#pippywrites

"Haah- Your treatment has been doing very well, then."

You're straddling Harper's lap, patient gown riding up as they pull you deeper into the kiss, returning it with just as much eagerness. They let you do most of the leading, but can't help but to reach down and caress your waist, and then your hips. Hot breath fogs up their glasses, and they murmur praises in between pants when you pull away to breathe. They're going to need a new set of trousers.

"Insatiable slut."

It's almost crashing into them, really. But Whitney grips your shirt in return and pushes back into you, forcing their tongue between your already parted lips, breathing heavily through their nose. They chew on your lip, and you think you taste blood as a result, but you don't care. You only part for a gasp of air, only to hungrily dive in for more. A string of spit connects both of your bruised lips when you're done, until they lick their lips clean with a smirk.

"O- Oh, darling-"

the blood moon hangs in the sky, always there, always watching. rain falls from the heavens towards the vast lake below, its all red. you think that maybe it's bleeding, the moon. (you wonder how much of the blood belongs to IT)

but you do.

they all tell you to stay away.

shallow breaths, light footsteps. tendrils pale as ivory pulling you in. you're dizzy, you can't think, you can't stop looking into it's eyes. it holds the lake in them, you get sucked in.

but you don't.

and so, you find yourself here, again. feet bare against the sand of the lake's shore. your pajamas drag behind you as you wade into the water. it's cold, but you don't stop, not until something pulls you in, and you find yourself staring again into those sapphire blue eyes. the edges crinkle.

You've returned.

pale tendrils wrap around your body, pulling you closer.

Charlie isn't a rapist. God, no. But, sometimes they like to... indulge. Just a bit.

It's hard not to- Not with the way you look at them with such admiration, with your pretty eyes and meek smile. Not with the way you move oh so gracefully (you're not perfect yet, no. You've much to improve, but they catch themself staring more and more often regardless, taking in the sight of you. A part of them hopes you never improve, just so they can keep seeing you, keep being around you). And certainly not with the way you look in that leotard.

So they sneak in touches, little ones. It's hardly anything, really.

Hands that linger on your waist a bit too long during routines. Fingers that drag along your skin as they help adjust your form. Their touches are anxious and careful, but it's all so subtle, enough to have you question if it's on purpose or by accident. (And if you ever bring it up, the answer will always be the latter).

Sometimes they allow themself to go further; breath against your ear as they instruct you, a quick brush against your nipple to make you shiver, fingers inching towards your inner thighs just to feel how warm you are- but they always pull their hands back as if they've been burned. As if it was just an accident. And, although they put on an act, their apology to you is still genuine.

Maybe they feel guilty when you accept it, and move on- forgive and forget. Because you should be pulling away from them, screeching and calling them a pervert. But you don't, you push yourself towards them instead, because you believe the best in them, don't you? You look up to them, you think of them as a safe space. They would never touch you like that on purpose, you'd think.

On the other hand, maybe you want this, ALL of this, and you're too shy to say it. You want them to touch you, to give you special attention, to leer at you just like all the others. (But they're better than the others, they swear).

(You thought it was supposed to bring calmness, supposed to wash you clean. It's supposed to be good, right? But you didn't feel any of that. You felt wrong.)

You didn't know what to do, what to think, so you went to Jordan. (You're not sure what for, maybe it was due to their expertise, or how you feel around them, but you needed something and they could provide an answer. You hoped.)

You had entered the temple, distraught, covered in way too many layers for a warm spring's day (you had to hide your wings, you didn't want to look at them, you couldn't bear it). They turned their head in acknowledgment as you approached, ready to greet the same way they always do, but stopped upon seeing your expression. Your trembling hands were taken in theirs as they led you to a secluded spot, and lowered the two of you upon some cushions. They looked at you and waited, and you knew it was an opening.

So you broke down.

And they listened, patiently, as you babbled and blubbered about how you weren't worthy, how you were never going to be worthy. You weren't sure why this happened to you. If you were chosen, if it was by mistake.

Mistake...

The word was repeated, over and over, until you couldn't speak it anymore. Until your voice was left hoarse, and your hands left sore from the grip you had on Jordan's robes (you're not sure when you started clinging onto them), but they didn't mind. So you continued, and they allowed you.

The next moments passed without any words spoken, and you two sat there.

You, with your face buried in their robes, dampened from your tears. They smelt like incense, like flowers and herbs. It was a scent you grew accustomed to, as the temple used it often, but Jordan's was more distinct. One you haven't much smelled before, but it helped ground you.

And Jordan, stroking your hair, humming a tune (one you were sure you've heard before). Though you were more hanging off of them than leaning against, you still felt a slight vibration coming from their chest as they did so, and a wave of fatigue washed over you as you continued to listen to the soothing melody.

This line right here has had a choke hold on me for the last five minutes, sir, on god?

hnnnnfggshshjsk SIR

quick content warnings: pregnancy talk (PC used to be pregnant), Harper being a right fucking creep, kidnapping kinda??

If I remember correctly, IRL, there's a certain amount of time that has to pass before it's safe to have sex again after giving birth (seems like it ranges from 2 to 6 weeks), and Harper would be mindful of that before doing anything to you. (He doesn't want to damage to your pretty little hole!)

But here's the issue- Harper wants to be the FIRST one to fuck you postpartum. He's been thinking about knocking you up with your next kid ever since you got pregnant with the first one, and there's no way in hell he's going to let someone else get that chance before him. He's earned it, he thinks. He's been so helpful throughout your pregnancy; he's been there every step of the way. He deserves it, he knows. You owe him that.

His solution is to keep you somewhere safe, somewhere monitored, where he KNOWS you're safe. Maybe it's a private room in the hospital, locked behind a keycard swipe. You'll be allowed visitors, at first. He's not some monster; if your loved ones want to come see you, they may. But he doesn't like the way some of them look at you, and he hates the way you look at them back. So the visitor hours grow shorter and shorter, effectively cutting people off. (He's also very particular on which nurses come to treat you. This hospital is full of dangerous people, and, unfortunately, he doesn't have the authority to fire whoever he pleases.)

If people ask, he mentions something about irregular results. Uses a lot of buzzwords, says it's not safe for outside germs to come near you. That they need to be extra careful around you, so it's best to leave you be. To rest.

This moves onto the next part, he needs to keep you in his grasp long enough for it to be safe to fuck you again, to breed you again. (And yes, Harper could get you pregnant in other ways- he could insert his sperm via tube/syringe like he's done to many test subjects before, but his cock disagrees. He needs to feel himself inside of you. He's waited long enough. He can wait a little more, the prize'll be worth it.) He uses similar excuses explanations as to why he needs to keep you with him at the hospital longer. He needs to monitor your levels, your progress.

"Something seems wrong," he'd say, "best to keep you longer, for your health."

It's easier to handle when other people come to him for answers, looking to call him out on his bullshit. They have no power here, he doesn't even have to talk to them, if he really didn't want to. (But he's no coward, he can stand tall with a smile that'll make others shy away.) All it takes is a little manipulation to get them to turn around. He's the expert here. He knows what's best for you, not them. If they refuse, well, it's bad to cause a ruckus in a healing environment, yeah? They'll be kindly escorted out.

It's harder when it comes to you, though. It's not like he wasn't expecting it- he's prepared- but it's still disappointing when you start getting restless. You want to leave, he gets that. You want to go home, to be with your kid. And he understands that. But you can't go yet. Not yet. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until you're ready. But, unfortunately for him, your patience runs out before the timer does, and you're,,, less than happy. And he didn't want to do this (he did, he was just waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect excuse), but your behavior starts to get so erratic and upsetting, so he throws you in the asylum. (Poor thing. So distraught, you're a danger to yourself. He had to step in.) Somewhere even more isolated safe, and he keeps you there for as long as he needs.

When the time comes, after one of your examinations, Harper is shaking from restrained excitement. He almost forgets to hypnotize you, drug you, whatever- he's just so eager to be inside you and pump you full of his seed.

They love to see how your perfect body reacts to their touch. They enjoy hearing the hitch of breath, the involuntary twitch when their fingers ghost across your skin, the goosebumps, the raised hair. Harper takes their time to explore every inch of you, soaking it in, memorizing the feel of you. And you ignore any alarms blaring in your head because this is just their job. They have to be thorough, and, boy, are they. They leave no part untouched, no section unexplored.

Pounding against Eden's chest as he has his way with you, desperately hoping that it if you do it enough times he'll give up, but he never does.

Scratching at his arms, chest, anything. Hoping to draw blood, but your nails never penetrate his thick hunting coat.

Eden pinning you down from behind, one hand on your neck and the other pinning down your arms. And it's hard to breathe and your arms are bruising but you still fight fight fight until you can't anymore.

Him only letting you go after he cums inside your hole and turning over to sleep soon after, satisfied. While you lay there in too much pain to move, defeated.

YES YES AND YES!! also this didn't go in the direction I planned it to go, but here's something for you regardless

Harper absentmindedly drums his fingers against the wooden desk as he looks through patient files, the room filled with silence aside from the occasional clicking of his computer mouse. His fingers halt upon reaching your name.

Harper considers himself a patient man, and in his line of work it's absolutely crucial to be. But even the best of men lose their patience, and his is running very, very thin.

His eye twitches.

The reason?

You.

(continued under the cut)