🪞

You'd been happy, the two of you. You really had.

It was springtime, nearing summer, where the days felt like they grew hotter and longer, when the nights wouldn't cool off either. You had met Wade at the market. You both reached for the same can of corn and touched fingertips, an electric current passing through you two. The way he looked at you, and the way that you shyly, through thick lashes, looked back at him. Neither of you said a word for a good moment, until Wade finally introduced himself. Everyone and their mother talks about love at first sight, but no one dares talk about the fiery connection when you touch your lover for the first time. A connection built on physical touch, on lust, on want.

It was a whirlwind romance after that, and before you knew it, you were married, joined under the good Lord, and he'd bought you a house with a porch and a dog. A shepherd.

Warm summer days were spent in the Mississippi Delta, in your quaint little home, set about twenty-five minutes outside town. He'd treated you better than you'd ever imagined a man could, made you feel like an angel on Earth. But the way he fucked you… was anything but holy.

Your nights were spent in passion, bodies entangled together like the branches of the trees outside your window, swaying back and forth like dancing lovers. You explored every inch of him, and he, every inch of you. There wasn't a freckle on either body that the other didn't know about, and you'd never experienced such happiness in your life.

Then… one night, after a particularly heated coupling, he'd just left. Kissed your forehead before lumbering out the front door to smoke a cigarette. The dog had followed him outside. And they never came back. Ever. It had been two weeks.

You assumed the worst — Wade didn't love you. He was just lookin' for an escape, for a clean way out. The marriage had been a mistake — too quick maybe — and he took the first opportunity to leave. He could've at least said goodbye, given you that last scrap of dignigty. Instead, he kissed your forehead and said, "I'll be right back, sweetheart."

You never thought for a minute that something bad had happened to him. He was a grown man, always took care of himself. Nothin' bad woulda' happened to that man.

So, here you sit, in your empty little house. It's not a home anymore, only the bones remain — tall and lanky and changing with the shadows that dance across the walls, moonlight filtering in through your lace curtains. You're nursing a cup of black coffee even though the sun's just gone down. It's as bitter as you are, drowning in your own sorrows and loneliness. The damn dog hadn't even stayed. Never liked you as much as he did Wade, really. You let out a plaintive sigh, bringing the cup to your mouth.

Outside, the wood of your porch creaks under some undisclosed weight. You set the cup down and abruptly scoot your chair back, standing upright. With your house being out of the way, visitors were rare, unless they were explicitly invited. Your attention's on the door, and though it's closed, you can feel the presence behind it, burning through the wood like an iron pressed against the grain.

You hesitate, staring at the door like you can see through it.

"Hello?" As though they can hear you.

Another creak.

You take careful steps forward until you're hesitating in front of the door. Your fingers wrap 'round the knob, twist it and pull it towards you with a sharp motion. The warm, humid night air rushes in, settling heavy on your exposed skin like a sheet that hasn't quite dried yet. The sounds of nighttime fill the space between you and the stranger, and your breath catches in your throat.

At first glance, there's nothing unusual about him; he's dressed like any other man. Light blue cotton shirt, suspenders, dark slacks. Put together. He's standing at the bottom of your porch, one foot perched awkwardly on the first step.

"Can I help ya'?" Your voice is laced with expectancy.

"Ah, I been walkin' an awful long time. Yer' the first one to answer."

You find that odd; you didn't answer anything. He didn't knock.

"Can ya' find it in yer' heart to let me in n' spare a glass of water, ma'am?"

He has a chain round his neck. Reminds you strongly of the one that Wade used to wear. The one that used to sway in front of your face as he fucked you, the one that you'd reach up and wrap your finger around, careful not to break it, but just tight enough to yank him closer.

You blink, coming back to reality just as the forest seems to loom forward around the stranger, but in an eeriely inviting sort of way, like a pair of giant hands beckoning you to just step into them. Something settles in your stomach and your eyes flit to Wade's shotgun leaning up against the door frame. The man notices this and shakes his head once.

"Now, don't go an' do that. Ain't necessary, ma'am." He whispers your name like a prayer, so quiet that you almost don't catch it. Almost.

"How you know my name? Huh?"

"I'm Remmick."

You furrow your brows. You hadn't asked his name, and you didn't want to know it. "I asked you a question. How d'you know my name?"

This must amuse him because a smile splits his face. He lifts his hands, feigning innnocence, and zeroes his gaze in on your features. He scans over them, one by one, and nods slowly.

"Well, ain't you every bit as pretty as he said you'd be…?"

The look on his face told you that he intended it to be a compliment, but something about it landed oddly. Made your skin crawl. "I beg your pardon?"

"Wade," he responds, defending himself. "I was just sayin' how he —"

"Wade?" You perk up like a dog. The name derails your intensity, and your gaze drops just slightly. Your question is breathless, desperate and mournful. "You talk to him?"

"Ohhh… Wade and I go way back," he says, sliding his finger underneath the suspender at his shoulder, pulling it forward. He pauses a minute and allows it to snap softly back into place. "Real shame he ain't with us no more."

No. God have mercy on his soul. That was the last thing you wanted to hear from a stranger's mouth. You're so grief-stricken that you don't even think to ask why Wade never mentioned this man.

"He… what happened to him?"

The man's brows pinch together as though he's filled with sorrow over what he's about to say. "Messed with the wrong sort of folks."

Your heart seizes in your chest, a desperate pump of blood to remind you of your husband and how much you missed him. The closure you didn't want, the closure you never expected. You dip your chin to your chest, trying to hide your disappointment, the feelings of grief. It takes a moment, but you harden. You force healin' over all those searin' open wounds and straighten up, setting your shoulders. If there was one thing Wade would've wanted…

"Well, you may've known my Wade, but I don't know you and —"

"Oh, but I know you," he says low. "I know everything about you, darlin'."

You furrow your brows in disbelief, taking a step back from the door. "No you don't."

"Sure… sure, I do. I know everything that Wade knew."

Not missing a beat, he takes a step forward, and something lurches in your stomach. Something that moves like fear, but tastes like longing.

Your grip on the doorknob loosens, and a shudder, a chill runs down your spine like cool water. Given the heat of the night, it ain't exactly unpleasant. Or unwelcomed.

"I know how you like to be kissed, from yer' neck to between that beautiful chest uh' yours… those soft n' tender kisses behind yer' ear, whisperin' about how bad yer' wanted. That spot behind your knee that makes you whine like a banshee. How you like it when you finally get to it. Rough."

His accent hangs heavy on that last word, the 'R' pronounced harder than usual.

You snap to attention, looking the man in the eye. They're dark, and seem to catch the moonlight in an odd way that chills your very bones. He wasn't wrong, and that was all well and good, but Wade would never tell anyone that. Wade would never divulge anything 'bout his personal life to anyone, no matter how convincing they were. Wade was a private person, and he stood by his secrets. Your facial expression doesn't deter the man at all. He continues, taking a step up onto your porch.

"…how you like to be eaten. How good you taste when you're screamin'. So, why don't you let me in and I'll see if he's good on his word?"

That chill returns, but you promptly feel a betraying heat pooling between your legs, soaking into the cotton fibers of your panties.

"You gotta' lot nerve, Remmick." His name falls off your lips like an expletive, a stark difference to the way he whispered your name.

He just smiles. Nods. Takes another step up onto the porch.

"Just let me in, and I'll show you what else I got."

You're suddenly lingering at the threshold, leaning forward as though you're prepped to wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a kiss like a lover who had just returned from a long day's work. There's a pulling in your feet, your limbs seem to float towards him, as if he's willing them to him. Maybe he is.

I'm nothing if not strong, you think.

"I'm not… I won't."

"Sure you will. You ain't gotta' be afraid. I can make all that hurt go away. All that pain in yer' soul…"

There was pain. Lots of it. Plenty of it. You were lonely. Hungry. Desperate. And stood in front of you was a man that could smell it, and according to him, ease it. Something deep in your soul, rooted down like an old Cypress tree, told you that this was the closest thing to Wade you'd ever get again.

Remmick holds your gaze tight, coiling around you like a serpent — tighter and tighter as the seconds drag on. Something feels wrong, but something else feels right enough to make you forget the wrong thing. Your momma' woulda' warned you about men like this, if she was still with you.

You hadn't gone to church since Wade left, so you weren't in good graces, you knew that. Still, you bite your lip, clasping your hands at your breast as a last shot attempt at redemption, at some sort of understanding or forgiveness for the sins that slither in your mind. You lift your head to the heavens, and even though your lids snap closed, tears welling at the corners, you speak to the dark skies above in a hushed tone, barely above a whisper. "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Remmick grins and takes yet another step, like a man who knows he's already won the game. He's standing at your doorway now, hands tucked in his pockets.

"Let me in, won'tcha'?"

You open your mouth to speak again, to protest with your new found courage from the heavens, but instead, all that comes out is a squeak of a breath.

"I'll beg if need be…" His tongue glides appentently across his bottom lip.

"Wade used to beg," you say, forlornly.

"I know it." Remmick says, nodding, his eyes sweeping over the curves of your body, memorizing them, tasting them with his gaze. "For a sweet thing like you? He had good reason, I reckon."

With that, he says your name over and over again, longing braided into his voice. "Please, baby… don't you tease me like this."

Just like Wade used to say. Just like Wade used to say when you'd playfully deny him what he wanted most; your sweet, glistening cunt. Just like Wade used to say when you'd swat him away and he'd fall to his knees, pressing his face in between yours. Nuzzling between your kneecaps, forcing them apart, the feeling of his stubble scratching at your soft, plush skin as he pushed his way towards his goal. You missed that. You missed the feeling of being wanted… needed.

"Gimmie' what I want, baby… c'mon."

Hot tears prick at your eyes and well up in the corners. "S-stop…"

"Sure sounds good, don't it?"

You inhale sharply at his question, and nod. You can't deny him that answer, even if your whole body is screaming at you to.

"When's the last time you had someone appreciate you, darlin'? Huh?"

Though it's unspoken, he knows the answer and so do you.

"Just—" he starts, hardly getting the word out before you're cutting him off.

"Come in."

The flesh is weak.

Your hands fall from your chest, shocked at your own feeble resolve. The failure stings like a mad hornet when Remmick closes in the distance between you two, leisurely. Like he's got all the time in the world. He wastes no time in getting close to you, though. Real close. Too close.

He smells like iron, dirt and lust — something cloyingly sweet that makes your knees buckle. You know damn well what you smell like; the impure fragrance of desire seeps from your pores with the sweat and that smell has his nostrils flaring as soon as he's next to you. You're like a ripe peach, hanging low in front of his mouth. He parts his lips, exhaling over them as he nears you, presses his body against your warm one. You can feel the planes of his body through his clothes, and you know he can feel your soft, supple body underneath your thin sundress.

He's taking you in lungfuls, savoring you like he knew he would. You didn't know it, but everything he'd gained from your now late husband drove him crazy. He'd become obsessed with you from memories alone, memories he longed to run his tongue over, slowly, ravenously. For two weeks, he'd craved you in ways he understood deeply. A craving that he had to sate.

Your wanton gaze falls to his lips and it's then that you notice he's drooling. Really drooling. Not just wet around the lips — a generous stream of thick saliva cascades steadily from the corner of his mouth. It frightens you, but not as much as the way you want to kiss him. That terrifies you. He sees you looking at the spit, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. If he has his way, you'll be adding to it any second.

The feeling returns. The pulling feeling. It's deep, and tugs at your cunt in a pulsing grip. Remmick lifts his hand slowly, inching it towards you and you watch, wordlessly, as his fingertips near your feverish skin, tiny beads of sweat pooling up in the hollows of your collarbone. He runs those fingers delicately along your exposed skin, just underneath your neck. Your skin immediately flushes with heat in response, growing hot under his touch.

You shudder against the feeling of skin against skin. For someone who experienced the finer pleasures of the flesh on a daily basis, you were hungry, you'd been deprived for days and she longed to feel it again.

"He woulda' wanted you to be happy, y'know." As he speaks, his lips brush the delicately sensitive skin of your neck, trailing along it with chaste kisses. His tongue slips past his lips, dragging along the length of your neck.

The tiniest moan tumbles off your lips, hanging weighted in emptiness of your house. You feel her clench between your legs, leaking betrayal as your hand climbs to his shoulder, supporting some of the burdensome weight of your arousal.

He was so convincing when he spoke like that, playing to your worries and fears. Or maybe it was the way he was kissin' you. Maybe it didn't matter how he was talkin' or what he was sayin', maybe all that mattered was that he was touchin' you.

You tilt your head to the side, allowing him more room and his hands find your hips, taking fistfuls of your cotton dress in his hands. He starts kissing your neck in a way that almost overwhelms you; feverishly, hungrily, and quickly — kiss after kiss, smeared against the column of your neck. He continues his assault, but climbs towards your chin, then up to your mouth. He grips your jaw with his thumb and forefinger, pulling it down and opening your mouth. Without warning, he licks into your mouth and your lids flutter, tantalized by the sensation. His mouth is wet and inviting, and when he leans in, sealing his mouth with yours, you moan down his throat, making a fist in his shirt. You feel the sweat dripping down the length of your spine, feel the dampness of your dress as it absorbs it all.

Your tongue darts out to lap up the flow of saliva that coats his chin. A string of it stretches from your mouth to his as you pull back, just for a moment, just to breathe. There's something deeply sinister in his taste, something that you don't want to think too hard about. Something that leaves you breathless and wanting more. So you do. You lick at his bottom lip hungrily, and he catches your lip with his teeth, biting down just enough to cause pain. Any harder and he would've drawn blood.

Remmick's other hand winds around your back, holding you with a tight grip. It's the kind of grip that says you ain't gonna' make it to that front door. So you don't try. You aren't sure you even want to, because the way he's walking you backwards has your core muscles tightening in a way that you haven't felt in weeks. Anticipation.

"I wanna' taste that honey he talked so fondly of…"

You hit the wood of the table, and Remmick's urging you up onto it before you can protest. The half-empty coffee cup gets shoved off the edge and shatters, black liquid seeping into the floorboards like blood. Neither of you seem to notice.

Remmick continues talking, buttering you up and praising your body before he's even had the chance to taste it. It's working. You're slick and ready, wordlessly begging for him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you get comfortable, digging your heels into the surface of the table. The sound of your shallow, wanton breaths fills the small room, and Remmick presses his chest against your shins, reaching around your thighs to hitch your dress up around your hips. Greedy hands reach under the fabric, finding the hem of your underwear. With an esurient touch, he reaches between your legs and curls his fingers around the damp fabric, twisting it tight and tugging it down your legs. You hum at the quick brush of his knuckles against your swollen clit, bucking your hips forward. Remmick discards them, allowing them to fall lifelessly to the floor next to his feet.

His long, lithe fingers trail around your kneecap, and dip back, touching the sensitive flesh behind them. Your back arches, fingers clawing at the wood.

Without another thought, your legs drop open for him, revealing your aching, wet center. Having felt the movement, he raises a curious brow, looking between your bodies. "What's this now?"

He's looking at you, waiting. Waiting for you to explain yourself. Your chest heaves with breaths, but you don't answer; you ain't got nothing to say. You're done talking with your mouth. Your gaze bores into his, fiery and intense and filled with the desperation that your lips don't convey. His eyes widen, just for a moment, and you know he understands.

With one firm tug, he pulls you to the edge of the table — your back slides against the smoothed wood like butter. With his gaze locked on his target, Remmick lowers himself down between your legs one knee at a time, situating his face right in front of your cunt. The proximity has you reeling, writhing on the table like a cat in heat. You hear a low chuckle and feel the rush of his breath as he speaks, washing over your skin. "Well, ain't that just the prettiest thing I ever did see… you got yerself' worked up nice n' good."

It wasn't you. It was him.

You try to feel embarrassed, to feel shame, but the only thing that sizzles in your system is your pride. You're proud that he's about to do what he wants with you, proud that you're already wet for him.

You watch him between your legs as he looks at her, tilting his head to and fro, leaning in and inhaling your personal scent. He's clearly not keen on disguising his lust as his dark, glimmering eyes roll back in his head, jaw hanging slack. Another stream of drool. Fear bubbles up in your gut, but Remmick's fingers scratch it away as he grips the sides of your hips, kneading your flesh. Your head lolls back between your shoulders, heavy, as his tongue slips out to taste you, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your essence coats his tongue, pulling a low, gratified growl from his throat. Wade used to growl, but not like that. You ain't never heard a man growl like that.

You lift your gaze and your chest fills with air as Remmick presses his mouth into your cunt, lapping at it. Your next exhale comes out as a moan, and he digs in deeper, tongue stroking your clit, making your hips writhe unconsciously.

"Ah-ah, where you goin' now?" He asks, pulling you right back to the edge of the table. He knows better know, knows he can't leave that body unattended, so his hands, his fingers grip your hips tight, pressing them down into the wood. The table creaks underneath you, moans low like you do every time Remmick's dirty, hungry mouth seals to your cunt. The tip of his tongue encircles your clit, teasing it with single-minded precision. Pleasure. White, hot pleasure. The coil in your stomach winds tighter around itself, aching to snap. A few more passes of his tongue, and you'll be done for.

The curtain patterned moonlight stretches across your body, casting lacy shadows across your bare thighs, illuminating Remmick's fingers as they crawl around your skin like serpents, hunting for some unsuspecting prey.

The other starved beast, his tongue, delves further down into your slickened entrance, scooping back some of the nectar that wells up to meet it. You hear him swallow wetly, and close your eyes, digging your head into the table.

"Oooh, yer' close, I can taste it," he says between swallows. His voice is lower now, lubricated with his own tangible desire. You really were everything Wade had given him. Every thought rang true. "Sweeter than a summer peach…"

You whimper loudly, fighting against his grip. "Don't stop…. don't you stop…"

Remmick lets out a surprised chuckle before pressing his mouth back to you, tongue first. He slips inside you, humming in pleasure as you clench around the welcome intrusion. His tongue thrusts a few times, fucking into you with an unbridled hunger, before he swallows again and returns his efforts to your clit.

And suddenly, you're lost in a tidal wave of pleasure. Waves of euphoria crashing over you, drowning you. Your toes curl, muscles seize up. There's nothing but the feeling of his tongue as it laps at your throbbing cunt. A ribbon of sweat descends from your hairline, winding down to the hollow of your shoulder.

Your chest heaves long, shallow breaths, but your eyes pierce his with a sluttish intensity. You never were satisfied with just one orgasm. You longed to feel the searing, shivering pain of overstimulation.

"Fuck me," you plead as you stretch the suspenders over the curves of his shoulders. "Fuck me hard."

Remmick's head cocks to the side, as if to ask for confirmation. When you don't reply, he hurriedly pulls his shirts from his trousers, exposing his pale, toned stomach. It heaves with laboured, hungry breaths as he reaches for his belt, the button of his slacks. Nimble fingers make quick work of them both, and before you can blink, he's pushed his trousers down. You blink a few times, focusing on his face and realize… he's changed. His mouth looks bigger somehow and it hangs open like a hungry beast's. Sharp, jagged fangs have replace his pearly whites, and when he reaches up to wipe your slick from his chin, his fingers are even longer than before, lengthed by sharp claws.

The man you let in wasn't a man at all, but it was too late for you to care. Your cunt was too wet for you to worry, to protest now. This is it, you think. This is how I die.

"I love me a woman with a healthy appetite," he snarls.

His body folds over yours. His leaking cockhead nudges your entrance, like it, too, needs permission to enter and who are you to deny it? His gaze searches yours, and though it's laden with desire, there's a longing, a question, underneath it all. His hips jerk, pressing the velvet hot tip harder against you and Remmick lets out a whine, something that sounds like pleading. You grip his shirt at the collar, pulling him closer to you. There's a comforting familiarity in your grip and for a moment, you're latched onto the collar of your lover. You sigh.

It's all he needs. In a single thrust, Remmick bottoms out, sinking himself deep into your hot, slick walls. His rhythm, when he finds it, has intention. The force of his thrusts shake your body, your breasts move against your ribs with every drive forward. The wooden table creaks in a singsong melody beneath you, a sinful hymn of your coupled desire.

Your hands grapple furiously for his shoulders, finding comfort in the toned muscles that meet your grip. You wrap both arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him, and Remmick nuzzles into your scent, breathing heavy.

Still sensitive from his tongue, it doesn't take long for you to climb and fall from a second orgasm, clenching tightly around his dick. Your cries fill the house, staining the walls and your legs shake in his grip when he doesn't relent. Remmick whines again and leans forward, whispering something in a language you don't understand. He leans over you, looming above you and deepends his thrusts, bullying your cervix with each one. The gold chain sways in front of your face, and your lids flutter close.

Thoughts of your husband feel far away, because as hungry as he was and as much as he claimed your body, he never fucked you like this. Above you, Remmick leans back, his hips continuing to snap hard against yours.

He calls you girl, calls you sweet and withdraws himself to the head. Gazes down at your swollen, used cunt. With a sharp breath, he plunges himself back in. His release is imminent, and with a few more thrusts, he finds it.

Remmick's hand lifts, clawed fingers curling around your soft jaw to pull it to the side. He leans forward again, presses his lips against the nape of your neck, smearing them against the sweaty skin. You can feel your pulse thudding, visible against the delicate flesh, and know he can too. You don't scream when his mouth opens against your skin, tongue lashing out to taste the succulent flesh one final time. A sickening, squelching sound of flesh tearing fills your ears, followed by a wet swallow. You wince hard as his fangs dig into your flesh, but ease into the sensation of Remmick's mouth as it suckles around the mangled, torn skin, drinking your blood down in gulps as your arteries pump it out. You feel the blood as it cascades down your back, warm. There's so much pain — white, hot fire — that your body begins to quiver. But just for a moment. A single moment.

Your head lolls first before the rest of your body goes slack. Fingers fall from his shoulder, twitching involtunarily. Remmick doesn't let you go, though, if anything — he holds you tighter. Closer. Sucking you down and draining you of your lifeblood.

As your lids flutter heavily, the last image burned into them is his monstrous visage, and the last sensation is the gentle feeling of clawed cupping your face, stroking your sweaty cheek with his thumb.

three brief knocks to the door snap you out of your nervous daze and you shoot upright, gown and protective sheet under you crinkling obnoxiously with your movement.

after a respectful moment, you clear your throat and put on a polite tone.

“come in!” and you cringe at the sound of your shaky voice as the door clicks open.

your face drains of blood when a tall, dark haired man slips in, wearing a long white doctors coat. you had almost thought he was a woman because of the long length of his hair but it quickly became obvious that‘s not the case due to his features and large form.

immediately he smiles in a respectful manner before turning to the sink in the corner to wash his hands.

“hello, y/n. how are you today?”

you’re incredibly stiff as you eye him sanitize his hands, silently racing through possible excuses you could use to get out of this. sure, you were a bit apprehensive about this whole thing before but you were willing to try— that is until a man walked in. you figured men weren’t even allowed in this profession considering the obvious, most not having the same genitalia, but apparently you were heavily mistaken because he has that natural bulge in his dress pants indicating he most definitely doesn’t have a vagina. you have no idea how this could be appropriate.

“um yes, good,” you trail off, blinking rapidly as he swivels the stool closer in front of you and settles onto it with a satisfied grunt, manspreading seemingly comfortably. “are you the uh- doctor?”

he hums with a nod and gently gestures to his name tag reading, ‘dr. geto.’

now your head spins, thighs pushing closed as tightly as possible while you unintentionally clench the white sheet under you.

he seems to notice your nervousness, though he had already picked up on it even before he entered the room—having seen you tapping your foot in the waiting area. he understands that it’s perfectly natural to be anxious before an appointment like this, especially as a young woman. according to your patient intake form, this is your first time at the gynecologist, your first time in this particular clinic, and your first time meeting him— so it makes sense. but still, your anxiety seems to exceed what he usually sees in his patients under these circumstances.

so he wears a face of concern as he addresses you.

“is everything okay?”

immediately you chuckle, nervously and avoid his intimidating eye contact. it certainly doesn’t help that he’s so attractive.

“i just,” you gulp, “-thought i’d have a woman doctor.”

his concerned face relaxes into an understanding one as he clasps his hands together professionally between his legs with his forearms resting on his upper thighs.

“ah, i see. i apologize for the misunderstanding, this is actually my clinic so i’m the only doctor here. you’re welcome to find another clinic you’re more comfortable with, but i would like to say that i’m a professional and you have nothing to worry about if you decide to stay.”

“oh! i um- don’t doubt your professionalism, i’ve just never done this before and..” you drift into silence, eyes flickering up at him briefly as a harsh heat litters your cheeks and neck.

“completely understandable to be nervous for your first time, but i assure you, you have nothing to worry about. i’ve seen many, many bodies on that very bed, and i’m quite used to it.” he smiles, comfortingly and though his words are meant to ease you, they do the opposite. they only work to remind you of the imminent threat of baring your naked lower half to the attractive man in front of you.

as if sensing your rising nerves, he speaks again.

“why don’t we just start with some questions? we don’t need to do an examination unless you want to.”

you sigh in relief and nod timidly, shoulders relaxing as you let go of the paper underneath you. though it’s still nerve wracking to tell him about why you’re here, it’s much less intimidating than the stirrups beside you.

a smile grows on his face as you nod and he claps his hands together gently in preparation.

“great. let’s start with why you’re here today— a regular check up or do you have a specific issue?”

you gulp, fingers fiddling in your lap. “well i have an issue, i guess.”

he hums and nods to urge you on as he adopts a focused expression.

“i’m worried i have some sort of- i don’t know- infection maybe?”

“i see. are you having symptoms?” he questions as you grapple with the vulnerability of this.

“uh- not exactly. i had a,” you pause as your gaze flickers up at the ceiling in attempt to explain the situation without exposing the whole embarrassing picture, “—situation. i can’t get something big inside of me.”

a moment of silence follows, and you anxiously glance back at his face, worrying that you might not be normal and that this is an unusual issue for him to encounter with patients.

he inhales as he briefly squints in slight confusion.

“i’m sorry— you said you can’t get something big inside of you? are you having intercourse problems?” geto remembers seeing on your intake form that you’re a virgin so he’s assuming when you first tried to have sex, he couldn’t put it in.

you inhale sharply with parted lips as if thinking on what to say, “yes.”

he hums and nods. “i think i understand. just to be clear, your partner— i’m guessing a man—hasn’t been able to penetrate you?”

“mhm. i’m just nervous that maybe something is wrong with me,” you mutter timidly, eyes nervously tracing his face, “i-is this not common?”

immediately he holds his hands up as to comfort you. “well, first of all i’d like to be clear that there’s likely nothing wrong with you. i can’t say i’ve had many patients with this problem but that doesn’t mean i can’t help.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek as you shyly nod.

“is this an issue of lack of lubrication maybe?” he questions with concentration and an obvious genuine desire to help you. as a man, geto knows how most other men are, your ‘partner’ who’s probably as young and naive as you are, likely doesn’t know how to turn you on correctly, doesn’t know the places that make you dripping wet like you need to be for penetration— especially for a virgin.

immediately, you flush even harsher. “oh, i don’t— i’m not completely sure. i don’t think so.” it’s not as if you were soaking wet when you had tried to have sex but you weren’t dry either.

“okay, maybe it’s a not an issue with you. was he able to hold an erection?” he inquires, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. he thinks it’s much more likely that this guy is the problem, maybe he got too nervous and chickened out before he could even get it in you.

“no, he was hard— i think,” you mumble, recalling the size of his dick was smaller than you imagined it would be. and if geto wasn’t such a trained professional, maybe you’d be able to tell he almost laughed at that.

“hmm, okay. may i ask if you use tampons? if so, is it painful?” he inquires, gently, growing worried that maybe something else is happening here.

“no, not painful really— i mean, maybe a little?” you sigh, unsure and a bit frustrated at your inability to aid the doctor efficiently. tampons are uncomfortable but you’re not sure if it’s an unusual level of discomfort.

“please, feel free to let me know if you’re uncomfortable with answering but it will aid your diagnosis if you can.” he briefs you, as if warning you for the next question gently.

you take a deep breath and nod, making him dart his tongue out briefly as if to prepare.

“do you masterbate?” he asks as if it’s a natural inquiry, and for him it probably is. your stomach tingles in nerves and surprise at the question.

your face heats up as you hesitate.

“kind of,” you shrug, noncommittally as if trying to avoid being too direct with your response. geto’s dealt with his fair share of shy patients, and by now, he's fluent in the 'maybe' and 'sort of' answers—yours being a clear yes.

“that’s very good,” he praises you with a deep tone, making you chew on the inside of your cheek, feet fidgeting against one another as you avoid direct eye contact. “it’s very healthy to bring yourself to orgasm as often as you can.”

you give him a smile that feels mandatory, it immaturely feels as if he knows something secret about you now as he gazes at you for a beat.

“when you masterbate, do you just touch? or do you penetrate yourself?” as his gentle, deep tone utters the word penetrate, you gulp, his eyes dancing down to flicker at your small fingers fidgeting against one another.

you nod stiffly with eyes on the floor. “both.”

“with—?” he trails off, head tilting a bit in attempt to observe your reaction to gauge your answer.

“my fingers,” you timidly explain, quickly brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear in a nervous habit.

“okay,” geto hums a chuckle, making your eyes dart up at him in question, “that’s great, really great.”

before you can ask why that’s so great with furrowed brows, he inhales deeply and his eyes lock back on you.

“and does this bring you to orgasm?” he asks gently, oddly comfortingly.

you can’t help but laugh awkwardly in a sort of nervous habit, making his grin grow in tandem to your laughing.

“is that funny?” he coos in amusement, as if playfully questioning a cat about the thrill of knocking over a glass.

you immediately shake your head no with a concealed immature smile.

“sorry—”

“—don’t apologize,” he interrupts your obviously casual apology as if it were a serious one, “it can be awkward to discuss things like this, i acknowledge that. especially with a man twice your age, just act like i’m one of your friends.”

you gulp, your obvious naivety feeling much more pronounced now that he’s reminded you of your difference in maturity.

“okay. how um— specific do you want me to be?”

his response is immediate, “as specific as you’re comfortable with. the more information, the better.”

you inhale deeply and squint at the ceiling as you think on it.

“well, i can cu— orgasm easier when i play wit— i mean stimulate my clit,” you stumble over your words, nervously.

he hums slowly, making the humiliation you already feel grow within yourself.

“how often do you play with yourself?” he asks, and for a moment, your eyes widen, fully aware that he’s using the exact words you were hesitant to say, afraid they’d come off as inappropriate.

you bite your lower lip subtly, briefly glancing at the floor. having to recall such intimate details while an attractive man with those sharp eyes watches you—it’s impossible not to squeeze your thighs together under the weight of the topic.

you remind yourself it’s silly to think this way—he’s a trained doctor, just doing his job, trying to innocently help a young girl. but still, you can’t shake the feeling— no man has ever asked you about something so intimate with such focus, as if he genuinely wants to understand what brings you to that intense high of pleasure.

you know it’s all in your head, that he’s actually being professional, yet a small part of you wonders if his role as a doctor ever follows him home. does he recall the patient who can only reach orgasm while playing with their nipples as he makes dinner? or does he keep those details neatly tucked away, never letting them blur the lines of his professionalism?

your gaze shoots up to him when he gently calls your name, pulling you out of your thoughts to check if you’re okay.

“oh sorry,” you huff sharply as you shake your head briefly, “maybe four times a week, it helps me sleep.”

“i see,” he clears his throat, adjusting on the stool briefly, “and how long does it take you to reach orgasm when you’re playing with your clit?”

you press your palms against your face, trying to mask your embarrassment as you avoid his gaze for a moment, the weight of his question hanging in the air, making you swallow hard.

“i dont really know,” you mumble, “i guess it depends on how uh— into it i am. sometimes five minutes, sometimes twenty.”

“that’s perfectly normal,” he smiles and allows for a beat, making you nod back in acknowledgement.

“does it hurt when you use your fingers inside?” he asks, making you hum in thought.

“sometimes,” you shrug, shyly.

then he takes a deep breath as if preparing to explain something to you. “well, it’s quite difficult to know for sure without an exam but there is a condition called vaginismus where the muscles around the vagina tighten involuntarily, making penetration difficult or painful.”

immediately you gulp and your brows pinch in worry. geto thinks you’re such a sweet girl, it pains him to worry you.

“i-is there a cure for that? if i have that, will i never be able to have sex?” you question eagerly, the embarrassment of speaking such words fizzle into worry for your wellbeing.

"don’t worry, there are effective treatments available to alleviate symptoms if that’s truly what the problem is but to diagnose you and or treat it will all require me to examine as well as—touch your vaginal area,” he explains with slight sympathy, seeing how your expression changes into one of terror as he speaks.

“fuck,” you mutter to yourself, hands running down your face in preparation, “okay, fine. just help me, please.”

the idea of never being able to have sex like a normal person scares you— not to mention the fear and embarrassment of having to tell any boyfriends in the future about your potential condition before dating. even though this doctor is a man and in retrospect, you could find another place with a woman doctor, that might take a few days to verify with your insurance before even booking an appointment. you’re sure this condition isn’t time sensitive for treatment based on what he said but you aren’t sure if you can sleep tonight without knowing what’s wrong with you.

he smiles kindly. “great, i understand this may be uncomfortable, but please know that i’ll prioritize your comfort and provide the highest level of care. you can trust me.”

you exhale shakily and nod with a small, polite smile.

“um- do i just,” you stutter, gesturing towards the stirrups and leaning back on your palms awkwardly.

he huffs softly in amusement but cuts himself off. “i know the stirrups can be intimidating so lets just start with lying back and relaxing.”

you nod with a shaky sigh as you lie back, your calves and feet dangling off the edge, staring up at the dull, off-white ceiling once again. before he approaches you, you hear him opening a cabinet and grabbing something from it.

he then approaches your side, adjusting the bed so that it raises a bit considering he’s so tall. he then slides out a foot rest that elongates the bed, gently picking up your calves and aiding in placing them down on it so you’re lying flat.

“i’m going to start with checking your blood pressure, heart rate, all that boring stuff,” he lightly jokes with a silly, kind smile making you huff despite your anxiety.

you watch as he proceeds to un velcro the blood pressure cuff, hold it with one hand, and then lay the other hand on your covered thigh. “this doohickey goes around your upper thigh, unfortunately it’s more accurate that way. is that okay?”

it’s evident he’s trying to make the situation more comfortable by calling the blood pressure cuff a ‘doohickey’ while mentioning that he needs to expose your upper thigh for this.

“o-oh, i guess,” you stutter, gaze flickering down nervously.

“great,” he smiles before gently sliding the hem of the gown up his finger tips leaving goosebumps in their wake, making you snap a hand down onto your covered pussy to keep the gown in place with a gulp.

he simply smiles down at you, eyes eerily intense as he gives you a moment to hold the gown down with fluster.

“good, keep your hand there,” he says as if he was the one to suggest it.

he then gently wraps his hand around the back of your knee and lifts it to a bent position.

“how old are you, y/n?” he questions, obviously just making small talk considering he already knows your age from your intake form.

he then secures the cuff around the upper part of your thigh, brushing his cold hands against the cuff and, inadvertently, your surrounding skin, causing your thigh to clench briefly.

you clear your throat and blink, “i’m twenty- two.”

then he begins to pump the pressure cuff, making you slightly grimace at the pressure.

“i’m surprised you haven’t had an exam yet,” he voices, eyes on the meter with a respectful, gentle smile still on his face as he concentrates.

“oh, i just— get nervous, i guess.” you shrug as he stops pumping and squints his eyes at the meter.

“that’s unfortunate, it’s important to get annual checkups for prevention,” he says, slim eyes flickering at you briefly. he says it in a tone that clearly conveys his professional expertise, yet carries a hint of amusement, like a parent gently reminding their child about the importance of good behavior in public.

“i know, i’ll try to be better about it,” you say shyly as he begins to slowly pull off the cuff, making sure to briefly rub against the indents it created in your skin. you can’t help but inhale sharply at the feeling of his large warm hands basically massaging your upper thigh, so close to your most intimate areas.

“good, feel okay?” he asks with concern, referring to your upper thigh.

“mhm, totally fine,” you say, politely making him take his hand away from you.

he then makes his way to the cabinets in the corner and starts rummaging through it once again, seemingly looking for something.

your brows furrow as he sighs and makes his way back to your side, placing one large palm against the middle of your thigh.

“unfortunately, my silly nurse forgot to order the new medical grade stethoscopes so if it’s okay with you, i can use my hand. it’s probably more efficient this way anyways,” he asks you. his tone is so gentle and sweet that it’s just impossible to say no, after all what’s the harm, he’s a doctor.

“sure, whatever works,” you nod, making him smile in gratitude.

in a professional manner, he extends his hand and places it flat against the left side of your chest. his large hand covers most of the area, pressing down on your left breast, causing you to feel a surge of embarrassment and look away from his gaze. you glance at the door nervously as he presses into your breast slowly and with pressure. the act makes you feel as though you’re doing something wrong or taboo. if one of his nurses were to walk in right now, you wouldn’t know what to do.

he then hums in a conflicted manner after a moment, making your gaze flicker to his face in question.

“i can’t feel your heart through this pesky gown,” he sighs, making your heart rate immediately skyrocket at the insinuation. he seems to notice your nerves.

“oh, don’t worry, you can keep the gown on. i can just reach under if you’re comfortable with it? i’ll be quick,” he asks in a kind, professional way that makes you feel as though he’s genuine. still, you can’t help but feel hesitant.

“oh, i don’t— um— is it really necessary?” you ask nervously, chewing on the inside of your cheek with pinched brows.

“well, it’s important to make sure your heart is healthy and beating in a natural way,” he explains, kindly.

you fall silent, knowing that if he feels your heartbeat under the gown, his large hand is bound to directly touch your left breast. the thought is nerve-wracking—maybe in movies, this would be a fantasy scenario, but in real life, the idea of it is anything but romantic; it’s frightening.

“you know what? let me ask my nurse if we have any old stethoscopes,” he says after a few moments of your silence, attempting to comfort you.

you nod gently with a sigh in brief relief and he begins to walk to the door.

he peeks his head out and calls over his nurse.

“do we have any of our old stethoscopes in storage maybe?”

you can’t hear the nurses response but you can assume it’s not good news because doctor geto sighs, although he’s naturally soft in his demeanor and tone, you can tell he’s frustrated with his nurse.

“first not ordering the new ones in time and now this? at this point, i should just hire a monkey to do your job.”

his words shock you, you can’t help but feel sympathy for the nurse as they respond to him. in fact, you feel so guilty that you gulp before calling doctor geto’s name.

hearing your call, he turns to you with a kind smile.

“yes?”

“uhm actually— i change my mind. you can do it under the gown. it’s no big deal,” you stutter, wearing a face of faux nonchalance. in retrospect, maybe you should have held your ground and refused to let him do as he pleases, doctor or not, but it does seem a bit silly to care all that much about your breast when he’s going to be face to face with your pussy soon enough.

immediately, he blinks at you with raised brows in slight surprise.

“are you sure? i can try to find something else or—”

“—no, no. it’s really okay,” you interrupt him, adding a casual huff to add to your calm persona.

“oh great, i deeply apologize for the inconvenience,” he smiles at you, pinched brows in a slight pout as if he feels sympathy for you.

you nod and shrug as to wave off his apology.

then, he shuts the door, not even notifying his nurse before making his way back to hover over your side.

he then carefully and slowly slips his hand beneath your gown through the neckline. you shiver at his touch that trails to your left breast. his gaze is locked on nothing in particular in the distance, attempting to concentrate.

your brows twitch and your lips part slightly as he gently feels around the fat of your breast with his fingers, pressing into the area where he believes your heart is, searching for the spot where he can feel it most clearly. though you’re trying so hard to keep your heartbeat at a normal rate, your attempt seems to do the opposite, making it skyrocket. considering the anxiety of the uncomfortably bright room with a hot male gynecologist who’s hand is down your shirt, it’s not completely ridiculous that it’s a bit faster than normal.

you notice his addams’s apple bob when your nipple brushes against his cold finger. you on the other hand, can’t help but gasp shallowly and sharply, jolting a bit at the sensitivity.

“you okay?” he questions, as if he doesn’t even know why you reacted that way while your nipples rapidly begin to harden from the chilly friction.

“yeah- yes. of course,” you nervously jut out, attempting to take advantage of his ignorance to avoid the embarrassment and his gaze.

he hums before taking a few moments to push into a specific area of your breast to listen to your heartbeat and record the amount of beats per minute.

after a minute of silence, he hums. “are you nervous? your heart beat is quite high— 130 beats,” he questions with concern, allowing a moment for his hand to rest on your bare chest as if he’s attempting to comfort you before sliding it out.

“sorry, yes,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fact that your nipples are likely poking through the gown.

“hmm. though quite fast, i’d say your heart rate is perfectly normal. blood pressure is fine too,” he offers you a kind smile as he gently slides the extended part of the bed back in, leaving your calves and feet dangling over the edge once again.

next, he makes his way out of your sight, making you eye the annoying ceiling once again.

you fight the urge to sit up and see what he’s doing as you hear the roll of the wheeled chair, his footsteps, and the snap of latex gloves.

“have you removed your underwear?” he smoothly inquires, making you nod quickly and utter a ‘yes.’

“do you have a boyfriend, y/n?” he asks kindly, moving to stand in front of your legs now. it’s clear he’s trying to distract you in an effort to help you relax.

“boyfriend? no way,” you laugh, breathily but still quite nervous as he gently lays a gloved hand onto your outer thigh. you had barely had your first blind date the other day when this problem started, much less a boyfriend.

he lightly chuckles with you briefly. he assumes you had tried for a one night stand sort of arrangement when you ran into this little problem of yours.

“oh yeah? i’m going to put your feet into the stirrups now, okay? i apologize if it’s cold,” he voices, allowing a moment to wait for your nod before gently sliding his hand from your thigh down to wrap around your ankle. you appreciate his decency to vocalize before doing something.

you gulp as he carefully places your foot onto the stirrup, followed by the other foot. a sudden rush of cold air fans your warm folds, making you shiver as your gown rides up to your hip crease.

as he positions you, he moves to stand between your legs, and you feel the fabric of his long coat brush against the inner parts of your thighs. if he weren’t standing as close as he is, your exposed vagina would likely be quite visible to him. you can see him wearing a relaxed expression above you, watching you to ensure you’re comfortable.

he then taps the outside of your right thigh gently, causing a ripple of goosebumps to race down your leg.

“doing okay?” he asks, leaning in the smallest bit to better face you. his closeness causes you to stiffen in embarrassment.

“y-yes— mhm,” you nod quickly, attempting to fight off the heat that’s creeping up on your face and neck as you avoid his hovering gaze.

“i’m going to sit now,” he gently warns you, indicating that he will be face to face with your pussy once he sits down. you nod in acknowledgment, even though you realize he likely doesn’t see your response.

the rolling chair comes to a stop directly in front of you and as he takes a seat with a deep breath, you shut your eyes tightly and clench your fists by your side, aware that he can now see everything on full display.

“i’ll need to touch both externally and internally; is that alright with you?" he asks, prompting you to make a breathy sound in embarrassment, your eyes remaining closed in anxiety.

“oh, inside too? okay,” you gulp, stuttering over your words.

“just tell me if you’d like me to stop and i will, immediately.” he speaks professionally as he places one hand gently on the mid part of your inner thigh, the unexpected touch causing you to gasp quietly in shock despite his warnings.

“right, okay,” you exhale shakily as he moves his hand down your thigh. he then uses two fingers to gently separate your folds, exposing a glimpse of your entrance. you can only assume he trailed his hand from your thigh to your labia to considerately allow you to anticipate the touch.

“there we go, looks good so far,” he voices with lighthearted concentration. and even though you know he’s talking about your external genitalia looking healthy, his wording still makes you blush even harder— part of you assuming immediately that he means aesthetically. if the man between your legs wasn’t as attractive as he is, you likely wouldn’t react as you are.

“i’m going to press down on some areas and you tell me if it hurts, alright?”

then as soon as you mutter an affirmation, he releases your folds and gently presses two large fingers on your clit, forcing a jolt of electric arousal to briefly shoot through your body, making your thighs jerk a bit.

“d-doesn’t hurt,” you inform him as you make an effort to keep your legs open.

“great, and here?” he questions, moving his fingers down to press on the area just above your enterance opening.

your brows twitch, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to fight off the surge of heat running through you. a beat of silence ensues, attempting to calm yourself.

“uh no,” you quickly answer before your silence becomes suspicious.

you hadn’t anticipated feeling aroused during this process, especially with your friends’ accounts of the pain and discomfort from various metal contraptions that they shoved into them. however, doctor geto’s voice is undeniably soothing, not to mention he looks more like an idol than a doctor.

“excellent, and— here?” he asks again, this time pressing on the area between your pussy and your second hole.

it’s a bit uncomfortable, but you’re pretty sure that’s just because it’s an awkward area.

“no, not painful,” you explain, grimacing a bit at the feeling.

“not painful but-?” he questions, sensing your hesitance to explain further.

“um, it’s just uncomfortable. i’ve never been touched there, it feels weird,” you mutter quickly, humiliated to even admit that to him.

he huffs in a slight laugh, “okay, now i’m going to feel around your labia to feel for any abnormalities. just relax.”

immediately, you begin to blink rapidly with pinched brows as he runs two fingers through your folds, starting at your clit and sliding down to your entrance before swiping back up and repeating. with every slide of his fingers, your abdomen tightens and relaxes, while your toes curl and uncurl gently. your hips instinctively shift, responding softly to the sensations coursing through you.

“feel okay?” he asks considerately, in his cooing tone, only escalating your perversion, making you hesitantly pull your hand away from your mouth to respond.

“i-it feels g- fine, yes,” you breathe out, mentally cursing at yourself for almost admitting how good it feels.

you know this is an examination, but it’s the same type of stimulus that someone would use with the intention of pleasing you. it’s shockingly alluring and terribly taboo, making you feel equal parts shame and euphoria. you try desperately to think of anything gross or weird to turn off your rising arousal but it’s futile— maybe it would work if you weren’t so inexperienced, but you simply are.

he hums, long and soft as he continues to examine you with his large two middle fingers.

“this boy you were seeing,” he begins, barely working to pique your attention that’s glued to the way his cold gloved fingers feel against your folds, “was he able to bring you to climax with his fingers or anything else?”

your breathing deepens, eyes lidded in relaxation as you blink slowly, trying desperately to focus on answering your doctor.

“not really,” you pause to sigh deeply in relaxation, “he touched me over my panties but i didn’t cum or anything.”

your nervousness fades with each glide of his fingers, your attention shifting from the worry of saying the wrong thing to the sensations he creates. with each gentle drag, you find yourself speaking as if to a close friend, your walls crumbling as you become more absorbed in his touch.

his gaze is locked to your pretty lips, which are beginning to glisten like a flower kissed by morning dew as he brings your leaking arousal through them. he notices the way your clit is stiffening and twitching beneath his touch, a subtle sign that he should ignore. he should have moved on to the next part of the examination, but he can’t resist the allure of your hips instinctively rolling against his touch. he senses that you’re likely unaware of your own body’s response to grind against his fingers.

he emits a soft, displeased ‘tch’ at your answer, shaking his head as if disappointed in humanity.

“as your doctor, i advise being cautious with boys your age,” he speaks with a casual smoothness as you nod eagerly, eyes closed and teeth biting your lip, more a reaction to the escalating pleasure than to his words, your thoughts floating in blissful disarray. “unfortunately, they can cause some real harm to your body and lead to some serious issues.”

when you don’t answer, basically drooling in your own world, he speaks again.

“you want to ensure that your lovely anatomy remains in good health, don’t you?” he urges, his subtle compliment making your closed eyelids flutter as a tingle shoots through your lower abdomen, your back arching slightly.

you can’t tell if it’s just your imagination, but his fingers apply more pressure against the sensitive underside of your clit briefly as he speaks, sending a quick jolt of almost painful sensitivity coursing through you. it feels as though he’s intertwining his touch with the weight of his words, punishing you for your hesitation to respond and reminding you of the folly in even considering a fling with an immature guy.

you close your eyes tightly and quickly press a palm to your mouth as to not accidentally expose your perverted arousal growing impossible to ignore. the way he’s touching you so gently, its obvious he knows his way around pleasing a woman in his personal life— even if he’s simply feeling around for something potentially concerning.

“right,” you quickly babble stupidly through the muffling of your hand, “you’re right.”

it becomes painfully clear that you’re growing exceptionally wet because the squelching of your folds begins to echo loudly in the sterile room.

“it’s quite normal for your body to react to stimulus, if anything natural lubrication will aid in minimizing any potential discomfort,” he suddenly speaks on the elephant in the room, you think you can hear a hint of a smile in his tone, but you’re not certain enough to be sure. you were hoping he’d just ignore your growing wetness or even not notice it but it’s obviously too agonizingly obvious to ignore.

“i’m s-so sorry,” you mutter, mortified as you use both hands to cover your face as if that could make you disappear into them.

he chuckles deeply at your embarrassment, “it’s no problem, sweet girl. it’s normal, try to relax.”

his use of a pet name is obviously meant to ease your nerves but it only triples the amount of slick gushing out of you and being collected by his fingers to then coat your folds.

even if you wanted to respond, you don’t because you’re terrified that you’ll accidentally let a moan slip.

“i’m very glad to know lubrication isn’t the issue here, that can be quite frustrating for a patient— having to go on all kinds of pesky medications just to have sex,” he explains, and you’re barely even able to process his words so you simply hum with a frantic nod.

after a few more agonizing moments of his blissful touch, you sigh in relief and unclench your eyes when he finally halts and pulls his fingers away. saying its a relief that he halts his movements is an understatement because you’re pretty sure an orgasm was approaching in the distance if he continued the stimulus a little while longer— though you could never actually admit it to yourself.

“good news, i don’t feel anything unusual on the outside,” he gladly notifies you with a deep breath.

“o-oh that’s good,” you swallow hard, a heat creeping up your cheeks as his words hit home. you’ve been so caught up in primally chasing pleasure that you suddenly feel embarrassed for losing sight of the real reason you’re here: to make sure you’re healthy.

“i need to check internally now, which may cause some discomfort. i need you to take a deep breath and focus on my voice, okay?” he explains, a hint of sympathy in his gentle tone.

his words send your heart plummeting, the arousal quickly fading to the background as a wave of panic takes over. the thought of something unfamiliar or painful being inserted inside you becomes overwhelming, bringing back the humiliating memory of that guy’s frustrated expression when he couldn’t get his dick inside you.

“w-wait— what are you putting inside of me?” you stop him with urgency before he can even touch you again, sitting up on your elbows quickly to see, and you honestly wish you hadn’t because the sight of him between your spread thighs is horrifying and sexy all at once.

your fluster is obvious as he transfers his gaze from your pussy up to your worried face.

"it’ll just be my finger. i know this can be a bit scary," he says, placing a reassuring hand on your thigh, "—but it’s necessary for a proper diagnosis. I can’t promise it won’t be uncomfortable, but your natural lubrication should help. i’m glad we won’t need to use gel, it doesn’t work as well in reducing discomfort during insertion."

you gulp and blink at him with conflict. the idea that it might be painful scares you but the fact that it’s only his finger makes you feel a bit better. but now, not only are you worried about this process, arousal is sitting behind you, eagerly awaiting its turn for attention.

he examines your expression to make sure you’re okay, allowing you to gather the courage to speak.

“w-what if it won’t go in?” you question, timidly. you’re afraid of the possibility that even his finger won’t be able to push past your entrance like that guy, indicating that maybe something incurable is wrong with you instead of a condition that can be corrected.

he immediately smiles kindly at you with a soft sympathetic huff as his hand begins to rub comfortingly up and down your inner thigh. he feels so bad for you, a young, beautiful girl who’s obviously terrified of something being wrong with her body.

“i wouldn’t worry about that, i was already close to slipping into you before,” he coos, attempting to comfort you, making your eyes widen a bit. you think maybe you’re actually a raging pervert because his unintentionally lewd words make your chasm clench in need, forcing a bit of arousal to gush out of you, slowly begin to slide down to your other hole, and pool under you to inevitably drool down to the floor.

you inhale shakily and deeply before nodding.

“j-just go slow, please.”

he gently allows his sleek eyes to come close to shutting as he smiles at you with consideration and a short nod, but you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches with your words.

“if it helps, you can watch,” he offers, squeezing your thigh gently.

as you nod, he speaks again.

“here.” he raises his glistening, gloved fingers, then gently takes one of your hands and guides it to wrap around his thick middle finger.

“that’s all that will be inside of you,” he murmurs soothingly, his hand still gently holding yours, wrapped around his finger. “not too bad, right?”

the skin between your brows pinches momentarily as you look down at your hand enveloped by his. his finger is so long and thick compared to yours that half of it remains exposed, just beyond your grasp. you can’t tell how comforting that is in relation to the potential pain, but it certainly sends a flutter of butterflies through your lower abdomen.

“y-yeah,” you nod dumbly, “not too bad.”

he smiles and hums, gently taking his hands back to rest one back to your inner thigh while the other prepares to penetrate you.

“i’m just going to gently push past the tight ring of your entrance first, and then i’ll give you a moment to breathe, okay? stop me if it’s too uncomfortable.” his gaze flickers from you, down to your pussy in focus.

your breaths are shaky as you anticipate pain with an anxious pout. your sweet innocence makes his eyes soften as he gazes up at you.

“deep breath in,” he coos, making you breathe in deeply, “and out.”

the second you breathe out, he pushes his finger past your entrance quickly, keeping his eyes on your face as it contorts in a flinch. you gasp and stiffen at the stinging intrusion.

“shh, i know. on a scale of one to ten, how badly does it hurt?” he shushes you sweetly, keeping the tip of his finger unmoving in your chasm while his other hand rubs circles on your inner thigh.

“s-six,” you whine out, fists tight at your sides. the pain feels as though just the tip of his finger has cut open the bottom part of your opening.

“oh no,” he coos, making eye contact with your glistening eyes, “this might help.”

he then uses the hand on your thigh to gently rub circles into your clit, making your lips part as your eyes close in tandem with your brows raising softly in surprising comfort.

the way he moves against you now feels distinctly different from when he was simply examining your labia. his touch is more precise, focusing on the top sides of your clit, gently coaxing the hood to glide up and down instead of applying harsh pressure directly onto your clit. it’s as if he’s deliberately ensuring that each movement remains soothing rather than overwhelming, carefully avoiding any intensity that might tip into discomfort.

and it does help—more than just help, in fact. you can feel your core clenching with a growing yearning for more, pulling his finger in like a vacuum.

“better?” he inquires, still swiping at you as your thighs twitch and toes curl in the stirrups.

“t-that’s— fuck— i don’t kn—“ you whine, pathetically, unable to put your thoughts in order as he continues his work. he interrupts you with a cooing shush.

“good, it’s okay— shh, i’m going deeper now,” he briefly warns you before quickly pushing his middle finger in to the hilt, making you gasp loudly.

“o-ow— hurts,” you whine, opening your pouty eyes to see his low ones already on you.

“i know, i know. but you’re doing so good, sweet girl.” he soothes, quickening his pace on your clit to distract you.

“j-just hurry, please,” you grit out, biting back a moan as you watch him eye your pussy fluttering around his finger.

“of course. i’m gonna start moving and pressing down now. you’ll feel pressure, bare with me.” he explains, licking his lips as your arousal pools around his finger and drools onto the floor. geto is trying so hard to be professional but your virgin pussy is so tight and wet, as if it’s just inviting him in to play.

he then begins to move his finger within you, prodding against every one of your walls with exploration, likely a bit harder than he really has to, making you whine and jolt. when his finger pushes up against your top wall, your pussy clenches hard and you can’t help but let out a surprised whimper.

“so tight,” he breathes out to himself, astonished. it’s as if he didn’t know he said it out loud making your lidded gaze snap wide open at him with concern.

“w-what?” you ask, a flicker of concern washing over you as the possibility of having the condition he mentioned sinks in. what’s usually a compliment to most women feels more like an insult to you now.

his gaze immediately flickers up at you, a bit of surprise lacing his eyes that you actually heard him as he clears his throat.

“oh— nothing,” he chuckles, almost nervously, “you’re just a bit tight down here, it’s difficult to examine properly.”

“oh, you scared me,” your eyes soften and you sigh. he also sighs in relief but not for the same reasons.

“do me a favor and lay back for me,” he softly commands and you obey as you breathe deeply.

“i’m gonna try to open you up, stay down. do not get up unless i ask of you, okay?” he explains seriously, making your brows furrow.

“u-um why?” you ask, curiously.

“you’re much more open laying down. i’m about to push harder against your walls and i’m afraid it will hurt you if you sit up,” he explains, slightly breathy. you nod at the ceiling and gulp in preparation.

then, he takes his fingers off of your clit and replaces it with something warm and wet. and at the same time, he begins to move his finger inside of you, curling against your top wall harshly.

you gasp out in shock, gasp only turning into whiny cries as the wet thing on your clit begins to move against it. it almost feels like a tongue licking at your clit like an ice cream cone but you quickly shake your head of that idea; he’s a doctor, he’d never do such a thing. you wouldn’t know what a tongue feels like on your pussy anyways so you dumbly assume it’s one of their contraptions to help with penetration. and fuck, does it help.

still, you find yourself biting your bottom lip harshly as your hands softly hit against the bed under you in attempt to cope with the aggressive administrations to your insides. you wouldn’t be surprised if your lower tummy is twitching in a bulge, showing how vehemently he’s striking your top wall.

and when a shameful orgasm begins to approach with haste and you whine in panic as your back arches against your will.

“ngh!— stop! i’m— stop!” you plead, trying your best not to close your legs or sit up in fear of it being painful like he warned.

his movements halt abruptly at your begging, pulling the wet thing away from your clit and stopping so his finger is unmoving inside of you.

geto doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong, he knows how your body works and the signs of your approaching orgasm are more clear than most of the women he’s fucked.

“i’m so close to finding what i need, are you sure you’d like me to stop?” he inquires, voice deep and raspy. you aren’t entirely sure because of how aggressive his finger was moving inside of you before but it feels as though it’s still so subtly moving in and out of you, keeping your orgasm just teetering on the edge.

you’d rather die than admit you’re close to orgasm in a doctors office and in a paper dress with your feet in stirrups so instead, you make up an excuse.

“it just— hurts and—”

“but if we stop, i wont be able to diagnose you, y/n. are you okay leaving here today without knowing? i’d like to help you, but you need to let me,” he coos, almost impatiently. his words spark a bit of anxiety within you, making you feel as though it would be your fault if you don’t gain a proper exam.

you whine quietly, unable to decide. it’s so difficult to think with his digit still inside of you. you aren’t sure if you can even fend off an orgasm if you choose to keep going, but doctor geto’s words make you feel pressure to continue, for your health.

your whine in indecision makes him coo at you, “i know it’s scary— but your health is more important than your embarrassment.”

you know he’s right, though you think he doesn’t know that it’s more than just embarrassment holding you back, it’s more the fear of cumming all over him.

“how much longer?” you choke out, preparing to endure more.

if you were able to see the diabolical smile on geto’s face as you give in, you’d be running out of here and never coming back, maybe even leaving a bad review on yelp.

geto doesn’t behave this way; he never has. he’s always honored the vulnerability of his patients when they lie exposed on the exam table, maintaining an unwavering commitment to professionalism and respect. he understands the trust they place in him, and he’s never crossed that line before.

but with you, everything feels different. you’re not only an attractive young woman; you’re naive, so visibly nervous from the idea of him seeing and touching your most vulnerable spots, and it’s been clear from the second he entered the room that you’re attracted to him. he’s never had a patient so visibly affected by his touch, so sticky and wet, and it’s challenging him to uphold the composure he prides himself on.

“not too much longer; try to relax your body. you’re quite tense around me, but every time your muscles ease up, i get closer to collecting what i need for an accurate diagnosis.”

you curse at yourself mentally as you tap your fingers against the table, “i don’t really know how to make my muscles ‘ease up.’”

he hums, “that’s okay, i can help. what do you imagine when you masterbate?”

your eyes snap wide open at the ceiling and you flush in embarrassment.

“h-huh? what do you mean? why?”

“ah, i know. it seems odd but there’s a study that shows a woman’s vaginal muscles seem to become more flexible when imagining arousing scenarios or situations,” he chuckles, casually.

“oh,” you chirp, hands going to grip the sides of your gown into tight fists.

he allows a beat of silence so you can think on it, relishing in the way your pussy likes to hug his finger every now and then, like it’s begging to be pleased by him.

“i’ll try, you can keep going,” you timidly notify him.

“well, i can help if you’d like,” he says softly, “what do you usually imagine that arouses you the quickest? try to be as specific as you can.”

you swallow hard and shut your eyes, desperately trying to shield yourself from the humiliation of confessing something so intimate to your doctor, tricking your mind into believing it’s just a casual chat with friends like he said earlier.

“i think about,” you begin slowly, “a stranger, a man sitting beside me somewhere in public—”

as you speak, geto starts to slowly work his finger back up to a good pace, cock twitching painfully as your words begin to waver into a whine as he rubs against your g-spot.

“mhm,” he hums, urging you to continue, “and what does he do to you?”

“—he starts to touch me,” you gasp softly, fisting your gown as that wet thing starts to lap at your pulsing clit once more, “and he doesn’t even look— ngh— at me, he just shoves his hand into my panties and plays with me.”

“and what do you do?” he eggs you on, and perhaps if you weren't so caught up in the steadily building wave of pleasure, you might have noticed how when he speaks, that warm, wet sensation is momentarily lifted from your clit.

“i try to stop him by pulling at his arm but,” you let out a breathy moan as the wet thing starts to suckle on your clit, “—but there are so many people around and i don’t want them to know.”

“no, you can’t make it stop,” he coos in faux sympathy, as if roleplaying to further delve you into your fantasy. being so aroused at this point, you don’t even notice him slipping another finger in to join the assault on your guts. “but you can try.”

before you fully comprehend what’s happening, he guides one of your hands down, wrapping your fingers around the wrist of the hand that’s fucking inside you. it feels surreal, as if he’s weaving your fantasy into reality. the warmth of his contracting, veiny wrist contrasts with the coolness of the exam table.

“no, i can’t make it stop,” you repeat his words in a pathetic cry of pleasure, your orgasm approaching closer as his pace becomes violent and the wet thing around your clit start to flick at it abusively while latched on like lips suckling on a nipple. every ounce of shame you have transforms into a disturbingly taboo fuel, amplifying your pleasure in ways you never anticipated.

the only sound in the room are your moans and squelching, but you can feel a deep, rumbling groan reverberate against your clit as your grip on his wrist weakly attempts to pull him out like in your fantasy. before you have a chance to process what that means, your orgasm crashes over you, painting your vision white. embarrassing sounds of ecstasy escape your lips, tinged with desperation, as your nails dig into his wrist, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

your body convulses in a chaotic rhythm, alternating between curling inward and arching outward. each wave of pleasure sends soft involuntary jerks through you, leaving your abdomen taut and quivering.

“that’s it,” he coos against you, and you’re just so fucked stupid on his huge fingers stretching you out that the logic you’d use to deduce that his tongue and mouth is the contraption suckling at your clit evaporates as your high ensues.

as your cries and jerks begin to fade, your fingers loosen their grip on his wrist, and you take deep, shuddering breaths, gradually descending from your peak. he slows his fingers within, matching the retreat of your high, his touch now gentle as the waves of pleasure ebb away.

“you did so good, little one.” he finally withdraws his fingers, letting out a low hum of satisfaction as he brings his tongue to lie flat against your opening. with deliberate slowness, he licks up the sticky essence that escapes as his reward, savoring each rhythmic pulse from your hole. there’s an almost tender appreciation in his tongues caress as he feels your body instinctively attempt to draw in sperm with its contracting muscles. it’s a sight that stirs a primal urge within him, and he can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for your poor, empty pussy, yearning for that load of cum it so desperately seeks.

you hiss in a mix of pleasure and overstimulation, your hands flying to pull at his soft hair as he grows more fervent, his mouth devouring your lips with an almost primal intensity. it’s as if he’s an animal caught in a wild frenzy, intent on savoring every last drop of you, much like a creature would clean its mate after an intimate breeding. the warmth of his tongue and lips making out with your folds, tracing patterns, sends shockwaves through your body.

“o-ow!” you whine, though it’s more of a pathetic call of pleasure that’s just too intense to handle, “t-too much! doctor geto, please—”

it’s embarrassing, truly, that the call of his professional name is what finally snaps him out of his haze, retracting his mouth from your intimate parts that are now just swollen and irritated with stimulation, drooling a sticky mess onto the tile floor between his feet.

he clears his throat and wipes his mouth with his handkerchief as you let go of his now messy hair and fall back on the bed with deep breaths, eyebrows pinched in utter relief.

after a moment of silence, punctuated only by your labored breaths, he stands and fastens a button on his doctor's coat, striving to maintain a veneer of professionalism while discreetly concealing his raging hard on.

“you did um— very well, made my job much easier. you can sit up now,” he says gently as he softly pulls your legs from the stirrups to hang over the edge of the bed once again, a tint of sympathy in his tone after what he just did to a young, naive, sweet girl.

the way you muster all your remaining strength to sit up, trying to play it cool as if you hadn’t just cum as hard as you did —like he might not have noticed—is simply adorable.

“d-did you find out what i have?” you question weakly with a visible humiliation on your face, he can only imagine how much you’re beating yourself up for allowing yourself to cum as a doctor just simply does his ‘job.’

you gulps and takes a deep breath before peeling off his drenched gloves and tossing them into the bin in the corner and shoving his hands into his pockets as he faces you once again.

“yes,” he nods, “i know exactly what you have and before you get nervous, don’t worry. it’s curable with proper treatment.”

your eyes light up with hope, tinged with relaxation from the afterglow as your legs shake subtly in sensitivity.

“what is it?”

“well, it’s similar to the condition i told you about but this one is a bit different. your vagina needs proper training for a few months,” he explains with utter professionalism, as if the lower half of his face isn’t still wet with your juices.

“w-what kind of training?” you ask with a gulp, fingers fidgeting.

“something called penetration training.”

———

Why did absolutely everyone decide to show up today?

Oh fuck it, this isn’t high school. College bullies surely don’t bother with petty cases like this, right? They’re all about their frat initiations and rivalries to have enough spare time to beat him up over improper seating. Oh, but what if you’re one of their girlfriends—you’ll tell on him, and then he’ll definitely be beaten up, maybe even killed.

No. He’s overthinking—like always. No one is that mean. If you don’t like him sitting there, you’ll just tell him. And he’ll move. No harm done. Right? He’s not sitting in the stairwell when there’s a perfectly good and empty seat right there, right? Is he?

Yes. Yes, he is. 

“Hey, if you’re looking for a seat, this one’s empty,” a sweet voice calls out over his inner monologue, making him clutch the strap of his bookbag tighter with a flinch of his entire rigid body—his eyes peeled as he looked around to try and find the source of the sound even though he knew where it had come from. It’s as if the possibility of your voice sounding like anything aside from a she-demon was out of the question. But no, it is you. 

But there’s no way you’re talking to him, so he looks around again—there must be someone else in need of the seat aside from him. But then, why are you looking right at him? Are you pulling some type of prank? Are you really that cruel? You’re probably filming him or something—live-streaming—the chat’s blaring with ew, what a creep and omg, uggo alert right about now. He should just go home before the jocks, along with the rest of the internet, can get him.

“Are you okay?” you ask—but no, he must be hearing you wrong—there’s just no way, even though you’re looking right at him. “I think it’s starting soon—you should probably sit.”

It’s as if his fight or flight response is broken because he does the exact opposite of either—as if on autopilot, sitting down in a rush against his better judgment.

The lecture starts shortly, solidifying his choice, but he can’t pay attention. No, he needs to keep his guard up. Any second now, someone’s going to do a drive-by and throw a milkshake at him or something vile of the like, and you’ll have filmed it all even though he can’t spot you holding a phone—and then the entire hall would burst into laughter at his expense.

“Pst—” A soft whisper comes from next to him, from between the gloss of your pretty lips. You smell like candy and fruit, and it makes his gut tighten—both from anxiety and something more shameful. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a pen I could borrow? Mine’s all out’a ink.”

You give him an awkward smile, and he very nearly runs away. But no, he’s glued to the seat—with nervously wrecked hands shaking as he bends for his bag and unzips it, reaching for his pencil case painfully slow as if disarming some type of bomb. Redoing the same when he opens the case and rummages for a viable pen he could offer.

When he hands it to you, he’s almost sure you plan to stab him with it. But you do no such thing.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver!” You cheer instead, beaming with a much brighter smile than before. “I owe you!”

His ears ring with your praise. Blushing beat red as he rips away from your gaze—still unable to focus on what the professor is preaching—not when from out of the corner of his eye, he can see you sucking on his pen like a lollypop—or something else not so innocent.

Oh, he’d been so wrong.

So, so, so very wrong.

You do smile. You smile a lot, actually. You just have one of those faces that rests bitchy. But still, bubbly airhead or not, a girl like you still shouldn't be seen with a loser like him. It’s social suicide. And still, you’re on your knees before him in a dirty little bathroom stall—the same dirty bathroom stall he feared getting a swirlie, scraping the walls with his nails to try and thwart his assailants—only, now clutching the walls for a much different reason, holding on for his mortal soul as you seek to suck it out of his fat throbbing cock.

You want to repay him—you’d said—for the pencil. He hadn't understood why you’d winked at him before you’d all but dragged him off and flung him inside the men’s bathroom, having his very life flash before his eyes.

You both make the sloppiest sounds as you make an utter mess on and of him, making him cry on all fronts—cock weeping with thick pearly beads of pre while his eyes well up with tears down his flushed face, all sweaty with panic and bliss. 

The moans springing from his chest are virginal and raw and sweet music to your ears, panting for you like a puppy—you’re sure they can hear him out in the hallway when passing by. One of his hands clasps itself on top of his mouth, holding tightly to keep it all within—eyes shut and brows cinched. And yet, he makes no effort to shove you off—hips left jerking and jittering in response to your refined technique where you take him deeply, all the way down to the base, hallowing your cheeks, throttling him with your throat as your tongue wipes his creamy slit clean.

It’s painfully clear he’s never experienced anything like it, but that’s what turns you on the most. Sick as you are, you could suck him dry and savor every drop of him, knowing you’re the first ever to get a taste. But no, by now, your pussy’s so soaked you feel yourself dripping past the soggy lace of your panties, running down your soft thighs in waste.

He’s misty-eyed when you pull off with an ever-cruel pop—a sick mix of relief and sorrow warping his chest, feeling conflicted by the pulse making him think he’s on the verge of a heart attack if you continue—and another strumming his cock, making him think he’s going to keel over and die if you leave him unfinished.

Even so, he’s in a state of complete shell shock as you mount him on top of the toilet seat he’s melting against. Chest heaving, watching you as you lift your skirt up and peal your slick underwear to the side for him to lay his bleary swiveled eyes on your bared and dripping pussy.

“I love nice guys like you—” you moan, pouring the honeyed words down his throat as you ghost his parted lips with your spit-slicked ones, straddling his lap and shimmying ever closer until your tits squish against his chest. “They make me so wet, I lose all self-control.” 

He gulps in your shadow, looking up at you for mercy—cock twitching painfully between your thighs as your wrap your hand around his base real snug, giving him a nice tug as you line him up with your needy heat—making him all but squeal beneath you.

Your other hand makes its way into his hair, braiding your fingers within the locks to hold him steady—gently pulling his head back while leering down at him like caught prey. Playing with him just so, teasing him with your words, all in your sultry voice, making his head spin hot with a fever, “You’ll be a good boy and fuck me, won’t you? Pretty please?”

His breaths are heavy and wet, coming out shaky with his instant answer, “Y-yes—” all weak in a pathetic whimper that almost has you cum too soon.

“You’re so nice~ thank you,” you croon against his lips, kissing him sloppily with your tongue in his mouth as you shift your hips and start lowering your sopping cunt down upon his seeking length, taking him in with greedy ease, eagerly gripping his soft cockhead like a toy in a claw machine.

“Fhu—fuck—” he stutters under his breath, whinging before planting his teeth into his lip to keep it at bay—feeling like putty beneath you, sweaty and heavy and dumb, eagerly wanting all which you sought to give him—only more flushed at your mean undertones as you play with him like food on a silver platter.

You sling your arms around his neck and push your chest harder against him, moaning all too brazenly, “Oh! Fuck yes—that’s so good,” you sing while slowly taking him in further. “A nice guy with a big bad bully’s dick is the best!” 

He whines in return as his inches get eaten—each devoured one by one until his tip kneads into the mouth of your womb.

Sighing happily, you kiss his cheek and put your lips right at his ear with another wanton whimper, “You fill me up so so good.” Roosting on the size, thighs resting flush against his, feeling all giddy as it stretches you out oh-so-nicely. “Such a good toy-cock for me,” keening at the way it twitches inside you, pulsing in response to your tight walls, clenching it in ways it’s never before felt.

His eyes are already rolling back into his skull once you start lolling your hips—riding him, but keeping him deep at all times—lifting just enough for it to pull out only a little before sinking back down, making it settle into that perfect needy little spot inside you that makes your whole body shiver in delight.

“Mmh,” You suck his ear lobe, releasing it with a soft bite, before smiling down at him and his sweat-pilled expression. Cooing at him, “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He can’t even answer with words anymore, only giving a dumb mewl as he nods his head. But, of course, you’re already well aware.

“Mmh—” your eyes gleam with delight, giving his lap a mean ride, leaving him all but breathless, before asking, “D’you like it, virgin boy? ‘You like my pussy? Like the way it milks your chubby cock for your cum?”

He nods again, even more eagerly this time—looking downright pathetic in every sense of the word.

“Do you want to?” you offer to his desperation, feeling as though he’s falling apart at your fingertips, needing you to hold him together. “I’ll let you since you’re such a sweet guy—” you tease while clenching his cock, making it impossible to want anything else no matter the consequence. “In exchange for a favor, of course.”

He couldn’t care less what the favor was—way beyond willing to pay any price you ask of him as he finally makes a move and grabs your hips with a strength you hadn’t thought he had the balls to perform, planting you down firmly and holding you with such need as his hips jitter and stutter—resting his cheek on your shoulder in drool and tears with a lovesick groan leaving him as he fills your pussy up with his creamy spend.

His whole body shakes—spasming in cute little aftershocks as he clutches onto your body, hugging you tightly.

You respond in kind, cuddling him and kissing the top of his head. “That was so warm and filling—what a good boy—you did so well,” you murmur ever-sweetly while petting his head, combing through his sweaty locks with your long glitter-pink nails—keeping your voice saccharine. “Did you enjoy yourself, hm? Your first time cumming in pussy instead of your dirty ol’ sock?”

You pick his face up—cupping his sloppy jaw in both palms—his eyes half-mast and glazed as you nose-kiss him with a smile on your face.

“You loved it, didn’t you? Silly virgin boy…”

Your cunt tingles at the sight of him—wrecked beauty, sweaty and undone. You feel his cock unswell inside you and decide to lift off and release him—letting it flop out and splat on his tummy in a puddle of slick.

“Look,” you fuss, holding his face in direction of it. “You made such a pretty mess—isn’t it lovely?”

Your pussy is left glistening and puffy, still wanting and waiting for its final hurrah. Your breath turns headier and so does your voice, now with a new darkness to it as  you whisper, “Time for that favor, sweet boy.” 

He blinks dumbly, impossibly hopeless, wrapped so tightly around your pinky it’s pitiful. Of course, you take advantage—guiding his head to level with your cunt. 

“Open wide, tongue out flat.”

He obeys wordlessly. And oh god it makes your gut stir viscously—watching his tongue loll free between parted lips.

Your voice flares with bliss at the sight, shy of unhinged, as you giggle breathily, “That’s right—taste the pretty mess you made.”

He’s pushed face-first, trapped between your thighs with his jaw like an open cup beneath you, tonguing the mixed slick from your slit and slurping it all up without shame.

And fuck—it feels so good, you lose even more of your mind while tugging him even closer—all but pulling him off the toilet seat, making him kneel down on the floor instead. And still, he makes no effort to escape, but the opposite—seeking to go deeper into your cunt, crying into you as he laps up every last drop of yours and his arousal—making your thighs quake around him, grinding down against his mouth, onto his eager tongue, having it pet your clit over and over until you also come to the same sudden stumbling halt.

“Yes—yes! Oh, fuck! I’m gonna—it’s coming—”

And there it goes, ripping along your loins, surging from your lower belly. With both your hands tangled harshly in his hair, he’s not going anywhere, lips locked with yours as it starts pouring.

You’re squirting on him—hot and hard—on his tongue, inside his mouth, down his throat, in his belly. You’re squirting on him and he’s drinking it, he realizes—but even so, he isn’t able to stop. Instead, he unwinds his jaw even wider, digs his tongue deeper, and accepts every drop of the warm stream as it drenches his face and splashes down his collar and shoulders, utterly soaking his shirt, making in see-through as it clings to his chest like a second skin.

You’ve closed your eyes and thrown your head back, basking in every last little twitch of your body as you relieve yourself all over his face.

Finally, after a moment, you let go of his hair and step back—feeling refreshed and happy with your work—seeing the poor loser sit before the toilet, all drenched and exhausted with his limp cock spent and messy, looking like a beautiful wreck.

You smile, pulling your panties back in place, and you skirt down again before unlocking the stall and opening the door, only looking back at him for a moment, tapping your nail at a few matching pink scribbles written on the wall. “Here’s my number and address if you wanna have more fun." And then you leave, just like that. "Bye-bye~”

♡ BNHA – Amajiki, Deku, Shigaraki, Shinso ♡ JJK – Yuuta, Choso, Nanami ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kenma ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Isagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei

But Yuuji, though—He was what you should’ve been focusing on, at the moment. Through the haze of exhaustion, you could hear the door creaking open, the muffled sound of padded feet on carpeting and the tiny, almost inaudible vocalizations Yuuji never seemed to realize anyone else could hear. Soon enough, you felt the foot of the mattress dip as he clambered onto your bed. Any other night, you would’ve forced yourself to sit up and tell him to leave, would’ve called on the dozens of books and hundreds of blogposts you’d read about hybrid obedience training and found the strength to ‘reinforce boundaries despite personal feelings’, but you were tired beyond the point of discipline, and Yuuji didn’t mean any harm. One night of letting him curl up next to you wouldn’t hurt, even if you did make a mental note to show Yuuta some extra affection in the morning – just to keep the scales balanced. For all their many differences, they were both prone to crying favoritism.

You never stirred, but you settled deeper into place, curling into yourself as Yuuji remained at your feet. You might’ve fallen asleep entirely, if Yuuji hadn’t spoken.

His voice was quiet, low, audibly trepidatious. It reminded you of Yuuta’s nervous, stuttering inclination, although not quite as unsteady. “Are you sure it’s alright to…?”

“I am.” You weren’t sure who you expected to answer, but the sound of Yuuta’s voice almost startled you awake. It was normal for Yuuji to bend the rules. Yuuta was supposed to know better. “She’s asleep, right? Just don’t wake her up.”

Yuuji didn’t respond, but you felt the sheets draped over your shift, a warm hand curl around your calf. For as little reassurance as Yuuta had provided, it seemed to be enough for Yuuji.

It was half curiosity and half fatigue that kept you quiet as Yuuji moved around you. Whatever they might’ve been up to, nothing could’ve seemed worse than having to wake up and sacrifice much-needed sleep for the sake of scolding your (usually angelic) pets. At worst, you’d wait until you could catch them in the act or, better yet, grit your teeth and bare it until they left. Anything not to have to deal with this for another eight hours.

You rolled onto your side, twisting your leg out of Yuuji’s hand and letting out a soft groan as you curled into yourself. It wasn’t a subtle position, let alone an inviting one, but Yuuji only whimpered, only edged closer to you. This time, when he touched you, it was to take up your shoulder – his hold gentle and breathing heavy as he nudged you onto your back. Whatever he was doing, he seemed determined to see it through. It might’ve been more admirable, if you hadn’t been so confused.

You felt your sheets pull away from you next, then another hand on your ankle, Yuuji’s rough claws pressing lightly into your skin as his loose grip flexed. You felt him draw your legs apart, and with the corner of your mouth already quirking downward, you started to open your eyes, to sit up and—

Suddenly, you felt something wet and warm press into your cunt, and you stopped moving entirely.

Whatever lingering exhaustion you might’ve felt was swiftly replaced with cold, pointed terror. This time, you forced yourself to hold still, it wasn’t out of confusion or curiosity, but an abrupt and paralyzing fear.

It wasn’t a feeling Yuuji seemed to share. His tongue was already moving across the length of your slit, his drool already soaking into the silk of your panties. He was making those noises, again; deep and throaty, closer to the sounds a prowling animal would make than anything remotely similar to human speech. Both of his hands found their way to your ass, claws biting into the plush flesh as he buried his face in your pussy. He was just as rough with his mouth – his pointed canines ghosting over the inside of your thighs and catching on the material of your panties, his broad togue laving over your covered entrance as if he could taste you through the fabric. It was only when he bowed his head, when the bridge of his flat nose ground against your clit that you started to wonder if he actually could, but forced yourself not to linger on the idea for very long. Thinking about what he was doing, assigning a motive to his actions – that would only make this worse. Thinking at all would only make this worse.

You bit down on the side of your tongue with as much force as you could afford to use, willing yourself to hold still, to not react – a wounded animal, playing dead as to not attract the attention of a predator. You felt Yuuji’s hands shift, calloused fingertips pressing into your thighs, then—

“Stop.”

Yuuta. Wonderful, miraculous, well-behaved Yuuta. You would’ve sighed, if you weren’t holding yourself so stiff. You could hear him moving closer, too – his footsteps feather-light compared to Yuuji’s. You braced yourself to break up a fight (there’d been a few when Yuuji first came home with you, when you first realized that Yuuta had never learned to share), but rather than barking, growling, any of the sounds that came with two animals trying to tear each other apart, there was only rustling fabric, another shift in gravity as Yuuta positioned himself by your side. “Y-you’re doing it wrong,” he stammered, and something deep inside of you seemed to curl up and die. “You have to take her clothes off first. Otherwise, she won’t feel anything.”

It was almost strange, hearing him take charge. In any other context, you might’ve been proud.

Yuuji whined, but obliged. His nails scraped against your hips as he balled his fist around the fabric and tore, making no effort to spare the delicate fabric. The remaining scraps were discarded with just as little care, and before you could fully wrap your mind around what was happening, he was back to lapping at your cunt. With the only barrier between you gone, it felt less like he was trying to eat you out and more like he was trying to eat you alive – his tongue too thick and too long, his hands too big and too prone to groping at whatever was underneath him, the boundless energy you were so used to finding either infinitely adorable or impossibly exasperating sudden not quite as harmless than you’d always considered it to be.

The next time he found your clit, you couldn’t stifle your reactions – little, half-choked whimpers and moans escaping despite your pursed lips. Your hips twitched, and for the first time, you felt Yuuji draw back willingly. He was such a sweet dog. Even with your eyes clenched shut, you could picture him tilting his head to the side, his ears flopping in the same direction and his big, dark eyes going full puppy-dog. Usually, you’d melt at the sight, give him whatever he was asking for and comfort him the best you could, but you didn’t have much comfort to spare, and Yuuta was already answering on your behalf.

“That means she likes it,” he explained, his voice a little quieter, a little more airy than it’d been before. “Keep going, she’ll make more.”

There was a short lapse, passed in silence. For a second, you let yourself believe he’d come to his senses, that he might stop, but it was only for a second. His response was enough to dash any remaining hope you might’ve had. “…will she get louder?”

“Mhm.” And then, with the slightest note of pride, “She does for me, at least.”

And just like that, Yuuji’s head dipped, his mouth latching onto your pussy with a renewed concentration. You willed yourself not to move, not to think, not to do anything that would mean having to open your eyes and acknowledge what was happening, but it was impossible not to feel the heat of his mouth against your cunt, not to let the sounds of saliva and arousal against tongues and skin seep into the back of your mind and tint the pleasure slowly starting to pool at the pit of your stomach with a vicious, sickeningly sweet, nectar-like quality. It wasn’t long before your own pitiful noises were just as difficult to suppress, before your hips were jutting upward involuntarily to meet Yuuji’s mouth, before you could feel a mix of drool and slick and every other ungodly thing pooling on your sheets beneath you. Yuuta shifted beside you, edging close enough for his thigh to press against your arm. “You’re—You’re making a mess, she’ll be mad if—”

His voice cut out abruptly, drowned out by a sudden, bubbling moan from Yuuji. Yuuta tried to catch his attention again to the same result until, finally, there was a low growl. Yuuji yelped has his face was shoved further into the space between your thighs – Yuuta pushing down on the back of his head, as little as you wanted to picture your sweet Yuuta doing something like that – but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his lapping only seemed to get faster, more reckless, more wild. You didn’t want to, no part of you wanted to cum because of your pet’s mouth, but you could feel the pressure mounting, the heat building, the walls of your pussy convulsing around his tongue as you reached your climax.

There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from crying out as you came, any hope you might’ve had of making it through this without letting either Yuuji or Yuuta know how much of it you’d been conscious for immediately abandoned. You tried to make good use of your adrenaline, to shove Yuuji away and run, but he’d always been strong, even for a hybrid, and he didn’t even have to pull away to pin your hips to the mattress and nurse you through your orgasm, his tongue now fucking into you unabashedly. He only stopped when the last of your aftershocks had died out, when it was all you could do to lie limp and mutter all the little ‘no’, ‘stop’, ‘please’s that you’d pictured yourself screaming only seconds ago. Even then, the separation wasn’t made by choice – no, it was Yuuta who finally, finally dragged him off of you. Even through the darkness of your bedroom, you could see his fingers knotted in Yuuji’s untamable hair, his knuckles white and his grip steadfast. By the time he let go, Yuuji’s back was straight and he’d gone surprisingly quiet – his dark eyes glassy and fixed on yours. By the time you could force yourself to look to Yuuta, he wasn’t much better. He was focused on you, too, but he didn’t look quite as dazed, quite as mindless. His lips were parted, but his eyes were narrowed, and he was wearing the expression he’d worn when you first brought Yuuji home, all displaced resentment and palpable betrayal. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might’ve called it anger.

Yuuji broke the silence. He whined sharply, slumping forward and kneading down where his hands were still planted on your hips. You opened your mouth, ready to tell him to get down, to get out, but Yuuta cut in before you had the chance to spit anything out. “Turn her over. It’ll be easier if she’s on her stomach.”

Yuuji didn’t hesitate. You felt his hands on your midriff, and then, you were on your chest, Yuuji’s form hunched over you as he ground something stiff and hot and leaking against your ass. You tried to push yourself up, to get away, but you were barely able to get your knees underneath you before Yuuji’s arms were around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck and his pointed teeth bared against the side of your throat. He didn’t growl, didn’t bite, but you went still regardless. You didn’t think Yuuji would hurt you, but you never would've thought he would do this, either.

Whatever aggression he might’ve felt faded quickly – as soon as he started rutting against your ass. You could feel him panting against your throat, his breath humid and stifling, and his chest pressing into your back. He was too close. He was too much. When he spoke, it was almost deafening, even if you knew it couldn’t be much more than a mumble. “Hurts so bad,” he muttered, as his cock ground uselessly against your ass, your thighs. “Been hurtin’ so bad since you took me home. I was so happy when Yuuta told me you could help, and—and, that you wouldn’t mind, and—”

His voice cut out abruptly as the blunt head of his cock caught on your entrance and, with a cracked whine, thrust into you. There was no time to adjust, to block out – just a sudden heat inside of you and the immediate, overwhelming fullness of his cock battering the walls of your pussy. “Off,” you half cried, half screamed – your voice a jagged, shaking mess. “Get down, stop, get—”

But Yuuji wasn’t listening. His tongue lapped clumsily at your neck as he fucked into in slow, languid thrusts – his hips slamming into your ass with enough force to bruise. You went limp, sobbing openly into your sheets, but Yuuji was strong enough to hold you up on his own, to not have to care what state you were in underneath him. So caught up in your own misery, you didn’t notice Yuuta moving until he was in front of you, until his hand had worked its way underneath your chin and tilted your head back far enough for your tear-clouded gaze to find his. His expression was that same mix of resentment and pity and bitter, bitter anger. Still, when your eyes met his, the corner of his lips quirked up, some of the harsher lines around his eyes fading into nothing.

“I wouldn’t be this rough with you.” His tone was flat, softened. He ran his thumb over your cheek, leaning down just far enough for his lips to brush against the top of your head. “I would be a good mate. You don’t need anyone else.”

Wiping your sweaty hands down your pants, you gave yourself one last look before leaving the bathroom. Dick's bedroom spread out before you, filled with old memorabilia and a large, plush bed in the center.

Dick and Jason were leaning against the wall in wait, arms crossed and heads tilted back. Dick grinned when he saw you.

"Alright, good," he said, slinging an arm over your shoulder. "It's a little late for an afternoon nap, so movie time?"

Dick's scent clung to you like a cologne, sweet and tangy. An alpha's smell was already stronger to omegas, but being wrapped in his shirt and pressed into his side was almost overwhelming. Jason, whose scent was more earthy and metallic, was a small reprieve.

Jason looked you up and down, appraising your posture and expression. You knew it was useless to try to hide your feelings, but you couldn't fight the urge to look away. You crossed your arms to cover yourself.

He reached over and ran a hand over your temple, brushing back stray curls. Jason, while never the most emotive on a day-to-day basis, had a cloudy expression today. His gaze bore into you, drinking up every micro-expression you tried to hide and cataloguing each one.

"No trash TV," Jason finally said. He dropped his hand and fell into stride with you and Dick, who was guiding you to his bed.

Dick dipped his head down so his cheek brushed your forehead. "What do you want to watch?"

"Anything is fine."

"Nope, that's not allowed," Dick lightly scolded. "This weekend's all about getting familiar. You need to learn how to go along with the family."

Your mind blanked as you scrambled to remember any move you've ever seen before. Embarrassment pricked your cheeks. "Maybe Pixar..."

Dick stopped you at the edge of the bed. He ruffled the back of Jason's hair before slapping his back, earning his hand a hard swat.

"You first, little wing."

Jason rolled his eyes and climbed on the bed, flopping into place on the silk covers. Dick ushered you on next with gentle hands, not giving you an inch of space as he followed suit.

You were settled into Jason's side, your front pressing into the long expanse of his body. Jason shifted and pulled off his shirt with one hand, tossing it off the bed before leaning back into you.

Your insides lurched at his naked chest, and you were boneless when he guided your head to rest on his shoulder. Jason's body was warm and sturdy. He eclipsed you in ways that made your heart flutter.

You tighten your arms around your chest to keep these stray feelings at bay.

Dick settled behind you with a happy sigh, shirtless as well. He weaseled your arm out of your hold and settled it over Jason's chest to maximize contact, then rested his hand on your waist.

His breath fanned the back of your head when he whispered, "I'm going to lift your shirt up now."

You held back a whimper when his hand slid beneath your shirt, trailing up your stomach to settle between your ribs. His palm spread flat, fingers reaching the better half of your stomach. He was dangerously close to brushing your breasts, but remained careful not to stray too far up.

Jason's hand trailed in next, gliding over your hip and up your spine, where it settled between your shoulder blades. His thumb brushed up and down in slow, even strokes.

They were everywhere. Their arms lay flushed against your body, touching as much skin as they possibly could, while their stomachs pressed into yours where your shirt had slid up. Their nudged your legs until you were tangled in theirs.

As hard as you tried to fight it, it was instinctual for pack members to seek physical contact. Touch was one of the most primal and easiest ways to show affection and community, so you knew that your days of solitude were numbered.

But this...

Tingles spread through your whole body, exacerbated by how touch-starved you were. The feeling of oneness, of unbridled intimacy with your family, sank deep into your heart.

Resist, resist, resist. You're stronger than these urges.

Your breathing accelerated. You knew what to expect going into this, but nothing could have prepared you for how emotionally penetrating it was. It was as if your very nature and mind were at war.

A steady purr rumbled in their chests as they basked in your company, soaking in as much of your warmth as they could. Jason's nose brushed your forehead, placing feather light kisses where he could reach. Dick was crooning.

Cold sweat prickled your skin.

Your hand tightened around Jason's back as claustrophobia set in. The purring turned to a low rumble and the pheromones in the air turned sour.

"Hey," Jason said softly. "You have to settle down."

You swallowed thickly to abate your fear. "You guys got defensive."

Dick nudged his nose on your neck, right above your scent glands. "Because you started smelling scared."

Oh.

You inhale shakily to calm your nerves. Jason hummed in your ear, a low, pleased sound.

"Good girl," he said. "Keep doing that. We have you."

You sucked in a sharp breath in defiance. Jason humphed. Dick laughed against your skin and squeezed your stomach playfully, grinning as he said, "You're as bad as Damian."

They nestled you tighter between them, purrs rumbling anew. Amidst the panic in your chest stirred another feeling. Maybe it's because you're getting drunk on an alpha's attention, but you felt a childish need to complain.

"How long will this take?" You asked, shifting uncomfortably between their sandwiched bodies.

Jason's face tightened around his eyes. "As long as it takes."

"For what?" you asked, frustration bubbling up your throat. "I've more than made up for turning you down yesterday."

"You need to want our touch," Dick said. He hesitated, mulling over if he should continue, then went on. "I think that if you let your guard down for a second and trusted your instincts, you would understand how much you need this."

"My guard is down. I'm completely defenseless," you hissed.

"Not what he was talking about. And that's what I'm not understanding, either," Jason said, frowning. "You're confused. You're completely out of touch with yourself."

The silence was heavy. They were waiting for you to speak, but you didn't trust anything that would come out of your mouth. You let the silence stretch on.

Jason's grimace deepened. "Are you having trouble being an omega because you were never taught how to be one?"

You scoffed, scandalized. Your frustration sparked into flames. "Because I don't know my place in an alpha's narrative?"

"No," Jason said defensively. "Because you don't know how to purr."

You couldn't respond.

You hadn't purred in years because there was no reason to. You weren't young, haven't dated in ages, didn't have any kids, and you definitely weren't about to purr for the Bats.

"I haven't heard you croon either. Or even ask to be held," Dick mumbled in thought.

Heat crept up your neck. They were wading in embarrassing waters now. You weren't a loser, just a little lonely—that's the only reason you stopped doing omegean things. And being their captive was a good enough reason to withhold everything.

These thoughts were enough when you were alone, but the shame creeping up your chest was startling.

Jason's hand drifted to your face, fingers sliding gently over your cheek. He used a knuckle to brush the tears from your eyelashes.

"It's okay to face these scary feelings," Jason whispered, face mere inches away. He looked at you with sad, loving eyes, while his scent was a whirlwind of conflicting emotion. Hope. Pity. Anger. Love.

Dick kissed the shell of your ear, thumb gliding over your skin where his hand rested. A soft rumble drifted from his chest. He said, "You're safe with us. It'll come naturally if you just let it."

The crux was that you didn't want to try. You wanted to withhold every valuable part of yourself from them and to make them pay for ruining your life.

But at the same time, you yearned to have a family. There was a vital part in your heart that was missing, one that could only be filled by belonging and love. You didn't want to ignore your secondary gender but you didn't want to share it with them, either.

Don't whimper. Don't smell like you want help.

You clamped your jaw shut and squeezed your eyes closed. Their pheromones filled the air with comfort, home, want, and it took every ounce of willpower to ignore the alphas' scents.

Jason kissed your eyelid, cupping your head in his palm. His purring and crooning joined Dick's, and it nearly drowned out your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

---

You passed the night in a daze. They nudged you to try to croon or purr, washing you with their scents and physical contact, but their efforts didn't yield results. Outwardly, that is.

Inside, you were swimming with panic and haziness.

Skin-to-skin touching was starting to take a toll on you. In a stronger headspace, you could ignore the pleasant allure of touching them, but your boundaries and primal needs were beginning to blur.

They felt good. They felt safe. You wanted to cling to Jason's chest and sob in relief at finally being wanted. You wanted Dick to keep cooing and petting you like you were the most cherished thing in his life. Each kiss stoked a fire you were desperately trying to put out.

At the same time, your defiance was making them restless. Dick and Jason had begun to smell more potent and move more assertively. Omegas weren't meant to resist their alpha pack members, especially in a domestic setting.

Despite a tiring night of caressing and pleading, you didn't loosen your tight control on your emotions. Dick and Jason were still completely cut off from you, and you could tell they were thinking of ways to get you to fold.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, accompanied by the muffled voices of Sunday morning cartoons. All of you were on Dick's bed and eating in silence.

The soup in your lap was one of Alfred's "sick soups." It was hardy and chock-full of vegetables and pork, and made especially to ease the tension in the room.

Their heavy gazes kept your head bowed as you tried to eat what little food you could.

Dick's bowl clinked as he set it on the floor.

"Submission isn't shameful," he said suddenly. "Is that what this is? You think it makes you less of a person?"

You look down into your soup, lips tightening. "No, I know it's fine... I would just prefer to keep things how they are."

"Why?" Dick said, scooting closer to you.

"It's my choice."

"No, why?" Frustration cut into Dick's voice. "I'm trying to work with you."

"Is bodily autonomy not a good enough reason?" You bit back. "I don't know, Dick. 'No' should be a good enough answer."

Jason's hand touched your back, making you lurch forward. Soup nearly spilled from your bowl, but Dick caught it in time. Jason sighed angrily while Dick set your food on the bedside table.

"This isn't normal," Jason said hotly. "Omegas shouldn't flinch at their caretakers, especially when they're treated as well as you are."

You gripped the bed sheets, guilt filtering in at the truth in his words. "Sorry," you said meekly.

Jason deflated slightly, then brought his hand back up. It settled on the nape of your neck, his large palm cupping the entire surface. Tingles rippled through your body and ignited goosebumps across your back.

Jason rested his head on yours, absently rubbing the scent pad in his cheek on your hair. He said, "Did something bad happen that made you afraid?"

"No," you said quickly. Aside from being kidnapped by them, that is.

Dick moved in closer. His voice was soft. "Then why?"

"I just..." You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your eyes with a palm. "This domesticity just isn't for me."

"You need to practice," Dick reiterated. "Maybe we can give you a simple command and you follow it? So you'll get used to how it feels?"

You peek between your fingers to glare at him.

"No, really. I read some omegean blogs that said yielding to your alpha's orders feels really good." Dick looked between you and Jason hopefully. "Or we can read some articles by older omegas so you know how to handle your feelings?"

You held back a sharp comment about where he can shove those articles. Instead you said, "Only people with religious agendas write those things."

Jason looked like he agreed, but he didn't take your side.

"We can't do nothing," Jason said, eyes flitting up to Dick.

Dick sucked the inside of his cheek. "And she's unresponsive to positive reinforcement and suggestions."

Fear brewed in your gut. "What are you implying?"

Dick touched your knee, drawing your attention to his face. "You need to purr. Or present submissive pheromones. It'll break the dam so everything comes out easier."

A blush swept up your face and you jerked your knee away from him. "You can't just ask that. No. My answer is no."

Dick's gaze returned to Jason's. Dick frowned, then quirked a brow. "People purr to self-sooth, too."

You tensed. "Dick. Stop."

Jason hesitated, face pinching at the fear in your scent. "What do you suggest?"

"Full body contact and commands. It'll overwhelm her, so she'll self-sooth then default to the natural order."

"Jason." Your voice was high and sharp. "Make him stop. This is wrong."

"Jay," Dick said, looking every bit as sincere as he sounded. "I know you're apprehensive, but she won't come to this conclusion herself. She needs to be guided in a controlled environment."

Jason's face screwed up in worry. "It's traumatic."

"Temporarily. She'll be in our care the whole time," Dick reassured him. "It'll be over the moment she submits."

"Please, Jason, no!" You pushed your face into Jason's chest, clinging to his chest. Tears poured down your face as you shook. "I'm sorry, I'll try harder. Whatever this is, don't do it."

Jason's jaw set, the muscles in his neck flexing. "Then purr."

"What?"

"I'm giving you a way out. You have to trigger your primal state and ask for our care. It's not something you can do manually, so start by purring."

"I..." Your breath caught in your lungs. You were too scared to purr, much less seek their comfort for anything.

You swallowed hard and coughed weakly, trying to activate your secondary vocal cords.

Several moments of silence passed before a small huff of a rumble left your throat. It sounded pathetic to your own ears, probably more-so to theirs, and your throat constricted from embarrassment.

"Forcing me won't make me want to... do that," you said weakly, breath hitching from your tears. "Isn't there another way?"

Dick sighed deeply. "Thanks for trying."

He leaned in and kissed your neck, rubbing his hand in comforting circles on your back. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access, still shaking against Jason's chest. Dick smiled softly and kissed your neck again before drawing back.

"Jason," Dick said, "hold her feet down."

Jason's hands clamped around your legs before you could register Dick's words. Your world tilted and you were on your back before you could shout.

"No! Please!" You thrashed against his hold when Dick descended on you.

Dick put a hand on your chest to keep you down, then pinned you with his knee. Your hands clawed everywhere you could reach, but they paid no mind.

"You're fine. You're wearing underwear, right?" Dick asked. His finger hooked on your waistband, pulling it up to confirm. "Yeah. Look, just focus on breathing."

"No! No!" you shrieked as your pants slipped down your thighs.

Jason kept you from kicking, although it probably wouldn't matter either way. Their bodies were hardened from years of vigilante work and they moved together like a machine.

They unhooked your pants from your ankles and dropped it off the bed. You tried to curl into a ball, but their weight on your body kept you immobile.

You begged again, reaching out to Jason for help. His face was twisted in pain but he made no move to stop it. The comforting scent he pushed out did nothing to quell your panic.

Dick hushed you gently, face pleasant and movements slow, and reached for your shirt.

"I'm not wearing a bra!" you shouted hysterically, trying fruitlessly to push his knee off your chest.

Dick looked down at you patiently. "Then slip your arms in your shirt and cover yourself."

You stared up at him with wide eyes. Was he really, really about to do this? Trigger you so it activates your omegean instincts?

When he grabbed the edge of your shirt, your heart jumped up your throat. You wrangled your arms inside your sleeves and covered your breasts as well as you could.

Dick took his knee off your chest and dragged the shirt up over your body. It slid off with ease, leaving you in only your underwear.

You sobbed loudly.

Jason scooped you into his arms and pulled you up the bed. He settled you on a soft pillow, nuzzling his cheek against yours in silent apology.

You immediately curled into a ball when their hands left you. To your horror you saw them strip off their pants as well, leaving them in only their boxers.

"God, stop," you plead, voice breaking.

"It's okay," Dick whispered as he slid into place in front of you. "We do this all the time. It's important."

Perhaps he was referring to the after-workout cuddle piles, but even those had longer pants and chest coverage for girls.

The heat from their bodies sank into your flesh and disrupted your frantic thinking. Your alphas—no, Dick and Jason, you corrected—held you like you were sacred. It was a feeling of your deepest daydreams come true, to have a pack that was so open about their care for you.

If only they hadn't kidnapped you.

The compulsion to accept their love dug deep in your mind, and you found it harder and harder to remember the reasons why you shouldn't. Your anger began to seem trivial compared to the safety and adoration they promised.

Tears fell down your cheeks again, and you clung to Dick's chest to anchor yourself. He laid several kisses on the crown of your head.

"I'm going to give you some orders, okay?" Dick said. "You'll be compelled to follow them."

"I don't want to," you croaked.

"That time has passed," Jason mumbled, stroking your arm with his thumb.

Dick cleared his throat, and your blood ran cold in anticipation.

"Hold Jason's hand." Dick's alpha voice struck you like a cannon.

The command wound around every corner of your mind. It strangled your freewill in a vice hold, suffocating any lingering thoughts of freedom until all that was left was them.

An alpha's command wasn't absolute, but it was damn near close.

Your insides rattle with a urge to hurry, hurry and complete alpha's orders. Make Brother happy.

Cold sweat spread across your back, making you feel sickly and sticky. Your eyesight narrowed to Dick's chest as you fought off the intrusive thoughts, not noticing anything but your vision blackening around the edges.

Please, no no no no no.

Jason's hand hovered next to yours, making it easy for you to obey.

"I... I c-c..." you stuttered.

Follow, follow, follow, your mind screamed at you. Brother will be disappointed.

You clung to Dick's bicep and screwed your eyes shut. A disapproving growl bubbled in Dick's throat.

"Take it," Dick ordered, grabbing your wrist and holding it above Jason's hand. "It's for your own good, so take it."

Jason bumped his head into yours and pushed you towards Dick's neck. You tried to squirm away, but their bodies kept you immobile, leaving your only option to settle your nose into Dick's neck and breathe.

The smell was intoxicating. It was impossible to fight off—his warm and strong scent flooding your head and making your mind melt.

Without you realizing, a broken whine left your throat. Dick and Jason reacted instantly. They hugged you tighter, shushing you and peppering kisses wherever they could reach.

Their scent changed too. Frustration was pushed out by love, comfort, love, and it smothered your senses. You whimpered, your whole body shuttering from your tears.

Fuck, you wanted your alphas so badly. Your brother's comfort enveloped you and left nothing else to do but welcome it.

Your guilt and doubt multiplied at rapid speed. Maybe you were wrong for rejecting this. Being close and following their orders felt as good as Dick had said, so maybe they were right about other things, too.

"She's defaulting" Jason said, words fast and nervous.

You whined again, broken and airy and filled with all the conflicting misery you felt. Your sense of self slipped between your fingers like water, making room for the person they wanted you to become—who you were commanded to become.

The heat of their bodies made your world spin. Their loving touches make your mind blank.

Dick shushed you and cooed comforting words, and the resilient voice in your head silenced.

Oh god, they felt like your soulmates. This seemed predestined, like you were born to be in their family.

Your exposed bodies pressing together destroyed the illusion of self, giving way to their truest law: you were theirs, body and soul.

"One more time," Dick muttered. His voice deepened to say, "Hold Jason's hand."

You moved without thinking. Your fingers tangled into Jason's, your palm laying flat over his hand.

Relief bloomed in your chest, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted. The compulsion was replaced by deep satisfaction, one you found yourself craving again.

You listened and did good. Brothers are happy. You are loved.

Dick's grin was radiant. Tears sprung in his eyes as emotions overtook him, making his blue irises shine like gems. Quiet sniffles came from behind you, and by the jerkiness in Jason's body, you knew he was crying.

"Good girl," Dick praised, voice watery. "My baby."

Jason's nose pressed into your neck, taking shaky breaths of your scent. It calmed him slightly, yet his voice was still uneven. "She's feeling better. Do another one, Dick."

"Kiss me," Dick ordered.

Your lips pressed against his shoulder, and again on his collarbone. Dick laughed and sniffled, unintelligible croons tumbling from his mouth.

Your mind was a haze, unable to process anything but the two alphas around you. Your brothers were here and you were safe. How had you lived without this love for so long?

It was like an avalanche of pent-up emotions poured into your body. You were relieved to be free, angry at the pain you inflicted on yourself, and so, so happy to belong to Dick and Jason.

"I love you," Jason muttered into your hair.

Dick kissed your face, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb over your skin. "I love you so much."

Your inner omega melted.

Love, love, love. Their scent consumed you.

You felt defined by their love, and felt like you would be nothing outside of it.

---

Dick's head was light from glee. "Did you see her stumble out of bed? She was still riding that high."

Jason didn't respond. He sat at the edge of Dick's bed while the aforementioned brother paced around his room.

Dick was too worked up to wait for a response.

"I bet it'll only take a week or two before she seeks the pack out. The attention's like a drug, you know. " Dick waved a hand. "I forgot the chemical. Whatever. But she definitely can't go back to being detached."

Jason's stomach squeezed at Dick's prideful smile.

"I feel slimy," Jason said, gripping his hands together tightly.

Dick abruptly stopped. "What?"

Jason didn't respond. He stared up at Dick with a grim look.

Several expressions passed Dick's face before he said, "That's all you took away from this?"

"I've written papers about why overpowering omegas is outdated and wrong."

"Yeah? I agreed too until we had a hurting omega in our care," Dick said. "Besides, if you feel like that then why didn't you say anything?"

Jason's jaw muscles tightened. "I said using an alpha's command was shitty, not unnecessary."

"It was beautiful, Jason," Dick hissed, temper flaring. "And she'll be happier because of it."

Dick stormed out, his good mood evaporated. The door slammed behind him, and Jason waited until he couldn't hear Dick's stomping before heaving a long sigh.

Jason hoped you wouldn't be too upset once you accepted their care. He made a vow to keep you safe and happy, and he would fulfill that promise even if you hated him for it.

Still, it hurt.

Jason's eyes drifted back to Dick's bed, to the spot where you had been lying. He crawled over and laid down, pushing his face into the sheets, and inhaled your fading scent.

---

From where you were laying, your head in his lap and your legs thrown over Childe’s shoulders, you watched Kuni reach out, tangling his fingers in Childe’s hair and forcing him to bury his face deeper in your cunt. There was a throaty groan, a wagging tail, and then his tongue curled around your clit, suckling the bundle of nerves and pushing your already fried nerves to their limit. You weren’t sure what Kuni wanted. You’d already cum on Childe’s tongue more times than you could count – a mix of his saliva and your slick already running down your thighs and staining your sheets, your mind already made useless by the fog of exhaustion and the pain of overstimulation. You’d stopped thrashing the first time you came, stopped crying by the tenth, but Childe never seemed to run out of energy and whatever Kuni wanted, he clearly hadn’t gotten it yet. It reminded you of how he’d acted the first few times you had to go to work after bringing him home, how he’d follow you from room to room with his ears plastered against his scalp while you got ready, occasionally knocking something over or digging his claws into your legs whenever you failed to give him the attention he was looking for. You used to think it was cute, the inconvenient but adorable insecurities of your formerly stray kitten. Now, it just felt dangerous.

Childe’s tongue slipped inside of you, stretching you open and brushing against something soft and over-sensitive, and your body tensed up, going rigid as you came undone with a long, fractured moan. This time, Childe didn’t try to draw it out, raising his head in spite of Kuni’s best efforts to hold him down and letting out a pitchy whine. “Is it time yet, kitty? Can it be my turn? Please?”

Kuni rolled his eyes. “If it’ll get you to shut up and stop assaulting my ears, you can do whatever you want.”

Immediately, Childe lit up. You could hear his tail start to wag faster, see him push himself onto his knees and take his cock in his hand, hastily lining it up with your entrance. He didn’t tease you, didn’t hesitate – just pushing himself into you with a rough groan, only stopping when he couldn’t possibly force himself any deeper. There was another sound, too ragged and too guttural to be called human, and a pair of massive, padded hands curled around your hips as started fucking into you properly. He was big, even for a canine-based hybrid. It felt like he was splitting you open, tearing your cunt apart with little more than erratic thrusts and tiny, airy whimpers. The curve of his knot knocked against your entrance, threatening to slip inside of you and stretch you even further, and Childe threw his head forward, his blunt claws digging into your waist, his—

“He’s so fucking gross.” Kuni shifted, drawing away from you and leaving you unsupported and alone. While Childe was busy between your legs, he straddled your chest, glaring down at you with a fanged scowl. “That’s what you get for bringing a mutt home. All he’s ever going to want to do is—” He let out a sharp growl. “—stick his dick in whatever he can reach and drool. You’re lucky I’m willing to teach him this much.”

Childe lurched forward, resting his chin on Kuni’s shoulder and licking a stipe up his cheek. Kuni cringed, but didn’t move, didn’t swat him away. Rather, he took you by the hair and jerked your head forward, pressing your lips to the head of his cock. You tried to keep your mouth shut, to ignore the beads of pre-cum dripping down your chin and past your jaw, but he dug his claws into your scalp and, when you opened your mouth to scream, shoved his cock past your teeth and down your throat. You gagged, fresh tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but he didn’t seem to care, a loose smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he bucked his hips.

“Maybe next time, you won’t be so eager to bring your stupid mutts home.” If Childe disagreed, he wasn’t in a state to protest, and to be fair, neither were you. A dark film spread over your vision, and before you could hope to hold yourself together, your eyes fell shut, your last tether to consciousness snapping.  Again, if Kuni cared, he didn’t find it concerning enough to stop. You felt him start to fuck your throat properly as you faded into that dark, empty void, with only the sound of Kuni’s voice for company.

Not that he’d meant to. It was a matter of practicality, of limiting as many adverse variables as he could without pumping you full of aphrodisiacs and turning you into a brain-dead toy. There’d been tests, nights spent with his fist wrapped around your cock as he measured your sensitivity, your refraction period, your… output, for lack of a less off-putting choice of words. Paralysis made things difficult, dampened your reactions, made it difficult to get what he wanted out of you and into him, and therefore, it was off the table, along with sedatives, tranquilizers, or anything else that might’ve made the experience less excruciating. You’d fought back at first, kicked and screamed and clawed at him in hopes that he’d do something to put you out of your misery, but that’d only earned you your improvised restraints and a knot of soreness in your pelvis, where his hips beat into yours. He was straddling you, knees bent and hands wrapped around the bars of his headboard, his expression caught between concentration and empty-headed lust. You couldn’t imagine how he was still upright, still rational, still riding you just as violently as he has been when he first slid you into him. You hadn’t done anything other than moan and cum, and you were barely on the verge of consciousness.

Barely, barely, then not at all. Your eyes fell shut, your mind going blank for all of half a second before one of his hands dropped to your face, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, keeping you awake despite your best efforts to save yourself just a few minutes of suffering. His pussy clenched around your cock as your eyes met, but any semblance of pleasure was lost to the agonizing burn of overstimulation. You wished you were numb. You wished he would let you go numb. “C’mon, amor,” he panted, his voice raspy and a tired smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I know that’s not everything you can give me.”

It was. It really was. He’d already taken everything he could, from you. Your cum was already spilling out of his cunt, already mixing with his slick and pooling on his sheets. Your sides were rubbed raw where his muscular thighs were slotted against them, and you couldn’t begin to imagine the pain you’d be in tomorrow, after the adrenaline faded and the ache set in and Miguel’s ‘aftercare’ proved to be a glass of water, a military-style shower, and more unwanted affection. That was, if he even decided aftercare was necessary, if he didn’t just leave you tied up and prepped for your next breeding session. You wouldn’t put it above him, knowing how he tended to leave his half-finished projects spread across any available surface for months at a time. Despite your immobility, you shuddered, imagining yourself staying chained to his bed and milked dry until he got the two little lines he was looking for. Until he had something to fill the empty void in his chest where his heart should’ve been, the one your exploitation alone couldn’t heal.

You forced yourself not to think about it. You forced yourself not to think about the future. You forced yourself not to think about anything as his pace sped up, as he took to grinding himself against you, as his back arched and his head dipped lower and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His skin was damp and hot, but it wasn’t a feeling you’d have to suffer for long. With labored, jerky movements, he raised his head and forced his lips against yours. The kiss was messy, violent, all teeth and tongue and fangs. You didn’t kiss back – if you had the strength, you wouldn’t have wasted it on that – but that did little to deter Miguel. He wanted to use you. Your cooperation (or lack thereof) wouldn’t change that.

“That’s it, just— Fuck, I know you’re going to love her.” You could feel him clenching around you, his slick dripping onto your stomach. He was going to cum again, and judging by the tightness in your chest, the raw agony clawing at the back of your skull, you weren’t far behind. “Do it. Knock me up. Breed me.”

It was an order, a demand, and you were too exhausted to disobey. It was more pitiful than anything – barely the forced, rigid aftershocks of however many climaxes he’d forced out of you. Still, his tight cunt forced every last drop out of you, milking you for all you were worth as he clenched his eyes shut and convulsed around you. Finally, finally, he went still, letting out a breath of a sigh before straightening his back. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched his hazy features contort into a careless grin, felt something deep inside of your chest fall and crack as he rolled his hips, falling back into a steady rhythm before you could so much as start to hope he was actually done with you, this time. “Just a little more,” he muttered, as your vision blurred and, exhausted and in agony, you slipped out of consciousness and into a restless, dreamless sleep.