Summary: a vacation gone wrong quickly leaves you in the clutches of a harpy that’s convinced you’re in desperate need of its attention. And now, its introducing you to its mate formally!
Masterlist here.
Part 1 here.
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The creature was excited. It was humming something, practically vibrating with unfiltered eagerness as it curled around you in the nest you were trapped in. You weren't sure why, but it seemed like it was.. waiting for something. You tried to make yourself as small as possible despite the harpy trying to constantly preen you. It had been running its claws through your hair for what felt like hours, as if trying to make you look presentable for something, and you were starting to get annoyed. Sure, it was being gentle, but after being constantly touched, the sensation was just irritating.
You've settled into a strange routine with the creature. After sleeping wrapped up in the bird's wings, you wake up slowly in the morning to the sound of the jungle. Every time you heard a distant bird-like screech, it made you wonder if there were more creatures like the one holding you captive.
While you spent the rest of the day bound to the nest, the creature left fairly early in the morning, pressing a kiss to your cheek with a croon before flying out of the cave to find food. You remembered the disgust you felt when it first came back with food and tried to feed it to you using its mouth. It almost seemed hurt when you refused to eat from it, but luckily it hadn't tried to do that since.
You haven't tried to run away yet. Couldn't with your leg still healing. The creature had realized as soon as it placed you in its cave that your leg had been broken, and luckily it seemed to have handled it better than you, wrapping it carefully in huge leaves, securing it with firm vines, and using sticks to create structure for the DIY cast.
But, in all honesty, even if your leg wasn't injured, you weren't sure if you would've been able to run away. The nest was located in a very secure place, and without wings you would have to climb down a mountain with no safety gear. And a harpy hunting you down. That seemed like a recipe for failure.
But that was a problem for future you, right now you had to worry about what had caused the creature to break the fragile routine between the two of you. It normally only returned around noon, but today it didn't even bother leaving the nest this morning, giving it ample time to coddle you in affection.
The answer to your question came in the sound of a sudden gust of air at the entrance. The creature perked up and, with a happy chirp, picked you up and settled you on its lap, mindful to not jostle your leg.
That's when you saw it. Standing in the entrance, an even larger version of the creature stood. Unlike the pitch black feathers of the harpy you were currently in the lap of, this one had feathers that were colourful, reminding you of a parrot.
You tensed up as it approached silently, intense gaze locked onto you. You expected the black harpy to protest, given how territorial it seemed, as the strange harpy approached the nest, but it simply let out inviting chirps.
With a whimper, you pressed your face as much as you could into the black harpy's feathered chest, trying to avoid the sharp claws of the colouful harpy. The colourful harpy didn't seem to like that much, letting out what seemed to be a chiding huff, but it didn't force you to turn your face back.
Now fully settled into the nest, it seemed to turn its attention to the black harpy, leaning forward and pressing its forehead against the other harpy's forehead. The sound of purring magnified and you were shifted to sit between the two as they embraced each other like… well, like lovers?
The colourful harpy looked down at you with a less feral look than previously, rumbling out the word, "Cir'es."
You blinked. Huh?? "Cires?" you repeated, tilting your head to the side. Was that a name of something?
Cir'es shook their head, patiently repeating the word, emphasizing the vocal click as part of the name until you pronounced it correctly.
You had no idea what just happened, but the black harpy looked absolutely thrilled, nuzzling into you before saying its own name, Ary'nos.
Once again, you repeated it until you pronounced it right, and when you did you were smoothly arranged back into a lying position. Only this time you were smothered between two feathered chests instead of one.
… Why did this remind you of an adoption ceremony?
Your stomach rumbled, drawing you out of your befuddlement. Berries were pressed to your mouth and you let them be hand-fed to you.
It seemed like your introduction was a success.
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A/N: oh my gosh, I had to give them names ASAP, it was getting so annoying constantly referring to them by the colour of their feathers. Side-note: both of the harpies are male, you just don't know bird gender yet
Thinking about being the oldest in a neglectful family!
You're constantly treated as the scapegoat for anything.
Oh you're sister got a bad score? Well it was you're fault because you didn't properly study with her.
Oh you're brother snuck out? Well it's you're fault for not noticing!
You're constantly blamed for everything while you're siblings are always met with praises and treats.
You're expected to be a good example, have all A's and be perfect in everything, whil you're siblings well they can do whatever they want.
This leads to constant breakdowns, lowered self esteem and even some mental issues.
But no matter what they never notice you're expected to be mature and to handle it all. But it becomes to much.
So one day after you're graduation that you're parents clearly missed in favor of going to you're brothers soccer event, you decide to pack up and leave.
No use being around a family that doesn't want you and only expects so much from you that you never got to be a kid!
So you move out of the city into the next one over and start out fresh, it's nice you're going to community college and going to therapy and are finally being able to be yourself without the constant pressure and expectations of being perfect.
You can just be you and that's app you could've asked for.
Until you got a call.
It was from you're mother, you honestly didn't expect her to ever contact you, she hasn't in the past months so what changed?
When you picked up the phone she sounded different..
She kept bombarding you with questions like where you are who you are with and if you're safe, weird.
She never usually asked if you were safe the times she did need you want to help with you're siblings that's it.
So what changed?
Authors note: enjoy this little drabble this is kinda a vent post since I've personally suffered with being the oldest.
Hello!! I haven't had the energy to make one of my usual writings, so please take this! Feedback is greatly appreciated <3 (,,,even if I'm way behind on asks, so sorry,,,)
CW: Platonic/parental yanderes, emotional manipulation, drugging, kidnapping, non-graphic physical violence, infantilization, grief, brief mentions of self-harm/self-destruction, abuse of power
Let me know if there are any more content warnings I should add!
Lavender is your therapist.
SYMBOLISM: Calmness, devotion, purity
He seems very kind and soft-spoken. Never does he make you feel judged or unsafe. In fact, just being around him makes you feel calm. If you tell him this, he'll be absolutely over the moon.
Over the start of your sessions, he feels a bit protective over you, more than with any of his other clients, but it isn't that big of a deal. It unravels slowly.
He starts noticing how he feels anything but calm during your sessions, unlike how he normally feels.
Someone wronged you in some way? He's livid. You might notice him gripping his journal tight, or even a shift in his expression.
You confess your insecurities? The rest of the session is filled with him giving you compliments and saying how proud he is of you.
You talk of your parents, in a positive or negative way? It doesn't matter. They aren't your parents, he is.
He doesn't say that part aloud, though. He's not exactly self-aware, but he can read other people well. He knows you don't view him that way. While he understands why you don't, it still hurts him... it hurts him so much.
You notice he asks about things you don't remember ever telling him about.
"How's your dog doing? Is the poor thing still sick?"
"You should really limit your social media intake... the amount you typically spend on it isn't good for your mental health."
"That fight with your friend... how are you holding up? Have they apologized yet?"
Lavender extends your sessions, little by little. He never cuts a conversation short when your time is almost up. Half of the time, it's you who notices you've stayed longer than you usually do.
He makes you feel as if everyone is the issue but you, whether that's true or not. His goal isn't really to build up your self-worth and confidence unless it's particularly low; it's more to isolate you and make you paranoid about others' intentions.
"It's just... they seem very manipulative. Do they normally act like that towards you?"
"I'm not saying you should cut ties with them, but I do think you should take a break. They seem to stress you out an awful lot."
"Are you really happy? You know you deserve better, right?"
For a while, it continues like this. The cycle only breaks when you either mention you'd like to quit sessions soon, or if you feel as if you're a danger to yourself.
He panics. He can't have you leave. Not now, not ever. He can't bear the thought of you being hurt, by yourself or by someone else.
And so, he fixes you some tea on your next session. He tells you he's worried about your stress levels and that it should help you relax.
When you feel yourself beginning to pass out, he doesn't even pretend to act concerned about the situation. He just calmly sips on his own glass of tea and watches you slump against the couch.
When you wake up, you're in a basement. It's a nice basement, it isn't dirty or too cold or too hot. But the walls are lined with cushions and soft blankets, the door is locked from the outside, and all the furniture is bolted to the floor. The only window is far too high for you to reach.
"Shh, shh, it's okay," he's right there, right when you wake. He brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face. "It's okay, you're safe. I saved you."
It's something he truly believes.
The world out there is cruel and dangerous and he's doing what any good parent would. The world hurt you. So he took you away from it. You'll see. One day you'll thank him. Even if he feels guilty for your tears and panic, he views it all necessary.
He conditions you. Every single day, he asks you questions as if you're doing your normal session, but the questions are now aimed at a specific goal.
"Tell me one thing about the outside world that hurt you."
"Tell me one thing I do that makes you happy."
And each correct answer—each instance of you speaking about the world as a bad place and him as a savior—is rewarded with a favorite meal, a new book, a movie, a soft new blanket. You can ask for anything you want, so long as it can be brought down here.
Even though he doesn't hide his sadness when you curse him out and insist he isn't your papa, he's patient.
He's willing to wait as long as it takes.
When you finally start coming around, he's overjoyed. He'll tell you he thinks it's finally time for you to come upstairs and get acquainted with your new room, that he believes you won't run away anymore.
After that, you have a surprising amount of freedom.
Sure, you can't leave the house, but the house is huge. It's filled with things you like, things he learned about you during your sessions. You're almost never left alone, but if you absolutely must be, all doors and windows are locked and deadbolted.
Snapdragon is your coworker.
SYMBOLISM: Deception, presumption, graciousness, warding off evil (or in this case, "bad influences")
He's a bit of a gossip. He knows everything about everyone. He's charismatic and funny and always seems to know exactly what to say to get on someone's good side. He has a way of making people feel special and understood.
He takes an immediate shine to you. He seeks you out during lunch breaks, sits at your desk during downtime, and always finds a way to make you laugh.
Everyone seems to either love him or feel anxious around him.
You notice how he happens to coincidentally be wherever you are. If you're grabbing a coffee, he's there. If you're heading out for lunch, he's already on his way and asks to join. If you step outside to take a call, he's leaning against the wall nearby, smoking a cigarette.
At work, he covers for your mistakes, takes the blame for things that are partially your fault, and generally makes your life easier.
He learns everything about you. He "overhears" your conversations, sees things on your desk, notices your routines. He likes getting you gifts, pretending its no big deal to him, but inside he is crying from happiness when you act happy and appreciative.
Then, he starts pointing out flaws in others. Not in a malicious way, but in a concerned kind of way.
"Did you see the way Aster looked at you when you presented that idea? She's obviously jealous, kiddo. Watch out for her."
"Sorrel from accounting? He's a creep. I saw him looking at your social media profile. Don't worry, I took care of it."
"I wouldn't trust your friend Snowdrop. They just seem... off to me. Like they're taking advantage of your kindness."
He begins to create small, manageable problems for you that he can then swoop in and solve. He'll "accidentally" delete a file you were working on, only to have it recovered from a backup he conveniently made. He'll "forget" to pass on a message, causing you to miss a meeting, but he'll smooth it over with your boss for you.
He is your savior, your protector against the petty dramas and backstabbing coworkers of your office. He's the only one who truly has your back.
When you finally start to believe it, when you start turning to him first for everything, when you cancel plans with friends to hang out with him instead, that's when he decides you're ready.
The "accidents" outside of work begin.
Your car won't start, but oh, look, Snapdragon was just passing by and can give you a ride. A "stranger" tries to grab your bag, but Snapdragon is there to scare them off. You come home to find your window broken, but he's already there, having "just been in the neighborhood," and is boarding it up for you.
Each incident makes you more and more dependent on him. You stop going out without him. You stop talking to your other friends, who seem to cause nothing but trouble.
You let him move in "just for a little while" after your place gets broken into a second, more serious, time.
You live with him now. He makes all your meals. He drives you to and from work. He chooses your clothes, your food, your entertainment. He has removed all "bad" influences from your life.
He tells you it's for your own good. He tells you that the world is a dark, scary place, but with him, you're safe. He tells you he loves you more than anyone else ever could.
Sometimes he jokes about how he's like a dad to you, just so he can gauge your reaction. When you don't flinch or correct him anymore, he knows he's won.
You're so much happier now, aren't you? You don't have to worry about anything anymore. Just let him handle it. Just let him take care of you.
She's old money. She's powerful, respected, and a little bit intimidating. Her office is on the top floor, with a view of the entire city.
She takes a special interest in you from the moment you're hired. She sees your potential. She wants to nurture it.
She starts by mentoring you, taking you under her wing. She invites you to galas and charity events, introducing you to influential people. She buys you expensive gifts.
"Just a little something," she says, as she hands you a diamond necklace or a vintage watch.
She criticizes everyone in your life, even your own family, in the most polite, backhanded way.
"That friend of yours... what's their name? Ah, yes. They're a bit... common for you, don't you think? You deserve better company."
"That man was your brother? My, my. He does seem to have a... rather unfortunate temper. I hope he's not like that with you."
She's especially passive-aggressive to your parents, if she ever meets them, especially if it's your mother or mother-figure. She can't stand the thought of there being another mother-figure in your life who holds any sort of sway over you.
She wants to be the only one.
She doesn't want to be your mother. As far as she's concerned, she is your mother. The biological one is an obstacle to be removed.
Slowly, she starts to manage your life. She'll "suggest" you break up with a partner she disapproves of. She'll "advise" you to cut ties with a friend she finds "unsuitable."
Her advice is always sound, always in your best interest.
One day, you come into work, and you find out you've been promoted. Shortly after you find this out, she says you should move into her penthouse to be closer to work and save money.
You protest, of course. But she's very, very persuasive. She points out all the flaws in your apartment, your neighborhood, your commute. She makes your old life sound squalid and chaotic.
And she does. Your new life is one of luxury and comfort. But it's also a gilded cage. She controls your finances, your social life, your career path. She has you quit your job to work as her personal assistant, a job with no real responsibilities but which keeps you by her side at all times.
The people in her social circle, the ones she introduced you to, all look at you with a strange pity. They know. They know what she's done. But they won't say anything. No one crosses Dahlia.
When you try to leave, when you finally realize the extent of her control and try to run back to your old life, you find it's gone.
Your friends won't return your calls. Your family says they're "disappointed" in you for throwing away such a wonderful opportunity. Your old job won't take you back. She's burned every bridge.
She finds you crying in your luxurious bedroom. She sits on the edge of your bed and holds you, stroking your hair.
"Oh, sweetheart," she croons. "Look what they've done to you. They've turned you against me. They were never good enough for you, not a single one. I'm all you have now. But that's okay. I'm enough. I'll always be enough for you."
By rumor, you hear he recently lost his child. He certainly acts like a man haunted by grief. He keeps to himself, but if you cross paths, he'll give you a tired smile.
If you show him a single iota of kindness, he will latch on. He'll start leaving small gifts on your doorstep: flowers from his garden, a freshly baked pie, a book he thinks you'll like.
He doesn't know a lot about you, but he's a fast learner. He watches you. He learns your schedule, your favorite foods, the names of your friends. He learns what makes you laugh and what makes you cry.
He seems harmless enough. Just a lonely old man trying to fill the void in his life. You don't have the heart to push him away.
Then you get sick.
It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before. The doctors are baffled. You're weak, your body aches, you're plagued by dizzy spells. You're too exhausted to leave your bed most days.
But Foxglove is there. He's always there.
He cooks for you, bringing you nourishing soups and teas. He cleans your apartment. He sits by your bed and reads to you. He's the perfect caretaker.
He's the one who poisoned you.
It was slow at first. A sprinkle of something in your coffee, a leaf from his garden mixed into your salad. He knows his plants. He knows exactly which ones cause weakness and confusion, which ones mimic the symptoms of a hundred different diseases.
He needs to be needed. He needs to care for you. He needs you to be as helpless as a child, completely dependent on him for your every need.
It's also the perfect excuse to coax you to move in with him after it continues for months.
"You can't live here alone anymore, dear. What if something happens? I worry so."
He makes you a room that looks a bit too childish, but he doesn't comment on it unless you do.
"Do you not like it? I just thought... you need your rest."
He becomes even more overbearing. He chooses your clothes, he brushes your hair, he even tries to feed you himself sometimes. He treats you like you're made of glass.
If you try to resist, if you try to assert your independence, he just gets this sad, wounded look on his face.
"After all I've done for you... you want to leave? Don't you know I love you? You're all I have left."
It's emotional blackmail at its finest. He'll turn on the waterworks at the drop of a hat. He'll talk about his "lost child" and how you're the only thing that makes his life worth living.
And if he truly believes that his manipulation isn't getting to you, he just ups your dosage. Your "illness" will suddenly worsen. You'll be too weak to argue, too tired to fight.
You are his child now. He will nurse you back to health, even if he has to break you completely to do it. He'll make you love him, to need him as much as he needs you. He's already taken your health, your strength, and your home. Your will is next.
Begonia is an assassin.
SYMBOLISM: Caution, beware, dark thoughts
She was hired by someone you made mad, for some petty reason you don't even remember.
Begonia is used to the same kind of clients. She typically watches them and always finds some reason or another to hate them. That's how she gets the job done.
But she doesn't hate you. Not one bit. You're kind, you're considerate, you're funny. You're... good. A real rarity in her line of work. She's spent weeks following you, and she's grown… fond of you.
It wasn't even a feeling she thought she was capable of feeling for anyone, let alone a target.
She has a dilemma.
She's a professional. She has a reputation to uphold. What if someone else found out she couldn't bring herself to kill you?
Everyone would think she's gone soft.
But then she comes to a much more upsetting realization; if her client finds out she didn't finish the job, they'll just send someone else who won't hesitate.
The third realization is that she doesn't want to let you go from her watch. She thinks that one is the most horrifying one of all. She's grown a soft spot for you. She doesn't think that she could watch over you like a normal person could, she doesn't think she could do it without being so far away that she could no longer protect you.
By the last realization, she already thinks you're her little angel who can do no wrong. You're the only good thing about this awful world... specifically, you're the only good thing about her awful world.
She realizes she needs to save you. She kidnaps you and collects the money, and conjures up fake evidence to prove she finished the job.
When you come to, you're in a basement.
"Hey, kiddo," she casually greets, dressed in her usual dress shirt and slacks. "Sorry 'bout this. The basement, I mean. I was so busy with keeping you alive, I forgot to even have a room ready for you. Forgive Mom, okay? I'll have it all ready soon, it'll be much cozier than this place."
Your response, in her mind, is completely unreasonable: "are you gonna kill me?!"
"What? Silly goose, why would I do that?"
"You kidnapped me! And there's blood on the walls!"
She makes a cooing sound, kneeling down and cupping your face in her gloved hand. "Don't worry, munchkin. It's not yours. Mom's not gonna hurt a single hair on your precious head." She presses a dramatic kiss to your forehead, chuckling at her own lipstick stain on your forehead. "Now, lunch is ready. It might be a little burnt, your mom's not the best cook, FYI. It's a work in progress."
Once your room is ready, she takes you upstairs. She's surprisingly patient. She doesn't raise her voice. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't hurt you. But she also doesn't let you leave.
The locks on the doors and windows are more advanced than any standard ones you've ever seen.
She tries so hard to be a normal mom. She leaves notes in your lunch bag. She takes you on "vacations" to other countries to get you away from the house (all of which are just to other safehouses).
Since she has enough money to retire, she does just that.
The reason she did her dangerous line of work was because she had no one in her life she cared for.
Now that she has you, she went from not having anything to lose to having everything to lose.
And losing you is something she doesn't think she could survive.
Oleander is a loner.
SYMBOLISM: Beware, danger, death
You end up stranded at his house after your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere during a terrible thunderstorm. The closest house for miles is his.
He lets you in, but he's awkward. He stutters. He won't make eye contact. He's clearly not used to having guests.
You end up staying for a few days, because the storm is relentless and the roads are flooded.
You try to make conversation, to get to know him. He's hesitant at first, but he slowly opens up. He tells you about his hobbies, his favorite books, the little garden he tends to out back.
He's surprisingly sweet, once you get past the initial awkwardness. He's a good listener. He's thoughtful. He seems to genuinely enjoy your company.
He seems almost desperate for it, actually.
You notice, in the short amount of time you're there, how much he seems to light up when you talk to him. You also notice how he grits his teeth and grows quiet whenever you mention anyone from your old life.
When the roads are finally clear, you expect him to be happy for you.
Instead, he looks devastated.
He corners you by the door.
"Please don't go, kiddo." His voice cracks. "Please. I... I've never been this happy. Just stay. A little longer. Please?"
You have to refuse. You have a life, a job, friends.
And with that, something in him breaks.
The next thing you know, you're waking up on the floor of the living room, a splitting headache and a metallic taste in your mouth. Your phone is smashed, your car keys are gone, and the front door is locked tight.
He's kneeling beside you, looking frantic and terrified.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he's gasping. "I just couldn't let you leave. I can't go back to being alone again. I just can't. Please, forgive me. I'll be a good dad. I swear. I'll take care of you. Just give me a chance. Please, just give me a chance."
Unlike the others, he doesn't have a grand plan. He's clumsy and improvising every step of the way. He's a nervous wreck.
He's scared of you hating him, of you trying to escape, of you getting hurt. He hovers over you constantly, checking your temperature, making sure you're eating and drinking enough.
"Are you cold? Do you need another blanket?"
"Does your head still hurt? I can get you something for the pain. Please just... don't scream. I hate it when you scream. It breaks my heart, kiddo."
He buys you everything you could possibly want. He sets up a TV with all the streaming services, he buys you books and video games, he asks you what your favorite food is and learns to cook it perfectly.
He's trying to buy your affection, but it's not malicious. He's just a lost, lonely man who's convinced that he's the only one who can protect you. He's seen the news. He knows how horrible the world can be. Out there, you're a target. In here, you're safe.
But if you ever start seeking out the darkness of the outside world again... the news, the radio, anything that makes him feel like he isn't enough... he gets frantic. He'll take away the TV and radio.
"You don't need that stuff," he'll plead, his eyes wide with panic. "It's all poison. It just makes you want to leave. Don't you like it here? With me? I love you so much. Ain't that enough?"
When he's not panicking, he's surprisingly gentle. He'll read to you, he'll play games with you, he'll just sit in comfortable silence with you.
He's starved for affection, and you're the only one who can give it to him.
He wants to be your dad. He wants to tuck you in at night, to kiss your forehead, to tell you bedtime stories. He wants to see you smile and know that he's the one who put it there.
He'll do whatever it takes to make you stay. He'll do whatever it takes to make you love him. And if he can't have your love, he'll settle for your dependence. He'll settle for just having you here, where he can see you, where he knows you're safe.
Robin was working on his computer, scrolling in social media and looking up all the information about you. Your social media was easy to find, you liked to post photos every time you went out with your friends, from the food, the restaurant and you and your friends.
Poor little thing, you were so careless. Not thinking about all the information you left out on the open for anyone to find, just a bit of scrolling and he felt he already knew a lot about you.
You liked to go out with friends every Sunday to any popular restaurants that are in the city having some drinks once in a while. You were barely old enough to work, you shouldn’t be drinking!
In some of the photos you posted he also could see some little characters constantly appearing, a cute round thing that looked a bit childish but fitted you so well. It was a keychain here, a sticker there.
His favorite one was of a sleepover you had, your pajama pants had that little character stamped on them, and he could see a plushie of it in the background.
Robin liked that about you, how you didn't mind being loud about the things you enjoyed.
And when you get home he will make sure to get you all the little things you could want.
He saved every bit of info he found out about your likes and preferences for later, when his mind was clearer and he could go buy all the needed things to decorate your room.
Having your own room was a bit silly as he knew for a fact you would spend most of your time with him in the nest, but is the thought that counts
He had to hold himself back from looking deeper into your stuff, not only the silly public things, but your legal documents, medical records, academic records and the like that no normal person could just access. Nicolas made him promise that he wouldn't look into it himself, he wanted everything to be a surprise.
So he had to wait until their contact had everything ready to go
‐—--------
It was close to 2 weeks of waiting until finally they got the news that you were ready for pick up, which was surprising as they were expecting to maybe have to wait longer for you
He said that he needed a week to watch your routine and make an extraction plan to make your relocation as silent as they could. And once they had you they needed to flush your system from anything you were taking and plan any medical procedures you would need.
Sadly, Robin had just started his heat as they received the message, so now it was just NIcolas going to the compound where his friend kept his resources.
In the message his friend told him he had a surprise for him, so he had to be ready.
He entered the meeting room, prepared to get the rundown on you
‐—--------
Nicolas got you un-strapped from the car, you looked down right angelic, being bundled in one of Robin’s sweaters that he scented before letting Nicolas go see you. You were nuzzling it in your sleep, the new drugs in your system keeping you calm and compliant.
Softly carrying you inside, giddy to let Robin see your sleepy form.
As he rumbled, smelling your warm milk scent mixing with his husband’s. His mind drifted to the meeting he had with his friend.
Normally the meetings were just to give the collected vital info and, depending on the objective of the “adoption”, legal papers that will give the adopting party more legal power over the adoptee.
In his case Nicolas was also expecting to get some options for medical procedures, to make sure you fit better into your place in their family.
That’s when he got the best news ever
His friend excitedly told him that none of it would be necessary, you truly were their little miracle, almost made for them. He revealed your medical history, your special condition and what they could expect from you
He even told him that seeing your medical tries they could also make you even more sensitive, seeing your old reaction to growth hormones it was more than likely they could pull you deeper into your instincts if you tried to resist too much.
Everything was just perfect.
His nose told him that Robin was deep in his instincts at this moment, once he opened the door to the nest room he could see it with his own eyes.
‐—--------
Robin knew their pup would come soon so his sex drive almost completely died off, his mind laser focused on getting every ready to provide, fixing the nest to make it comfortable, getting ready some filling snacks and liquids so he or his hubby don't have to leave the room. Just methodically scenting all the room.
He could smell the moment Nicolas entered the house. A whine almost instantly got out of him, calling his husband and expressing his discomfort and annoyance that he was outside of the nest, and not in with him.
The moment he entered the room his senses focused on the extra smell accompanying him.
Nicolas slowly got closer, Robin growling at him because he could smell other scents on him, which was messing with his senses and putting him on edge. He slowly put the new addition into the nest and proceeded to get out of the room to take a bath.
Not that Robin gave his husband much attention, too focused on the little form trying to sit up and making pitiful little whines at being left alone once again. His instincts ordering him to go and placate the little thing.
His pupils blown out as he got closer slowly, Robin crawled to you and once he was close he dragged you deeper into the nest, He lay down with you in his arms, and proceeded to bathe you in his scent. Methodically rubbing your scent glands.
You tried to get away at first, but with a firm push you were laying on your back, Robin taking you in his arms and purring loudly. Almost instantly you stopped resisting calming down and purring back.
You were accepting him and he couldn’t be happier.
-------------.* ✶ ˗ˏˋ ꒰Ω ❤⃛ α ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ✶ *.--------------
warning. mentions of violence, wounds, war, yanderish behaviors?
You had been a medic since a child, your mother teaching you what herbs help with pain and how to clean a wound before you knew how to read and write. You'd memorized everything by 8, following your mother to the field and stationing yourself in the medic tent to help with minor wounds
by the time you were 16 you had became an established medic in the empire and had been helping sew up a knights wound when a group of people came crashing through the tent opening. "Its his majesty!" a few voices shrieked out as everyone paused in horror.
You quickly snipped the ends of the stich before rushing over to the group with a few medics. Other, less noble patients brushed to the side for a moment much to your own dismay. You watched as the group laid him down, the emperor, Alwin Derosan, a great emperor, a violent man, your top priority now.
You slowly kneeled down to his head and started wiping at a small wound while others, older medics, your own mother focused on deeper ones. You slowly dabbed at the wound with a cloth, brushing long golden blonde hair that was sweat drenched away from the wound.
You paused as he blinked staring at you and mumbling something before closing his eyes again. You brushed it off and went back to stitching his wound shut, quickly forgetting it as you went back to the other men waiting.
It had been a month since you'd come face to face with the emperor, the war ending in victory to him like always. You'd gone back to your daily life but were shocked one day when guards showed up, demanding you come with them to the imperial palace.
Had you done something wrong? Was looking the emperor in the eyes a month ago a disrespectful act? You worried all the way during the carriage ride and while you were escorted through the hallways.
You slowly walked into the office, not before staring at the ornate doors in awe though. You bowed low, so low that you almost fell over which elected a slight chuckle from the man infront of you as you hesitantly stood back up.
"So you're the one..the little one I saw in between unconciusness" he said and you paused..little one? you certinly were not a little one, not a child at all. "Im not a child..your majesty" you said with a nervous smile and he rolled his eyes.
"Ofcourse..well, as a thank you for being so helpful to me, healing my wounds, I offer that you live here..in my palace" he said with a soft smile that you couldn't tell if it was genuine. "as a..maid..or medic?" you asked confused and he laughed, leaning his head back.
"of course not! as a guest..or friend" he said and you nodded slowly. "that is truly an amazing off-" "so you accept?"
You paused, could you say no? "..yes your majesty"
"Wonderful, the maids have already prepared chambers for you" he said and you nodded slowly, an older lady you hadn't noticed grabbing your attention and gesturing you to follow.
the following days were..nice and weird, you'd been introduced to so many new luxuries thought the emperor did seem to be going a little overboard..though you chalked it up to being lonely. It was during a meal that he seemed..strange after you mentioned going back home.
"why..why would you want to go home? is there anything you need? I'll have it brought immediately" he said before you could even finish..its like he never wanted you to leave.
You shrugged it off and said never mind as the weird look in his eyes dissipated. You went to bed that night feeling heavier then usual..though you had been eating alot so thats probably why.
When you woke up you were in a different room, panic set in as you slowly moved to get up but a gentle, firm push to your chest had you back down as Alwin peered over you smiling "don't worry honey, dad's here" ..what the fuck?
Summary: After your parents were killed by Noah, a merciless underboss, you were determined to avenge your family. But fate seemed to have another plan as the man practically adopts you. I guess you have a new dad? Congrats?
CW: reader not having a good time emotionally
Masterlist here. Part 1 here.
---
Noah was conflicted.
You were getting better, skipping less school, and there were moments Noah spotted you smiling with friends from classes he hadn't noticed before. Now, this was all good, of course, but for some reason, it had begun to irritate him.
He didn't know what was wrong with him! He should feel happy, glad, relieved even, that you were bothering him less. You hadn't broken into his home in three whole months, your attempts at avenging your parents having died down, reduced to scathing verbal remarks.
And now whenever you saw him coming, you went the other way without a second word. Perhaps you were getting worn out from how brutally your attempts were thwarted, but still you couldn't have given up so soon, could you? Afterall, it had been only seven months since Noah had murdered your parents. You….You couldn't be getting over him yet, right? Right??
Noah remembered the first night you had broken into his house. You were on your knees, looking up at him with such fire it stunned him for a second. At the moment, Noah had been annoyed. Now, he can't help the inkling of fondness that swelled up in his chest at the memory.
The thought of never getting to see you again, of slowly drifting away until he became just a bad dream from your childhood… It made him sick.
He needed you.
He couldn't go an hour without asking for updates about you, he couldn't sleep at night when you weren't here, at his home, in your room. He wanted you to need him the same way he needed you. He wanted you to tell him about your day, to help you with homework assignments, and to hear about friend troubles, just… normal things.
Was that too much to ask for?
He stared at the paper in his hands. It was thin and trembling in his grip. Exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding, Noah picked up his ball-point pen, gripping it in a firm grip, and signed the paper. He cleared his throat, "Milton."
"Sir," the man responded right away, stepping up to stand in front of Noah's desk.
Noah slid the signed paper towards his subordinate, expression resolved, "Submit this to the courts, make sure Judge Hartz is assigned to the case."
"…Yes, sir," came Milton's practiced response, although Noah could hear a smidge of surprise in his voice.
"Excellent," Noah nodded, stepping out of his chair and looking out of the window in his office. "Have we gotten the newest shipment of Fentanyl and Cocaine from the cartel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, good." Noah ruffled through his pocket, digging out a pack of cigarettes. Instead of taking a cigar out to smoke though, he walked back to his desk and threw out the pack in the trash can beside his office chair. "I want five bundles planted at the address recorded on line four of the document you are holding."
Milton's eyes widened for a moment, a flash of understanding crossing his face. "Yes, sir," He bowed. "It will be done by tonight."
"Dismissed."
----
It was getting dark. You knew you should have called your uncle to pick you up from the library after you missed your bus, but you didn't want to bother him. While he wasn't cruel or mean to you, you hadn't exactly been close with your uncle before your parents passed away, and now that your mom, his younger sister, had been murdered, your relationship had only gotten more awkward.
It was hard seeing a stranger grieve a person that meant everything to you, so you tried to give him space.
As you approached your house, the sound of sirens alarmed you. Instantly, your chest tightened, unpleasant memories of cops, interrogations, and blood bombarding you. You took off, making a wild dash for your house, praying to whatever god there was that those sirens weren't coming from your home. Deep in your heart though, you knew they were.
Your house was blocked off in yellow tape. At least three cop cars were parked outside, flashing red and blue. You stared, and stared, and stared some more. It felt like a terrible joke, and you were always the punchline. You felt an odd urge to laugh.
Of course, something like this had to happen the moment you had begun to get settled into your new life. It was your fault for expecting anything to get better.
Collapsing on the sidewalk, you threw up the hasty lunch you had eaten that day at school. Suddenly, you couldn't contain the bubble of laughter that erupted from you, followed by wet tears and even more laughter. You must have looked deranged, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care much about anything at the moment.
You ended up in a cop car somehow. You stared out of the window. You blinked once, twice, but your thoughts didn't clear. You felt…strange. This was nowhere near the hysteric sensation you felt when you were standing in front of your house. No, instead of hysteric, you felt… calm? Tired, dazed? You weren't sure. There wasn't a textbook to help categorize the emotion you were feeling at the moment.
You ended up in a familiar looking room. The victim's room, your mind helpfully supplied. It was the same room you had been questioned in the night your parents were murdered. Not that anything came of that interrogation… not with Noah pulling the strings.
Someone was speaking to you. A police officer, a detective? You tried to read their lips, but quickly gave up. It wouldn't matter in the end. Nothing would.
The door opened and closed, and then you were left all alone once more. You could have sat there for hours or just a few minutes before the door opened once more.
You blinked slowly, then looked up. There before you stood Noah. The look on his face shocked you right out of your stupor. It was a grim mix of relief and guilt and pity, and it absolutely infuriated you. Before you knew what you were doing you shot out of your seat and grabbed onto his trenchcoat, screaming, "You! You had something to do with this, didn't you?!"
Noah just looked at you, with that terrible look on his face. "Y/n," his eyebrows furrowed as he spoke, "I'm sorry."
Hot tears trailblazed a path down your cheeks and you lifted your fists to beat at his chest. "Don't!" you hissed. "Don't. you. dare!" You raised your fists over and over, hitting harder and harder. "Fuck you, Noah! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! You liar! You…" you hissed as your hands continued to hit him, your knuckles turning red. You tried to smack away Noah's hands as they came to wrap around you, but failed, and then the two of you slowly began to sink into the floor all while you continued to punch at him. "You," your voice quivered with tears as you hiccuped, "you promised me you wouldn't. N—Not if I behaved!"
Your hands flopped uselessly to your sides, bloody and bruised. Noah was left unscathed. As always your struggling was futile, harming you more than anyone else. An empty silence filled the room before Noah spoke, "I'm not… a good man, Y/n."
You laughed. A short, bitter laugh that came out closer to a sob. You ignored the way Noah wrapped around you, the way his hand came to pet the back of your nape, the way you were sitting on his lap on the cold floor. "I hate you," your voice was thick as it came out. Your cheek was pressed into the shoulder of Noah's coat and you hiccuped, tears still racing down your face. You could taste the salt of them as they pooled onto your lips. "I hate you so, so much. I hope you die."
Noah was silent for a very long time before he nodded, accepting your words, "I know." His voice was quiet and gravely. "But I love you, Y/n. So much. I'm not a good man," he continued, hands reaching up to tenderly swipe away at your tears, hands that caused so much pain to you, your family, the world, now seeking to comfort you, "but to you I could be so good."
He leant closer, pressing a delicate kiss to the arch of your eyebrow, "I promise."
---
A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this touch of angst :3 I like making reader crash out
Part 5 of the Dennis Whitaker Forced Infantilization saga ☺️
(As a warning right off the bat, this fic might turn into me lowkey diaper posting-? 😭 I know not everybody matches my freak with that, and I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. But this is my fic, and I’ll be a freak if I want to. I warned yall it was about to get psychosexual. They’re gonna try and cancel me on twitter. I can smell it 😔)
After a quick round of boiling silicone, Robby reassembles the bottle, dries off the teether and the dog toy, and delivers the items back to Dennis on the couch. But, as he’s placing them on the coffee table, Dennis looks up at him with those big sad eyes. “Robby..?”
“Yes?”
The sleepy boy leans forward to dig for something in his duffel bag. He pulls out the box that his little teddy bear had been pulled from. But this time when he opens it, Robby can see a couple more items also reside there. A box of crayons, a fidget toy,
Dennis shuts his eyes tight, like he’s afraid that if he even risks making eye contact he’ll simply die of embarrassment. Its kind of cute… but Robby does have an urge to twist and reshape all this shame Dennis is obviously harboring. He doesn’t want him to be so embarrassed, even if it is very precious to watch.
From the box, he pulls out a black, adult sized pacifier. It has a plastic cap on the nipple to keep all the germs away, and a little strap attached to the handle that can be clipped to a shirt. He honestly didn’t know if they made adult sized pacifiers. And while he understands that the size increases makes it better than an infant pacifier; the attending can’t help but wonder if it makes Dennis’s mouth hurt at all.
A quiet, wavering voice drags him out of his thoughts. “You hafta clean dis too..?”
Looking back at Dennis’s little scrunched up, embarrassed face makes Robby’s heart hurt a little bit. He grabs the pacifier from the little’s hands, turning it over and examining it. Clearly he’s been using it for a while; showing multiple signs of wear on both the plastic and the fabric of the clip. “I can if you’d like me to. But I only boiled the other things because I know you’re supposed to whenever you first pick them up from the store. Just to make sure theres no factory germs.”
Dennis finally opens his eyes, just slightly to peek at Robby’s hands. Watching him examine his paci.
“Oh… Well theres probaby only me germs on it now..”
Robby chuckles, uncapping it with a click. He places the cap on the coffee table, taking in the interesting shape of the nipple. It looks well made- like it would actually fit to fill an adult persons mouth. He isn’t exactly dure why he was so skeptical. Clearly Dennis has been using it for quite a while, and theres no signs of him having an open bite or anything.
As his gaze shifts back up to Dennis, the boy is staring at his hands intently. His little beet red face only glances up for a moment. His head quickly falls to stare at his lap when he realizes Robby is looking at him.
Robby just smiles. “You want it? I can clip it to your shirt.”
The boys eyes go wide, like he’s waiting for the floor to drop out from under him and swallow him whole. Robby can see his shoulders shaking. But finally, he responds in that low mumbly whisper. “…I’s not weird..?”
Robby isn’t sure how many times he’ll need to reassure Dennis that he doesn’t mind him acting this way. That he thinks its sweet, and is happy to watch him while he’s recovering from the shift they just had. So he tries to instill some confidence with his response. “You’re exactly right! Not weird at all,” he replies, scooting closer to the boy on the couch. “Here, hold this for me.”
Dennis grabs the paci from the older mans hands, holding onto it securely. Robby can see the humiliation on his face as he takes the collar of the boys shirt between his fingers. Its definitely a baby proof clip, requiring a surprising amount of finger strength to undo— and if Dennis had a hard time buckling his seat belt, there was no way he’d be able to take it off. His dexterity just wouldn’t allow that.
“There we go. All set,” he hums as the clip slicks into place. He scoots back to look at Dennis, but the boy is already shying in on himself. He holds the pacifier in both hands, almost like he’s trying to hide it close to his chest.
Robby hums, trying to find a way to make the space any more inviting. Maybe a way to help him feel less on edge about all this. He gently pats Dennis’s thigh before he stands up. “I think I need to get you some dinner,” He whispers, ruffling the boys hair. “You try to relax okay?”
The lamp in the corner flips on, and the overhead light of the living room turns off. Much better. Less clinical.
He leaves the boy on his couch, making his way back to the kitchen to fix up their dinner. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he can still keep an eye on Dennis. The kitchen and living room are very open, so it’s not too much trouble.
Dishes get washed, noodles get soft, chicken gets cooked. Robby doesn’t remember the last time making dinner hasn’t felt like a chore. He expected the chicken in his fridge to go bad by the time he planned on using it, simply because every time it crossed his mind, an irritated groan escaped his throat. But now, it feels so easy. Like he has purpose. Dinner was no longer an waste of time and energy. He could go hungry any day of the week, but he would never let Dennis go to bed without a full tummy.
He takes extra time cutting up the chicken on Dennis’s plate into small bites. And he’d taken the precaution of snapping the noodles before they went in the water as well. But it was finally finished. Two big plates of pasta, were slowly lowered down onto the round table in the corner of his living room. He never ate dinner at his table. It was usually used for storing whatever junk didn’t have any other place to go. But for Dennis, all those things get pushed to the side.
Making his way back around the couch, Robby feels his heart swell in his chest. Dennis is asleep again. But this time, he’s curled up on his side— his head resting on the arm of the couch. And that pacifier is bobbing steadily in his mouth. If he hadn’t just spent the past thirty minutes making a meal that the boy was so excited about… he might have let him sleep there.
He stalls the poor baby’s nap by filling up the brand new sippy cup with some apple juice, then setting it on the table beside his plate. He finds himself back at the couch far too soon; just watching. Waiting to see if maybe he’ll wake up on his own. But he knows that won’t happen.
Taking a seat on the footrest of the L shaped couch, Robby gently reaches down and unclips the pacifier from his shirt. He doesn’t remove it from the boys mouth, but he wants the transition from the couch to the dinner table to be as easy as possible.
“Dennis..?” He whispers, gently rubbing his palm over the boys shoulder. “Its time for dinner, bud.”
The boy stirs gently, his eyes fluttering open all drowsy. He hums behind his pacifier before he realizes who’s in front of him. Then his eyes open a bit wide. The pacifier is abandoned quickly, getting pushed into the cushion of Robby’s couch as Dennis pushes himself up.
Robby grabs the pacifier from Dennis’s hands before he can even think to get embarrassed about it. He smiles, taking the cap from the coffee table and sliding it over the nipple. “Seems like this helps you sleep. Thats good.”
Dennis ignores him entirely, shifting uncomfortably as he brings himself back up to seated. A single irritated whine forms behind his lips as he rubs his eyes. Maybe turning off the big overhead light made it a little too cozy.
He’s quick to place a comforting hand on Dennis’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. “Hey, you’re okay. We’re okay,” he reassures the slightly disoriented boy. “You ready to get some food in that belly?”
Dennis looks back up at him, his lip jetting out slightly. Like he’s about to cry. It makes Robby want to pull him into his lap and rock him back to sleep.
But, Dennis very bravely nods. Surely he was hungry after such a long day. So Robby helps him up off the couch, and parks him in the chair next to his. Directly in front of the plate of bite sized pasta and chicken. And of course, his sippy cup was waiting there too.
He watches the boy sit patiently with his hands in his lap as Robby gets situated in his own seat. He only squirms a little bit from what Robby can see. Looking between Dennis and the plate of pasta, he can’t help but wonder why he’s hesitating. “Everything look good?”
Those big wet eyes look back up at him. He tentatively nods. “D’you pray..?”
Robby looks back at his food for a moment. “Uhh… Not for a while,” he chuckles. “But if you want we ca—”
Dennis shakes his head, picking up his fork as he starts planning his attack on the plate in front of him. Robby smiles, picking up his own. He watches Dennis poke and twirl the noodles around his fork. At least— he does the best he can, considering he seemingly doesn’t have the dexterity to hold his fork normally.
It only takes about 3 minutes of eating before Robby tucks a napkin into the collar of the boys shirt. And Dennis doesn’t fuss. He just blushes and continues his meal.
Watching his favorite resident drink from a sippy cup is definitely not where he expected his night to end up. And he certainly didn’t expect to find it so charming and sweet. It made him happy to see the boy give in a bit.
Dinner finally came to an end, only being interrupted by a quick sippy cup refill, and a napkin-bib change. Along with many little apologies about how messy he’s being. But, Robby’s happy to reassure him that its all okay.
“Alright. Here’s the plan,” he starts, angling his chair towards Dennis. He stacks their plates and grabs Dennis’s sippy cup. “I’m gonna put these in the sink, and what do you say we get you a bath?”
The boys head tilts, like he’s confused by the suggestion. But, after a pause of realization, that poor wobbly lip returns. Those big crocodile tears appear in his eyes again, and suddenly the boy is sunk in on himself while sobbing.
As quickly as he picked them up, Robby sets the dishes down. He scoots his chair directly up to Dennis’s, only hesitating for a moment before he wraps his arms around the blubbering little boy. “Heyy… whats wrong?”
Dennis slots perfectly into the space between his shoulder and his neck. Surely his tears are going to get his shirt wet, but he doesn’t really care too much. He runs his hand through the curls on Dennis’s neck; occasionally giving a little squeeze there. “I know bud… I know you’re probably so sleepy. I promise it can be quick. I just want to make sure you’re nice and clean before I get you tucked in for bed.”
The sobs slow, turning into those pitiful sniffles and hiccups once again. “M’not sleepy.” He eventually mumbles.
Robby doesn’t buy it for a second, but he decides to pry for more information anyway. “Then whats got you so upset, sweetheart?”
He feels Dennis push himself as far as he can into his shoulder. Like he’s trying to hide in the world’s worst hiding spot. A gentle head shake comes next. A silent refusal to speak. Looks like its time for Robby to play detective again.
Running his free hand over the boys back in small circles, Robby makes sure his voice is low and soft. “Do you like baths? Bubble baths maybe? I can put bubbles in it.”
Still sniffling, Dennis nods his head against Robby’s shoulder. Okay— so its not even the bath he’s upset about. Theres an underlying problem here.
“Oh, are you nervous about me seeing you..? Dennis I promise that you can wash yourself however you want. And I don’t have to see anything—”
A frustrated whine escapes the poor boys mouth, followed by a quiet mumble. “S’not that either…”
Robby sighs, holding the boy a little tighter. “I’m sorry, bud. I’m not sure whats wrong,” he admits, gently rocking them both side to side. “Can you help me out? Can you try to tell me whats going on?”
Those pitiful cries return, but only for a few minutes; his chest heaving against Robby’s as two little fists clutch his shirt. But, he eventually tires himself out and Robby feels him go slack against his chest. He almost wonders if he cried himself to sleep, before a high pitched whimper draws him back. Its a little muffled by the fabric of Robby’s scrub top, but it’s clear enough for him to use context clues.
“…pullup.”
And suddenly, the squirminess and shyness before dinner makes way more sense. He clearly has some kind of sleep incontinence when he’s in this headspace. Robby really should’ve checked in with him somehow after his nap on the couch earlier. But then again, maybe he wanted to give the kid the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he wanted to try and believe that he’d truly only ever had one accident before today.
The nickname slips out before Robby can even stop himself. “Oh baby…” he mumbles into that soft bed of curls.
Suddenly, two hands shove his chest— hard. But Robby doesn’t let go. He tightens his grip, holding the upset little close as he begins to cry again.
“Sweetheart, thats okay. I promise.” His voice is low against the crown of Whitakers head. And thankfully the boy gives up his previous fight pretty quickly. “You’re just a little out of it right now. Theres nothing wrong with that buddy… But it is more of a reason that we need to go get cleaned up— yeah?”
Eventually, after a long moment of Dennis fighting off sniffles and tears, Robby feels him not against his shoulder.
After dropping the dishes in the sink, Robby starts gathering everything he’ll need to get Dennis ready for bed. His toothbrush, toothpaste, PJ’s and Socks. He even grabs Dennis’s paci from the coffee table, hoping it might provide him some comfort. He also grabs a cup from the kitchen cabinet— for rinsing purposes.
All said supplies, get shoved into the large reusable walmart bag. It conveniently hides the package of diapers pretty well. He does make sure to remove the strap from the pacifier though, that way Dennis can use it while he’s in the bathtub. He’ll reattach it later.
Bag in one hand, pacifier in the other, Robby makes his way back to Dennis at the kitchen table. The poor boy is still so embarrassed he refuses to look up at him. So, Robby gently sets the bag down and uses his now free hand to tilt Dennis’s chin up.
When he does, those wide, sad, eyes meet his for half a second before flicking back down. It makes Robby’s heart hurt knowing how ashamed he must feel.
“Open?” Robby suggests, holding up the black pacifier to Dennis’s lips.
He watches the boy swallow, squirming under the touch of Robby’s hand holding his face. But, he tentatively parts his lips; accepting the pacifier like it’s held to his tongue by a magnet.
A thumb swipes across Dennis’s cheek as the plastic begins to bob in his mouth. “Good boy. Yknow I think it takes a very brave person to try and embrace yourself. Even if you’re embarrassed or ashamed.”
That seems to do the trick— drawing the boys attention back up to Robby’s face. Almost as if he’s trying to figure out if the attending is being serious. But Robby’s truly never been more serious.
He reaches down once again, hauling Dennis up to his feet by his underarms. It pulls a surprised squeak from the little, but he finds his footing quickly. However, Robby still makes sure to keep a hand on his lower back. If only to guide him through the house, back to his bedroom and into the bathroom. But, he the pup to be easy to grab if he begins to stumble.
Robby grabs the bag of supplies from off the floor, and they finally make their way back to the master bathroom. It looks pretty similar to all the other rooms in the house. Lots of the same colors. Theres a counter spanning across the length of the bathroom, but on the opposite wall sits a shower/tub combo, and a of course the toilet.
He sits the walmart bag on the toilet seat before quickly picking it back up. “Oh! wait. Do you need to use the bathroom before..? Or—”
Dennis shakes his head shamefully, looking down at his socked feet against the tile.
Robby nods, officially placing the bag down on the toilet seat. “Okay.” He turns back to Dennis, unzipping his jacket. “For future reference… If you have a problem like this. We need to figure out a way for you to tell me,” he explains, folding the jacket and placing it on the counter. “A rash is very preventable, Dennis. Would you agree?”
Pacifier still bobbing in his mouth, face beet red, Dennis nods.
Robby smiles. “Good. I’m glad,” he praises. “We can talk about it a little more later. Let me get this water running.”
He slides open the glass door to expose the tub, and turns on the hot water. Messing with the temperature for a bit, he finds something that he perceives as comfortable. But, when he calls Dennis over to check it, he says it’s way too hot. And after Robby gets over how cute him mumbling, “Hot!” around his pacifier is, he makes it a little colder.
Once the temperature is acceptable to Dennis, and he pours some soap in to make bubbles, he leaves the bath to fill up. Now its time for the part he hopes doesn’t lead to a meltdown.
“Shirt or pants off first?” Hoping that the choice will make it a bit easier, thats where he starts.
Dennis looks back down at his feet, holding his hands politely behind his back. He has a tendency to do that whenever he’s thinking, Robby notes. But, then his arms slowly lift above his head, while those big wet eyes look up at him expectantly.
Well, that’s a pretty clearly communicated message that he wants Robby’s help. So he reaches down, pulling the hem of his shirt up over the boys head and arms. The way it exposed his arms and his chest and his tummy— Robby stops himself before he begins wandering any lower. Because he refuses to think about how cute Dennis looks with the waistband of his jeans riding lower than the waistband of that pullup.
He tosses the shirt next to the jacket, but when he turns back, Dennis looks like he’s about to start crying again. Robby’s heart breaks a little at how his eyes are shut tight. Like he’s pretending he’s somewhere else. But… it does give Robby an idea.
“Okay. I know this part is scary,” he prefaces, walking up to Dennis and running both his palms over the boys bare arms. “But, how about we try something? Do you think you could shut your eyes real tight while I get you undressed? If not thats okay. I just wonder if that will make it any easier for you.”
Dennis doesn’t open his eyes for a second. He just nods and hums a quiet, “mhmm” behind his pacifier. So Robby takes that as his cue.
He slowly unbuttons the front of Dennis’s jeans, and pulls the zipper down as well. He lowers himself down to one knee with a groan, and guides Dennis’s hands to rest on his shoulders. When the younger boy grips on tight, Robby nods. “Thats it, hold on.”
He slides the jeans down to his ankles. He watches two socked feet step out of each pant leg, before he quickly discards them off to the side. Very quickly, he strips off Dennis’s socks as well; tossing them in the same direction as the jeans.
When Robby finally brings himself to look back up, he has to fight his cock twitching in his pants. This is probably the most inappropriate time in the world to be pitching a tent, and Robby’s more confused about it than anyone. Obviously He enjoys Dom/Sub dynamics. Obviously he likes taking care of people. Obviously he has some sort of weird psychosexual issues, probably relating back to some fucked up shit in his childhood. But this is what finally tips him over?
Dennis Whitaker is stood in his bathroom, totally naked except for a pale yellow stained pullup, and a black pacifier bobbing in his mouth. He looks so humiliated and pitiful. Maybe thats it. The fact that he’s so far gone that he can’t even wake himself up to go to the bathroom. Maybe its the way Robby is having to clean him up afterwards because he can’t do it himself anymore. Fuck— he might be sick in the head.
Attempting to disassociate himself out of horniness, Robby makes quick work of the padding. He rips the sides, and tries his best not to touch him too much when he pulls the soaked garment away. Carefully, he rolls it up and tosses it in the garbage can, before gently patting Dennis on the thigh. “Good Job, bud. We’re all done!”
Dennis waits till Robby is finally fully stood up to finally open his eyes again. But, he very deliberately refuses to make any sort of eye contact. Which is fair. Robby sort of expects it— so he tries his best to avoid looking at Dennis as well.
He helps the little into the bath, turning off the water when it gets close to the top. The soap he used didn’t make too many bubbles, but there’s enough to consider it a bubble bath. Enough to maybe help hide Dennis’s shame beneath the water.
And suddenly, he’s sitting on the edge of his bathtub, lathering up a wash cloth with the least offensive smelling soap he has in his bathroom. All the body washes and shampoos in his shower are those stereotypical ‘manly’ scents, that nobody really likes that much. But he does find a bottle of old spice body wash under his sink. Its the Orchard one, so it smells sort of like that one green apple shampoo.
“You want to scrub your arms by yourself? Or do you want help?” He asks, grabbing the cup from earlier and setting it on the ledge beside him.
Dennis thinks for a moment, before holding out his arm to Robby. Those big innocent eyes finally look back up to meet him, studying his face; making sure its not too much to ask. But Robby wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t happy to do it.
He makes quick work of scrubbing his arms, legs, back and chest; while Dennis plays with the cup Robby brought from the kitchen. He’s very good about giving it back though, whenever Robby needs to rinse the soap of him.
As he’s re-lathering up the wash cloth, he looks up at all the bottle of two in one shampoo/conditioner. He sighs, knowing that he actually has some proper stuff in the shower of his guests bathroom, but he’ll need to go grab it. “Alright sweetheart,” he starts, holding out the washcloth to Dennis. “I’m gonna go grab some proper shampoo and conditioner from the other bathroom. Do… you wanna go ahead and get yourself cleaned up from your accident?”
Blushing and hanging his head a little bit, Dennis nods as he takes the soapy piece of fabric. Robby smiles, standing up. “Okay, I’ll be right back. I promise.”
He returns a few minutes later, having picked out a strawberry scented shampoo from the guest bathroom, and a small travel container of conditioner that’s supposed to smell like coconut. One of his ex girlfriends must’ve left that one here on accident— because he definitely didn’t remember buying it.
Dennis is contently playing with the cup again, pouring water over the bubbles in the bath to make them pop. Robby almost wants to go find a different cup from the kitchen to wet Dennis’s hair with, because he can’t imagine taking the ‘toy’ away from him. But, when Dennis sees Robby enter the bathroom again, he gently places the cup back on the ledge. Such a sweet considerate boy.
He sets the bottles down on the floor beside the tub as he lowers himself back onto the ledge. “Are you gonna let me wash your hair? Or do you want to do it?”
Dennis shakes his head, not even taking a second to think. Then he points a finger at the older man.
Robby almost has to hold back an ‘aww’. But theres no helping the smile that creeps onto his face. He nods and grabs the cup from the ledge of the tub before dunking it into the water. “Okay sweetheart. Tilt your head back for me.”
This isn’t nearly as hard as giving an actual toddler a bath, Robby thinks. Dennis may not be 100% lucid, but he’s still very good at following directions, and is clearly trying to make things as easy as possible.
He tries not to coo or make comments as Dennis’s eyes flutter shut as he’s scrubbing shampoo into his hair. And when the conditioner comes next, Robby tries to memorize all the little noises that the boy makes in sheer pleasure, as he runs his hands through Dennis’s hair.
And when he finally finishes rinsing all the product out, Robby unplugs the drain, and the water begins to drain. He grabs the biggest fluffiest towel that he owns from underneath the sink, and has it ready and waiting for when Dennis steps out.
He makes sure to hold onto the boys waist as he steps out, holding him steady as his wet feet step out onto the tile floor. And as soon as both feet are on the ground, Robby wraps the towel around him. He watches as Dennis’s two little fists grab a hold of each side of the towel, holding it closed.
Robby moves the clothes from the counter top, placing them on top of the walmart bag. This leaves a clear spot on the counter for Dennis. He spins the boy around, and wraps both arms around him, not leaving much room for protest as he transfers him up onto the counter. “Up we go,” he strains, adjusting Dennis’s towel so his thighs are covered.
Dennis stares at him dumbfounded, a subtle blush creeping onto his face. Robby notices how his legs kick out just a little bit as he gets used to the feeling of his feet not touching the floor. Moving back to the walmart bag, he digs around for Dennis’s toothbrush and toothpaste. Along with the cap for his pacifier.
The boy hums in frustration when Robby turns around with his toothbrush; squirming a little on the counter. But, Robby simply runs his hands over Dennis’s shoulders, and then pushes his wet bangs out of his face. “Hey. I know. Toothpaste tastes yucky. But we brush our teeth before bed, okay?”
Dennis hums again, his face adopting that pout once again. Tentatively, he nods— and that’s Robby’s cue to remove the pacifier. He caps it and places it on the counter, then picks up the evil toothbrush. Wetting it with warm water helps soften the bristles a little bit, before Robby puts a small dollop of toothpaste on the end.
“Open up. Real wide for me,” Robby commands. The little eventually complies. Holding the side of Dennis’s face with his left hand, Robby begins brushing his teeth. He tries to be as soft as he can, but theres some inevitable displeasure. A couple whines, but only one or two attempts to pull away. Which Robby was quick to respond to with “Shhh, it’s okay. Just another minute.”
Dennis spits into the sink as soon as the toothbrush leaves his mouth, and Robby cant stop himself from smiling as his little tongue sticks out in disgust.
“Its pretty yucky, huh?”
Dennis nods.
“But don’t you feel so much cleaner?”
After thinking for a moment, Dennis shrugs. He clearly doesn’t want to admit that Robby’s right. How cute.
Not trying to catch any hypocrisy allegations, Robby takes the time to brush his own teeth as well. His electric toothbrush whirrs to life and he makes sure to take his time. He’s setting an example of course.
Once he spits into the sink, he turns his toothbrush off and the faucet on. The toothpaste rinses down the drain, and Robby cleans off both toothbrushes.
“D’ose kind make my teeth feel funny…”
Robby smiles, putting away his toothbrush in its stand. “Oh yeah? I guess they are pretty intense,” he says, pulling the cap off Dennis’s pacifier and holding it back to his lips. The boy takes it back into his mouth easily. “They kinda tickle though.”
Dennis smiles behind his pacifier. It might be the first time he’s smiled since they got home. It’s infectious. Robby can’t help himself. “What? Do you like tickles?”
A small head nod is all he needs before he goes in for the attack. Two hands wrap around Dennis’s arms, reaching the boys sides. His hands stay above the towel of course, tickling the boys sides lightly. Its only for a second, but Dennis erupts in laughter. The boy falls forward, resting his head on Robbys shoulder in an attempt to escape. So Robby stops there, pulling the boy into a big hug.
He pulls Dennis down from the counter, before grabbing a spare towel. He dries the wet mop of blonde curls, before guiding Dennis out of the bathroom and back into Robby’s bedroom. Where he’s gonna be sleeping tonight. He would change the sheets… but its only been a few days since he washed them. And he fell asleep in his recliner last night. So its not like they’re super dirty or anything.
Plopping Dennis down on the made bed, Robby quickly goes back to the bathroom to get the walmart bag. This is the part he’s really dreading. He really hopes that this doesn’t end in some kind of meltdown or crying fit… but he’s honestly prepared for anything.
He just can’t have Dennis sleeping in his bed without some kind of protection.
Thinking about being born as the illegitimate child of an emperor, being casted out by the empress and never knowing who you’re father was you spent you’re days as a lowly servant in the east wing, never interacting with anyone besides the occasional counbcines that come to visit you.
And that seemed to have catches the attention of the emperor and soon enough you’re position was hired to the personal maid of one of the emperors favriote counbcines much to the dismay to the rest of the counbcines.
And who’s to say the whole palace is not obsessed with you? Besides the empress who loathes you!
So when the empress unfortunately passes away from her sickness ( the emperor totally did not poison her) the emperor takes this chance to publicly display you as his child and next in line to the throne, he sees this as a way to shackle you to him and to protect you.
You see this as a prison, feeling like the emperor has ulterior motives to hurt you which is far from the truth.
And it’s not like you can actively run away when you’re constantly surrounded by you’re father his gaurd and his counbcines who seem to be trying to take the role of you’re mother.
And when you do run you realize it’s to late and you’re already caught in their web that they so carefully crafted for you to keep you, if you think running away woild be an option well good luck never leaving you’re room again!
Authors note: this is honestly a concept idea I thought of idk if I should make it into a oneshot when I already have a bunch of fics I’m writing for.
