You can't take it anymore. Sweaty hands grip desperately at their clothing, tugging at it until you pull them into a kiss.
"Haah- Your treatment has been doing very well, then."
You're straddling Harper's lap, patient gown riding up as they pull you deeper into the kiss, returning it with just as much eagerness. They let you do most of the leading, but can't help but to reach down and caress your waist, and then your hips. Hot breath fogs up their glasses, and they murmur praises in between pants when you pull away to breathe. They're going to need a new set of trousers.
"Insatiable slut."
It's almost crashing into them, really. But Whitney grips your shirt in return and pushes back into you, forcing their tongue between your already parted lips, breathing heavily through their nose. They chew on your lip, and you think you taste blood as a result, but you don't care. You only part for a gasp of air, only to hungrily dive in for more. A string of spit connects both of your bruised lips when you're done, until they lick their lips clean with a smirk.
"O- Oh, darling-"
Kylar might as well have been the one to initiate, with the way they're clinging onto you the moment you pull them in. They don't breath through their nose but through their mouth, breathing in the same air as you until they can't anymore, and you think they hold their breath at some points to keep up with the kiss. They moan into your mouth as they swirl their tongue around, drool spilling out onto your lips, and when the kiss is over they lap it up eagerly. It turns into another kiss quite quickly.
the blood moon hangs in the sky, always there, always watching. rain falls from the heavens towards the vast lake below, its all red. you think that maybe it's bleeding, the moon. (you wonder how much of the blood belongs to IT)
but you do.
they all tell you to stay away.
shallow breaths, light footsteps. tendrils pale as ivory pulling you in. you're dizzy, you can't think, you can't stop looking into it's eyes. it holds the lake in them, you get sucked in.
but you don't.
and so, you find yourself here, again. feet bare against the sand of the lake's shore. your pajamas drag behind you as you wade into the water. it's cold, but you don't stop, not until something pulls you in, and you find yourself staring again into those sapphire blue eyes. the edges crinkle.
You've returned.
pale tendrils wrap around your body, pulling you closer.
hmm quick content warnings: gn!Charlie is a pervert, rationalization of molestation + groping (<- and talks of the actual thing), I think thats all?
Charlie isn't a rapist. God, no. But, sometimes they like to... indulge. Just a bit.
It's hard not to- Not with the way you look at them with such admiration, with your pretty eyes and meek smile. Not with the way you move oh so gracefully (you're not perfect yet, no. You've much to improve, but they catch themself staring more and more often regardless, taking in the sight of you. A part of them hopes you never improve, just so they can keep seeing you, keep being around you). And certainly not with the way you look in that leotard.
So they sneak in touches, little ones. It's hardly anything, really.
Hands that linger on your waist a bit too long during routines. Fingers that drag along your skin as they help adjust your form. Their touches are anxious and careful, but it's all so subtle, enough to have you question if it's on purpose or by accident. (And if you ever bring it up, the answer will always be the latter).
Sometimes they allow themself to go further; breath against your ear as they instruct you, a quick brush against your nipple to make you shiver, fingers inching towards your inner thighs just to feel how warm you are- but they always pull their hands back as if they've been burned. As if it was just an accident. And, although they put on an act, their apology to you is still genuine.
Maybe they feel guilty when you accept it, and move on- forgive and forget. Because you should be pulling away from them, screeching and calling them a pervert. But you don't, you push yourself towards them instead, because you believe the best in them, don't you? You look up to them, you think of them as a safe space. They would never touch you like that on purpose, you'd think.
On the other hand, maybe you want this, ALL of this, and you're too shy to say it. You want them to touch you, to give you special attention, to leer at you just like all the others. (But they're better than the others, they swear).
...Then that means this is all consensual, right? They just need to bring you out of your shell. (That's something they'll be happy to do).
The morning you became an angel, you were a complete mess.
(You thought it was supposed to bring calmness, supposed to wash you clean. It's supposed to be good, right? But you didn't feel any of that. You felt wrong.)
You didn't know what to do, what to think, so you went to Jordan. (You're not sure what for, maybe it was due to their expertise, or how you feel around them, but you needed something and they could provide an answer. You hoped.)
You had entered the temple, distraught, covered in way too many layers for a warm spring's day (you had to hide your wings, you didn't want to look at them, you couldn't bear it). They turned their head in acknowledgment as you approached, ready to greet the same way they always do, but stopped upon seeing your expression. Your trembling hands were taken in theirs as they led you to a secluded spot, and lowered the two of you upon some cushions. They looked at you and waited, and you knew it was an opening.
So you broke down.
And they listened, patiently, as you babbled and blubbered about how you weren't worthy, how you were never going to be worthy. You weren't sure why this happened to you. If you were chosen, if it was by mistake.
Mistake...
The word was repeated, over and over, until you couldn't speak it anymore. Until your voice was left hoarse, and your hands left sore from the grip you had on Jordan's robes (you're not sure when you started clinging onto them), but they didn't mind. So you continued, and they allowed you.
The next moments passed without any words spoken, and you two sat there.
You, with your face buried in their robes, dampened from your tears. They smelt like incense, like flowers and herbs. It was a scent you grew accustomed to, as the temple used it often, but Jordan's was more distinct. One you haven't much smelled before, but it helped ground you.
And Jordan, stroking your hair, humming a tune (one you were sure you've heard before). Though you were more hanging off of them than leaning against, you still felt a slight vibration coming from their chest as they did so, and a wave of fatigue washed over you as you continued to listen to the soothing melody.
So you let yourself rest, for the first time in a while.
This line right here has had a choke hold on me for the last five minutes, sir, on god?
hnnnnfggshshjsk SIR
quick content warnings: pregnancy talk (PC used to be pregnant), Harper being a right fucking creep, kidnapping kinda??
If I remember correctly, IRL, there's a certain amount of time that has to pass before it's safe to have sex again after giving birth (seems like it ranges from 2 to 6 weeks), and Harper would be mindful of that before doing anything to you. (He doesn't want to damage to your pretty little hole!)
But here's the issue- Harper wants to be the FIRST one to fuck you postpartum. He's been thinking about knocking you up with your next kid ever since you got pregnant with the first one, and there's no way in hell he's going to let someone else get that chance before him. He's earned it, he thinks. He's been so helpful throughout your pregnancy; he's been there every step of the way. He deserves it, he knows. You owe him that.
His solution is to keep you somewhere safe, somewhere monitored, where he KNOWS you're safe. Maybe it's a private room in the hospital, locked behind a keycard swipe. You'll be allowed visitors, at first. He's not some monster; if your loved ones want to come see you, they may. But he doesn't like the way some of them look at you, and he hates the way you look at them back. So the visitor hours grow shorter and shorter, effectively cutting people off. (He's also very particular on which nurses come to treat you. This hospital is full of dangerous people, and, unfortunately, he doesn't have the authority to fire whoever he pleases.)
If people ask, he mentions something about irregular results. Uses a lot of buzzwords, says it's not safe for outside germs to come near you. That they need to be extra careful around you, so it's best to leave you be. To rest.
This moves onto the next part, he needs to keep you in his grasp long enough for it to be safe to fuck you again, to breed you again. (And yes, Harper could get you pregnant in other ways- he could insert his sperm via tube/syringe like he's done to many test subjects before, but his cock disagrees. He needs to feel himself inside of you. He's waited long enough. He can wait a little more, the prize'll be worth it.) He uses similar excuses explanations as to why he needs to keep you with him at the hospital longer. He needs to monitor your levels, your progress.
"Something seems wrong," he'd say, "best to keep you longer, for your health."
It's easier to handle when other people come to him for answers, looking to call him out on his bullshit. They have no power here, he doesn't even have to talk to them, if he really didn't want to. (But he's no coward, he can stand tall with a smile that'll make others shy away.) All it takes is a little manipulation to get them to turn around. He's the expert here. He knows what's best for you, not them. If they refuse, well, it's bad to cause a ruckus in a healing environment, yeah? They'll be kindly escorted out.
It's harder when it comes to you, though. It's not like he wasn't expecting it- he's prepared- but it's still disappointing when you start getting restless. You want to leave, he gets that. You want to go home, to be with your kid. And he understands that. But you can't go yet. Not yet. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until you're ready. But, unfortunately for him, your patience runs out before the timer does, and you're,,, less than happy. And he didn't want to do this (he did, he was just waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect excuse), but your behavior starts to get so erratic and upsetting, so he throws you in the asylum. (Poor thing. So distraught, you're a danger to yourself. He had to step in.) Somewhere even more isolated safe, and he keeps you there for as long as he needs.
When the time comes, after one of your examinations, Harper is shaking from restrained excitement. He almost forgets to hypnotize you, drug you, whatever- he's just so eager to be inside you and pump you full of his seed.
And when he does get to... oh boy, it's heavenly. The wait was worth it.
Harper loves the sensitive ones. The ones that twitch and squirm at the slighest brush of fingers against skin.
They love to see how your perfect body reacts to their touch. They enjoy hearing the hitch of breath, the involuntary twitch when their fingers ghost across your skin, the goosebumps, the raised hair. Harper takes their time to explore every inch of you, soaking it in, memorizing the feel of you. And you ignore any alarms blaring in your head because this is just their job. They have to be thorough, and, boy, are they. They leave no part untouched, no section unexplored.
And it's cute. It's cute how you try so hard to fight it, to not show a reaction, because that's embarrassing, right? To act such a way in front of your doctor. But it's only natural, there's nothing to be ashamed of! It's encouraged, even. (Oh, how Harper would love to hear you moan, to hear you gasp and beg for your dear doctor to touch you more. To see you squirm and lean into their touch. Oh, how they'd love to see that, more than anything. It's absolutely nothing to be ashamed of!) Also, your eyes are always shut so tight, as if not seeing will help you detach and become unaware. And to an extent, you are. You're unaware of how Harper leers at you, how their mind races with all the things they'd love to do to you, how their groin aches in their pants at the sight and sound and feel of you.
Something about fighting your damn hardest but being the only one to come out battered and bruised...
Pounding against Eden's chest as he has his way with you, desperately hoping that it if you do it enough times he'll give up, but he never does.
Scratching at his arms, chest, anything. Hoping to draw blood, but your nails never penetrate his thick hunting coat.
Eden pinning you down from behind, one hand on your neck and the other pinning down your arms. And it's hard to breathe and your arms are bruising but you still fight fight fight until you can't anymore.
Him only letting you go after he cums inside your hole and turning over to sleep soon after, satisfied. While you lay there in too much pain to move, defeated.
(But that won't stop you from struggling next time. Or the next.)
How about being Harper's favourite fucking menace though? Fighting everything he does tooth and nail, in a straightjacket every night, getting other patients to distract the orderlies so you can beat his ass... No matter what he does, it doesn't break down your spirit. It's infuriating, he just can't get his hands on you. he might have to use more... sinister methods...
YES YES AND YES!! also this didn't go in the direction I planned it to go, but here's something for you regardless
Harper absentmindedly drums his fingers against the wooden desk as he looks through patient files, the room filled with silence aside from the occasional clicking of his computer mouse. His fingers halt upon reaching your name.
Harper considers himself a patient man, and in his line of work it's absolutely crucial to be. But even the best of men lose their patience, and his is running very, very thin.
His eye twitches.
The reason?
You.
(continued under the cut)
You you you, of course it's you. He's dealt with patients in the past who didn't, ah,, favor his methods, but he's never met anyone quite like you before.
You're always resisting, always fighting. You just don't know when to quit, to give in, and it drives him mad. If you were anyone else, he would have accepted the loss and sent you over to Remy's, made you their problem, but no.
He couldn't. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't.
Because something about you draws him in; he wants to study you, get inside your head. He wants to fix you. He's not meant to be the bad guy in your story, why can't you see it? He can help you, he can make you feel all better, but you can't fucking see it yet.
Harper leans back in his chair and takes off his glasses to drag a hand over his face, frustrated. His attention shifts to the familiar tightness in his pants, and he glances down at his crotch.
He can't deny the effect you have on him, however.
Every snarky comment, every demand. Every kick and every scream. Everytime you shake yourself out of the trance he put you in, everytime you deny deny deny...
Oh,
you sweet little thing.
You must think it's wearing him down, bit by bit, but you'd be such a fool to think so. All it does is make him want you more and more and more. He can't lie and say a part of him doesn't like how you've been fighting him, because you give him a challenge. You give him a kind of thrill he's never felt before.
God, you're such a tease.
He wants to tame the untameable, cure the incurable. You are the mouse to his cat, and he wants to chase you down and show you what he can really do. And once he has you in his grip, he's never, ever going to let you go.
The tightness is almost unbearable now. Harper's belt clinks as he hastily removes it and unzips his fly. His cock is soon in his hand, the tip already dribbling with precum. He shakily lets out the breath he's been holding onto as he starts to stroke.
How do you tame a mouse? Do you give it cheese? What would be your cheese? Do you trap it? Maybe he should toss you into the quiet room again- but ah. Last time he left you there for too long, he saw you back in town after a while of searching here. He still hasn't figured out how you managed to get past security. Or the cameras. What a sneaky little bastard, you are.
He loves it.
Maybe he should throw you in a rigged maze, one you can never solve. One you can never escape. It'd wear you down until you come to him begging. But would you even ask for help? Maybe he could deprive you of everything except the basic necessities until you're forced accept his help, it'd teach you to be humble. You fight so much to maintain your broken yet incredible mind, so he couldn't imagine you giving up completely.
His breath quickens as he lets his thoughts run wild, the room filling up with his desperate grunts and the slick sound of skin rubbing against skin as he gets more and more aroused.
That could work, and he has a separate property in mind to keep you. Well- technically Remy owns it, but it's been unused for a while, and he's sure he could pull some strings to make it work. He's going to make sure he's all you see, all you feel. You'll be so starved for any type of interaction, you'll practically be begging for his cock inside you- any hole of his choosing. He'll drug and tie you up so you can't fight anymore, and you'll finally see just how much he can help you. How much you need him, and how much he needs-
Harper suddenly convulses, thick ropes of semen spurting from his cock, splattering on his desk. He sinks into his chair, panting, waiting for his mind to clear.
Only you could get him so hot and bothered like this. Only you can give him this kind of reaction. You must be doing this on purpose, this must be your plan. To rile him up, to tempt him. The way you fight, the way you look at him... You're asking for it, surely- It's all a cry for attention. You're playing games with him, hoping you'll lose. You just don't want to admit it, because if you did, you'd have to face the truth. And you and him both know that you prefer your little lies.
How could someone so strong be so cowardly?
Harper reaches into a drawer for wipes and begins to clean up the mess resulting from,, his activities. He thought he got all of it, but upon looking up he sees some managed to land on the computer screen, right on the image of your face.
Would you look at that...
A low chuckle escapes past his lips as he leans forward. His breath his hot against his face as he caresses your image and wipes it clean with his thumb. He wonders what it would be like, cumming on you like this. (You'd hate it with a burning passion, but he'll teach you to love it. Just like how he'll teach you to love him.)
He's itching to find out, but he can wait.
It won't be too long now, anyway.
(Not long at all...)
If you want to keep playing your little games of fighting and denying and teasing and pretending- then that's fine!
He'll play too.
It'll just make his prize upon winning that much sweeter.
