being geographically too far apart. Nonetheless, you were eating their food, wearing their clothing, sleeping in a bed and a home of their architectural style, speaking their tongue. And above all—

"____, today will be a bit different from your usual routine."

Your jaw clenched.

Yes, that was what you hated the most. That name. It felt offensive, insulting, to have been robbed of the name you had used for centuries, only to have another forced upon you. You didn't get any say in what it was, it was merely assigned to you from the moment you had come. The phonology itself was very obviously derived from their linguistic culture, replacing your own, taking from you the last and most basic, fundamental part of your individuality.

But you said nothing. You looked up, raising your eyebrows in an inquisitive expression.

He placed his palm on top of your head, in what you supposed was intended to be another affectionate gesture.

"I have important matters to attend to today." His voice was of his usual, neutral tone, gentle but deep.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment before giving a single, soft nod. That was one of many common phrases that each carried their own implicative, secondary message, left unsaid but understood nonetheless. If a given day contained a great deal of matters deemed important, that would often mean you would spend a great deal of your day sitting in place, listening to a bunch of people talk about subjects of no relevance or significance to yourself, quiet and still like a lifeless doll. Only present to be seen. The 'important' descriptor meant nothing to you in and or itself, as no matters that were dealt with here ever meant anything to you, it was merely attached as a means of getting a message of its own across: that the tolerance threshold for any ill-intended behavior, outbursts, or any other form of acting out was temporarily far lower, and that consequently, any such behaviors would hold significantly higher penalties than they usually held.

"Alright."

Your voice still came out hoarse. It wasn't as if there was much else to say. You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to inquire further, and there was no sense in raising some sort of objection to the matter.

Rather, perhaps there was reason for it in spite alone, but it was a scene that had played itself out so many times in the past that at this point, it would merely be like rereading the same book for the hundredth time, the same words and actions and events played out again and again. Even if the resentment in your heart urged you to be defiant out of sheer emotion, at this point there was almost a sort of boredom to the idea, one that your emotions were, at least for the moment, not strong enough to override.

Sometimes you would act out just to alleviate boredom with the usual routine, so it was merely a matter of, upon any given day, which option sounded more appealing. After a long streak of good behavior, the days would become boring enough that creating chaos and conflict was entertaining... then the consequences of that would put you into another streak of compliance, and the cycle continued. Right now, you decided against it. You merely raised a cup of water up to your mouth, savoring the coolness to your throat as you drank what remained of it.

That was, however, not the full extent of information you were to be given. He set the cup in his hand down on the table before adding more explanation.

"I'll be meeting with... adversaries, and I would prefer to keep your existence unknown to them." He straightened his posture where he sat. "You are to stay in here for the day. I will be back by nightfall. Understood?"

You merely gave a soft nod, not taking your gaze off the floor until you saw movement. He leaned forward over the table, coming down to grab at your jaw, tilting your head upward to force eye contact. You felt a sudden jolt to your gut as your eyes met. While clearly not actively upset, his expression still communicated displeasure, eyes narrowed and face otherwise unexpressive and flat, lacking the faint smile of contentment he so often wore. His voice was firm as he spoke again, repeating the question with greater emphasis.

"Do you understand?"

You nodded frantically. Were it not for the tension of the moment, it might have been a touch comical how his fingers squished at your cheeks, distorting your speech.

"Y-yesh, Mash-ter..."

He exhaled a slow, deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. His grip grew soft, coming to gently cup your cheek instead.

"Very well, then."

He leaned further forward, ever so softly pressing his lips to the top of your forehead for a brief moment before standing up and turning around, making his way over to the door. "Should you grow bored, there's a good deal of reading material on the shelves behind you." He turned around to shut the door behind him. This time, as your eyes met, he gave you a soft expression, corners of his mouth upturning just slightly. "I'll send for someone to bring you food and water in a few hours. I'll try to return as soon as possible."

You nodded. You tried to put on a similar expression in return, but your mouth twitched with the attempt. "I understand."

You had to force the words out of your mouth. What you truly felt went unspoken aloud, but the spite remained in your head nonetheless.

Please don't.

And once the door shut, you were left in what felt like a suffocating quiet. A tense, uneasy atmosphere, despite the stillness and silence of the room.

For a moment, you merely sat perfectly still, staring forward with dull eyes and an absence of mind, no thoughts of any kind beyond a sort of static buzz in the back of your head. With your life as it was, it was all too easy to slip into that foggy state, lulled into a waking sleep by the mundaneness and emptiness of everything you did, to the point that your brain was easily able to achieve a state of nothingness.

But after a moment, your eyes began to dart around the room. Your gaze fixated on your own shadow for a moment before you turned your head to the side, as if expecting to see something different from the same layout as always, as if something would change. Of course, it hadn't; the only windows remained high enough that you'd need to stand on your toes just for your fingers to brush against the bottom edge, and were covered by metallic bars at that.

And while the light just so happened to shine perfectly into your eyes from where you rested each day in bed, the small size of the windows and high placement left the room very dim even in the middle of the day. You supposed this room had been intentionally built for the purpose of keeping someone in. It certainly performed that function adequately.

Your heart rate was increasing. The subtle awareness of your situation began to slowly trail to the forefront of your mind, still largely held back by a profound fogginess that went beyond sleepiness.

Your eyes did graze over the books at the other end of the room, but you had no desire to even pick them up. Such things had ceased to hold any interest. These days, the mere notion of most activities seemed dull, uninteresting. You doubted the subjects of the material would be of any particular interest to you, anyway. You merely sat still, turned your gaze back to the door.

There was an unspoken understanding about the situation; you had seen in his eyes before he left that he knew you understood. It was a trial of sorts, a test. You had not been left entirely alone before. On normal days, you were dragged around from place to place, often meeting with all sorts of people whose names and faces you made no effort to register in your memory. Kept in your master's lap to be looked at, to be seen and displayed. You usually sat perpendicular to him, so that you could lean onto his chest and close your eyes and block it all out.

And when you could not be with him, when it was time to go to combat in the chaos and war of the world outside, or otherwise doing something you could not partake in, you were left with an attendant outside your door. And yet, when he had opened the door to leave, you could see there was no one outside. That, and telling you outright that an attendant would come along in a few hours was in and of itself a subtle double-message, intended to inform you that that meant, logically following, that there was no attendant watching over you at that moment, that you were going without supervision.

This was, thus, you immediately concluded, a test to see if you would stay in place, if you would still be in the room when he returned. A test of obedience, loyalty, and perhaps, how much you feared him.

It was only natural, thus, as that realization settled in, that your mind began to race with uncertainty. The mere thought, naturally, triggered an immediate impulse. Your innate instinct was to launch yourself out the door that very second and go bounding away down the hall.

Yet, of course, the more rational part of your consciousness halted that impulse with a sense of wariness and caution. If it was indeed a test, which you were more or less certain it was, that also meant there was almost guaranteed to be a sort of insurance measure for the possibility of your failure. There could very well have been guards posted by the door, intentionally placed so you wouldn't have seen them when it was opened. Hell, for all you knew, he could have very well been lying about any obligations, and merely be waiting right outside the door, ready to catch you in any act of disloyalty. It was likely that any doors to the outside would be locked or barred. There could be a physical trap of some kind, too. That was perhaps that being the most humiliating possibility, invoking the thought of being forced to sit in an obvious display of your actions and wait to be found and freed.

You gave your head a quick shake to clear your mind, halting the train of thought in its place.

The safe thing to do was nothing. With action, with hope, came risk, and with risk came rightful fear. Doing anything other than staying put was sure to end poorly. To even think to intentionally violate the standard of behavior you were being blatantly tested for was incredibly foolish and naive. You imagined that such an attempt would be the absolute worst of transgressions you could possibly commit, and the mere thought of irreparably crossing some sort of line made you shiver.

Drop it. Forget it. Leave it be.

You repeated the words to yourself, over and over, trying to quell the impulse. It was for your own good.

...But there was nothing wrong with just poking your head out the door, was there? Even if you were immediately met with someone, you could easily say you thought you heard something and were just checking to see the source of the sound. That was as good an excuse as any.

That alone couldn't hurt. It would just be for a second. Just to look.

Slowly, without much active thought, you found yourself rising to your feet. You swallowed, and took a deep breath.

In a way, you almost hoped you would open the door and see someone standing there. At least then, that could be the end of it. Any faint hope could be extinguished, you could return to the comfort that came with helplessness, knowing you could not do anything. When that window of opportunity didn't exist, there were no what-ifs, no fear of missing out on an opportunity, no conflict of what to do.

But as your hand slowly pushed the door open, you were only met with a dark hall.

The halls were, by contrast to the room, far more dark and unsettling. Windowless spaces only illuminated by a few lamps along the walls.

You turned your head left, then right, analyzing both halls. The left one ended very shortly with an opening to another two options to turn down subsequent halls, while the right one carried on for some distance before doing the same.

But what you did not see, was any presence other than your own. There was no one. Only emptiness.

You felt something, though. Something beyond your primary senses. A subconscious, skin-crawling feeling, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that made you feel cold all over. As if being watched, even surrounded by emptiness.

A nauseous feeling crept up in your gut. You shut the door in haste, shakily stumbling backwards as if having been shoved. You lowered yourself down to sit on the ground once more, legs feeling too uneasy to keep standing. The door seemed to loom intimidatingly before you. It was so close, and yet, the thought of stepping outside of it on your own felt foreign, somehow wrong, as if some extreme action that no one in their right mind would do.

No. There was nothing, you had seen so yourself. It was merely the feeling of dread becoming too much, holding you back. You were letting paranoia go to your head.

And that brought back the self-directed frustration, anger. You were letting fear get the better of you. You had literally seen with your own two eyes that there was nothing outside. You could walk out, and no one would know.

There was a burning sensation in your chest. A long-forgotten, supressed feeling. Your dignity and pride... how pathetic was it to not even take this opportunity to do something? Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least look around, familiarize yourself with what was around you. Yes, you likely wouldn't be able to find a way out today, but at the very least, scouting it out would be incredibly useful for the future.

To stay here and cower in submission and obedience... would that just go on forever/ In the back of your mind, you had always made some sort of automatic assumption that you would, one day, get out. You had always thought about the future in those terms, wondered what you'd do or where you'd go when that happened. The sudden, intrusive thought, even merely a passing one for just a brief moment, that this would be permanent...

Just as the thought crossed your mind, your eyes trailed over to a mirror on the other side of the room, the vertical sort that extended to the floor.

You sat in place for some time. Unmoving, staring at your own reflection, letting the minutes pass by in quiet, transfixed, unable to look away.

Your eyes looked dull and tired. Your body was slouched over, like a limp doll left to sit on the ground. You scanned every inch of your body. The way your hands rested limply in your lap. The scratches on your back that you could see the ends of where the loose robes had fallen down to expose your shoulders. Taking it all in. It felt like nothing more than a husk, soul long since departed.

Every little detail was a mark of ownership over you, a claim to your life, body and soul, a statement that they all were no longer your own. As if stripping you of personhood, redesigning your exterior and your habits to serve as a perpetual reminder that you were defeated, broken into submission.

And in that new, reconstructed person, there was no place to have any pride. Any dignity or self-respect was out of place, it did not belong, it was not supposed to exist anywhere within the new object that had been created. It was a smudge on a fine painting, dust on a shelf, dirt on a toy -- it would be unhesitatingly wiped away, ensuring that the respective possession of value was free of such undesired impurities. Leaving behind only a flawless object that would perfectly serve its purpose, to be used as it was designed to be.

A painting's was to be looked at, a shelf's was to store, and a toy... it was to be played with, used for the enjoyment of its owner.

Some time passed. Many thoughts came and went, miserable, bitter, and shameful. You sat there and stared. At some point, your eyes began to slowly close, your head felt heavy and cloudy, and your body relaxed...

But it was then that you seemed to snap out of your transfixation, shaking your head. You'd nearly gone to sleep sitting up, and would have wasted the day away. Such falling asleep during the day had become something of a habit at this point, often sleeping for far longer periods of time than necessary or even healthy, just to escape from the waking world.

Your chest felt tight with shame. No. You wouldn't allow that. To just sit there and be a good, obedient pet. Your sense of pride, whatever remained of it, couldn't allow that. The you from before wouldn't have allowed you to become like this, would be ashamed of you for inaction.

You rose to your feet once more and, with a deep breath to steady your nerves, made your way back to the door, opening it once more. After turning your head once again, checking to ensure it was still empty, you looked down at the ground, where the pattern of the floor transitioned over a straight line dividing the room and the hall.

You hesitated for another moment. The fear was still present, even if you did your best to go on in spite of it. It felt daunting, like some tremendous act.

But you stepped over it nonetheless, tiles cool on the soles of your feet. And then, you were left standing.

You left the door open, just in case someone came along and you needed to rush back into the room. You turned your head in each direction.

You had been down the left hall plenty of times, you were fairly familiar with the layout of the estate, having intentionally made sure to commit it to memory, should there be any possibility of finding an exit.

The right hall, however, you'd never been down. But not only was it so expansive it was difficult to take it all in, there was also the fact that as far as you knew, it only led to more and more rooms, you could see doors in a line down the walls as far as your vision extended.

It was still morning. If he said he would be back before nightfall, that meant you had a great deal of time. Although you were told there would be an attendant to bring you a midday meal, but even that would be at least a few hours away, even with you having wasted... you estimated around maybe two hours idly sitting in the room.

Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least pace yourself to go explore a bit and memorize what you found, trying to mentally keep track of time and return before someone came. If someone found you outside, then, you could claim you were searching for an attendant to request water or food. That was perfectly realistic, wasn't it?

As you took the first steps, a shiver ran down your spine. There it was again, that intense feeling of unease, something beyond the fear of being seen. Some sensation, some sense that made you twitch, eyes darting all around. There was still nothing. And yet, your heart rate increased even further than the nervousness already paced it, your breathing grew heavier and faster. You took a few more cautious steps. The feeling persisted, and in a way, seemed to direct you, a subconscious way of feeling the direction it was coming from, controlling your gaze to follow the sensation. Following what seemed like the silent command of that sense, your head tilted upwards to the rafters of the ceiling.

For just a moment, the slightest of seconds, you caught a glimpse of something.

A dark, humanoid silhouette, a smaller frame than that of your master's, barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadow, crouched down on the rafter beam and leaning forward. Bright yellow eyes that shone out in the darkness, wide open and staring at you with eerily intense focus.

A spike of panic lurched through your chest. You inhaled a sharp gasp and took an instinctive step back, your frame of sight disoriented and blurred with the movement.

And then, as your vision refocused, it was gone.

You blinked a few times, rubbed at your eyes, and looked again. Yes, there was nothing there.

You exhaled the air you'd been holding in, a shuddering breath. You reached a trembling hand up to the spot where your neck met your jaw, pressing two fingers down into the flesh to feel just how hard and fast your heart pounded.

It was merely your own paranoia getting to your head, imagining things. You had to shake it off and keep going. Your footsteps hastened.

You still slowed yourself down as you reached a dark corner, slowly poking your head over the bend. Nothing down the next hall, either, nor could you hear any footsteps or faint chatter or anything that would indicate another presence. It gave you at least some boost in assurance, steadying your walking.

And the next corner, and the next corner. It was as if there wasn't a soul in the whole, massive building, despite there usually being servants to the god that moved around performing various tasks, and guards as well. The Geo god spared no effort in maintaining subjects to keep everything in this place in line, whatever said place was. You knew it was not the real world — that was how the realm had been, by whatever means, indued with some sort of ward that had left you unable to use your own divine power from the moment you were brought in. Many gods had similar dwellings... but they could all be entered and exited, and this would be no exception.

Still, it almost felt too easy. Following the widest hall and keeping to the right side seemed to lead you exactly the way you wanted to go, into areas silent but still dimly lit enough to see. After what seemed like a torturously suspended wait, you halted in place as you rounded the next bend.

Your heart began to pound not merely in fear, but excitement, an exhilarating buzz in your chest that elated your spirit. This hall did not end with another curve, but instead, a door.

A set of large double doors, to be exact. It was a deep red, the wood intricately carved, the frame equally designed with obvious devotion and craftsmanship. Larger and more eye-catchingly ornate than any of the doors lining the hallway, and set at the very end of the hall, looming before you in an almost unnerving perfection, picturesque in a near perfect symbol of the end of your short journey.

That was, of course, indicative of a front door.

A door leading outside.

You could feel your heartbeat throughout your body, each pulse a pounding in your chest, a rush through your throat and extremities. The tile was cold to your bare feet as they slowly, cautiously stepped forward, each footstep just the lightest and faintest of sounds.

Your hand turned the knob and pulled. It was quite heavy, as could be expected from the quality and authenticity of the wood used for such a large entryway. Still, with a tug, the door slid on its hinges towards you. Your shoulders tensed up at the low groaning sound of the aged wood.

The sunlight was nearly blinding, just the mere sliver that came through the gap to which you'd opened it, no more than the width of your hand. The sudden burn caught you off-guard, and you stiffened as your eyes reflexively shut, taking a moment to adjust before slowly, barely parting your eyelids once more.

As your eyes quickly adjusted to the light, you could make out the myriad of colors that composed the natural part of the realm, green all around of grass and plants, the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds.

The sun not only brought its light, but also a pleasant warmth that swept over the narrow vertical line of your body that the light shone upon. As you inhaled, your nostrils were filled with the invigorating fresh scent of dirt and sky and life, the air itself warm in your lungs.

For the briefest of moments, you stood perfectly still, taking just a single second to bask in the euphoria gracing your senses even in spite of your nerves.

But you couldn't just go running out, no, that would be foolish... right? You had no idea how to get out of this realm from here, and would certainly be seen by some guard or attendant or another if you recklessly walked out in broad daylight. If you were caught, it would be ages before this sort of opportunity would come again.

But it couldn't hurt, surely, to just peek around the door, to poke your head out and get a better look at your surroundings. You pulled the door a bit wider, just enough to fit your head through, holding the edge of the door propped open with your forearm.

There were no visible persons outside, either. No guards, no humans nor beasts. Just sun and grass and decoratively assembled stone and masonry that carried on for a ways into the distance.

And more importantly, you could see in the distance, at the end of a winding trail, a glowing pillar of light. The devices that led in and out of these ethereal realms. You had seen plenty in your time in godhood.

In that case... even if there were guards beyond your frame of sight, if you made a run for it, you could probably reach the end. And once you were out into the real world, surely even with your limited combative capacity, you could still utilize the abilities you possessed to get far away and ward off any pursuers. You could run far, far away, find a new land to live in. You could feign being a regular mortal and live life alongside them to conceal yourself. You were not the sort of overly-prideful deity that would consider such a thing to be an insult; in fact, such a prospect didn't sound bad at all.

It was all far too perfect. You found the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own, unable to conceal your excitement even if you had tried. Perhaps the higher beings in Celestia had taken favor on you, or decided to compensate you for your unjust persecution. Your breathing was so heavy that your shoulders and chest rose and fell with each respiration. Your eyes watered. It didn't even feel real, it was all so sudden, your mind felt frozen in shock. Your whole body was filled with a tingling sensation, your head felt lighter than air. You pulled your head back through the door, reaching back for the handle and pulling it wide enough to slip your body through, watching as more light poured into the dark hall.

A startled grunt came out of your throat as your body was jerked forward by the door slamming shut, pulled by your hand still gripping the handle.

The harsh sound of the door forcefully hitting its frame echoed across the vastness of the hall, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

You stood frozen stiff, still slightly leaning forward from the motion. Unmoving as a statue, paralysis seizing your body. It felt as if even your heart stopped, every organ and vein in your body completely gone still. There was a tightness in your chest, a heavy feeling in your gut, as if your stomach weighed your body down. Your hand was still latched onto the door handle, grip having gone limp, but arm still stiffly extended, unable to move if you tried.

A distinct, straight strip of shadow darkened the area just before you, blocking the light from above. As the echo of the door crashing back into the frame faded, only silence remained.

Your eyes slowly trailed upward. With hesitancy, a slowness out of the cold, heavy feeling in your gut. Delaying the inevitable, torn between frantic urge to know and yet desperately wanting not to. Suspending the few precious seconds of intentional ignorance.

A hand was pressed against the door, having shut it with force. The flesh of the arm outstretched above you from behind gradually darkened in color downwards to the hand that was pressed flat to the surface of the door, the end of each finger tipped with curved, thick claws, rather than fingernails. The fingers curled just a bit, with the slightest sound of a scrape against the wood.

An arm extended out directly above your head, trailing back to something behind you. You could feel a radiating warmth against your back, just shy of brushing against you, so close that you could even detect it without the primary senses, some sort of innate ability to sense presence.

Your jaw was slack, lips parted just in the slightest. Your mouth opened wider, as if to say something, but nothing came out, throat choked and tight.

Until, that is, you felt something brush against the top of your shoulder. The other arm extended forward, crossing over the shoulder to reach for your face.

Muscles across your body twitched and tightened, your eyes blew wider open still, body stiffening even further as a series of sharp pinpoints slowly, lightly came to rest on the flesh of your face, fingers gripping your jaw. Not too harshly, nor lightly. A perfect balance; not enough to cause real pain, but just heavily enough that you could acutely feel the sharpness of the ends pressing into the soft flesh of your face.

And with that, your stillness ceased. Albeit still stiff, every inch of your body began to tremble.

Your lip trembled. Your eyes began to water.

The silence felt like it would crush you, a heavy nothingness for several seconds.

"...And just what are you doing out here?"

As involuntary as your shaking, a high-pitched, fearful little sound came out of the back of your throat. Pathetic and shameful. The sound of your own voice in your ears made a hot, bitter feeling of shame course through your body, amidst the fear that seized your entire being. Your mouth opened, twitching as you tried to speak.

"A-ah... I..."

Any words you could have summoned felt caught in your throat. You went silent, unable to finish. A few more moments of tense silence passed. You stood in place, unable to bring yourself to turn around.

The hand on the door retracted, slowly moving downward. The arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so that your bodies now touched. The body behind you leaned forward and downward, just enough to speak directly into your ear, face brushing against the side of your own.

"You're quite a ways away from where you were told to stay." He slowly drummed his fingers against the narrowest part of your waist. "You must have wandered out by mistake and gotten disoriented."

In a quieter, lower voice, so close to your ear you could feel his breath as he spoke, he finished,

"...Is that right?"

It was, of course, blatantly facetious. Pretending as if that were even a reasonable explanation, a sort of mutually understood, mock disingenuousness. Transparently so, no actual effort to make you think he was truly ignorant, mutually understood to be a slow torment.

There might have been a right answer and a wrong answer. Perhaps both were right or wrong, or perhaps neither was either. It was a question to test your reaction, see if you would be spiteful or obediently meek. Even so, the submissive option was also a wrongdoing of dishonesty.

But in your panicked impulse, that was the option you rushed for nonetheless.

"I..." You swallowed. "Y-yes, I... I was just..." You looked down, only to see with your own eyes how badly your body trembled. Another matter came to mind. "I... I thought you were with...?"

He waited a moment to respond. "...I was." The cold ominousness and implication of discontentment of his tone made you wince, but he spoke again before you could stammer out some insistence of your innocence, or try to apologize. "However, the guardian I had set for you came to inform me you were wandering around the halls, so it's adjourned for the day."

You grinded your teeth. You had seen something after all, it wasn't just imagination.

Why had you thought otherwise? Of course, of course he wouldn't have left you completely unsupervised. Thinking so for even a moment had been an act of supreme foolishness. You chastised yourself in your head for such stupidity. It was even placed up towards the ceiling with, no doubt, the exact intention of making you believe you weren't being supervised. It felt almost malicious.

Even aside from that matter, hearing those words made your heart sink further, knowing that having to deal with you had interrupted something of utmost significance. For one, that implied that, considering the risk of being interrupted, that he actually, genuinely had believed you would be obedient. Secondly, having disrupted something of importance made your transgression that much greater of an offense, and no doubt, thereby deserving a retribution that much more severe. You could feel your heartbeat across your body, in your throat, in your head, in your limbs, a harsh, intense pounding, pumping adrenaline-laced blood through your system.

But you remained silent. It felt as if something was stuck in your throat, blocking your breath and speech.

A few moments passed. No doubt intentional, dragging out the moment, not granting you the mercy of being spared the torturous dread. And then, the hands detached from your jaw and waist respectively.

"Alright, now. Come."

His arm reached around your back, hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you forward in manner both gently slow and lacking in force, yet the touch itself firm. His voice was calm, but cold, commanding. It was not aggressive nor harsh, nor loud, nor rough. His facial expression was not only equally calm, but even pleasant, the sort of expression that was just the slightest upturn of the mouth, but more of a smile in the eyes, almost amused. No contortion in anger or disgust.

Morax did not need harshness. Perhaps other gods and rulers and masters might. To require a booming voice and a snarl to one's tone, a forceful aggression and volume and threat of intense violence to instill submission. For others, fear had to be enforced on the subjects, they had to be made to cower.

But not him. He could speak in such a calm voice, and still expect to be followed. It was not an indicator of a lack of power, but the opposite — knowing that you knew that power without having to have it repeatedly demonstrated. Knowing full well you were terrified regardless, perhaps more so with the eerie aura of the calmness. Knowing you had no choice but to follow, that submission was already won, and that there was thus no need to do anything but simply command it. That the possibility of such a direct command being disobeyed did not even cross his mind. A quiet form of dominance only knowable by those at such an apex of power and supremacy that obedience came as naturally to their subjects as breathing.

And that was the thought that infuriated you so, so deeply.

Your heart felt as if it had stopped, a wave of cold that ran through your blood. Pure and unadulterated fear amalgamated with a deep, swelling bitterness, coursing side by side through your veins. Your jaw clenched harder and harder, your hands curled up into fists.

There was something else, though, beyond that. A heavy, burning feeling in your chest. Pressure that had built up, near the point of bursting. All the humiliation and subjugation you had compliantly endured, a foul taste of embittered fury and brutalized pride. You recalled your hollow, tired appearance in the mirror.

You'd been so controlled by fear from the moment you were captured by the other — admittedly far superior — deity, meekly complying most of the time, outside of a few outbursts and moments of defiance that were so infuriatingly written off as immaturity or merely being a brat, treated with indignation and a sort of condescension that yes, once more you thought to yourself that you wished was crueler, that would have been less humiliating and hurtful if you were treated like an enemy or a slave rather than a disobedient child, an unruly pet.

What would the 'you' from before had thought of your willingness to simply bow your head and follow...?

You took a step backwards, pulling yourself out of the grasp of the arm around you.

Perhaps, in part, it was mere reflexive instinct. But there was also force to the action. Intent. Driven by that same swell of resentment, so strong it overrode your dread. You took an uneasy stance, one foot behind you and the other forward, prepared to take another step back.

You both came to a halt. Your eyes met.

You still trembled, but you stood your ground.

The pleasant expression fell from his face. His eyes became half-lidded and narrowed, shoulders shifting downward as the arm that was around you came to rest at his side. There was an ominous edge to his tone as he spoke.

"...Surely you do not want to make this more difficult than need be?"

His gaze felt piercing. Your eyes darted downward.

"I..." You swallowed. "I just..."

It wasn't as if there was a point. Even if you were to turn around and bolt, you wouldn't even be able to get the door open before you'd be caught. There was no practical, logical point to resistance. There was nothing to be gained, and there was certainly a great increase in your imminent suffering if you did not.

And above all, you were consumed by dread, a fearful anticipation. Perhaps that, in part, was what kept your legs locked still, a desire to delay the inevitable. But above all, your pride demanded your resistance.

"...I don't..."

You tried to speak. You could summon the words in your head, at least. Words you had thought before, when you would lay in bed at night, playing out pathetic revenge fantasies in your head where you told him exactly what you thought and felt, like you were some kid imagining yourself standing up to a schoolroom bully you knew you'd never have the gall to face in reality. You'd say that you were sick and tired of being debased and degraded, that you weren't a toy, that you wouldn't tolerate being talked down to any longer, that you weren't an object to be owned. The fantasies always ended there, as you were unable to even imagine a scenario in which the aftermath of such an outburst ended well for you.

You couldn't get the words out. Perhaps in large part due to intimidation, but even still, because you knew that to some extent, many of those statements were wrong. In the most realistic sense, you were owned. That was how the brutality of the real world functioned. The superior ones exerted their strength, and in turn, the weaker ones submitted... or else, were eliminated. If one could successfully imprison and force the other to their will, they essentially did have claim to ownership.

Thus, you merely stood your ground. It was all you could do to look up at him with anger, however obvious the fear alongside it may be, on your face.

He merely huffed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Be reasonable." He turned his gaze back up to you. His eyes narrowed further. "...You will follow, willingly or not. I am extending you the opportunity to demonstrate remorse, and you would be wise to take it."

You remained still, and stayed silent. The quiet weighed down on your chest, as if to crush you. Part of you wanted to give in, a survival instinct to submit and obey, an urge to run forward and fall to your knees in a display of repentance. But you suppressed it, and remained in place.

He paused a moment, waiting for a response, but upon receiving none, he gave a deep sigh, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Three."

Your jaw clenched. The bitter fury rose up like a punch to the stomach.

Of all the things he could have said, to do that, to instigate this degrading routine you'd become so familiar with, was probably the worst.

Your heart beat harder. The very nature of the act strengthened your impulse to rush forward, the setup itself being to intimidate you with gradual increase of threat. Perhaps it was because you knew that, and how degrading it felt, that you managed to stay still.

"Two."

His voice grew a firmer edge with the single word, audibly colder and deeper than the first.

Your fingers curled, clenching your hands into fists. You grinded your teeth. You could feel your eyes water, but with all the willpower you could muster, you refrained from breaking down, from giving in.

But you did give in, at least in a way, to the fear. You couldn't keep looking him in the eye. You turned your gaze to the floor... but it didn't stop you from being able to see his face in the edge of your vision. Given the look on his face, you wished you had turned your head entirely.

He was silent as seconds came and went, having well surpassed the implied time limit. Staring at you with narrowed eyes and a displeased expression.

"...How childish."

When he took a step forward, your panic surged back anew, and you stumbled backwards, but to no avail. His hand locked around your wrist, and the pretense of gentleness momentarily disappeared as you were jerked forward with immense force. You didn't even get the chance to stumble, the force with which you were slung was enough that your feet left the ground and you crashed down to the floor with a frightened yelp, catching yourself on your forearms. As soon as you hit the ground, your shaking hands scrambled to push you back up, but just as you began to shuffle onto your hands and knees, you gagged as your weight was pulled off the ground by a hand grabbing the back of your robe, causing the front to choke you by the throat. Your feet stumbled to find purchase on the ground, but they were pulled off the ground once more, leaving your legs flailing in the air. You went airborne again for a moment as you were thrown upward, retching as your body was slung over his shoulder so that the bone slammed against your stomach.

The journey back seemed so much faster than your initial one, given your shorter legs and how cautious you'd been. You hadn't realized just how short the distance you'd traveled really was until that moment, as the return passed so quickly you became aware of just how pathetically short of a distance you'd truly gotten. You cried out and writhed, less out of a conscious decision, and more pure panic triggering some innate instinct. You were fairly certain you got out a few strained, stuttered words — wait and stop and no — but you received nothing in reply.

It was over in a matter of minutes. The door was still hanging open as you'd left it, but was shut with a harsh sound behind you. You cried out as you were unceremoniously tossed down, body weight slamming into the mattress so that it bounced back for a moment from the impact as you lay stunned on your back.

Your elbows pressed down to prop yourself up. You barely lifted your torso upwards before you were slammed back down again by a crushing force to your chest, claw-like nails digging into the flesh around your collarbones. He came to loom over your form from above, leaning with one foot on the ground, the other calf bent at the knee and resting weight onto the mattress.

“Your ingratitude is boundless, isn't it?” He remained perfectly still, looming over you even as you began to writhe. “To think, I could have killed you. There is no reason you shouldn't have met the same fate as every other—" his grip tightened, enunciating the next word in a sudden increase in irritation to his voice, betraying the faux pleasantness up until that moment, "foolish little pest that thought to challenge something so far greater than yourself."

Your eyes nearly squeezed shut with the strain of your struggling. The words made your lip tremble, your eyes burn. Every time the memory was invoked, you felt so utterly stupid, shameful over your own naivete.

You grabbed at the hand on your chest, and pulled with every ounce of strength you could summon, the full and utmost entirety of your strength.

It didn't even seem to be noticed, much less affect him in any way. The hand did not budge, nor did his face show any sign of strain, no indication that your full strength took even a modicum of effort to restrain.

"But I had favor on you," he continued, voice returning to a quiet coldness, "and took you to be my own." His other hand reached back up to your face, gripping your jaw with force and acute pressure as each nail dug into the soft flesh. “I chose…” his voice lowered to a murmur, “…to allow you to live…” he pushed your head back, “…under very, very simple conditions.”

Your body trembled beyond your control. He watched you struggle, golden eyes half-lidded and cold, lacking any sign of empathy. You felt a surge of dread spike in your chest as the nails dug into your flesh, just shy of piercing the skin. After a moment, he finished,

“...Do you recall what those conditions were?”

Your lip trembled. The last remnants of pride you possessed fought against breaking down.

Yes, you recalled perfectly. You had so quickly rushed to agree to comply, out of pure, pathetic cowardice at the terror of the moment, in a desperate attempt to have your life spared.

The way it was brought up felt so, so shameful. Yes, you really would prefer outright cruelty to this. It was, at least, more transparent, more direct.

The way of speech he possessed was somehow far more soul-crushing. Such a calm, low voice, and yet tinged with an unmistakeable condescension. But the tension in it had slowly increased with each word, like an ominous, vague shadow growing closer and closer.

Each beat of your heart sent a heavy pulse through your head, you could feel the blood as it circulated around your temple and back into your throat, over and over. Your body felt so cold.

You forced the words out, voice hoarse.

“To… to remain here in this... this realm…”

He didn't hesitate to press further. “And?”

“And… and…” you swallowed. Your voice began to tremble, audibly on the verge of tears. “To… to obey your... every word."

"...That's correct." His voice was still so calm, low and rumbling. As if it were a regular conversation, as if he wasn't holding you down. Nonetheless ever laced with that sense of condescension, belittlement in the pretense of the feigned pleasantness. "Now... I could be remembering incorrectly," his thumb rubbed in a back-and-forth motion against your chin, "but I believe that I very specifically instructed you to wait in this room."

You felt sick. You bit down on your lip, inhaling as deeply as you could to fight a sense of nausea.

"...Am I mistaken?"

You shook your head back and forth rapidly. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears collecting and pooling around your eyelashes. Your voice came out strained and cracking. "No..."

It was the best reply you could give. A lose-lose situation, where any answer you could muster was a bad one, yet the honest answer was, at least, hopefully the lesser of the possible offenses.

And with that answer, finally, that slowly-increasing tension, the underlying malice, reached its peak. As if that shadow caught up to you, the pretense of calmness and faux-gentleness dissipated. You saw his eyes narrow further. The hand on your chest moved upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a chill pulsated through your blood, but you had no time to react.

"Enlighten me, then. Why, exactly..."

His palm slammed down onto your throat. Your eyes went wide with panic, your hands reached to grasp at his arm.

He spoke the next words with gritted teeth, voice still low in volume, but now with an unmistakeable rumbling harshness to his voice.

"...Did I find you where you were?"

Your initial instinct, without conscious thought, was to struggle, back arching as your body lurched against the hold. It only caused you greater pain, pressure digging into your throat. You took a gasp to the best of your ability.

If you had thought it through, perhaps it would have been evident that what you said next was a poor choice, but much like your writhing, in your panic, your first instinct was to placate and defend yourself.

"I wasn't doing anything bad, I just—"

You cut off with hitched breath as his fingers curled into your neck, sharpness nearly piercing your flesh.

"Do not lie to me."

Your lip trembled. You swallowed to the best of your ability.

"I'm sorry..."

The grip tightened, cutting off your airways nearly entirely.

"It was a question. Answer."

Of course, he already knew. You knew that, and he knew that you knew. It didn't need to be said. It was not so much a question as it was a command -- not merely to "answer," but to admit, to confess. And that was, realistically, the only valid option you had.

"Because I... I wanted to..." You took as deep of a breath as you could, swallowing, shuddering on the exhale. "I..."

You went quiet for a moment. You took rapid, shallow breaths, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to speak.

"You...?"

It was mocking, but frustrated tone in his voice, clearly growing impatient. He seemed to, at least, realize you were struggling to speak, and thus the crushing force to your throat loosened.

Your fingers curled against the sheets as bitterness swelled in your chest once more at the insult inherent to how he spoke to you, the audacity to express impatience when he was the very reason you struggled to speak. The push and pull of fear and anger often wavered back and forth, one overtaking the other for a moment. Each was reactionary, the emotion that won over at a given moment for a given response each dependent on what was said or done to you. The anger had been building, pressurizing, but finally burst as it did — anger was always the emotion that would come out in one sudden, explosive moment, only to retreat as soon as the fear always won back over. You knew that, and could have predicted the cyclic movement of the two, but in the moment, it won out nonetheless. You had intended to finish with saying you wanted to run, or perhaps a more dishonest answer, but a more spiteful sentiment overcame you.

"Because I wanted to!"

Taking advantage of the sudden absence of pressure, you lurched upward to the best of your ability. His hand still caught your movement halfway, forcefully grasping your shoulder, but you curled yourself upward to come closer to his level, almost halfway sitting up, propping your weight on one of your hands outstretched behind you, the other you reached out and, to draw him closer as well as keep you from being pushed downward, actually lashed out and tightly locked your grip around one of the horns at the base of his skull. Your body trembled, this time in a deep, furious rage, as you took more heaving breaths. Your nose scrunched up with your expression of fury.

"I can do what I want! You don't own me, and I don't have to do a goddamn thing you say, you—!"

You cut off.

Rather, you couldn't speak another word. It felt as if you were choking, even with the absence of a weight on your throat.

Once more, a reactionary compulsion. Those spiteful outbursts were always so brief, so easily shut down, any prideful spirit crushed without effort by the factor of sheer intimidation.

In that moment, it was the look on his face. The eyes went half-lidded, expression blank, not outwardly, visually angry, but displeased, unamused. Much like with everything else, it was far more terrifying to you than any outward anger you'd expect from anyone else.

Silence fell over the room, only the faintest sound as he drummed his fingers on the other hands against the sheets, a sedentary stimulus.

"...Go on."

The simple phrase was ominous, foreboding in its cold, low tone.

You clamped your jaw down, shoulders bunching up as you released your grip and shrunk back, back hitting the headrest of the bed. Your throat felt tight, as if blocked, obstructed. Your toes and fingers curled in a fearful instinct.

"...N-no, I didn't..."

"No." He reached out and took your face in his hand, thumb digging into one side, fingers into the other. "You were going to say something else?"

You tried to shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "No, I wasn't — I didn't mean that, I didn't—mm!"

You whimpered as your midriff was pulled forward, and head downward, effectively pushing you back down onto your back. There was a sharp pain as one of the claw-like nails just barely pierced a layer of flesh from the force, not enough to bleed, but enough to feel the distinct sting, the sort of cut that would leave a raised-up, reddened line down your skin for some time to come.

Your chest rapidly heaved up and down with panicked breaths. Your eyes blew wide, staring upwards into those that looked down at you with an intimidating darkness. Your hands lifted upward, as if to push him back, but merely rested in front of you, fingers curled and trembling, uncertain and hesitantly refraining.

"In that case," he rested one hand on your shoulder to hold you down, "I will extend you significant grace," the grip tightened on the enunciated word, just enough for you to feel it, "and allow you to start over. Try once more."

His other hand reached for your throat once more and pressed down. A sharp inhale of surprise proved you could still breathe, albeit greatly restricted, as if sucking in air through a straw.

It was at that moment, though, that the worst possible thought came to you. It hadn't occurred to you until that moment, but at the reminder he gave about how your situation came to be to begin with, the thought did flash through your mind, the worst possible consequence. That created an entirely new degree of fear. Your whole body seemed to sink into the mattress.

Your mouth opened, but you had to squeeze your eyes shut to manage to get the words out.

"I was... trying to..." Your voice lowered to a quiet whimper, a natural desire for avoidance. "Run away..."

Your chest convulsed, but you could only inhale a small amount of air with each breath. You began to feel lightheaded. Only pure fear and uncertainty kept you conscious.

But with that increased fear, any room for dignity was long since gone. Tears pooled in your eyes and streamed down your face. Your voice came out in a pathetic, miserable, pitiful whimper.

"Don't... don't kill me... please..."

It was not the first time those words had left your mouth. Perhaps there was even a comedic, ironic factor to the similarity, the repetition of the words parallel to the repetition of the scenario you found yourself in.

Yes, it was very much like this. His hand had been on your throat then, too. You recalled it perfectly. Defeated and battered, literally crawling on your knees before you were lifted up by the neck and slammed into the wall. You recalled the way your body tensed as the cold tip of the spear pressed to your chest right below the breast where your heart rested, just enough pressure to break the skin, the way a slow trickle of blood had trailed down your side. Tears and snot had run down your face, your breathing was rapid, heaving gasps, your legs had pathetically kicked and flailed, your hands had clawed at the grip.

You were not told outright that you would live, no. In hindsight, that had probably already been determined, but you weren't told so. There had been the same suspense, making you wait, enjoying putting you in abject terror as your life flashed before your eyes.

Perhaps it was because you had been cocky, overly confident in your capacities, that that torment was extended. For someone who took such gleeful thrill in conquering, it made sense to relish in the way you begged and struggled. It was the same words. Very basic ones, of course, standard, probably what any conqueror of such prowess had heard a hundred times.

Don't kill me, please don't kill me...

Likewise, you could still hear the mocking tone to his voice, see the gleam in his eyes.

You're right. It would be such a waste to kill you when you can be put to good use, don't you think?

And he had given you that same smile. The same one you received whenever you cried, whenever you were blubbering out apologies for some misdeed. Whenever you begged for anything, whenever you shivered and cowered and curled up into him for warmth or comfort. Whenever you succumbed to pleasure forced upon you, melted into a drooling, twitching, barely-responsive mess. Seemingly soft and mild, but the longer you looked, the more and more apparent became the undertone of sadistic pleasure.

The same one you recognized now, as you dared open your eyes, even through the blur of your tears.

It was always the same. Even in the softest and most gentle of moments, there was still that same gleam to his eyes.

"You want to be forgiven, then?"

You sniffled. "Yes..."

Another pause. Drawing the moment out. Making you feel every second of anticipation.

"Mm."

His hand detached from your throat. You took a deep, gasping breath.

But just as you began to recover, he took a fistful of the robe around you, pulling you up from the bed, setting you down — not letting you fall, but taking care to actually set you on the ground — onto your knees. He sat back down on the bed, sideways so that he faced your crumpled form, feet on the ground.

"I'm sure you know, forgiveness is not automatically granted... it is earned." He grabbed your jaw once more, forcing you to look up at him. "Do you understand?"

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, sniffling. The soft "mhm" that came out of your throat sounded utterly pitiful.

"Good." He reached down to cup your face, tilting your head to face him, causing your eyes to open on reflex. Just enough to see the amused smirk on his face as he spoke. "Then show me how you intend to earn forgiveness from your God."

It hurt. It hurt in your stomach, your chest. A type of pain so different from the scratches and bruises, an unphysical, deeper pain, an emotion so strong you could feel it in your skin and bones.

But you crawled forward on your knees nonetheless.

"Yes... Master..."

A routine you could move through almost mechanically, although this was the first time you'd performed it so desperately, not to mention the added difficulty of your shaking hands. Leaning your body forward, grasping at buttons to unfasten. You inhaled sharply when one of the cocks hit the side of your face as it sprung from the restraint of clothing.

Your breathing was still heavy and rapid from the adrenaline. You took just a moment to take a few shallow breaths, but otherwise didn't hesitate to shove it into your mouth, desperate to placate and do what you could to lessen your Master's fury.

It was like some sort of divine torment from Celestia itself that you had to deal with something... you supposed the best word would be reptilian, in the anatomical realm. Your body was fully humanoid, mating organs designed to align to an equally fully humanoid body of the opposing sex. You didn't even know draconic creatures possessed two cocks, and each of nonhuman size at that, until you were firsthand forced to become aware of that information, via being doubly impaled unexpectedly. There was some control over the degree of form such beings as him took, varying transformative levels that could be achieved at will, and you were sure it was entirely possible to maintain the fortunate human trait of having only one -- but that was a luxury you were not granted.

You took a gasp for breath as your mouth detached with a popping sound, turning your head and immediately taking the other into your mouth, reaching to work the first with your hand, aided by the residual lubrication of your own saliva, and the existing layer of... whatever it was, some sort of mucin-like lubrication that coated them already. Your hand couldn't fully wrap around it, couldn't close so that your fingers would have touched, instead trying to twist your wrist as you moved your hand up and down.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to force it further into your mouth, but your body stiffened as it triggered your gag reflex when it hit the back of your throat, not even half of it in your mouth. You tried to inhale as much air as you could through your nostrils, summoning the mental willpower to try and force it past the barrier of your throat.

You must have hesitated too long, though, or perhaps your effort was merely too poor to be sufficient. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a hand on the back of your head, but you could only let out a soft sound before your head was shoved downward.

Your stomach retched in involuntary reflex, abdominal muscles spasming as you tried to adjust. Your eyes watered once more, blurring your vision. Another hand latched to the back of your head, and pulled your head back before shoving it back down again. Over and over. It took all your focus and willpower to prevent yourself from getting sick, although you still managed to make some sort of sucking motion with your mouth, more out of mechanical instinct than active effort.

And it was painful, it was sore, from having had the same thing done shortly before. Like a wound being reopened over and over, there was never enough time between occurrences for you to heal from the bruises and scratches and stretched muscles of the former occurrence before it repeated.

After a moment, your head was pulled back all the way, a popping sound as your mouth detached. You took heaving, ragged breaths, desperately trying to suck in air before your head was guided to the side and the action repeated on the other, jerking your head up and down again, filling your throat to the point of a burning pain as it stretched. You could physically feel it stretching the walls of your throat, in and out, over and over. You began to feel lightheaded as you failed to sufficiently inhale through your nostrils.

"...Now—"

Your head was pulled off with harsh force. You took a long, heaving gasp for air, but within the same moment, you were jerked back upwards.

The movement was so fast and forceful that you were too disoriented to even process it. Your balance teetered, your stumbled as your arms were each held, fabric pulled off, stripping you down, before slamming your body back down onto the bed face-down. Prodding your legs with a gentle kick forced them wide apart to balance yourself, his hand pressed down on your back just below the neck, so that the soft whimpering sounds you made were muffled by the sheets. You grimaced as the nails dragged a short ways down your spine.

You grimaced, face contorting with the sting as you felt something prodding against the already raw flesh of the entrance of each orifice. "Wait, wait, I'm not—AH!"

Despite everything else being so prolonged and dragged out, this time, you were not granted a single second of hesitation or anticipation, no doubt intentional, so that you had no opportunity to mentally prepare yourself, so that the disorientation made the feeling of impalement come as a sudden shock.

You were unable to suppress a squeal as they both slid into your body at once, one into your cunt, the other into your ass, stretching already sore and spent muscles and pressing against bruised flesh, albeit the latter more innately discomforting and foreign, the stretching sensation far more intense. The sheer stretch of the size would have been painful even if your insides weren't already hypersensitive and rubbed raw. Your legs spasmed, kicking as a reflexive instinct, leaning your full weight forward.

You took rapid heaving, gasping breaths, trying to turn your head to the side so that your breathing wasn't inhibited and suffocated by your face pressed downward into the mattress. The noise that came out of your throat was strained and miserable, a long, high-pitched cry.

As another natural reflex, your body's first instinct was to get away, to remove the intrusion penetrating your insides. Your back arched downward in an attempt to pull yourself off, desperately clawing at the sheets, but you were grabbed at the hip and pulled back with force, sheathing fully inside you.

It felt full. Like your body was stuffed beyond its capacity, that there was too much within it. Intrusive, setting off some innate sense of alarm triggered by forcing something into your body of a size that it wasn't designed for; even for just the cock stuffed into your quim, the object itself registered as something foreign rather than a natural process of all living beings. The muscles reflexively clenched down and spasmed. Your breathing had just barely begun to slow as your body adjusted, before you stiffened at the friction against your insides as the intrusion pulled back, sliding out of your body.

You struggled to form words coherently. "Wait, wait—"

And squealed, a high-pitched cry, when his hips slammed forward again, driving back into your body once more. The movement felt as if it sent a shockwave running up your spine, from the point of collision to your insides.

His fingernails dug into your hips. The sharp ends broke the skin.

Again, and again. The friction burned, but the most intense sensation was the fullness and the impact — pain and soreness, but also unmistakable, unavoidable, natural pleasure that sparked with each movement as it rubbed against some specific spot inside. Your legs trembled from the intensity of the sensation, your mouth hung open, both drawing in gasping breaths, and spilling saliva out of your mouth, dribbling off your chin onto the sheets.

You had almost begun to melt into the pleasure when a harsh smack made you jolt. The sound bounced off the walls, the pain was a harsh sting where the palm of his hand had met the soft flesh where your backside and hip met. Your body lurched forward again, but was once more harshly pulled back to impale you again.

You made a pained sound, teeth grinding. "Ah, mmn— I'm sorry, I'm so—"

Another jolt of pain, leaving a hot sting against the flesh. You whimpered.

A third. A fourth. A fifth. It hurt. You squealed and cried out, struggling to form borderline incoherent begging. It did not help that the flesh of your ass was already so raw from similar previous corporeal punishments, for a range of offenses so broad and the offenses themselves so numerous you couldn't recall them all. Each inhale you took in had a coarse, ragged sound to it, as if choking on air. You sputtered out pleas and apologies, before your shoulder was grasped and pulled you upward, so that your knees rested on the mattress, and your torso was almost upright, slightly leaning forward. The thrusts to your insides slowed, more so grinding into your body, but did not cease.

"I still have difficulty believing you understand the severity of your offense."

"I do!" Your voice cracked as you spoke. You could hear how pathetic your own pleading voice sounded. "I really do, I promise, I'm sorry!"

There was a sigh, you could feel the fall of his chest against your back.

"You are so very fortunate," he continued. "You're taken care of to the utmost, you're given the highest standard of life one can have..."

"I know! I know, I, I am, I-I'm grateful—"

You cut off in a squeal with a harsher thrust, nails scraping down your hip so forcefully your face contorted with pain.

"You expect me to believe that, when you were preparing to throw aside everything I've given you?"

"I..."

You didn't have an excuse, and in your current state of mind, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure and fear and anger, there was no way you could summon such complex thought as to come up with one. Your brain could only come up with the automated, mechanical responses, the rehearsed phrases and words you were supposed to give, that you were trained and conditioned to give over the course of time -- I'm sorry, please forgive me, I won't do it again, so on and so on.

Thus, unable to come up with anything better, you merely hung your head, shoulders shaking with sobs as you gave the only answer you could think of.

"I'm sorry..."

He sighed again. "That's the best answer you can give, then?"

But after a pause, he added, with a smirk you could hear in his voice even if you couldn't see it,

"Or are you just too overwhelmed to think straight?"

You only whimpered. It was too much. The fullness, the soreness, the sparks of pleasure, it all was too much put together, overloading your brain. You shook your head, not so much in a negatory response to the question as it was just an expression of your desperation and clouded mind.

You grunted in surprise as you were lifted by an arm around your waist, coming to be set down so the balls of your feet touched the ground — although they shook so badly they were virtually useless, the vast majority of your weight supported by his arms. Your body was bent forward at the waist, one arm around it to support you, the other coming to grasp at your throat, essentially holding you up. Another thrust made you squeal again, feet stumbling against the ground.

Even in your overwhelmed state, the realization felt like a punch to the stomach.

It was no coincidence, no mistake, that you were positioned this way. Bitter, helpless fury swelled in your chest.

The exact same position you'd been held in that first time, squealing and crying and cursing as you were relentlessly fucked out in the open, before a multitude of your own subjects and other deities caught up in the combat.

It was true, as he'd said, that you had made a mistake that cost you. The other gods that you'd faced were, by comparison, so utterly weak, even non-combative deity a like yourself had managed to fend them off. You had known stronger gods existed, but the degree was such that it was beyond your ability to fathom, a level of strength far beyond what you ever would have imagined until you came to know it firsthand.

Thus, when the draconic god had approached you, you didn't feel threatened. In fact, you had felt insulted when he had given you a choice. That you could be spared from death by agreeing to relinquish your rule, and submitting to subjugation without resistance. And that otherwise, you could die fighting.

That was the first time you recalled that smile. You didn't even remember exactly what you said, but you hadn't even hesitated. Something to the effect that you would kill him, take him down, something of that nature.

That same grin, a soft chuckle. But lacking in excitement. Not the way one would laugh and grin before facing an opponent that would still be a thrill to fight. Instead, amused, as if finding it cute.

Is that so?

Even back then, the tone, the notion that you weren't even being treated as a worthy opponent, that he wasn't even worried, had enraged you, and in foolishness, you had rushed right into conflict.

It had lasted less than a single minute. To even call it a fight was not entirely reasonable; it was more you being slung around like a ragdoll across the near vicinity, over and over until you were beaten down to the point of immobility. A matter of seconds, before you were caught crawling, pressed up against that wall. And after your begging, after your pleading, you'd found yourself just like this.

The balls of your feet barely touching the ground, weight held up almost entirely by the hand on your jaw and the arm latched around your waist, desperately clawing at the former out of pure instinct with one hand, the other helplessly reaching behind you and pawing at the hips that slammed into yours, pushing back as if it would do any good, as if your weak pressing would actually stop the movement. Body weight tilted forward, knowing that you'd fall flat if he were to let go, only serving to further the feeling of panic.

At least now, there wasn't an audience gawking at the sight, but the degradation burned in your chest all the same.

It must look so miserable, so pathetic. If you had maintained your resilience and pride — then, and now — you would have stayed still. If you could endure it with a straight face, without making a sound, without struggling, that would have been a powerful move to play, would have wounded your tormentor's own pride, a metaphorical spitting back in his face. That should have been what you had done.

But you were weak. You squealed and flailed. Obscene sounds came out of your mouth, lewd and pained at the same time. Tears streamed down your face.

You did struggle, but to no avail. Writhing, kicking, flailing with every ounce of strength you could muster did nothing, the movements continued as if you were perfectly still.

The absolute utmost of your strength was nothing.

It was a feeling of complete and utter helplessness, futility, weakness, unlike anything else you'd ever known in the span of your lengthy existence.

And you knew you would never be able to exact revenge, would never be able to satisfy the anger. You could never exert it, release it, feel the relief of catharsis that came with finding a way to exert the negative emotion.

Beings such as yourself lived indefinitely. If you had been human, you might have been able to longingly wait for the day that death could relieve you of your humiliation and bitter anger.

But with power came responsibility, and with allowances came restrictions. That escape was a mercy you were not allowed, nor would he ever allow any circumstances under which you could do so yourself. A bedroom ceiling far too high to even reach, a mirror unbreakable — you had tried — and never given anything you could turn on yourself.

The hopelessness was crushing.

You stumbled over your loose footing, a few rapid steps to rebalance what little of your weight rested on the ground. Perhaps having had the thought to do so from that, the hand around your waist reached downward, hooking an arm under your knee and lifting up, so that your thigh nearly touched your chest, only a small portion of your weight left on the ball of the other foot on the ground. With that, each thrust went deeper into your body, you gasped and cried out at the impact.

As you adjusted, you let your head fall, hanging down limply. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The pleasure and pain receptors of your mind were overloaded, your thoughts began to grow hazy and dull, a sort of blankness that consumed any coherent or complex thought. The pleasure and pain was all there was, the only thing you could process besides the high-pitched cries from your mouth and the distinct sound of wet skin slapping on skin each time his hips met your backside.

His arm tightened onto your waist, and for a brief moment, you were lifted up into the air, whimpering as you were shifted over just a single step or so, not removing himself from you in doing so. The movements started up once more within a second, albeit slower, drawn out, and your body held more upright. You caught an object out of the corner of your eye, and automatically squeezed your eyes shut, turned your head away in a desperate attempt to avoid it.

You could feel his breath against your ear.

"Look at you."

You squeezed your eyes shut harder, rapidly shaking your head. You didn't want to.

But as his hand gripped your jaw once more, this time directly digging the sharp claws into your skin, your eyes opened on reflex at the pain, and you were met face-to-face with your own reflection once more. And once your gaze locked on, despite initial avoidance, you felt as if you couldn't look away.

You were disheveled, limp-looking, as if an inanimate object, dead weight barely kept in balance.

You could physically see his cock inside your body, a bulging shape in your abdomen that looked unnatural, almost grotesque. The flesh around your eyes was swollen and darkened. The scratches visible on your side and hip were irritated, reddened and swelling, but the cuts were shallow, and only in one particular scratch, just a bit deeper than the others, did the tiniest trickle of blood slowly ooze out.

Looking at your face, though, was the worst of it, made that same burning, all too familiar of a feeling, begin to swell. Saliva trailed out of both sides of your mouth, tears and snot ran down your face. Your eyes themselves were irritated and reddened, more tears accumulating, giving your eyes a glassy appearance that reflected what little light poured in.

You stared directly into the reflection. The hand on your jaw, the dullness to your eyes. The way your hands weakly clawed at the arm on your waist. The way even now, albeit merely grinding, the bulge in your stomach shifted, and you could just see, from your angle, where the smallest sliver of the base of his cock was the only remaining length not buried deep inside.

It all seemed to culminate. A knot in your stomach, a weight on your chest. Your lower lip trembled. You felt your body shiver, limbs trembling, as more, heavier tears ran down your face.

His voice was low and quiet, but so unnervingly deep as it was, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

"Do you understand?"

It was not preceded with a statement of what, exactly, was to be understood. Yet, you did understand nonetheless.

There were many ways to have put into words what that which you understood was. A few different details of things he may have meant. Maybe telling you something about you, something about him, something about the past or the future or the nature of things itself.

Perhaps that was, rather, exactly why he didn't say anything more — because there was no singular, exact statement to be understood. Many, many things that could be said, many aspects and demonstrations of the same concept, merely worded in different ways, but all ultimately the very same.

Any of those things that could be said, all amounted to the same, basic thing: a statement of order. A superior and an inferior, a better and a lesser. Each one true to its place in a million demonstrable ways.

And that, you did, in fact, understand. Even if you wished you didn't have to, wished you could be ignorant to it, and live without the unending, crushing weight of what you knew your place was.

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded your head, sniffling. "Mm-hnn..."

There was a moment of pause before you heard a response.

"...Very good."

You inhaled a sharp gasp and let out a soft cry as sharper, faster, rougher thrusts resumed, reigniting both the burn and pleasure sensations deep inside your body as it was bent forward once more. You bit your lips between your teeth in an effort to muffle the sounds you made, but this was quickly noticed, and the way his nails dug into your jaw was a command in and of itself, even if you didn't automatically gasp from the pain. With that moment of opportunity, his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing onto your tongue and effectively holding your mouth open.

"Ahh, ah— hah—"

The wanton noises, thus, came without much restraint, albeit muffled and distorted as you tried to form syllables over the protrusion in your mouth, holding down your tongue. You had no resistance left in your body. You merely clung to his arms, one hand planted on each, weak and barely even noticed, not in any way inhibiting him from moving them.

The noises increased in pitch as his other hand reached up from its place on your waist, pinching and rubbing at one nipple, then another, keeping the forearm itself firmly pressed to your abdomen to support your weight.

"Don't take your eyes off yourself."

You had shut your eyes out of the pure intense sensation, but forced them open again. Forced yourself to look into your own eyes, to see your body bent and fucked and claimed. Even the blur of tears didn't mask the miserable shame of your expression — nor the lustful dilation of your pupils, eyes half-lidded and filled with an empty haze of pleasure.

You felt warmer and warmer, a distinct pressure, tingling sensation inside. Your breaths became heavier, louder, faster, your body began to shiver intensely, and your legs squirmed and twitched.

"Not yet."

You let out a long whimper in response, desperate and needy, only to cut off in a gasp as he grabbed your jaw again, forcing your eyes directly forward. This time, your gaze focused on his own reflection — your stomach twisted at that same damned, loathsome grin.

"What do you say?"

But your fury was weakened and exhausted, your spirit beaten and broken. You put up no resistance.

"I'm sorry, M-Master..."

It was bitter on your tongue, like poison in your throat. You hesitated, not wanting to finish the plea out of pure shame, but the physical sensation was quickly becoming overwhelming. The wet, squelching, smacking sound of skin on skin reverberated in your ears, a lewd sound that only triggered further innate senses of pleasure.

"P-please let me... let me cum..." Your head hung downward, your expression contorted with strain. "Please..."

"Don't look away. Look at yourself when you beg."

The command was firm and cold. You bit your lip, but slowly rose your head, forcing yourself to endure the humiliation of the act demanded of you, watching your mouth move with your words.

"Please... let me cum..."

Your lower lip trembled, your eyes stung. The shame of the words felt like a knot in your stomach. You watched as your body moved back and forth with the force of the thrusts, taking in the pleasure-hazed stupor evident on your own face. The warm pressure was unbearable, taking all your willpower to prevent climax.

"Mm." He pulled your torso back from your position where you'd been bent forward at the waist, leaning forward to meet in the middle, so that he could speak directly into your ear. In that moment, you felt him smile, felt his mouth against the side of your face.

"Cum for your God."

The high was an intense one, a euphoria surging through your body from the inside. You gasped for breath. Your insides clenched hard, a reflex that, had you been able to control it, you would have prevented, given the sheer size you clamped down on was such that the muscles strained painfully with the act.

The sound from your mouth was not quite suiting of the word 'erotic' — it was obscene, uncontrolled and unrestrained, high in pitch and accompanied by such trembling and strong involuntary spasming that your feet completely gave way, unable to even stand, held up entirely by an arm that caught what would have been your fall. Your eyes rolled back, and saliva practically poured out of your mouth as your head tilted forward, riding out the high until it was over.

There was not anything to take in with your senses, or any thoughts to be had, mind gone blank, a sort of fog of nothingness. The room seemed to spin. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, head limply hanging downward. Your eyelids felt heavy, slowly closing. Even if something had been said to you, you wouldn't have even heard it. Weight suspended, it felt as if you were floating in the air.

After a duration of time you could not be quite certain of, the high began to dissipate, the adrenaline and dopamine slowly ebbing away.

In their absence, pain began to bloom across your body. The sting from the friction at the entrances of your holes, already so sore beforehand, now burned like fire. Your insides radiated a throbbing, dull pain, battered as if having endured a beating from the inside.

You gasped as the fullness suddenly disappeared, sliding out of your body with a wet, squelching sound. That feeling was always one of the most unpleasant parts of the experience — a hollowed-out feeling, insides clamping down on nothing, spasming and twitching as the muscles began to readjust. A mix of viscous fluids oozed out of each orifice and began to trail down your thighs. Both discomforting, grotesque sensations that made your muscles tense, that made you shudder as you exhaled, only to inhale another sharp breath as a finger trailed up your inner thigh, collecting the semen that ran down your skin before stuffing it back inside of you.

Your feet touched the ground once more, but your legs trembled in exhaustion and aftershock, a violent shivering far more noticeable than that induced by emotion. As the support around you disappeared, you stumbled forward, legs giving out beneath you and folding as you crumpled to the floor, catching yourself on your hands.

"Ah, you poor thing..."

Spoken as if he was not the one to inflict the state upon you, spoken with affectionate, endeared pity. A hand rested atop your head. You were nothing more than a pitiful little creature, in tears over a bit of pain.

You didn't make any move to swat it away, though. Your arms felt as if they were made of stone, heavily weighing down from your shoulders. Your shoulders heaved with each heavy, deep breath you took. All you could manage was to let out a low, quiet whimper.

There was a moment of pause before he stooped down, wrapping arms around your body, lifting you up and setting you down on your bed, sitting upright, albeit slouching forward as soon as you were let go of.

He gave a heavy sigh.

"So fragile... you can't handle anything further. It will have to wait."

Even in your stupor, the statement registered with a vague, distant sense of alarm. You tilted your head back up to him, making a soft little sound, inquisitive and confused.

He titled his head, eyebrows raising with a look of vague surprise.

"...Surely you did not think that was a punishment?"

You didn't respond for several moments. You stared straight forward at him, blinking, slack-jawed and limp. Your eye twitched. Your voice came out small and soft.

"...Wh... What...?"

"...That was..." his hand grasped at your chin and tilted your head upwards. "Merely reconciliation." He smiled, speaking every so casually, but not without that detectable tinge of mirth. "I've done nothing to punish you yet."

Your body twitched all over as you began to curl into yourself, shrinking back with wide eyes. You felt cold all over. You couldn't determine if it was from the sweat on your body, or going into a dreadful shock.

"But that being said," he added, "as I just said, you may lose consciousness if carried out now, and that is obviously unideal. It will have to wait."

Your lip trembled as you tried to speak.

"But I..."

You grimaced at the dry soreness of your throat, that much more noticeable now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It did not go unnoticed.

"...Ah. Don't worry, there's water nearby." He stood back upright. "It's close enough, there's no need to bother some servant with something so trivial. I'll get it for you myself, just one moment."

He spared no hesitation to walk over to the door once more. But then, he stopped.

"...I'd like to imagine it doesn't need to be said, but..."

He turned his head back towards you. A pleasant facial expression and voice, but a clear, subtle threat to his words.

"...you will not leave this room in the meantime."

You stared blankly forward for a moment, only hesitating over the near-comedic value of the statement, almost laughable in the most bitter of ways. You slowly nodded.

"Y-yes..."

He merely gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and stepped through the door.

The door closed. You were left sitting still, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Your limbs, eyes, and body still gave the occasional twitch. A bead of residual sweat trailed down your temple, making the faintest of sounds as it hit the sheets. The whole area between your legs gave you a discomforting, gross wet sensation, fluids drooling out of your holes. But in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to so much as lift a hand to do anything about it, merely sat still and wallowed in the sensation.

You turned your head to the side, only to catch the image of yourself in the mirror once again. Your dull eyes, their emptiness visible even to themselves as they stared back and forth at each other in the reflection.

But after a few moments, you let yourself fall flat on your back onto the mattress, limp and numb, and closed your eyes. You laid still and silent in a half-conscious state, exhaustion and the deep ache across your body pulling you in and out of the brink of sleep.

------------

#id like to extend an apology to my FBI agent for putting him through yet another traumatizing experience with my search history #Also my very devout 11th grade Bible teacher who taught the class I learned the title from #genshin smut #yandere zhongli #also babys first day on the job as guardian watchbirb 🥺

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bellaxgiornata · 8 months ago

Text

All These Years [Part 21: "The Sound of Your Voice"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut [Comfort now exists in this series!!]

a/n: It has be SO LONG since this series got a much needed update!! But here we are with yet another little bittersweet installment. Though I'm working on a happier next part already tentatively titled "Declarations and Desire." And hopefully the tags at the bottom of the post worked, tumblr was giving me issues with the tag list for a few days. Feedback is always appreciated!

Lowering yourself down onto your couch, your eyes focused on the show you'd thrown on to watch while you ate, you felt your tired body relax into the cushions. Adjusting the plate of food in your lap, you made yourself comfortable for the evening.

You'd had a meeting at work which had run late with your boss tonight and that was the reason behind you sitting down to eat takeout for dinner at almost seven tonight. You were tired and ready to just relax for the evening, looking forward to the phone call later that you’d come to expect from Matt just before you went to bed. It was usually when he’d return from his night out as Daredevil, giving the three hour time difference between you both at least one positive advantage because it meant that you could go to bed at a reasonable hour and still know he’d gotten back home safe.

You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t been difficult trying to navigate your new relationship with Matt ever since you’d come back from your brief visit to Hell’s Kitchen a month ago, though. The pair of you still talked everyday, whether it was via phone calls or texts periodically throughout the day. Matt had even begun leaving you sweet voicemails some mornings when he first got to work, knowing that shortly afterwards you’d be waking up on the other side of the country getting to hear his voice first thing. It always managed to make you smile starting off your day with one of those messages from him, and you’d quickly come to realize just how incredibly sweet and thoughtful he really was every time he left one. Which unfortunately also made you only miss him just that much more, desperate to be able to wake up beside him and hear him say all those things straight to you instead of over a voice message.

You’d also quickly come to realize that Karen had been right. You’d found yourself regretting not taking the opportunity to be more physically intimate with Matt while you’d been in New York and had the chance. You found yourself frequently thinking about Matt in sexual scenarios more often than not since you’d returned to L.A., which often resulted in you being quite sexually frustrated most of the time. His outright flirting with you over the phone hadn’t helped, either. Sometimes once you’d finished a phone call with him before bed, you’d found yourself needing a few minutes with your vibrator just to ease the ache he’d–sometimes intentionally–created between your legs. And often as you’d gotten off, you’d wondered if he was back in his own apartment in New York taking care of himself, too. And that thought only equally further frustrated you and turned you on more every time.

Without a doubt in your mind, when Matt came to visit you in Los Angeles in a matter of weeks, you were certainly not taking sex off of the table. Especially now that you both were officially a couple and with how many years you’d both been waiting for and wanting the other. Because who knew how soon you’d have another opportunity to see him again afterwards for that chance? You’d certainly spent enough years trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep with him, and you were without a doubt tired of only imagining it.

You also knew you wanted to tell him how you felt when you finally got the chance to see him in a few weeks. Of course the word ‘love’ had been mentioned between you both quite a few months ago when you'd first discovered your feelings had been reciprocated for each other, but neither of you had ever actually said it to the other since. Many times you'd found yourself biting your tongue when you were on the phone with Matt, struggling to not blurt it out to him. Often you found yourself overcome with the urge to tell him those three words at the end of a phone call, or to call him up after hearing one of his morning voicemails just so he knew exactly how you truly felt without a question of a doubt after the years of misunderstandings. But it was something you wanted to say to him in person when the moment felt right, not something you wanted to blurt out when he was too far for you to hold in your arms. Though you were dying to finally say it to his face after all these years, and you were even more anxious to hear him hopefully say it back to you in return.

As you were halfway through eating your sandwich wrap, your attention focused on the mindless show you’d thrown on, you heard your phone begin to loudly ring from across your apartment. Chewing the bite of food you'd just taken, you glanced over your shoulder towards your kitchen where you’d left your phone on the countertop once you’d gotten home. Curiously you eyed the device and its lit screen from a distance, wondering who would be calling you right now. Normally Matt didn’t call for another couple of hours; it should have been far too early for it to have been him. But then the fear that something might be wrong hit you and you quickly swallowed down the bite of food, feeling a little sick to your stomach at the thought. Especially with you being too far away to do anything to help.

Leaning forward, you set your plate down onto your coffee table and rose to your feet. You quickly made your way towards your kitchen, your phone still ringing loudly from its place on the countertop as nerves swirled in your stomach, mixing with your dinner. When you were near enough to your phone to see the name displayed on the screen, you were surprised to see it was in fact Matt calling you. Brows furrowing at the sight of his name, you felt worry and concern further fill you as your hand darted out, picking the phone up in a rush before frantically sliding the button over to answer the call.

“Matt?” you asked, feeling slightly panicked. “Is everything alright? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“What?” he asked, sounding confused. “Yeah, of course everything is okay, sweetheart. Why would you think something was wrong?”

You sighed in relief, the tension easing from your shoulders as you leaned back against the counter behind you. You didn’t even know what you’d do if he’d called because he was bleeding out in his apartment right now.

“Because it's a bit early for your usual phone call,” you pointed out. “Normally you’re out later than this so you call me later. I just figured something was wrong.”

“Ahh, I see,” he answered. “I’m sorry to have scared you, sweetheart. I didn’t think calling you early would have you thinking something was wrong. But I actually wasn’t planning to go out tonight, which was why I figured I’d call sooner.”

“Not going out as Daredevil?” you questioned curiously. “Because you have too much work to deal with?”

Matt laughed, the sound sweet and soothing as it came through the line. You couldn’t help but relax even more at the sound of it, a smile sliding onto your own face as your racing heart began to slow. You longed to hear him laugh in person again, to be able to actually see the way his eyes lit up when he did.

“If that was the case,” he began, “calling you would be a far bigger distraction than just running out as Daredevil for a bit tonight.”

That usual warmth you felt whenever you spoke to Matt soon flooded you, your body sinking down into one of the nearby breakfast bar stools behind you at your counter. Your dinner and the show you’d been watching were quickly forgotten in the other room as you focused on your conversation and the sound of his voice instead.

“How am I the bigger distraction?” you asked him.

“Well for starters, if there isn’t any crime, there’s no need for Daredevil,” Matt explained. “So if the city is quiet, which it thankfully is tonight, there isn’t much need for me and therefore there’s nothing for me to do. But you on the other hand are always there for me to call. And most importantly, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice dropping to that sultry register he often used to flirt with you over the phone–the one he somehow knew had an effect on you, “I could sit and listen to you on the other line doing literally anything, even just snoring, until the sun came up. Whereas eventually I have to come back home and be Matt Murdock again when I go out in the suit. Therefore you’re the bigger distraction to me.” He paused briefly before adding, “But no, that’s not the reason I'm staying in tonight, either.”

You crossed your legs in your chair, curiously noting the sudden shift in his tone. He almost sounded…sad? Like something was bothering him. You’d certainly known Matt long enough to know when he sounded off, even over a phone.

“Sounds like something is wrong, though,” you gently pointed out. “What’s on your mind, Matty? Did something happen?”

Matt expelled a long, drawn out sigh over the line. The noise had your lips curving into a frown, especially with how exhausted he had already sounded when you’d first answered. You wished you were there with him in his apartment now, wished you could pull him into a hug because it sounded like he needed one. You'd happily sit there and hold him, comforting him as long as he needed it.

In that moment you found yourself missing the way you’d always had such easy access to each other in college; all you’d had to do back then was walk over to his residence hall and take the elevator up to his dorm. If you wanted to stay up all night talking and drinking, you really could have just skipped a class in the morning. Things had certainly been much simpler back then in some ways more than they were now, though you definitely didn’t miss the heartache you had always carried around not knowing Matt had been within your reach in more than one way that entire time.

“Nothing really,” he told you, his voice sounding a little dejected and worn. “It was just a really difficult week this week and I was having a…bad day, I suppose. I just missed the sound of your voice, if I’m being honest.”

You felt the ghost of a smile cross your lips at his words. You knew that feeling all too well. Truthfully you felt it every single day when you thought about him, but even more on the days that were long and draining. Days like today.

“I’m always just a phone call away, Matty,” you assured him. “But I miss you, too. I’ve been missing you more than usual lately myself.”

“Little less than three weeks and I’ll be right there with you, sweetheart,” he reminded you softly.

There was a smile in his voice, you could hear it in the way it had coated each and every word of his. Matt was not alone in counting down the days until you could pick him up from the airport and have him all to yourself in L.A. for a little while. You’d already been trying to plan things out, wondering what he might enjoy doing with you the most while he was here.

“I’m excited to show you around out here,” you told him, a small smile making its way back onto your lips. “Take you away from that cold New York winter for a bit. Maybe I can bring you to a beach out here, one not filled with tourists. My coworker showed me a good place shortly after I moved here.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a brightness returning to his voice already. “I’ve never been to the ocean before. Or a beach.”

“I know,” you told him. “Figured it might be a fun experience. Or at least…I’m hoping it is for you, considering your, you know, heightened senses.”

“Anything I get to do with you while I’m out there will be amazing, sweetheart,” he assured you. “I'm just going to be happy to be with you again. It's already been far too long.”

You ducked your head, your nails nervously toying with the hem of your cotton shorts you’d thrown on after work. He always knew the right thing to say to you, but you could also hear the truth to his words. Honestly you felt the same. You’d easily be content to never leave your apartment for a single minute over the few days he’d be staying with you. If you could curl up with him on your couch for the entire duration of his visit, you’d be blissfully happy.

“Plus,” he continued, his coy tone breaking through your thoughts, “a beach date most likely means you’d be in a swimsuit, right?”

Heat began to creep up your neck and into your cheeks. You’d certainly thought about the implication of a beach date meaning Matt would most likely be shirtless and splayed out on a towel with you, cuddling under the warm California sun. Giving you ample opportunity to appreciate his body and the muscles that his clothing always hinted at, something you’d never once been able to do before as his friend.

“I mean, yes,” you answered softly. “But what does that matter, exactly?”

“Ohh trust me, sweetheart,” Matt began with a deep, amused chuckle, “there’s plenty of ways for me to appreciate you partially dressed on a beach. Where my eyes might fail me, my hands certainly won’t.”

Your cheeks began to flame at the thought of what he might mean by that, your eyes slowly closing. Once more you found yourself mentally kicking yourself for not sleeping with Matt when you’d had the chance last month. Because once again you were beginning to feel that all too familiar dull ache between your legs that was begging to be relieved by him and him alone.

Clearing your throat, you tried to change the topic before you found yourself too worked up. Something you weren’t entirely sure wasn't intentional even now.

“So what exactly was on the agenda for you tonight then?” you asked him. “If you weren't going out?”

“Ahh, well,” he began, sounding a little sheepish, “truthfully I was just going over some documents and counting down the minutes until I could realistically call you after work. But I eventually caved because I couldn’t make myself wait any longer.”

You sighed, spinning around in the breakfast bar stool towards your counter. Leaning forward, you rested your chin in your hand. “Why couldn't you have gotten the ability to fly with those heightened senses of yours, too?” you joked. “Or like, the ability to teleport? Then you could just show up here whenever you want.”

Matt laughed lightly over the line and you closed your eyes, trying to pretend he was here sitting beside you. You would’ve given anything for that.

“I'm sorry, I didn't exactly get a choice in what those chemicals did to me as a kid,” he joked back. “Nor could I have foreseen the usefulness of that for a long distance relationship in the future.”

“I know, I know,” you murmured. “I just wish you weren't so far. I miss you.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he whispered back, the mirth disappearing from his voice.

A silence fell over the line, the only sound being Matt’s quiet and even breaths. Those three words once more rose to the surface in your mind, dancing on the tip of your tongue. You wanted so badly to just say them already as you sat there, but you knew now wasn't the right time. Thumbnail slipping between your teeth, you began to half-heartedly chew it as you fought to shove the urge to tell Matt how you felt about him back down. That ache in your chest returned as you did, reminding you that even though you finally had Matt, you didn’t have him how you’d always wanted him. Not exactly. Not yet.

“So how’s work been for you this week?” he asked, voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Eh,” you said, shrugging a shoulder. “Busy, even though nothing much exciting is happening at the office. Still certainly a lot less stressful than your week sounded with that big trial you were dealing with.”

A sigh slipped out of your lips as you continued to distractedly chew your thumbnail. If only you had a way to leave L.A. and realistically move back to Hell’s Kitchen. If only things could be different between you two now that you were finally together. If only you could just decide that you wanted to stop by his apartment and then just go there. Like how things used to be back in college.

“Something on your mind?” Matt asked.

“Not really,” you answered. “Was sort of just…missing how it was easier for us to get together back when we were at Columbia. All those Saturday nights I could just show up with a pack of beer at your guys’ dorm and lose track of time. Go grab breakfast together at the dining hall the next morning with you two while we were all still hungover.”

Matt laughed lightly on the other end of the line. “If only I wouldn’t have been an idiot and just told you how I felt, maybe we wouldn’t have wasted so much time. And maybe you wouldn’t be…”

His voice trailed off, his thought left hanging unfinished over the line. Though you knew what he’d been about to say without him having to say it. Maybe if he’d told you how he felt, you might not have been so far away in L.A. right now. If you’d known how he felt, you might never have left in the first place.

But there was no way to change the past now.

“Hey, do you remember that one night at the bar?” you asked Matt, sitting up straighter in the stool as a memory came back to you. “Back at Columbia, when you called me a female version of Foggy?”

Matt groaned loudly over the line, a grin growing wide over your lips at the sound of it. You could just picture him throwing his head back as he sat on his couch, remembering that moment from all those years ago.

“Yes, I remember,” he told you. “Though I don’t think I’d thought about that night in a long time. That was the real reason why you left crying that night though, wasn’t it? Because I’d called you a female Foggy?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “Definitely not the thing you want to hear your crush tell you. That you’re basically the equivalent of their best friend.”

“Shit,” Matt cursed, laughing a little. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t truly know just how hurtful that comment was. I hadn’t meant it to be. But what has you bringing that up?”

You shrugged, aware he couldn’t see the gesture. Slipping your nail out from between your teeth, you began to trace the patterns in the quartz of your countertop.

“I’ve always wondered why you’d said that,” you confessed.

“Because I’m an idiot, clearly,” Matt replied, causing you to giggle. “But honestly I’d meant it as a compliment. And I think when I’d picked up on how awful you’d felt thinking you weren’t good enough for Fog at the time–because that’s who I’d suspected you might be talking about–I was hoping it would help your situation. As much as I didn’t want to see you two together, in that moment it pained me to feel how bad you were hurting sitting there next to me. I was hoping that if you’d possibly meant Fog, that the comment would get him to see just how much you both had in common.” Matt exhaled a deep breath, pausing for a moment. “Though it was…clearly a stupid comment to make at the time. And it killed me to know how much it upset you that night after the fact. I’d never meant to make you feel like that.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, finger still tracing the stone of your counter, “I know.”

“Suppose I wasn’t always as smooth as I thought I was back then,” he muttered.

“As long as you don’t feel that way about me now,” you teased back. “I’m certainly hoping you view me a little differently than a female Foggy.”

“Oh trust me,” Matt said, his voice dropping back down to that sultry tone, the one now raising the hair along your forearms as it rumbled right into your ear, “there’s only one of you that I’d like to crawl into bed with and do all sorts of things to, and it’s certainly not Foggy.”

You felt the heat not just creeping back into your cheeks at his words, but now flooding your entire body and sending your blood rushing south. Raising your hand from the cold stone, you pressed the back of it against your burning cheek. Tongue slipping out, you nervously wet your lips.

“Well maybe in a few more weeks you can finally do a few of those things,” you shyly whispered back.

Matt made a pleased noise in his throat, the sound only causing your thighs to press together on the stool. Swallowing hard, your eyelids dropped closed. You could feel your pulse beginning to race, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

“I was certainly planning on it, sweetheart,” he whispered back. “Now you’re only making me look forward to my visit even more.”

“You’re not the only one,” you replied. “I uh, don’t exactly want to waste anymore time when it comes to that.”

“I think we’ve already wasted enough time,” Matt agreed.

And just like that, you knew tonight would inevitably be another night spent with your vibrator when this call finally ended. But you knew you’d be lying in your bed wishing you had Matt between your legs instead, and that only made you more desperate to somehow find your way back to Hell’s Kitchen and back to him.

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#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock series

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