Archive of Our Own ^beta

Akira’s not really sure what he’d expected from his next invitation from Akechi, but a jazz club certainly isn’t it. Still, it sounds interesting enough.

After Akechi pays the cover charge for the two of them, he guides Akira right to a table. It’s a bit secluded, tucked away in a corner, but still has a clear view of the stage. The singer hasn’t come out just yet, so Akira takes the opportunity to look over the drink menu. Their mocktail selection is extensive—Akira hasn’t even heard of most of them.

“What are you thinking of having?” Akechi asks.

“Ah, I’m not really sure…any suggestions?”

Akechi hums, studying the menu more intently. “Really, all the drinks here are good. Do you have any soft drinks you dislike?”

Akira shrugs. “Nah, I’m down for anything. Surprise me, maybe?”

When Akechi smiles in response, for a moment there almost seems to be a—sharper edge to it. Then it vanishes as though it was never there. “A surprise it is.”

He puts in their drink orders, which are brought to them right as the singer comes onstage. Akira takes a sip of his—the flavor is more complex than he would have assumed, with a slight bitter edge. It’s really good, honestly.

The singer is also excellent, and for a while, he just sits and takes in the atmosphere as they both sip at their drinks. Eventually, they start up a quiet conversation.

Just a few minutes in, though, Akira starts feeling dizzy. Akechi takes note, leaning forward, brow furrowing in concern.

“Kurusu? Are you alright?”

Akira nods. “Yeah, just…wow. Just got really dizzy all of a sudden.”

“Maybe we should leave? My apartment is just around the corner; you could take some time to rest,” Akechi suggests.

That might be for the best, honestly—he keeps feeling worse, and he’d hate to collapse and cause a scene. “Yeah, alright.”

Akechi helps him stand and supports him as they walk out.

“S’rry,” Akira slurs. “Didn’ mean t’ ruin th’ night.”

Akechi smiles, but that sharp edge is back, and this time, it doesn’t go away. “Oh, Kurusu, it’s perfectly fine. You haven’t ruined the night at all.”

Just as Akechi promised, his apartment is very close by. When they reach the stairwell, though, Akira’s only able to stumble up a couple of stairs before he almost loses his balance and falls. Akechi’s the one to save him, and before Akira can think to protest, he’s swept up in Akechi’s arms, carried bridal style.

It’s nice not having to think about balancing, honestly, so he doesn’t protest. Akira’s head lolls onto Akechi’s shoulder, eyelids getting heavier. He only dimly registers the sound of Akechi unlocking his front door before he passes out.

When he wakes up, it takes a moment to remember what happened and where he is. Right, he’d felt sick at Jazz Jin, and Akechi had taken him to his apartment. He stretches—

Only he can’t. Akira freezes, then tries again. His limbs are bound in place, forcing him to—to present.

Oh god. His face is shoved into a pile of what must be Akechi’s dirty laundry—it absolutely reeks of his scent. In an attempt to shove it away, he shakes his head, only to freeze when he sees a camera lens focused on him.

Behind him, the door creaks open. “Akechi,” Akira snarls. “What the fuck is this?”

Akechi laughs, different from the one Akira’s always heard before. It’s dark, cruel. “Already dumb as an omega, aren’t you? What better way to get rid of Joker than to make him my bitch?”

He steps closer to Akira, pressing up against him. When a lube-slick finger slides over his rim, Akira growls and thrashes in the ropes, all too aware of the camera filming him. “I’m not going to get bi-iiiiitched!” His voice cuts into a high-pitched scream as Akechi shoves his finger in. It fucking hurts, because he’s an alpha and nothing should be in there.

“This’ll hurt a lot less if you relax.”

“It won’t, nnnn, hurt at all if you don’t f-fucking do this!” Akira snaps. He clenches down in a futile attempt at keeping Akechi out.

Akechi just keeps thrusting his finger in and out of Akira, occasionally pressing a second up against him. Eventually, Akira can’t keep his muscles tensed any longer, and the second slides inside. The stretch burns, makes Akira’s hole tighten up again momentarily from pure instinct. Then, exhausted, it loosens again. Akechi takes advantage of it, scissoring his fingers apart and opening Akira further.

On one thrust in, his fingers—they hit something inside Akira that feels good.

What the hell? He’s an alpha, even if Akechi’s trying to turn him into an omega; nothing about this should feel anything but painful.

Wait. Akechi clearly gave him something to knock him out. It must be some effect of that—Akechi’s trying to psych Akira out, make him break faster. Maybe he’s planning to claim this was all consensual, too. With some editing to cut out Akira’s protests, a video would show Akira’s own arousal and make it look like he wanted this.

Regardless, it’s not Akira, just the drugs. So Akira doesn’t feel too bad about the shocked noise he lets out, or the way he clenches down on Akechi’s fingers. Akechi doesn’t comment, just keeps opening Akira up. Akechi’s pheromones are heavy in the air, overpowering Akira’s own with ease. All Akira can smell is arousal and dominance, some small part of him flinching away from the display of strength. He tries to push his own scent into the air, but all he manages is making the dizzying weight of arousal stronger.

Even just the slide of Akechi’s fingers is starting to feel good, the burn fading and pleasure taking its place. Akira can feel his cock starting to harden, and he flushes. Then Akechi’s fingers hit that spot inside him again, and Akira makes a sound that’s far more obviously a moan.

Akechi stills. “Oh? Enjoying this, Akira? Guess you really were meant to be bitched.”

Akira doesn’t let it bother him; he’s already figured out Akechi’s tricks. “I know it’s, nnnn! From the d-drugs, not me,” he snaps back.

Akechi outright laughs. “The drugs were just to get you here. They’ve got nothing to do with this.” He emphasizes it with another thrust in, forcing a third finger inside.

He’s lying, he has to be. But…some tiny bit of Akira worries that he isn’t. That Akira really is like this.

No. Thinking like that is just letting Akechi win. Akira grits his teeth and refuses to let any more fucking noises come out of him.

A fourth finger presses inside him. Humiliatingly, even the burning stretch of it feels good now, too.

…It feels good now. It hadn’t at the start. What—if he’d been drugged, shouldn’t all of it have felt good?

Akira shakes off the thought. It has to be the drugs.

Akechi’s fingers rub insistently over that fucking spot. Akira’s cock is leaking precum constantly, and if he keeps going…god, if he keeps going, Akira’s gonna come. Drugs or no, he’s not sure he can handle that humiliation.

Right before he does, though, Akechi’s fingers pull out. Akira barely manages to bite back a whine of protest at the loss. Seconds later, though, a blunt pressure presses against his hole.

No, no, no—

Akira makes one last, desperate attempt at tightening up. It’s no use—Akechi’s cock slides smoothly inside him, and Akira…

Akira comes. He can’t help it; it feels too good.

Behind him, Akechi laughs—cackles, more like. “Fuck, you really are pathetic,” he sneers. He grabs a handful of Akira’s hair, yanking it and forcing him to look right into the camera lens. “Go on. Admit it.”

Akira keeps his mouth stubbornly shut. Or at least—he intends to. But then Akechi’s cock slams into the sensitive spot, and he loses all focus, whining at the surge of pleasure.

It hurts—he’s already come once, and every little movement Akechi makes burns with overstimulation. Even that, though, Akira can’t help but enjoy. He thinks he might come again if it keeps up.

“That’s it.” Akechi’s voice is sugar-sweet, now. “You’ll make a lovely omega, Akira.”

Akira wants to protest, to snarl and snap and say he won’t ever be Akechi’s bitch. But, well…he already is. He already came, and if he opens his mouth, he’s sure all he’ll manage are more humiliating noises.

Akechi keeps fucking Akira, thrusting into him with long, harsh strokes. They pry more pleasure out of Akira, and before long, he can no longer summon up the will to keep himself quiet. His mouth drops open, eyes rolling back in his head, moans and needy little whimpers falling from him.

This is wrong—nothing about this should be anything but pain. Instead, though, every one of Akechi’s thrusts sends pleasure coursing through him. It’s all too much—Akira comes again. He lets out a helpless, high-pitched cry as he does, flushing at the way he sounds. Like this…he sounds, probably even looks like an omega already.

Weakly, he tugs at the ropes again. Of course, it does nothing. All he can do is take it, sobbing as Akechi continues to fuck him. He’s overstimulated and exhausted but Akechi doesn’t care.

When he starts to feel Akechi’s knot swell, he can’t help but be a little bit relieved. At least once Akechi knots him, it’ll be the end of this round.

Of course, that involves Akechi actually knotting him. Akira keens as he’s forced even further open, before finally Akechi’s knot locks in place. Akechi’s cum floods into him, and Akira…

Akira comes again. He’s so full; it’s dizzying.

Defeated, he slumps into the sheets.

“Mmm, good boy.” Akechi strokes a hand through Akira’s hair. He lets it happen, too numb to resist.

When Akechi’s knot finally goes down and he pulls out, he immediately replaces it with a thick plug. It’ll keep his cum inside Akira, make the bitching happen faster.

“Get some rest,” Akechi says, still petting Akira’s hair. “You’ll need it.”

He leaves. Akira should try to escape—but he’s so, so tired. Maybe if he just closes his eyes for a moment…

Akira’s whole world has narrowed down to the room Akechi keeps him in. He fucks Akira regularly, and each time, it feels better and better. Akira opens up easier, and he can tell the alpha note to his own scent is starting to fade.

Akechi’s fucking him again. Akira’s long since stopped trying to keep his pathetic noises inside. When Akechi’s knot starts to swell, he moans eagerly, pressing back onto Akechi’s cock.

It never seems to lock in place, though. Even as Akechi comes, he’s still able to fuck Akira. Akechi—he’s fucking Akira with his knot, Akira realizes with dim horror. He’s been stretched that wide open. Will he ever go back to normal?

Even the horror, though, can’t last long under the sheer pleasure of being fucked with something so large. Akira whines as his prostate is mercilessly stimulated. When Akechi starts to suck and bite at Akira’s neck, he comes again with a broken sob.

Everything’s muddled. He needs—needs—

“Alpha,” Akira cries. “Alpha, please!”

Alpha laughs and coos at him. “Awwww, there you are, sweet thing. Breaking all pretty for Alpha, yeah?”

Akira nods, mind hazy with the pleasure of being fucked and put in his place, slipping into delirium with his heat. He squeezes around Alpha’s knot, trying to make himself better to fuck. It’s not fair to Alpha if Akira’s too loose to enjoy.

Slick and cum leak from Akira’s hole, dripping down his thighs. Alpha thrusts in, grinding deep inside Akira, and stays there even though Akira’s rim is too weak to keep him locked in place. Alpha leans down, bites, and Akira cries out and comes as the bond snaps into place. Another bite on the other side of his neck binds him further.

It’s so perfectly right. Akira purrs happily, so glad to be claimed by Alpha. The sheer pleasure of being claimed is overwhelming, and Akira's weak from how often he's been fucked. He finds his bladder releasing, wetting himself and debasing himself further.

A surge of amusement comes from the bond. What a cute, pathetic little omega I have, Alpha coos over it. All mine.

Akira’s a good omega for Alpha, now. He cooks and cleans and does whatever Alpha tells him to. Alpha always makes Akira feel so, so good. One day, he fucks Akira until Akira’s coming dry, his cock lying soft against his stomach.

Alpha laughs, flicking at it. “Useless little thing. May as well cut your balls off, honestly. It’s not like they’re doing anything.”

The words send a jolt of fear through Akira. He stifles it quickly, though—his body is here for Alpha’s pleasure, nothing more. It’s Alpha’s right to do whatever he likes with it.

“Mm, maybe a few other changes as well…” Alpha hums thoughtfully. “I’ll make an appointment.”

Alpha gets him castrated like he said he would, leaving just Akira’s limp little cock behind. He doesn’t get hard anymore, but he still leaks. Or, he would, if Alpha didn’t keep his slit plugged up with a sound pretty much all the time. It’s ribbed, and thick enough to let Alpha finger his cock if he wants to. His hole is plugged up, too, keeping him from leaking there as well. That one isn’t too big, though—it wouldn’t do for him to be too loose for Alpha to enjoy.

Of course, the biggest change is his limbs. Alpha had the surgeon take those as well. It means Akira can’t do any other chores, but that’s okay. He’s just a set of holes for Alpha to fuck, and really, that’s the best place for an omega like him. Alpha knows best, after all.