#and relationship to whumpee

[atinydragon]

hehe I'm cooking up some whump ocs :>

[a-class-attempter]

Caretaker sees Whumpee for the first time after their rescue. Whumpee is like a parent to Caretaker and to see Whumpee reduced to scarred flesh on a hospital bed breaks them.

Caretaker stays with Whumpee for days, barely getting any sleep. When Whumpee finally wakes up, they hold Caretaker close.

“Do you want to know what kept me alive?” Whumpee asks.

Caretaker, so overcome with a mix of terror and relief, can only nod.

Whumpee squeezes Caretaker’s hand. “You did, Caretaker. I lived so I could see your face again.”

[justbreakonme]

Whumper that treats pet whumpee like a lapdog meets whumpee who had lived their whole life touchstarved and hated equals the most toxic but enjoyable relationship either had ever had.

Whumper likes how whumpee leans into their touch, the way they panic when they leave the room.

Whumpee relishes the “best” treatment they’ve ever had, and chalks up the overly close and possessive nature of it to love.

[defire]

Gang whump prompt

Whumpee is in medical school when they are kidnapped by a mob boss to be a live-in doctor for their injured members.

[chaotic-orphan]

Delirious Villain x Hero Caretaker (5)

Read part one here // Continued from here

Heed the TW (and mind yourselves please <3):

TW: emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, vomiting, forced vomiting, violence, elements of psychosis, psychosis episode-like symptoms, vulnerable whumpee, intimate whumper, older brother whumper, young sibling whumpee, gaslighting, manipulation, sick whump, sickness whump, illness whump, reuniting with whumper, PTSD, facing whumper who gave PTSD, bad family relationships,

~*~*~*~*~*~

Villain eyed Superhero wearily. Despite all their training, all their progress, Superhero had a height and weight advantage over Villain. His broad shoulders stood proud, supporting his stupid head, with his smirk that made Villain’s stomach crawl. They needed to get out of here, to get help.

They wouldn’t make it to the door in the condition they were in, so that was out of the question. His eyes flicked to the couch where he was asleep not a few minutes ago, which felt like a lifetime now. He couldn’t see his phone. He needed to call Hero, but maybe it was tangled in the blankets?

“I can see the cogs turning, Vil,” Superhero said with a happy sigh. “If you’re hoping that your precious Hero comes to save you in time, don’t. They’re too busy saving someone worth saving.”

“Shut up!” Villain growled, pushing at Superhero’s chest with their free hand. “Get off of me!”

Superhero chuckled, tsking and shaking his head at Villain’s outburst. Villain’s heart didn’t forget to beat after that, the guilt at his Brother’s disappointment didn’t still affect him. It didn’t.

“Where are your manners, Vil? Jeez, does Hero just let you run wild? That must be so annoying for them.”

“Hero loves me.”

Superhero leaned in, dark eyes glittering with malice. “Oh yeah? Then why aren’t they here looking after you?”

Villain’s face scrunched up. “Because you sent them away!”

“Or are they just so tired with you that they had to get out of the house for a while. It seems like the latter to me. God, I remember how annoying you were. Nobody, not even Hero has enough patience to handle you.”

“Hero loves me,” Villain said again, this time a little quieter.

“No. They don’t. They probably just feel sorry for you and how pathetic you are. Like a wounded baby bird whose wings are too weak to make it fly.”

“My life doesn’t concern you anymore! You don’t have to interact with me on a daily basis! Please let me go. Please, Brother, please.”

Superhero pressed a finger to his lips. “Shush. No begging yet, Vil. It’s unbecoming.”

Without warning, Superhero yanked Villain off the wall and was about to throw him to the floor when the pair froze. Villain’s ringtone played mutely from the bedroom. Villain’s eyes widened.

Hero.

Superhero recovered quicker than Villain, a cruel grin on his face as he started dragging Villain towards the bedroom. He got a hand on the back of Villain’s neck and shoved him down so Villain had to walk awkwardly bent over. Superhero opened the door to the bedroom and saw the phone lighting up on the bed.

He threw Villain to the ground beside the bed, laughing as Villain stumbled before he hit the floor with a groan, grabbing Villain’s phone off the bed.

“Aww, Vil. It’s Hero. Probably calling you to tell you that they’re leaving you.”

“Shut up,” Villain hissed, rubbing their hip that took the brunt of the impact.

Superhero turned Villain’s phone to Villain so they could see the picture of Hero laughing, ice-cream in hand, a dollop of mint chocolate chip on the tip of their nose.

“Cute,” Superhero said with a scoff, then put his finger in his mouth and mimed vomiting. Superhero waited for Hero to hang up before scrolling through Villain’s phone. Superhero raised their brows, glancing at Villain over the phone. “You seriously don’t have a passcode or something?”

“Don’t need it.”

Superhero scoffed, turning his attention back to the phone. Villain moved to get to their feet when Superhero’s stare snapped to them. “Don’t move or I’ll kill Hero.”

That froze Villain in their movements, their heart hitching at Superhero’s easy threat. Superhero didn’t seem too bothered by it and soon his face split into a wide smile.

“Aww, look Vil. Hero text: Superhero,” Superhero paused, grinning down at Villain pointing to himself. “That’s me.” Then went back to reading. “Superhero said that he was short staffed, and sent me to West-point so I will be home later than usual. Sorry for leaving you again, there’s soup in the freezer if you feel up to it. I love you. xx.”

Villain tightened their hands into fists by their sides, clenching their jaw against every word that Superhero read. Hero was going to be home later than normal? West-point, that was at least an hour by metro from here and who knows when they’d get home… especially because—

Villain raised their gaze to Superhero who was grinning above them. “You weren’t short-staffed, were you?”

“Of course not,” Superhero said with a smirk. “I just had to get Hero away from you for a while. Hell, even Other Hero and Sidekick should’ve gone to central hospital but I asked for them to be transferred to West-point so we could have some long overdue family time.”

Superhero tapped on Villain’s phone a little longer and grinned after locking the screen, pocketing the phone in his back-pocket. “Just in case you get any ideas.”

Villain glared at him from the ground, a sudden overwhelming helplessness returning to him that he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. Since he moved out of his family home. Now it came back with a viciousness that threatened to drown him and left him clawing against it just to keep his head above the water and his breathing even.

“Now,” Superhero said, inspecting Villain with his piercing gaze. “What to do with you.”

“Just leave,” Villain tried. “Please. I don’t— I’m not apart of your life anymore. You don’t— you don’t have to do this.”

“Vil, Vil, Vil,” Superhero sighed walking towards Villain. “Family doesn’t quit on each other. They never give up on you. I know I don’t have to try and fix you, the truth is I never did. I just wanted what was best for you.”

“Yeah right! You just wanted what was best for you! Can’t have your little brother embarrass you in public!”

Superhero, to Villain’s surprise, softened at that. Villain didn’t trust it for a second.

“You’re right,” Superhero said with a breath. “I was so worried about what kind of shame or embarrassment you would bring on me. I didn’t want people associating failure with us.”

Superhero crouched in front of Villain, tilting his head to the side. A strange smile on his lips, that Villain couldn’t quite discern. It looked whimsical and yet sad, wait— was that a genuine smile? No. It couldn’t be.

“It’s because I saw our potential, Villain,” Superhero said with a scoff. “Y’know, it’s stupid, but when I worked so hard to be Superhero, to become the best and bring prestige to our family name… well, I pushed you hard too because I always imagined that it would be something that we’d do together. Something we’d achieve together. The best brother Superhero duo in history.”

Villain’s heart cracked a little, a swarm of guilt spilling out like a leak in a dam, constricting his chest. Villain longed to reach out, to close the distance between them to apologise for not being able to live up to Superhero’s expectations.

To tell him that Villain tried. He really fucking tried, but Superhero was always stronger, faster, better than he was and he couldn’t be the same.

He didn’t though. He tightened his hands into fists and stared at Superhero who looked six feet deep in fond memories and regrets.

“I’m sorry, Vil.”

It felt as if time stopped. As if the Earth stopped turning, and the world stood frozen. The moment right before a car crash, or something inevitable happening; the cusp that hides between moments like a trapdoor spider, waiting until you lowered your guard before attacking and killing you.

Villain’s voice was a whisper: “what?”

Superhero swallowed, forcing himself to meet Villain’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Villain.”

There was no joke or humour in Superhero’s face as he said that, again. Apologised? Again! But— but— Villain’s brain was fried from their flu because this must be another trick? Another hallucination. Superhero being sorry for something? Feeling remorse?

“I’m sorry about what happened on the outside, how people perceived us, what you said and did outside the house that I didn’t even think about how it all must’ve effected you. I’m sorry that I wasted all that time trying to correct your behaviour outside the house when really,” Superhero’s hand shot out like a viper to grab Villain by the throat, slamming him back against the wall. “Really I should’ve focused more on your manners and knowing your fucking place.”

Superhero stood, bringing Villain with him and threw him across the room. Villain tried to catch themselves before their face hit the wall by throwing their hands out, but they landed awkwardly on their wrist and the pain ricocheted down their arm. Villain hissed, retracting their arm but they didn’t have time to react before a hand was in their hair and bashing their skull against the wall.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Villain went dumb from the impact, their brain struggling to comprehend what was happening, but the pain. They felt the pain spread like wildfire through their skull.

The hand in their hair tightened and Villain cried out as they were dragged across the bedroom, back towards the kitchen. They tried to gain purchase on the ground with their knees, but Superhero was moving too fast for them to keep up.

Superhero paused two feet from the doorway. Villain didn’t know why, they just slumped to the ground like a dog in shade during a heatwave. They just needed to catch their breath. Or pass out. Either was a good option.

Superhero didn’t seem to think so. He lifted his hand suddenly, dragging Villain’s head up to look Villain in the eye. Villain hissed, hands clawing at the strong grip on his hair. Superhero grabbed Villain by the throat, slamming his head back into the wall.

Villain groaned at the impact, moving his hands to try and dislodge Superhero’s hand from his throat. “God. You really are pathetic, aren’t you? Did I not teach you anything?”

Superhero stepped back, dropping all contact from Villain who struggled not to slump down the wall to the floor.

Superhero took two steps back, running a hand down his face, pinning Villain to the wall with a harsh glare. Villain’s entire body was trembling at them, struggling to keep themselves up in case they needed to bolt. But Superhero’s eyes caught every tremor, every flinch or wince.

“You’re still fucking ruining everything. It’s all you ever do, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off.”

“You really don’t know, do you? You make people weak, Villain.” Villain froze at the emotion colouring Superhero’s voice. “You make people weak, because they feel like they need to look after you, or take care of you. For fuck’s sake, you can barely stand by your-fucking-self! You needed Hero to take days off of work to mind you while you were sick, like some fucking child! Do you know how embarrassing that is!”

“My life doesn’t concern you anymore,” Villain spat, tears pinpricking their eyes.

Superhero scoffed. “Doesn’t concern me?”

Superhero studied Villain’s face, the wince after Superhero spoke. Then recognition flashed on his face, putting two and two together.

“You didn’t tell Hero that we’re related,” Superhero said, tilting his head to the side, a smile gracing his lips at Villain’s silence. “Oh that is… that is hilarious. The person you love the most? You’re keeping secrets from them?”

“We are not related,” Villain said, their voice coming out stronger than they felt in that moment. “You are nothing to me. I left you and Mom, and Dad. I left. I made a life for myself, a life where I’m loved by somebody. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

“What, you think Hero actually loves you?”

Villain flinched at the words. “Oh you do, don’t you?” Superhero cooed, walking towards Villain again and grabbing their face in his hands. “Oh. You poor fucking idiot. You have no idea how much Hero hates you, do you?”

Villain’s eyes glistened with tears. Superhero slammed Villain’s head back into the wall.

“Do you?”

“Just leave… leave me alone,” Villain begged, tears finally spilling over his eyes. “Please.”

Villain’s hand reached up and curled his fingers around Superhero’s wrist, weakly tugging at it.

“I can make them love you again,” Superhero whispered. “I know how. I can make you worth something in their eyes, isn’t that what you want?”

Villain sniffled, nodding. Superhero cooed, brushing the sweaty hair back from Villain’s face. “I know. I know you’re scared, but big bro’s here now, hmmm? Come on.”

Superhero pulled Villain away from the wall gently, taking Villain’s wrist in his hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we—” Villain asked, their voice hitching, wiping away their tears with the sleeve of their shirt. “Where’re we going?”

Villain’s mind only registered they were walking towards the bathroom when Superhero opened the door. Then they started pulling against Superhero’s hold.

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” Villain cried, going limp and yanking backwards. Superhero dropped Villain, cursing at them for the sudden weight. Villain took the opportunity to roll onto their stomach, pushing themselves to their hands and knees and rushing forwards. They threw themselves to their feet, stumbling slightly, almost rolling on their ankles but they were standing. They bolted for the door to the bedroom, slamming their shoulder into the doorframe as they propelled themselves out and towards the front door.

A hand caught the back of their shirt and Villain cried out. They were yanked backwards, their head slamming off the doorframe to the bedroom. Villain fell like a sack of bricks and Superhero let them.

Villain blinked up bleary-eyed at the ceiling, the world swimming in a whirlwind of colour. Two Superhero’s appeared above Villain, shaking their heads, as if they were disappointed parents looking down on an unruly child.

“Look at what you did,” Superhero said, the words coming in and out of focus like pulses. He leaned down, crouched above Villain. Then a hand passed over his face and Villain’s head whipped to the side. They whimpered. “Ah. There you are,” Superhero said, only one of him now. “Still with me, Vil.”

Another slap and Villain whimpered, weakly pushing their hand against Superhero’s. Superhero easily batted it away, opting to instead pinch Villain’s cheeks between their thumb and forefinger and dig their fingers in until Villain’s mouth formed an O and they cried out.

“Listen runt, I didn’t want to hurt you! Don’t you see? I’m trying to help you. You’ve clearly let yourself go since the last time I saw you, and nobody, not even Saint Hero will love you if you’re fat and disgusting. You want to be worth Hero’s love, don’t you?”

Tears welled behind Villain’s eyes and they tried to turn their head away, not wanting to face Superhero and the truth in his words. Superhero didn’t even let Villain flinch in any direction before his grip tightened.

“Don’t you want to be someone worthy of love?” Superhero asked, his voice imperceptibly soft. Villain let out a pathetic yes, their voice muffled by Superhero’s hold on their face. Superhero’s features smoothed out and he nodded sympathetically. “I know. Come on, let’s get you up. I’m just trying to help you be worthy of Hero.”

Superhero helped Villain to sit up, openly crying now. Superhero nodded his head compassionately. “I know. I know. Shh. It’s okay. Big bro’s here now. He’s going to make everything better. Ssh. Don’t worry. Come on, runt.”

Superhero helped the wailing Villain to their feet, guiding them towards the bathroom again. Villain, resigned, followed along because they didn’t want to get hit again. They didn’t want to try and fight back and get beaten again. They didn’t want to be ugly for Hero, they wanted to be worthy of them. Hero was brilliant, perfect, why would they settle for anything less than that? God, Superhero was right.

Superhero gently pushes Villain to their knees, and tells them to: “open up.”

Villain felt the familiar fear creep back up their spine, making their hair stand on end. They shook their head, making to stand up but Superhero kept a hand on Villain’s shoulder, keeping them in place.

“Come on. You said you wanted to be worthy of Hero, right?”

Villain deflated. A part of them wanted to be perfect, to listen to Superhero and just give in, save themselves the pain. The other part was screaming at them, telling them they were worth more than this. That they hated this, and that Hero loved them no matter what. Strangely the voice telling them to fight sounded an awful lot like Hero’s.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll do it all, remember?” Superhero coaxed, his fingers tracing Villain’s jaw and resting at their bottom lip. “Come on, Villain.”

Villain didn’t protest, but they didn’t fight Superhero either, so when his fingers pushed past Villain’s lips, Villain didn’t move. Only when they went far, hitting Villain’s gag reflex did Villain start fighting him.

They shot up from their knees on instinct, but Superhero’s hold kept them down, his other hand going to the back or Villain’s hair and pulling it, yanking their head back so he could shove his fingers down further.

Villain whined, shaking their head. They didn’t want this, they didn’t want this! Villain felt bile climbing his throat and he jerked forward, but Superhero didn’t move his fingers and they hit the back of Villain’s tongue. Villain felt the warmth climbing his throat, gripping the toilet seat and ready to vomit.

Superhero pulled his fingers out at the last second, and Villain heaved. It was only bile that came out, green-hued see through slime, because Villain hadn’t eaten in days.

Superhero clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Hmm. That won’t do. We’ll go again.”

Before Villain could protest, Superhero’s fingers were in his mouth again, unmerciful as they shot to the back of Villain’s throat. Villain grabbed Superhero’s wrist, pulling his fingers out. “Don’t fight me, Vil. We agreed.”

Superhero’s fingers hit Villain’s throat again, and they felt the muscles in their neck contracting as another wave of nausea hit them. Panicking and wanting Superhero to just let them go, Villain clamped their jaw around Superhero’s hand.

Superhero yelped, then roared and yanked their hand out of Villain’s jaw. “I’m—” Villain gasped, but Superhero cut them off with a punch to the face. Villain’s head veered down, hitting off the edge of the ceramic toilet bowl with a dull thump.

A hand in their hair and their head was wrenched back. Superhero’s fist flashed in the corner of their eye, and struck the same place in their jaw, keeping them straight.

“I thought we agreed that I—” punch. “Know” punch. “Better.” A sharp slap deafened Villain as Superhero released them again, their head snapping to the side. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you force me to, Vil. I hate to see you like this, but as your older brother I’ll do what I have to do, to make you a better person.”

A sharp kick to the stomach, once, twice, three times and Villain lurched forward, crying out and swallowing hard to keep the rush of liquid crawling like a tidal wave up their throat. Superhero grabbed Villain by the throat. Leaning his face in closer to them.

“Come on, Vil,” Superhero said sweetly. “You want to look your best for Hero, don't you? You want to deserve them, right?”

“Pl—please,” Villain stammered, choking on Superhero’s tight grip. “Just lemme— go.”

“Stop fighting me, runt, I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Superhero pinched Villain’s jaw between his thumb and index finger, his nails digging into their cheeks, drawing blood, and forcing their mouth open. His fingers found the back of Villain’s throat, pressing down on Villain’s gag reflex.

Villain felt the muscles in his throat tighten, the bile burning acidic up their throat and they lunged forward, Superhero withdrew his hand from Villain’s mouth, but kept pinching their cheeks so Villain couldn’t swallow. Only when he was satisfied that Villain was about to hurl did he let go, grinning down as Villain spewed into the toilet.

A lot more than last time, their stomach ached as they vomited. A momentary pause and then another bout reared its head and tears streamed down their face, sobbing as they let the feeling run its course out of them.

Superhero patted Villain’s hair like a dog. “Good, see. You did so good.”

“What are you doing?”

Villain froze at the voice. Superhero’s hand stopped rubbing Villain’s hair, but he didn’t remove it from Villain’s head. Hero rushed in, going to Villain’s side and get grabbing their face in their hands, thumbing away the tears.

“Villain, shhh. Shhh, it’s okay.” Hero cooed. Villain sobbed against Hero’s hands, the gentle touches. They weren’t worthy of this kindness. They didn’t deserve Hero’s caring love. This was pity. They pitied Villain, that’s why they looked so caring in that moment. Not out of love. Why was Villain so weak to melt at the kindness, they should be worthy of them! Hero shouldn’t have to see Villain like this. “I’m here now. It’s okay.”

Hero glanced back at Superhero, eyes narrowed into a glare. “What are you doing here?!”

“I knew you would be away for a while today, Hero. And I knew you would be worried sick about your ill partner so I thought I would come and look after them for you.”

Hero’s eyes found Villain’s, searching, scanning for any sign that Superhero was lying. Villain was skittish and heaving, not meeting Hero’s eyes. There was something wrong, was it just vomiting? Being sick? No, this was different. Villain was incoherent and violent last time, now they were just… subdued and lifeless and terrified.

“You stepped over the line, Superhero,” Hero said firmly, eyes burning down at their lover. “Please wait in the living room while I help them to bed.”

Superhero’s eyes met Villain’s over Hero’s shoulder, a sadistic smile on his lips. He brought a finger to his lips and pointed down at Hero. Then drew a line across his throat and mimicked Hero being killed.

“Of course, Hero,” Superhero said easily, while Villain’s trembles intensified. Hero waited until Superhero had walked out the door before looking back at Villain.

“Vil, oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I should have never left you.”

They’re just saying that because you’re weak, Villain thought.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask Superhero to come. I didn’t know they would do something as crazy as this!”

They’re tired of you. They don’t love you, if they did they would have never left. You’re exhausting, you wear people out.

“Come on, Vil. Talk to me.” Hero said, leaning forward and pressing their forehead against Villain’s. Villain could feel Hero’s warm breath fanning against their face. They weren’t even worthy of this. “Shhh. Vil, it’s okay. I’m here now and I’m not leaving.”

When Hero wrapped their arms around Villain, Villain couldn’t hold it together anymore and they broke down into sobs that wracked their entire body. Their fingers turned to claws in Hero’s shirt, bunching it and holding on and not wanting to let go.

They were weak, they were so weak that they made the people they loved weak for them. It bled through from Villain into them, and now they were breaking Hero’s heart. They didn’t deserve Hero’s heart. They didn’t deserve any of this comfort and warmth and love.

Hero held them tightly and kissed their hair and cheek and anything their lips could reach, whispering reassurances and telling them that they loved them.

When Villain’s sobs had calmed down to mere whimpers and sniffles, Hero moved them, putting one hand under their legs and the other under their shoulders and lifted them like they were a baby. Villain curled into Hero’s embrace, a deep red blush filling their face with warmth.

Hero shouldn’t have to do this, to be the strong one. Villain was the strong one! God what happened to them?! Why couldn’t they just be perfect for Hero?

Hero put them into bed, lying beside them under the covers. They tilted Villain’s head down to lie on top of Hero’s chest, hearing their heartbeat. They were a tangle of limbs.

“What about,” Villain sniffed, “Superhero?”

Hero’s eyes darkened. “Let him wait. You’re my priority, Villain. You always will be. Never forget that.”

Villain sniffed, fresh tears streaming down their cheeks. “I love you Hero.” They said even though it broke their heart to say that. Weak! So weak!

“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” Hero whispered into Villain’s hair, kissing the top of their head.

*~*~*~*~*

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Your average whumper, except that they are, at the same time, a heavily-conditioned, obedient, and loyal whumpee to another whumper.

[generic-whumperz]

[whumpy-wyrms]

happy pride month to THESE GUYS

[whump-thoughts]

I am once again thinking about living weapon/guard dog whumpee's....

A living weapon whumpee who is just so extremely conditioned that they will not even sleep or eat if not given permission to do so by their master

A guard dog whumpee that is meant to be at their masters side at all times and also be alert to anyone that could be a threat to them but due to having spent so much time just trapped in a tiny and sound-proofed room being tortured for god knows how long, big crowds or even just like, multiple stimuli will cause them to have sensory overload

Living weapon whumpee that is legitimately terrifying, like they have and will kill at the command of their master and will obey the whims of them without any objections as well.

Multiple living weapon whumpee's! They are all deeply conditioned but also feel a very strong kinship towards each other, even if they cannot show it due to the conditioning

And how about their caretaker's?

A caretaker that is smaller and weaker than whumpee, being unable to carry or restraint them when necessary, yet still is determined to help them

A caretaker that is younger than whumpee and is both scared of and hesitant to help them!, whumpee being completely subservient to them does not calm their fear in the slightest

A caretaker that has given up on deconditioning whumpee, simple trying keeping them in a soothed passive state, where they don't harm others or themselves, but are not healed just using their own conditioning in a different way.

Idk man, sorry if something is written weirdly, it's 3 am and English is not my first language, hope ya thought these ideas were interesting at least.

[graceful-not]

*grabs you* if the members of the found family aren't at least a little bit fucked up about each other what's even the point man. if the lines aren't even a little bit blurred when it comes to roles what's the point. buddy. pal. what's even the point of having a found family and then imposing strict nuclear family roles unto them, or never allowing the roles they do have to be bent or broken. what's even the point if one character (assuming they're the same age) is ALWAYS being taken care of by the other without it being related to one of their arcs. what's even the point if the found family doesn't take care of each other. what's even the point if they're normal about having people they are so so close to so as to trust with nearly everything and stick with and sweat bleed and die for. what's even the point if the roles arent flexible and based on a foundation of trust over any kind of imposed relationship, and the dynamics shift for what is needed in the situation. what's even the point if they're not a little bit in love about it. they need to LOVE EACH OTHER. what's the point if they are being kept at a distance the same to that of an acquaintance and it's not part of their greater arc or bc of their character. let them sleep together. let them cuddle. let them kiss (not necessarily romantically!!! on the forehead or the hand or a little peck on the top of a head). I'm so sick of sanitized found families I need them to care about each other so much it hurts they need to think about the others way too much do you get it. I don't want it to be a replacement for a real family I want them to Frankenstein together a new creation it needs to be elevated it needs to be bleeding and raw it needs to be REAL I want it to be ALIVE. WHY are your found family dynamics so fucking DEAD!!!! STOP SHOVELLING ROTTING MEET INTO MY MOUTH I CAN TELL ITS DEAD I CAN FUCKING TELL WHEN ITS DIVIDED SO CLEARLY BY CARETAKER/WHUMPEE WHY IS IT SO ONE-WAY THE FAMILY TAKES CARE OF EACH OTHER THEY DONT NEED TO BE JUST ONE ROLE. A PERSON CAN BE A FATHER A MOTHER A MENTOR A TEACHER. A BROTHER AND FRIEND IN SOLIDARITY OR EVEN A LOVER IF IT IS NEEDED. DO YOU GET IT. DO YOU GET IT.

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Joey

(Content: past abuse, whumper turned whumpee, beating, implied child abuse, claustrophobia mention, addiction mention, retraumatization, crying, guilt, self harm?, blood, brief weight talk)

Still shaking, still sick, Paris stared up blankly at the ceiling again, for want of anything better to do. The manacles chafed at his bare wrists, leaving a thick band of raw skin beneath. He’d gotten used to it.

“Did you go to a school when you were little?” He asked Johanna without looking at her.

Without looking back from the control panel, she answered: “I’m not that fucking stupid, am I?”

He shook his head — and the movement of the collar caused the chain to click against the tile.

“No. I mean, like, a special one. For psychics.” He explained vaguely. 

“I went to St.Holly’s Prep.” She answered curtly.

“Oh.” He deflated. 

He had hoped for something that might give his life a perfect symmetry. He wanted any sense of justice to fall back on, though he knew well enough not to truly expect it. His hand traced the collar again, taking slow and steady breaths. He breathed easier when he was flat on his back. Any sudden motion made him feel like he might faint, so he didn’t move at all. The lock picks were burning a hole in his pocket.

She’d missed them, somehow. She hadn’t been very deliberate in the pat down — and at this point, he was all angles. His own hipbone had been as hard and as pointed as the metal. 

He did not dare reach for them here in the dead of space. He’d be no better off once he was out of the chains. Paris knew, with total certainty, that he would not beat her in a fight. He didn’t even think he could do it healthy anymore, some new flinch mechanism that made him so tired of hitting and of being hit. He certainly could not do it in the thralls of withdrawal, not with the cracked rib and the hole through his hand. No opportunity presented itself. He was scared to.

The stygian depths appear every time he closed his eyes, dark blue, teeming. He was scared. Some ancient dread was settling onto him, sharp-toothed and feral. He missed Delta. 

It embarrassed him just how badly he missed Delta.

But when he dreamed, mercifully, it was of Lorelai. It was a frozen morning and the last night’s rain had crystallized against the pale bluegrass. Her hair was undone, hanging in limp curls against the fabric of her sweater. It was the last morning before the break. He’d given her clovers and coffee and jasmine perfume. He’d have given her anything, but he knew the wealth humiliated her. It was an affront for either of them to even wear the uniform.

All the same, her fingers had been lined with white gems that morning. They were impossible not to notice as he’d brought her hand up to his lips. He’d have done anything for her then. The memories bled out into the edges of his dreams.

His heart was all the way empty when he awoke. Lorelai was safer without him than she’d ever be with. It was cold comfort. He’d left her alone and limp in the dirt.

There was no day or night to follow, but the ship’s lights had dimmed. Paris thought it was another hallucination, another dream he couldn’t shake — but the soft sound of crying permeated and echoed throughout the ship. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. 

She was whimpering in her sleep.

~

Johanna dreamed of something cold and breathing beneath the soft wet earth. She had the nightmare often. Big walls and little hands. A playful pulsing in each of them, turned violent and mean over time. She smiled because she could, because they always liked her. She smiled too wide and laughed too hard, some screw knocked loose, faulty wiring from having been hit in the head one too many times. A nervous laugh. Wide, pleading eyes.

She dreamt of a small box. She dreamed of a pulsing that grew into a frantic pounding — and a loving flesh that always come backs. It came back no matter how many times they tried to kill her.

Johanna dreamt of a hole dug deep into the earth. She’s had the same nightmare since she was twelve — and though it gets better, it never really goes away. She woke up with her eyes still blotted with tears and for a minute she had forgotten where she was. 

From across the room, the captive prince stared at her unblinking, and she knew he had heard everything.

~

Several hours later, when they were both wide awake, Paris tried again.

“Did you know Martino?” he asked.

Immediately, he knew it was a mistake. He had about three seconds to flinch before she’d crossed the interior to him and hit him as hard as she possibly could. The intention had clearly been to knock him unconscious, but he’d recoiled fast enough that she mostly struck the side of his jaw. He gasped, sure for a second it’d been broken. There was no time to recover in between the blows. He only shielded his skull as Johanna slammed the cleat into his side, over and over again, breathing heavy. She tore his arms away, gripping the collar’s chain just to slam his head back into the wall, pinning him there.

But Johanna looked so lost. All her anger was thick with confusion. Her eyes searched him, up and down, as if something in his body might tell her.

“How-“ she asked desperately. “Who-“

Paris shivered, retreating, hiding his head again. It hurt. His ribs were so tender he could’ve cried. She released the chain around his neck, staggering a few steps back.

“Don’t say his name again,” she warned.

Paris nodded.

~

“Are you mad at me?” Paris asked. He was stupid and chastened, both knees drawn up to his chest.

Johanna sighed, sitting up against the starboard wall of the ship. She tossed a tennis ball idly, only occasionally glancing at the autopilot to see they were still on course. She did not dignify him with a response. 

“Did you know him? Delta. One Zero Seven.” Paris asked quietly.

It felt like it’d been ages since he’d said his name aloud. The sound of it hovered in the air, seemed to echo in a way the other words had not. He still remembered the numerals that followed, though by the time he first learned them, they’d lost all their usefulness. But to her, those numbers must have meant something. It’d be the only way to distinguish them.

“As if I’d remember any of them.” Johanna rolled her eyes.

Paris quieted, tucking his face back down into his arms. He only peeked up at her as she stood up, moving to check up on the air filter. 

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

He was surprised when she didn’t laugh. She only sighed again, eyes flitted up to the ceiling as if she was considering it.

“I didn’t before. I think I’m starting to.” She decided.

“Is that why?” He looped one finger in the collar, tugging it.

“Nope.”

In return, she tapped one finger to his nose, booping it gently. He still flinched.

“That’s just business.”

~

It ate at him. He turned restlessly within the chains. There was nothing to do and only her for company. She was taking him to be killed, to hurt the whole time he died, to be mutilated and changed. All his future seemed an endless void. All he could focus on was the past.

“What was it like?” he asked. There will be no other opportunities to ask, no other ways to know. He wondered if anyone else who went to that school was even alive anymore. Delta wasn’t. Was Johanna alive, really? 

He looked at her and he could not tell. 

She stood up from the console, visibly irritated at the fact he was still taking. Or maybe she just didn’t like his choice in conversation topic. Either way, he’d pissed her off.

“You want to know what it was like?” She asked incredulously.

He sat up and nodded his head. For a second, she just looked tired. She undid the belt from around her waist.

“Hands out. Now.”

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. He’d gotten his knuckles rapped millions of times, had the cane brought down against each part of his body. None of it ever helped. By the time he graduated, he knew it was more about anger than it ever was about correction. This was no different.

Except that all the previous times, he did not have a knife wound piercing straight through the flesh of his hand. A white bandage had been bound tight around it ever since he’d been rescued. It still held. She’d seen it, of course. She had to have known. She didn’t care. 

They must not have either.

Paris offered both hands without resistance, surprising himself. Would she have forced him to if he hadn’t? For some reason, he didn’t think so. If he wasn’t playing along, he thought, she might just give up.

He held both palms facing upward. It was what he was used to, what he assumed she wanted, and he was willing to turn them if it wasn’t.

The belt was folded over. He kept still.

It was worse than he thought it’d be. He gasped in shock and pain at the sting. He’d been comparing it to the wrong injuries, expecting the wrong kind of pain. The belt hurt his right hand about as badly as when it’d first been punctured, about as bad as an arrow through his fucking ribcage. His eyes watered immediately.

He still tried to be steady as the belt came down against his hands again. Again. Again. He resisted the automatic curling of his fingers in an effort to protect himself. It was really nothing. He’d had so much worse. He didn’t know why he was crying so badly. 

The belt swung again. He only pulled his hand back just to quickly wipe at his eyes. She got mad.

“Paris,” she hissed, exasperated, and he couldn’t remember her ever using his name before this. “I can make this a lot worse for you and you know it.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he offered the hand back.

Again. Again. He lost track, letting his vision blur just the same as the count. All the nerves in his hand were beaten almost numb, stinging. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of them. 

Johanna grumbled in frustration, pulling the belt back to her side. She was fumbling with the end of it.

“…Are we done?” he asked weakly. 

The belt buckle hit him square in the face, drawing a pained gasp from him. He reeled to the side, barely catching himself. Blood dripped readily from the gash in his cheek. In shock, he moved two finger up to touch it. Wet. Warm. 

“You don’t fucking ask when it’s over.” She barked.

He kept his eyes trained on the ground, half-curled away from her. The impact had whipped his head to the side and he did not correct it. 

He heard her readjusting the belt. For a second, he really did think she was finished. He let himself be fooled twice.

The buckle struck him again in the shoulder. It produced much less of a reaction than the strike to the face did, but he still cried. It was worse when he couldn’t see it, but he knew better than to try and turn around. He twitched at each new impact.

“You don’t understand!” She yelled. It was infantile. And it was wrong. He did.

Then again, he doubted she was even talking to him.

The metal snapped at the bare skin of his arm, once again at his back. He shifted one shoulder up to shield his still-bleeding face and endured the hit for it. It was only then she seemed to tire. It didn’t matter. He was sobbing. Though he tried to do it quietly, there was so little he could focus on besides his own misery. The effort was futile. He hardly noticed whether she was there or not, whether the beating had even stopped.

He tucked himself further into the far wall, unable to stop crying or to even be silent about it. She did not speak to him again for the rest of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~

thank you to @floral-comet-whump for getting me to canonize Johanna being from Beldam!!! that was always supposed to be the implication w her character but i wasnt sure about making it explicit until they had the idea of her being an experiment that beldam tried to kill and ended up BURYING ALIVE. that was too tasty to leave as subtext >:)

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

[letitbehurt]

Big fan of Whumpers who keep multiple Whumpees prisoner.

Maybe these Whumpees become something like friends during their captivity, trying to stay sane between Whumper’s visits. Maybe they’re not exactly fond of each other, but they have to work together to plan an escape.

Somehow, Whumper grows aware of this. And they realize they can use it.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XX)redraft*

Revealing the Monster

Read part one here // Masterpost // Continued from here

Here's the tea, I am redrafting PART XX of this series and uploading it here, this is the canon - but I WILL POST THE NEXT PART TOMORROW!

The new part starts about halfway down XD

I am sorry, I wasn't happy with part XX! SO part XXI tomorrow, thank you for your time. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit was wary about following Ambrose down a very dark, a very concrete set of stairs. “If this is the fucking torture basement I woke up in initially—”

Ambrose waved the accusation away, as if it was daft for Kit to be wary. “It’s to the garage,” he told him, keying a code into the pin-pad beside the metal door.

Ambrose walked through the door and held it open, rolling his eyes when he noticed Kit still lingering at the top of the stairs.

“Come on.”

“I’m not going to willingly follow you into your torture dungeon.”

Ambrose blinked, tilting his head. “The sex dungeon is two floors down, Mallory.”

Ambrose laughed at the face that Kit pulled. “Come on. I can always force you to come if I want, and we’re kind of a time crunch here.”

Kit glared daggers at the man and begrudgingly walked down the stairs. He stopped at the last step, trying to get a peak into the room. Ambrose walked away from the door letting it close before Kit could. Kit lunged forward to catch the heavy metal door, but relaxed immediately when he saw it was in fact a garage.

Kit let out a long low whistle after stepping into the garage. The door shut with a buzzer after him. Ambrose opened a lock box with keys hung up in a numbered order.

He grabbed the keys named ‘01’.

“You’re such a control freak,” Kit snorted. “Do you have OCD or something?”

Ambrose shrugged, taking off through the cars covered by different tarps. The only car that wasn’t covered was the one closest to the garage door. The same car that Ambrose kidnapped Kit in last night.

He hated that Ambrose had a good taste in cars. He hated that Ambrose had this many cars when Kit couldn’t even afford one, nevermind a garage full.

Ambrose grinned at Kit over the roof of the Wraith as he unlocked the door. “If you like, I can give you one of the ones I don’t like.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to stay out of my head,” he said, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. The cream leather was so comfortable under him as he put his seatbelt on.

“Seriously,” Kit went on, anger curling around him the more comfortable he became with all of Ambrose’s luxury. “Don’t you have any thoughts of your own?! It’s fucking creepy, man. Just ask questions if you want to know my thoughts.”

Ambrose laughed as he opened the garage door with a remote and they rolled out of the house and onto the road again.

“I mean, don’t you have any friends?” Kit demanded hotly. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was getting pissed all of a sudden, it’s not like Ambrose invading his mind was a new thing, but now? It pissed him off. “Don’t you know how to talk to people?!”

“Relax, Mallory. You’re the only person I relay their thoughts to. It might shock you, but generally, people love when you know what they’re thinking. It’s why humans seek connection. To feel understood.”

“Okay, Socrates,” Kit grumbled. “It’s just fucking weird. I don’t like it when you do it.”

“All of a sudden.”

“Yes!” Kit snapped, glaring at the villain beside him as the forest zoomed past them. “All of a sudden!”

What had Ambrose seen? What parts of him did he know? Could he see everything or was it selective?

“After you found out I’m Mentor’s son,” Ambrose said pointedly. Kit scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the passenger window. They drove in a terse silence for a while, cause Ambrose was a psychopath and didn’t have the radio on.

“We have to talk about it, Kit.”

“Well, you already know my thoughts on it all, so enjoy having a conversation by yourself.”

“Mallory,” Ambrose said with a tired sigh, flicking on the indicator as they pulled to a stop. “I know it must seem like a weird coincidence to you, but I swear I didn’t know you were Mentor’s s—”

Kit’s hands tightened into fists. Son. He was about to say son.

“Prodigy,” he settled on, taking a right and messing with the gears until they were coasting again. The air seemed tighter. “I didn’t know that he meant anything to you. I swear— I just assumed that when you were scared of me turning you into him, that you had heard the horror stories in the academy, or Superhero told you. Not that you… not that you were personally affected.”

Kit’s eyes burned as he stared out the window, the forest growing sparser the closer they got to the city. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

“And if you did?”

Ambrose hesitated.

Kit turned his head to look at him, studying the villain’s reactions.

“And if you knew that he was like a father to me.” Like a father, not an actual one. “If you knew how much it hurt to see a man who plucked me out of nothing be destroyed. Would it have been any different?! Or would you have laughed and rubbed it in like salt in a wound?”

“Kit—”

“Oh, come off it. There’s no one here, Rosey. It’s only me and you,” Kit said, his voice dripping with a horrible hysterical knowing. “You can be your usual sadistic, unfeeling, monstrous self and I can tell nobody about it—”

“Mallory—” Ambrose tried to interject but Kit spoke over him again.

“But you know the funniest part in all this? You already took away the one person who would have given a shit about this! About me, not the Hero. Me. And you made him a monster!” Kit roared, something wet hitting his cheeks and flowing like a stream down his face. “And now, because clearly God hates me, I have to team up with you of all people, to go and stop — the one man who ever treated me like a person — from becoming a monster like you.”

The silence was deafening. In some strange way, it was comforting. No electricity crackles or malfunctioning lights accompanied his breakdown with the power dampeners locked around his wrist.

It was cathartic.

They had just pulled into the main road that brought them to the outskirts of the city, the skyline visible over the horizon when Ambrose spoke.

“He wasn’t a hero to me,” said Ambrose quietly, almost imperceptibly. Kit glanced at him, but his eyes settled on the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t fucking tell me you have daddy issues.” When Ambrose didn’t answer Kit let out a strangled laugh. Blinking in bewilderment, Kit raised his brows. “Are you telling me you have daddy issues? Mr Big Bad villain?”

“Oh fuck off, Mallory. At least I had parents.”

The words stung. They cut deeper than Kit would have ever admitted out loud or shown physically, but Kit knew that Ambrose was in his head after the villain winced.

Shifting in his seat, he said: “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off snarky. I just—” Ambrose let out a groan. “You just rub me up the wrong way.”

“Well who’s fucking fault is that, dickhead?!”

“Do you want me to explain, or are you just going to argue with me the entire drive to the hospital?” Ambrose snapped. “I can only do one of those things in our limited time, so choose.”

Kit clenched his teeth, glaring forwards at the car in front of them. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Mentor is my father. As you know, he only rose to prominence within our lifetimes, though you may be too young to remember. Before him, heroes and villains weren’t really a thing. There were a couple dotted here and there, but mostly they were vigilantes. The good guys and the bad guys.”

“Yeah. I remember learning about that in the academy.”

“Right. So after my father rose in public opinion and word of mouth, well the government started stepping in and trying to regulate it. Which they did and the rest is history, but he wasn’t the same heroic good man when he came home.”

Kit swallowed, tightening his fingers into fists. He didn’t want to hear this, he realised. He really wanted Ambrose to shut up and not tell him anymore, but he asked for this, didn’t he? To know the side of Mentor that Ambrose knew?

“He wasn’t abusive,” Ambrose said softly and Kit released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Not physically, anyway. When he discovered that I was born with powers he sought to train me, to make me in his image. A family of Superheroes. My Mom, she didn’t want that for me. She saw the toll it took on him to be the city’s saviour everyday, and that’s when they started fighting.”

Kit sat rigid in his seat, staring forward. He couldn’t imagine Mentor fig— well, no. He could, actually. How many times had Kit walked in on Mentor and Mr Silver arguing? Or Superhero trying to tell Mentor that the next step was a bad idea, that it was too risky.

“I trained hard. When he wanted me to push myself, I pushed myself. When he wanted me to commit 100%, I did 200%. It was never enough for him. None of it was. He wanted a son and a wife who adored him, who worshipped the ground he walked on, and instead he had a family. His ego was a problem.”

Kit cringed at that. Even he knew that Mentor wanted people to adore him, no matter who or why. He wanted to be the city’s saviour, the man on everyone’s tongue and in their thoughts.

Kit let out a breath of a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess… that’s why he adopted me, isn’t it?” Kit asked, his voice hollow. Ambrose didn’t answer, and that was answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? How could he not have seen that to Mentor, Kit was just some charity project he knew would always support him. Worship the ground he walked on, defend him even when Kit knew he was in the wrong.

Ambrose opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, setting his lips into a thin line.

“Mallory…”

“No. It’s okay,” Kit replied, letting out a long breath. “It’s fine, go on.”

Ambrose hesitated, fingers lifting from the steering wheel, before curling around them again. They passed the memorial garden in silence, taking the diversion around the square towards the hospital. They weren’t far away now.

“He started the Hero academy when I was twelve. A school for children with powers to develop their abilities to become heroes. I saw it for what it was though, incentive and resentment. He failed to teach me to control my abilities, and found a fault in me that I couldn’t rectify. My ability wasn’t flashy enough, or showy enough for him, for the great Mentor.”

“He wanted a child who would make the world stop and look at them. Someone who was as fast as him, as strong, but not stronger. In his eyes, I may as well have been born with strong charisma because you couldn’t see the effect of what I could do, only experience it.”

Kit looked down at his wrist, at the power dampeners locked around it. Lightning was flashy. Lightning gave Kit strength and strong reflexes, he was fast, he was flashy. He trained hard, to the point of exhaustion everyday in the Hero Academy. Not caring if he had no friends. Not caring if he passed out from pushing himself too hard. He just had to be the best. It was all he had. It was all he could do.

It wasn’t until he was beating people three years above him that Mentor started to pay him any attention. It felt good at the time. It felt like somebody finally recognised him for what he was.

Mentor made him feel seen. He saw that Kit had put his everything into training, because everything in him was all he had to give.

He didn’t have a family to worry about him getting hurt.

He didn’t have friends that would mourn him if he died in action.

All he had was being a hero.

Of course Mentor would latch onto that. Of course he would pick up on the fact that Kit was desperately trying to prove himself. Of course he would take pity on the orphan and bring him home like a trophy. Show him off to the world.

But that… that wasn’t the Mentor that Kit knew.

He brought him home, but it was after Kit denied him so many times. Told him to piss off, and asked if he was a pervert that prayed on boys his age. Kit had grown up on the streets, he knew what happened to skinny kids like him. One day they’re there, and the next, you never see them again.

Mentor was patient, and kind. He didn’t push Kit after Kit said no, told him he had everything he needed in the academy.

“Then my Mother got sick, and well…” Ambrose said, trailing off, pulling Kit from his memory and back into the car. “After she died it was like he… he didn’t even care. All he cared about was building the city up, saving everyone from possible Villains that lurked in the night. He didn’t sit with her in the hospital because he knew he couldn’t rescue her. He wasn’t there when she—”

Kit was quiet beside Ambrose, head tilted down. He knew what loss was like. He knew the absence a parent can leave behind, but losing someone who meant that? Kit didn’t know how to relate to that. When Omen destroyed Mentor’s mind, it wasn’t the same as if he died because Kit could still go and see him. Still talk to him, even if the Mentor he remembered was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said softly. Ambrose cleared his throat, turning his head so Kit couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” he agreed, going rigid. “Me too.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t far. Five minutes in the car, and two minutes to park.

“Are you…?” Kit began, then cut himself off when he met Ambrose’s black eyes. What was he going to say? Are you Okay? Alright with going into see the unfeeling man who wasn’t a good father? The man you cursed for being…

Ambrose shook his head, no. “Of course I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Kit said with an awkward shrug. They got out of the car, closing the door in unison. Kit thought nothing of it.

It was borderline awkward in the lift. Ambrose kind of just, stood there like a totem pole. His hands behind his back, standing straight up like a serial killer.

“Would you relax?” Kit said, rolling his neck. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Ambrose said slowly, voice cold. Kit shrugged and said: “fine.”

He ahead and almost cried in joy when the doors opened to the ground floor. He stopped at the reception desk. Ambrose was walking and stopped when Kit stopped, two steps ahead and glancing back to see what Kit was doing.

He joined him a moment later, standing beside him and glowering at Heather when she turned and beamed at Kit.

“Hi Heather.”

“Hey, Kit. You goin’ up to—” her big blue eyes trailed to Ambrose beside him, who looked as if he was under a storm cloud, or extremely constipated. “Oh. Hi. Is this your brother?”

Kit’s eyes blew wide, but Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Older. We’d like to see—”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Kit. Of course, darlin’s, go ahead. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly and stepped back. Kit blinked, shaking his head, and smiled at Heather. “Oh, actually. Was there anything strange with him? Any new visitors or—”

“I’m sorry, hun. I’m just the receptionist for the main desk. You’ll have to ask the nurses up there.”

Kit nodded, standing up. “Thank you, Heather.”

“Anytime. And nice meeting you.”

Ambrose nodded at her. “You too.”

Kit clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. “Let’s go, bro.”

Ambrose made a noise and Kit had to stifle a laugh until they were in the stairwell. “What was that!” He barked, laughter bubbling up his throat.

“I— panicked.” [***RE-DRAFT STARTS HERE***]

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Kit teased. He was turning to walk up the next set of stairs when Ambrose slammed his forearm against Kit’s throat, shoving him back into the corner of the stairwell, pinning him there.

Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his eyes blazing with cold fury down at Kit. “Of course I’m nervous, you fucking child. Tch. Don’t you ever switch off?”

Kit pushed Ambrose’s arm off him, and to his surprise, Ambrose let him, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

The realisation only dawned on Kit, his mouth opening into a small ‘o’.

“You’ve never been to see him.”

Ambrose straightened. The villain returning as he stared down his nose at Kit, a sardonic smile on his lips. “And why should I? He didn’t give my mother that courtesy.”

Kit put his hands up, showing Ambrose he meant nothing by it. “Hey. It’s your decision. Not mine. He’s your dad, not—” the words choked up before he could say them. Ambrose didn’t pry. He knew what Kit was going to say.

Ambrose stared for a moment longer before glancing up the stairs and nodding stiffly.

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat and started walking up again. “What floor is it?”

“The fifth,” he replied, starting up the stairs beside Ambrose. “Top floor. They don’t want anyone stumbling amongst the crazies.”

“Probably for the best,” Ambrose muttered. Kit had meant it as a joke, but, he didn’t disagree with Ambrose as they climbed the stairs. Thankful that their footsteps filled the silence he couldn’t in the lift. They knew something had happened when they got to the fifth floor.

Kit stepped in first, Ambrose craning his neck around the door into the hall. Kit breathed a sigh of relief. No police tape, no police, no anything. That meant there was nothing to worry about.

Kit smiled at Ambrose and slapped him on the back, walking towards the door to the locked ward. “See! You were irrational. Overthinking everything. Nothing’s insidious about Mentor. He was here the whole time.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if he did somehow magically vanish, there would be police and Superheroes and politicians here to interrogate him about what happened.”

“And if they just moved him down to the station to do that?” Ambrose asked, raising his brows. Kit’s smile dimmed a little, but it remained on his face.

“Too much risk. Trust me. Everything will be fine.”

The door buzzed open after Kit waved to the camera and the pair stepped through. Kit walked his usual path to Mentor’s room, and only realised halfway there that Ambrose wasn’t following him anymore. He paused, looking over his shoulder for the villain, before turning after laying eyes on him.

Ambrose stood in the middle of the hall, his eyes blazing and his little finger twitching by his side. A muscle in his jaw clenched and tightened when he met Kit’s questioning eyes.

He swallowed. “This was a mistake.”

“No,” Kit said, coming to stand beside the Villain. “It wasn’t. He’s out of it most of the time anyways, Rosey. He probably won’t even recognise you.”

Black eyes flashed like two burning coals. “He’ll recognise me.”

Kit didn’t tell him that Mentor didn’t recognise Kit for months after his accident. Then again, he didn’t have to. Something smoothed out in Ambrose’s face as Kit remembered his first meeting with a stark raving mad Mentor, who screamed at Kit to get out and leave him be. Kit thought for a minute that Ambrose could see the memory, but quickly remembered that the ward was built of the same power dampening material as the supers-prison and power dampeners.

Ambrose swallowed. “Let’s get this over with,” he said through clenched teeth. This time Kit led the way beside Ambrose, and let Ambrose walk into the room first. Ambrose didn’t falter as he stepped through the door, black eyes settling on his father for the first time since he drove him insane.

Kit followed him in, leaning against the wall beside the door. Mentor was sitting in an armchair, gazing out the window when they arrived. He turned his head and locked eyes with Ambrose and didn’t even glance over at Kit.

The tension was palpable in the air, tied like a three-way noose over their throats as nobody dared breathe in the room.

“Oskar,” Mentor said softly. Kit’s eyes blew wide, glancing at Ambrose who stiffened at the mention of his name. Mentor recognised him? He— remembered Ambrose?

“Hello Father.”

Mentor grunted a huff of a laugh. Almost like a derisive scoff, but Kit had never heard Mentor make a sound like that. A sound so like— well, Ambrose. Kit didn’t dare move, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Mentor didn’t notice, or if he did, didn’t care, that was Kit was in the room too.

“Is that all you can say to me, boy?” Mentor demanded, his voice hard, like gravel grating against gravel.

Ambrose shrugged, but Kit noticed the tightness to his usual casual gesture. “I can say a whole lot more, but word on the street is you have trouble remembering things lately, old man.”

Mentor’s eyes were cutting. “I remember the important stuff.”

The words came like a sharp slap to Kit’s face, almost staggering him out of the room, but Kit didn’t move. He just stared, eyes burning at the man that helped shape him into who he was today. But this man he was staring at may as well have been an alien. This wasn’t Mentor. This was the cold father that Ambrose told Kit about. The man who looked like Mentor, but was a monster beneath skin.

“What are you doing here?” Mentor spat. “Have you come to take more from me, hmm? The breath from my lungs.”

“Well it would be a wasted trip if I didn’t take something from you,” Ambrose replied with the cold smile that Kit was so used to seeing.

What he wasn’t used to seeing was Ambrose flinching. Kit pressed off the wall, eyes wide as a cold, dark chuckle filled the room. An empty laugh that caused shivers to run down his spine and freeze him in place.

“You’re still good at talking, Oskar.” Black eyes met Kit’s across the room, aware that Kit had just seen him flinch at Mentor’s raised hand and it was like the world slowed down around him, his heartbeat rushing in his ears.

Then it was as if a switch flipped of indifference. Ambrose straightened, black eyes smiling as he faced his father again. He slipped one hand into his trouser pocket, shifting his weight to lean on one leg and shot Mentor a cold smile.

“You’re still good at being a piece of shit, only, now you’ve exposed yourself to a witness.”

Mentor’s eyes narrowed and he got to his feet, turning his body to face Ambrose. He had only just turned when his eyes found Kit’s frozen blue ones staring as if he were a deer in headlights.

Mentor’s expression shifted into something softer, something kind. “Kit my boy—”

Kit’s eyes burned, his nostrils flaring. “Don’t.”

“This is-” Mentor began, gesturing between himself and Ambrose. “Family issues. They go back a long while.”

“I don’t care about your explanation,” Kit told him, shaking his head.

Mentor’s hard eyes looked between Kit and Ambrose, scrutinising. “What are you even doing together? Aren’t you a strange pair.”

“Not at all,” Kit said before Ambrose could even open his mouth. Kit stood talk, feeling Ambrose’s black eyes slide over to him as he commanded the space. “He’s helping me on a case. A new Supervillain.”

Mentor scoffed, folding his arms over his toned chest. “Have you considered him?” He asked, nodding his head to Ambrose.

“I have,” Kit ground out through clenched teeth. “But it turns out this new Supervillain has telekinesis. You wouldn’t happen to have an alibi for last night, would you?”

Mentor’s mouth fell open. Even Ambrose raised a brow at the accusation in Kit’s hard voice. He had never seen him so angry. It was very entertaining to watch, especially when it was directed at his father.

“I was here,” Mentor said, spreading his hands in a helpless shrugging gesture. “Obviously.”

“Can anyone corroborate that story?” Kit demanded, spitting venom at his old Hero and Mentor. Mentor glanced between Ambrose and Kit, his expression tightening as some understanding flashed across his face.

He rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand, kneading it into the soft flesh, letting out a disbelieving huff. “I can’t believe this. You’re seriously trusting this man over me, Kit? You're like a son to me.”

“Clearly I wasn’t,” Kit practically yelled, but he didn’t shout. His voice was surprisingly level despite everything. “Or you would have told me you had an actual son.”

Mentor’s gaze was cutting. “Surely you know what he did to me,” Mentor said, his voice a quiet fury. “What he did to our family, to this city! He—”

“Is Omen,” Kit finished, his eyes flashing. Mentor took a step back as if he’d been hit. Kit didn’t stop there though. “Yeah. I know. And I know he’s not a liar. So do you have an alibi or not?”

Ambrose was quite happy to let Kit take lead on this interrogation. It was true, Ambrose wasn’t a liar. If he said he’d torture you, he would. If he told you he liked you, he did. If he said he was Omen, he was. Something Ambrose didn’t think Kit picked up on, but was happy by the turn of events all the same.

Mentor was halfway through stuttering out a reply when a Doctor walked into the room, a clipboard in hand and already speaking. “Mentor, how are we tod—” Doctor, sensing the tension looked up and smiled at his obvious intrusion. He put the clipboard under his arm and stood taller. “Ah. Sorry, Mentor. I didn’t know you had visitors. Ah, hello Kit.”

“Doctor,” Kit replied not taking his eyes off of Mentor. “Can you confirm Mentor was here last night?”

Doctor’s eyes went around the room before bouncing back to Kit. “Uh, yes. I mean, CCTV and the hospital logs can probably. I wasn’t on personally, but as Mentor’s doctor today I can tell you there was no anomalies last night.”

“Great. Thank you,” Kit said, nodding at Ambrose. “That’s all we needed to know, we’re leaving.”

“No, wait—” Mentor protested, but Ambrose was already talking to the Doctor and walking back out the door. Kit turned to do the same when a hand was on his wrist, stopping him from leaving. Kit glanced back over his shoulder to see Mentor clinging to him like a desperate, old man.

“Kit…” he said with shining eyes. “M’boy. Please, let me explain.”

“You lied to me,” Kit hissed, finally letting the hurt shine through his features. “You told me, you— you made me feel special.”

“You are special, Kit, and not just to me.”

“Was I only special to you because I was strong?” Kit asked. Mentor hesitated. Kit pulled his arm from Mentor’s grasp. “You never saw me as a son. You saw me as a tool that you could mould and use to further your great image. Superhero. Saviour. Good charitable man,” Kit spat, tears springing suddenly to his eyes. “He even rescues orphans, the übermensch. Mentor: The great man.”

“Kit—”

“You were everything to me,” Kit said, his bottom lip trembling. “My only normal in the world. My family. My father. I worshipped you, and you used me!”

“Kit, please. Let me explain.” Mentor said again, pawing at Kit’s jacket. Kit recoiled, shrugging his hands from his shoulders.

“You have two minutes before I’m walking out that door.”

“In the beginning, yes, I wanted to be close to you because I saw your potential. Nobody else in that academy ever came close to you. You were extraordinary. I wanted a sidekick when I walked through those doors on the day of your exams, and instead I found a second chance.”

Tears streamed continuously from Kit’s red rimmed eyes as he listened, occasionally wiping them on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I found a son in you, and from that day onwards I decided that I wanted to help you. To give you the start in life that you deserved, not the one you were given. I patrolled the Rookery looking for you every night because one of the other kids told me you slept rough on the streets. I wanted to offer you kindness, and you had such hard eyes. It was weeks before I ever saw you smile, and when I did, m’boy, I swear the heavens themselves opened.”

Kit sniffed, his breath catching in his throat, taking in fretful breaths once he saw the glisten in Mentor’s eyes, and the tears welling up behind them.

“I never wanted to use you as some piece of equipment to further my image. I wanted to make sure you had bread, and safe water to drink. I wanted to give you a home.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you had a son?” Kit asked, barely above a whisper. “Why… why- why didn’t you tell me you had a family? I would’ve understood.”

Mentor shook his head. “I had already left them at that time, Kit, and I was too ashamed to tell you. To tell you that I fucked up my last family. How could I tell you that? A child yourself when I was trying to gain your trust so I could help you, and the way you looked at me…”

The pair of them stared at each other, tears streaming down their faces the longer they spoke. “You saw something in me that I hadn’t seen in years, and it made me feel special, Kit. It made me want to be the better man you thought I was. To change, for the better, for you. For us. I thought it was my second chance when I met you, and I can tell you now for certain, it was.”

Kit looked away, afraid he might collapse if had to listen to any more of this. Mentor touched a hand to his cheek, thumbing away the tears, drawing Kit’s attention back to Mentor.

“Just please,” he blubbered. “Please say you don’t hate me. I will fall to my knees and beg for your forgiveness, Kit. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please.”

Kit didn’t say anything. He just stepped in and hugged his old man, wrapping his arms tight around him and holding him up when Mentor sobbed harder into Kit’s jumper.

“I’m sorry,” Mentor cried into Kit’s jumper, muffling the sound. “I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m so sorry.”

Kit held him tighter, trying to compose himself but there was nothing to be done except wait it out. Ambrose stood outside the door, leaning against the wall to his father’s room, downcast eyes staring unseeing at the clinically clean floor in front of him.

Kit stepped out after a few minutes, his tears dried but the red rimmed eyes gave him away. Ambrose stood, face impassive as he took a deep breath. “You good to go?” He asked.

Kit nodded dumbly. They walked to the exit of the ward, but Doctor shouted from down the hall and the pair turned. “Oh good, I caught you before you left. Here. I’ll walk you out.”

Doctor quickly caught up to them, half-jogging towards them with a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry. Shall we talk outside?”

Kit glanced at Ambrose before nodding. Doctor fell into step with them, flashing his keycard on the control panel and the doors to the locked ward opened with a beep. He pushed through them and held it open for Kit and Ambrose to walk out. They stood just outside the ward, Kit tilting his head at Doctor.

Doctor smiled at the pair, a handsome smile. He was a little older than Ambrose, his eyes crinkled at the edges when his smiled. His tan skin contrasted against Ambrose’s paleness to a stark degree that Kit would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel so drained.

Kind green eyes found Kit’s. “I double-checked the log’s after you asked about Mentor’s whereabouts last night,” he said. “He was here all night, I can confirm with 100% certainty.”

“Okay, thank you Doctor.” Kit said nodding.

A copycat? Ambrose said in Kit’s mind. Kit glanced at him, but Ambrose was still looking at Doctor.

Maybe. Or maybe another telekinetic… Kit thought, pushing it towards Ambrose.

“Well,” Doctor said, clapping his hands together. “I hope that is everything you need?”

“Yes, Doctor, thank you for confirming the alibi,” Kit said. Kit reached his hand out which Doctor took and shook it. Doctor turned to Ambrose as well, offering his hand which Doctor took with a smile.

“Nice meeting you.”

“Thank you Doctor,” Ambrose said coolly before withdrawing his hand and stepping away. The pair walked down the stairs, hearing the buzzer of the ward door open and close again.

“What now?” Ambrose asked. Kit ran his hands through his hair, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know. I need to get my phone from my apartment, just to see if anyone’s been trying to call.”

“Right. Of course.” Ambrose said as they walked to the car. Sensing the stiffness in Ambrose’s body language, Kit kept quiet, not wanting to poke the bear, but feeling too bad to just remain silent and not say anything.

They got into the Wraith in silence. It was only when Ambrose turned the key in the ignition that he broke the silence. “It’s not your fault, Kit.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Ambrose turned his head to look Kit head on. The expression on his face would’ve floored Kit had he been standing up.

Ambrose’s eyes were like two rainbows, his eyebrows drawn low over them, his lips were curled up on his face, exposing his smile lines that usually looked so annoyed.

Was Ambrose smiling?

When Kit wasn’t even covered in blood or bruises or struggling to breathe?

“Really, Kit. It’s okay. I don’t have any ill will towards you. Just think of it like, we both had one good parent and leave it there. Okay?”

Kit nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Ambrose’s face went back to neutral and Kit felt like he could breathe.

Then his eyes narrowed as they pulled out of the parking lot. “What?”

“I just—”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I don’t think you should smile, Rosey. It doesn’t suit you.”

Ambrose almost hit the roof. “What?! My smile is charming.”

“I feared for my life. It is mortally terrifying. Do you smile at babies like that?”

“Babies love me,” Ambrose hissed.

Kit laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Actually can you drop me off at a therapist before we go back to my—”

“Oh yeah yeah,” Ambrose grumbled, turning the indicator on and taking off onto the main road. “Laugh it up.”

Kit did, and he felt good after it. The laugh smoothed everything out in his chest, unwinding the tension that weighed heavy on it and for a little, fleeting moment, he felt lighter than he had in a while. Ambrose turned the radio on.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie

[the-broken-pen]

“I don’t need you.”

It sounded less grounded than the villain had wanted it to. It sounded like something someone had told them to say, and they were just repeating it with half hearted determination. They said it again, “I don’t need you.”

“No,” the hero agreed. They were grinning. “You don’t.”

The villain floundered. They, in all honesty, wanted a fight. To prove something, they supposed. That they really didn’t need the hero. That they weren’t in the wrong, here. “What?”

“I said,” the hero said slowly, and the beginnings of a grin curled at the edges of their mouth. “You don’t need me.”

“I don’t need you,” the villain repeated, and the hero nodded encouragingly. It just made the villain want to hit them.

The hero lounged against the doorframe, halfway in and halfway out of their apartment. And truly, that was the worst bit of it all—the hero wasn’t showing up outside the villain’s house, or driving by the villain’s work to see if they truly looked happier without them. But the villain was.

They wanted to scream, and kick, and throw plates onto the ground.

‘Leave me alone.’

But they couldn’t say that, because the hero had. They had cut contact and blocked numbers and ignored the villain’s car as it went by. Still, the villain felt haunted. As if they would never be clean of the hero, parts of their soul forever dirtied by it all.

The hero’s smile, and the way their voice sounded when they knew the villain would cave to their wishes.

They just wanted the hero to—

“Leave me alone.” It slipped out against their better judgement. From the way the hero’s grin widened, they knew it had been the worst thing they could have said.

“Darling, I have,” the hero said, their tone saccharine. Pitying. “You’re the one outside of my apartment.”

It felt like being burned alive, the frustration of it. The way it rose in their chest but had nowhere to go, leaving them shaking with nothing and everything trapped under their tongue.

“That’s not what I meant and you know that—“

“What, you miss me that bad? I thought you—“

“Shut up,” the villain snapped. The hero raised an eyebrow.

“It’s eating you alive, isn’t it?” They sounded pleased.

“It’s not,” the villain protested.

“I told you, you don’t need me.”

“I know,” the villain grit out.

“But you want me.”

Something in the villain’s brain stalled.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t need me. You never have,” the hero said it like it was a fact. “You want me, though. Even as the sound of my name burns you, and the memory of me rots in your mouth, you’re going to want me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” The hero’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You can go out to every bar in this city, kiss a hundred people who look like me and get just drunk enough to forget you’re not mine anymore—but you’re never going to stop missing me.”

The hero knew, of course they did, how hard the villain had tried to forget it entirely. The disaster they had become trying to be clean again.

“No matter how many shots you take to block out the memory of me, you’ll always be mine.”

“You’re insane,” the villain finally managed. The hero simply tipped their head to the side in acknowledgement. “That’s not-what’s wrong with you—“

“You’re the one who misses me.”

It stung, deep in the villain’s stomach. It took them too long to remember how to breathe—too long after that to think of what to say.

“If I’m lucky, I won’t ever have to see you again,” their voice quivered, slightly. “But knowing us, the next time we meet it will be in hell.”

The hero laughed and closed the door in their face.

The villain blocked them. Avoided the side of town the worked in. Moved three cities over.

It didn’t matter.

The villain could still feel the hero under their skin.

Later, whenever someone would ask, “Have you ever been haunted?”

The villain would think back to the hero.

And say, “Yes.”

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 10

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas having all the bits (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist

10. Bea

Bucky and Steve negotiate what kind of relationship they're going to have.

Over the course of the following week, Bucky makes good use of the purchases from Twig ‘n’ Tuft. He arranges his new things in an obviously good mood, humming happily as he works. A few things get set aside for later use in the closet, but most of his efforts go towards Steve’s bed, changing out the sheets (they’re silkier now) and blankets (puffier), fluffing the pillows (there are a lot more now), and arranging everything just how he likes.

He’s nesting.

Steve stands in the doorway and watches for a bit, heart bursting with emotions that he knows are directly related to the bond. No way could he feel this utterly content and pleased just from watching a simple act of nesting, otherwise. His omega is feeling safe and comfortable in his home. Steve is providing for him and taking care of him, and it’s making Bucky happy. That’s all Steve wants.

“Need any help?” he asks, not surprised when Bucky says no. Omegas like to nest on their own. Steve is sure he’d mess up whatever Bucky’s nonsensical system is and wind up getting his head bitten off. “Okay then,” he says. “I’m gonna get ready for bed, so …” He grabs some pajamas from the dresser and heads in the direction of the bathroom, intending to brush his teeth and change. “You’re sure you want me in here?” he double checks. “I’m more than happy to take the couch again.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at him. “No Steve. That was pathetic. Six-foot man on a five-foot couch. Stop asking or you’re gonna give me a complex. I want you in here with me.”

Steve smiles gently. “Okay, Buck. Okay.” He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself. When he comes back out and climbs into the now-nested bed, he has a moment of indecision, unsure how close he should be, if Bucky wants his space, or if maybe Steve should try to touch—

Bucky scoots back to spoon directly against him, his back to Steve’s chest and a large pillow hugged in front of himself. “Mmm.”

Cautiously, Steve lets his arm drape over Bucky’s waist. “This okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. He wiggles in place a little, settling. “Steve?”

“Mm?”

“... Thanks.” Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s where it rests just over his waist and gives a small squeeze. “For helping me. For everything. I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Steve’s heart melts into something useless and gooey, and he lets go of whatever awkwardness he’d still been holding onto. He pulls Bucky more securely against him and nuzzles into the back of his hair. “You’re welcome, Honey. I want you here. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky hums and cuddles further back against him. Later, once he’s dozed off, he purrs.

The next morning, Steve is still half-asleep when he’s suffused by the scent of happy, pregnant omega. He hums, vaguely aware that he’s surrounded by soft, good things. With his eyes still closed, he pulls the softness closer, smiling and nosing into that inherently pleasant scent. He feels so good, turned on and warm and safe. Mate, he thinks dreamily, rolling his hips once, and then again because it feels so pleasurable. Soft and good omega, mmm …

“Steve?” Bucky’s sleep-slurred voice. “Mm, whuddryadoin’?”

Steve wakes and his eyes fly open. He freezes in place, mortified as he realizes that he’s been rubbing his morning erection against Bucky’s boxer-clad ass for God only knows how long. “Oh, shit.” He hears Bucky’s low chuckle, but is still horrified at himself. “Sorry!” he hurries, removing his hands. “Sorry, sorry.”

He’s pulling away, but Bucky turns over in the bed and follows after him. He looks barely awake himself, his hair a mess and his eyes opened to puffy slits. He burrows in against Steve’s chest, rubbing his face on his tee shirt. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “You smell good.” He’s silent after that, and a minute later, his quiet snoring lets Steve know that he’s fallen back to sleep.

Steve untenses and allows himself to hold Bucky again—at first hesitantly, and then with more confidence. He lets his head fall back onto the pillow, his nose near Bucky’s hair. He closes his eyes and falls asleep.

The next time he wakes, it’s to Bucky kissing him on the mouth. Steve inhales and pulls back. “Buck, what’re you doing?”

Bucky blinks. “Kissing you.”

Well yeah, Steve wants to say. He feels bad for his lack of reaction when he sees Bucky’s expression begin to shutter.

“Am I not allowed to?” he asks. “Do you … do you not want that with me?”

Steve exhales. “No, Buck. It’s not that. I just don’t want you to feel like—”

“Like I have to,” Bucky says. “I know.” He moves closer, until their chests are touching. “I know you don’t want me to feel forced or … or coerced or whatever. But I don’t.” Carefully, watching Steve’s reactions, he leans in to kiss him again. When their lips meet, Steve’s stomach flutters with nerves. Bucky kisses him gently, and it’s so sweet and tender that it almost aches. Steve forces himself not to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist again, not to press his leg in between Bucky’s legs and turn into him, push him down into the sheets like he wants to.

But he does kiss back.

They talk about it over breakfast. Steve is in the kitchen making eggs and sausage, and Bucky’s curled up in a corner of the couch with one of his nesting blankets. The tv is set to low volume on a local morning news program. Bucky’s the one who initiates the conversation.

“So, I’m your registered omega now.”

Steve tenses where he’s standing by the stove. “Oh. Yeah. Um …sorry.”

Bucky makes a face. “I’m the one who signed off on it. Why should you be sorry?”

“I dunno,” Steve mumbles. He looks down and focuses on shuffling the sausages around with the spatula he’s holding. Really, there’s a whole lot he’s sorry about. Bucky was a trauma survivor in need of help, and in very short order he’s been impregnated, bonded, and legally bound to an alpha he barely knows. Steve doesn’t know how to explain to Bucky what an injustice that is. “This all just happened so fast,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have choices.”

The tv clicks off, and the next thing Steve knows, Bucky is standing on the other side of the kitchen island, giving him a stern look. “Steve, stop.”

“Stop?” He glances down at the sausages. Stop…cooking?

“Stop feeling guilty about this," Bucky says, crossing his arms and leveling Steve with a look. “It makes me sad and I don’t like it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Look, I’ve been given choices out the wazoo, lately. Everybody back at the hospital made it perfectly clear to me that I didn’t have to go with you. But that’s what I wanted. I like you and I trust you, and you’re the father of my baby.”

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest at hearing it said aloud like that. Holy shit, he really is going to be a father, isn’t he? Holy shit, how the hell is he going to do that? He clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky says,

“And we’re bonded, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Steve remembers the eggs and hurries to give them a swirl in their pan. “Ah, yeah. We are.”

Bucky nods decisively. “So, I want to be in a relationship with you. A real one, including sex.”

Steve stops, spatula held midair in surprise. “You … what?”

“You, me, living here,” Bucky gestures around the apartment. “I know you’re not going to make me be physical with you, but I want to be.”

Steve’s heart is beating fast inside his chest now. He licks his lips. “Buck, you … you’re a minor. You're eighteen.” That seems like the most obvious problem to him, but Bucky just rolls his eyes.

“Almost nineteen. My birthday’s soon.”

Steve doesn’t know how to break it to him that this doesn’t exactly erase the massive age difference between them. “I’m thirty-one, Honey.” He struggles for what to say next, and of course Bucky mistakes his awkwardness for rejection.

He visibly draws back into himself. “If you don’t like me like that,” he hedges, “or if you aren’t really attracted to me, I wish you’d just say so. I can handle it, but I just need to know what we—”

“No, no. I do. I like you, Buck.” Steve hurriedly covers the pans with their respective lids and flicks both burners off, stepping around the island to pull Bucky into his arms. “And you’re beautiful, Honey. You’ve got to know that.” He hugs him, and Bucky all but melts against him, resting his cheek on Steve’s shoulder. The closeness instantly feels right. Steve can feel the omega relaxing at his words, his scent lightening back to something pleasant. He sighs. All his overthinking things has just left Bucky feeling unwanted, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. “I guess you can tell that I have some hang-ups,” he mutters.

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah. You worry too much.”

Yeah, he does. But Steve shrugs. He can’t help the second guessing and caution that comes so naturally to him at this point. He’s been trained ad-nauseam to be a victim’s advocate, to never take advantage. “I just want to make you happy,” he admits, giving Bucky a gentle squeeze. “I guess I need to start trusting you to be able to tell me how to do that.”

Bucky hums happily. “Yeah. Good.” He pulls back just enough to meet Steve’s eyes, and he smiles. Then, pointedly, he leans in and kisses him. It’s only a brief kiss, more a brush of lips than anything else, but it makes Steve’s skin tingle with pleasure. Bucky pulls back check, “So now I can kiss you any time I want, right?”

Steve forces a smile. “Yeah Buck. You can kiss me.”

Bucky kisses him once more, then lets him go. “And do other stuff,” he says happily, just as Steve is reaching up to grab plates out of the cabinet.

He freezes. “Oh. Um ...”

“Oh come on, Steve. You’ve fucked me six ways to Sunday already!”

Steve busts out in a surprised laugh, but he can feel his face heating at the intense visual memory that hits him: Bucky, in the heat suite, naked and moaning and coming undone. Steve shakes his head and grabs the spatula back up. “Jesus Buck. Come on over here and get your food.”

Bucky obeys with a smirk, and they heap their plates high with scrambled eggs and sausage links and sit at opposite ends of the couch. Their feet tangle in the middle as they eat. Bucky chews thoughtfully for a while and then says, out of the blue and with determination, “I should learn to cook.”

Steve grimaces down at his plate. “That bad, huh?”

“What? Oh, no!” Bucky laughs and eats more sausage. “No, this is great. I was just thinking how I could make you breakfast. Pancakes and stuff. Omelets. I mean, since you probably don’t have time to do it yourself when you have to get to work in the mornings. Right?"

Steve blinks, taken aback. “Wow that’s … that’s really sweet, Buck.” Bucky smiles and looks back down at his plate, and Steve says, “I still have the next few days off from work. We could try to get your school situation figured out, if you want?”

Bucky looks wary of this idea. “I dunno, Steve. I was always homeschooled. I don't …” He shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I’m very smart.”

Steve tuts in disapproval. “Of course you’re smart. Just because you might not know certain facts doesn’t make you unintelligent. Remember what I told you?”

“Yeah I know. Bees pollinate flowers,” Bucky mumbles, his discomfort obvious. He’s still embarrassed about his past.

"Hey," Steve offers gently. He nudges Bucky’s socked foot with his own. “That’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll spend the last few days of my leave figuring out a schedule for you, okay? I’ll help you.” The past few days have gone quickly, eaten up by tv marathons, snuggle sessions, and walks around the neighborhood to familiarize Bucky with the immediate area where Steve lives. “We can map out where your sister’s new place is, where you’re going to go for therapy. I’ll even investigate how you might go about taking the GED, if you want. They have study materials. Shouldn’t be hard to figure out.” He keeps nudging Bucky’s foot with his until he gets a little smile from the kid. “You’ll get a transit pass for the train and the bus. You can be totally independent, scoot all over the city if you want.”

Bucky hums and tucks back into his food, but Steve can tell that he’s pleased by the prospect.

Steve still has the next few days off from work, the tail-end of what is officially titled as his “Registered New Mate Leave.”

Steve is forced to explain to—an understandably confused—Bucky, that even though “mates” really is just a social construct and not a true physical thing, the government in New York still uses the term in some of its policies and legislation. “I know it’s contradictory,” he apologizes, when Bucky first perks up at hearing him say the words ‘mate leave’. “It’s stupid, I know. But the important thing is that I have time off where I can help you get settled, yeah?”

Bucky agrees with a tiny nod (and later, a quietly-murmured: “It’s not stupid. I don’t mind being your mate,” which makes Steve fluster but which Bucky also says quietly enough and standing far away enough that Steve can pretend he didn’t hear him say it).

He buys Bucky a transit card and helps him learn how to use the app for the city bus system and the train on his phone, then they decide to take a practice trip together, riding the orange and then the purple line out to the address in Queens where Rebecca's new apartment complex is.

Steve sits next to Bucky on the train and watches as he spends the ride downloading various apps for things like GrubHub and Candy Crush onto his phone. It’s a little hard for Steve to remember that Bucky grew up in a restrictive and backwards cult, when he’s sitting there witnessing the kid take to the modern world like a fish takes to water.

Rebecca’s apartment is all the way out in Flushing. Steve makes a reference to The Nanny, which Bucky of course doesn’t get, because he didn’t grow up watching 90’s cable TV. So Steve promises to add it to their already massive streaming watchlist.

Rebecca has them stay for lunch, and Steve feels kind of bad when they leave her in her lonely apartment with stark walls and hardly any furniture or possessions. She’s still adjusting to the outside world, the same as Bucky is, and Steve is once again very, very glad that he’s been able to bring Bucky straight into a lived-in home with lots of warm things and Steve himself to help. He’d hate to think of Bucky struggling all on his own.

“We should have her over for dinner sometime,” he offers, when he and Bucky are back in Brooklyn and walking towards the OmCare social services building where Bucky’s scheduled for his afternoon intake and assessment. “Your sister, that is.”

“Ooh, yeah. We could do that?” Bucky looks hopeful. “I could make something.”

“Sure, why not?” They walk inside the building and Steve accompanies Bucky up to the check-in desk. He gives him a little side hug, which Bucky turns into a full-on hug, and then leans up and kisses him. It’s just a quick peck, but it makes Steve flush halfway down his neck.

Bucky smiles when he notices and holds Steve’s hand while they wait in line behind one other person. “You’re nice,” he mumbles.

“It’s your apartment, too. You’re allowed to have guests and go in and out and cook whenever you want. And I’m glad you’ve got your sister, and that she’s got you.” Steve squeezes his hand. “You’ve both overcome something huge. It’s not easy. I’m proud of you.”

Bucky beams and looks like he’ll say something else, but before he can, the receptionist calls him forward and he signs himself in. They take their seats in the waiting room, and before long Bucky is called back by a kind looking beta counselor, who introduces herself as Beatrice—"just Bea is fine"—Collins, and informs Steve that if he plans to stick around for the entire appointment, he’s got quite the wait ahead of him. Steve says he doesn’t mind. His phone has a full charge.

When Bucky comes out of the appointment—three hours later —Steve’s butt is numb from the waiting room chairs, and Bucky’s holding a folder stuffed full of papers. Steve can immediately tell that he’s in a very good mood. He looks ten times brighter than when he'd gone in. “How’d it go?” Steve asks.

“Great!"

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. My counselor's nice.” Bucky recounts all of the different assessments that Bea had him complete during their session together. “I think she was expecting me to be super screwed up or something,” he jokes. “I don’t know what the heck the hospital told her.”

That you’re a gang rape trauma victim with culture shock and gender dysphoria, Steve thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s been relieved and surprised so far, at how well Bucky’s taken to accepting himself and his body, this bond and the news of an unplanned pregnancy. Steve doesn’t know how that’ll change as the pregnancy progresses, but he’s hopeful that him being there and being accepting of Bucky can help make a positive difference. “Did you get a schedule for therapy?” he asks, when they’re on the bus ride home.

“Mondays and Wednesdays at four,” Bucky says. “There’s a queer youth group that meets after. Bea said she thinks I’ll like it. I told her I’d give it a try.”

Steve blinks in surprise. “Oh. Okay. So ... do you feel like you’re, um, queer?”

Bucky smirks and shakes his head. “No. But I dunno, I might make friends there.”

“Oh yeah. Right, of course.”

His hand migrates to his stomach and he looks down at it. “I still feel really weird about it all. Being pregnant.”

Steve’s heart sinks and he fights not to let it show on his face. “Do you feel like you’re changing your mind? About keeping it?”

Bucky shakes his head but he won’t meet Steve’s eyes. “No, it’s not that. I don’t mean the baby. It’s more about how I’m, like …” He chews his lip as he thinks about it. “How I'm being like this so openly.”

“‘Like this’?”

He nods. “I know people can smell it. And eventually I’ll get big and people’ll see.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s hand creeps over the seat between them, cautious. He personally can’t wait to see Bucky get bigger, but of course he’d never say that. “Is ... that a bad thing?” he asks cautiously.

“No. Not bad. It just makes it so obvious about how I’m, um, you know.” Bucky hesitates for so long that Steve half expects him to throw out an obscene word. “How I'm … omega." He plucks at the front of his sweater, which they bought in the men’s omega clothing section at Target just the other day.

It isn’t much different in style from a typical men’s A/B sweater. Perhaps a bit tighter in the fit—slightly different seams, a more graceful neckline that’s indicative of the gender it’s meant for. Steve thinks it looks good on him, but now he starts to get self conscious and wonders if Bucky truly liked any of the clothes they bought for him the other day. Steve had tried to make it clear that Bucky could pick out anything he wanted. He doesn’t think he’d been the one to steer them in the direction of the men’s O department, rather than men's A/B, but he’ll be damned if he can convince himself of it now.

He opens his mouth to ask, but Bucky’s already speaking, “It wasn’t like that back home. Guys like me were … Well, people knew, of course, but we didn’t talk about it. You hid it, you didn’t go around openly acting all—” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Anyways, it’s just weird to be out in public, knowing everybody can tell. Seeing people act like it’s normal.”

Steve frowns and takes his hand. “It is normal, Buck.”

“I know. I know that. It’s just gonna take some getting used to." Bucky twists his lips and grumbles, "Bea says I’ve got ‘dysphoria’.”

“You do,” Steve says solemnly, thinking about how the kid had refused to even consider the men’s O style underwear at Target. They’d purchased a pack of A/B style briefs instead, which Steve had been happy to do for him. “It’s gonna take time,” he agrees kindly. “And that’s okay. It'll get easier, you'll become more comfortable about a lot of stuff. And for the things that don't feel right, well you know you can express your gender any way you want, right? You don't have to force yourself into some box. Not anymore." He gives Bucky's hand a comforting squeeze. "I think the queer group’s a great idea, Buck. You should go.”

Bucky’s scent gradually lightens, and he leans in against Steve’s side, allowing him to wrap an arm around his shoulders and hold him close for the remainder of the bus ride home.

“—and said she thinks I’ll do just fine on the GED,” Bucky tells Steve brightly the next night, when they’re fixing their dinners. “I can study for it online, and take it any time I want. She had this whole indicator test that said my scores were pretty good. Better than what she’s seen from uneducated people in the past.”

“You not uneducated, Buck,” Steve chides. “You were homeschooled.”

“Better than nothing,” Bucky mutters, but says nothing else, and they leave it at that.

They compromise and make little side salads to eat with the frozen dinners that Bucky picked out (the kid has atrocious taste in foods, and Steve has already purchased and paid for overnight shipping on the best prenatal vitamins that money can buy). They settle in to watch a few more episodes of The Nanny, which Bucky has decided that he loves. After that, he picks out a movie to watch, and they sit snuggled on the couch together, some of the new nesting blankets tucked around both of their shoulders.

It becomes apparent that Bucky has taken their previous discussion about physicality to heart. He’s very bold with how close he wants to be with Steve, sitting right up against him as soon as the movie starts and leaning more and more of his weight on him as time goes on. He purrs happily when Steve finally wraps an arm around his shoulders, gives him an affectionate tug against his body, and holds him close. They spend the rest of the movie that way.

By the time the credits roll, Bucky’s hand has been steadily creeping higher up Steve’s thigh for the better part of twenty minutes. They’ve snuggled the entire movie, but Bucky started touching with intent somewhere around the three-quarter mark, and Steve’s done nothing to stop him. He grunts softly when Bucky finally reaches the top of his thigh, and again when he boldly moves his hand and cups the front of his jeans. Steve’s been perked up for a while, and it feels good to finally be touched. “Buck,” he says softly.

Bucky turns into him, putting their faces close together. “Kiss me?” he murmurs, those two quiet words making his lips move in the barest, most enticing way. They look so soft.

Steve’s belly flutters with nerves in a way that it hasn’t done in a long time. Bucky’s so young and sweet, so innocent, and that really gets to Steve more than he wants to admit. He’s never had a virginity kink, but knowing that he’s the only one who’s ever made love to Bucky’s body, the only one who’s ever laid him down in soft spaces and shown him pleasure, God, it makes Steve weak to think about.

It makes him want so much, makes him want to show Bucky every single way there is in the world to feel good. Steve just wants to keep him and teach him and make him happy. And to feel all of that for someone he’s barely known is … It’s a lot. Steve knows they’re bonded, and that he should allow himself a little leeway, allow himself to indulge. Especially since Bucky’s all but in his lap now, having made his wishes crystal clear, lips hovering scant centimeters away from Steve’s own.

Steve closes the distance, pressing their mouths together in a gentle kiss. Bucky is soft, just as devastatingly sweet and soft as he looks, and Steve feels his blood run hotter at the sheer lust that courses through him. Fuck, he thinks despairingly. How is he ever going to control himself with this boy?

Bucky makes a tiny noise of pleasure as soon as they’re kissing, a sound that goes straight to Steve’s cock. He’s so eager, pressing closer, his hand between Steve’s legs molding to the shape of his erection and rubbing. Steve grunts and kisses him harder, and Bucky looses the sweetest little whimper. He abandons all pretense of restraint, turning fully into Steve, climbing into his lap and straddling him. His hands come up to cradle Steve’s face as they make out.

Steve groans at the first, hot swipe of Bucky’s tongue. He opens up to it and follows, his hands curling in hard at Bucky’s waist as they get more and more heated, more urgent. Bucky’s hips start grinding down in tight little circles, and when they break away from the kiss momentarily, Steve's slightly out of breath. “Buck,” he pants, and Bucky nods shakily in response.

“Yeah. Oh God, Steve. You feel so … I just wanna … nngh.”

Jesus, Steve thinks. It doesn’t even take a complete sentence from the boy to make heat pulse harder through his veins. He knows that part of it’s from the bond. Logically, he knows. He can feel Bucky’s arousal like an echo of his own, amplifying everything. His cock is throbbing against the seam of his jeans. Bucky’s been rocking needily against it as they kiss, and Steve can smell the omega’s arousal now, honey-sweet and tempting underneath the layers of his clothes. He’s getting wet.

It calls out to Steve’s instincts, makes him want to grab Bucky and tackle him to the floor, make him feel so good that he cries and comes apart for him within minutes. It’s not like it would be hard to do. Steve knows how an omega's body works, knows that he could have Bucky creaming on his fingers before the movie’s end credits are finished rolling. But he forces himself to hold back, because that’s not what he wants, not really. Not for Bucky’s first time in their home. Their home. Christ.

“Sweetheart,” he gasps, when Bucky switches to sucking on his neck and rubbing forwards instead of down, his clothed little cock grinding against Steve’s abs, giving off these needy little whines as he moves. Fuck, it’s sexy. And he’s got his mouth right over Steve’s glands, bringing blood to the surface of skin that’s still tender and sensitive from the recent bondmark. It’s healed by now, but the skin is still pink and thin, delicate from injury. It wouldn’t take much to get it to break all over again, and Steve feels saliva pool in his mouth as he imagines that the same must be true of Bucky’s mark. He grits his teeth and digs his fingers in hard at Bucky’s waist, trying to control himself. “Oh, Honey … okay wait. Wait wait wait.” He pulls back, panting, and after a moment Bucky does, too. His eyes open and flick over Steve’s face. He’s got such fantastic eyes. Irises that flare into a stormy cobalt, and then gray; his pupils blown huge with desire. Steve is fucking helpless under those eyes.

“Alpha,” Bucky breathes, saying it like it might as well be Steve’s name. “Can we? Please? I want it, I do. Please Steve, please take me back to our room.”

It’s such pretty begging. Steve’s hit hard in that instant by how utterly beautiful Bucky is. His dark lashes and plush lips, the wanting pinch between his brows, and the sweet, aroused, pregnant smell of him. Steve wonders how he ever thought he was going to be able to remain respectable, here. “Yeah?” he asks, pushing his hands under Bucky’s sweater to feel his skin. He digs his fingers into the soft give of his waist and feels him shudder. “You sure?”

Bucky grabs his face to kiss him forcefully, his hips jolting down again as he does. “Yes!” he laughs, kissing Steve hard, shoving his tongue inside his mouth with almost no skill. “Fuck, Steve. Come on. Pleease. You’re my Alpha, aren’t you?” He’s only asking lightheartedly, but Steve’s balls still clench and throb as if he’s been issued a challenge, and his growl still intensifies to something rich and possessive, rolling deep in his chest. Bucky makes a delighted sound at hearing it, and his scent spikes. He clings to Steve and tucks his face in his neck, humping him harder and moaning, “C’mon Alpha. Take me back there and hold me down. Make it feel better. Aren’t I your omega? Don’t you want to breed me up in our nest?”

“Fuck,” Steve says tightly. This kid’s too clever. He figures things out. “Bucky,” he growls.

“Yeah." Bucky drags his teeth over Steve’s bondmark and sucks, hard, on the glands. He releases with a 'pop' and a harshly whispered, “So make me feel good like you’re supposed to,” against the shell of Steve’s ear. And Steve breaks. He shoves up to standing with Bucky hoisted in his arms. The coffee table scrapes loudly across the floor when his shins hit it. Bucky squeaks at the sudden movement and grabs onto him, laughing delightedly. "Steve!"

Steve carries him back to the bedroom. He dumps him on the bed and Bucky scoots back and starts yanking off his clothes with haste. Steve stays standing and undresses, growling at him. “You’re a manipulative little shit, you know that?”

Bucky laughs. “If it gets me what I want," he preens, voice muffled by his tee shirt and sweater twisted halfway over his face.

Steve is naked first, and he helps Bucky by pulling off the briefs that he's trying to kick off his foot, tossing them away with a grin as he crawls over him on the bed. “And what is that, huh?” he asks, settling in the cradle of his hips, pleased when Bucky's legs part instinctively to make a place for him. Finally, their bodies finally pressed fully together, nothing between them anymore. It feels right. Bucky’s eyes are bright and joyful, his cheeks beautifully flushed as Steve settles on his forearms above him. Bucky whines and draws his knees up, humping against Steve's stomach, smearing his slick there. Steve traces the edge of one dark brow with his thumb. “Pretty boy. What do you want so bad, hm?”

“Thought that’d be obvious by now,” Bucky jokes, though some of the bravado has leached from his voice, replaced by a breathiness that betrays his nerves.

Steve glances down between them and sees Bucky’s cocklet, half hard and fattened up against his belly. And lower down, all that slick. It’s mind-bendingly hot, and Steve shoves a hand down between them, smearing through the mess and getting it all over his fingers. “So wet, Sweetheart,” he praises.

Bucky chokes out the prettiest little noise when Steve's fingers graze his soaked lips, and then wrap around his cocklet and start giving it light, coaxing strokes. “S-shit,” he whimpers, shoving up against Steve’s hand. “Ohn, sh-shit, Steve …”

“Mmhm.” Steve kisses him as he strokes, stopping frequently to pull back and watch the pleasure play out over his face. Bucky's little cock is almost fully hard in his hand. Steve looks down between their bodies to watch as he thumbs over the head again and again. He takes gentle hold of his foreskin and uses it to jerk him off right at the tip. The sight of it is enough to make him want to pop a knot. And lower down? Jesus wept, it’s pretty. Bucky’s slick is everywhere and his cunt is pink and swollen, the lips puffy and darkened from arousal. Jesus fucking Christ. Steve's overcome with the need to seal his mouth right over it.

He gets back on his knees, intending to do just that, pulling Bucky where he wants him in the sheets. He pushes Bucky’s knees apart and looks his fill. Bucky starts to whine and squirm at the close attention, but Steve hushes him and plays with his cock some more to distract him. “Shh, Honey. You’re so pretty down here.” He’s staring, can’t help but stare at the gorgeous spread of Bucky’s sex. He trails his fingers over it in the barest ghost of a touch, near reverent in how he plays with this delicate part of him. “Oh, Sweetheart. Look at you, so perfect.”

Bucky’s scent gets even more aroused, but with a growing hint of embarrassment to it that Steve doesn’t like. His nose wrinkles as he scents a twinge of humiliation, and realizes how bothered Bucky is. This isn’t going to be like at the hospital. Bucky no longer has the mental fog or the fevered drive of his heat to guide him through any of this.

Steve looks up and tries to convey what he feels for Bucky through his expression, through the bond that they share. He reaches out and cups his cheek. “What are you thinking, Sweet boy?” he asks sadly, knowingly. Because he can already see it: the self-deprecating thoughts that Bucky's having about his body, about what he’s been told all his life is wrong with it. Steve makes a miserable noise of contention, and Bucky’s lips quiver and his eyes slip closed. He’s shaking his head just the barest bit. Steve whines sadly. “Honey,”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers, squirming unhappily and pressing his cheek into Steve’s palm. His sad little smile is heart wrenching. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

For the first time, Steve wishes that he’d gone in to speak privately with Bucky’s OmCare counselor the other day, so that he could’ve asked questions. Steve’s never been with someone with issues like Bucky has, at least not any longer than a few hectic days spent fucking in a heat suite. His job involves acute care, the during. He’s never been there to deal with the after. Bucky’s so beautiful laid out before him now, but Steve is keenly aware of how fragile he is, too. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

Slowly, he moves his hand from Bucky’s face and fits it around the front of his throat instead. He presses up and in under his jaw, and watches as Bucky’s eyes shoot open again. Steve levels him with a tender look. “Buck,” he tells him gently. “I want to lay down on my stomach, here.” He nods at the bed. “Right here, between your pretty legs.” Bucky swallows thickly beneath his palm, a hurt little pinch forming between his brows. One of his hands has come up to grip onto Steve’s wrist at his throat, but he isn’t pushing him away, and Steve keeps his hand there. “I think you’re so beautiful, Sweetheart. And I want to show you. I want to make you feel good.” Carefully, he leans down over him, so close that their lips brush together. But he keeps his eyes open, and so does Bucky, and he doesn’t kiss him. He stays like that, sharing breath with him and looking right into his eyes as he holds his neck with gentle dominance. … And with his other hand, he reaches down between his legs.

Bucky’s breath catches and trips at the first touch of Steve’s fingers, his face slipping between desire and shame and a whole host of other, vulnerable emotions. “S-steve,” he breathes.

“Mmhm.” He lets the pads of his fingers stroke softly along the lips of Bucky’s cunt, again and again, up and down, just barely touching. He’s soaked. “I want you to tell me,” Steve murmurs, and then he finally does kiss him—just once, just a tiny peck on the lips. Bucky tries to kiss back, but he denies him, maintaining that scant distance between their faces and waiting until Bucky opens his eyes again. Steve smiles. “Tell me, Bucky. Tell me to put my face down between your legs. Tell me to kiss you, to lick you.”

The whine Bucky makes is as bothered as the blush that stains his cheeks. He writhes underneath Steve, and Steve tightens his hand on his neck. He fits his thumb over his bonding glands and presses firmly. “I love every part of your body Buck, and I want you to see that. I want you to see what I see.” He gives him another kiss, and this time speaks directly against Bucky’s mouth. “Now give me permission to eat you out.”

“Fuck,” Bucky whimpers, but the shame in his scent has already peaked and is dissipating. It’s still there, but Steve can feel through the bond how his words have helped. Bucky squirms under him, a new gush of slick pooling around Steve’s fingers right after. “... E-eat me out, Steve.”

“Good boy. Oh, Bucky, Sweetheart,”

“Please … your mouth, your … please.”

Steve growls, more than satisfied. He mashes his mouth down hard on Bucky’s, kissing him fiercely to let him know he’s been so, so good for him. Then he shoves himself down the bed, dragging his cock against the sheets as he goes to get some relief. Bucky’s legs spread apart and Steve coaxes him with gentle murmurs to rest them over his shoulders. “There you go. Just like that, Beautiful.” He kisses the back of one calf as it moves and Bucky settles. He flicks his eyes up to Bucky, who’s staring down at him with parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes.

“Oh, Steve. Are you gonna?”

He moves instead of answering, shoulders pushing under Bucky’s thighs and arms wrapping around, tugging him closer. Bucky squeaks and Steve rumbles in satisfaction. “Goddamn,” he curses, rolling his hips down against the mattress some more. It’s barely a relief. “Baby,” he breathes, staring at Bucky’s pink folds, so wet and delicate, his little hole clenching on nothing. “Baby, you got no idea how good this pussy looks. Fuck.”

Bucky groans at the words, but he doesn’t get much chance to protest further because in the next second Steve is diving in. He seals his mouth over most of Bucky’s entire sex, just because he can, giving a big, indulgent suck and making absolutely filthy noises in the process. He laves the flat of his tongue, wide and firm and focused, up the pink cleft of his cunt, again and again, before setting in to a few moments of truly tongue fucking him—first with tiny little jabs that barely breach him and make him whine high and needy, then a series of longer, deeper pushes, going as far into Bucky’s body as he possibly can. Bucky downright wails after a moment of that, and Steve can hear the frustration in it, can hear how he wants more but doesn’t have the words to ask. That’s alright, though. Steve has given plenty of head in his life, and he knows what male omegas respond to best. He gets himself in gear and does what he knows will have Bucky coming in minutes.

“Jesus Chr-uh—” Bucky grunts, his hips shoving up hard against Steve’s face.

Steve hums around the cocklet in his mouth and tongues the underside, flicking over and over it like he would do to a woman’s clit. He’s got one hand holding Bucky’s hip down, and he uses the other to tease at the wet entrance of his slit, pressing with the tips of two fingers. It’s so tight that, for a long second, it doesn’t feel as if he’ll be able to get in. He hums his mouth on Buck’s cock and pushes harder … and slips in.

Bucky cries out sharply and both of his hands are suddenly in Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. His legs hook over his back, heels digging in. “Fuck, oh fuck, Steve yeah… yeahyeah … that … oh, ohplease, jus’likethat.”

Steve hums happily and curls his fingers, rubbing the right spots, letting his knuckles bump Bucky’s mound while he suckles with purpose at the head of his dick. He’s determined to get at least this first orgasm out of the way before he fucks him.

Bucky’s hands pull his head and his hips shove against Steve’s face as he arches and comes, the sweet, desperate sounds he makes as he reaches his climax music to Steve’s ears. His body contracts rhythmically as he releases, a hot gush of slick between his legs and Steve’s palm. Steve groans with his cocklet still held in his mouth. He pulls off, lifting his head to gaze up Bucky’s body but leaving his fingers buried inside his cunt. Bucky’s head is tossed back in the pillows, panting, his face lax from the trailing bliss of his orgasm.

Steve smiles and strokes his fingers inside a few more times, prolonging it for him as much as he can. When Bucky inhales hugely then sighs, his entire body going boneless, Steve pulls out. He dips down for one more, indulgent taste, then kisses his way back up Bucky’s stomach, up across his chest and neck. Bucky’s waiting for him with half-lidded eyes and a sated smile when he arrives to lie over top of him again. Steve hums, settling between his legs and kissing him lightly. He rocks his hips minutely, moving his cock through all that slick. “Feel good?” he asks, bending down to nose at his neck.

Bucky shivers in his arms and nods. “Mmm. Mmhm.”

Steve’s lips find Bucky’s bondmark and kiss it. “Good,” he murmurs. He flicks his tongue out against the delicate skin of the mark, imagining how good it would feel to bite him now, to sink his teeth in all over again, feel the skin break so tenderly and the blood welling out rich with pheromones, how much the sound of Bucky’s cries would turn him on. I want to claim you again, he thinks. I want you. His chest aches with how badly he wants to say those things, but he forces himself not to.

It’s not his place to scar Bucky up any worse than he already has, not when they aren’t mates. Bucky’s with him until the baby comes, maybe not long after. Steve has to let him have that choice, he can't be selfish and box him in, no matter how badly his instincts might make him want to. He rubs his lips over the bondmark instead, then just his nose, when the urge to bite won’t go away.

Beneath him, Bucky’s hips cant up further, receptive. His knees notch up higher about Steve’s waist. But after a moment of lazy writhing and making little seeking, wanting mewls, he freezes. “Oh. Um … Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve is rubbing his cock through the wet cleft of his sex, ready to be inside his omega, ready to feel that heaven again. He wedges a hand down to line himself up. “You ready, Honey?”

“Wait, no.” Steve pulls back, and Bucky winces in apology. “Ah, maybe I have to pee. Sorry.”

Steve laughs, relieved, and kisses him quickly. He rolls off of him and onto his back. “Don’t apologize. It happens.” He pats him on the hip affectionately and tells him to go. Bucky does, and Steve watches his naked backside as it disappears into the ensuite. He sighs heavily once he’s alone, scrubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes and resisting the urge to touch himself in Bucky’s absence. God, he’d really wanted to bite him again. That’s going to be a problem. He hears the toilet flush, then water running at the sink, then Bucky’s footsteps as he returns. Steve uncovers his face and smiles as Bucky climbs back on the bed. “Better?”

“Mmhm.”

Bucky's a typical omega, in that he responds very well to his orgasms. He’s loose and happy after his first, all the tension and insecurities from before gone for the moment. Steve knows his brain has just dumped a shit-ton of chemicals to tell him that he’s loved and safe and beautiful and cared for. He moves to pull him in close again, intending to get right back between his spread legs like he’d been before, but Bucky stops him with another hesitant,

“Wait.”

Steve pauses, and when Bucky pushes against his shoulder he takes the hint and returns to lying on his back, probably with a quizzical expression on his face. Bucky’s kneeling on the bedcovers beside him, looking shy but eager. Steve’s knot throbs at that look. “Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes rove over his body with interest plain on his face. At his sides, his hands make an aborted gesture towards Steve. “Um. I wanted to try …” He bites his lip, eyes trailing down to Steve’s erection where it lies wet and heavy against his belly, the shine of Bucky’s slick on it catching the room’s light. Bucky visibly trembles and reaches out with his hand again. This time, his fingers brush over the skin of Steve’s hip. He shifts in place on his knees. “Can I …”

“Yes,” Steve breathes, instantly harder just at the thought of Bucky touching him in that way—with his hands, his mouth, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is that Bucky wants, Steve wants him to have it. The idea of his omega wanting him like this, wanting to explore his body, makes Steve hotter than anything he can imagine. “Anything you want,” he manages to croak out, forcing himself to remain still and let Bucky set the pace. “Go ahead.”

Bucky’s timid for another moment, leaning forward. His hands land lightly on Steve’s chest at first, then drag down, feeling his body. He takes a deep breath and seems to decide on something, his expression growing resolute. He straddles Steve’s thighs and leans forward to touch his chest again, taking more time to explore his pecs, ghost fingers over his nipples. It’s endearing how fascinated he still is. Steve supposes that they didn’t do much of this in the heat suite. Bucky had been too far into his cycle then, too needy and traumatized to even contemplate exploring Steve’s body when what he really needed was an alpha taking care of him. Now though, now he can explore. And the heat in his eyes as they rove Steve’s body shows that he very much wants to.

Steve swallows thickly and watches as his omega becomes familiar with him in this new way. His hands flow over Steve’s abs, fingertips tracing the lines of muscle, and then the hair that starts on his belly. He smooths his hands down over those flat planes, out to his hips, to the tops of his thighs and back up. But his eyes remain glued to Steve’s cock the entire time. It’s fully hard now, darkened in color from his arousal and the knot plumped at the base. Bucky’s eyes flick up once, just to check, and Steve gives him a shaky smile. “Go ahead, Sweetheart.”

Bucky touches his cock, wrapping his hand around the shaft like he’s afraid he’ll hurt Steve. “What should I do?” he whispers, fingers tightening the barest fraction and giving a cautious stroke. “I’ve never …”

Steve’s hips jerk up and he fights to keep himself still. “It’s okay,” he says. “You touch yourself, right? Just do that. It’s the same.”

Bucky’s eyes flick up, and Steve’s surprised to see humor there. Bucky twists his lips wryly. “It’s not the same,” he teases, looking back down pointedly at Steve’s humongous cock, and then his.

Steve chuckles. “Well, general idea.” He reaches down and puts his hand over Bucky’s hand where it’s holding his cock. Bucky inhales sharply and looks at him. Steve nods. “Anything you do is gonna feel so good for me, Buck,” he tells him honestly. “Go ahead. I just want to watch you have fun.” Bucky looks shocked at that for the barest of seconds, but then that look slips away, replaced by eagerness. He looks back down, licks his lips, and starts jerking Steve off in slow, exploring strokes. Steve groans and lets his head flop back into the pillow, closing his eyes after a moment. Bucky’s other hand appears at the top of his thigh. It slides inwards, squeezing the muscle, and Steve groans and spreads his legs a little for him, flexing his pelvis up. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bucky.” Bucky’s touches grow bolder. He squeezes Steve’s cock harder and starts twisting his hand experimentally on the upstroke. His other hand migrates from Steve’s thigh to his balls, eliciting a grunt from Steve. “Oh,” he breathes, wanting Bucky to hear it in his voice, how good it is. “Honey, yeah. That’s just right.”

Bucky rolls his balls in his palm lightly, and when Steve tells him that he can tug on them a little, he obeys. “Touch my knot,” Steve whispers, when he can feel it swelling further. He moans unexpectedly loudly when Bucky’s hand closes around it though, and he’s opening his eyes and reaching down to grab Bucky’s wrists in alarm. “Nope, nope nope. No more of that,” he pants, wide-eyed.

Bucky laughs, looking proud. “Why not?”

Steve growls and tugs on Bucky's waist, making him fall down on top of him. “You know why not,” he rumbles, then kisses him firmly on the mouth.

It’s possessive, and Bucky moans into it, his hands curling over Steve’s shoulders and hips grinding down against his abs. They part from the kiss and Bucky sits up, his eyes sparkling. “I liked it though,” he says. He rocks down at a different angle, rubbing his cunt on Steve's belly and smearing his slick all over the place. He giggles when Steve groans and grabs his hips to stop him. “What if that’s what I wanted?” he asks. “What if I want to make you cum with my hands? Or my mouth?”

“Fuck.”

“I want to see it,” he says, eyes hot on Steve and his hips rocking lewdly against him. “One day. I wanna see it happen. In my hands. I want to hold it and see it get big.”

Steve really, really has to close his eyes for a second with that one. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt. Because he simply cannot with Bucky and his virginal little attempts at dirty talk right now. “You better watch your mouth,” he warns, his voice sounding like he’s swallowed rocks. “Or you will see it.” Bucky’s grin is magnificent, but Steve raises an eyebrow and reminds him, “Alphas only cum once, Sweetheart. Up to you to decide where my knot is, when that happens.”

It’s adorable, how fast Bucky’s eyes widen at that, and then how he frowns and pouts about not getting to have his cake and eat it, too. Steve waits him out patiently, grateful to have a few seconds’ reprieve (and also fairly certain that he knows which way Bucky’s going to steer things).

“Fine,” Bucky eventually says, sighing dramatically as if he’s making the world’s most difficult choice. Steve grins and digs his fingers firmly into the fleshiness of his hips, preparing to flip them back over. But Bucky grunts in protest, and then he puts his hands on Steve's chest and shoves him back down to the bed with an adorable little omega growl. Steve feels his surge of confidence and playful dominance through the bond, and he grins up at him, understanding what he wants. “Yeah?”

Bucky pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites it, a little bit of self-consciousness slipping back in, even as he nods. “Uh huh. Can I?”

Steve groans. He sits up and yanks Bucky against him, one hand threaded into his hair just so he can kiss him, hard, one single time. He falls back down to the bed. “Of course you can,” he tells him, grabbing his hips again and kneading his fingers in. “Go on.”

His enthusiastic response seems to wipe away any remaining traces of Bucky’s doubt. The boy's scent is pure again, unpolluted by shame or uncertainty, and he licks his lips and focuses intently on kneeling up, reaching around behind himself for Steve’s cock, and lining it up with his entrance.

Steve helps him along, holding his dick steady at the base so that Bucky can focus on relaxing and taking him inside his body. “Hey,” he whispers, getting Bucky’s attention back on him. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” Bucky flushes and exhales shakily at the command. He nods, eyes fixed on Steve’s face even as he lowers himself down and they touch. Steve’s cockhead presses, breaches Bucky’s body, and he sees Bucky’s lips part and his brow pinch.

"Oh."

“Just like that,” Steve soothes, petting his flank with one hand, guiding his hip down with the other. Bucky groans quietly as he sinks down and bottoms out, and Steve rewards him with a deep rumble of approval. “Thaat’s it, Honey. Oh, good boy.”

Bucky mewls and falls forward, bracing both hands on Steve’s chest. His eyes are clamped shut tightly and he starts moving, rocking forwards and back, hard and fast. But Steve only lets him have a moment of that frantic grinding before he’s shushing him and coaxing him to sit back, slow down, and open his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, stroking up to his waist and back down in praise. He tugs and pulls his hips, guiding him into the right motions. “Slow and easy. That’s right. Keep those pretty eyes open so Alpha can see, yeah?” Bucky nods, his pleasure-pained face and desperation for Steve's guidance just about the sweetest, most erotic thing Steve’s ever seen. He nods along encouragingly with Bucky. “Good boy. That's it. Look right at me while you make us feel so good.”

Bucky does, sitting back the way that Steve’s positioned him and learning to roll his hips in that slow, luxurious grind that feels absolutely exquisite. He’s able to keep at it that way for a long while, too, before his breathing eventually starts to pick up, getting heavier and faster, his face and chest gorgeously flushed. The wet sounds of all his slick are more intense, and Steve can tell from the scent of him, from the feeling of his cunt tightening and rippling around his dick, that he’s close to his second orgasm. Steve clenches his jaw and digs his heels into the sheets so he can fuck up against Bucky's grinding. He can feel his knot pulsing, about to swell. “Baby,” he grits out. “M’close.”

“Steve.”

“I’m gonna knot you,” he gasps. “Buck, oh, I’m gonna.”

It’s the first time he’s ever not asked it as a question, but he doesn’t have to worry about consent, because Bucky makes it immediately clear that Steve’s knot is exactly what he wants. “Fuck yeah,” he whines, face crumpling and both of his hands shooting forward to brace on Steve’s chest again. He grinds harder, faster, more desperately like he’d done in the beginning, and this time Steve lets him. He curses and wraps his arms around Bucky’s back when the boy collapses onto him. His knot pops, and Bucky wails and comes.

Steve shouts as he starts to come, too, his balls pulling up tight and his focus narrowing down to nothing but the point where their bodies are joined. God, it feels so good, so good, sofuckinggood. His hips rut mindlessly against their tie and he clutches onto Bucky, muffling his moans in the omega’s neck. He gasps and has to force his mouth away from Bucky’s bonding glands at the last second, when he realizes what he’s aiming for. He pants into the top of his shoulder instead as he comes. He loses track of space and time for that first, excruciating minute of his orgasm, and then flows back into himself for the heavenly three or four minutes of languorous pleasure that follow.

Meanwhile, Bucky pants and grinds himself out to at least one more climax, then collapses on Steve’s chest in sweaty exhaustion. "Oh. Oh, god."

Steve moans and wraps his arms fully around Bucky's waist, hugging their bodies tightly together while his balls keep emptying. "Hmmm," he sighs blissfully, eyes closed and nose buried in Bucky's hair. "'Mega."

Bucky whimpers a little and squirms on his knot, repeating his name in a tired, whispered slur, again and again, right against Steve’s left pec: “Steve, Ssteve … mmm, Ssteeve.”

Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head and hums some more. He thinks he mumbles something in the general vicinity of, “Luv you,” before he drifts off to sleep, his cock still buried deep and his omega’s adoring, sated whispers still ringing in his ears.

Art: @hopelessartgeek

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[3-2-whump]

Relapse: Crumbling Promises

<prev next>

Please heed the TW/CWs on this chapter. Also, thanks @generic-whumperz and @whumped-by-glitter for your input into the ending of this chapter, your feedback has been applied

TW/CW: dubcon (lots of dubcon), allusions to previous dubcon, prostitution, slave whump, degrading language, degraded whumpee (in that whumpee has to haggle their own value -idk what that’s called, but it’s pretty degrading), intimate whumper, possessive whumper, asphyxiation, emotional whump, unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive relationship dynamics, whumper x whumpee (although pretty unbalanced)

The frenetic stimulation of his cock and the wild fragility in Khaled’s eyes continued to haunt the mob boss long after their reunion of the flesh in the parking lot a month ago. He thought about it from when he couldn’t sleep at night to the first waking moments of consciousness in the morning. He thought about it in the shower, at the gym, during meetings, and in the middle of intercourse at the brothels. It was just as Khaled had said; those girls (and occasional boys) in the whorehouses could only satisfy him for so long, and he believed he had finally run his course after his fourth threesome in a month. Now here he sat, in his desk chair, trying to compose an email he’d rather not send, with his mind far away from the zoom conference he was supposed to be a part of.

He looked over his shoulder at Khaled, who had broken away from his usual positon right behind his chair to water the potted fig tree by the window. Nothing in his composure betrayed his lapse in decorum on that fateful night, though he was moving a lot slower than usual, and his eye-bags seemed darker than his foundation could cover up. Tom studied him closely, noting Khaled had been like this for months now. Was he still sneaking out at night to see that damn cholo? He’d been meaning to do something about his slave’s newfound promiscuity, but something more important always came up, and ever since their near-death experiences, Thomas had been trying to turn over a new leaf and give Khaled a longer leash, metaphorically speaking. Although, if the boy kept dragging his feet, he might tie him onto a literal leash, too.

Some static-y goodbyes and well-wishings sounded from his monitor, signaling the end of the conference call. Tom cleared his throat and jumped in with his own farewells. “Yes, you too, happy holidays, buon natale –yeah, yeah, I’ll see you next year, Matteo. You too, Gio, happy new year! Okay, okay, bye!” He exited out of the call, minimized the screen, and swiveled his desk chair to face the young man by the windowsill. “Khaled, come here,” he called.

As soon as Khaled was within reaching distance, the boss grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his lap, trapping him between the hard edge of the desk at his back and his own body in the front.

“What are you doing?” Khaled neither squirmed or struggled in his grasp, instead opting to stare at him quizzically. “Let me off, I don’t want this-”

“Like you didn’t want it in the parking lot on the night of your birthday last month?” He grinned in triumph as his slave’s face blushed bright red from the tops of his ears down to the black band of his collar. “You do,” Tom whispered, voice low and sultry. “You want this, and you need this, Khaled.” He ran his hands from the young man’s waist up his sides, slightly untucking his shirt in the process. “I’ve seen you work yourself to the bone trying to be my executive assistant. Isn’t it exhausting, working so hard?” Khaled sat as still as a statue as his fingers raked over the front of his body. “Isn’t it tiresome, doing what free people do?” He snaked his hands down Khaled’s sides to dip under his shirt hem, feeling a familiar rush of heat below as he touched the warm skin underneath. “Don’t you just want to relax?”

The way Khaled’s body responded under his hands as he laid him over the desk was nothing like any of the whores the brothels could give him. Here, splayed back-first onto the hardwood, was his own personal fuck hole, who pleasured him exactly how he wanted. “But, this isn’t- I don’t want this,” his slave protested, lightly pushing back, “and this isn’t even what I’m being paid to do anyway-”

“Well, if it’s pay you’re after, I can pay you for this,” he snickered. “It’s called prostitution, Khaled, and if that’s how you want to earn your money, I certainly won’t get in your way.”

“But I don’t want this!”

“Not even for $100?”

Khaled’s mouth snapped shut. Thomas laughed.

“$500.” Thomas stopped laughing.

Khaled stuck his lower lip out and shot him the most pathetic pout he could give. “Am I, your own personal fuck slave, not even worth what you pay your high-class call girls?”

He scoffed incredulously. So, that’s how it’s gonna be? Alright then! “$200,” he countered, “you’re out of practice, and a little too assertive for my tastes lately.”

In an unprecedented turn of events, Khaled wrapped his legs around Thomas’ lower back and pulled him in closer by the front of his shirt. “$450,” he whispered, his soft, sweet lips mere inches from his own. “I’m not as out of practice as you may think, and I can be as meek as a lamb when I need to be.”

The mob boss did not expect this to turn him on as much as it did, and yet the ignition of arousal in his core and the hardening member in his slacks spoke for themselves. He emitted something akin to a purr or a growl. “$250,” he murmured sultrily, “take it or leave it, boy.”

“$300, and I’ll do that thing with your balls that you like.”

“You’ve got a deal!” He leaned in to kiss Khaled’s lips, pinning him further onto the desk as he unfastened the belt and pants around Khaled’s waist and peeled them off. He smiled into the kiss as Khaled yielded to him, opening his mouth so the older man could penetrate his mouth with his tongue and claim every inch inside him. He reluctantly broke off from the kiss to undo his own belt and pants. Once he had gotten himself out, he noted with satisfaction that Khaled’s knees were already hitched up to his shoulders, displaying that perfect set of three and that lovely little hole, all for Thomas J Costa. “And a merry fucking Christmas to me!” he murmured, completely satisfied. He opened the top drawer of his desk, where hiding among the paperclips and stapler refills was an innocuous little bottle of lubricant, with just enough fluid to get them through this session. “I never thought you’d be such a whore,” he teased. “Where is your self-respect?”

“Just hurry up, please,” Khaled whined, cheeks flaming red in –arousal? Shame? Not like Thomas could tell, or care.

“Oh no, whore, I’m gonna make you work for your $300 and ensure you earn every cent!”

He emptied what was left of the lube onto his hardened shaft and threw the bottle away. He gave himself a few quick pumps to spread the slippery substance from base to tip, then aligned himself between Khaled’s spread legs, pushing in without any sort of prelude or preparation. The boy groaned at the sudden intrusion. His nails bit into the wood of the desk as Thomas bottomed out inside of his tight little hole. “Oh my god, how do you still feel like you’re a virgin down there?” he grunted. He began to thrust his hips, slowly at first, then building up a nice rhythm as the lithe body underneath him slowly relaxed and opened for him. “There, that’s it,” he murmured as he leaned over Khaled. “You know how this works…” He nuzzled into the crook of Khaled’s neck, murmuring against the curve of the boy’s neck and shoulder. “Your body knows exactly what to do...” God, even the smell of Khaled’s skin was enough to stoke his arousal into a full inferno. The boss kissed hungrily against Khaled’s neck, breathing in the boy’s scent like it was air and he’d been holding his breath. The whimpers he got out of the boy as he began to use his teeth were some of the best noises he’d ever heard him make. Why on earth would he, Thomas Costa, want to give this up? Why did he ever think he could go one more day in his life without being inside this amazing little being? He sucked what he hoped would be a nice, dark hickey right over the strip of black ink across Khaled’s throat. A collar is not complete without its gemstones, right? he thought. He tongued the tattooed line thoughtfully. He licked at it as if he was trying to wipe it away with his tongue, even though he knew he couldn’t. Those permanent black bands were just another part of Khaled’s near-infinite sex appeal.

“You’re mine forever,” he whispered, lips brushing against that graceful neck with every word. “Doesn’t matter if you’re free one day, because you will always be mine.” And honestly, why would he ever have thought of freeing Khaled, when the boy made him feel this good?

“Please…” Khaled whined beneath him.

He pushed up from the crook of Khaled’s neck, placing the palms of his hands on the desk as he propped himself up. “Please what, my little slut?” he teased. “Please go faster?” Khaled screamed and moaned as Thomas picked up an enthusiastic pace inside of him. He pressed the boy between the hard desk and the weight of his heavier body as he pistoned in and out of his ass with only his own pleasure on his mind.

“What is it you want?” Khaled stared up at him, his dark brown eyes shimmering like pools of liquid ink. “Please what?” he panted huskily. “Please choke me?”

Dark brown eyes widened and his lips formed the beginnings of the word ‘no’ before Thomas wrapped both hands around Khaled’s slender neck. Instinctively, Khaled released his grip on the desk to futilely scratch and tug at his hands as he increased the pressure on his neck. Thomas released one of his hands just to slap him across the face. “Hands on the table,” he growled. A squeaky wheeze left Khaled’s lips as he still tried to pull the remaining hand away from his throat. Thomas slapped him again as he held the boy’s neck in a crushing grip. “Now!”

Khaled dropped his hands to his sides. His tears flowed over his reddening cheeks. His pulse quickened under Tom’s fingers as his trembling lips formed breathy words. “Please… please… no more… I’ve been… good... please…” he whispered hoarsely. His fingers clawed at the desk, carving long furrows into its surface as he struggled to dutifully keep his hands on it. “Mas…ter… please…” he begged.

I have your literal life in my hands, he thought, smiling down with a sadistic awe. No escorts of any economic bracket would ever let the man take it this far. Nothing could ever come close to this feeling of absolute power and control, and only his slave could make him feel this powerful. Only you, Khaled, only you, he repeated in his head as he fucked his way to climax. As Thomas emptied his balls inside Khaled’s hole, he knew he would never feel this way with anybody else. What was this feeling exactly?  he wondered, finally letting go of the boy’s bruised neck. He stayed sheathed inside of Khaled’s warm, tight hole, listening to nothing but Khaled’s desperate breaths for air over the sound of his own heavy breathing. It isn’t possessiveness, it isn’t just lust. He pulled his softening length out of the boy’s fluttering hole, watching his own seed seep out with fascination and pride. So, what was that feeling, where you know nobody else can make you feel this way, and you wouldn’t want anybody else to, anyway?

Khaled turned over, leaning over the desk by bracing himself on his hands as he coughed and sputtered. Once the hacking and coughing sounds had subsided, and Khaled was nothing more than a trembling body barely keeping itself propped up against the desk, Thomas gently turned him around to face him. “You good?” he asked.

Khaled nodded. He had crushed the boy’s throat, making it difficult for him to respond in any verbal capacity. His reddened eyes blinked up at him, shining anxiously under their tear-dampened eyelashes. “Alright, down you go,” he replied softly. He pushed Khaled down to his knees, putting him face-to-face with the cock that had just been inside him. “Clean me off, and don’t forget my balls,” he ordered, murmuring a quiet “you know what I like,” at the end. He brushed a hand through Khaled’s disheveled hair, thinking about what to call that feeling he held for his dear slave. He tipped his head back and groaned as Khaled’s skilled little tongue set to work.

If it isn’t possessiveness, and it isn’t lust, his thoughts began, before he lost himself in the sensation of Khaled’s mouth.

Is it…love?

“Why didn’t you love me?!” Khaled screamed in the parking lot that night.

Love. That was a sensitive subject for Thomas. What was love, even? Between his long-absent stepfather, his sperm donor of a biological father, his neglectful mother who pissed away her inheritance into casinos, and his hard-ass grandfather who demanded nothing but perfection as he pitted brother against brother, the man was painfully aware of the lack of love in his and his brother’s childhoods. The closest thing they had to a loving adult in their formative years was Val, the nanny, but she left them too, once they were old enough.

It was no wonder his honest attempts at dating had failed so spectacularly. It culminated in self-sabotaging his wedding with Lenore on the day of, making sure that she could never break his heart like everyone else by leaving him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It was not.

The pleasurable oral sensations had stopped down there, and Khaled now stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Satisfied?” he croaked. His voice was wrecked. He looked angelic.

“Yes.” Always. Forever.

Whoever said ‘if you love them, let them go’ obviously didn’t understand the pain of watching those loved ones abandon you one by one. Yet here, at Thomas’ feet, was someone who made him feel like the luckiest, most powerful man alive, who outshone everyone else as he pleasured him like no one else could, and who –if he reneged on their deal– would never leave him.

I love you, Khaled, he said in his mind, even if he wasn’t ready to say it aloud.

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