find beauty in what bleeds

You clenched your teeth, fighting the urge to swear. It was that kind of thinking — petty, avoidant, conflict-adverse — that had led to this, that had kept you as distant from the Waynes now as you had been when Bruce first adopted you. It was awful, really. Even in a family of black sheep, you were still somehow an out—

“(Y/n).”

The sound of your own name barked in Bruce’s low monotone dragged you from your spiraling thoughts. Right. The second part of this daily ritual. At breakfast, Bruce would go around the table, asking for updates on his wards’ lives with all the love and all the care of an army general demanding status reports from his ground troops. You must’ve missed Dick’s turn. That was probably for the best. You didn’t need his latest modeling gig or shiny new girlfriend distracting you during what came next.

“…I got accepted into the program I applied for,” you explained into your lap. “For my post-grad. It starts in fall.”

Dick laughed and patted you hard too-hard on the back. You had to catch yourself on the edge of the table. “Good job, kid. I remember— you mentioned that a couple months ago, right?”

You hadn’t, but you nodded anyway. Bruce hummed.

“Congratulations. Gotham University—”

“It’s not in Gotham,” you said, too hastily. That might’ve been the first time you’d ever interrupted Bruce. “I… I thought it might be nice to try something a little farther from home. You know how it is.”

Bruce, for what it was worth, did not know. He loathed Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven, hated the winters Damian spent with his mother. You’d hoped that staying at home during your undergrad years might endear you to him. In reality, he’d continued to treat you with the same frigid apathy and what embers of a social life you might’ve had in the city proper had been smothered by the distance. It didn’t help that Jason — the only other person who didn’t seem to intrinsically belong in Bruce’s pack, the only person who spared you a second glance at all — had bolted the minute he turned eighteen. For the past four years, you’d been a ghost haunting a house that wasn’t your home. For the past four years, you’d been huddled in the corner of the pack’s den, left to shiver while the rest of your family huddled for warmth.

This time, when Bruce spoke, you were giddy to cut him off.

“Metropolis is a long commute, but I’m sure you’ll—”

“It’s Gateway, actually. In California.” Finally, the glaze over his grey eyes fell away and you knew that you had his full attention. You had to bite your cheek to keep from smiling. “I leave next month.”

You could feel Bruce’s gaze burning into you. Dick’s, too. You’d never been happier. “Oh. Housing might be difficult to arrange on such short notice.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. There’s this grant, and—” And you were the legal ward of the man with the fattest trust funds on the east coast. This felt too obvious to warrant mentioning aloud and so you broke off into a breath of a laugh. “It’s all taken care of. Even the flight.”

First class on a luxury airline. With no return trip in sight, of course.

A wrinkle formed at the corner of Bruce’s lips. Not quite a frown, but not quite his usual icy stoicism, either. “I’m sure you can understand why this would feel rather sudden.”

You made a show of nodding, simpering. “I know, but—” You paused, shrugged. “I figured it was about time for me to spread my wings. That’s what alphas are supposed to do, right? Especially ones without a pack.”

Something flashed across his expression. Your lack of claim was a sore spot. The rest of your siblings had gotten their pack mark — a ring of Bruce’s teeth dug into the underside of their wrists — as soon as they turned eighteen. But here you were, four years into adulthood with no scars to show for it.

But if Bruce was ever going to care, the announcement of your upcoming departure would have been an odd time to start. The phantom of emotion passed — there and gone within the second. Wordlessly, he nodded to Tim, silently signaling that your conversation had come to an end.

You took no small amount of satisfaction in the fact that, even as Tim began to prattle on about his newest business venture, Bruce’s eyes remained on you.

~

In your worst moments, you believed that Bruce gave you such a terrible bedroom on purpose.

You’d been ecstatic the first time you opened the door. Young, hungry, and freshly orphaned, you hadn’t stood a chance against the manor’s silk sheets and wrought-iron terraces and huge crystal-clear windows. You’d spent weeks luxuriating in the extravagance of it all, mistaking Bruce’s wealth for paternal affection. Two months passed before you realized the flaw in the design. You had to walk down four hallways, down three flights of stairs, and past two much more interesting turn-offs to reach your bedroom. No one had a reason to wander so far, not unless they were looking for you. And, of course, no one would ever think to look for you.

You were used to the isolation. You’d come to expect it. Which might’ve been why it was so distressing to wake up smothered in Dick’s heady scent.

Mint and pine and arctic chill — like a bad flavor of gum. You recognized it automatically, but it took you another long moment to process the dead weight crushing you from above, the jagged pressure of his arm wrapped too tightly around your waist. Your eyes flashed open to find his body draped over yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck. Your dormant instincts flared to life, screaming for space, for security, for dominance. You shoved him away and retreated to the far side of the mattress, wrapping the comforter around yourself. Dick groaned, rolling onto his back and shooting you a lazy smile through his curtain of dark hair.

“Morning, little wing,” he chirped, voice deep and raspy with sleep. How long had he spent on top of you? “Gotta say, there are nicer ways to wake a guy up.”

His tone was light, playful. You weren’t so carefree.

“Why are you in my room?”

“A man can’t spend a little quality time with his favorite sister?”

You shook your head. He let out a breath of a laugh.

“Just come a little closer, alright?”

You hesitated, but Dick didn’t waver. More problematically, he’d positioned himself between you and the door so, short of jumping off your balcony, there wasn’t a way to escape without going through him. You shuffled closer, keeping the comforter wrapped around yourself, but if Dick noticed your aversion, he didn’t take the hint. As soon as you were within arm’s reach, he lashed out — catching you by the midriff and hauling you into his lap. He forced your head against his chest, pressing your ear to the muscle over his heart. You recognized the gesture. It was the same way someone might’ve soothed an agitated pup, a distressed omega.

You squirmed on reflex, but Dick was so, so strong. Yet another thing the rest of your family seemed to have in common.

“I really am proud of you,” he muttered. “You’ve always been so passionate about— uh—”

“Art history,” you filled in. There was only so long you could spend alone in Bruce’s mansion, tucked away among so many dust-covered priceless treasures, before you took an interest in other forgotten novelties.

“Right. Art history.” He moved on quickly. “But it got me thinking. It feels like we haven’t been paying enough attention to you.”

Your traitorous heart soared. You did your best to stamp it back down. “It’s a little late—

“Better late than never, right?” You tried to draw back, but his fingers rooted in your hair, keeping you in place. “We never really got a chance to bond. I know you’re leaving in a few weeks but—” He paused, chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you purr.”

Purr? He had to be joking. Alphas didn’t purr. Even betas had trouble doing it on command. You laughed, but Dick only drew you in closer.

“Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”

You tried not to sound as confused as you felt. “I… I can’t do that. Like, physically.”

“Give it a try. It’s not like we don’t have time.”

Whatever. This was embarrassing, but Dick’s attention span was short and he was right — you had nothing but time, here. He’d get bored eventually, slink off and forget this brief break from the status quo. He would leave you alone, and this time, you would remember to be grateful for the cold shoulder.

You let a minute slip by. Dick didn’t move.

Another. He began to hum, leading by example.

By the time you reached five — his heartbeat counting out the seconds like a metronome — you were uncomfortable, sweating, and desperate to get away. Your vision blurred. You missed Jason. Your skull felt too thick. His scent had poured into you, leaving the taste of mint nauseatingly thick on your tongue. Anything would be better than this. Even utter humiliation.

It was a terrible, creaking sound — starting at the base of your throat and leaking out through your pursed lips. You would barely call it a whine, let alone a rumble, let alone a purr. Still, Dick laughed and let go of you, dragging his hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t know why we never noticed how cute you are,” he said, finally, finally getting up and moving towards the door. “See you at breakfast, little wing.”

Once he was gone, you stewed in your embarrassment for another minute or so before deciding to treat this like what it was: a fluke. An exception. Some form of hazing administered too late to have its desired effect — whatever that effect was supposed to be. Face still warm to the touch, you dragged yourself out of bed, got dressed, and slinked out of your bedroom, determined never to think about Dick’s sudden outpouring of brotherly affection again.

Your self-inflicted amnesia might’ve lasted, too, had the first thing you’d seen upon stepping into the dining room not been Dick’s smile as he whispered into Bruce’s ear.

~

It quickly became very, very difficult to remember why you’d ever hated being ignored.

Dick was the worst by far. Suddenly, he had nothing better to do than trail after you through the mansion, asking constantly what you wanted to do with your big brother that day— like you were ten rather than twenty-two. Tim was just as much of a menace, albeit not half as clingy. He always seemed to be just outside of your peripheral, only as close as he needed to be to steal away your half-finished drinks. Stephanie suddenly wanted to take you shopping, insisting that she pay despite your reminders that both of your credit cards were linked to the same account. More than once, Cassandra sat too close to you at dinner, nearly in your lap.

Even Damian — young, stoic, frigid Damian — once made the trek to your bedroom to ask for one of your blankets in the middle of the night. You were too confused to think to refuse, but as you handed off a spare quilt, you managed to ask him why he’d want yours. Another alpha’s. He only pursed his lips, shaking his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, glaring at the floor. “You’ve smelled different, recently. Sweeter.”

Through it all, Bruce never said a word to you.

To make it worse, all the attention made you sick. Literally, physically sick. Your head felt light, your body hot. You had no appetite but ate like a starving animal. You slept more, left the house less. More than ever, you dreaded the thought of being left alone.

Worst of all, being around your family became excruciating. Their voices were too loud. Their mixed scents were too overpowering. You’d never had a very strong constitution, but you were still an alpha, still meant to be able to withstand the juxtapositional pheromones and verbal disputes that would terrify a beta and reduce an omega to a sobbing mess. Suddenly, though, you were as sensitive as a pup — barely able to tolerate your siblings’ usual bickering. Even the smallest argument left you fleeing the room to hide away in some long forgotten part of the manor.

That might’ve been why it’d been so easy for Jason to catch you alone.

You’d just locked yourself inside of one of Bruce’s seven (count them, seven) auxiliary libraries when the tell-tale tapping on the window, a muffled voice calling your name through the bullet-proof glass. You were at the window in a second, unlocking it in another. You barely had time to step back before Jason hauled himself through and pulled you into a blissfully suffocating bear-hug.

He looked rough. Rougher than usual, though you hadn’t seen him in the better part of a year. You felt the worn leather of his jacket against your skin as he pulled you against him, spotted a few splotches of red hair where his cheap black dye hadn’t stuck. He stunk of metal and gasoline and chemical fire, and you’d never been so happy to see him. You melted into him for as long as you could, only letting go when his hands found your shoulders, gently easing you just far back enough for you to see his grinning face.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he drawled. You swatted him in the arm and he went on, feigning offense. “Hey, that barely hurt. The rest of Bruce’s acolytes must finally be softening you up.”

“Please don’t talk about them,” you whined. “They’ve been— God, it’s terrible. Ever since I told them I was leaving—”

His smile widened, showing teeth. “Finally. You have a place lined up yet? I’ve got a spare bedroom downtown, if you don’t mind—”

You cut him off with a bubbling laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going back to school. Gateway City.” And then, softer, “Like we always talked about.”

His hands twitched. His scent took on a smokier note, not unlike a freshly snuffed cigarette. Still, that lip-splitting grin held strong. “I mean, that’s what you told Bruce, but—” He broke off, clicking his tongue. “California’s pretty far. I won’t be able to look out for you all the way out there.”

“You don’t look out for me here.” You couldn’t help it. Your voice broke on the last word, your joy draining away as his grew colder. Panic flashed across his expression. He started to draw you closer again, but you waved him off — pressing a hand into his chest. “I’m sorry, I just— I thought you’d be happier for me. Considering how quickly you got out.”

“It’s not the same, though, is it?” The question had a cruel lilt to it. “I’m an alpha, kid.”

And just like that, you’d forgotten why you were so happy to see him.

“I know. I am, too.”

“Really? ‘cause you don’t smell like one to me.”

Your shoulders dropped. You started to turn away, but he caught your wrist, jerking you back against him. His arm locked around your neck, cutting off your airflow. You gagged, clawing at his sleeve, but Jason only held his ground.

“It’s not that complicated.” His grip tightened. Black spots dotted your vision. You would’ve coughed if your throat hadn’t been clenched so tightly shut. “If you want to be an alpha, you’re gonna have to act like one.”

But you couldn’t. You were Bruce’s least favorite for a reason. The muscle hadn’t taken. The strength training hadn’t stuck. You hadn’t inherited his discipline. And, worst of all, there was that little, traitorous voice in the back of your head urging you to submit, submit, submit. It was yours, but you didn’t recognize the inflection, the cloying lilt. Wherever this instinct had come from, it wasn’t from you.

You tried to kick, to thrash, but your body was sluggish, resistant. The idea of hitting Jason left you light-headed in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the oxygen deprivation. Behind you, he sighed. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded disappointed. “C’mon, kid,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard over the blood rushing past your ears. “Don’t make me do this to you.”

But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t even make the only person who cared about you, the only person who might’ve even come close to loving you, stop hurting you.

Your body gave out a moment before your mind did. You were vaguely aware of your legs giving out, of your form going limp against Jason’s chest. His arm fell away from your throat, catching you by your waist instead. The last thing you felt was his shoulder biting into your stomach before your brain caught up with your lungs and the world went dark.

~

The first thing you felt upon waking up was warmth.

Awful, needling, searing warmth. The kind of uncomfortable heat that came from falling asleep in the sun and waking up hours later, dying of thirst and too disoriented to remember how to open your eyes. It took you long, aching seconds to grasp any other sensation, only to wish that you hadn’t bothered trying when you finally did. Something hard and cold bit into your back — laminated wood, the surface of a desk. There was something lodged between your legs. You could feel hands cupping the outside of your thighs, a tongue moving over your—

Reality came flooding back in too quickly, too roughly. New instincts be damned, you were going to be sick.

You wanted to bolt, but your body still felt heavier than it should’ve been. It was all you could do to force your eyes open, to take in the moulded ceiling and dim yellow lights of Bruce’s office. You tried to sit up, but a pair of hands caught your shoulder, easing you back down onto the desk. Bruce’s desk. You were on Bruce’s desk.

And you weren’t wearing any clothes.

The sight of your own skin was more startling than it should’ve been. You watched in horror as your exposed chest heaved weakly, as your bare knees shook and twitched where they were propped on someone’s shoulders. Dark hair formed a black hole in the center of your vision, and for a terrible moment, you thought it might’ve belonged to Dick. But then the rough edge of a scar pressed into the inside of your thigh and even an even worse possibility dawned on you.

Jason.

The horror was immediate and all-consuming. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think. You felt his lips seal around your clit and suck, and it was all you could do to let a miserable whine slip through your gritted teeth. There was a groan — deep and satisfied and brought on solely by your sounds of distress. His attention dipped lower, touch slipping into your cunt, and involuntarily, you strained against the hands pinning you down. There was an airy chuckle, a hushing-like noise, then Dick’s face dipped into view, peering at you from above. “There she is,” he cooed, in the same cloying, saccharine lilt he’d used the morning he’d trapped you in your own bed. The morning he’d tried to make you purr. “We were wondering when you’d wake up. Jason always gets a little rough, doesn’t he?” And then, his eyes skirting to the side, “Too rough to handle something so delicate. In my opinion, at least.”

Jason pulled back just far enough to speak. “Shove it, Richard.”

“And such a temper.” Dick sighed, leaning towards you. “I just thought, if we had to find our little sister a mate, it should be someone more like—”

“That’s enough, Dick.”

A new voice. Cold, steady, commanding. All the warmth left your body at once.

Knowing Jason was willing to do this to you hurt. Knowing that Bruce was in on it, too…

You didn’t even know what to call that type of pain.

Maybe it would’ve been better, had he at least been an active participant. But he wasn’t even trying to touch you. He sat on the lounge against the far wall, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped professionally between his legs. His expression was set in the same unfaltering neutrality he always wore, the neutrality you’d once mistaken for disinterest. His eyes — half-lidded and impassive — were fixed on you. He didn’t look away as you stared past Dick to meet his gaze.

There was a thin sigh, a readjustment to his posture. Jason’s tongue curled inside of you. “Jason has a more dominating presence. There’ll be less resistance if he initiates the bond.”

“But that doesn’t mean he’ll be a good mate.” Immediately, Dick was on the defensive. You’d always wondered how someone so quick to argue had managed to stay Bruce’s favorite for so long. “And he’s so far. We might as well have just let her move to the other side of the country.”

“The necessary arrangements have been made. Jason’s agreed to stay with us — for a time, at least. Until the worst of the bond sickness passes.” Bruce paused, pinched the bridge of his nose. You would’ve sworn his eyes were closed, and yet when Jason smirked into the inside of your thigh and began to speak, Bruce cut in before he could get a word out. “I’m already giving you my daughter, boy. Don’t make me change my mind.”

Dick frowned. “I mean, by that logic, aren’t you technically giving her your—”

“That’s enough, Dick.”

He frowned, but didn’t spend long licking his wounds. His attention fell back to you, his eyes widening as he bent down to your height. “I tried to volunteer,” he whispered, close enough for his lips to ghost over the shell of your ear. “But Jason beat me to it. I think he’s had this on his mind for a while.”

It was an awful thing to say. It was a vile thing to say. It was a cruel thing to say. You wanted to tell him to shut up, to leave you alone, but when you opened your mouth, all you managed to do was cry out. The knife-sharp bridge of Jason’s nose ground into your clit. He’d fallen into a steady pattern of lapping, twisting, shoving the most invasive part of his body that much deeper into the most vulnerable part of yours. It shouldn’t have felt so terrible. It shouldn’t have felt like anything at all. Alphas were insensitive, lumbering things. Alphas were strong enough to withstand something like this.

So why weren’t you?

His tongue slipped out of you, two thick fingers immediately taking its place. He spread you open as his tongue lapped the slick off your thighs, your skin. A few strokes later, his tongue found your clit and circled it, and your body cracked apart underneath him. The pleasure — if you could even call it that — was too hot, too smothering, too much. You waited for the backlash, the pressure of an internal knot clamping down around nothing, but it never came. There was only the burning heat, and beneath it, a voice that didn’t belong to you begging for more.

Jason nursed you through the aftershocks before pulling away. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth and pushed to his feet, placing his body between your dysfunctional legs. Again, you sought out Bruce. “You did something to me.”

Immediately, Dick was there. “We just gave you a nudge in the right direction, that’s all. You said it yourself. We were running out of room for another alpha.”

You’d never said that, but it wasn’t worth the breath it would’ve taken to correct him. You met Bruce’s eyes. “Please, Dad.”

To his credit, he didn’t so much as hesitate. “You’re not a good fit for our pack. I must have known that, but—” He broke off, shook his head. “It’s better, this way. You deserve a mark. I’m sorry we denied you one for so long.”

But he wasn’t getting up. He wasn’t bearing his fangs, wasn’t asking for your wrist. He was just watching — staring on as Jason traced the head of his cock over your entrance, as he began to ease into you. You acted on reflex— hands flying to his shoulders in a vain attempt to push him away. That was a mistake, too. Before you could so much as make contact, you were on your stomach, both wrists pinned to the base of his spine while he thrust into you unopposed. You braced yourself for blinding pain, for a bone-deep sense of wrongness, but it never came. Instead, a pleasant buzzing filled the empty corners of your mind. Your body relaxed, welcoming him in. Liquid heat pooled in your veins, weighing you down and turning you into something heavy. Something wrong. Something else.

It felt right.

Understanding dawned on you in a single, horrifying flash. The gifts. The forced proximity. The shows of superiority. The way they’d observed you so unfalteringly over the past few weeks. An old term glanced over in textbooks and on the category listings of sketchier porn sites resurfaced from the forgotten depths of your mind — bitching. But that wasn’t supposed to be real. That wasn’t supposed to be something your family could do to you, no matter how little they loved you.

It was impossible and it was happening. You could feel Jason’s chest against your back, his tongue on your neck as he rocked against your ass. In front of you, Dick cooed and shrugged his jeans low on his hips, freeing his own painfully stiff cock. He tapped the leaking head against your lips and you locked your jaw in place, determined to safeguard what little dignity you had left. Dick only clicked his tongue, forcing his thumb past your lips and wrenching your teeth apart. He shoved himself into your mouth before you had a chance to bite down, his tip ramming into the back of your throat and making you gag.

There was an airy moan, a pleased sigh. Dick let his eyes fall shut, resting a hand on the crown of your head and petting. “Good girl,” he murmured, blunt nails raking over your scalp. “Let’s not talk about leaving anymore, alright? Just lay back and let your pack take care of you, from now on.”

His tone was light, soothing. It might’ve been more comforting if he hadn’t followed it up by tangling his fingers in your hair and jerking you forward, forcing your nose against his pelvic bone and fucking his cock into your throat.

The fullness was the worst part. Tearing you open, weighing you down. Your jaw throbbed where it was stretched around Dick’s cock, your cunt aching under the bruising force of Jason’s abuse. His hands were too tight around his hips, his pace too brutal to make you feel anything but scared. There was a rumbling growl, then you felt his mouth on the curve of your throat, nuzzling into you. A terrible, alien pressure beat against your entrance once, twice before he managed to force that much more of himself inside of you. Immediately, every nerve in your body flared to life. It took you a moment to understand the source of your agony, but not much longer. Honestly, the only surprise was that you hadn’t thought to dread this part sooner.

He’d knotted you.

But that couldn’t be right. Alphas only knotted their—

His mouth, moving over the tender flesh above your jugular. You tried to scream, to thrash, but Jason was so heavy on top of you and Dick only groaned as his cock smothered your voice. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t tell him to stop. You couldn’t do anything as Jason’s teeth sunk into your throat, breaking skin and drawing blood. Marking you — albeit, not in the way you’d spent so, so long waiting for.

In a daze, you looked toward Bruce. He hadn’t moved, of course, only leaned forward — propping his cheek on his fist. His dark eyes were cold as steel, but that wasn’t the worst part.

You shake your head, before correcting yourself with words. “Nope.” 

Your cheek is pushed into the mattress as your arms are pulled beneath you and bound together, your arse wiggles high in the air, the only part of your body with any real freedom. 

Nikolai taps you, encourages you to struggle against your binds and smirks a wicked grin when you struggle just to do that. “Perfect.” 

There's a moment of silence then, stillness as the anticipation builds like a quiet storm.

The burn of his stare is heavy, inspecting you, and the weight of it makes your body react without even a single touch.

Finally, a curled knuckle nudges up your folds, teases your pretty little nub, and a delighted chuckle leaves the Russian as you jolt under his gentle caress.

And then the softness fades, replaced by hungry hands that curl next to the sensitive folds of your cunt, they pull until your lips are parted and your apex is completely exposed. “Such pretty holes, milaya.” He coos, wasting no time as he moves for further exploration. 

His hands paw upwards, grabbing at your cheeks and pulling much the same, revealing to his greedy eyes the hole you'd already denied him.

Knowing he's there, hovering above you with his eyes glued to the one thing he can't have, you shiver like a leaf, tremble like prey. 

“Fuck.” You mewl, the sensation of his hands already so good, melting you down into a puddle.

“So sensitive.” The grin on his lips is audible in his pleased words, a grin that only grows as he dares to move upwards, rubbing his slicked finger across your puckered hole. “Here too? Feels good?” 

“It feels…” You buck as his touch intensifies, the pad of his finger toying with your entrance. 

Despite everything, your hesitancy, your refusal—it feels fucking good. 

“Mmm, Nik!” You squeal, as just moments after you feel it: the wet hot press of his tongue, laving your precious entrance with reckless abandon. “I—”

“Shhh.” He mumbles between your cheeks, stubble catching sensitive flesh as he tries to quiet your pointless commentary. 

His tongue returns with vicious fervour, tasting all you have to offer and more as slick noise fills the air, mingling with the man's moans to form a taunting melody.

“Just a taste, maybe a finger.” His voice is soft, a trick to try and soothe you, his pleasant grumble an attempt at distraction.

“N—” You try to reaffirm your boundary, to keep him away from what you refused to give him, but such an action is pointless. 

A hand eclipses your head, shoves your face further into the too-expensive mattress until the sound is muffled. 

It works just as well to muffle the scream that follows, as Nikolai plunges a finger in, deep and probing, curling against you in ways you never wished to feel, and yet your body reacts like it's been waiting for it all along. 

You shiver and shake and moan and shout—the pleasure, the pain, the intrusion, and the intimacy all overwhelming your fragile little brain.

It's not long before the lust takes him, the hunger and the fire and the impatience. He laid his trap, and waited so long for all the pieces to fall into place, placated you with numbing sweetness all for the jagged teeth to sink into you before you have time to realise. 

The jaw has closed, there's no escape.

He shuffles behind you, and you freeze in fear, knowing what comes next. 

First his belt, then the rustle of his jeans, and before long you feel it, that thick, heavy, gorgeous cock rubbing against your slickened hole. 

With his hands focused on shifting you into place, you can crane up your head, cry out one more time. “Nikolai, red, please!” 

He grows tired of your pleading, your denial of what is best for both of you, and shoves the boxers he just stripped himself of straight into your protesting mouth—then he taps you on the cheek, twice for good measure.

“Dumb little thing, nyet?” He scoffs as he returns to his rightful place at your rear. A quick rummage around his beside table produces the lube he's prepared just for a night like this. 

He flicks the cap, squeezes a plentiful amount on you, on him. 

After all, he's a gentleman; he doesn't want it to hurt… too much.

“Just like the other girls. Won't do anal, will do bondage. Can't say no, now, hmm?” 

He ruts against your hole with the head of his cock, gentle pushes that tease and taunt.

And then he breaches. You hiss, he groans, slowly sinking in until each fat inch is swallowed by your greedy, untouched hole. 

He can hear the choked-back sobs, feel the way your body trembles and your entrance chokes him.

“I know, first time. But this is your fuck hole.” He coos his explanation to you with sickening condescension, like you just needed a big, smart man to finally show you the way. 

Mercifully, a hand sinks lower, curls round to toy at the spot where his balls meet your other opening. “This? This is baby box. Only fucked when breeding. An honour, not fit for just any girl.” 

You shouldn't shiver; you certainly shouldn't gush the way your cunt does at that moment. 

He takes a moment to push in that final inch, sheathing himself fully in your virgin arse, his new home.

“But you're taking me so well. Asshole made for me.” 

Despite the attempt at preparation, it burns, and yet one of Nik's hands pets your head like it's all an act of love.

oh, shit. just when you’d nearly forgotten about the sloshing of your stomach, he proves that he knows you too well, is too skilled in the art of reading you. his free hand works its way under your tank top, hem twisting and bunching up to your waist until he can properly grip your tummy and press the heel of his palm into your bladder. your reaction is immediate, some mixture of discomfort and anticipation forcing out a moan that had been caught in your throat for far too long.

"caleb, please—" you gasp, head falling back to his shoulder as you attempt to squeeze your thighs together.

he has the audacity to laugh, chest rumbling against your skull as your knees are held in place by an invisible force, more powerful than you could ever comprehend. the thought alone makes you clench around him, earning yourself a moment of respite from his hand teasing your bladder as he buries his face in your neck again and groans out a few expletives. but it truly only lasts a moment, his hips jerking upwards to thrusting himself up into your wet cunt.

"please what, hm? if you want something you have to ask for it, baby."

"need to get up, need to pee."

"awww," his voice drips with condescension, the hand not toying with your belly tugging the neckline of your top down until he can free your tits from the thin material. "little girl needs to piss? go on, then."

his calloused fingertips find a hardened nipple, pinching and twisting until you arch your back with a harsh gasp. his laughter is downright mean this time, and though the warmth of your cheeks is due (in part) to embarrassment, you can’t deny the building heat that travels all the way down to where your bodies meet. all the way down to your fingers (one clawing at his forearm as the other tightens around his wrist, holding him in place where he continues to tease your nipples), and all the way down to your toes (curling against his shin as your body seizes); burning your insides until you consider letting go.

“just a couple hours ago it was ‘please, caleb! let me ride you! i promise i’ll be good! let me keep you warm, caleb!’”

all you can do is whine in defeat, head falling back to his shoulder. you meet his gaze, eyes hooded and hazy. the image of him before you is soft around the edges, his dewy skin nearly glowing in the cool, dark of the room.

“is it too much, sweetheart?” he coos, tone nearly bordering on sweet as he brushes his lips over yours. but it’s cloying and you know better, even with the slow pace your brain is currently working at. “you know what will make it all better…”

his fingers slide through your folds with ease, spreading your lips with the width of his palm before he slaps his fingers lightly against your swollen clit. it makes your body jolt against him, squeezing his cock and jostling your stomach. and it’s all a bit too much, a bit too intense. he’s rubbing you now, tight little spirals, so quick they make you cry out— and there’s something warm, something wet relaxing your reluctant mind and dripping down the veins of his cock.

you were always so confused about your body. growing up without an older sister, aunt, or mother figure left you with no one to guide you through the depths of your own body. you had no one to ask what did things mean, you were mostly clueless to women’s health. you pieced what you could together through basic info on the internet. googling symptoms, even spiraling in wikipedia hell, yet you still felt deeply embarrassed and ignorant.

after months of vague pelvic discomfort and irregular periods you decided to bite the bullet and book an appointment with your local gynecologist, especially after your best friend vaguely mentioned that “you should get checked out.” you chose dr. nanami because of his reviews, while there were only a few, they were all positive. they said he was “thorough” and “patient with anxious first-timers and younger patients.” everything you needed, yet as you sat in the waiting room with sterile white lights shining over you, you fidgeted. blushed while filling out the initial intake form. when the reception finally called you back, you knew that there was no turning back now. you sat on the hard plastic chair, already shy, clutching your purse, thighs pressed together so tight under your sundress it was like your unconsciously body is already refusing the exam before it even started. but when dr. nanami walked through the door, a small weight seemed to lift off your shoulders for a reason you couldn’t understand.

He greeted you with a warm, paternal smile that seemed to make you give a shy smile back. in that gentle, professional, doctor way that made patients relax “miss l/n.” mid-to-late-40’s, tall, deep voice, polished, impeccably dressed in a white overcoat over slacks and a white button down, and framed glasses. you didn’t notice the slight shift in his demeanor when he first saw you.

he knew the moment he laid eyes on you that he wanted to ruin you.

then the standard questions started. menstrual history, medical background, sexual activity (to which you admitted you had no past partners, only touched yourself occasionally, and even then it was only clumsy external rubbing). “it doesn’t really feel… good? Or maybe it does? I’m not sure what it’s supposed to feel like.” you admitted to him, because that was the truth, you could never bring yourself to finish or even get closer to that edge, everything just felt unsatisfactory but you just convinced yourself you were one of those people who maybe just didn’t find masturbation enjoyable? nanami listened with a perfect bedside demeanor, nodding empathetically that made you feel utterly seen “It’s quite common for young women without proper guidance to be uncertain about their own bodies. That’s why we’re here.”

but what he really thought? clumsy little thing doesn’t even know what an orgasm is. perfect.

he recommended a “full pelvic exam” for baseline health, emphasizing how important it is for someone your age with “limited experience.” you had to undress, pulling your dress off with shaky hands in the corner of the room, then your bra, then your panties, but nanami stayed in the room while you changed. his eyes locked onto the floor (or so you thought) from across the room, he claimed him staying in the room “saved time and reduced anxiety,” and poor old you believed every bit of it. the thin paper gown he gave felt harsh on your skin and made you feel utterly exposed, yet the warm aura that came from nanami made you believe that everything was going to be alright.

everything felt normal. he checked your vitals, the breast exam was swift, etc. he was thorough in ways you should’ve noticed if you weren’t so ignorant, lingering touches, the subtle bulge that slowly started to form in his slacks the longer his fingers were on you, him rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. just once. barely noticeable, and over as soon as it started but causing a small whimper past your lips that make his cock twitch in his slacks while explaining everything in textbook language you barely understood.

sensitive, bet she’d cry so pretty with my mouth on them while begging for more. you, so stupid, so naive, thought that maybe all doctors were this thorough.

stupid.

then the pelvic exam came.

so stupid.

he had you lay back on the stiff table, thighs pressed together as he changed his gloves. the latex snapping against his wrist sounded like a round being put in a chamber. you watched his back as he moved across the room grabbing the necessary equipment, you were actively avoiding the stirrups where your feet were supposed to go. but the moment he turned around and saw you there, shaking slightly, something shifted in him. most doctors would comfort you, take their time with you. but nanami? it fueled his disgusting brain even more. the look of you, so nervous and at his expense, he almost turned you over and fucked you raw on this very table. the sight of your thighs pressed together made his cock throb heavily against the front of his slacks. but externally? he just gave you the a small warm smile, the kind that made your shoulders relax despite your legs still being pressed tight.

“don’t worry, miss l/n, it’s alright. we’ll take it nice and slow. many young women find the stirrups intimidating at first. let’s get you comfortable, yeah?”

his voice was steady, professional in the way you believed everything he said. he rolled his stool right between your thighs. he then helped you position your feet in the stirrups himself, one hand lingering on your calf while the other stayed on your inner thigh for a moment too long “for support.”

bullshit.

the paper gown crinkled loudly as he lifted the hem up to your waist, exposing you completely under the harsh and sterile white light. the cool air hit your bare skin making you shiver, or maybe it was the way nanami gazed at your cunt, like he had been undressing you with his eyes long before you were actually naked, you couldn’t tell from which. you stared at the tiles on the ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the world, afraid if you looked down that all of this would become real.

“perfect. just scoot your hips a little closer to the edge… there you go. excellent.” he adjusted the overhead lamp, staring openly at your pussy while pretending to calibrate it. he used his gloved fingers to slowly inspect the external vulvar area with clinical precision. parting your folds gently with his index finger, noting positively on the color, the lack of lesions, and the “healthy appearance.” but his sick thoughts inside his mind were a complete devoid of what he said outwardly.

fuck, look at the pretty pink slit. barely touched, clenching around nothing. dripping already just from being looked at. this little thing walked right into my office like a gift. he thought. no fucking way i’m wearing latex for this, i want to feel how soaked this clueless cunt gets.

his cock was already half-hard in his slacks. he palmed himself once, slowly, while “reaching for the light.” but what really got you was the sound of latex, not being put in place, no, being taken off. he peeled off his gloves right in front of you, tucking them in his coat pocket. your eyes snapped from the ceiling to him, searching, yet instead he told you “for the internal portion i’m going to proceed without gloves. latex can dull the temperature and texture perception, and for a baseline exam on a younger with limited experience, direct contact can give us much more accurate information about elasticity, lubrication, any subtle tenderness, and overall vaginal health. it’s standard in thorough practices. is that all right with you?”

you nodded quickly, too quick, embarrassed to even have an opinion. afraid of being a bad patient. afraid of being a problem. “if that’s what’s best…”

so so stupid.

he kept one hand on your inner thighs “to steady you.” you didn’t even remember trying to close your legs again, he used his other hand to part you open. his fingers were warm compared to the latex you braced for. slightly rough. bare. no latex barrier. just the friction of skin on skin.

the sterile room smelled sharply of antiseptics, but something underneath it was muskier. the paper crinkled loudly as you shifted, the cold metal from the stirrups bitting into your heels.

one thick digit traced your slit just like earlier, but this time he collected your wetness, circling your clit in small slow motions. “how does this feel?” he asked, voice low and even, bordering clinical like he was checking your blood pressure. like this was normal.

“it-it feels kind of… strange. tingly i guess?” you whispered unsure, staring hard at the ceiling tiles while your face burned. “perfectly normal,” he murmured. so fucking clueless that she doesn’t know that she’s doesn’t know that she’s getting wet for her doctor. pathetic, greedy cunt. i could knock her up right here on this table—fill her up until she’s leaking my cum for weeks.

“you’ll feel some pressure now. try to relax your muscles… good. how does this feel?” he pushed one thick digit in slowly, then a second, curling, stroking your walls with precision while his thumb “accidentally” kept brushing your clit. the wet squelching noise filled the filled the room obscenely as he scissored you open. the stretch burned slightly but sent a confusing spark to your gut as he pumped slowly. his other hand stayed resting on your inner thigh, parting, rubbing small circles into them all while gently but firmly keep them apart.

“it… it feels weird. full? but i don’t know if it’s supposed to—“ he deepened the motion instantaneously, hitting the spot you didn’t have a name for that made your hips jerk. the spongy spot inside of you he rubbed with deliberate yet professional strokes caused a involuntary moan to slip past your lips. “excellent response. that’s normal. some discomfort mixed with sensation is expected.” he said calmly. “your pelvic floor is quite reactive. that’s a good sign.”

like he’d had done this before.

his hand that was resting on your thigh moved abruptly. under the exam table, away from your vision, though not entirely, his other hand palmed his thick obvious bulge that was straining against his slacks. he squeezed himself once through the fabric, stroking once, twice, while his finger continued to work you open.

monthly appointments from now on— i’ll have her bent over this table like my own personal cumdump every four weeks, pretending it’s “pelvic floor therapy.”

the sounds that were coming from your cunt were obscene. wet squelching, those very noises would keep nanami up for days straight feeding his sick fantasy while he jerked off under his desk between patients, in the shower, in bed.

you caught the motion from your peripheral — the rhythmic movement of his arm, the way his hips shifted slightly. your eyes flicked down for half a second. was that…? no? no. you’re just nervous. hallucinating. doctors don’t… you’re imaging it because you’re gross and anxious. don’t be stupid. you snapped your gaze back to the ceiling, heart hammering. the nerves of your first gyno visit is clearly making you hallucinate.

no one ever taught you about this kind of thing, so this must’ve been normal.

he felt you clench and smiled that paternal smile.

“excellent muscle tone. you’re doing very well.” he said. she saw my cock. looked away like a scared little rabbit. but she saw it. next time i’ll make her watch me stroke it while i finger-fuck her. he kept the rhythm steady—slow, deep, agonizingly so. curling his fingers every few thrust—while his thumb brushed your clit “to assess sensation.”

“how does this feel now?”

you whimpered. “it’s… a lot. i feel really weird. like something’s building.”

he added a third finger, stretching you wider unpredictably. “breathe through it. tell me if the pressure changes.” i could cum in my pants right now just from how she’s sucking my fingers in. bet she’s never had anything this thick inside of her. i own this pussy now. she’ll be booking monthly appointments thinking that this is what healthcare feels like. stupid slut.

your mind questioned what was happening while your body betrayed you — slick coating his bare hand and practically leaked down to his wrist. you didn’t understand what was happening, only that it felt complete overwhelming, the pressure became intense. your thighs shook in the stirrups, you bit your lip to supress those pathetic whimpers and moans. you didn’t understand the heat coiling low in your belly or why your hips kept wanting to move.

“dr. nanami… it feels… really intense. like my body is doing something on its own. can we… can we take a break. please? or maybe i can finish this another time? maybe i could reschedule an appointment for another day…”

he didn’t pull his fingers out. he just slowed them. kept them buried deep inside you and he looked at you with that warm, parental, understanding expression that made your feel like you were the one being ridiculous.

“i hear you. and it’s completely valid to feel overwhelmed—many-first-time patients do. but stopping now would leave the exam incomplete. your symptoms, the pelvic discomfort, irregular periods, the uncertainty about pleasure—point to possible pelvic floor issues or possible vaginismus. this could indicate something that we’d need to catch early on. if you reschedule, we’d likely have to repeat a lot of this, which might be even harder next time. we wouldn’t want that, right? many patients regret not finishing. you’re already being so brave. just a little longer and we’ll have everything we need. you don’t want to be one do this girls who avoid care because of nerves, do you?”

you hesitated, tears forming in your eyes. “breathe. you’re safe. this is what a proper exam feels like. your body is reacting this way because it had never properly been examined before. trust the process.” he added, his voice dropping slightly.

you felt guilty. stupid. like you were wasting his time and being difficult to a man who was only trying to do his job.

you cracked, self-deprecating “i-i’m so sorry. you’re so right… i don’t want to be a problem, i’m just being silly. i can do it. really. please just keep going. i trust you. i’m sorry for interrupting…” you even spread your thighs a little wider in apology, mortified at yourself.

his smile softened. “no need to apologize. you’re communicating perfectly. let’s finish strong.” you didn’t even notice while you were apologizing he took the opportunity to palm himself again—full, slow squeeze of his cock through his slacks, thumb brushing at the angry head where a wet spot was starting to form. you didn’t look this time. you kept your eyes glued to the ceiling like it could save you. he rewarded you by speeding up, his mask slipping just a fraction. “Good girl. such a cooperative patient. how does this feel now?”

but you didn’t respond this time, you couldn’t, not properly at least. your breath hitched. your head was all fuzzy, tears blurring your vision. your walls fluttering, then clamping down hard around his bare fingers like your pussy was trying to both push him out and pull him back in at the same damn time. a sudden, intense, and overwhelming wave crashed through you—your whole body jerked, face twisted, back arching off the table. slick gushed around his hand and the table beneath you. you came with a broken little sound you’ve never heard yourself make before.

he kept fucking you through it, repeatedly hitting your g-spot, drawing it out and milking it, pupils dilated far beyond reasoning. your first real orgasm—you whimpered, ashamed. he prolonged it while palming himself to the edge but not finishing, saving it for a later fantasy.

when it finally subsided you were panting, confused, mortified. “i think… i had an accident? or… what was that?” he slowly removed his fingers, letting them linger on your swollen clit for just a moment too long. showing you, holding them up to the sterile light, then wiping it on your inner thigh with clinical detachment.

“no accident at all. that was an involuntary release—completely normal during internal stimulation, especially for you first time experiencing it. it tells us that your nerves are responding appropriately. nothing to feel ashamed about miss l/n.” he deepened his fingers one more time, claiming to “check your cervix” all while your body was still twitching, wanting to push you over the edge. he helped you sit up, praised how well you did, let you pull down your gown. the rest of the appointment passed in a haze.

“everything looks healthy. no abnormalities. however, given your full history and the fact that this did your first full exam, i’d like to see you back in four to six weeks for a follow up. we can recheck your cycle patterns and go over any self-monitoring techniques if you’d like.” he handed you his business card with his direct line scribbled on the back. “call the office to schedule. or you can reach me directly if anything comes up before then. please, don’t hesitate.”

you got dressed once again, slipped off your gown to put your sundress back on. you didn’t notice that your panties were gone, must’ve been the way way that your thigh were shaking or how your mind was still cloudy. you didn’t see just earlier when he slipped them inside his coat pocket. but as you thanked him and left the room he took the damp fabric and brought them to his nose, inhaling deep with a small smirk. i’ll wrap them around my cock tonight and jerk off to the memory of her gushing on my fingers. next visit i’m tasting her directly. he put them back in his pocket along with the facade he slipped back on.

you left on shaky legs, still wet, still throbbing, still telling yourself that this was normal.

later that night you tried to sleep. you couldn’t. every time you closed your eyes you felt his fingers, heard his deep voice.

how does this feel?

your hand slipped between your legs almost on autopilot without you even realizing. you started like you always did—clumsy circles on your clit—but it wasn’t enough. not after today. you slid two fingers inside yourself the way he had. tried to copy the curl, the upward press.

how does this feel?

you moved faster, chasing that same “tingly” feeling as you did earlier, the same pressure. shame flooded over you instantly.

no one ever taught me… this must be what he meant by reactive. i’m just following his instructions. he was helping me.

tears pricked your eyes even as you rolled your hips against your hand. you added a third finger, gasping at the stretch. though it didn’t feel as good as when he did it, but it was close enough to make you moan broken into your pillow. you whispered his words back to yourself.

how does this feel?

the guilt made the pleasure sharper, more intense. when it hit you again you had to bite your pillow to stay quiet. your body shook harder then it did on that exam table. you came again thinking of his calm face between your legs.

what the fuck is wrong with me? you thought. he was just doing his job. being through. and i’m here fingering myself to the memory like some gross pervert. he even said it was normal. i’m the one making it sexual. i’m the problem.

completely unaware that the real pervert had been that man in the white coat.

you curled up small, eyes burning. you felt dirty. ignorant. broken.

but you also knew that were already going to call in the morning and book that follow up. better yet? you would use his direct line.

his monthly toy.