secretsmutcorner

[secretsmutcorner]

"I need to see them suffer" I say about a character who already does nothing but suffer

[secretsmutcorner]

Good news! There is now an evil alternate timeline to the least whumpy timeline! (Wherein Devarian's Arranged Husband is a whumper and also has a Secret Whumper of his own <3)

Btw there's like four alternate timelines for our poor little draconic toylet elf of varying whumpiness (but, worry not, always some)

[secretsmutcorner]

I started writing and I've named So Many Things

Btw there's like four alternate timelines for our poor little draconic toylet elf of varying whumpiness (but, worry not, always some)

[secretsmutcorner]

Pet Room

A sweet moment between Rosa and Blanca is interrupted.

Because I can't let them have nice things.

[Pet Safety Masterpost] || Past

Content / warnings: BBU, forbidden love (f/f), implied noncon (m/f), a bit of violence, forced to watch.

"Shhh." Blanca presses her hand over Rosa's mouth. There's a sudden urgency in the nightly pet room, like a sudden draft between them. The sweet taste on Rosa's lips turns bitter, the warmth she's been chasing is engulfed by cold dread.

Quiet steps are echoing in the hallway outside. It's Master Cory's stride, quick and impatient. Blanca slides out from between Rosa's legs, out of Rosa's bed, perfectly soundless. Where she's been, only a cold emptiness remains.

"Blanca?" The door opens to Master Cory's shape, the light from the hallway a halo around his tousled hair, while both pets shift into a wobbly position one. "I heard a noise."

Rosa is pressing the bed sheet to her chest, hiding the traces of Blanca's caress she's sure are burning on her skin. Her owner's gaze only brushes over her, before it rests on Blanca. Blanca, who raises from her own bed graciously and confidently, steps in close in front of him. She takes one of his wrists with an intimacy that makes Rosa flinch. She'd never dare touch a person like that.

But Master Cory lets Blanca touch her, and he lets her move his hand, guide it between her legs, to a place that Rosa has known would never be hers alone. Her chest tightens anyway.

Master Cory bites his lip and takes in a sharp breath.

"I touched myself," Blanca murmurs. "I dreamt of you, Sir, and I couldn't help it. Was I loud?"

He slowly pulls back his hand, runs his slick fingers over Blanca's lips in a gesture that seems so familiar, it hurts. Rosa presses her lips together. The same taste still lingers on her own tongue.

"You're not allowed to do that, Blanca," he whispers hoarsely. "You know that. Your body belongs to me."

"I -" Blanca begins. Rosa sees it coming, before she does. Master Cory's eyes narrowing the slightest bit, the muscles in his shoulder tensing. His hand jerks back and slaps Blanca across the face, hard and cruel, sending her stumble to her knees.

"That's 'Yes, Sir', pet."

"Sir." At his feet, Blanca lowers her head. Her cheek is bright red. "Yes, Sir. Forgive me."

His hand grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her head back to face him. Rosa sees tears shimmer in the corners of her eyes. Blanca's pained smile, however, is still radiant.

Master Cory's grin isn't. It's terrifying. "Aren't you about to say that you love me?"

Blanca still tries, her eyes wide open, her gaze still flirting. Rosa curls up on herself under her blanket. Can't she see? Does she not want to see?

"I love you," Blanca whispers. "I do. You're everything to me."

Something clenches deep in the pit of Rosa's stomach at the softness in Blanca's voice, something hard and painful, wrong and forbidden.

"I know," he replies, as he pulls her up to her feet by the hair. He's not a tall man, but Blanca's petite shape looks painfully vulnerable in front of him. "I am. I'm your owner. I'm your fucking God."

His fist drives into her stomach, and the horrible dark knot in Rosa's heart is overwhelmed with something else. Instinctively, she presses her hands against her mouth. Never scream. Never complain. Never let yourself be noticed.

Blanca doesn't scream either. Her only sound is a mixture of a yelp and a sob, sickeningly sensual. "Tell me again," Cory hisses, his hand in her auburn the only thing keeping her upright. "Tell me how much you love me. And don't stop."

"I love you," Blanca struggles to say. "I love you so much, Sir. You're beautiful, and powerful, and I-"

Another punch leaves her wheeze for air.

"Please, Sir, I love-"

Another.

Rosa closes her eyes. The hand in front of her mouth still tastes like Blanca. She swallows a sob. It's okay, she tries to tell herself. It's what Blanca is made for. It's who she's made for. He's the owner. He knows best. He gets what he wants. Everything.

"I- 'ov- you," Blanca's voice is reduced to a rough stutter. "Si'. 'lease."

"Please, what?" Master Cory taunts her. "Please, use you as you're made for? You have no right to your own pleasure, stupid little whore. You're for *mine*."

"Please," she begs. "I... love you."

The bed on the other side of the room squeaks as something - someone - lands on the mattress. Then again, under a heavier weight.

"Keep going," Master Cory commands hoarsely. A belt is opened, rubs over textile as it's pulled from its loops.

"I -" A sharp smack echoes through the room.

Blanca does cry out now, for first the time.

Rosa bites on her fist.

"Go on," he says.

"I love you. I -"

It feels like an eternity. Rosa is used to eternities, she's always thought. Waiting, busying herself, standing at attention, always on edge, always ready. Hours. Days.

This one lasts longer.

It's twenty-seven minutes.

Of punches, of lashes, of flesh on flesh, of sobs and groans and moans, of weaker and weaker confessions of love.

Rosa only realizes it's over, when she hears her own name.

She snaps to attention.

Master Cory is standing between their beds, his penis still out, wiping himself off with Blanca's satin panty.

He crumples it up and tosses it to Rosa. "Clean up the mess," he says. "And air the room. It's fucking disgusting in here."

"Yes, Sir." Rosa's voice almost breaks.

Blanca's body on the on the other bed is barely moving. Even in the dim light, Rosa can see dark bruises forming on her pale skin.

"Not her," he says, following her gaze. "She gets to clean up herself. Remember her place."

Rosa nods.

"She's mine," he repeats, unprompted, and for a moment, Rosa is sure he knows. Then she realizes, he's still looking at Blanca, a hard line around his lips. He's not even thinking about Rosa any longer.

"Mine," Master Cory whispers, reassuring himself.

Then, he's gone.

A soft whimper sounds from Blanca's bed. Rosa dreads to turn around. Blanca's eyes are glazed over, her cheek swollen. "I... I love you," she whispers, an empty echo of the past hour.

Her eyes try to focus, dark gray searching for Rosa and a shaky smile forms on her bruised lips. "Rosa."

Rosa freezes, shakes her head.

She's a good pet. For both of them. She needs to be.

Without looking back, Rosa pushes the door open, heading for the linen closet. She has a job to do.

---

--

pet safety tag list (ask to be added or removed!):

@gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses

@pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy

@whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl @light-me-on-pyre @whumps-and-bumps

@bilightningwhumper

[secretsmutcorner]

I'm reading a historical royal biography rn so I'm always tempted to write the least whumpy one in that style

Btw there's like four alternate timelines for our poor little draconic toylet elf of varying whumpiness (but, worry not, always some)

[secretsmutcorner]

Btw there's like four alternate timelines for our poor little draconic toylet elf of varying whumpiness (but, worry not, always some)

[secretsmutcorner]

AAAAAHhhhhhh!!!!! They look so sweet and unfortunate and dead inside!!! Thank you so much, what a lovely surprise!

(Quick colored sketch of @secretsmutcorner s elf from the most recent installment in the DT series. Be warned: this series is not for the faint of heart)

[secretsmutcorner]

Discovery

1,491 words | The dragon’s toy (sequel to Ready)

Content | NSFWhump, explicit non-con, monsterfuckery, blood, implied fighting/violence

Notes | The elf's circumstances... change.

There was always going to be a timeskip but there's a few nice and whumpy pieces still planned between this and the previous one >:) I'll get to them eventually. Also, I thought I had this almost finished and then I almost doubled the wordcount jdsklfla

Taglist | @i-walk-on-the-dark-side @echo-goes-aaa @scoundrelwithboba @whumpzone @saffitaffi (I don't remember you asking to be taglisted but you did ask about this conitnuation specifically so I'll tag you this time <3 let me know)

Spring arrived for the third time.

That afternoon, the dragon was laying in its nest with its hind legs stretched behind it -- a pose bound to look silly in any four-legged beast, but one that allowed it to slam its pubic bone into the elf's clit with more force as it fucked into them; a torture it sometimes employed when it missed the way they had erstwhile winced and whimpered with every thrust. The elf suffered it like they suffered anything, now: knowing that their pain didn't matter, and without tormenting themself with imaginations of how they would like things to be.

Presently, the dragon paused, buried wholly inside their stretched-out cunt, and started grinding against their battered clit, drawing a wail from them like few things did anymore. They knew the dragon enjoyed the way they squirmed and cried and tensed around it, and that was what mattered. That was what they were for. They were a good little toy, avoiding unnecessary pain by bearing the necessary, serving their function, without a fuss.

That was what mattered.

Soon the dragon came, and without pulling out, relaxed on top of them. Unfortunately this meant its weight was now bearing down on their clit by one sharp bone. But why would the dragon move when it was comfortable? Their fingers dug into the blanket beneath them as they sobbed through the agony, waiting patiently for the dragon to start thrusting for another round, or gather itself enough to toss them aside.

It was several long moments before they noticed something entirely else had caught its attention. Through a veil of tears, they saw its head attentively turned towards the entrance of the cave. It sniffed audibly, then it got up, roughly yanking its cock out of them in the movement.

"Go to bed."

It was unusual, but it wasn't their place to question their Lord's orders. "Yes, my Lord."

They stumbled into their alcove without forgetting their stretching toy; in their dark little corner, they knelt over it and worked it back in, making sure not to touch their clit, which they knew would continue throbbing with pain for hours, if not days. They laid down on their back when they were done, arranging their legs apart as comfortably as they managed. The dragon had desired the additional pressure of another large toy thrust up their ass, and it hadn't removed it; even by their standards, they felt unusually full. They were never comfortable with how far the dragon liked them stretched, the toys pressing into sore spots and bruises and overstimulating anywhere that was naturally sensitive into discomfort, though now they understood they ought to be grateful for the care it was taking; but with two overlarge toys, the worst part was the way they cinched their tissue between them.

Yet they suffered it. This was their life.

They heard the dragon growl like it never had before, the sound vibrating through their bones and sending a shiver through them. Somewhere inside them, a small spark of primal instinct begged to flee, but it found nothing to set alight.

They simply stayed where they were, eyes unfocused on the rocky ceiling above them. It meant nothing.

They didn't even try to make sense of the sounds coming from the front of the cave. They had never heard anything like it, the screams and the roars and the clink of metal, but it didn't matter, even if the volume pushed their heartbeat faster.

It didn't matter. The dragon had sent them away not to witness whatever was happening, and soon, they would receive more orders. Or a new, always-same day would begin, and they would know what was expected of them then.

Eventually, the commotion died down.

They stayed where they were. The dragon knew where to find them, could easily pull them from their resting place even, if it wanted to.

They weren't listening hard, but they heard steps out in the cave--steps, and softer metal clinking. It wasn't the dragon's familiar step, either.

It didn't matter. They were just a toy. It didn't matter who was out there, or how they might use them.

When the steps approached their alcove, they worked themself into a crouch to see a large figure step in front of them. An elf, or more likely, by their broad proportions, a human, or something of the sort. They were large and armour-clad, a sword in their hand, red with blood.

The elf had no doubt whatsoever that they could overwhelm them as easily as the dragon could.

Not that they had any reason to put up a fight.

It didn't matter.

*

The monster hunter was familiar with the elation of just having taken down another plague upon the earth. A fully-grown dragon, though -- it felt different. A dragon was the peak of any hunter's career.

They were a dragon slayer, now.

They couldn't be getting too cocky too soon -- they still had to secure the lair, make sure there were no traps or minions left that could endanger them when collecting their rewards, or whoever would be sent to clean up the rest of it afterwards.

The cave was full of treasure -- heaps of gold, precious artefacts, even priceless books. They'd known this. Their promised reward had been as much of the dragon's treasure as they could carry. They were sure the royals expected them to make off with an overfilled backpack of gold like the dumb brute they saw them as, but a friend at the Zutira acadamy had tipped them off about some magical tomes that had gone missing. They could barely read, but it would be enough to identify them and bring them safely to the scholars before they could vanish in someone's private collection.

What they hadn't expected was the sacrifice.

They had heard that there had been one, of course, a few years back. They just hadn't thought they'd still be alive.

Yet when they peered into a dark, filthy alcove, they found someone crouching there -- pale in the dark, stark naked and painfully thin, even for an elf. The elf's skin, from the waist down to the thighs, was wholly black and blue; it was only too clear what the dragon had used them for. More bruises blotted their shoulders, and a few were just scattered about.

The evidence of their suffering was gut-wrenching, and it was eerie enough to recognize that they still maintained some of that mythical elven beauty. But what sent a chill down the hunter's spine was their eyes. They were wholly expressionless, vacant.

The hunter had met victims of monsters before -- a vampire's thrall, various mangled corpses. But they could hardly imagine what abuse the poor thing had endured in the years they had spent here, in the dragon's lair. For a long moment, they were struck silent.

Then they realized they were still standing there with their bloodied sword up. They quickly lowered it, although the elf gave no sign of being afraid.

"You're safe now," the hunter finally blurted out. "Are you -- is there anyone else around here?"

"No, my Lord." Their voice was as expressionless as their eyes.

The hunter suddenly realized they should probably stop staring. "Here-" They pulled off their cloak and handed it over before they could think about what they had just heard. Lord?

The elf accepted the cloak and threw it over their shoulders, but made no move to wrap it around themself and cover themself. They just crouched there, looking to the hunter -- not into their eyes, but in their general direction, expecting -- what?

"Can you... walk?"

"Yes, my Lord." They stood up in janky, painful motions, but they didn't hesitate for a moment to walk towards them, as instructed.

The hunter led them out into the main cave. The light of the sinking sun was even more unforgiving, revealing the deep rings under their eyes, the dullness of their silver hair, the strange bump in their otherwise too-flat belly.

It took the hunter a moment too long to realize what it was; then a bout of nausea overcame them.

"You- you can take that out now, you know?"

"Yes, my Lord." Without a flinch, the elf crouched down again and pulled out of their battered body a dildo that looked far too big to ever have fitted in there.

And then another.

The hunter couldn't look.

The dragon's body laid just outside the cave's mouth. They had looked at it with the hatred reserved for monsters before, but now-

They weren't usually glad for the killing. It needed to be done, and they were good at it; that was all. But looking at the dragon now, they felt themself filling with grim joy at its death.

The elf stepped forward on unsure legs. Their eyes were fixed on the dragon, too.

The hunter couldn't begin to imagine what was going through their head.

[secretsmutcorner]

"it's like a dream, having you all to myself."

"do i make you uncomfortable? that's too bad."

"don't mind me. i just enjoy watching you."

"you're pretty when you cry."

"i promise to be gentle."

[secretsmutcorner]

Baton

1,001 words | The candid flame/Svanja's bad timeline

Content | NSFWhump, explicit noncon (with an object), ?forced self-harm?, creepy whumper, captivity, referenced water torture & multiple whumpers

Notes | Presented with no context lol but I think it works on its own. One Svanja, whomst you do not know, is having another very bad day in the facility she's being held at. One guard is having a nice evening, though.

Svanja startled awake from the sound of the lock opening.

She didn't bother moving from her hard, bare cot where she had been desperately trying to find some rest. She was getting used to these visits inbetween sessions, as much as she dreaded them, and some of them liked to pull her flimsy pants down themselves and fuck her where she lay, so why waste the energy? She stared at the barren ceiling, feeling her breath grow fast and shallow before she had even been touched.

"Undress."

She knew the voice without even looking up. The tears that had started gathering rolled down her face; so far had she fallen that she had favourites among her tormentors, and he was not one. She got up and, avoiding the guard's eyes, pulled her clothes off, still wet from the last time she had been dunked into ice-cold water, yet somehow she was even chillier without them.

He moved in, grabbed her, pushed her against the cold, naked wall. She knew what he was going to do, but there was nothing she could do to brace herself, her wrists, weak from the weeks of captivity, pinned with one of the guard's hands.

He grinned as he forced his baton into her, and wider at the yelp she couldn't hold back.

"That good, huh?"

He pushed into her, deep enough she found herself lifting onto tiptoes in a desperate attempt to evade. He just chuckled and made up the difference, until the weapon was buried in her up to the handle and her insides felt ready to tear apart.

She didn't beg for mercy. There was no point, she knew that well enough.

She could only whimper in time as he started thrusting, and that drew another chuckle from him.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" There was a purr in his voice. He was close enough against her she could feel the heat emanating from his groin. "Here."

He took her hands and wrapped them around the handle, holding them around as if she was the one doing this, as if she wanted-

"You keep doing that."

And with that, he let go of her, moving the short distance across the cell and sitting down on her bare cot.

Her breath hitched when he took his belt off; she didn't know what she had done to deserve a beating; but maybe it was just to ensure she would keep going, like he said-

So she did. She kept pushing the horrid baton into herself over and over, far too deep, certain she would be punished if she went easier on herself. Fighting the pain, fighting her own body trying with every fibre to get her to stop, her cunt tightened agonisingly around the intruder. She couldn't stop the tears running down her face.

He opened his trousers and leant back comfortably against the wall, watching her with half-lidded eyes as he stroked himself.

"Faster."

A whine escaped her. It was hard enough to keep going when every thrust hurt so much, when she couldn't think of anything other than when this would end-

"Faster, or you'll feel it elsewhere on your body when we're done."

Sobbing, she obeyed as best as she could, raping herself harder with his weapon the way he couldn't even be bothered to do himself. It had to be over. She needed this to be over.

It would go on as long as he wanted, and she could tell he enjoyed her suffering.

Finally, he came, his cum staining the dark wood of her cot. He caressed himself a little longer before he packed himself up.

Then he just leant back again and continued watching her.

No word for her to stop. The pain radiated outward through her whole body, making every joint ache with the movement -- or maybe that was the cold she never quite got to recover from. Her wrists were burning; her insides felt grated up, every thrust more agonising than the last as the baton scraped against raw skin. She was shaking with the sheer effort it took to keep going, and still crying, barely able to see the slight smirk on the guard's face as her suffering no longer even served his pleasure.

Deep sobs racked her body; she was just waiting for her legs to give out, though what he'd do if it happened before he was satisfied, she didn't want to imagine. She could already feel herself slowly sliding down the wall, every effort to keep herself upright lost when it was all going into continuing the way he wanted.

He snorted, sneering down at her. "Alright, stop before you fuck what's left of your brains out."

Svanja let the baton drop to the floor, collapsing right on top of it; she barely had the strength left to push it away from under her.

The guard got up and collected it, then moved in to her again. She couldn't flinch away, cornered and too exhausted to do anything about it, as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up. He gave her a smack with the baton on the ass as he moved her over to the cot, whether to make her move along with him faster -- she couldn't -- or out of wholly pointless cruelty, she couldn't tell.

It was a relief to lay back, even here, even when he was still right there. Maybe he'd have a go at her with his actual cock now, but that couldn't be worse.

Instead, he closed the restraints attached to the cot around her arms and legs -- all of them, leaving her practically immobile on the hard surface for who knew how long before she would be fetched for the next session, or one of the other guards showed up to have some fun.

Then he pushed the baton back into her, ignoring her whimpers.

"Sweet dreams." There was that terrible purr in his voice again.

And with that, he left her.

[secretsmutcorner]

It’s too much. Too much, too much. Elbows scraped raw, knees bloody, palms pink and wearing down too. Hair swaying, head tipped down, tears and sweat dripping from his nose and brow.

The pain has Major squeezing his eyes shut and tight as he can, his mouth hanging open to punch out gasps. The blood dripping from the fingernail-gouges in his hips tickles up his navel, watered down by the sweat, until it drips languidly from his happy trail.

Something touches his cheek. Eyes flying open with a ragged gasp, paranoid that his face is being grabbed to be lifted so he can be fucking spit roasted - but no, he just sees Quinn. Lying on their back looking up at him with a concerned frown.

It would be awkward, being fucked on top of them, but he’s fucked them enough times that it doesn’t feel any more embarrassing than the being fucked itself. Quinn’s eyes are searching his, a dark pretty brown with a lighter, almost gold ring around the pupils. They’re clammy and pale under the thick scattering of freckles across the bridge of their nose.

“Too much for you?” Asks the spy, sweeping the side of their thumb across his cheekbone.

“Fu-uck, fuck, fuck you,” Major pants harshly. His core aches, his arms feel liable to give out. The man behind him loses his rhythm, going quick and brutal, before groaning so loudly that Major flinches and tips his head down onto Quinn’s shoulder. He shudders as the man slumps heavily onto Major’s back, lazily rolling his hips deeper a few more times.

When Major collapses, punching an oof out of Quinn that makes it hard to draw more breath in under the weight of two men, the man above him drags himself off. Hands reach under Major’s shoulders and hips, and set him up on all fours again, kicking at his knees to get them back into place.

He doesn’t really notice that he’s all out crying until Quinn wipes the tears from his eyes before they can splatter down. They shift, pulling their sleeve down around their hand, and then wipe the snot from his nose, too. “Is it too much for you?” They ask again, eyes boring holes into the trembling man hunched over them.

He’s already rocking with the new rhythm. No time was wasted pushing into him, forcing a desperate, cracking sob out of Major. He wobbles on his elbows and shakes his head weakly. “No. No, fuck n-no.”

So Quinn waits. They watch unhappily as Major is fucked past the point of wobbling, all the way until his limbs give out again, and no amount of propping him back up can keep him up. So he lies with his full weight atop Quinn, and the assault becomes so much more intimate to them. The spy grimaces in disgust as their friend is rocked against their hips, as the groping hands of the man on top find their way to Quinn’s sides, to their face. They endure the fingers poking at their mouth with gritted teeth and firm loathing in their eyes.

Finally, with a huff of frustration, Quinn slides their hand from Major’s shoulder to the back of his neck, cupping it and holding him close. Their fingers spread into his hair and they move an inch to get their lips close to the crest of his ear.

“Is it too much for you, yet, Miles?”

A violent tremor wracks through Major’s body. He’s been digging bruises into them with his terrible grip, and he crushes them harder, now, in a violent facsimile of a hug. “Nnh-... yeah. F-fuck. Yeah, too much.”

They sigh in relief at the indirect permission. Crushing him tight, Quinn closes their eyes and focuses on loosening the control on their magic, slipping it out into the air until it’s all but choking the air out of the room. Quinn’s magic forces pure terror into the room. At the same time, they force one knee up just enough to set their sneaker against the floor, then kick it forward and down as fast as they can, producing a high-pitched squeak. It sounds nothing like a police siren or alarm. It might sound like one, though, to a mind drowning in terror.

Quinn was concerned that the terror they’d force-feed to everyone would make Major flip out. That he’d tear their throat open with his teeth, break their arms, bash their head into the floor.

Instead, as the men in the room scramble to yank their pants up and race for the door, Major’s breathing just picks up. Panting faster, he stays lying on top of Quinn, digging his fingers into their bruised skin, hiding his face in the side of their neck.

They wait a moment, after the men have fled and the room’s gone quiet. But Major stays, gasping still, weeping harder and harder. Hesitantly, Quinn lays a hand on his back, ignoring the unpleasant slime there.

“I mindfucked you, I’m sorry,” They rasp into his frizzy hair, hoping that some rage might get him moving. Might get the normal Major to come back out. But Major only whimpers.

They desperately need the sticky, hot weight off of them. Their own chest is heaving for air. But this is fragile. He is fragile. The lump in their throat makes swallowing painful. “You need to move before they come back. You don’t want them to start again.”

That gets him moving. Rolling onto his side, sliding off of Quinn, with a groan and a sob low in his throat. The spy drags themself up to sitting, using their clean sleeve to frantically wipe gross things off of themself, before they slow to a stop staring at Major.

Arms bent over his head, sobbing. Sobbing quietly, no less, like a scared little boy. One knee drawn up toward his stomach. A lot of blood.

Nose scrunched up, Quinn reaches out to lay a knobbly, tender hand on his shoulder. Major flinches like a hot iron was lain on his skin. Quinn’s hand remains. “You need to heal yourself.”

His fingers are twisted in his hair. Pulling hard. The healer tries to curl up smaller. It only seems to make him hurt worse.

“I kept asking if it was too much,” They nag, inching closer on their knees. They work his fists out of his hair, massaging where his scalp must be burning from trying to rip his own hair out. “You kept saying no.”

Major’s shoulders are up around his ears, his body lurching with each weepy gasp. He tries to form words for a minute, stopping and starting, choking on air. Quinn waits patiently.

“Ple-... please,” Is all he says, finally.

Concern deepens Quinn’s frown.

[secretsmutcorner]

K&J x MMSS 4: Valen & Jim Part 8

Part eight of the fourth crossover with @whumpsday!

K&J masterlist

MMSS masterlist

K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist

To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday

Warnings: Explicit sex (PiV, oral, cisM/TransM), internalized transphobia

In this chapter: Sweet soft sensual love between two uwu cinnamon rolls 

18+ only!

***

Jim takes things slow, following Valen's lead in their relationship. He's content to just be together, and he doesn't want to overstep after their first kiss. He only starts kissing Valen on the mouth after Valen starts.

Valen starts to warm up to the idea of kissing, and he starts to kiss Jim on the mouth sometimes before bed. One night, as they lay there in bed, Valen asks Jim how the fangs affect kisses. Does he accidentally hurt him? Does it make it scary?

"It doesn't hurt," Jim assures him. "It was scary at first, I gotta admit. Made me hesitate the first time for sure. But it's not like Kane was kissing me." He makes a grossed-out face. "I'm not scared of your fangs anymore. It's you."

Valen smiles, letting it stretch all the way to his eyes without worrying about it showing his teeth. He thinks about cracking a joke about Kane, but he doesn't want Jim to dwell on Kane more than he already is.

"I'm glad," is what he says instead, and he kisses Jim again, folding his arms into his chest and letting himself be held.

Jim kisses Valen back through a smile, holding him. "How about you?" he asks after. "I know you've got your own stuff to deal with. Am I scary?"

"You're not scary, no." It's difficult to explain what aspect of being with Jim is scary. He's scared of the potential of something.

"You forget sometimes? Go back there in your head?" Jim asks. That's been happening to him, it's terrifying and annoying. He figures maybe it happens to Valen, too.

"Yes, a little," he says. "Although I imagine it's not as bad for me as it is for you. What you went through is much worse than anything I've ever gone through."

"It's not a competition. You don't need to play it down like that. What you went through was fucked up," Jim says. "You know, we don't have to have sex if you don't wanna. Like, ever. Just wanted to make sure you know that."

Valen nods. Jim is so sweet. "Thank you. That means a lot to me." He takes a shuddering breath. "We should try, though. I've never done it with...anyone else. And maybe it'll be different. I don't want, I won't let him steal the possibility from me. Just... Just promise me you won't look at me differently afterwards?"

"Course I won't. I'd never look at you different. Whenever you're ready, we can give it a shot." Jim assumes Valen doesn't mean “try now.” "Your pace."

"Okay," says Valen, who does mean "try now" and hadn't really thought about waiting for some other night. "I think I'm ready. Go, go ahead." He wants to try it, but Jim has given him no way forward. Jim doesn't initiate, he lets Valen set the pace, and Valen is so used to only putting on the brakes, and fending off advances, that he has no idea how to invite them in a way that feels safe. He just lies there after giving Jim permission.

"Oh! Oh, alright." Jim internally kicks himself for being so awkward. "Hey, is there anything you don't want me to do? For me, well, you know I don't like my neck touched."

"Oh, yes," says Valen. "I, I also think I wouldn't like--well, not touched, but, my neck--if you would please not....try to choke me. Or hold me down. Or...Do you have condoms? I-I don't want to get pregnant." He flushes. Is such a thing even possible with a human?

"Holy shit, is that actually possible?" Jim asks. He doesn't think so, but maybe Valen knows something he doesn't. He's the science nerd. Or maybe, Valen just wants him to wear a condom and that's his way of asking. 

“I’m not sure if it’s possible… I just want to be on the safe side.” 

"Oh. Right. I mean, yeah, I got 'em. And I'd never do that other stuff. Holding down and choking are- yeah, big nos for me too. Not fun." He’s had enough of both of those from Kane.

He kisses Valen on the temple. "Be right back." He goes to his room to get a condom.

When Jim leaves the room, Valen lays himself out on the bed, trying to look seductive. Wait, Jim is homosexual, he's not attracted to women. He can't act like a woman, he has to act like a man. But Jim is also going to act like a man, how can they both do that? He starts to take his own shirt off, thinking he might panic if Jim undresses him, but then remembers that will expose his breasts. Jim probably will find them horribly unattractive, thinking them womanly. He'll probably think the same about his labia. But then, how will they have sex if Jim won't find those parts attractive? He flops down on his back, faceup. He's thinking too much. Just let Jim do it. That's what he's always done, just lie there and let his partner do it. He shouldn't be trying to figure it out, that's not how he does it.

Jim returns with a condom in hand. He puts it on the nightstand and lays down next to Valen. "Hey. It's alright, it's not like before. I'm not him. We're doing this for it to be fun for both of us. You can stop anytime you want and nothing bad'll happen." He cups Valen's cheek. "You wanna take my clothes off?"

Valen nods as Jim speaks. "Yeah. It'll be nice. Um, no, you-you take your clothes off. You just, just do what you think seems good, and I'll stop you if I don't like it. Please?"

"Yeah, whatever you wanna do." Jim takes his shirt off. "No more Lyme." he says with a goofy grin. "I've never been with a trans guy before, so, you know, I'm flying half-blind. You gotta let me know what feels good." He's honestly had little experience in general. Kane took him when he was only 19, so a single awkward experience from 6 years ago is all he has to work off of.

He lightly takes the edge of Valen's shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off?"

"Yes," he says. "Go ahead. Um, are you sure you'll find me attractive? With them off?"

"I've never been more sure of anything." Jim says confidently.

He kisses Valen before pulling his shirt over his head. Jim's hands run lovingly up Valen's sides, slipping under his binder to pull that off, too.

Valen lets out a nervous squeak. "Um, l-leave that on, actually? Um, you can take my pants off, though. I, I didn't shave though."

Jim's hands slide back down, leaving the binder in place. "Yeah, me neither." he says lightheartedly.

He goes to take his own off first, lowering them and his boxers in one go. He's half-hard, and though he's excited, he's also more than a little nervous. He's scared he's just gonna do a shit job and Valen won't have a good time and won't want to be with him anymore. His hands go to Valen's waistband next.

Valen looks at Jim's erection with fascination, his sample size of penises he has seen outside of an educational setting doubling from 1 to 2. He thinks this will feel good--hopes it, because if it doesn't feel good with Jim, well then it just might not be for him, and he wants to take sex back as something he has ownership of, not just something that happens to him.

Yeah. That's what he wants. He puts his hands over Jim's hands and helps him lower Valen's pants down, revealing his boxer-briefs. "Um, usually Priscus would do something like rub my back first, when we got to this point," he says shyly. "To give me some extra time to relax before we start."

Valen is gorgeous. Jim's never seen this much of him before: he's always wearing all those layers of black clothes, and he makes sure to discreetly give him privacy when changing.

The mention of Priscus gives him pause, but Valen's saying it like something he likes. "How about you lie down and I'll rub your back, then? That sounds nice."

"Yes, please." He lays down. He loves having his back rubbed. This was one of the few things Priscus contributed to the whole process that he appreciated... Although he didn't want to give him too much credit, because he only did it because Valen had started to desperately suggest things to slow the process down.

Jim massages Valen's back, hands working lightly at his muscles. "You're gorgeous, by the way," he says bashfully.

"Th-thank you," Valen says, burying his face in his hands, red from nose to ears. "You're–you're also quite attractive."

Jim goes red too, and the two of them sit there hiding their faces, embarrassed and red and excited. They both break into giggles, which eases the tension.

Jim goes back to rubbing Valen’s back. Valen lets out a few satisfied moans. "What, um, what position do you think would be best for us to try?"

"Hmm." Jim considers, rubbing circles into Valen where he lets out those satisfied little sounds at. "I've never been, uh, the one on top before. This is a whole new world of sexual possibilities. How you feel about... lotus? You could sit in my lap. No one's on top of anyone, and I'd get to look at you." He smiles. "Or I could eat you out, if you want." He figures he'll throw that in there. Maybe it'll be further away from what Priscus had done, and feel safer.

Valen flushes beet red, even redder than before. "Oh? I've never done anything like that before. We were, were having sex strictly for procreation, so we didn't do anything that-- well, you get the idea." He twists his hands in the sheets. He's been having a hard time thinking of sex as anything other than him taking a penis in the vagina until the owner of said penis ejaculates. But that's the point, he's trying to make it something better. "You can try if you like. Um, it shouldn't be hard to find because, because the testosterone has made it a lot bigger. It's not quite a micropenis, but..."

He flips over, gazing at Jim, totally embarrassed and unable to figure out how to handle the attention being paid to his own desires.

Jim's smile grows as he sees how red Valen is getting. He's cute. He kisses right below Valen's binder, and keeps kissing as his face goes lower and lower. "I wanna make you feel good." he breathes when he reaches Valen's boxers, hooking his fingers under the waistband.

Valen hides his face. "Go ahead, go-go ahead." He slips his underwear down and spreads his legs, still not making eye contact, still overwhelmed and squirming with embarrassment

Jim ducks his head between Valen's legs. His tdick isn't quite big enough for him to treat it like he has sucking dick before, but it should be basically a similar principle, right? Stimulation feels good. He licks around it teasingly, his arms sliding under Valen's thighs.

Valen tries not to squeal, letting out overwhelmed moans instead. He threads his fingers through Jim's curls, stopping just short of actually grabbing, trying to keep his hands light.

Jim freezes for a second when Valen's hands go to his hair, his heart suddenly gripped with fear. But he's not grabbed and pulled and manhandled. Valen's touch is soft. Gentle. He's safe. He relaxes again, resuming his efforts. He licks Valen's tdick experimentally, slowly at first.

Valen pauses when Jim freezes. "Oh, are you all right? Is that all right?"

Jim picks his head up. "All good, jus' don't pull. You can grab if you don't pull." he decides. Valen is safe. Jim ducks his head back down between Valen's thighs, swirling his tongue around his tdick.

Valen squirms, running his hands through Jim's hair, stroking, scritching his scalp

We were having sex strictly for procreation. Valen's probably never had this part of him paid attention to by another person.

Jim flicks his tongue, trying out different things to see what Valen likes best. Whenever Valen reacts well, he keeps going with that for a bit before switching it up. He hugs the thighs around his head. He likes Valen's hands in his hair. It's totally different, now.

Valen reacts the strongest to broad, steady licks. At one point when Jim happens to sucks his Tdick by taking it between his lips, Valen reacts very strongly to that, gasping. "Oh, keep doing that, keep doing that please." He starts to clench his hands in Jim's hair but then remembers not to. This is a disaster waiting to happen. He loves the feeling of Jim's hair, but he knows it's foolish to keep going the way he is, so he removes his hands from Jim's head and grabs the sheets.

When Jim hugs his thighs around his head, it's all he can do not to crush his skull between his legs. He whimpers, legs trembling, hands twisting in the sheets beneath him.

Oh, you like that? Jim keeps going, picking up the pace a little, pleased he's getting such a strong positive reaction from Valen. It seems like Valen's given up with his hair, which is probably for the best to avoid any accidental pulling, even if Jim likes it.

Valen starts to pant, grinding on Jim's face, squirming and whimpering and crying, overwhelmed, begging him to keep going. His toes curl, his eyes roll back in his head, his whole body shudders. There's a huge rippppppppp as Valen claws the sheets, going silent except for strangulated breaths as he writhes in ecstasy. It’s a Herculean effort to control his limbs and not kick out to send Jim flying across the room.

The orgasm seems to last a long time for something that came over him so quickly. When it finally peters out, Valen lies with his eyes on the ceiling, chest heaving, whole body limp.

Jim comes up through Valen's legs a bit and rests his head on Valen's stomach. "Did I do good?" he asks playfully.

Valen flushes and whines in embarrassment, hiding his face. "Y-yes," he squeaks. "Thank you."

"Do you wanna do anything else? If not, I can take care of myself." He's got a raging boner by this point, leaking precum onto the torn sheets.

“Just-just a moment.” Valen is still panting, overheated, staring at the ceiling. He just lies there reeling for a moment.

Jim gets up and washes off his face, because he’s absolutely sticky at that point. He comes back in and leans against the doorframe, smirking. “That good, huh?”

“Yes.” He props himself up on an elbow, eyes crawling over Jim’s nude body. “You’re delightful. Um.” He swallows. "Can I...play with it? It's okay if not, I understand my teeth m-might make it a bit harder."

Oh. Jim hadn't even considered the possibility that Valen might want to give him oral. The thought makes him really nervous, but also excited at the same time. "Um, yeah, we can try, but I might stop you. Just, y'know, fangs. But yes." He sits on the bed.

"Okay." Valen nuzzles Jim's stomach, trailing down it. He's still reeling from the massive orgasm Jim had given him, and he doubts he'll be able to do anything quite like that, but he's excited to try. He's scared, though; humans are so fragile.

Valen tentatively strokes Jim's shaft with his fingers, watching interestedly as it twitches under his touch. He starts at the head, licking the precum up, then sucking just the head and gradually taking more and more of it in his mouth.

Jim is really nervous, and it's making him tense. He trusts Valen, but he can't help but think about how little effort it would take for a vampire to, even by total accident, hurt him when he's this vulnerable.

But Valen doesn't hurt him. The opposite, he feels good. He shivers with pleasure, letting out a little moan.

Valen swirls his tongue on Jim's shaft, focusing on the areas that elicit the loudest moans from Jim. After a minute or two, Valen's nerves get the better of him and he removes his mouth. "Th-thank you for trusting me. I-I do enjoy this, but I think I should stop now, um, I'm afraid if I keep going my teeth will slip." He leans back and runs his hands over his pubic mound, parting his labia. "Do-do you want to put the condom on and fuck me?"

"Yeah." Jim squeaks, hastily unwrapping it and putting it on, face flushed. He wraps his arms around Valen, ready to pull him into his lap, but doesn't yet. "You ready?"

"Yes," Valen says, still red in the face. He hasn't been not flushed since they started. "D-do it."

Jim pulls Valen close, into his lap. He keeps his arms loosely hugged around him- Valen may be a hundred times stronger than he is, but he doesn't want him to feel trapped. He kisses Valen, tasting himself on his lips, as he enters him.

Valen moans as he does so. The feeling of being filled is so much, but for the first time, it feels like he can handle it, and enjoy it. He starts to rock against Jim, grinding his hips. He kisses back, dragging Jim's hands down to cup Valen's ass as they move

Jim squeezes Valen's ass, bouncing him in his lap. Valen feels so good around him. He moves one hand down between their bodies to rub Valen's tdick- Jim can feel how close he is already, and wants to make sure he can make Valen cum again too.

Valen hadn't really expected to get one orgasm out of this, let alone two. The stimulation is quickly becoming too much, edging into painful. "Ooh, stop," he says, pushing Jim's hand away. "I-I mean, thank you, but you don't have to do that. This is fine just like this."

Jim stops, going back to cupping his ass and making a mental note that Valen doesn't like multiple orgasms. "Sorry," he murmurs, rocking back and forth. "Thanks for telling me." He keens, burying his face in Valen's shoulder. "S-so good."

Valen wraps his arms around Jim's body, stroking the nape of his neck, running his hands through his hair again, since Jim had seemed to start to like it before. "Thank you for trying so hard to please me. You're doing so well." Oh, this is scratching some sort of itch... "You're good too, you're doing so well. Why don't you come for me? I'd love to see that."

Jim was already teetering on the edge, and Valen's words push him over with a gasp. He hugs Valen tight to him as he cums, overwhelmed with pleasure. He leans against Valen after, nuzzling into him. "Wow."

Valen pulls Jim down into a lying position on the bed, nuzzling him back. It feels a little bit like they're both glowing. "That was wonderful. I'm so glad we could both be brave enough to make it happen."

Jim kisses Valen on the cheek and smiles. "Me too."

***

@barebarb

@cc1010foxy

@emcscared-whumps

@gt-daboss

@hurtpluscomfort

@jakersdaboss

@lolrpop

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@pigeonwhumps

@secretwhumplair

@some-thrilling-heroics

@t0rture-me

@thecyrulik

@thejinglingcourtjester

@vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff

@whuarri

@whump-cravings

@whump-my-heart-away

@whumpycries

@wolfeyedwitch

@whump-addict

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

[secretsmutcorner]

okay attempt two at posting this

ways of making a whumpee scared of non-con without outright nc or threats

carewhumper vibes. the obvious tws apply

manhandling. throw them onto the bed and straddle their hips, keeping their hands pinned on either side of their head. alternatively, bend them over a table or a bed, keeping them there with a hand tangled in their hair or on the back of their neck.

alternatively, keeping them pressed against your chest or guiding them with fingers tangled in their hair or digging into their hip, just slightly under their waistband

classic shows of submission. tie them up and have them kneel - especially if it's between your whumpers spread legs. give their hair a pet every once in a while if they're good.

pet names: baby, pet, pretty boy, pup, princess. etc.

strip them. personally i prefer keeping my whumpees in their underwear and maybe a carewhumpers tshirt, but even so the act of stripping them is a great place for some physical and psychological whump - ESPECIALLY when the whumpee has only just been kidnapped/captured and does not yet know what to expect

have them undress in front of you for the first time before making them bend over the bed. watch their hands shake and their eyes fill with tears, feel them tense underneath you, frozen with fear. and then you simply just handcuff them or even just walk out of the room, leaving them to question when the n/c will start - only it won't. their fear is all you wanted, after all

gruff/significantly larger or older caretaker bathing a younger whumpee who doesn't feel safe around them yet - whumpee flinching away but too weak to fight as they are gently stripped and placed in the bath, being cleaned /everywhere/ in a way that makes them flush with shame even if there's no intention behind the touches

whumpee being gently but firmly forced into a humiliating position, maybe forced to stand still for an /inspection/ filled with clinical yet invasive touches

using objects w sexual connotations (ball gags, blindfolds, certain whips and types of restraints) in non-sexual situations

this works especially well for a newer whumpee - strip them, blindfold and ball gag them before thing them to a mattress, legs spread. then let them wake up on their own, slowly, watch the fear kick in as they come to their own conclusions about what's going to happen to them

some more explicit stuff below the cut

those dildo gags or maybe an anal plug or vibe - just, you know. keep it in

shoving fingers into whumpees mouth until tears come to their eyes

be handsy with them

taking photos of them in intimate or humiliating posistions

whumper jerking off onto whumpees face where they're tied up and kneeling

buying whumpee lingerie - if they wear it, they might get some food or even first aid

[secretsmutcorner]

Ready

958 words | The dragon’s toy (sequel to Moonlight)

Content | NSFWhump/non-con, punishment, forced to work, degradation, mention of: spanking

Notes | The elf is ready! Ya... y...

Taglist | @i-walk-on-the-dark-side @echo-goes-aaa @scoundrelwithboba @whumpzone

If the elf had thought their captivity had been miserable, it was nothing to what they were living through now.

When they moved through the lair as they cleaned--always much to the dragon's amusement--they were in agony, from the bruises covering their whole body, from the way they were stuffed far too full. At times they had to pause, their body failing them, they couldn't move, they couldn't breathe past the thing stuck on their throat--but the dragon gave them no grace, punishing them each time. When it pinned them on their belly to spank them, the pressure put on the toy was almost worse than the hits.

In the morning and evening, the dragon would briefly take the extra toys out to allow for their body's needs--and to use their mouth, of course--but all it really did was force them to experience the horror of having them shoved in over and over again. And still, it replaced the toy in their cunt with a bigger one each time, when they couldn't take it as it was they couldn't take it-

It had only been a few days, but the elf felt like they were losing their mind. They would do anything, they would be anything if it meant even a little relief.

"Come here, toy."

Desperately, they crawled over to the dragon who sat comfortably in its blanket nest. Maybe now was the moment it would grant them a shred of comfort instead of more suffering. They could only hope.

When they came within reach, the dragon grabbed them and set them before itself, clearly too impatient to tolerate their aching pace. It eyed them up for a moment, then, purring, it opened the chastity belt and painfully yanked the toy out of their cunt.

"I think you're ready, little toy."

They took a moment to process that, their mind swimming in the relief of having the thing out, then an ice-cold wave of terror washed over them. No - they couldn't-

The dragon pulled the other toy from their ass just as roughly, then it undid their gag, too. It should have been a relief.

They hadn't even be able to unlock their aching jaw before it continued, "If you're good, we may leave these out for now, hm?"

Any desperate argument or plea died in their throat, even if they had managed a sound, of which they were uncertain. Only silent tears fell from their eyes.

The dragon ignored them, of course. It laid down halfway, and stuck them between its hind legs, sitting dog-like on the blankets, where its erect cock was already waiting. It looked as terrifyingly oversized as ever. They couldn't, they didn't want to-

But they remained silent as the dragon slung their legs over its scaly thighs, lifting their hip off the ground towards it, and then, without further ado, slammed into them.

They screamed.

The last few in the series of toys had already pressed painfully against the top of their hole, but having it hammered into, over and over, was so much worse. The entirety of the movement was unbearable--they felt raw within moments around the heat of its cock, the force of it stretching them out further. Their strained, beaten body was shifted back and forth against the ground with the force of the dragon's thrusts.

They wanted to beg, wanted to howl, wanted to let the no no no caught on their tongue stream from their lips. But they didn't. If you're good...

They would do anything.

They simply sobbed as it went on, and on, and on. As it sunk into them, past the pain, that the dragon was inside them now, had terminally invaded them and would never leave them wholly. That a tiny part of them had clung onto the misguided notion that everything that had happened wasn't the real thing... not like this. That there was no escape in this, even in their mind.

The dragon purred. "You are perfect for this. What a good little cocksleeve." A deeper, throatier growl mixed into their voice. "This is what you're for, toy."

It came into them, their seed seeping into them, and they sobbed and sobbed. By now, they knew better than to expect this would be the end of it, and indeed, it didn't pull out; it stayed where it was, stretching out their cunt, unbearably hot and heavy against their open folds, which they were sure would bruise by the pain of its hips battering into them.

Then it continued.

They had, they felt, lost their mind by the time it finally ended. They could not say how long it had taken; they barely found themself, there on the floor. The dragon pulled out roughly, leaving cum to seep out between their legs, too-hot and clinging to their thighs like they would never be without the dragon's residue again.

The dragon stretched, purring. "What a perfect toy you make. You may clean yourself up before you put that back in, but don't dally."

Something heavy dropped onto their belly, still aching from the battering it had received from within.

The toy it had used to stretch them out.

They couldn't move before the dragon grabbed them by the hip and shoved them towards where they had abandoned their cleaning bucket. "I said, don't dally. Get back to cleaning, toy."

They moved, fear puppeteering their limbs. They couldn't take any more.

They didn't know how to even begin cleaning themself. They would never be clean again.

Whatever they were doing took to long. It was the dragon who shoved their toy back into them, into their wrecked and sore cunt. Maybe they screamed.

"Get to work, toy."

[secretsmutcorner]

Passing winter

1,374 words | No Warrior (sequel to A first attempt)

Content | NSFW (oral sex), implied past non-con

Notes | Yves and Runar have some fun :)

I originally wrote the whole thing from Runar's POV but it didn't seem right, really.

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​ @whump-me-all-night-long​​​​ @whumpadump1939​​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone @angel-stars​​ @kixngiggles @whumpsy-daisies @yet-another-heathen

@rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods @pleasancies @much-ado-about-whumping

@nine-tailed-whump​​ @whump-em @itsleighlove @newbornwhumperfly @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady @everynameistakencarrots @scoundrelwithboba

Runar had assumed that that night would take them back a few steps; that Yves, perhaps, would be more hesitant, that he would prefer to keep their touches lighter for a while. He was prepared to go along with it, of course, to enjoy what Yves could easily give and patiently wait for his scars to heal further.

But if anything, Yves’ kisses became more passionate. He didn’t try to go for Runar’s groin again, that was true, but they continued their gentle little explorations above the waistline as if nothing had happened — except, perhaps, that Yves’ lips were more eager to explore where only his hands had been.

When he came home from training that evening, a few days later, he threw himself right into Runar’s arms without a care in the world, aiming straight for his lips.

He had to say something. If it was all genuine — well, nothing could have made him happier; but he worried. Yves had felt the urge to apologize right away — what if he was pushing himself to make up for something?

»Don’t hurt yourself,« Runar said, easily catching the little thing in his arms. Playful, as if referring to the way he flung himself at him, but he knew Yves had seen the earnestness in his eyes when he stilled, looking up into his face.

He looked so sweet. Runar would never forgive himself if he allowed him to injure himself for his, Runar’s, sake.

»You’re worrying again, huh?«

»A little,« Runar confessed. He knew Yves had, at times, found his worries overbearing, but how could he help himself when it was Yves’ wellbeing on the line?

This time, though, Yves simply traced his fingers along his shoulders and lowered his gaze. »I’m alright,« he finally said. »I — you’re still thinking about… what happened the other night, right? But I’m okay. Promise.«

He looked up to give Runar a half-smile, and Runar couldn’t help but reach up and cup his cheek. »I just want to — make sure, I guess. Don’t push yourself for my sake, okay?«

»Oh.« Yves looked away. »Oh no, that’s not — that’s not what this is.« And then he smiled at Runar again. »It’s really not. I want you — whichever way I can have you.«

He blushed adorably under Runar’s fingers, and Runar felt the heat creep into his own cheeks, too. »I want you too,« he replied before thinking it through.

He didn’t want to ask too much. But Yves just grinned, and kissed him again.

And in the end, it was bafflingly easy.

Weeks passed, sure. Night ate the days away, snow and quiet covering the village.

But it only served to make the hut seem cozier.

That night, Yves had turned in early, face red from the cold. There had been days, two or three, where the snow and the cold seemed to get to him, and after some hesitation, he asked Runar to accompany him to the weavers’ house. Runar once more was proud of him, for having shed the fear of asking for help from a friend — and he felt strangely honoured. Most days, however, Yves didn’t even need his support.

And today he came home early, with a package wrapped in cloth, and beamed at him before he even kissed him. »Björn made a test run of cookies!«

They devoured the cookies cheerfully instead of dinner, the rare spices that had found their way into Björn’s hands from the warrior’s expedition a strange delight. Soon they were feeding each other, laughing.

When they hurried to bed, eager for their nightly caresses, Runar found Yves helping him out of his clothes, and it seemed so natural to reciprocate.

They hadn’t done this before, not quite like this.

There was still a chuckle in Yves' throat as they kissed, vibrating into Runar’s mouth.

And then, when their lips parted, Yves continued kissing him, trailing down his neck, into the now familiar places on his chest. His hands gently pushed him down on his back, then slid down until they sat on his hips as his lips continued their journey.

Runar simply kept him in his embrace, his heart racing as he watched. It couldn’t have been plainer where Yves was going.

»You don’t have to do this,« Runar breathed, even as his desire nearly suffocated him. Yves looked beautiful, and the touch of his lips — already his imagination was racing ahead.

Yves hands rubbed his thighs, almost careful compared to how he’d been the last few days. His mouth travelled down past his belly button, his breath against his skin alone driving Runar almost insane with want.

His hair brushed against his hard cock first.

»I want to,« Yves finally replied, his voice barely audible.

So Runar let him.

Yves proceeded hesitantly at first. This was good, Runar reminded himself, it meant he wasn’t pushing himself too hard, he was taking care of himself and he would have been pround of him for that, too, if his impatience hadn’t grown by the moment, by each tender touch. It was all he could do not too grab on to him too hard.

But Yves didn’t pull away, not this time, and before long, Runar found himself dissolving in bliss.

* The taste of semen filling his mouth almost took Yves back, but he just remembered he wouldn’t be punished if he just spit it out. So he did, and that made it easier.

And then there was the much more immediate echo of Runar calling his name inbetween moans of pleasure. The feeling of driving his lover over the edge — he had done this, by his own choices, his own actions. He wasn’t by any means an experienced lover, not even with the lessons the knights had beaten into him, but he was good enough.

He rested his cheek on Runar’s sweat-soaked thigh, catching his breath, and looked up into his face, still hazy, but looking down upon Yves with the softest, sweetest eye.

»Did that feel good?« It was a silly question — the answer so evident — but he wanted to hear it, still.

»It damn well did.« Runar pushed the words out between still-heavy breaths, and Yves smiled at the rawness of it. Runar was always so careful with him, but for the moment, he’d gotten him past it.

He turned his face back into Runar’s skin, littering more kisses as he slowly made his way back up to lay with him, in his arms.

He trailed his way up past his hip, up the gentle slope of his belly.

»There’s so much of you,« he muttered along his way. So much body for him to cover in kisses, to rest against and be held by.

»It used to scare you,« Runar said softly.

Yves had reached his nipple and bit it, gently. He was rewarded with another groan, pulling another smile from him.

»Yes. It used to.«

Finally, he buried himself in the crook of Runar’s neck, the whole length of his body resting against Runar’s, his strong arms wrapped around him once more. He sighed — oh to stay here for ever and ever.

»I’m so happy,« he whispered, and when Runar turned his head to look at him, he grinned with ease. »I’m so happy to be with you.«

And that wasn’t all; not even all he wanted Runar to know; he’d be happy to, Yves knew that. But he had to look away. »And I’m proud of me.«

Runar squeezed him gently. »You should be. You should be, my brave little sweetheart.«

For a while, they just lay there, and Yves, his hand on Runar’s chest, observed as his heartbeat calmed from the force with which it had thrown itself into his ribcage, as if it truly wanted to leap into Yves’ hand.

Then Runar said, »What about you, sweetheart? Do you want me to — touch you?«

Yves raised his eyes. He hadn’t quite thought about it, but now the prospect seemed exciting. Scary, too. He had been touched, but not the way Runar meant. Not that way, for certain. But truly, his body yearned for something.

He felt Runar’s heart hop under his hand as he replied, another grin stealing onto his lips, »We can try.«

[secretsmutcorner]

A first attempt

1,192 words | No Warrior (sequel to Fall)

Content | NSFW (they don't get very far but there is penis), past non-con, name-calling

Notes | Yves pushes his boundaries. It goes... well, it goes.

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​ @whump-me-all-night-long​​​​ @whumpadump1939​​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone @angel-stars​​ @kixngiggles @whumpsy-daisies @yet-another-heathen

@rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods @pleasancies @much-ado-about-whumping

@nine-tailed-whump​​ @whump-em @itsleighlove @newbornwhumperfly​​​ @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady @everynameistakencarrots @scoundrelwithboba

Yves had never in his life felt this comfortable.

Another day was gone, and he lay in Runar’s arms, his hands easily tracing along the muscles in his — his lover’s? Could he call him lover yet? — chest. Runar was caressing him, too, his hand running in long strokes from the nape of his neck to his waist, and hesitating.

Yves was overcome with a rush of boldness, of cheek even. He grabbed Runar’s wrist and guided his hand back and down, a grin easily bursting across his lips as he stared a challenge into his face.

Runar chuckled, clearly surprised, but didn’t hesitate to grab his ass. Gently, like everything he did.

»How does that feel?«

Yves couldn’t answer immediately, too absorbed in the unfamiliar touch — a comforting unfamiliarity, too; the worry of being reminded had crept further and further into the back of his mind over the last few weeks. But as invasive as the knights had gotten, there simply hadn’t been much of anything there for them to grab at. Now, almost a year of good meals and swordfighting practice later, though… there was almost some kind of pride in the way he filled Runar’s, his lover’s warm hand.

That, and a sense of closeness outpacing the anxiety in its growth.

Instead of answering, he shifted forwards for another kiss.

»May I touch you?« The words, barely more than a breath, tumbled past his lips when they were free again, if only by hair’s breadth. He could feel Runar’s breath on his face and the heat rising into his cheeks as he heard what he said. As he processed the desire pooling in his groin. As he realized that, for the first time since the knights had torn him to shreds, he truly wanted more.

»You are,« Runar said, and Yves didn’t know whether he was really misunderstanding or gently rejecting him, but kissed him again regardless. No matter how much his hands prickled with longing, he, too, wanted Runar to know it was okay.

Maybe the warrior was shy in such matters. He couldn’t know.

Runar squeezed his ass while they were kissing, so softly he wasn’t sure it was on purpose, but he couldn’t hold back a groan.

You like this, little whore, don’t you?

He pushed the voice down like he had a thousand times before. It was becoming easier. It should become easier.

Runar pulled back, not sharply, just enough to give him a surprised look, chased by a grin. »Oh.« He kissed Yves again. »Did you mean-?«

Yves didn’t let him finish. »Yes.« He couldn’t look into Runar’s eyes, suddenly embarrassed.

»Well…« There was a deep almost-purr in his voice, a tone Yves hadn’t heard before that sent shivers down his spine, heated him up further. »Feel free?«

He traced his fingers down Runar’s body, warm and soft and strong, and he wasn’t sure his head was still working, and he put his lips in the spot his hands had just vacated, covering Runar’s chest in kisses.

His hands found Runar’s cock, hot and throbbing like his own, like-

Go on, slut. If your runty little hands work me well enough, I might not even stick it in, how’s that?

And then, louder, something more than a memory. Look at you enjoying this, whore. I told you so.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t.

He was sitting up, hugging his knees, tears forcing their way out of his eyes when he had just felt so good.

Always crying when a real warrior graces you with his body, the voice in his head mocked. It’s not your place to choose this, is it, little bitch?

»… sweetheart?« Runar’s voice broke through the shadows enveloping him.

»Please say my name,« Yves begged quietly, feeling, in that moment, that it was far too much to ask.

Filthy whore.

»Yves,« Runar whispered back.

Worthless toy.

»Yves.«

Bitch.

»Yves.«

Slut.

»Yves.«

Runt.

»Yves. Yves Yves Yves,« Runar whispered, over and over. His hand, very softly, ghosted across his back, and Yves realized he was sobbing, and then he threw himself against Runar’s chest.

»I’m sorry.«

»Don’t be,« Runar murmured, his strong arms wrapped around him. »It’s-«

»I’m sorry. I ruined it.«

»It’s not your fault. Shhh, sweetheart, Yves, it’s going to be alright.« And then, quietly, »I love you.«

Yves just curled closer into him, his sobs slowly ebbing as he found himself again, found himself in Runar’s loving arms. Where he had been. The whole time. Why was he crying?

Why were they chasing him, even after death?

»I wanted it. I want it.« But he wasn’t allowed, and he was still so helpless. Powerless fury swept through him. It would never end.

»I’m- I’m glad. But we can take it easy. Nice and slow, as much as you need.«

»I don’t want to! I just want to- I just want to be with my lover, is that too much to ask?!«

Runar looked into his eyes, then kissed away the tears that were spilling again. His hand rubbed circles over Yves’ back. »It’s not fair. But we’ll work it out, yeah? No matter which way this goes,« he added, planting another kiss on Yves’ forehead, »I want to see it through with you, if you’ll have me.«

Yves rested his ear against Runar’s chest to hear the reassuring thump of his heart, steady, if a little fast. »Let’s just go to sleep,« he muttered.

»Mhm. Would you… can I hold you?«

»Please,« Yves whispered, and they nestled down for the night, cuddled up together.

Yves didn’t sleep well, but when he woke in the morning, he found himself wrapped in Runar’s arms and Runar’s gentle eyes upon himself and he felt better.

»Good morning.« He kissed Runar, and Runar kissed him back, gently pulling him closer.

»Good morning, sweetheart. How do you feel?«

The dread question. Why couldn’t he live a life where him feeling alright was a given?

»I’m better.« Before Runar could respond, he added, »I’m sorry.«

»It’s not your fault.« Runar stroked his cheek. »I’m just glad you’re alright.«

»Hm.« Yves returned the caress, wrapped his fingers in Runar’s long hair. »I’d rather it’d have gone differently.«

A small, sad smile. »Do you still… do you want to… ?«

»Yes.« Yes, he wanted to continue. It was downright embarrassing how much he wanted to. »But you don’t… you don’t have to. You don’t have to put up with this.«

»Yves.« A warm, strong arm squeezed him, and he barely held back a sigh. »I’m not… putting up with you. I love you. I want to do this with you.«

»What if they did break me?« He wouldn’t have dared asked the question before, and even now it was a mere whisper.

Runar’s thumb stroked across his cheek again. »I don’t think it’s possible to break you, sweetheart.«

A mangled chuckle wrested free from his throat… but as the words sank in, he found he trusted Runar enough to believe them, a little.

He kissed Runar, and he would do it a thousand times again, and no one could stop him.

He would face this.

With Runar, together.

[secretsmutcorner]

Stephen!

CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, NONCON, trans whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, violence, abusive relationship (verbal and physical), age gap relationship (not underage), manipulation, fear of pregnancy (adds that to the list of things I never expected to type), derogatory language

“Patrick, I’m home!”

Stephen sets down his satchel, wincing a little at the stiff muscles in his shoulder. The library had been far too crowded and he ended up having to wander the stacks until it was safe to return the books he smuggled out. They were stupidly heavy tomes and he mentally curses out everyone who told him he was the best fit for this job.

“Patrick?”

His voice echoes through the cottage, bouncing off the paneled walls and returning to him in a deep mockery of a tone he will never be able to achieve. Stephen frowns and walks towards the study. 

He’s probably in there and focused, that’s why he doesn’t hear you. Stupid man. 

The study used to be a sitting room and the bright walls reflect its previous usage. Stephen smiles at the painting of Patrick’s parents that hangs over the mantel. His mother’s smile is soft, nothing like Patrick’s grin, and the painter was skilled enough to capture the uneven stitching of their homemade clothes. The same stitching on Stephen’s pants after Elizabeth hemmed them for his short stature. 

But there is no sign of Patrick.

Stephen huffs, blowing a loose piece of hair out of his face, and grabs his satchel. He probably just went on a walk or is out in the garden. You have time to hide the information. Do that first, then go looking for him. 

He steps into their shared room and stops. Patrick sits on the double bed, starting at small scraps of paper in his hands. Scraps of paper Stephen knows far too well.

“Patrick . . .”

His partner picks one up and reads from it in a monotone voice. “‘Three squadrons. Equipped with iron swords, shield, armor. Note: defenses are for Sh. attacks only.’ I’m assuming you mean Shadows.”

“Patrick, I can-”

“‘Armor does not cover eyes. Blinding should be sufficient. Mancers can protect if hidden as civilians?’ Interesting. You seem to be planning a major attack.”

Stephen tries to smile. “No, no, honey, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Patrick looks at him and Stephen realizes how much darker his eyes are in the dim light. As if he is facing down the dark steel of a sword and not the calm grey of the sky. 

“Please, do try and explain it then.”

“I’ve been hired to highlight gaps in the kingdom’s security. That’s all. Those are my notes and I have yet to give them to the king. I promise, love. There’s nothing more to this. I swear on my life.”

“You swear.” Patrick stands, the scraps of paper fluttering to the floor. “This is treason, Stephen.”

He isn’t my king. “Patrick, listen to me, I’m not committing treason!”

Patrick steps forward and a chill runs down Stephen’s spine. Suddenly the strength and height difference between them feels immeasurable and he realizes how far back he has to crane his neck to look at his partner. Tension and fear twist in his stomach, radiating out to warm the palms of his hands, magic coiling under his skin, ready to burst forth. 

“You’re not?” Patrick laughs. “I know when you lie. I know that you have been lying to me for weeks and the only thing I couldn’t figure out is why? You have everything you could ever need, I know you would never cheat on me, and yet you were lying. Because you’re committing treason to a king who has done nothing but serve his people.”

“Patrick, please, listen to me, he-” Just tell him. Maybe he’ll understand. “He isn’t my king.”

Patrick stops. “. . . What do you mean?”

“. . . He isn’t my king. I-I’m not from this kingdom. I’ve been living here for safety. I didn’t lie when I told you I couldn’t be caught. I would be killed.”

Patrick moves closer and Stephen’s back hits the doorframe. His breath catches in his throat as he holds out his arms between them. Patrick grabs his wrist and yanks him close. There’s the stinging smell of whiskey on his lips. 

“Patrick, love, please, believe me. I never wanted to hurt you. I begged my superiors to let me come home, to stop lying to you. I love you! Truly! I didn’t want to do this but they said I had to! I had no other choice!”

“You betrayed me,” he snarls, face inches from Stephen’s. “You betrayed me! Did you even love me?”

“Yes! Yes, Patrick, please, I love you so much! I love you so, so much! You’re the first person to love me for who I am! You think my heart isn’t breaking every second of every day from lying to you?”

“So why. Didn’t. You. Stop?”

Stephen shrinks back, tugging a little against Patrick’s vice-like grip. “. . . Please, you’re hurting me.”

“Why didn’t you stop!”

White spots explode across Stephen’s vision. A loud crack echoes through the room as his head slams into the doorframe and his body goes limp. Patrick looms over him, fingernails cutting into his wrist. 

“You lying bastard! How much of it was a lie? Huh? If you actually loved me, you would have told me the truth!” 

“I love you,” Stephen gasps. His palms are burning, the sunlight slanting up into the room, drawn to him by the nature of his magic. “Patrick, please, you’re hurting me.”

“You deserve it after the pain you’ve put me through.”

Patrick grabs a handful of his hair and twists. Stephen yelps, dropping to his knees to try and ease the pain. Light explodes from his fingertips, propelling Patrick backwards. 

Silence. It’s worse than the yelling. Stephen curls over his hands, gasping for air as tears stream down his face. He barely hears the floorboards creak over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. Then searing pain dances across his scalp as Patrick yanks him to his feet. 

“You’re a Hexer.” 

Patrick spits out the word with a hatred Stephen has never seen before and it cuts right to his heart. After everything, after Patrick instantly accepted every part of who he was, this is where he chose to draw the line. At the beautiful magic coursing through his veins. A magic he hoped to one day share with the man he loves.

“I was going to tell you,” he whispers. “I was.”

“When? When were you going to deem me worthy enough to know about this?”

Patrick throws him onto the bed and Stephen gasps. He grips the duvet, crying out as Patrick grabs the collar of his shirt. The sound of tearing cloth fills the room and Stephen cries, knees curling to his chest in an effort to hide. This hair on the back of his neck rises. Every other moment on this bed was soft and slow, with Patrick making him feel comfortable in his body. This sudden violence terrifies him. 

“Patrick,” he gasps. “Patrick, please, listen to me, I was going to tell you! I wanted to, but I had to wait! It-it wasn’t safe to tell you!”

Patrick laughs, fingers digging into his shoulder. He forces Stephen onto his back. When Stephen tries to cross his arms over his chest, Patrick wrestles his arms down and pins them with his knees. Stephen gasps and stares up at Patrick’s red face. He doesn’t recognize the man kneeling over him and a shudder slips down his spine. 

Patrick’s gaze rakes over his body. His flesh raises and he turns away, his gut churning. Never before has he felt like this with Patrick. Never before has he wanted to tear off his skin, run away, change himself into something he will never be so badly. He yelps as Patrick grabs his chin and forces eye contact.

“Don’t look away from me. If you’re going to lie, do it to my face.”

“Please, I never wanted-”

Stinging pain lances through his face. Through tears he sees Patrick raise his hand for another slap. 

“. . . You hit me,” Stephen breathes. 

“I’ll do it again if you don’t start answering my questions quickly and accurately.”

“I will if you stop interrupting me!”

Silence again. 

Oh I really messed up.

“Patrick, I’m sorry . . .”

“Shut up.”

“Patrick, please, I-”

Patrick yanks his pants down. Ice cold fear coils in his stomach. Stephen gasps for air and twists his body, trying to escape. He rolls onto his side and grabs for the edge of the bed. Patrick swears and yanks him back, fingers digging into his hips. He kicks at him, scrambling for the edge of the bed and the open doorway. 

Stephen yelps as Patrick’s fingers twist in his hair and pull him back. Patrick’s hand wraps around the back of his neck, pinning him to the bed. 

“Please!” Stephen gasps. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I never wanted to lie to you, please can we talk about this, love?”

“So you can lie to me again? I don’t think so.”

Stephen sobs as Patrick’s fingers shove between his legs. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays he will use oil, but his fingers push in dry and painful. Stephen whimpers and moves his legs further apart to try and ease the pain. Patrick says something that he can’t hear over the pain splitting his body and a high buzzing in his ears. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can pretend this isn’t happening. That the man who loves him isn’t violating him, that they’re happy together, that Patrick believes him and wants to make a life together. 

Patrick scoffs. “A Hexer. Nothing more than an abomination.”

Oh. 

Stephen’s heart shatters. He presses his face against the down pillow, ignoring the feathers that poke against his skin, praying it will be enough to muffle his cries which change from pain to heartbreak. 

“To think I once thought you were human. Not an abhorrent monster.”

“Pa-Patrick, my love, please, please stop! It h-hurts, you’re hurting me, please!”

“So you can feel pain. Can you also feel pleasure, or was all that a lie too?”

Stephen chokes as Patrick inserts another finger. Despite himself, despite the pain, he feels the growing wetness between his legs as Patrick touches him. From the rough chuckle behind him, Patrick notices it too.

“Apparently you can. Look at that. You don’t feel remorse for lying to me, but you feel pleasure. Not only an abomination, but also a whore.”

“Please,” Stephen whispers. He’s struggling to pull his mind away, to find a safe place where he doesn’t feel this pain, where he can drift away and pretend this is all a bad dream. Just when he feels his consciousness slipping into the darkness of his mind, Patrick shoves deep into him. Stephen jolts back to the present with a gasping sob. 

“Shut up,” he growls. “Stop whining.”

“Pl-please, please, Patrick, please, n-no, no, please, you’re hurting me!”

Patrick just thrusts into him, rough and fast, a pace he’s never set before. Stephen grasps at the blankets and begs. Words he can’t hear past the buzzing in his ears falling from his lips. Then, to his horror, a moan slips free. Patrick laughs, digging his nails into Stephen’s hips, holding him in place. 

“Go on, I want you to feel this. Moan for me. Show me that you actually love me, or has everything been a lie?”

“Pat-. . .” Stephen groans, arching his back. Hair curls against his sweaty neck. Beads of sweat sting the scratch marks down his back and the tension low in his stomach grows, fast approaching the edge. 

Patrick grips his hair, his pace growing erratic. Stephen chokes on another sob as he realizes what is about to happen. No, no, no, he can’t! They’re never done that. Patrick can’t cum in him, he can’t, he doesn’t have the medicine!

Stephen twists, trying to dislodge Patrick’s hand in his hair. What was once pleasure is overridden by fear. He blinks away tears and catches Patrick’s gaze. He glares back, his eyes stormy and dark, ablaze with rage. Stephen swallows back another groan and tries to grab the headboard. He ignores the sting of Patrick’s nails cutting into his skin and pulls himself forward an inch. His heartbeat throbs in his ears, racing with the hope of getting away.

Patrick swears and wraps an arm around his chest, yanking him back. All the pleasure is gone, replaced with an ice cold fear. Stephen yelps and throws his head back. Patrick curses heavily and grabs the front of his throat, holding him in place. He resumes his previous pace, thrusting deep inside Stephen. 

Tears burn his eyes and Stephen rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, staring at the dark paneled ceiling. He begs, pleads, praying to the gods that Patrick will care again and pull out. The hand around his neck tightens as Patrick moans, cumming deep inside him, and Stephen’s heart plummets.  

. . . please, please, this can’t be real. This can’t be happening to me . . .

Somehow there are still tears to cry. Stephen sags against Patrick’s hand. The room fills with a silence broken only by Patrick’s heavy breathing and his gasping sobs. He doesn't care that his pleasure was unfulfilled. All his mind focuses on is how full he feels and the liquid that slowly drips from him. 

This is for prevention. His grandmother, taking him and his sisters into the woods. Pointing to a plant he no longer remembers. If something happens, or you are not ready for children, use this. 

What was the plant? What was its name? Stephen tries to remember, fighting to keep his mind in the present. 

This . . . this has happened. I have to find that plant. I-I can make it into tea. I like tea. With honey. We have fresh honey from the lilac flowers. Honey is nice. It-it would make a nice tea.

Patrick pushes him away. Stephen barely catches himself before scrambling away, pressing up against the headboard. He draws his knees to his chest in a desperate attempt to hide himself, to hide his body, his chest, every part of him he cannot change but so desperately wishes he can. Bile creeps up his throat as more cum slowly drips onto the bed, warm against his skin. Stephen digs his nails into his arms and breathes as slowly as he can. 

The room darkens around him. Stephen doesn’t move, staring blankly at the wall. His mind races with everything he knows he is supposed to do. The sharp smell of burning paper fills the house. All his notes, lost to fire and smoke. Information that was going to keep the other Hexers alive. 

Tears run silently down his face. 

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening . . .

It isn’t until hours later, when he lays under the thick covers, body aching from another round, Patrick’s arm heavy across his stomach, that Stephen thinks about escape. All he has to do is make it back to the border. Make it back to the Hexers. Make it back to his family. 

Then I will finally be safe.