hello star. greetings. today i’d like to discuss, meichae, in an unethical ask.
Megan sobs, straining at the chains wrapped around her — it’s painful, the way her arms are bound above her head, the way her thighs are trapped to the bench; there’ll be no escape from her fate.
“Please, stop,” she protests, face red and wet with her tears, full-body shaking, before adding, “Yoonchae, please, just —”
“I asked nicely for weeks,” Yoonchae starts, taking her time to walk over, clothes already strewn on the floor; there’ll be no foreplay here, that’s for certain. “I played the nice, cool Alpha, who sent you sweet gifts, you know? Flowers, chocolates. I wanted to do this right. So, in the end, isn’t this just your fault?”
hello rayan. greetings. today i’d like to continue this unethical meichae ask.
Megan’s breath keeps hitching, sharp little snags in her chest, her lungs are catching on burrs. The chains bite every time she moves, and her body learns quickly—don’t pull, don’t twist, don’t hope.
So, in the end, isn’t this just your fault?
This is what panic feels like, she thinks distantly. Her shoulders burn, a deep, nauseating ache that pulses in time with her heartbeat. Each thud sends a tremor through the metal above her head. The walls that surround her twist and contort into shapes that leap out of their own foundation to wrap around her until she can just barely breathe. They say death is the worst punishment of all, but she thinks being on the brink of it is worse.
“Y-Yoonchae, please,” Megan begs, her last defense; her tongue’s lolling out of her mouth, and the words start spewing out, “Please, please, please.”