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#don’t help it rape your soul.
shipsnsails · 2 years
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Exquisite Corpse, Poppy Z. Brite
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thecuriousquest · 3 months
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You’ll Learn, I Promise
Yandere!Yuji Itadori x Fem!Reader
@murderofravens made a post saying: Yuji x curse-user!reader... dubcon/noncon... curse user reader who is with Mahito.. Yuji beats Mahito then sets his eyes on her.. Yuji throwing her around and using her.. taking revenge for the way she helped Mahito.. please listen to me guys..
Soooo Imma do the thing
Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs
Trigger Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, NONCON (non consensual sex), face slapping, violence, abuse, mentions of murder, rape used as a punishment, hair pulling, all characters are 18+
Note: Reader is half human/half curse. Reader’s cursed technique is Stagger. Stagger lets Reader build up energy, turn it into a wall, and send it at their opponent. When the wall hits the opponent, it disorients them and causes them to lose their equilibrium.
Master List
Request Rules
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You don’t shed a single tear for Mahito when he falls, utterly obliterated with no soul remaining, to the railroad tracks. It’s not because you hate him, it’s not because you feel nothing for the curse you worked closely with for these past few months. It’s not even because he died in such a violent way which makes you thirst to see more blood.
It’s because you have something bigger to worry about than satiating your appetite or grieving for your partner in crime. No, you have to worry about the one who killed Mahito, turning the silver haired man-child into splattered bits of purple on the tracks. You have to worry about him because he’s looking at you with gut clenching fury, and for the first time in your eighteen years, you find yourself gulping at the sight in front of you.
He takes a step forward, and you take a step back, repeating these motions until you spin around and quicken your pace. There’s nobody to back you up now, and if he killed someone as powerful as Mahito…then you’re simply fucked.
But he doesn’t let you get far. He won’t let you get away. He can’t let you ruin more lives.
You must be punished.
Yuji outmatches your speed, carrying himself on legs made of pure strength. His shin makes contact with the side of your head. Disoriented, you hold out a hand as your knees buckle.
Everything is whirling and whooshing, and you feel oh so close to vomiting.
He’s above you in an instant, grabbing you by your locks, dragging you towards him. Nose to nose, his other hand snakes out and grabs the lapel of your kimono.
Your mouth parts in response, and you’re so close that you can smell the blood on his face.
Your mouth parts in response, and you’re so close that you can smell the blood on his face.
Your curse technique, Stagger, hasn’t proven to be useful on him. However, being this close to him as well as having no way out, you’re tempted to send a wave of cursed energy at him, knocking him off kilter.
“What gives you the right?”
Biting your swollen lip, you hesitate to ask him what he means.
Yuji can see the question burning in your eyes. “What gives you the right to kill so many people? To torture them and play with their souls like they’re dolls?!”
And it’s a question you’ve never thought about before because why would you? You’re half curse. Isn’t it simply in your nature to feed off of the utter agony humans exude? You weren’t even raised human. Your mother, the demented curse painting who bore you, killed your father right in front of you and told you, “This is what we do to humans.” You were never led to believe anything else. It was simple. Curses kill humans.
But you’re also human. You never realized what that meant.
“I don’t…I don’t see you humans as dolls. It’s just how I was raised,” you try to explain, to defend, to justify your actions.
The human in you lives and self-preservation takes place over your desires to cause misery.
Now, it’s Yuji’s turn to look confused. “What do you mean it’s how you were raised? Curses aren’t raised.”
“I’m not entirely a curse. I’m half human.”
He mulls over the information you have just given him. You can see the gears winding in his head as he processes everything. It makes sense. Your beauty is unlike anything he has ever seen, odd and dark yet serene and enchanting. The way you walk, as if you’re gliding; the way you speak, as if you’re a siren luring him to the bottom of the sea. Yes, half human/half curse makes sense. He can see it now.
Yuji pulls you even closer to him. “So, you were raised to think it’s okay to kill people? That’s what you’re telling me? The human in you never thought to think otherwise?”
His grip on you has become a little more relaxed, and your scalp isn’t screaming as much for relief as it was in the beginning.
“Answer me!” Yuji demands as he yanks on your hair once more.
“I…I didn’t understand why my mother killed my father! I didn’t, I was four years old at the time. She told me it’s just what curses do, and I believed her.”
Should you not have believed her?
You’re human, but you’re also a curse that must be dealt with. Yuji can’t allow you to go unpunished even if your fucked up childhood led you to believe this nonsense.
“Are you going to kill me, Yuji Itadori?”
The peach haired sorcerer looks down at your blood soaked feet, crimson clinging to the hem of your kimono. “No, I won’t kill you, but I am gonna knock some sense into you.”
He drags you by your lapel towards a wall splattered with dripping blood and posters. He tugs on your clothes so hard that the top half rips open, exposing your breasts.
“How about I put some fear in you for a change, huh? See what it feels like to mess with other people, to make them wish they were dead?”
Shock fills you as he shoves your back against the covered wall with cracks and busted holes from the previous fight. You push against Yuji’s shoulders as he pulls his cock free from his uniform trousers. He spits on his palm, pumping his flaccid length until it’s hard. You’re intimidated by his size. Your eyes widen as you watch him nudge his veiny and upward curved erection further between your thighs.
You don’t know the feeling swirling around inside of your stomach, but you know that you don’t like it. Your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as you ball your fists up and lash out against him.
“No, don’t!”
You build up a wave of cursed energy, but Yuji sees through you. He backhands you, knuckles cracking across your cheekbone. A cherry hue blooming across the right side of your face. Now, you’re the dizzy one.
You try to clamp your thighs shut, but he only picks you up until he’s splitting your pussy in half.
With large paws curling under your knees, he fucks into you, youthful hips vigorously piston upwards, making you whine and throw your head back. You look to the side through bleary eyes to see if there’s any chance of escape.
His hot breath on your neck captures your attention. “You’re gonna look at me, and you’re gonna take your punishment. This is the least of what you deserve after all the harm you caused.”
You don’t exactly understand what he’s doing to you, but your instinct is to drive a distance between the two of you until he’s out of your life for good. All you know is that his piercing cock is hurting your insides. It feels so violating. That’s what your brain is telling you.
However, your body claims a different story. You can’t help but tremble on Yuji’s thick sword, pussy clamping down on his erection as a bulge forms in your tummy.
The sorcerer is looking at you like he’s an apex predator, and for the first time in your life, you feel like prey.
A hand circles around your throat, leaving your leg to dangle in the air as Yuji keeps you impaled on his cock.
“Yuji, let go of me…” You plead once more with nothing bitter or hateful consuming your tone. You’re simply defeated and begging for mercy.
“Causing harm to others doesn’t seem much fun now, yeah?” he patronizes, voice soft against the shell of your ear as he steadily thumps into you.
Harsh, sharp canines latch onto your neck, suckling the skin. You feel his tongue drag along your throat, and you can’t breathe. You can’t. It’s all too much, and this isn’t right!
Eyebrows drawn together, lip quivering, you break out into violent sobs as he punishes you in the most cruel way you could ever imagine. You’ve slaughtered so many in the past, not even bothering to keep count. You’ve taken heads and hearts, you’ve ripped open bodies from skull to stomach, yet you would never even think to terrorize someone like this, so intimate yet so vile.
Your head drops to Yuji’s shoulder as you wail, clutching his uniform as a way to hold onto something. As violent waves roll through you, your sopping wet slit finally relaxes against Yuji, finally letting him play with you how he desires.
You feel your pussy gush around him, come dripping down your thighs as he bottoms out against you. He lets go of you, letting you balance on two wobbly feet before you drop to your knees. You can feel a mixture of both your orgasms drip down your thighs, and you bury your head in your hands, shoulders rocking as you cry heavily.
Yuji takes in the beautiful sight before him. You: a true damsel in distress, disheveled, weeping, chest bare, kimono so askew that he can still see your weeping little cunt.
“It seems like you learned your lesson. I still have more to teach you, so come on. I’m going to turn you into a decent human being no matter how long it takes.”
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Anchor Up to Me, Love
Pairing: Alpha!Leon Kennedy x Omega!Reader
Warning: College AU, Knotting, Claiming Bites, Breeding Kink, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But Leon saves the day, cause we love him, Possessive Leon S. Kennedy, Protective Leon S. Kennedy, Violence, just a lil, Leon S. Kennedy Being a Little Shit, Leon S. Kennedy is a tease. Leon S. Kennedy is a Sweetheart, I slept for 2 hours last night cause of this, bon appétit, bone apple teeth, Leon Kennedy loves eating pussy change my mind, Loss of Virginity, Unprotected Sex, POV First Person
Words: 3.3K
A/N: I wrote this in one afternoon, it was not beta'd at all. I pulled this STRAIGHT out of my ass. THIS IS NSFW. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, PLEASE GO AWAY. Title from Anchor by Novo Amor.
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The campus was buzzing with hyper energy, the students littering the quad as the weather finally warmed up enough for them to comfortably rest on the green grass. My sneakers slap against the concrete as I take a deep breath in, the fresh air mingling with the student’s scents and I can’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness at the sight of the couples sprawled across the area.
I have spent half my life terrified of everyone - especially alphas - since my father’s warning when I presented. “You need to be careful, pup. Alpha’s only want one thing. You don’t want to end up like your mother - God rest her soul.” The fear it caused has definitely contributed to my self induced isolation. The scent blockers stir in my stomach, and I place a hand over my gut softly as I continue to head toward the library. I couldn’t afford the textbook, and thankfully the library had a cheap copy, but it can only be used in the library. I huff in annoyance as I mount the stairs. I step into the air conditioned building, skin prickling beneath my tee shirt. Should have worn a sweater.
The library is huge, 3 floors of walls lined with books, and the loner in me cries out in joy at seeing how deserted the stacks are. Having memorized the way already, I walk toward where they keep the textbooks and I run my fingers across the bindings until I come across where my textbook should be. I glance around to see if it was maybe misplaced before I head to the front desk.
“Hi, I’m looking for the Understanding Earth textbook for Professor Fieldman’s class?” I ask, and the woman behind the counter looks up with a small smile.
“Oh, that’s a popular one today. There’s a young man in blue who asked for it maybe 10 minutes ago. He should be in one of the study rooms, I think Room C.” The one with the windows. I nod, glancing down at my phone for the time. That paper is due in 12 hours. I’ll have to suck it up and ask if he’s willing to share. I head up the stairs, the hushed whispers of students giggling on the second floor catches my attention as I rub my fingers over my arms to warm them. The straps of my backpack are becoming more and more noticeable the longer the bag rests on my shoulders, and the girls’ voices become audible. “Wasn’t he adorable? He’s in my criminology class. His scent is intoxicating.” I scoff at their words. I walk toward the closed oak door before lightly rapping my knuckles on the varnished surface, and I crack it open as I hear a voice speak. Please be a beta. Please be a beta. Please be a beta.
“Yeah?” The door opens a bit more and that’s when I see him, strong hands hovering over the keys of his laptop, bright blue eyes trained on me as I stand in the doorway, my cheeks probably red from embarrassment.
“Hi,” I say before introducing myself with my name. “I know this is probably weird, but Professor Fieldman assigned a paper due tonight and I need some sources. Would you mind if I shared the textbook with you?” I ask, definitely speaking too fast as the anxiety crawls up my throat, tasting an awful lot like bile. He chuckles and that’s when his scent hits my nose. Those girls weren’t lying. He smells like pine and citrus, which you wouldn’t normally assume would mix, but something about the way it mingles as it enters my nose, my whole body flushes,, and I wonder if it’s because of him being an alpha or just him in general.
“I’m Leon. Leon Kennedy. And no, I don’t mind at all,” he says kindly, scooting his chair over a bit and pushing the textbook closer to the chair next to him. I should not sit next to him. His scent is already almost overwhelming and I’ve been in here for all of 1 minute. I find myself walking forward as I hear the door close behind me and I sit down in the black mesh swivel chair next to Leon. He gives me a small smile before I realize he probably thinks I’m a beta. My scent blockers should be enough. When is my heat due again? I vaguely wonder as I slip my backpack onto the floor next to me and pull out my laptop, opening the document to this stupid paper. “The paper on your favorite mineral and its multitude of uses?” He asks, glancing at my screen and I nervously huff out a laugh.
“Yup. I went with obsidian.” I say as I look back at him. His eyes are like two pools of blue, oceans in their entirety and threatening to drag me under and drown me.
“Good choice. Quartz,” he points his thumb at himself with a small smile as he runs his fingers through his hair before training his eyes on his paper. We sit in comfortable silence for about 10 minutes before the first cramp shoots through my gut. I press a hand to the muscle, hoping pressure will relieve the ache before it increases. I tense up as I groan, dropping my head to the cool desk as my skin feels like it’s on fire. “Are you okay?” He asks, placing a hand on my back, and the warmth of his hand makes me release a very different kind of groan, which I try to muffle by clamping my teeth down on my bottom lip, so hard I may be drawing blood. Heat washes over me and I vaguely register that I am absolutely going into heat right here, next to this alpha I just met. I reach down for my phone to check, and that’s when I realize that I am a week early for my heat.
“I’m fine, I just need to go, I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I stand quickly, slamming my laptop closed much harder than I should before practically throwing it into my backpack, slinging the fabric over my shoulders before I feel a hand lightly wrap around my wrist, not restraining me, just… catching my attention.
“I’m sorry, I can go if you need the-” Leon trails off, his voice fading into silence as his eyes widen. “You’re an omega?” He asks, and I know my scent blockers aren’t very effective anymore. Not against a sudden onset of heat in the middle of the day. I nod smally, feeling tiny compared to this alpha, despite him still sitting down in his own chair. The place where his skin meets mine on my wrist tingles, sending sparks up and down my arm as I am suddenly extremely grateful that I didn’t wrap myself in a sweatshirt. I’d be sweating through it by now.
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, taking a deep breath while facing away from me, as if he’s trying to compose himself before he speaks again. “Sorry, you’re just… You smell amazing…” He practically rasps, voice dropping to a painfully attractive octave. “I thought you were a beta when you walked in. You shouldn’t be out this close to your heat,” he mumbles, still unable to meet my eyes.
“I’m not due for a week. Trust me, I intend to go home,” I explain, and he nods as he lets go of my wrist. Without another word, I walk briskly to the door. I don’t breathe until I’m out in the fresh air, trying to wash Leon’s scent from my nose before I begin to practically sprint toward the parking lot where my car is. I’m almost there when I hear whistles behind me. Oh no.
“Where you going, pretty ‘mega?” My hands shake violently, slick pouring into the center of my panties due to the incoming heat, and I hear several sets of footsteps behind me. There are at least 3 of them. A cold hand lands on my shoulder and I yelp, dropping my keys to the tarmac as tears brim in my eyes. The alpha spins me around as his friends snigger behind him and his hard body presses me against the nearest vehicle, hands roaming over my jean covered thighs as the hot tears pour down my cheeks. His scent is vile, aggression and sweat wafting off of him in waves, and his nose runs along the column of my throat. “You smell so good, baby. How about you let me take care of your little problem?” His voice is gravely and harsh, tongue licking up my neck to taste my sweat. “God, I’m gonna knot you so-”
“Get the fuck off of her.” A voice says, and it takes my mind only moments to realize it’s Leon.
“Fuck off, finder’s keepers.” I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly that harsh colors flash across my darkened vision, and my hands push against his cotton tee shirt pointlessly.
“Then how about this?” The weight is gone, ripped from my body and I open my eyes to see that Leon has physically ripped the guy off of me and I watch as his body collides with the vehicle next to us, the white metal slightly dented from where his head hit before Leon’s fists tighten in his shirt, pressing him into the truck. “Touch my omega again, and you won’t be leaving unless it’s in a body bag.” Leon lets him go and we both watch as the alpha runs away, followed by his lackeys. If he had a tail, it’d be between his legs.
I sink to the ground, knees pressed to my chest and my hands press into the dark concrete. “Holy…”
“Are you okay?” Leon is there, crouching at my level. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” I shake my head, hands twitching, begging me to reach out and touch him and I can’t stop them as one lands on his shoulder.
“I just want to feel safe... Can you hold me?” I whisper, and it’s only seconds before his palms skim along my bare arms. Feeling like I’ve been shocked with straight electricity, my gasp escapes as I shift to press my nose into his shirt, the blue cotton/spandex mix beneath my lips driving me up a wall and rushing more slick into the gusset of my panties.
“Of course.” His words are soft, fingers carding through my hair in soothing motions. His lips are soft as they press to my temple and I clutch his shirt tightly in my fists. “What do you need?” He asks, making sure to address me by my name.
“You, alpha…” I whisper, desperation in my tone. “Please…”
“Fuck…” Leon mumbles, nodding and accidentally brushing his nose through my hair, and he groans. “Okay, come on.”
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The kisses are all tongues and teeth, lips connected as teeth nibble at the already plump flesh as the door opens. Thank god he has an apartment, cause Dad would never let me bring home an alpha for him to fuck me through my heat. The room smells overwhelmingly like him, air fresheners be damned. Palms on hips, slipping into the waistband of denim, untucking shirts, fingers dancing across skin and I tug on the hem of his light blue shirt, silently pleading for it to come off.
“Need something, sweet girl?” He chuckles, a teasing edge to his voice. A whine slips from my lips into his mouth and he pulls back to press our noses together, foreheads in contact as he looks into my eyes. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
“Off, please, Leon.” Well, he said words. I managed that. He peels the fabric from his chest, my eyes raking over the exposed muscles and soft flesh.
“Eyes up here, ‘mega.” His finger slides under my chin, bringing my eyes to his as our lips collide again before parting to remove my own tee shirt, dropping the cotton onto a pile on top of his. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers under his breath. Before I can process the movements, my feet are off the ground before I feel the weight of the couch beneath me as he tugs on my waistband. “Can I taste you, ‘mega? Please?”
“Mhm,” I hum through my bitten lip, teeth pressing into the tender flesh as I help him remove my tight jeans, my panties flying somewhere in his apartment as he buries his mouth against my cunt without further question.
His name leaves my lips in a squeak as my fingers thread through his dark blonde locks, tugging the strands lightly as his tongue laps at my sex. Growls rumble from his chest as he sucks gently on my clit, the suction forcing gasps and moans from my mouth; I look down and find those intoxicating blue eyes locked on me, the wet sounds coming from my center absolutely lewd. How do people live without this?
“Do you want my knot?” The question should require more thought. More attention.
“Yes. Please alpha, need it.” Leon stands, lips and chin coated with my shiny slick, and I watch as he licks the fluid off his lips before using his fingers to wipe off the remainder before sucking them into his mouth. Oh fuck, that’s hot. Nimble fingers undo the buttons of his jeans, tugging the zipper down tauntingly. “Leon.” His name comes out as a frustrated groan, and I’m gifted by the sweet sound of his light chuckle.
“Patience is a virtue, sweet girl.” I groan, a small laugh of my own filling the air as he comes up to kneel between my thighs, the skin of my ass pressing against his thighs as he leans forward to rub his cock along the length of my core. “Fucking shit, got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, ‘mega. Have you ever had a knot before?” He asks, rolling his hips so his tip bumps against my clit and I shake my head no. “Have you ever had sex with anyone?”
“No…” I admit, hands coming up to press against my hot cheeks.
“That’s okay, ‘mega. Do you want to keep going?” I peek between my fingers to see his soft smile. He is willing to stop for my comfort. “I can make you come in other ways if you don’t want-”
“I want your knot, please Leon.” My hips cant on their own accord, rubbing against him and his groan quickly dissolves into a huff of laughter, the sound filled with affection and gentleness.
“Okay, baby. We’ll take this slow, okay?” His head nudges at my opening, pressing the head in. The slight burn doesn’t last as my body adjusts to him, his arms caging me in on both sides of my head filling each of my senses with nothing but Leon, Leon, Leon. It continues like this, him pressing his length pressing in an inch or two before he pauses, huffy breaths puffing against my face as his peppers my face in soft kisses, my hands cupping his jaw and nape of his neck to feel some semblance of balance as he splits me open. I have nothing to compare it to, but he feels pretty big to me. Finally after a painstakingly long time, his hips press forward, flush with mine, and we both release shaky pants at the sensations.
“Please move,” I whimper as my hands shift to dig into the firm muscle of his shoulders, dull nails leaving crescents in his flesh.
“Anything for you, my sweet little omega.” The sweet words are quickly drowned out as he begins a leisurely pace, and I can feel the drag of his cock against my walls at every movement he makes. Kissing is futile by this point; We’re practically just breathing into each other’s mouths. His pace begins to steadily climb, faster and harder as his deft fingers rub soft circles over my bud, my head thrown back in response to the new sensation. “Does that feel good, sweet girl?” I nod before his earlier command rings through my ears.
“Yeah, Leon… Feels so good.”
“Such a perfect little omega, my omega.” The possessive tone sends a wave of heat straight down my spine as he continues. “That alpha touching you earlier… God I wanted to rip his throat out…” Hips slapping harder against mine as my moans grow in pitch, his name practically the only coherent sound that can be heard from my lips.
“Yours, alpha. All yours.” The blonde nuzzles into my neck, teeth grazing across my sweat slicked skin. He speaks, and it takes a nip to my ear to realize he’s speaking, my focus being tugged between the wet sounds of us meeting, his teeth on my neck, his scent in my nose, and his dirty words in my ears.
I want to claim you.
Fill you til it spills from that tight little pussy.
Want my babies, sweetheart?
Knock you up, god you’d look so pretty carrying my babies, ‘mega.
I nod blindly, barely unable to form words anymore as I’m so fucked out, so cockdrunk.
“Yes, please, fill me. Want it. Want you.” I groan in protest as he pulls out, emptiness bringing tears to my eyes before his gentle caress causes me to peel my eyes open to meet his. I’m greeted with a new sight. This isn’t just Leon.
This is my alpha.
“Present for me, ‘mega.” I nod, flipping over so my knees press into the scratchy fabric of the couch, arms resting on the arm rest as my body arches for him practically unconsciously. This is how it feels to find your mate. Callused hands trace the skin of my back, rubbing softly over the skin of my ass before his tip presses against my opening again, sliding in much easier than before, the wet slick aiding in creating a smooth glide and I practically feel him in my throat as he resumes a fast pace. Mumbles of curses fall into the air, sweaty skin pressing to my back, giving him access to whisper in my ear.
“I want you to come for me. I’ll give you my knot if you do.” The rough tips of his fingers return to my clit, rubbing much faster circles as the band in my gut pulls tight. “Come for me, omega.” That’s all it takes. I come with a yelp of his name, followed by a chorus of ‘alpha’s mixing with ‘Leon’. He growls, leaning forward to press the expanding ring of muscle into my pussy as his teeth sink into the flesh of my neck, locking us together in every sense of the words.
Gentle hands maneuver us to our sides, his warm body spooning as he grabs the blanket from the back of his couch to drape it over us as the sweat on our skin rapidly cools in the now chilly air of his living room.
“Are you okay?” He whispers, lips pressing soft kisses across my exposed flesh, and he sounds almost guilty. I nod sleepily, reaching back to run fingers through his hair with a chuckle. “Something funny, cutie?”
“I don’t think sharing the textbook is gonna be an issue anymore.” At my words, we both burst into a fit of giggles, panting breaths as I turn my head to press our lips together before I gasp, hands coming up to my mouth.
“What?”
“My dad is gonna kill us.” I admit with a nervous laugh.
“Nah. I meet parents like a champ.” His face practically drips with confidence and I chuckle.
“Oh really?”
“Oh yeah. Look at my face. This is the face of ‘I’m absolutely not sleeping with your daughter’.” The laughter is uncontainable now.
Oh yeah. Definitely.
Tags:
Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088
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iddybiddysquish · 2 months
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Sukuna x Reader - Cursed Womb
Plot Description: reader insert for a chunk of the cursed womb arc
Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen
Gender: AFAB
Warnings: Serious non-con/rape; oral receiving; creampie; branding; breeding kink
Notes: think of any tags, let me know. And yes, I did in fact copy words for word the subtitles for this. Have I also done it for all of season 1... quite possibly ahaha
Also sorry for not posting for a while. I'm working on an original book and it's sapping all of my creative energy lmaoooo
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Itadori removed his belt, tying it around his arm to stop the blood loss.
“I can’t escape after it’s gotten this close!” Itadori muttered, still tying the tourniquet, “Hey Sukuna! If I die, you die too, right?
“If you don’t want that, then help me out!”
“Nope!” he grinned, popping up on his cheek, gaining my attention, “Even if the parts of me inside you die, there are eighteen other fragments of my soul.
“Still, irritatingly enough, I don’t have control of this body. If you want to switch, go ahead and switch. But once you do, I’ll kill that brat before the cursed spirit can! 
“Then I’ll go for that woman! She’s a lively one. I’ll have fun with her.
“And of course there's her.” he chimed looking at me, making me sweat, “I've had my eye on her since you swallowed my finger. I'll be sure to take my time on you.” He added, speaking to me this time. I gulped. 
“I’m not going to let you do that.” Itadori barely whispered in horror.
“I bet. But if you’re too focused on me, your friends are gonna die.”
“Don’t listen to Sukuna, Yuji.” I uttered, scoffing at the cursed spirit, who eyed me curiously, “He’s trying to rile you up. And I can tell it’s working!
“I won’t let anything else happen to you two.” I concluded, “I’ll die before that happens.” I vowed.
“Cute, cute!” Sukuna cackled, “You think you can fight it, hm?
“You’re weak-”
“Can it, four eyes-”
The next thing we knew, the creature shot something out of its mouth at us, causing a small explosion, causing our ears to ring, unable to hear anything else. That’s when I realised it didn’t use a technique - a jujutsu. 
It was pure cursed energy that it shot at us.
‘That’s possible…?’
“Fushiguro!” Itadori cried through the fog but it was so hard to hear, “(L/N)!” I shook my head, trying to get rid of the ringing that had all but ruined my hearing for the moment. But as he called both our names again we both snapped out of it, “Take Kugisaki and (L/N) and get out of here! I’ll keep this one busy until you three are out. As soon as you’re out, give me some kind of signal. Once you do…
“I’ll switch with Sukuna.”
“You know you can’t do that!” Fushiguro yelled, “Not with only one arm against a special-grade!”
“Look closer.” he explained, nodding towards the creature, “It’s having fun.” Fushiguro gasped, “It’s obviously toying with us.” I sighed and nodded, knowing this all too well, “I can at least buy us some time.”
“No!”
“Fushiguro! Please.”
“I’m going nowhere.” I exclaimed sharply, “Fushiguro will find Kugisaki with his Shikigami and get her out of here. 
“But I will stay here.” I explained.
“No!” both yelled looking over at me sharply. I glared.
“I’m immune to curses.” I explained quickly, “I will be untouchable to both Sukuna and this curse.
“I need to stay to ensure your safety since I can’t heal you. I’ll then distract him long enough for you all to get out.”
“No way!” Itadori barked as Fushiguro shook his head.
“She’s right, Itadori!” He explained quickly, “If anyone has any chance of fighting this thing, it’s (L/N)-senpai!”
“I can’t leave.” Itadori concluded, “I refuse.”
“We can’t release Sukuna!” I argued, dodging the creatures next attack as it watched us in glee, “It will be too dangerous-”
“I won’t let you die, either!” Itadori concluded, “You can’t phase through it forever, right?” I froze at that. 
We hadn’t found my limit yet. But, according to Gojo, my cursed energy is the most efficient he’s seen. And because of my supposed mixed heritage to Sugawara Michizane and the other two Big Three Vengeful Spirits of Japan, I have large levels of cursed energy, larger than Gojo has seen before. I haven’t run out before, but who knew how long it would be before that would happen, especially if I had to wait for a signal from Fushiguro. And that’s ignoring if I need to produce a lot of positive energy to heal both Itadori and I.
Itadori was right. We needed Sukuna.
“Fine.” I concluded, “Stay with me, keep close. I’m going to try and protect you.”
“But, (L/N)-senpai-”
“I’m staying. Sukuna is a last resort, okay?” I explained quickly, earning a sharp nod. I nodded back before ordering Fushiguro to leave. To my surprise, when he started running, he grabbed the name tag of the prisoner on his way out. 
Once Fushiguro was out, we both got into stance, watching the curse as we thought of a game plan. Itadori refused to stay behind me, determined to protect me, despite my desperation to make him stay behind me so that I could protect him.
The curse in retort pulled off his trousers, making me sweat in confusion as it chuckled, leaving only its undergarments. I looked over at Itadori, who shrugged, before looking back at the curse. Itadori snorted.
“Trying to say it’s easier to move around in your underwear?”
“I mean, I feel you there, bro.” I admitted, rolling my shoulders, “If it were appropriate that’s how I’d live.”
Itadori wanted to joke, but he was too locked into the danger of the situation at hand. All as he contemplated on what to do.
I, on the other hand, went for the curse. From my training, I continued to isolate areas with Immunity so that I could still attack whilst not taking hits. So that’s what I did as I went to punch the curse when it tried to send cursed energy my way, dodging before making contact. 
Unfortunately, it wasn’t with his face, but his palm, making me sweat as he laughed at me.
‘Fast…!’
Opening my palm, I grasped his hand and pulled him to me, catching him off guard, before headbutting him in the face with cursed energy, causing some blood to splutter from him. Itadori then came in, ready to support. However, before I could get to him, the curse threw a wave of cursed energy at him, sending him flying into the wall.
“Yuji!” I cried, running over to him. But the curse was faster, grinning as he advanced on Itadori with a cursed energy sphere, punching him through the wall and sending him bouncing onto the floor, causing me to cry out his name again.
With a growl, I appeared behind the curse and went to kick it through the gap, only for it to appear behind me and shove me through with cursed energy, just as he had done with Itadori moments before, sending me flying and into the wall on the other side.
Itadori only rose up when he was able to snap out of his abused state, the curse having begun to charge up before unleashing horrendously strong cursed energy.
“Senpai!” he yelled as I groaned. However when I got up I cursed, eyes widening as he held his hand out, trying to fight the cursed energy beam going through him and into me. 
That’s when I realised that I wasn’t activating Immunity. And also that I wasn’t injured by his cursed energy.
‘No… if anything I absorbed it.’ I realised, feeling stronger, ‘I have more cursed energy.’
Itadori was crying and bloody, the pain unimaginable as his fingers slowly began to disintegrate. He began to regret his actions regarding the cursed object and how he wanted to run and get away. About how he didn’t want to die. 
And I could feel it in his cursed energy. But not as much as I felt the sadistic pleasure from the cursed energy I absorbed from the curse currently hurting my son. 
‘Yuji…’
“Don’t think!” Itadori cried, what was remaining of his hands out before falling back and into the wall all over again.
It was enough to send me into sadistic rage, the curse laughing at my anger. 
I gritted my teeth, running towards it at a speed I didn’t know I was capable of, ready to punch it in the face again. However, I disappeared before reappearing behind it. That’s when I kicked through his back and out the other side, making it scream and writhe. 
Pulling my leg out I went to punch it in the face, but it threw me to the ground, winding me.
“I was so full of myself.” I heard Itadori utter to himself as he stared at the ground in front of him, “I thought I was strong. I thought I was at least strong enough to choose when I died.
“I’m weak!” he looked at his hand, fingertips gone as I continued to pull on the arms of the curse, slowly and painfully, my tears flowing at the sight of Itadori. 
To my surprise he began to heal himself from my cursed enhanced motions. I rolled over, narrowly avoiding it’s kick as I backed up, ready to go toe-to-toe with the creature all over again.
Unfortunately for the curse, I would get better with each move he made. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t take some beatings, but I was prepared to. It meant I could fight. 
Unfortunately, no matter my natural speed, I didn’t have the reflexes to match, causing him to send me flying into the wall again without cursed energy this time. I was embedded in it, passing out for a moment.
“(F/N)-senpai…” Itadori uttered when he saw me before shaking his head, “I’m far too weak!” he yelled, standing up. He gripped his head with what was left of his hands as he cried, “Augh, I don’t want to die! No! No way!”
“But… I am going to die!”
Itadori began to focus on his emotions before imagining putting it into his fist. He was ready to be useful, in his mind, before charging.
“Yuji…!” I mumbled, in a daze, only for the curse to grab his cursed energy enhanced fist, making me curse as I got out of the rubble, slowly, whilst healing myself. The curse laughed at him as I snarled.
“Don’t you dare!” I barked, sensing its next move, up and out of the rubble as quickly as I could be.
“Damn it!”
But all of a sudden there was a howl. A loud howl.
It was Fushiguro’s signal.
I breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe.
However, I realised quickly there was no defeating this curse between Itadori and I. So I nodded at Itadori and instantly Sukuna was released from Itadori’s mind, healing him just as instantly as the special-grade curse flinched back at his presence.
I was ready to run. 
Unfortunately, he grabbed me with an unimpressed look on his face, making me gasp in surprise.
“What a thoroughly annoying brat. He’s obviously screwing with me.” he contemplated, fist to chin in thought, the other hand letting go of me, “Go nowhere.” he ordered, directed at me, before patting the scared cursed spirit on the shoulder, “Hold on a moment. I’m thinking right now.”
The curse nodded profusely as Sukuna continued to think aloud.
“What can I do to make that brat regret this?” After a few moments of thinking, he grinned, “Hey, let’s go kill some kids. I’ve got one in mind already.”
I gasped, retreating. I knew he was talking about Fushiguro and Kugisaki, and I realised quickly that this was bad. He was going to bring the curse to us to fight the three of us.
‘Shit, shit, shit!’
However, before I could retreat, to my shock, It hopped away, scared and prepared to hesitantly brawl despite Sukuna’s unthreatening demeanour. He motioned for him to follow, growing the hand back and adding, “Follow me.”
However, the creature began to panic, forming strong cursed energy into a ball with both hands before throwing it.
“S-Sukuna-!” I pointed, but he simply rolled his eyes at my attempt to warn him.
“Baka.” he paused as the attack bypassed him, hand out, before looking at his hand, “Ah, shit. I healed this one, too.” I blinked.
‘He was purposefully not healing it.’ I shook my head, ‘He used the reverse cursed technique.’
He put his hands in his pockets, looking back at the curse, “You don’t like walks?” he looked away, “Well, cursed spirits are usually supposed to stay where they’re born. Fine, fine. In that case…” he grinned, “You die here!” he exclaimed, rushing the cursed spirit and grabbing it by the face before it could so much as twitch, “Hey what’s the matter? You’re not finished already, are you?” the creature gritted its teeth as it attempted to rise up, shakily, “That’s it. Come on, try harder.”
From there he stomped on its head, pressure causing the archway we were standing on to collapse and crumble, causing us all to fall. 
I screamed, but found myself floating in the air, something Sukuna noted with slight intrigue. I gasped in surprise.
‘Nullification… It allows me to hover.’ I realised, slowly descending into the water before looking for an escape. This was all whilst I saw the spirit grasping at Sukuna’s foot, only for Sukuna to cut off their remaining arm and chill on a piece of debris after it attempted to throw him in a circle.
���Even a cursed spirit,” he raised his hand, holding the arm of the cursed spirit, “would miss their arm, right?” He cackled maniacally as the creature fell into the water below them.
I wasn't completely dumb. This was my opportunity to escape. 
So that's what I did, spinning as I carefully, and quietly, made my way through the walls. 
“Oi, don't move.” I froze, turning back to look at Sukuna who was smirking my way. I gulped. 
‘Shit…’
“I haven't forgotten about you. Just be patient and wait there for me, woman.”
I cursed again. That was definitely addressed to me. 
So I decided to run. However he was in front of me before I could even process what was happening. Hand on my shoulder, he stopped me from moving forward, physically bringing me to the curse that was currently embedded in the wall. I gulped along with it. 
“Don’t try me.” he warned, pushing me forward, “Sit here.”
I did as I was told as Sukuna turned back to the curse. That was when he spliced the curse into five and embedded it into the wall.
“Hey, did you know? We’re both classified as special-grade, apparently.” Sukuna noted, looking up at the curse with a grin, “Both you and me, man.”
The spirit began to regenerate, forcing itself shakily out of the wall one new limb at a time. Sukuna watched on, still grinning.
“Good job, special-grade. Keep trying.” before the cursed spirit jumped before him, “You look happy. Want me to praise you?
“But healing with cursed energy isn’t that hard for cursed spirits, unlike for humans. Neither you nor these brats really understand what curses truly are.
“This is a good opportunity, so I’ll show you… What real jujutsu is.” he concluded before putting his fingers together in a specific formation.
“Domain Expansion.” He closed his eyes before opening them again, revealing his domain, “Malevolent Shrine!” I gasped in shock, instantly activating Nullification to be safe from the attack. The creature made a gurgling noise before it was split into five, making me gasp again.
“S-Sukuna…” I muttered, shocked as I tried to deconstruct his technique, but it made my head hurt.
“I was planning to cut you in three slices, but you’re really weak.
“Oh, yeah,” he noted, pulling out the finger from the cavity in the curses’ chest, “and then there’s this.
“I’ll be taking this.” he concluded, lifting it up as the pieces of the curse lit up from damage.
“It’s over.” Sukuna exclaimed, “This sucks! If you’re gonna switch, just do it already!” When he was met with silence from Itadori, Sukuna added, “What’s the matter, brat?” It was then he realised something. And he grinned so wide and gave a shallow laugh.
He was in control and not Itadori.
So I waited and waited until Itadori would take over, sure it would happen at any moment. When it didn’t, I began to panic. And it was delicious in Sukuna’s eyes.
‘Shit…’
Before Sukuna could even turn to me, I was out of there, running. He tsked at me, rolling his eyes.
“I thought I told you-” he grinned, appearing in front of me, “-to wait!”
Freedom was so close, yet so far as I felt him grab ahold of my uniform at the scruff, choking me as he tore the neck of my fabric. I squeaked, faltering slightly in my speed as I ripped off the blazer before he grabbed my hair next, making me wince and eyes widen in surprise and pain.
“Come, now.” he grinned evilly, “There’s no need to fight the inevitable.” I snarled.
“Get fucked, Sukuna! Fuck you!” I snarled, earning a child-like giggle.
“Exactly.
“Now get on your knees, whore.” I snarled.
“No fucking way!” I growled, going to punch him in the stomach, only for him to grab my fist and swat it away as though it were nothing.
Sukuna watched with amusement as I clawed at his hand still in my hair as he forced me down, though I refused to kneel despite his attempts. I couldn’t help but snarl, pulling him by the arm and flipping him over onto his back, catching him off guard. Immediately I raised up and went to stomp on him, but he blocked it with a grin, grabbing ahold of my foot.
“That’s more like it. You do know it’ll make it worse for you, though, right?”
Pushing me, I fell over with a yelp and before I could process it, hitting my head, he was on me, face to face with a wicked grin. 
“It’s been so long since I’ve felt flesh on flesh.” he chuckled, “And yours is especially soft. Like the most pliable cotton, threatening to spill delicious blood at any moment.” he mused, feeling along my cheek, tauntingly, “I bet you bruise beautifully.”
“Don’t.” I flinched as he caressed my side, going up and down my body with a teasing touch. He chuckled.
“All that bravado gone and what is left, hm?” he whispered into my ear as he pressed himself against me, “A worm.”
“Fuck you.” I spat.
“You haven’t pushed me away yet.” he remarked, “I’m hardly pinning you here. Maybe you are trained already.” as if realising he was right, I tried to push him off of me, but failed, earning a chuckle, “So weak.” I snarled at that notion, close to tears at how helpless I felt. 
When I applied cursed energy, however, I found myself able to roll us and jumped back, ready to fight. Sukuna didn’t say anything, simply rolled his eyes and shoulders before putting his hands back in his pockets. He was casual, as if to say ‘fine if we must’ as I used my cursed energy to fight him. 
He was surprised, actually, at how quick I was and how capable I had become after a few, albeit long, sessions with Gojo, Itadori and Fushiguro. He had to put some energy into the scenario in order to bat away my attacks. 
So I ramped them up, going faster. 
“You know, I theorised that Gojo let you hit him that day.” he grinned, “But now you’re starting to intrigue me with how quick you’re learning.” he admitted as I growled.
“What do you want me to say to that?”
“Gratitude would be nice.” I scoffed.
“I’ll show you gratitude when you switch back with Yuji.” he laughed.
“Fat chance.”
I was tiring. I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I feigned energy, but I was exhausted and overstimulated.
Sukuna was just too fast. Not to mention he was still doing this half heartedly. It made me realise how easy Gojo had been actually going with me during his sparring sessions. It also made me realise I needed to practise more. I needed more if I were going to go toe to toe with the beast that was Sukuna.
However Sukuna could read me like a book despite my attempts to mask. He knew when I was about to run away based on lacking energy, using the last of it to hopefully get me to safety. He could see the very moment I’d even thought I could. 
And when I did, he was already there, gripping me close to his chest as though he’d teleported in front of me, making me squeak like a mouse, in his mind. 
“You know, I can tell you’re getting tired.” he chuckled, “You can’t improve if the other person isn’t willing, can you?”
That was why I wasn’t improving. He wasn’t investing. And he watched as horror displayed itself on my features.
“Beautiful, really. You weren’t meant for fighting, were you?” he cooed, making me cringe as his nose rubbed mine before he chucked me through a few walls to his left. When that was over, he did the same only up.
“This ought to have tired you out.”
He then picked me up by the hair again and dragged me into the centre of the new room, throwing me down on the ground violently, causing craters and cracks to form before the floor caved in, making me fall to the lowest level of the building. I groaned, body littered with cuts, bruises and some broken bones as I coughed the dust out of my lungs. But still, I rose up, ignoring the pain as my body automatically healed itself and was already back in stance, something Sukuna noted with sincere intrigue. 
“Oi, oi!” he clapped, cheerily, “You’re lasting longer than I expected! Durable, aren’t you?” he chuckled.
So I went for him again, finding more energy despite the dwindling supply. Sukuna watched, curious as I continued to attempt to battle him, resulting in sending me flying through more walls and up through the ceilings of the buildings and then back down through them all over again. And despite all of this, I continued to get into sparring position and then charging. It was impressive, he had to admit, that determination to win. It was quite attractive.
“I picked well!” he beamed, punching me in the gut, causing me to cough up blood, “You’re so determined. Maybe it wasn’t all talk.” he wondered as I staggered back, starting to feel the brunt of my attempts, “You tired out yet? I’m getting bored waiting for your tantrum to be over.” I snarled, remembering my purpose and finding more energy I didn’t even know I had.
I said nothing as I charged again, this time feigning my moves before twisting to create new ones. I harnessed my cursed technique as well as I could, adapting on the fly to his rebuttals. It got to the point that I thought I might be able to land a hit. 
Until he vanished only to kick me into the ground behind me, winding me and thoroughly shattering my ribcage and sternum.
He chuckled before sitting on top of me as I wheezed, passing out for a moment before coming to as he gently began to caress my bleeding head. He began smearing it across my cheek when tears from the pain and fatigue fell, cooing at me. All whilst I tried to regain control over my own head, which was spinning. I didn’t know what was up or down and he liked the fucked up look on my features. He chuckled again.
“I kept your pretty face clean, huh?” he noted, continuing to caress my face as though it were fine china, “After all, I want something pretty to look at when I fuck.” he admitted before grinning down at me when I came to again, having passed out momentarily for the second time, “You prefer this, huh? Want to be romanced like I was Gojo?” I groaned my disagreement, but it only made him cackle more, “There must be someone you like.” 
I spit out some blood onto his face in response, earning a maniacal grin.
“Don’t act so shy now. You know I already know your attraction to powerful men.” I tsked and rolled my eyes.
“Then you really don’t know me, huh?” I muttered horsley, shaking my head as I attempted to get my eyesight back, “I really am not that interested in men, women or otherwise unless there’s something they can give me.”
“Hm. I suppose we’re one in the same there.” he snickered, “How does that feel?” I rolled my eyes. 
“You’re insane-” Shoving him off of me with all my strength so I was straddling him, dripping with sarcasm, “-we make a great match.” 
Sukuna rolled his eyes, feeling up my thighs through the gaps in my trousers. It was then he dragged his nails across my thighs, cutting them and making me wince and clench, before bringing the blood to his mouth. He groaned.
“So delicious for a whore-”
“I’m not a whore!” I snapped, slapping him across the face with cursed energy, causing his head to snap to the side, “I’m done with your shit! Either kill me or go away!”
I looked down at him in horror as I raised my hand, realisation of what I’d just done coming to the surface. So when he grinned, my heart fell into my ass all over again as I gulped.
‘I fucked up.’
“You still have fight. Adorable, really. I’ll allow it this one time.” he mused, gripping my thighs so hard they not only bled where his nails met my skin, but would bruise in large hand-shaped marks, “But I’m done playing.”
I knew what was coming next.
The next thing I know, everything was removed. My bra, underwear, trousers and overskirt, gone. 
The seriousness of the situation dawned upon me further as the cold air nipped at me, raising the hairs on my skin as I shivered, causing me to let out an audible gasp. When he grinned up at me, hands still in a bruising grip on my thighs, I gulped, all three eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“Better than I expected.” he admitted, licking his lips, “It’s been so long.” he grinned, reaching out to tweak my pierced nipple, but I slapped him away, earning a dark look.
“Do that again and I’ll cut it off.” he warned, making me whimper. However when I made a motion to move, to hide myself from his gaze, he pushed me onto my back before flipping onto me. 
“S-Sukuna-!”
“Don’t beg.” He warned, lowly, “Unless it's to fill you with my seed.” My eyes widened as I began to panic. 
As if sensing a whole new wave of protest, he grabbed my face and smashed my head into the floor. Once, twice, thrice. Just enough to know I wouldn’t do anything to stop him from completing his desires.
I groaned, dazed as he leaned back and observed me fully. So bare before him, he awed at the way my nipples stiffened in response to him barely touching them, indulging in tracing his fingers across all my piercings and loved the smell of my sex in the air. 
“Too beautiful for a sorcerer.” he mused, moving my hair out of my face as he caressed and assaulted my body with his hands and eyes, “They should have kept you as a breeding tool. Then maybe you wouldn’t get pregnant with my child.”
I was too dazed to understand what he was saying. I watched as he nipped and sucked at my skin, peppering it with undesired attention, being cruel as he used his teeth and watched for my skin’s reaction. When it wasn’t satisfactory, he’d up his motions until he was fully biting my neck, collar bone, breasts and thighs, making me cry out in pain. I couldn't help my whimpers and moans, filter off in my dazed state. 
“So responsive.” he chuckled. I didn’t take it in at all, even as he began salivating at my core, having moved lower and lower. He was nose deep as he began to lap at my juices. It was when he harshly sucked on my clit and I moaned his name, much to his amusement, that I realised what was going on and namely who the culprit was.
“S-stop…!” I uttered out, hand to my head as I attempted to stabilise myself. 
However Sukuna didn’t stop. He continued to lick and suck harshly at my clit and lips in a cruel pace, flicking his tongue expertly against me as he lapped up my juices greedily. Sometimes he dipped into my clenching hole, just for an extra taste, curling it around. He considered this treating himself. And god did it taste so good; like nectar of the Gods.
When I started to squirm and pant, unable to fight him off any longer, he pinned my pelvis and thighs to the floor, open and exactly where he wanted them. And all I could do was cum on his tongue until he was done, body overstimulated and aching.
“Mh! N-no! No more- s’ too m-much!” I squeaked, pleading as if it would make any difference. Sukuna wasn’t so much interested in my pleasure - even my foggy brain could comprehend that. 
No, he was trying to make this memorable. Traumatic. He also wanted to prove a point, which was that he could break me whilst also proving there would never be anyone better than him. There was nothing better than putting a bitch in their place.
I yelped as he nipped harshly on my clit when I tried to find purchase with my hands in his hair, so I clawed at the ground as I had another orgasm come and go, squirting my juices onto his face, something which made his cock jump to attention; he chose well.
Sukuna would stop when he wanted to stop. He would pay attention to my body, sure, but right now he was only interested in breaking me and his own pleasure. And right now he was indulging himself in a taste he hadn’t experienced in so, so long.
Thoroughly prepped, Sukuna didn’t waste time in pulling his cock out. However, I’d grown more lucid and began to kick and fuss, earning a slap to my tits.
“Don’t stop me. I will kill you.” 
“You’ll kill me, anyway!”
“Not if you have a use.” he snickered cruelly before pulling me to meet his pelvis, cock rubbing against my folds, teasingly, smearing our fluids against one another, earning a shaky moan from Sukuna, “And you are useful.”
I grabbed at his face, his chest, his hair - anywhere I could get purchase - to try and shove him off in my weakened state. But I couldn’t do anything. He wasn’t even taking my attempts seriously, instead laughing down at me as lined up his cock with my entrance before slowly plunging in. 
Instantly his face was contorted into something tense until he bottomed out, then it relaxed as he released a deep, shaky breath.
“Looks like you’re not a whore after all. So fucking tight…” he hissed as I cried, “I wonder what you’d feel like on my cock in my true form.” He snickered cruelly, “I’d split you in half with just one of them.” 
Crying was all I could do as I tried to push him away using his chest as leverage. When I did, however, he pinned both wrists to the ground before pulling out, only to slam back in harshly, setting a brutal pace that had me unable to make any noise even if I’d wanted to. 
Sukuna didn’t remember it feeling quite as good as this. No, he was sure this was all me. And it made him drunk on the sensation. Enough that he just wanted to bury himself in me and stay that way for a while, but he remembered the point of this exercise was more than to get him off. 
No, this was about putting me in my place.
He hardly even considered that this could’ve been Itadori’s virginity he was taking for him, nor did he care. He also didn’t care for my feelings, either. In fact, he was revelling in my silent cries as he continued to pound into my wet cunt, obnoxious squelching and slapping noises reverberating off the walls of the concrete jungle we were in with each thrust.
Unsurprisingly, I was dead to the world by this point, pliant in his hold, enough that he was able to bend me in a mating press, pleasantly surprised by my flexibility as he got impossibly deeper inside whilst pushing my knees to my head, practically fucking my cervix. It was painful, but also pleasurable - pain I could take. But gaining any pleasure from this was the last thing I wanted.
I would not cum on his cock of all places.
But the way his cock buried itself inside of me, bruising that sweet spot at such a sickening pace was enough to leave me seeing stars as I dissociated.
“Still ready to fight?” he chuckled, “I’ll fuck that out of you-” He snarled, getting lost in the sensation of my hole quivering around him, milking him, “That’s right, take it all.”
He was getting close. 
Suddenly I was violently slammed back into the driver’s seat as he folded me into a deeper mating press, wanting to see me cum as he choked me out. I shook my head, desperate to avoid it. Desperate not to cum. He chuckled, amused at this visible attempt, a vein popping on my forehead.
“What’s wrong? Don’t wanna cum?” he snickered.
It felt so damn good. But it was dirty and I didn’t want it.
“You’re going to cum on my cock.” Sukuna whispered harshly against my ear, not sparing me a glance as he watched himself enter and exit me, over and over rhythmically, sweaty forehead to my own. It was addicting to watch and with four eyes, he was more than capable of watching everything he wanted to - my face when I came and whatever came out of me as my climax washed over me, causing me to cry out as I squirted down his cock.
“S-Sukuna!” I found myself clawing at his back as he fucked me through my high. He laughed at me as I tried to find purchase, eyes rolling back so prettily.
“Beautiful, beautiful.” he sang, “Prepare yourself. I’m going to breed this tight cunt.” he grinned viciously, grip leaving my thighs to grasp directly at my hips, forcing me against him impossibly closer as he chased his own high, causing me to orgasm a second time. 
“So easy to make you cum.” he chuckled airily, “Gonna do it again? Hm?” I shook my head violently as tears spilled. Whether it was from the earth shattering orgasms or the disgusting nature of them, I wasn’t sure. But all I knew is he was fucking me dumb and I didn’t like it. Especially at his next words.
“You cum when I tell you to, you got that Pet?” he warned, “Otherwise I won’t stop fucking you until you do.” he warned before chuckling, “Or maybe I’ll do both.” he grinned nodding as he huffed against me, “See how many orgasms I can get out of you.”
I knew I was doomed then. Because I was close and Sukuna knew it from the way I gripped him as he buried himself inside of me over and over again. 
But I did what I was told. I held it off as much as I could. It’s not like I wanted to cum in the first place. But he could tell I was failing in my war against it, eyes screwed shut with tears falling as I babbled, squealed and panted in my attempts. He chuckled.
“Now. Cum now.” he barked in my ear, picking up the pace impossibly fast. I shook my head.
“Fuck you!” I snarled as I came, nails digging into his neck and back until they were surely bleeding. He didn’t care; revelled in it, in fact.
It was enough that he, proudly, could climax inside of me. However he didn’t let up. Instead, he continued to rut into me at the same brutal pace, as though he hadn’t cum at all, fucking his and my cum into me. It was then it became obvious that he was only interested in his own pleasure and watching me come undone all for the wrong reasons. 
I was desperate for it to be over as he changed positions slightly, sitting up as he grasped my legs and pulled them to his chest. It reached new depths and I suspected that his cock had not only bruised my cervix but was downright fucking it from the blinding pain I was in.
I clawed at the ground until my fingers were bleeding. I couldn’t stop my cries and moans despite trying my best. I felt dirty. I felt used. And he was nowhere close to done based on how he was fucking into me so rhythmically. As though he was addicted. 
And in a way he was. He was getting pussy drunk as he watched my tits bounce with each thrust. It was downright addictive.
He couldn’t let me go after this. No, he couldn’t let Gojo have me. It was rare he found a feisty woman he could dominate so well. Especially when he realised I had two vaginas for him to fuck; it was perfect, he concluded, scheming.
No, this was a dynamic he wanted to continue.
So, once I’d passed out as he continued to use me for his own pleasure, he made sure to mark me on my throat. Somewhere obvious. Somewhere anyone could be reminded of him. It was the same shape as the seal on his tongue whenever he spoke in Itadori’s body. And it linked to him.
He would know what I was doing at all times. He’d be able to keep track of me. He couldn’t help but laugh as he climaxed, leaving more bruises on me as he forced me to cum through my passed-out state, flicking my clit mercilessly, watching as I spasmed around him, more fluid shooting out and onto his pelvis despite my state.
This was exactly as he’d imagined it would be. Ne, better, even.
This couldn’t have gone better, and he was going to take his time to appreciate and indulge in it, that was sure.
I wasn't sure how long the whole act lasted. I lost track of how many rounds we went, how many times I came or how many times he came. I just know I was red raw and that my body was a bruised mess as he began to mark me with his nails and teeth, clawing and biting - and I mean clawing and biting - at me till I was bleeding and would likely scar. There were bruises everywhere and I was in agony.
I was left there by him until he was done using me, having passed out ages ago. When I came to he was walking away and I was alone. I winced, feeling everything hit me all at once. 
I was butt-naked, covered in bruising, bites, scratches and hickeys. I was in pain as his cum pooled out of me and onto the floor, down my thighs. 
I used my eyes, seeing Sukuna leave me alone, done with me and my breath hitched when I recognised the image of Fushiguro with him.
I didn’t have a hope in hell of helping him. And yet I stumbled to my feet, grabbing the jumpsuit from one of the dead inmates, not having anything else to cover myself with, before charging.
That was when he looked back at me, ready to use his cursed technique to be away with me. I snarled, dodging the attack with Immunity. But the bigger shock was the fact I was healing myself, without even realising it; it was subconscious and preemptive, which had Sukuna staring at me, finally seeing me as more than just an object.
“Oi, oi, oi!” he chuckled, “Even more potential!” he beamed, laughing maniacally. I glared as he added, “Maybe you were right and you have more use than just a cock sleeve. Look at you.” he cackled and immediately I grew suspicious, “I did cum in you, afterall. Only a woman interesting is worthy of my seed.
“Come on.” he motioned for me to run at him, “I’ll entertain you. See if you can implement positive energy with your fighting style.” he offered, making me gasp.
This was a turn. Originally he was planning to just use me to get off and leave, keeping me alive for future use. But now I’d intrigued him to the point that he wanted me to go all out. 
So, I did as I was told, even as his cum spilled out of my womb and through the jumpsuit, some down my legs, the abuse still raw. And yet I was still trying.
It was something that made his grin impossibly wider.
I was already quite fast - fast enough to mostly keep up with a slow version of Gojo. However, when I applied my cursed energy to them, it allowed me to speed up closer to both Gojo and Sukuna’s levels. The more I practised, the faster I got and even Sukuna could plainly see my quick learning and adaptability.
What really intrigued him, however, was my attempts at my cursed techniques. He watched as I bobbed and weaved through his attacks, literally, whilst keeping my fist aimed towards him physical. It meant that, whilst none of his hits were landing, I was still able to attack whilst isolating parts of my body. 
That required a lot of concentration and control. 
So when I tried to apply positive energy, his grin became even wider. He watched as it flared between one hand and the other. However, when I stopped, he frowned.
“You can’t stop in the middle of a battle, brat.” he glared, “You dare waste my time?” I shook my head.
“I-I’m trying to do something but…” 
“What is it now?” I frowned.
“If I can just combine them, I can use them simultaneously.” I mumbled, earning a raised brow. I looked down at my hands, brows furrowed, as I attempted to channel both positive energy and cursed energy together, only for it to create more positive energy. I growled.
“No one can use them simultaneously-” Sukuna began, ready to mock. 
Until I did. I grinned.
“Emulsification.” I concluded, walking in a semicircle towards him. His gaze didn’t drop from my hands, “The ability to use Immunity as a barrier to mix positive energy AND cursed energy simultaneously, without cursed energy turning directly into positive energy.”
“You used the basic capability of Immunity to separate and yet mix the two.” he laughed, “Nice, very nice.” he commended before motioning for me to rush him, “Now fight me. Show me your worth.”
Unfortunately, Sukuna was anything but kind when it came to his fights. And I wasn’t good enough to avoid all of his hits as he attempted to throw me up into the reminder of the ceiling, sending me up and then down. 
When I landed with a flip, I went for him again. Punch, kick, block. I couldn’t land a hit as he effortlessly dodged, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.
When he punched me in the face, through the building and into the rain, he dragged me through the floor, making me groan as my head bled. Instantly I was already applying cursed energy preemptively to heal myself, but I didn’t realise one terrifying prospect.
“(L/N)-senpai?!” 
My eyes widened when I heard Fushiguro. Shaking my head I got to my feet.
“Get out of here, Megumi-”
“Sorry, but he’s not coming back.” Sukuna greeted, appearing behind Fushiguro as I ran over towards him, getting between them, “Don’t be so frightened. I’m in a great mood right now.
“Let’s chat for a bit.” he concluded, walking past us with his hands in his pocket, casually, “This is what he gets for trying to use me without any kind of pact. Feels like he’s having some trouble switching back.
“Still, though…” Sukuna removed his shirt and hoodie, forcefully, “It’s only a matter of time.
“So… I thought about what I can do right now.”
To our shock and horror, Sukuna stabbed into his chest, causing him to cough up blood, and reached in. We both gasped.
“Wh-what are you…?” I shook my head.
“His heart…” our eyes widened.
“I’m taking this brat hostage. Fucking you was just the start.” Sukuna cackled, making Fushiguro look over at me, horrified as the realisation of what had happened to me, and why I was wearing different clothes, dawned upon him. However, he was distracted by the heart.
“Hostage?!” Fushiguro begged, tense.
“Yeah. I can live without this, but that ain’t true for the brat.” he revealed, throwing it to the side. I gulped.
“Switching out with me means he dies.”
‘Reverse cursed technique will be able to heal him, but I’d have to go through Sukuna; it’s not like he’s gonna let Itadori take control before dying nor will he let me use the technique without a fight…’
“Also…” he added, bringing out the finger the cursed spirit had had lodged in its chest, “For good measure.” he grinned, before slowly eating it, “With that, I’m free as a bird.
“You can be frightened now.” he tensed up, grinning maniacally, “I’ll kill you! For no particular reason.”
“Our positions are reversed now.” Fushiguro muttered before getting into position, “You just don’t get it. He’s…
“Itadori’s coming back.” he concluded, me nodding in agreement, “Even if that means he’ll die. That’s just who he is.”
“You give him too much credit. This guy’s just a little tougher and denser than other humans.” he smirked, wiping away the blood from his mouth, “Just a moment ago, he was scared out of his mind, on the verge of death, and prattling on about his regrets and all that nonsense.
“I know for a fact he doesn’t have the guts to kill himself.”
Fushiguro noted that Itadori’s hand was restored, clearly by one of the reverse cursed techniques. However, he also recognised that Sukuna was incarnated and that, therefore, he should still be affected being without a heart. He concluded he’d try to restore his heart before Itadori returns - and I was thinking similarly.
‘We need to restore his heart.’ I frowned, ‘If I could get get close enough to him to do it, we should be good-’
Fushiguro had no clue if he could do that, knowing how he reacted to the special-grade that Sukuna just killed, shaking. He also didn’t think I looked capable of doing the same. However, he concluded it wasn’t about if we ‘could’ - we had no choice.
Immediately Fushiguro signed for his Shikigami, bringing Nue to the front, making me gasp.
“Megumi-!”
Sukuna stretched as Fushiguro charged, Nue going to the other side of Sukuna, both ready to attack. I cursed, but followed, also on the offensive.
“I’m finally outside, after all.” Sukuna grinned, “Let’s use the open space.”
Fushiguro went for a kick, then two punches as I attacked from the other side, both missing as Sukuna dodged expertly, hands still in his pockets like before. More punches, none landing, ensued before Sukuna jumped to the side.
“Interesting.” he mused, “You use Shikigami, but you’ll still come at me yourself.” he concluded as he ignored me, batting off my attacks like a duck in water.
Nue dived, only for Sukuna to dodge again. Frustrated, Fushiguro went for another punch, then a kick as I tried to uppercut him before going for his gut, both trying to take advantage of Nue’s distraction, only for him to continue dodging with his hands still in his pockets.
Fushiguro and I continued to punch and kick with all our might. And Sukuna watched in amusement, chanting, “More.” He then, in a change of pace, grabbed Fushiguro’s fist and pulled him towards himself before swinging him, “More!” he concluded, pulling him so they were face to face, “Put more curse behind it,” he practically purred before backhanding Fushiguro, “when you strike me!”
“Megumi!” I yelled.
“Orochi!” Fushiguro yelled, signing for him. Unperturbed, Sukuna let the Shikigami bite him, pulling him into the sky, “Gang up on him!”
“Megumi, withdraw!” I yelled, seeing his cursed energy flaring even as Nue came in with sparks flying. 
Unfortunately, I was too late as Sukuna split Orochi from the inside out and suddenly he was on the ground, fist grappling the back of Fushiguro’s blazer. I gulped, running towards them, unprepared for Sukuna’s next move.
“Hey, what did I just say?” he uttered before throwing Fushiguro through the air.
“Megumi!” I cried before cursing. Quickly I used Nullification to fly after them, going to kick Sukuna before he could reach Fushiguro, only for him to grab my foot, spin me in the air and throw me into Fushiguro.
“Let’s use the open space!” Before leaping after us and kicking us both into the buildings, forcing us both across two buildings. 
That wasn’t enough, of course. He then appeared to Fushiguro’s left and kicked him into another building, forcing him through it and out the other side. Before throwing me in the same direction. I just about had time to react, activating Nullification on the descent. My legs were broken and I was suffering many serious injuries. So as I healed myself I looked for Fushiguro, cursing myself for not being capable of healing others.
Nue, on it, swooped in, grappling Fushiguro mid-air as Fushiguro lamented in his mind about how powerful Sukuna is, only for him to jump up, ready to strike them down.
“Nice technique there.” he noted, battering them down and into a building, to which they collapsed through until hitting the bottom.
“Megumi!” I yelled, appearing beside him. Fushiguro, on the other hand, concluded it was best to withdraw Nue before he’s destroyed like Orochi, reminding him of how White Dog was also destroyed.
“I get it now.” Sukuna noted, hands on his hips, “So your Shikigami are created from shadows.
“So what?”
“Hmm…” Sukuna mused, hand to chin, “I don’t get it, though. Why did you run back then?” he chuckled, releasing his chin and motioning his hand outwards, “What a waste of talent.” that caught Fushiguro’s attention, “Whatever.
“Either way, that won’t be enough to fix this.” he directed at the gaping hole in his chest. I deflated as Fushiguro smirked, both realising our plan was figured out, “You’re risking your life over stupid shit. This brat isn’t even worth that much.” Fushiguro hobbled to stand, barely stable as I supported him, only for him to push me behind him as I was close to passing out.
However, he began to get into position, cursed energy enveloping his body, all as he thought of his sister and her curse as well as his deadbeat father. Then it moved onto his desires of wanting more good people to enjoy fairness with no thanks to karma.
“Nice!” Sukuna grinned, “That’s it.
“So this is when you start burning through your life! Now I see.” he uttered, walking forward, “Well, in that case… Show me, Fushiguro Megumi!” he cried. 
It was in that moment everything clicked for me. I could digest cursed energy, break it down and read it. It was enough that I could understand Sukuna’s cursed technique and possibly utilise it myself. Everything made sense. 
So I watched as Fushiguro prepared his attack and I swallowed, hard, my head hurting.
“Sacred treasure swing and ring, ring, Eight Grip-!”
Suddenly all of his cursed energy left him. He stood there in the rain, still in stance. I was prepared to fight as I was nearly fully healed, but he relaxed slightly, confusing me as I slumped on the ground, spent.
“Just so you know, I… don’t have any logical reason for saving you back then.” Fushiguro admitted, “Even if it was dangerous, I couldn’t bear to see a good person like you die.
“I did have my reservations, but ultimately, it was for selfish, emotional reasons.
“That’s fine, though.” he added, “I’m not a hero.” he released his form and relaxed as Itadori began to take back control, “I’m a jujutsu sorcerer.
“So I’ve never once regretted saving you.”
“Yuji…” I began to cry, shaking my head, unable to use positive energy any longer.
“I see.” Itadori grinned, rubbing the back of his head, “You really are smart, Fushiguro. You’ve put more thought into this than I have.” he admitted before concluding, “I think your conviction’s a proper one, but I don’t think mine is wrong, either.”
More blood spilled from his wound as blood stilled in his body. There wasn’t long left and he knew it. I was close to blacking out.
“Oh, sorry, I’m almost done for.” he reminded, “Guess I won’t have to worry about you both, Kugisaki, or Gojo-sensei.” he uttered before beginning to fall, done for, “Live a long life.”
Fushiguro’s lip wobbled as he held in tears. I, on the other hand, openly bawled my eyes out.
“Yuji…” I cried, bringing my hands to my face as I crouched down beside him, shaking my head. To my surprise, I felt Fushiguro place a hand gently on my head, making me look up. 
He gave a weak smile. It held sadness and empathy. 
I returned it before passing out.
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slasherscream · 1 month
Text
Crazy Ass Girls Gang ft. killing the reader’s rapist
warnings: yandere behavior, subject matter is rape/sexual assault, gore warning in some parts - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
TIFFANY VALENTINE:
Tiffany knows something happened to you. Call it woman's intuition. Maybe just call it true love. Or obsession. Whatever it is she can sense a hole in you. A gaping pit of misery that you try and hide. Try and fight against.
Tiffany tries to help, when you let her. Most of the time you don't. Instead of admitting to being so depressed you can’t move or eat, you'll feign physical illness. You pretend you're crying because some part of your body hurts. Tiffany knows better. Knows it’s something in your soul itself. Aching. 
Tiffany let's it go on for as long as she can stomach it. The relationship was still so new. You'd just moved in together. Just finished pulling your separate lives into one. Picking out the throw pillows, what color to paint the walls. Argued playfully over bedding and mattress firmness. Is it too early to push? 
She watches you at the breakfast table, on the really bad days, eating mechanically, no joy in your movement or behind your eyes. She doesn't want there to be anything between you. Any secrets. Any distance. If you're hurting she wants you to lean on her. To need her as much as she needs you. To know she’ll catch you, no matter what it is she’ll catch you. It’s enough to leave her in tears every time you put on that awful fake smile. 
She wakes one night, blinking into the darkness. For a moment, she's not sure what woke her. Moonlight streams in from the window. The sound of the fan whirring across the room. Her eyes begin to drift shut again when she hears a muffled sob come from the bathroom. Her hand falls to your side of the bed, instinctively. She closes her eyes when she realizes how cold your side has gone. How long ago did you wake up? How quickly did you decide to crawl from bed and hide from her again? Always hiding. 
It's too much, now. You crying alone in the bathroom in the middle of the night is too much. She throws open the door and takes you into her arms, cooing softly, own eyes watering at the way you go limp against her so quickly. Here she'd been trying to give you space and what you needed was her affection, her tenderness, the whole time.
"What's wrong, huh, baby-doll? You gonna tell your Tiffany what's wrong now? Please?" She whispers against your hair, kissing the crown of your head.
You haven't said the words out loud in so long but you're tired of fighting the demons, and the nightmares, and the misery, all on your own. You've held it in so tightly since you met her. As if you'd taint her just by saying the words. But you love her, and you just want to stop hiding.
When you tell her she goes still. For just a second. Her arms tighten around you like a vice. She begins to rock you gently, cooing reassurances in your ear. She tells you to let everything out and you do. Now that you know she’ll still love you. That she’ll still be here for the aftermath. You can’t stop yourself.
By the end you feel exorcized. Alive. Softened and made new by the level of tenderness Tiffany had shown you. She gathers you from the floor of the bathroom, wipes both of your tears away and kisses you gently. She tucks you back into bed and asks only one more question: 
“What was their name again, sugar bear?” You don’t hesitate to tell her. It warms her heart the way you curl into her side without anymore hesitation. The space between you gone now. 
You sleep deeply that night. You wake up to an empty bed and are surprised. Usually, no matter how late you sleep in Tiffany is still wrapped around you. Just as much a night owl as you, early mornings are rare.  
You pass by the laundry room, notice that the washer and dryer are both going. You thought you did all the laundry a few days ago. You peek into the washer and notice how red the water is. Tiffany must have been attacked by the creative spirit, gotten messy using some paint. 
You hope she didn’t use acrylics this time, the stains never come out. 
You walk through the house calling for your girlfriend. No answer. You step out onto the back porch and there she is. Bathed in the early afternoon sun. Your whole body relaxes when you see her in the garden, bent over, planting a whole new row of flowers. She’s absolutely covered in dirt. You smile, feeling happier than you have in ages. You rush out to join her in the sunlight and throw your arms around her. 
“I love you, Tiff.” You cover her face in kisses, ignoring the dirt.
“I love you too, baby-doll. I love you more than anything.” Tiffany kisses you back, sweet and passionate. Playfully, she spins you to lay beneath her and revels in the sound of your carefree, shrill laughter. 
She hopes they can hear you, just barely, through the layers of dirt she buried them in. With their last breath she hopes they hear your laughter and realize they didn’t break you. 
JORDAN LI:
You weren’t answering your phone. Not their calls. Not their texts. It was enough to have them shrugging on their jacket and stomping out of their dorm into the cool night air.
They’d had a bad feeling about letting you go out alone tonight. You always partied together. Usually with Jordan’s friends, who had become yours. Jordan hated the old group you used to run with. Disloyal. Stupid. Selfish. Now she wishes you’d at least taken one of those fake groupies. At least then you wouldn’t be alone. 
She walks through the party, a brick wall, shoving people aside as she calls your name. Anxiety prickles the skin at the back of her neck. She jogs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She throws open door after door, music from the party too loud to even fucking think. 
Jordan’s angrier by the second, wondering if something happened to you. She hopes you just lost your phone. If someone stole it she’ll break their fucking jaw. 
The last door in the hallway, she sees two bodies on the floor, one moving against the other in the dim light. She rolls her eyes about to slam the door shut and go look for you in the kitchen again. As she goes to close the door she stops dead when she hears a whimper from the floor. The tiniest noise of pain, a drowsy “stop”. The scene looks different now.
She steps into the room, forgetting about you for one second, heart pounding in her ears. Jordan pulls the person on top off by their hair, hard enough to hurt. When she sees it’s Rufus she let’s out a laugh of anger and blasts him across the room with her power. Hard enough that he leaves a dent in the wall. 
Jordan turns to the person on the ground, hoping the short distance between them and Rufus will make his fucking pheromone bullshit wear off. 
“Are you-” Her blood stops. It’s you, on the floor. Your outfit torn and ripped. Tears are running down your cheeks but your eyes still have that drugged shimmer that might as well be that walking roofie’s calling card. 
“Jordan?” You mumble from the floor, dazed and confused. 
Rufus makes a sound from across the room, getting to his feet. Jordan stops breathing as she turns. They make eye contact. Fear in one pair. Anger so strong it’s inhuman, in the other.
Jordan’s across the room in an instant. Her fist breaks his jaw with the first blow. Everything after that is a blur. She comes back to herself when she feels a stabbing pain shoot through her fist and she pulls her hand away with a hiss. Bone fragment cutting into her hand. 
The haze of the rage falls away and Jordan realizes how wet she feels.  She looks down at her clothes. Sees how soaked in blood they are. Then her eyes fall to the mess she’s left on the floor. She almost throws up. Shakes her hands and feels brain matter slide off of them.
She thinks, what the fuck did I just do? What the fuck did I just do? 
“Jordan?” You call from across the room, sounding less drugged. 
She looks over at you and tears burn her eyes. Numb, she climbs off the body and rushes to you, looking you over. The tears fall when she sees the bruises, the small cuts. You must’ve fought him, even through the haze of his powers. You’ve always been a fucking fighter. She should have fucking been here. She doesn’t want to touch you with the blood on her hands but you don’t give her a choice, falling into her arms sobbing. She forces back her own. This is her fault. You’re the only one who deserves to cry. 
“I’m so fucking sorry.” Jordan mumbles, hands shaking as they leave bloody smears across your skin. What else can she say?
NANCY DOWNS:  
Secret keeping doesn’t work with Nancy. No matter how small of a secret, or a lie, she can sniff it out. Furthermore she hates when you lie. About anything. You should always tell each other the truth. You're one soul in two separate bodies, as far as Nancy is concerned. 
Even before she did the spell to bind you to one another permanently. 
Because of the magic she can feel what you’re hiding now. She had a suspicion before. But now she knows. Now she fucking knows. She’s furious, and heartbroken, and she knows. 
You still try and hide it, though. As if you can hide anything from the other half of your fucking soul.  
“Enough, Y/N.” She spits at you one night, when you’re trying so hard not to think about it. Not to feel. 
She doesn’t know why you’re blocking her out. Not letting her feel it with you. Whatever you suffered. Whatever harm that befell you it would be avenged times three if you just let her in.
Nancy’s magic has always been stronger. She was being kind before. Hoping you would come to her on your own. She sees now that you need to be encouraged. She’s still gentle, somehow, as she invades the sanctity of your mind. For one instant your consciousness is her consciousness, and you’re both one being, sharing every thought and feeling. 
She sees it. Feels it. Lives what you lived, in that single moment. She pulls herself out of your mind, eyes hauntingly empty. They meet yours, register you, and fill with tears slowly. You reach out, in sync and Nancy pulls you to her. You can’t tell apart the sounds of your voices as you start to scream and sob. 
You pass out, eventually. Either from exhaustion or a spell Nancy placed on you. You wake in your shared bed to her standing over you, covered in blood. A knife in one hand, something meaty and dripping in the other. When your eyes adjust fully to the moonlight you realize it’s a human heart. 
“It’s okay, Y/N. You're safe now. You’ll always be safe, with me. You understand?” Nancy coos, petting your face with the hand holding the knife. It cuts you. You start to cry and you’re not sure if it’s from relief. 
JENNIFER CHECK:
You come home from the party you attended quietly. You open the door without a sound. Kick off your shoes. Put down your bag. You’ve shut yourself into the bathroom before she can even ask how it went. Immediately, her hackles are up. Irritation and concern. You know she hates being ignored. You never ignore her. You didn’t even say hello. 
Jennifer knocks on the bathroom door, trying to keep her voice playful as she asks what your deal is. You don’t respond. The sound of running water is the only thing she can hear. She pounds on the door, getting nervous. 
Then she picks up the smell of prey. You smell like prey. Dried sweat perfumes your skin, the sweetest smelling kind, that only one emotion causes: primal fear. The faintest whiff of blood and tears.
She breaks down the door. You don’t even notice. Don’t even look away from the mirror. You just go on trying to wipe the blood from your face. Your lip is busted. Hair a tangled mess. Scrapes along your cheek and neck, collarbone. Your clothes are a mess too. Rips and tears in fabric that was pristine a few hours ago.
“Baby?” Jennifer says again, feeling sick. Still nothing. 
She reaches out to touch you, gently. You come alive, jolting away from her with a scream. It’s the type of fear she’s heard a thousand times. Right before she rips out an organ or a throat. 
It’s the breaking of a dam and you fall to the ground, sobbing, still trying to wipe away at your skin. Any bit of skin you can reach. Jennifer tries to wrestle the rag from you. You’re being too rough, you're only human. You’re so breakable. You fight against her, sobs getting louder. 
“Baby stop fighting me!” Jennifer begs, uncharacteristically.  Between your sobs she makes out the words of you needing to clean yourself and her eyes fill with tears. She didn’t know she was capable of tears still.
“Stop.” Jennifer commands, voice going inhuman, harmonic. You go still, entranced by the full force of her power. Jennifer feels the tears falling down her cheeks. Watches your own tears cut bloody, miserable lines down your face. 
She takes the rag and gently wipes at your cuts. She peels away your ruined clothes. Starts the bath and places you inside it. Every time her hold on your mind starts to wane, and that animal fear of harm kicks back in, she speaks to you. She doesn’t let the control slip until your body stops secreting that awful smell of terror. 
“Who did this, baby?” She asks quietly, trying not to focus on the haunted look on your face. 
You don’t answer her. She swallows. 
“That’s okay, baby. I’ve got the scent anyways.” She tucks you into bed, orders you into a dreamless sleep that you couldn’t hope to fight off. 
She doesn’t come back home until the morning. The blood beneath her fingernails makes her itch. The smell of the monster she killed is putrid in her nose. She showers under water so hot it singes even her skin. When she crawls into bed beside you, before she falls asleep, she thinks about how hungry she is. She curls her entire body around yours.
She hadn’t been able to stomach even the thought of eating your fucking rapist. 
CARRIE WHITE:
You’d just moved into this house together. It was a nice enough neighborhood. Cozy. Nothing too big or expensive. The dorms at university had been too loud and hectic for Carrie. For this semester you’d decided you needed to build a life together. 
She’d never been happier than she was while painting the walls with you. Picking out lamps, and blankets, and a shoe rack. She remembers the way she’d used telekinesis to haul the heavy couch inside while the two of you held your hands underneath and pretended to carry it. The elderly neighbors all watching from their porches with dropped jaws. When you took one hand away to wave at them Carrie had to rush you both inside before she actually dropped the couch from laughing. 
You went to class together. Cooked and cleaned side by side. Carrie tailoring clothes for money and you tutoring. It was good. Life was good. After years of suffering, you were her heaven on Earth. 
Carrie came home from grocery shopping, humming quietly to herself. She knew you were home but didn’t call out for you. You’d told her you were tutoring someone this afternoon. Some of the subjects required a lot of focus, especially if you were already struggling with the material. She’d brought extra snacks in case they were hungry. 
She set the groceries down in the kitchen and walked into the living room. She froze in her tracks. You were there, and there was your student, on top of you. You locked eyes with Carrie, over their shoulder. They were holding you down. You’d been gagged to keep you from screaming. So the neighbors wouldn’t hear.
They were assaulting you in your own home. In the home you shared with her. Her vision whited out. 
She came to with your hands gently shaking her awake. She screamed when she saw you. You were covered in blood. In gore, and chunks of flesh. The sight alone brought back such horrible memories she turned over and threw up. You held her hair back, as if the blood on your hands was less awful than vomit. 
She tried to look…. To see what she’d done. But you won’t let her look past you. You’re sobbing and still trying to protect her. Even though she hadn’t protected you. Her whole world. Her angel, that God sent her, and she’d let you be defiled. She’d failed you. 
You fall apart in each other’s arms, trying to ignore the headless body a few feet away.
GINGER FITZGERALD:
You’d thought she’d under-reacted, when you told her. ‘She’s being unusually calm’ was your exact thought. But you were so tired, after years of holding in the dark secret. You were just relieved to have her acceptance, without hesitation, without disgust. 
She asked no questions that could leave you wondering about anything. On whether or not she thinks it’s your fault. If she thinks you should’ve fought back harder. If she thinks you’re weak. Tainted. Dirty. She says all the perfect words, everything you’ve ever needed to hear. She held you close and whispered them, and kissed you the same as always. 
She treats you no differently. You let yourself soften in the reality of a devotion that only Ginger can give. 
But you knew she was under-reacting. 
You walk into your living room a week later and see Ginger sitting on the couch, your rapist beaten within an inch of their life, bound and gagged at her feet. Her face lights up when she sees you. She grins like a wolf, canines sharper than usual. 
She stomps on their head as she skips to greet you, grabbing you by the hips. She ignores your gaping mouth when she kisses your cheek affectionately, “Brought you a little gift, baby.” 
“I almost just killed them, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted-”
“Wanted to what, Ging?” You cut her off, breathless, eyes glued to that hauntingly familiar face.
“Wanted the chance to make them suffer, before they die.” Ginger whispers, staring at you so lovingly you almost start to cry.
You tug her into your arms and laugh wetly when she starts to purr. You can see the way her tail wags beneath her skirt. She’s always so eager to please.
“I don’t know if I can do that, Ginger.” You admit into the skin of her neck. 
“Sure you can.” Ginger coos, taking you by the hands and leading you over to the shivering body on the ground. “I’ll show you how.”
She takes off the gag so you can hear the screams better. 
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niconebula · 10 months
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I’m currently writing a college essay on the representation of Witches (and all Magical Girls) in Madoka Magica; I don’t know if I will be able to include this within the limits of the project so I wanted to share to Tumblr instead. It does not seem to be widely understood how much yonic imagery there is in the series and how important that is to the intended message.
For starters Kyubey is a walking uterus. The name of his species is literally Incubator (an enclosed apparatus providing a controlled environment for the care and protection of premature or unusually small babies; an apparatus used to hatch eggs or grow microorganisms under controlled conditions). He creates egg-shaped Soul Gems, and deposits the Grief Seeds back into his little receptacle. Why does he have such a weird design with two sets of ears? The lower ‘ears’ with the separated ends are actually modelled off of what Fallopian Tubes look like.
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(Funny diagram but. It’s true! I’ll come back to this point at the end).
So then take this scene (thank god someone reuploaded it to YouTube):
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“And you think a shit-for-brains hoe is going to be making that much in ten years? That body ain’t gonna last forever, you know.” “And then you dump ‘em, and they get all whiny!”
These two men are talking about the short term relationships they have with women, using them for their bodies and treating them like shit, and then dumping them immediately after - not understanding or caring as to how this upsets them.
It consistently baffles me how many people will completely throw out feminist readings of Madoka Magica. ‘Readings’ shouldn’t even be used - this is the main text of the goddamn show! You are free to argue that it failed at its message, or that the application was problematic, but for this scene in particular to fly over your head makes me discount opinions immediately.
Anyway, where have we heard this rhetoric before? “That body ain’t gonna last forever” - a young Magical Girl is always destined to turn into the Wicked Witch. “When you dump em’, they get all whiny!” - it is a Magical Girl at the peak of her despair who turns into a Witch, and Kyubey cannot and does not care for their human emotion.
The men cycle through their ‘hoes’ like Kyubey cycles through Magical Girls to get whatever his species supposedly needs to continue the universe.
I’m going to cut a break here for TW discussions of metaphorical rape and pregnancy involving minors, but this portion of the post is important.
Kyubey completely violates the concept of informed consent when he creates his magical girls - though he always argues that he did ask, and it’s in fact their fault (as fourteen year old girls) to not ask further questions.
Taking his form as a uterus alongside the yonic imagery of the show, it is implied that Kyubey has in some way ‘raped’ the girls. This is most evident in Sayaka’s arc; her insistence that becoming a Magical Girl has made her spoiled and that Kyousuke wouldn’t want to even kiss a girl like her.
Their transformations into witches further the idea that they have been ‘spoiled’, but also symbolize their transformation into adult women. Women who are ‘too adult’, and whose bodies are no longer attractive or useful to create babies anymore.
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Goddess Madoka is even depicted as pregnant in the full Magia ending.
I feel like you could reason within all this symbolism that there’s a metaphor for specifically the coerced pregnancy and mothership of women. Something often considered the ‘ideal state’ for women and as you will see many conservatives argue, the necessary thing to continue society. In their minds, the subjugation of anyone they assign as women to these roles is necessary for society as they know it to continue for the imaginary people of the future who do not even exist yet.
Kyubey refers to the Magical Girls as cattle. He is there to help incubate and hatch the witch, and then throw the magical girl to the dust afterwards as she dies no longer useful. These girls are sacrifices to a far-off future that Kyubey promises them, he tells them that if no Magical Girls existed to hatch into Witches, humanity would not last long enough to see itself to the stars.
The incubator and his design, the soul gems and grief seeds, the pregnant madoka, the discussions about men liking their eggs a particular way by their homeroom teacher, it’s all very consistent. I’m not sure if my prospective readers have ever considered this within Madoka Magica - but try seeing it from this angle.
I didn’t find a way to work this into the post, but in addition: take the ancient myth of the wandering womb. This was the belief that so called over-emotional women were suffering from a condition where their uterus was moving in ways all across their bodies. It morphed into the more modern usage of female hysteria; hysteria coming from hystera- the Greek word for uterus. Kyubey thinks of the girls as constantly overreacting and overemotional. Hysterical.
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everythingelseisextra · 8 months
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Lingering In Doorways
Part Nine: First Time
Description: After a week of recovering from your confession, you return to see Tommy. Warnings: References to rape and trafficking, language, brief mention of self harm Word Count: 2565 Tag List: @babayaga67 @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul
Talking about it awakens something in you, something that had been hibernating for years. A stagnate, deep-rooted fear raises its ancient head in you, and, for once, you don’t know what to do to quiet it. You push it away, shove it into the corner of your mind, and it creeps back within minutes. You’re feeding the horses and there are hands on your body, running down your hips, touching your breasts, feeling you. You’re trying to sleep and you’re back in those grimey hotel rooms, lying in bed while a client drips out of you, tears in your bleary eyes. You’re getting up in the morning to face the gray on your own, and the horses look at you with their empathic, liquid eyes, and you know that they know. They’re particularly gentle with you these days. Even the newer ones don’t bolt wildly the way they used to. 
The part of you that’s hurt is young, and so you want comfort, want to be held and coddled and told it was all just a bad dream. You want to be told why it happened, that there’s some larger meaning to it all. There isn’t. Nothing bad comes with a greater meaning, you have to make it yourself. And, for you, your meaning is the horses, those half-feral freaks of nature you so adore. 
Some nights, when it’s particularly bad and you’re shaking in the darkness of the cold kitchen, tears squeezed from your eyes and fingernails tearing into your own skin, you wrap his coat around you. It’s warm, and it smells of whiskey and cigarettes and some other scent that’s unique to him, clean and vaguely sweet. And you stare at the phone and remember the night he called you for help, and you wonder what he’d do if you did the same, looking for a reason. 
You get to know your own heartbeat these days. You learn how it skips a beat before you fall into the chasm of your own mind. You learn how to slow it down, burying your face in a horse’s mane and breathing deeply, the scent grounding, bringing you out of the world that lives in your memories, grungy and shadowed. Hands shaking, eyes a little puffier than before, you relearn to master your own fear, to coax it back to softness like you do with the horses. 
A week later, when you’re ready, you go to see him again. There’s no guilt in you as you make your drive. You didn’t abandon him. You needed to rest, to withdraw back into the quiet nothing that keeps you safe, and then you could face the world again. A knife sits heavy in your pocket, your assurance that you will fight back, that you will not lie there and let it happen like you used to. Your body is worth fighting for. 
You walk down the hallway of the hospital alone, watching the doors until you come to his. One of your hands stays in your pocket around the hilt of your knife, the other is wrapped around your abdomen. Cold air washes over you. You sigh, and feel the familiar jolt of your heart, a precursor. You stand in front of his door and breathe, leaning your head against the chilled door, the hand that rests on your belly feeling the rise and fall. Chasing off your demons with even breathing seems too simple to you, but, inevitably and with patience, it works. 
You lift your head and knock on the door. A muffled call to come in responds, and with a trembling hand, you push it open and step inside, closing the door behind you. . 
His cool, clear eyes flick over you and he stands from his bed, his expression unreadable. Arms crossed against his chest, head tilted slightly, he appears defensive, as if ready for an attack. You stare back, unwilling to remove your hand from your pocket. You are armed, and you want him to know it, just in case. You stand in silence for a moment, considering each other, mirror images distorted.
He breaks first. “You decided to come back.”
“I said I would.” You refuse to wrench your eyes from him, refuse to be the one to shatter the contact between you. 
“And it took you a week.” 
“Yes. I needed time.”
“While you took your time, I relearned how to walk and sat in this room while my fucking family went on without me.” His voice threatens to boil over from the usual even, steady tone. 
“I couldn’t have come. I wanted to, I did, but I couldn’t. I don’t always have the easiest time, Thomas.” Your hand tightens over the grip of the knife. 
“No.” His voice softens slightly, though his shoulders remain drawn back, his eyes unbroken from yours. “You don’t.”
You release a slow breath, trying to relax yourself. Your grip stays taught. “The horses are done. I can stay as long as you like tonight.”
His brow furrows and he says nothing, his eyes moving over your face, trying to read you as you are him. Something about his expression, the way his head tilts, maybe, or how he looks at you with such a light touch that you’ve never seen before, makes your jaw tighten. 
“What?” You step forward. “Talk, Shelby.” 
“You’re brave, coming back here.” 
You scoff. “Is that a threat?” 
“No.” He straightens, eyes narrowing a moment. 
“Stop looking at me like that.” Your voice hardens. You take another step towards him, trying to balance out the amount of space you take up, the scales shifting in his direction even with him standing still. 
“How am I looking at you?” 
“Like I’m some kind of tragedy. Like you’ll break me if you look too hard.” You drop the arm you have wrapped around yourself to gesture meaninglessly. “You can’t break me and you promised not to treat me different. You promised.” 
He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “You told me, and it took a week away.”
“What’re you, worried we’re gonna run out of time?” Your demeanor softens slightly, dismay replaced with a kind of saddened curiosity.
“I had the rest of my life with Grace.” For the first time, your eyes break away from each other, and he looks up at the ceiling, fighting with something. “Until I didn’t.”
“I can’t make you any promises, but—”
“You can.” It’s the first time he’s interrupted you, the first time he’s butted in on your thoughts halfway through. He huffs out a breath. “You can promise me to linger in the doorways and keep— keep my coat in your house so I have an excuse.” 
You’re at a loss for words. He’s earnest. Asking you for something small that means something much, much larger. Something long-dead in you flickers back to life. 
“Okay,” you say quietly. “I promise to hesitate when we say goodbye, and I promise I’ll use what you’ve given me to fight off the cold.” 
He nods once, and the earnestness is gone, his eyes back on you, bold and bright and challenging. “You’ll stay the night here, then?”
“Yes.” Your words come slightly hoarse. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
“Good.” He sits back down on his bed, and you wander over to the wooden chair. “How’s Draco?”
“He’s good.”
The night dissolves into quiet conversation, small-talk and faint laughter. You’re calm, for the first time in a week. Having someone like him by your side, knowing that he wants you there, that he worries about losing you, gives you a sense of protection, like only around him can you let your guard down completely. He has your back. He has your back in a way that no one has since you were a kid, and this time, your bond has been built not out of fear and necessity, but out of mutual respect, and, to be honest, out of loneliness. He knows who you are and has not looked away, has not faltered in his treatment of you. 
You look at him and you see the part of yourself you always wished you could be; brazzen and bold, strong and solid, a fighter. And, undoubtedly, you see an echo of the trauma you’ve endured, buried somewhere in him. Like yours, his mind wanders on the edge, on a precipice of sand and insane, a sublime image of self-destruction and anxious megalomania combined. You don’t know him the way he knows you. You won’t force it out of him. But you meet his eyes while you talk, and you catch bits and pieces of who he is. 
Freezing night air fills the room. The moon is high in the sky, and you’re still talking about nothing, still trying to burn the darkness away. You discuss methods of training horses, the complexities of their psychology, the fear that runs through every racehorse that they’ll be forced yet again to be pushed beyond what their bodies are capable of. You talk about his son, about how raising a child really isn’t all that different from horses, how Charlie has his father’s intelligence but his late mother’s reserve. You gently breach the subject of Grace, asking who she was, and you get a short but informative response. 
“She was a spy who forgot which side she was on.” 
You don’t ask about her again. 
As the night settles over you and exhaustion hits, you begin to shiver, your body on the wooden chair unable to keep itself warm. You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, trying to bundle into yourself. Tommy, laying back in his bed, turns his head to raise an eyebrow at you. 
“I’ll have them bring you a cot.” He starts to sit up, but you stop him. 
“Used to sleep on a hard wooden floor, this isn’t bad.” You roll your sore shoulders. “Just… kind of cold.”
“It is.” He glances down at the bed he lays in, then starts to remove the only blanket. “Here.”
“I don’t need…” You sigh and take it. “Now you’ll be cold. All you’ve got is a sheet.”
“I’ll ask for more.”
“No, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Nurses work nights.”
“I know. I just—” You shake your head and hand him back the blanket. “Take it. I’ll survive.” 
His eyes flick over you, that discerning look that’s trying to measure his chances. “I can take the chair.”
“Shut up, you have a fractured skull.” 
His lips twitch up. “You could have a cot and blankets, and you insist on the wooden chair.”
“I’m a masochist. It’s in my nature,” you deadpan, staring him dead in the eye. Betraying you, your lips echo his, twitching into a small smile, then a big one. “I just would hate to take their attention away from people who really need it.”
His eyes travel away from you to the bed he lays on.It’s not large, but it’s not small, either, made to have space for someone to maneuver a broken body on. He stares at it, then looks back at you. 
“No.” You follow his thought process. 
“Why not?”
“Because.” You look away, your heart jolting. 
“Not a good answer.” 
“Because what if I wake up and you’re—” You swallow hard. “I don’t trust you for that.” 
He blinks, and out of the edge of your vision, you see him sit up to look at you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and chills run down your spine, making you clutch the edge of the seat you sit on, looking for balance and security and grounding. He’s waiting for you to look back at him, and you can’t, so he speaks. 
“I can’t convince you, can I?”
You don’t respond, closing your eyes, head still turned away from him. You shiver, half from cold, half from the flooding of old memories cascading back into your mind. Men rutting on you, fingers gripping your hair and holding you back, your young body pushed to the furthest extent.
“You know what I used to do with Grace?” 
You shake your head, eyes still closed. 
“I’d keep my foot on her through the night. If she moved, I’d feel it. So I always knew if she got up, if she needed something.” 
You take a deep breath. “I don’t know. I haven’t been touched by someone in… years. Not even in the sexual sense, just in general. It always leads to something I don’t want. Always.” 
His voice is gentle. “I will do you no harm, love.” 
You look back at him, trying to keep your words steady. “I have a knife in my pocket. If… if you move towards me, if you do anything, I will fucking use it. I spent too long not defending myself.” 
He nods thoughtfully, sitting up and moving back in the bed, allowing you space. You stand up and sit on the edge, looking over at him, thinking. 
“I want you facing away from me.” 
He complies. 
You hesitate, then, slowly, lower yourself onto the bed. There’s less than a foot of space between you. You lie with your knife in your hand, held out loosely in the middle of you and him, facing him. Your breath shudders in your chest and you can’t find a way to close your eyes, can’t steady yourself, can’t stop your heart from pounding. 
“Would it help if I gave you my gun?”
“Do you… do you sleep with a loaded gun?” 
“Under the pillow.”
“Jesus.” 
“He has nothing to do with it.”
You manage a weak smile. “Yes. That would make me feel better.”
He sits up and lifts his pillow, revealing a sleek black weapon underneath. He twists to slide it over to you.  
You let out a slow breath. The last time you had a gun was when you were young, terrified, trying desperately to protect yourself. 
“Don’t fucking shoot it. Put it under your pillow.”
“I won’t kill you on accident, I promise.” You move it under your pillow as he asks and lay back down. “I know how to use a gun. The safety is on?”
“Yes.”
You nod, closing your eyes only to have your heart jump into your throat. You open them. Tommy still faces away from you. You can feel the warmth of him, see the outline of his skin underneath the pale white shirt he wears. Breathe, you think to yourself. Be brave. 
It takes you several hours to fall asleep. Tommy stays silent and still, and you can’t tell whether he’s awake or not. But, eventually, you can’t help but slip off. The night air is cool on your body, but you’re warmed by his closeness, soothed by the steadiness of his breathing.
It’s a fight to trust. You have to choose with every moment that passes not to flinch away, but stay steady in the face of your past, refusing to allow it to hold you back. You have to choose to believe him when he says he will not harm you. You have to choose to step forward, to tell the stories that hurt you, even if you have to get drunk to do so. And, inevitably, you have to choose to let go of the knife. 
It has been a beautiful fight. 
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Prerequisite
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Masterlist
Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You attempt to move on from your time with Professor Hansen, but can't seem to shake the past.. (plus sized reader)
Characters: Ransom Drysdale, some Lloyd Hansen
A note on reader characters:
For clarity,  each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Flora, previously featured in Below Average. This fic also features characters from various installments.
Note: Finally got this on paper.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖
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You cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at the front of the lecture hall. It's your last choice in elective but the only one you could get to pad out your schedule. Law. Hardly riveting stuff.
What's more intriguing is the professor. No, no, you haven't acquired a taste for them, if anything Hansen taught you to be wary of them. The very lesson that has you glaring down at Professor Barber, waiting for his first slip.
You're not clever by any means, you're just the only one looking for the signs. The same ones you saw in Tweed at your first meeting, those that you catch in yourself, and the other girls who won't say the truth aloud. 
Brownie, that's the one. You see the way he looks at her and you note how she stays after class, every week. Only three weeks so far but a pattern is a pattern.
You twist your pen, the nib poking out, then do it again, retracting it. The clicking noise forms a tempo at your listless fidgeting. You have a study date tonight with the girls, what’s one more? You’re forming a habit of taking on lost souls, yourself just another wisp floating in the void.
You scribble down the date for your next quiz, your mind hardly processing the words as you guide the pen. You’re trying to plot your approach. You think you have an idea.
As Professor Barber dismisses class, you slide your notebook into your bag and hike it up onto your shoulder. At the edge of the row, as usual, you quickly descend as Brownie stays in her seat, waiting and watching her feet. You catch the small glances aimed in her direction from the man behind the podium.
You take out your phone and quickly text Cookie; ‘you got room for one more?’
You don’t wait for an answer. You don’t care. You’ve made up your mind, it’s a warning, not a question.
“Hey,” you come around the front row. The girl doesn’t seem to hear you. Or she’s ignoring you, “um, Brownie?”
She looks up, startled. She sends a look towards Barber but you ignore him. You cross your arms and sway, your skirt stirring around your legs.
“Remember me?” You ask, “you lent me your pen?”
“Oh, uh, I remember,” she squeaks, her voice thin and raw, as if she never uses it, “hi.”
“Um, so,” you try to sound casual, “I’m not really a law student. English,” you touch your chest and smile, “and I think I could use a study buddy, if you’re interested?”
“Er, oh?” Her brows draw together, “I don’t know…” she scratches her neck, another peek at the professor, “I–”
“Do you have plans? Or maybe you already have someone to study with,” you look away and frown, “sorry, I just figured I’d ask. I need someone to help me make sense of all this. I’m totally lost.”
There’s a subtle rumble, a noise you likely wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know to listen for it. You don’t even glance back at Barber as you hear him packing up. You sit in the chair next to Brownie and smile.
“I just figured you’re like, the smartest person in the class, and I need this grade to bring my average up. Please?”
She chews her lip and plays with the high collar of her turtleneck. She hides beneath her lashes, shrugging before she manages a tiny nod. Her fingers flutter and she shivers nervously.
“I can help,” she presses her fingers to the ribbed fabric of her shirt, “sure, I…”
“Me and my friends are meeting tonight, we’re getting pizza,” you chirp, “wanna tag along?”
“Friends?” She bats her eyes at you frightfully.
“Oh, don’t worry, they’re all super friendly and they’ll love you.”
“I… I don’t know. I’m not very…” she speaks so quietly you have to lean in to hear her.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say much,” you assure her, “Cookie always bakes way too many brownies. You could help us finish them, huh?”
She looks terrified. Her mouth scrunches and shifts back and forth as she measures her options. You know exactly what she’s thinking. That man will be disappointed. Well, let him be. Unless he wants to step forward and admit that he’s fucking a goddamn student.
“Hm, okay, but… just for a little. I can’t stay very long.”
“Just until I figure out what actus reus means, alright?” You stand and send a sharp look towards the professor. He quickly dips his chin down in feigned concentration as he looks over his notes. Not today, fucker.
“Okay,” she gets up and lifts a crochet bag, her hand shaking as she tucks away her laptop in the slouchy purse, “um, I’m sorry, but… I forgot your name.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you wait for her to pass you before walking at her side towards the door. She’s still hesitant and reluctant as she looks over her shoulder, “Flora.”
💮
“This is Brownie,” you introduce the mousy addition to the girls as she tries to fade into the blue wall, “she’s in my law class.”
She doesn’t move. She just looks up with round eyes as the others cheerily call out their welcome, already clustered around the table amid coffee cups, laptops, and a few baked goods. The scent of cinnamon mingles with the stale caffeine.
“Welcome, Brownie,” Muse gives both of you a start as she appears at the girl’s other shoulder, “I’m Muse! Oh, you have wise eyes.” She flutters around the girl, a boa around her shoulders, “you would look wonderful in jade. Yes, it would highlight your undertones.”
Brownie frowns and mutters, but you can’t tell if it's a thank you or just a whimper.
“She says I’m a sapphire type,” you remark as you wave her away from the door, “you can toss your coat with ours,” you motion to the bench bench piled with outerwear, “then I’ll introduce you to the rest… they’re not as bouncy as Muse.”
Brownie gives up her dark gray coat and steps out of her plain boots. She dresses in a very simple way. Turtle necks, corduroys, nothing with much shape or structure. Her style can be best described as part of the wall.
“So,” you walk just ahead of her. She stays behind you as if trying to hide, “Tweed, Foxy, Sunny,” you point out the three girls at the table, “you met Muse,” you look at the artsy wraith fluttering around the counter, “and Cookie, our host.” 
The woman in question puts down a plate of sugar cookies, “hi, nice to meet you! I’ll find an extra chair.”
Brownie doesn’t say a word. You realise it might be a bit overwhelming. She reminds you of Tweed in that way. You point her to a chair and assure her you’ll take whatever Cookie comes up with. She sits, hugging her bag in her lap as she stares at the table.
Foxy gets up as you head for the counter, you pause and look back at Brownie, “you want some tea? Something to drink?”
She chews her lip before she answers, “water, please, if that’s okay.”
You nod and go to the cupboard. Foxy comes up next to you and leans on the counter as you shift to pull out the water jug from the fridge. You come back to her as she keeps her voice low.
“What’s up with that one?”
“Law professor, I think,” you mutter, “could barely get her here.”
“Fuck, another one, huh?”
“Uh, yeah, you know, shitty men everywhere,” you fill the glass, “I brought her here to try to forget all that. Like the rest of us.”
“Sure thing,” she taps the countertop with her nails and pushes off.
You put the jug back and take the water over to Brownie as Cookie emerges with a small white stool. You accept it, the seat lower than the rest so that you feel like a kid at the table. You pull out your laptop and open it up. Your phone slides out with it and you catch it as notifications flash on the screen.
You tap your thumb to expand the preview; Insta, emails, and a text that neither surprises or interests you. Professor Dillhole’s message is swiped away without reading a single word. You got your grade and now you’re done with him. He doesn’t seem to get the hint.
“So, Brownie, you’re in law? Are you going to be a lawyer?” Foxy asks.
Brownie shrugs and nods. You wonder for a moment how she’ll manage a courtroom when she can barely give a vocal answer. Well, she has lots of time to figure that out.
“That’s really cool,” you say, “you know, I don’t have the mind for all that. I can’t really sort out one act from the rest. I’m more into bigger narratives than the tiny details.”
She looks at you, still hugging her bag. She’s ready to leave at any moment.
“Why don’t you stay a while?” You poke her bag, “how about we compare notes? I’m sure I missed all the important stuff. This tort gibberish is doing my head in.”
She puts her chin down and slowly lifts the flap of her bag. She slides out her laptop and gently lowers the bag between her feet. She opens the lid, almost reluctant, and her desktop comes to life. You see the email in the corner right before the notif flicks away. A.Barber… Mmm.
For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. You hope your impromptu invitation doesn’t cost her anything. That he doesn’t hold it against her. You should’ve thought of that sooner.
“Let me find…” she trails off, her finger running over the trackpad.
You wait patiently. No, you don’t feel bad. She deserves this. Like the rest of you, she needs a place to get away. Just a single space where she doesn’t have to be crushed under his thumb.
💮
You sit outside of Dean Drysdale’s office. His secretary types away at her keyboard and you twirl your phone in your grip. It’s mostly a paperweight these days as you ignore almost every message that comes in. Blocking didn’t work on that jag off.
You jiggle your foot anxiously. This meeting is important. You really need this scholarship and through the grace of your hard work, and the regrettable cooperation of a particular professor, you’ve met all the requirements. The last piece, an interview with the dean.
The clock ticks, drawing your attention in the stagnant office. It’s five after. The dean is running late. That doesn’t really matter, he can do whatever he wants. But you’re early and that can only help in his consideration.
You hear muffled voices near the other side of the door. Shadows darken the frosted glass emblazoned with the dean’s name and credentials. You sit up straight but try not to look too eager. The door opens and your heart falls into your ass. Fuck, not this guy.
“Friday,” Dean Drysdale claps Lloyd’s back as they emerge from the office.
“Can’t wait,” Lloyd returns but his eyes are on you, “ah, sorry,” he says to you, “didn’t mean to keep him so late.”
“No problem, professor,” you stand and grip the strap of your bag, masking your disgust with a smile, “Dean Drysdale,” you greet the other man, “nice to meet you. I’m Flora.”
“The one and only,” he doesn’t offer his hand, “looks like you’re running behind so better get started.” He points you into his office, “later, Hansen.”
He tosses the last remark over his shoulder as he turns to follow you through the door. You enter and hover across from his desk. You hate to be presumptuous. He shuts the door with a click.
“Sit,” he orders tersely as he rounds the desk and falls heavy into the leather chair.
You lower yourself. Your nerves are wily, especially after seeing Professor Hansen. You had no idea he was close with the dean.
“Hansen speaks highly of you,” he begins, “as do the rest of your professors.”
“Oh, I, that’s great.”
“So, I have thirty candidates. Why should I choose you?” He leans back, elbow on the armrest, posture nonchalant as he swivels.
“Um, well, I work hard. I keep my average up where it needs to be. I have gotten involved in quite a few extracurriculars, I helped with the library bakesale and–”
“Boring. Got it. That’s all in your application,” he dismisses, “just like all the other ones. Bunch of filler. But why you?”
You’re speechless. You prepared for this but you feel as if you fell into this from thin air. You don’t know what he wants to hear.
“How many parties have you been to?” He asks suddenly.
“What?” You can’t help your surprise.
“Come on. You’re a young coed. I know how it is. So, let’s narrow it down. Fall term, how many?”
You squint and look at the wall, thinking. You’re not much of a partier. You twiddle your fingers and count in your head.
“Four, maybe,” you push your shoulders up. “I don’t really… I mostly just spend my spare time with my friends–”
“Are they hot?” He chuckles and sits up, your mouth falling open. “Relax, I hate these things. So uptight,” he rolls his shoulders as he wheels closer to the desk and plants his elbows, “at least you're honest. The last six freshmen that sat there insisted on a big O. Think they would see the plaque and realise I’m not stupid.”
“Well, I… yeah,” you chew on the tip of your tongue. You really don’t know how to proceed. “I brought a portfolio of my essays–”
“No time for that,” he waves his hand at you, “think I got the picture.”
“Oh,” you frown.
He stares at you, poking his cheek with his tongue as his brows draw together. He hums and sits back, once more swiveling back and forth. He tilts his head and clucks.
“You’ll hear from my secretary,” he declares at last.
“That’s it?” You gulp.
“Yeah, whatever, I got about five more of these today and I need a fucking coffee,” he lifts his feet onto his desk. “Be a doll and send in Sienna when you leave.”
“Um, okay,” you stand slowly, “thanks for your time.”
He doesn’t respond as he takes out his phone. You hide your unease and leave. As you emerge you see the name card on the secretary’s desk. Sienna.
“Er, he told me to send you in,” you approach.
She looks up at you and snaps her gum, “great.”
She gets up as she rolls her eyes and you swiftly march past the desk. You don’t understand what just happened. Did you fuck it up? What did Hansen say? Oh my fucking good, you swear if he–
Your thoughts race ahead of your feet as they carry you without intention. You find yourself in the stairwell, stunned and confused. You turn down the first flight only to dodge out of the way of a figure coming up. You yipe as you find yourself shoved into the corner, Lloyd’s arms outstretched to pen you in.
His hands brace the painted brick as he smirks down at you, “hey, sweet cheeks, long time, no suck.”
You curl your lip at him and snarl, “get away from me.”
You shove on his chest and he retracts his hands, grabbing your wrists. You struggle with him but he easily pushes your hands up, pinning them to the wall. He leers as looms in front of you, his eyes scanning down your body.
“Damn, I forgot how good you look in those skirts. Panties or nah?”
“Fuck off–”
“Always looked better around your waist–”
“I said get the fuck off of me. I’ll scream–”
“I’d love to hear it,” he snickers, “what happened to us, flower? We were doing great. Living life, fucking hard.”
“You’re an animal–”
“We had a good thing, the whole professor-with-benefits gig worked for us, didn’t it? It sure as hell loosened you up. Look at you, all wound tight–”
You snap your teeth at him and he recoils, barely saving his nose from the chomp. He cackles and keeps you trapped, squeezing your wrists tighter. His laughter rolls out to a growl.
“You know, if you get that scholarship, they need two professor’s to sign off on it… but you know, I don’t just put my name on anything–”
“You’re pathetic.”
“I fucking am when I got blue balls, honey,” he scoffs, “just touch em. A little bit.”
You grit your teeth and throw your knee up. You yank your hands free and shoulder past Lloyd as he bends and grips his crotch. He chokes on his breath as he leans against the wall. You bluster away as quickly as you can.
“Not like that,” he gurgles as you charge down the stairs, dizzy as you turn down the next flight. 
So much for that scholarship.
💮
You stare at the C circled in red on your last quiz. Law isn’t your forte, that’s clear. Your GPA and hopes for that scholarship are dwindling in that simple little letter. You look up at the front of the lecture hall as Professor Barber reclaims the podium, preparing to take up the answers as he does every other week.
You sit closer than before. You’re always sure to take the seat next to Brownie and she has yet to tell you to stop. Something about her though suggests that she won’t ever do that. No has been erased from her vocabulary.
You don’t miss the Professor’s eyes as they flit up to your study buddy but quickly meet your own. He darts them away, caught. You wonder, however, if your middling grade has something to do with that. Oh well, you won’t regret doing the right thing.
As you open your laptop, an email pops up in the corner. ‘On Behalf of Dean R. Drysdale’. You click on it before you can stop yourself. You’re holding your breath. You read it slowly.
‘Schedule a follow up for the dean’s decision’.
What? That’s not an answer. Fuck. Why can’t they just put it right there? Yes or no. You have to stop yourself from slamming your laptop shut. You grab your quiz and rest it over your keyboard. You look over at Brownie, she stares at the paper in her hand. She got an A, as always.
“Good job,” you whisper.
“Mmm, yeah,” she returns as she drops the quiz onto her folding desk. “He’s a good teacher…”
“Sure,” you accept dryly.
She glances at you but says nothing. You hate to be sharp with her but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. You’re just smart enough to know to be cautious. You can only be there for her when she needs you. It would be too risky to do anything else. And not fair to Brownie, that man could destroy her career. You’ve been her, you just hope she finds her way out.
“Alright, let’s get started,” Barber calls out, quieting the class, “it seems we need a lot of review on case law.”
💮
The hour is unexpected but you don’t think much of it. A dean is busier than most and you can’t help but imagine that Drysdale is even less elated to be meeting at such an off-time. Seven in the evening on a Friday is prime time, even for those outside the coed population.
You show up to an empty office. Sienna is gone, the place desolate. The vibe is off. Something about it reminds you of another meeting. No, this isn’t Hansen. Still, you’re on edge, vigilant as you approach the dean’s door, an amber glow through the frosted glass.
You knock and cross one arm over your chest, clutching your upper arm. You sway as you wait. Deja vu paralyses you on the spot. It can’t be. It can’t happen twice. This is about the scholarship.
The door opens and Drysdale steps back as he gives a flippant greeting, “come in.”
He has a glass in hand, a dark brown liquid in marbled crystal. He sips as the door falls open. You step inside and look around the office, the framed degree behind his chair and the several photographs placed around them; a previous dean with his imperious features, and a large house with a rustic landscape crowded around it. You hover at the threshold.
“Close the door,” he sits heavily, “these old buildings are drafty as–” he stops himself and smirks. 
He drains the last of his drink, liquor by your measure, and puts it on the marble coaster. You shut the door and sit, just like last time. You can’t help but be slightly irked to think he brought you all the way here to issue you a rejection.
“So, top three,” he points a finger gun at you as he slumps in the same lackadaisical way, “Flora… you’re a star. Shining reviews. Can’t say my professors ever said anything nice about me but you… you even got Hansen singing your praises.”
“Oh,” you utter.
“I’ve known him a while. We were in the same frat, you know? He was a senior when I was a freshman, hazed me real good but look how things turned out,” he leans an elbow on the armrest and cradles his chin. He watches you. “All these years and I never heard him say anything nice about a fucking student.”
You’re put off by the obscenity. Further, upended by his history with Lloyd. What does that have to do with anything?
“You know, he’s all about self-discipline but you get a few scotches down his gullet and he’s like an open book. Also…” he raises a finger, “leaves his phone unlocked.”
You try not to let that suspicion turn to panic. He can’t know. Even if he did, it’s not your fault. He should be talking with Hansen, not you. He’s the one abusing his position.
“You let him fuck you in his car,” he sits up and laughs, his hand on his stomach, “looking at you, I never would’ve guessed.”
“What? How–”
“I mean, he was hitting it from quite the angle so I don’t blame you for not noticing the phone in his front pocket…”
“No.”
“Yes,” he cackles. “Listen, sweetie, it’s not the first time it’s happened. Some girls just don’t have anything else to offer, so who am I to be mad if they use what they got.”
“I’m not– I’m not like that. He made me–”
“Oh, I’m sure the promise of an A plus helped,” he scoffs as he lets his hand drift down his stomach, “so what can a scholarship get me?”
He gropes himself through his russet coloured pants. Your throat constricts as you clutch your purse tight in your lap. You’re rigid, alight in horror and shame. Of course Lloyd didn’t walk away without something.
“I’ve waited twenty years for this,” he plants his feet.
“No, I’m not– I’m not doing this again.”
You stand and Drysdale rips his hand away from his crotch, snapping his fingers, “with that video, I could take you to the review board and have you kicked out. Not only that, all your credits would be invalidated.”
You swallow and wince. No, this can’t be happening. Again. You’re stronger than this. You’re worth more than these men’s dicks.
“So, sweetie pie,” he reaches forward and takes his phone off his desk, “we’re gonna make a nice little video for Hansen and show him how it’s really done.”
You shudder and hug yourself, “I…” your throat is dry, your heart hollow. What other choice do you have? You’ll lose everything. “I’ll do it, but no video. Please.”
“My rules. I am the dean and you are… the slutty coed.” He tuts, “mmm, classic Pornhub fodder.” He taps the screen of his phone, “let’s go. Get your clothes off.”
He aims the lens at you. You look at the floor. You can’t move.
“Please, turn it off.”
“Get your fucking clothes off,” he repeats, “I want to remind that fuckface what he’s missing out on.”
You dig your nails into the back of your arms then let go. You keep your head down as you lift the strap of your purse over your head and throw it in the chair behind you. You unzip your coat and shrug it off. The room rings in your ear and blurs in your vision. Your breaths are shallow and painful. Your skin is buzzing.
Your coat falls and you pull down the straps of the denim dress you wear over a flowered blouse. You shimmy it past your waist and peek up for just a minute. Drysdale bites his thumb as he records you.
You quickly tear away your gaze and continue. You unbutton the blouse and turn as you fight to free your wrists from the cuffs. Goosebumps speckle over your skin. You close your eyes and ball your hands before pushing your fingers wide. You touch the top of your stockings.
“You can leave those on, cheeks.”
You gulp and retract your hands. You pause and turn back to face the desk.
“Tits out, ass out, go on.”
No wonder he’s tight with Lloyd. Birds of a feather. You reach back to undo your bra and sling it onto the chair. You hook your thumbs in your panties and step out of them.
“I always liked an extra helping,” Drysdale taunts, “her cups overfloweth… is that Shakespeare?”
You don’t answer. You fight the urge to hide behind your arms. You raise your head. You have a morsel of dignity left in you.
“Come here,” he demands, “I wanna fuck those tits.”
You cringe but obey. If Lloyd taught you anything it was to just get it over with. You round the desk as he opens his fly. He pulls himself out above the zipper, playing with himself, rolling his thumb over his tip as he growls.
“Knees, baby, I’m sure you know the drill,” he snickers. You get down as he wiggles his dick in your direction, “push those things together.” You grab your chest and smush it together. He taps your tits with his tip and laughs, enjoying his mocking.
He guides himself down under your tits and slides between. He cups a hand around yours as he refocuses the phone on you. He rocks the chair back, moving his pelvis as he slowly starts to thrust. He groans at the friction. You clench your jaw tight, dreaming of biting off the end of his overinflated worm.
His breath hitches as he fucks faster, the bottom of his wolly sweater rolling up his muscles stomach. You could just punch him right there. You could grab him by his balls and twist. No, that would only assure you of your scholarly doom.
“Look at me,” he demands.
You snap your eyes open as he shoves the phone in your face. You shy away but he keeps fucking, turning the lens down towards your tits. He gives a breathy laugh and it trickles into a moan. Weak and pathetic.
“Shit, yeah, that’s good,” he groans, “give it a kiss, baby.”
You grit back your disgust. You bend your neck and kiss his tip as it pokes through.
“With tongue.”
You force your tongue out as his tip pops up again and you swirl around it, planting a sloppy kiss on the salty flesh. He twitches and hisses. He pulls his hand away from yours and grips the chair.
“That’s good, get up,” he snarls, “turn around.”
You suck in a chestful of air and do as he says. You get to your feet and turn away. He grabs your hips and rolls closer. 
“Bend over.”
You bend and rest your elbows on the edge of the desk. He angles you down into his lap, your body stretched between the two. He rubs his dick against your ass, once more tapping. He kneads the flesh. You shake your head as he tilts you further down.
He prods at your cunt and you can’t help but clench. He pushes against your entrance, tight and burning as he grunts, bulling his way past the resistance with a slap against your thigh. He latches onto your hip and pulls you down another inch.
“It’s all you. You just gotta fuck that scholarship outta me.”
You bite your lip and force yourself to take him. You hip down until you reach your limit but before you can pull back up, he grabs on and holds you in place.
“More.”
You sink your teeth in deeper, urging yourself lower until it’s unbearable. You take him in fully and let out a shaky breath through your nose. You raise your ass as he lets you go. He lets out a raspy noise and you repeat the motion. You keep your motion mechanical and slow, trying to adjust.
“Faster. I wanna see you jiggle.”
You roll your eyes and claw at your arm, arms crossed over the desk as you rock your weight over him. The flesh claps loudly as his chair squeaks with each descent. He groans and gulps, hand wandering over your flesh, along your thighs, across your ass, up your back.
“Fuck, look at her go,” he snarks, “you work that dick. Just like that.”
You close your eyes and let the scowl mar your features. You speed up. He’s almost there. You can feel the tension, you can hear it in his voice.
“Ah,” he pinches you meanly, “stop!”
You try to keep going but he pushes you off of him. He growls and the chair jars as he sits up. You puff and peek around your shoulder at him.
“I’m cumming in your fucking mouth,” he cradles his balls, half-keeled over. “Open the fuck up before I blow–”
You get back to your knees and glare at him. You won’t falter. You have nothing over these men but that. You lean your head back and open your mouth. He lets himself go and holds the camera over you.
“Well, not gonna finish itself.”
You grab him, roughly, and he grunts. A warning. You ease up and stroke him, placing your mouth by his tip. 
“Look into the camera, cheeks.”
You glare at the camera, you hope it can catch the sheer loathing radiating from you. You stroke him, squeezing harder and harder until he spasms and mewls. He spurts all over, missing your mouth and streaking up the bridge of your noises and across your brow, a few strings over your cheek. 
He gasps and clings to the chair as if he might slip out of it, the camera drooping with his arm. You let him go and wipe your slimy hand. You stand and snatch a tissue from the box on his desk and wipe the mess from your face. His heavy breaths fill the silence.
“Can I go?” You ask flatly.
“I got nothing else for you,” he spits out.
You refuse to look at him as you dress. He chuckles. You fight not to turn around and throw every single thing on his desk at him. You hate him. You hate Lloyd. But more, you hate yourself.
“Congratulations,” he says as you pick up your purse, “did I mention, paperwork went through yesterday.”
You whip around and stare at him. You quake with anger, eyes hot with unspent tears.
“Hey, even I got deadlines. Had to make the call last week.”
You take a step back. What the fuck? You stumble away, ready to scream, ready to strangle this man. For now, you’ll settle for never having to see him again.
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what-even-is-thiss · 7 months
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could you share your thoughts on Christianity and the lgbt community? Not in a like "'oh yeah well how are you this and that if you're REALLY Christian"' kind of way, I'm asking from the perspective of someone who's been struggling with their spirituality because I don't know how I can believe and god and also be gay. Feel free not to answer this though, you shouldn't have to explain yourself to random people every time you mention your religion
There’s not a lot of mentions of what we would consider to be homosexuality in the Bible. Paul mentions it most explicitly but there’s some important things to remember about Paul. First, he’s just some guy. He did important work spreading the religion but that doesn’t mean that he’s right about everything. Second, his only exposure to homosexuality likely came from the Roman elite. And the way they did it usually involved raping slave boys and hiring young prostitutes. They didn’t usually have same sex relations in the way we think of them now. Men didn’t generally have romantic relationships with each other into adulthood and a full adult citizen being passive during sex was considered to be scandalous. Any actual romantic relationships between adults of the same sex were likely kept secret or at least weren’t talked about loudly. So Paul is living in this environment. And people aren’t completely separate from the environments they live in.
For the most part stuff in the Bible that’s translated as condemning homosexuality is referring to certain cultural practices common in the Mediterranean at the time that we also wouldn’t like today. Such as pederasty, also known as a romanticized form of pedophilia that even people at the time in cultures that practiced it heavily criticized. Consenting adults often did have romantic or sexual relations together but they weren’t commonly open about it.
Overall, the Bible just doesn’t have much to say about liking someone of the same gender if you look at instances outside of things alluding to some of the worse stuff the Greeks and Romans did. So if the Bible doesn’t say much about it, that leaves it up to us to logically deduce our personal feelings about it.
Okay. So what are the two main commandments Jesus gives us? Love your neighbor as yourself, and love god with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Basically: love God, love others, love yourself. These are said to be the rules that all other commandments stem from and supersede all other commandments in terms of importance.
So. Does being queer stop you from loving God? Loving others? Loving yourself?
Science is real. It helps us learn more and more about the universe God created all the time and science has proven time and time again that being queer isn’t a choice and that people are happier when they live more authentically.
God made you the way you are. You cannot control whether you’re queer or not. So it’s not a mistake in you that can be “fixed”. If humans were made in the image of God, you too are an image of God. So some tiny part of God, however small, looks like you. All of you. Including the queer parts.
So then. Are you loving God? Including the parts of God that are like you? Are you loving your fellow humans? Including your fellow lgbt humans? Are you doing your best to love yourself? Every part of yourself?
I don’t take the Bible fully literally. You can’t. It contradicts itself constantly. But even if you did, the world it was written for and the society that made the oral traditions it was based on no longer exist. At least not in the exact same way they once did. What the Bible does have in it is stories that can give us examples and have informed the formation of our culture as Christians. Christianity has changed a lot over the last 2,000 years. Many forms of it have come and gone. Ultimately it’s up to us as modern Christians what kind of world we want to be apart of and contribute to and what culture we want to make among ourselves. I can’t pretend to know the true nature of God but I do know that God inspires me to reduce suffering and speak up for injustice where I can.
Ultimately your interpretation is up to you. But I personally don’t see needless self flagellation over something you can’t control as an act of justice or love. Just a form of self torture that’s ultimately not adding much to the world. Adding some of your own happiness to the world in my opinion isn’t a problem.
If you want to know how being queer has affected my faith, I’ve never doubted for a second that being lgbt+ is fine. To be honest I’ve been more afraid of secular society not accepting me than God. God and I have wrestled before, but almost never over that. I am how I am and if God didn’t want me to be this way he probably wouldn’t have flipped the gay switch in my brain.
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writersdrug · 7 months
Text
Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 1)
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Summary: Your "situation" with Ghost went sour, and to ensure that the two of you wouldn't tear the team apart with your fighting, Captain Price sells you to a different private company. You jump from group to group, not really fitting in anywhere, until a risky mission forces you and Konig to bond with each other. The both of you are inseparable.
It comes to light that someone's put a target on your back; you discovered classified information somewhere along hopping between Special Forces groups. The information leads to an issue much deeper and corrupted than anyone had imagined, leading KORTAC and SPECGRU to work together. You realize that time never healed anything, and things would only get worse between you and Ghost - and, now, Konig.
WARNINGS: writer only played COD once or twice, foul language, eventual smut, descriptive gore, angst, Google translate German, torture, violence, mentions of rape (not descriptive, after the fact)
Chapter warnings: mentions of smut (after the fact), foul language
Deep, rhythmic, warm breaths caressed the back of my neck. Simon’s arm was lazily draped over my waist and my hand rested on top of his. His other arm wrapped under and around my neck, holding my other hand loosely against my own shoulder. Our legs intertwined with each other’s, my back was pressed against his chest, and my soul reveled in the warmth that radiated from his being. A thin duvet was loosely draped over our bodies, doing little to keep us warm. Yet a thin layer of sweat still clung to our skin from our intense actions, only a few minutes ago.
I couldn’t help but smile as I thought back to our passion. Every taste was still lingering on my tongue; every touch and kiss and caress still left a blazing trail on my skin. I pulled Simon’s arm tighter around my waist and scooted my back against him. He let out a guttural sigh in response, massaging the skin over my stomach and sighing into my neck. He pushed himself closer to me and squeezed my hands.
“What’s on your mind, Simon?” I asked in a playful voice.
“Mm… what do you think?” he grumbled sleepily. My heart fluttered as he moved his hand down my waist and over my thigh, then back up to squeeze my hip. I arched my back against him, craving more of his touch.
I sighed contentedly. “I wish this didn’t have to end. God, Simon… I could lie here with you forever.” I kissed his arm that held my shoulder.
I waited for a response – So could I. I would never let you go. Why don’t we sleep in, get a late start tomorrow? Who cares if anyone sees you leaving my room? It’s about time people knew about us. A kiss. A squeeze. Even a grunt of acknowledgement. But he remained silent and unmoving, like he couldn’t give a response. Or that he didn’t want to.
An uneasiness settled in my stomach. I tried again, shifting my hips against him and letting out a small whimper, disguised as a yawn. I expected him to hold my hips and grind into me. However, he stayed completely still, forcing himself not to react.
I smiled to myself. He’s just worn out. It’s early in the morning, maybe he doesn’t have the energy to banter. I pushed the uneasy feeling away, assuming his lack of a response was due to something completely reasonable and normal. I forced myself to focus on the moment, the feelings of his warm skin on mine, his breaths on my neck-
Simon sighed. “Bonnie…” he started.
“Call signs now?” I quipped, rolling over to look at him. I did my best to stomp out the anxious flame in my stomach, although I couldn’t help the frown that creeped onto my face. “What, is it time for work already?”
I noticed his face was grim, somber. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His hand was slowly squeezing my hip, kneading the skin gently… he was thinking, turning over some mind-bending thought in his head. I gently placed my hand on the side of his face and directed it towards mine, yet he still refused to meet my gaze.
“Simon, what’s wrong?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. A foreboding sign of his next words.
“This was a mistake.”
My chest immediately felt constricted. For a second, I forgot to breathe. “What?” I pulled my hand away from him.
Simon’s arm left my waist and rested in between us. “Don’t get me wrong here… I loved what we had. You’re amazing in every sense of the word. But, sweetheart…“ he sighed, still looking away from me. “I think it’s gone a bit far, don’t you? It wasn’t even supposed to go on this long.”
Loved. I sat up, my eyes never leaving Simon’s despite the fact that he still wouldn’t look at me.
“We both said at the beginning that this was just for fun. But lately, I feel like you’ve… well, you treat it like we’re beyond that point, yeah? I mean, you’ve been acting like we’re a thing – maybe not outright, but the way you’re acting around everyone else, the way you’re acting around me in public… I’m starting to feel like it’s become more than that to you.”
“Why are you saying this now?” I asked. I knew the question was pointless. Was there ever a good time to say it?
Finally, Simon looked me in the eyes. There was a hint of regret and sincerity in his face. “I just think we need to end this now, before we get too… attached, to each other. Before we make any serious mistakes.”
Before… I felt my heart sink as I processed the words, and their meaning.
“Do you see what I’m sayin’ here?” he asked, now propped up on one shoulder. He looked at me with a pleading yet cautious gaze.
I stared blankly back, even though I couldn’t actually see him. All I could focus on was the devastating feeling in my gut. My mind began racing, my heart started pounding – and this painful sense of dread flooded my veins. I understood exactly what he was saying. Despite my body having an initial reaction, my brain was slower to process any impending emotions. Before… what does he mean ‘before’? Didn’t we get to that point already? Mistake? How long has he thought this? Has he been lying to me the whole time?
I quickly stopped my thoughts from unravelling in my head. No. No no no no no. I needed to get out of here before the pain could catch up to me.
I immediately rolled out of the makeshift bed – two cots pushed together against the wall with an extra layer of sheets underneath – and picked up my clothes that had been tossed across the floor. I have to go. I have to go before this hurts.
Ghost sat up quickly and scooted back against the wall. “Well, wait – don’t you wanna talk about this?”
“No.” was all I said as I pulled on my panties and sweatpants, making quick work of putting my bra back on. I suddenly felt naked – not in the way before, where I wanted Ghost to see and feel every inch of my skin. Now I felt ashamed, humiliated, ridiculous, stupid, stupid –
“Please, love- “ Ghost made his way from the bed and over to me. “ – you need to let me explain –“
I turned away from him as I finished pulling my shirt over my head. “No.” I said again, hopping in place as I rushed to put my socks on. The room was suddenly cold, making me want to curl in on myself and hide somewhere. But I needed to get away from him before I could let myself feel anything. I sat on the edge of the bed and quickly pulled my shoes on.
Once again, I had let myself become vulnerable in hopes of finding some sort of comfort, some kind of goodness. And just like always, it made things worse than before. When will I ever fucking learn. Rage slowly started to mix with the embarrassment and the pain.
I grabbed my dog tags off of the nightstand as Ghost trailed my every move. “Can you fuckin’ grow up and listen to me?!” he shouted, arms outstretched, pleading, as I fumbled with my laces. “Christ, don’t act like this is news, you knew this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. This is on you for not ending it sooner. I didn’t want to bring this up myself because, well…” he gestured to me as I angrily made my way to the door, following closely behind. “… this. I knew you would fuckin’ freak out on me. Look at you! You never face your mistakes, you’re running away like a fuckin’ coward, you are- “
I’d heard enough. I turned towards him sharply and threw a hard punch right to his face – his left eye, to be precise. He stumbled backwards with a surprised grunt, his hand flying to his face. He looked at me in total shock and anger – I met his eyes, my expression furious. Of course, I knew he was right, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him to be quiet and let me go, before he could see any sort of emotional reaction from me.
I punched his door open and began storming down the hall. The tears started to finally fall – but that was ok. My back was to Ghost. He wouldn’t see them. My breaths became rugged and sharp as I started to process everything that had happened. I jumped at the sound of Ghost slamming his door, followed by the muffled sound of him cursing.
I entered my room and quickly shut the door behind me. My things fell onto the floor as I let my emotions take over my body. I was shaking. Fucking get it together! I couldn’t. A part of me thought I was being extremely overdramatic. After all, we had agreed in the beginning – no strings attached. I was the one who pushed so hard for that. Why does it hurt so much? I was the one who broke the rules. I was angry with myself… and also with Ghost. Why? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe…
I just thought he might have felt the same. He didn’t have to push me away so harshly. Why did he wait so long to say something? More importantly, Why does it hurt this much? Why did I let this happen?
I slid against the door until I sat on the ground, knees up to my chest. I sobbed into my hands. Everything was so messed up. I didn’t know who to be angry at; hell, I didn’t know if I could be angry at anyone. Maybe this was all my fault, and I just had to clean up and move on. But it felt like there was a black hole in my chest, sucking everything in and still feeling empty. I had to figure out how to fill that hole for good, and I knew it wouldn’t be easy, or quick.
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jade7b · 1 month
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Terrible sleep paralysis torment you for months. The problem does not seem to be psychological... what really happens at night? As much as you’re afraid to admit it, something seems to torture you... maybe rape you?
❗️I’m not trying in any way to romanticize what will happen in this shot! Everything you read will be quite dark and strong, so please, if you are sensitive to this, do not interact!
18+/ sleep paralysis/horror/gore/mahito rape you
Rape/Non-con ElementsRapeRape FantasyRough SexVaginal SexRough Oral SexPenis In Vagina SexVaginal FingeringFingerfuckingMahito is His Own Warning (Jujutsu Kaisen)Mahito Being an Asshole (Jujutsu Kaisen)Yandere Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Creepy Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Slutty Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Top Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Blood and GoreGoreMild GorePsychological HorrorBody Horror
Sorry for any errors, this fic is translated from italian!
SLEEP PARALYSIS
-Mahito x Reader-
«How long have sleep disorders been going on?».
«Months», your lips had rippled, «about six months», you had corrected yourself, while you made to wander your tired look on the furniture of your doctor’s office.
He called your name, taking you away from your thoughts.
«I read your medical records, you changed more than three psychoanalysts before you got to me. I wonder, are you sure that it is only this?».
Your eyes had met his. Two heavy shiners made you look like a rag, and the young man in front of you, no matter how professional he tried to be, couldn’t help feeling sorry for you.
What I’m trying to tell you is that even sleeping pills don’t work, and you know that? I tried everything, natural remedies and not-», you were angry, you hated, when they suggested that your problem was only in your head, because it wasn’t.
The more you convinced yourself, the more the doctors turned against you, and even this time it was no different.
«I mean the presence and the phantom sensations of pressure on the chest can be a symptom of post traumatic stress. It is easy for you to experience frequent sleep paralysis for this reason. Perhaps if we faced the problem psychologically it would be better. I think you understand, I can not continue to prescribe drugs, without knowing what could be the trigger».
You had sighed, swallowing. Yet another hole in the water.
Coming out of the clinic where you had gone in the morning, you had inhaled the air of Tokyo as if it were the best air in the world- it was absolutely not and your lungs filled with smog and tar.
You swallowed, your throat was dry, your eyes were burning, your head was beating.
All feelings you had begun to endure.
You were a young girl in your twenties, with a wonderful career ahead of you, a capable and brilliant woman, yet, life had decided to put you in front of all this.
As you walked through the crowded streets of Tokyo, the chaos of the metropolis seemed like a distant echo in your mind. The doctor mentioned the possible link between the trauma you suffered and your sleep problems, but it was difficult to accept that the solution could simply be psychological. You had sought comfort in sleeping pills and remedies of all kinds, but nothing seemed to relieve your tormented mind.
The memory of the incident kept haunting you, the details of the horrible day bouncing around in your head like an incessant echo. You had tried to escape reality, but the pain persisted, crept into your dreams and attacked you in the form of night paralysis and feelings of pressure on the chest.
A few months before the accident happened. A terrible car accident took away the love of your life, your sister.
Seeing her half beheaded between the sheets of the car had horrified you to the point of making you vomit on the spot. You screamed desperately, your brow ragged with blood, and his dead eyes now filled your nightmares.
If only that day you had not chosen the wrong path, you were sure, that now life would not be so unlivable.
Your soul weighed like an anvil, dragged you down, and your wings struggled to give you the push you needed to survive.
The nights were all the same: you lay down in your bed, trying to calm down, trying not to think about anything.
And what happened was you fell asleep... but then... then...
At first, you could only feel the languor of falling asleep. However, soon that numbness turned into something more sinister. An invisible but inexorable presence began to tighten your ankles, crawling along your hips and even creeping into your belly. It seemed like a subtle force, unpredictable, penetrating the depths of your bowels.
The sensations became more and more invasive, as if invisible hands shuffled you from within. As you tried to fight against the immobility that imprisoned you in your bed, your ability to breathe was being tested. An invisible but oppressive weight made every inspiration a titanic task.
«We will make it grow», a voice whispered, «we will make it grow», again.
And then the same hands came to your chest, squeezing you, choking you.
Then you’d wake up, turn on the light in panic, your forehead full of sweat, and your heart rate.
The monotonous routine of this anguish was constantly repeated, night after night. Something, a dark, elusive entity, crept into your intimate space and tortured you mercilessly.
It wasn’t just passing visions or post-traumatic stress hallucinations. Reality was carved into your skin, in painful bite marks on your breasts and bruises scattered all over your body. You couldn’t ignore the physical testimony of what happened during those nights of terror.
You looked for answers everywhere, you explored every rational possibility, but the conclusion was inevitable: you were not crazy. Those marks and scars you were carrying were tangible proof that something dark and insidious was happening.
It was a night predator that fed on your terror and vulnerability. And there was no room for rational explanations or psychological excuses. It wasn’t a matter of post-trauma, something real, at night, crawling into your bed, and it wasn’t something you were hiding from yourself: this presence was raping you.
You couldn’t explain how you came to this conclusion, but inside you the answer was becoming more and more obvious.
And so, desperate, you decided to adopt plan B.
The medium you asked for an audience with seemed to be one of the best. You paid her handsomely, and when you let her into your one-bedroom apartment, she twisted her nose.
You had no knowledge of this world, you had no interest in it, and despite your attempts to pretend, you still felt perplexed.
«Miss», the woman in her fifties had called you, while she was searching the living room, «can you take me to the exact place where the "contacts" take place?».
You had gasped, as a slight fear crept into your bowels and appeared in your face.
« I feel your discomfort, how could you not have it? This apartment is full of cursed energy».
Failing to understand what she was mumbling about, you had obeyed her request, making your way down the narrow corridor, and then opening the door.
You stopped in the window and nodded.
You didn’t mean to cross that threshold, just the thought of it made you sick.
The medium, however, had proceeded with her head held high, turning on the lights of the chamber.
The steps resounded muffled in the carpet, while carefully inspecting the desk, then the blankets and pillows of your bed.
«It happens here...», she whispered. She walked the blankets with her hand, until she reached the foot of the bed, «rising from here», she had crouched, as if she were imitating what that presence did to you. Her hands were on the covers. «it blocks your ankles», her hoarse voice resounded in the walls of the room, «it runs through your legs», she crushed the fingers between the unmade blankets, «coming to your belly», she crushed the mattress as if under her there had been you.
«And then...», her hands went up again, cup-locking on those you imagined your breasts might be.
The woman, lowered her head, had no idea what she was actually doing, but you had to admit that her explanation was accurate enough for you to understand that she was not a charlatan.
«It tastes you».
An unpleasant sensation made its way into your stomach, «I understand», she had said to herself, as she was getting out of bed.
He went through her purse, pulling out what appeared to be a talisman.
«In the realization of the talisman it is very important to respect the hourly and planetary correspondences, in fact there is always a specific day and a precise lunar phase to build and consecrate it. You are lucky, today the Moon and the stars are clearly visible», said the woman while consecrating some.
She placed one right under the bed, one above, and another in your bedroom door.
Perplexed, you frowned, «that’s all?» you asked, «three stupid pieces of paper?».
The medium smiled, «do you have other alternatives?».
The question left you motionless, unable to answer.
«no...», you had answered, driving her back to the front door.
«The curse is powerful, but I am sure that this will be able to keep it at bay for a while».
«What?! With all the money you asked me for? Did you manage only to "keep it at bay for a while"? Are you kidding me?» The woman smiled, then gave a small laugh of derision, «maybe you should have called an exorcist?».
You were so frustrated, so... so...
Bitter tears had run down your cheeks, you had dried them almost immediately, trying to keep calm.
Don’t worry, you thought, crashing on the living room couch, wait to see if these talismans work.
***
With wonder and relief, the sleep paralysis that had tormented your nights seemed to be a distant memory.
A week had passed since you could finally close your eyes without the fear of being trapped in a limbo of impotence. Your night’s rest had become a precious refuge, an oasis of peace that you had begun to fully enjoy.
The evenings followed a reassuring ritual: the return home from work, a hot shower that dispelled the accumulated tensions, a satisfying dinner and finally the refuge in the blankets of your bed. Everything seemed to fall into the natural order of things, as if normality had finally returned to claim its place. However, the tranquility you had so longed for was perhaps only an illusion, a prelude to a new chapter of horror.
In the second week of serenity, a strange feeling had crept into the air.
One night, while you slept deeply, the pungent smell of something burning had disturbed your sleep. Your awakening was immediate, and in the darkness, putting the blankets aside, you realized that something was wrong.
Your eyes slowly adapted to the darkness, and before you, the atmosphere lit up with a sinister light. A crackling blue fire enveloped the talisman hanging from your door.
A sense of disbelief enveloped you as a figure began to take shape.
It was a robust body, but its humanity seemed distorted. A man, or perhaps something that might have looked like a man, materialized before your eyes.
Your mind tried to deny what it saw, but terror took hold of you as the breath became disjointed. Your lips rippled in a desperate sigh, while your terrified eyes closed as if they were denying reality. Gasps and sobs were released from your chest as you carried your arms in front of you, as if that impotent gesture could protect you.
You just hoped the last talismans could protect you, but... well...they couldn’t.
You saw it when they both caught fire at the foot of your bed and a cold breath began to move some of your hair.
«You surprised me», a voice made your blood freeze, «closing me out like this...» it was distorted and gruesome as it echoed in the darkness. It had a stamp that sent chills down your spine, and as you desperately tried to move, your impotence became more and more overwhelming.
His scornful laughter echoed through the air like a macabre background. «You tried, you and that stupid bitch», his mocking tone crept into your ears, causing you another sob of terror.
«Go ahead yes, continue to be afraid, it is even better if you cry».
His body locked you in a corner of the bed, leaving you with no way out. You were alone, you and his dark presence, which seemed to devour the air around you. Every word spoken was like a direct blow to your soul, bringing out a sense of degradation and unspeakable terror.
«Did you really think you could stop me from still possessing you? Naive, stupid inferior human», he whispered in your neck, his breath cold as frost on your skin. «I thought you would behave well, like the good pet you are».
His words were filled with contempt, a humiliation that imposed itself on you like a chain, enveloped your spirit.
His words didn’t make sense to you, and yet, you didn’t have the courage to argue, you had the feeling that if you tried to move a muscle, he would tear you apart right in that moment.
You hadn’t yet had the courage to open your eyes to look your tormentor in the face, let alone have the strength to escape from his clutches.
His hands ran down your hips, embedded in their retracting curve.
They put pressure on you, made you scream in fear.
«I had a continuous thought, I have always had it from the first day in which I have seen you», his lips settled languid in your half uncovered belly. Your chest was hurting, your hiccups were shaking and your throat was parting, making it sore.
«Please», you had whispered, «don’t hurt me», your eyes were still closed, full of salty tears.
You had finally had the courage to speak as you laid your hands on his in a desperate attempt to divert them from yourself. You put a little pressure on him, but the guy on top of you didn’t seem to want to cooperate with you. In your desperate act, you saw that his hands presented what appeared to be scars, perhaps... seams?
«Hurt you?» he laughed almost out of control, «I don’t know, I’ll probably do». Your eyes became two saucers, so scared that who was in front of you couldn’t help but notice it.
«Are you afraid? Yes, I imagine it is so, otherwise how could I feel so regenerated?».
Then his face took shape in front of yours.
His two-tone eyes peered at you in the darkness of the night, so evil, so frightening that they cut your breath. His hair covered his sewn face, it was so surreal it felt like a horror movie.
His hands grabbed your wrists with a surprising force, far beyond what would be expected of an ordinary man. Despite your attempt to resist, his grip intensified, and in response to your affront, he gripped your wrists until they broke.
A deafening and desperate scream broke free from your mouth, but the man’s reflexes prevented you from venting your pain altogether, resting his lips on yours.
Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.
He had the urge to lick your lips and grunt angry when you didn't want to.
With your wrists completely broken by now, you couldn’t defend yourself, so he freed them, putting his big, rough hand in your cheeks.
You were hurt and violated, could something worse have happened?
When his hand slipped in your belly to make room between your legs, you knew there was something worse.
«No!» you cried desperately, «no... no, no-».
«Yes, yes, yes, cute, little…».
Your head was beating, your heart seemed to want to explode in your chest, your sore wrists, victims of a broken fracture, were hurting so much that you missed the air.
«You will love this, you will love to take it, won’t you? Will you become the key to my experiment? You will carry my child so well, yes... you will be perfect».
You weren’t listening to almost anything that was vomiting on you, too traumatized, too aching to focus on his words, and it was bad, since he had just confessed his no longer hidden desire to impregnate you.
His hands stripped you of the oversize shirt you were wearing, lifted it up to your breasts, leaving your sensitive boobs exposed.
«I have raped so many women in my life by curse... but you... you are by far the most beautiful of all».
His hands landed in your ribs, forcing you to settle under him.
With one hand he would block you from the neck, keeping you under control as his head went down into your chest, tickling your collarbones with his hair.
When his mouth closed in your turgid sensitive nipple, you tried to look at the ceiling as much as you could. You just hoped it would be over soon, yeah, it would be over quickly, you’d just be estranged, and everything would just seem like a bad nightmare, right?
You told yourself that, but it seemed more complicated than expected.
His mouth sucked mercilessly, popping into your irritated reddened skin.
Bites and bruises took shape in your body, immediately you were back to being the pitiful girl of a few weeks before, while your body lay untidy between the covers of your bed.
Another sinful kiss reached your lips, but you, once again, had not returned it. Your muteness was followed by some hiccups and supplication but nothing seemed to stop the monster above you.
Your body’s natural reaction to his touch made you felt sick . Your bowels twitched at the thought of pleasure, you hated it, you hated that feeling so much, you would rather die.
«Now you will be a good girl, but there is no danger that you will be a bad girl, isn’t it true, pet?» Your half-opened lips made the curse above you even more aroused.
He bit your shoulder and made you bleed, and then, under your increasingly obvious shock, he took off your shorts and panties.
In a moment of lucidity you had brought your sore hands towards your intimacy, crying like a defenseless little girl and still begging him to let you go, to stop, not to do this to you... but nothing seemed to change his mind.
The curse slowly and forcefully pulled your hands from your most sensitive spot, giggling at you and your despair.
«How rude I am», he smiled , «I didn’t even introduce myself».
You struggled frantically in his grip, «As if I could give a fuck! Disgusting monster!».
The sick look of those who were torturing you became even more intense, He licked away your tears, while keeping you perfectly under his control.
«Oh, then you too have a spirit of survival, I thought you had lost the desire to fight», two fingers crept into your wet folds, surprising you.
You had bitten your lips, unable to restrain your weeping, disordered moans.
«I am Mahito», he had whispered in your right ear, while he was fucking you with his fingers, «keep this name in mind», he said kissing your ear shell.
«I am sure that soon you will shout it of your own free will».
Overwhelmed by his brute strength, you couldn’t help but cry.
Your sexual experiences could be counted on the fingers of a hand, what it was doing to you was something so abominable, and yet, your body could not help but react to unwanted caresses.
Dissociating seemed like something impossible, no matter how hard you tried to prove it, the feeling of his fingers inside of you wouldn’t let you get distracted.
Beyond that, the pain in your wrists grew stronger and stronger.
When you saw the face of the curse dipping between your thighs, settling on your violated pussy, you thought this was the first time someone was eating it, and no, it wasn’t something you wanted to get done; your shyness had always blocked you, but now there were no alternatives.
Still clenching your eyes, salty tears fell down your cheeks, now in a silent cry that heralded your destiny.
It was obvious, you couldn’t save yourself, it was too late, and when his tongue had sunk into your wet folds, you couldn’t help but arch your back to get away from his ruthless mouth.
In that desperate refusal, Mahito grabbed you by the side, trapping you in a cruel vise.
He licked all your excitement, lingering on your little feminine bud, there was nothing more annoying when his teeth grabbed him making your lower abdomen numb.
«No... I beg you, enough... I don’t want it», a guttural lament made you tremble like a leaf while the curse didn’t give sign of wanting to yield.
He sucked, then dipped his fingers in your tight opening.
You would have cum, you would have orgasmed, and you would have hated it, you would have hated yourself so much, so much...
With a choked-up moan you let yourself go into the spasms of orgasm, and as much as you hated to admit, it was painfully enjoyable.
He continued to overstimulate you as your thighs squeezed into his face, prey to a primal instinct that even you didn’t understand.
He caused a few complaints, while, horrified, you had noticed that his hand had rushed to rub the erection in his pants.
With a trickle of saliva tying his lips to your messy pussy, you couldn’t help but think the scene was tremendously erotic. Something made you pulse down there, and you certainly wouldn’t forgive yourself.
«Try to be honest with yourself», his voice teased you, while his hands spread out your legs again.
«And don’t hide», he said by rubbing your clitoris quickly.
Your sighs had become little squeaks of torment.
«e-enough... Enough... Too-»
«Poor little pet», he said slapping you in your core, «you are so desperate... You want more, don’t you?»
You were still crying, louder and louder, as you felt something rigid make room for yourself.
«Indeed...», he said, turning on your stomach, his lips in the shell of your ear, «I want to fuck you like a fucking dog, yes, as if we are two animals».
You were shaking like a leaf, and your wrists were throbbing with pain.
«they hurt me, this position... I can’t...», a slap angrily hit you on your buttocks.
«Shut up... be quiet», he bit you in the lobe, while his hands pushed you in the back, forcing you to adhere to the mattress.
Your butt was high, your femininity completely exposed to him, who was still torturing you with his fingers.
When he penetrated you with his monstrous cock, the squeaking from your throat intensified.
When he had started to move his hips in slow but deep and angry thrusts, you had screamed in pain.
Your pussy opened up to him, wrapping his long and big excitement.
A ring of delicious cream had formed around the circumference of the curse, and the more he stopped to study it, the more his horny cock enlarged.
«Don’t you feel what you’re doing to me?» he pulled your hair, forcing you to suffocate in your pillow.
«Don’t you feel how much we are made for each other?» one more push, one more scream from you.
You were a total mess, so physically challenged, you couldn’t even think straight.
The thrusts had become stronger and faster, his hands now, had run down your delicate neck, clutching him in a vise.
Her teeth sank into your back and shoulders as you trickled blood down and dirty the bed and your shirt crumpled over your tits.
«h-help», you had whispered in terror, unable to think clearly, «please».
«I’m sorry to tell you, sweetheart, but nobody will help you», with three other pushes he had come angrily inside you, filling you with his hot cum. You could hear it drip, while in an animal act, it continued to penetrate you without mercy.
«s-someone... Help me».
As you closed your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel the evil laugh of the curse above you.
«We will be together forever», He kissed your back , imperlated of sweat and blood.
«we will be together forever and you will adore it, you will love me, you will give to me a half cursed son».
Completely unconscious, your vision had become clouded, and even this could not block the cursed spirit.
«Open your legs, it will be a long night, you know?».
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ansloww · 21 days
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💊┆ ╰┈➤ 𝜗𝜚 ┈ I should have know to not trust VALENTINO 。—
💊┆ ╰┈➤ ┈ warning: val, angst, abuse, non-con, no happy ending, gender neutral reader. 。—
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𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐎,,
• your life was shit, you can’t even make you own fucking decision because of a certain overlords.
•Sometimes you wondered why did you accept to signed the contract.
• when you arrived hell, someone extended his hands to you, you thought he’ll help you with this chaos in hell, but he didn’t. He just ruined you even more.
• Valentino, the overlord who extended his hands to you, make your mental even worse than before, after you agreed signed the paper.
• Val let all his anger, stresses at you by fucking you dumb, he didn’t cared with you aren’t okay with it he just do it.
• you were always next to him, by his side. He didn’t want to let you go, he was obsessed with you and your body. All your begging was ignored, what could you said ? He owned you after all.
• The day when he founded out Angel dust was with Lucifer’s daughter was the worst day for you. He literally screamed out his anger at you and almost shot you but at the end of the day he apologized.
• you hated being by his side
• you were here before Angel Dust, you tried to make him don’t sign the paper, but he didn’t saw the signals.
• Angel dust was only owned in the studio and you, he just owned your soul and you aren’t free anymore.
Dog in a leash, that’s what you were. You never asked to be a fucktoy to Valentino. You just wanted a goddamn job, thinking it’ll be great, maybe not as bad as your life. But you were all wrong, after signing that paper.
One day, Valentino founded out Angel Dust with the ‘bimbo’ daughter of Lucifer. He was enraged, he wanted to throw his anger at someone, this someone was you. Since you were next to you, he slapped you across the face making your eyes widened, wondering what did you do wrong this time. "Valentino- what did" you were cut off by his hands gripping your wrist and throw you away, hitting the walls. You’re definitely going to have a bruise. "This fucking Angel Dust ?!" He exclaimed himself, letting his anger on you. "How dare him to be with that bimbo !" he yelled at you, until Vox appeared in the room.
• you knew nobody is going to help you from this, but at least you tried to help Angel Dust to not sign the contract. You’re also the one who helped Anthony getting away from Val
A/N : Women and Girls Experience Sexual Violence at High Rates . Hi, I just wanted to say that rape isn’t some kind of joke. 1 out of every 6 women american women has been victims of attempted rape or rape completely. 82% of all juvenile are women 90% of adult rape victims are female. Females ages 16-19 are 4 times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault.
Men and Boys Are Also Affected by Sexual Violence. 2.78 million men in the U.S. had been victims of attempted or completed rape. About 3% of American men or 1 in 33 have experienced an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime. 1 out of every 10 rape victims are male. This is only in US, but if you have to say people in the word, it’ll be worst.
Abuse : Over 1 in 3 women (35.6%) and 1 in 4 men (28.5%) in the US have experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
If you have been abused,raped, talk to the person you’re more close, comfortable to talk with or just confess in my dm 🫶
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chaifootsteps · 2 months
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Okay sorry I was talking with my mother
1) I hate sir Pentious’s new character. Sure, he’s fun. But oh my gosh, I miss his old character. The way that’s he’s not at all remorseful and just purely wants destruction  and to rule over the pentagram city. But now he’s too goody goody(I haven’t seen the new episode, pls don’t spoil it), and turned WAYYYY to easily over to Charlie’s anti-Christ ass, and wanting to be redeemed. He should have stayed a spy for longer and I would’ve loved to see his dynamic grow with the Vees(especially Vox) and how he worked for them as a spy. His rape scene wasp so uncomfortable and unnecessary, and speaking of that his and cherris relationship should of never of even been thought about. It’s such an awkward thing, as they’re rivals and Cherri has destroyed things that he’s made and insults him.
2) speaking of Cherri, she offered Angel drugs(which seems like it’s a normal thing for them as she’s so causal about it) when she knew he was there at the hotel that’s for redemption, but also she was so rude to Angel when he was trying to get Nifty out of the cleaning closet??? She’s a much better friend in the pilot and in the addict music video. She’s showing actual friendship and concern for Angel, nothing like she does now.
3) Alastor. Sure, I like his moments, but he’s so painfully edgy it’s not that good. His radio sound effects are good, I miss the old effects that he had in the pilot and his old voice actor, but of course viv is a “it’s my way or the high-way” gal and she dumped all of the previous cast. He’s nearly completely different now, claiming that Charlie is like his daughter(I swear to god he better be manipulative to her in that moment), when in the pilot he openly mocked her and what she was trying to do. He seems way to open about his emotions and wanting r help Charlie, using a TV(???) and playing along when what she wants to do. He also seems to much like an attention whore, which could be a good character trait if he wasn’t the way he is now. Also he’s too touchy touchy with everyone, especially Charlie.
4) Angel dust is not as interesting now as he was to me in the pilot. Now he’s just a porn star who gets raped and abused and is going to be redeemed. I’d love to see his old character traits(from before the pilot and during, such as mafia, insane, violent, ect), rather than just “oh he’s a gay sex spider who sometimes does violence but he’s such a good person now for finding love and refusing drugs!!!! :3”.
5) Husk’s new voice. I see the appeal of his new one, but his old voice actor just hit different. Make that skinny 1970s gambler man sound like he smokes 5 packs a day. Also I can’t stop thinking about the cat from Coraline.
6) almost everything about vaggie. Her design, her actions, and her backstory. It’s cool that she’s a fallen Angel but oh my gosh!! Don’t reveal that in the first season!! Slow burn that shit!! And why did she do quickly realize that he’s murdering ‘innocent souls’?? They’re in hell for a reason, she didn’t have to think that just because it was a kid it was innocent of any crimes it did. They revealed it too soon, it would have been a good twist for season 2.
7) vivziepop seemingly mocks Christianity and I had to look up how Saint Peter looked like, AND SHE WHITE-WASHED HIM SO BAD. HE LOOKS NOTHING LIKE HE SHOULD, AND HES SUCH A COMPLEX PEROSN FROM THE BIBLE AND AND SHORTENED HIS CHARACTER SO BADLY.
Anyways, my TED talk is over. Thank you
Thanks for your TED Talk, Anon. It was an excellent talk.
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wildbluesorbit · 4 months
Text
London II: Uncensored || JTK
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18+MDNI
LONDON SERIES MATERPOST
Paring: Jakexreader(f)
A/N: Howdy! I am honestly so nervous about the turn of this story. Although London is only my first, and is honestly a big smut sandwich, I’m a whore for character development and really wanted to challenge myself to dive into the potential of these characters …for now. This piece in particular exists in two variations. In the interest of everyone looking for the easier read, mama @tommie-gvf advised a revision to care for all their soft readers, which dawned the “London: Refined” alteration. However, for all my trauma junkies alike you’re in the right place. I still wanted to share my original draft for the full teeth-gritting, soul-grating, angsty flourish. I’m really crossing my fingers y’all enjoy the twists and turns to come but I am honestly already awed by all the love received. As always I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think!
p.s. I apologize for all these alliterations you’re about to read
Summary || Wounds fresh and head spinning, you try and find your footing without Jake in the picture. However, you are found by the dawn of a different peril.
Content Warnings || toxic relationship, depressive disposition, sickness such as fever, fatigue, vertigo, nausea, vomiting, and fainting, verbal aggression, graphic depictions of physical aggression/voilence/sexual assault and bodily injuries such as bruising, gashing, swelling and inflammation, and body aches, ptsd, nervous breakdown, mentions of alcoholic consumption and drugging, brief mentions of being undressed and bathed while unconscious, technical kidnap, allusions to rape
Word Count || 7.4k+
The sweeping sound of the door swinging shut behind Jake only solidifies his parting words. Like a fool praying for snow in the desert, you remain still, naively pinning for him to rush back through that door and take back what he said. You swear to every star if he will just reappear you’ll forgive and forget every trivial thing he’s said to hurt you.
You are more than capable of leading a fruitful life without him, you just have no desire to. With every molecule of your being you ache for him to please just walk back through that door.
When he doesn’t, you can’t help the hot tears that now downpour.
Consternation weighs heavy on your limbs with the understanding of just how bonded you had become with the concept that there is always a next time with Jake. You had taken advantage, maybe even abused, his phone number underneath your finger on speed dial; you became cozy in the comfort of knowing that when you pressed it he would always answer.
It harrows you to think Jake might be right. Maybe you are no good for each other. Maybe he did the right thing. Too little too late is a cruel ascertainment; Jake is not just an ecstasy, a high you procured an addiction for, but he had become a sanctuary. One you’ve never met in anyone else. A shelter not even you could provide for yourself and like a child you went and broke it.
You will your begrudging limbs to ooze forward but as soon as your feet lead their trek the walls around you begin to whirl worse than before. You don’t dare let it deter you though; you fear the grief that threatens to swallow you whole in that very bathroom if you’re to stop for air.
You catch the corners of the sink for stability, your disheveled appearance ruthlessly relays your casualties. You smooth your hair down, wipe your running mascara, and run your hands down your skirt.
You sloppily make your exit out of the bathroom, no longer being able to withstand the ghosts of the haunted room where Jake had just kissed you goodbye.
You spill into the hall and rashly scour for any signs of your deserter. You figure he’s fled from the flat entirely as his twin has now vanished as well. Despite the vertigo, you propel yourself towards the table where Claire is without a Kiszka twin as well, but is now flirting with her own stranger.
Positively glowing, she radiates delight. A presence to be demolished by the foreboding whirlwind that you are. The last thing you want is to be the helpless girl who’s best friend can’t finish her regaling tale of a handsome stranger because of your shitshow, especially when Claire has made her stance sorely evident.
Mercy for Claire’s night presents itself in the form of a fleeting drive-by. You swiftly breeze past with a sweeping touch on her shoulder and briefly whisper in her ear that you need some air and are going to step out for a minute.
You know she protests but you make it your mission to distance yourself by half the room by the time she can process your abrupt bulletin and conceptualize her inquiries of, “But..," and, "What happened?”
It helps that your vertigo has germinated past tolerance; the sensation demands you not slow down or your body might continue its course without you, making a rolling tumbleweed out of you, held prisoner by this illness’s tempestuous winds.
You clumsy and cleat a path through the thicket of socializing bodies until you finally topple into an exit. You sling your body mass against the heavy portal to be transported to a stairwell that you pray spits you out in the main street.
You thrust yourself upon the railing and cling to it as you slosh down the stairs like a teetering toddler. The stairway traffic makes its way around you as if you are some stationary obstacle, some even slow down to behold the scene unraveling on the steps. Fortunately, the only concern that permeates through the fumes is the night’s cool air at the bottom of the staircase that promises remedy, and you have only a flight to go.
You brake your staggering down the incline to briefly rest against the wall. Fatigue has found a home as it settles in your bones. However, regret seeks you out the moment you become motionless as the spinning now invites a monstrous nausea.
Your want for fresh air has mutated into a need for your own bed. Any and all will to stay awake evaporates into the torrid air, and the concept of supporting your own weight any longer than necessary becomes a daunting notion.
You coach yourself into mobility again, telling yourself that you just need to make it out to the street and into a cab. You would feel better after you have a chance to recompose in a taxi until you reach your flat.
After you endure the marathon of the final flight, you achieve ground level; the price being your senses, including your best judgment, fogged by the fever’s stupor.
Foolishly, you pour out through the first exit door you spot and catch your weight against the opposing wall of a narrow alley.
You clamber against the wall a bit further to see where the alley lets out. By the time you realize the backway has no outlet the door has swung itself shut, the unnerving slam of the metal mass sending a jolt through your entire frame
You sluggishly creep back towards the door, your stomach kneading itself into nauseating knots as you discover the steel barricade is locked from the inside with no way back to shelter. With your sickly strength, you bang and beat on the door, begging for someone to free you.
You can barely hear your own knocks suffocated beneath the overbearing bass. Having foolishly spent what was so little of your energy left on trying to be heard through the steel frame, you finally accept that no one is going to find you unless they come looking for you.
You slump back against the wall once more, the fever journeys to the pit of your stomach. You hunch over, your weight finding balance against the brick wall and some sort of electrical box as your whole body begins to tremble devoutly. You burn alive as the high-grade heat rises to your face and you expel your guts right there.
Having all frail muscles tense up in commitment to the deed, you plunge to your knees and land on all fours. As soon as you feel able, you rock back on your legs and wipe the residual sickness from your mouth. You optimistically anticipate the familiar wave of relief to wash over you but it never arrives.
This sickness was not brought on by alcohol, this is something else entirely.
You momentarily careen, scrambling to summon strength to find your way back on two feet again just as the alley door swings open and you hear Hunter gasp out your name.
He runs over to you, paying absolutely no mind to the door due to shut behind him.
“The door,” you wheeze out and weakly gesture towards the entryway just as the lock clicks securely.
“What- Oh, I’ve got a key, don’t worry,” he mumbles as he leans down to gain access to you, “What happened?”
Your touch shoots for Hunter’s shoulders to regain your structure and you prompt him to help you back inside. Your request generates something of an indecipherable grimace to dart across his features. You can see the cogs turning in his head and you find your hands instinctively retract back to your sides. You watch the prospect of salvation wither away before you.
He must recognize your sudden vigilance as he immediately agrees to comply, but only after he’s made sure you’re okay. Hunter bluntly forces his mulish hands to your waist and sharply hoists you up against the wall, triggering upsetting shards to pierce your aching muscles.
Once you become vertical, you expect him to retire as your personal forklift and give you breathing room but he instead confines himself within your orbit, hands still digging into your hips.
“Okay, I’m up now,” you try to shoo him, “Would you just open the door?”
“Not yet,” he protests impetuously.
No longer bothered to maintain the cordial facade, Hunter’s gaze is now fully enamored by your pallid body; panic’s tide rising higher and higher.
His hands, ice cold against your feverish skin, shocks a hiss from you as his fingers slither their way under the hem of your top. He shrilly hushes you and takes liberty to plod his trail upwards towards your ribs. Forcibly, Hunter dips his fingertips into every ridge in your cage, eliciting another pained sibilation from you.
You make an effort to jerk away from his molestive frisking but are far too wasted to make any sort of adequate escapade. You huff at your defeat as your exertion only results in you scantily swaying to the side. A defenseless speck absurdly fighting to escape the current it's been sentenced to.
You manage to limply place your hands against his chest in an attempt to disturb his afflictions.
“I’m just trying to help,” Hunter poorly disguises his unwelcomed touch as a well-intentioned examination of your health.
With your hands still planted against his sternum you thrust in order to pry him off, but you know the only force you create is a dull pressure, your fingertips barely even sinking into his flesh. He almost snickers at your second failed escape; fatigue only setting in deeper by the second.
“Get off me you, fucking creep,” you grunt, still sickly yet stubbornly squirming.
“Oh, really-,” he hisses, ”you were so into it earlier though. Why are you being such a fucking bitch now?”
Hunter intrusively shoves his gangly frame into yours, further crushing your achy flesh into the callous concrete rooted against your backside.
He brutally crowds your head with his, invading your earshot, “Keep squirming if you want to make this worse for yourself.”
You ignore his warnings and he closes in trying to force his mouth onto yours. His foul breath reeks of liquor, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable sulphuric odor that stirs your nausea. You snap your head to the side to gag.
“Be that way but your body won’t be able to fight off that drug much longer. I’m only taking what would have been mine had that wanker not ruined my night.”
And there it is, he confirms your suspicion of foul play and you immediately remember how he brought you a drink and seemed so pleased when you finished it. But this isn’t what angers you most from his admission, but the way he slanders Jake.
The very thought of Jake’s name in Hunter’s cruel disparaging mouth catapults you to new heights of contempt. He doesn’t even know Jake and doesn’t deserve to. How could he possibly categorize your Jake and a piece of shit like himself in the same league.
Although the last few affairs had been less than ideal, you had seen the most concentrated parts of Jake. To most he is some mysterious charismatic poetic rockstar invention of a man, but whether he meant to or not, Jake had let you behind the curtain to reveal the inventor.
You found behind the facade is a truly kind and attentive man. A man who loves to laugh and will do whatever he can to bring a smile to anyone else. A man who hides behind big words because he still gets nervous when he speaks. Someone who doesn’t like being angry and always tries to be the bigger person. Someone raised on chaos, morality, and the classics. And no matter what he endures, he’s a family man first. He likes to operate on a low profile but won’t hesitate to become loud and brash to make sure everyone around him is taken care of. A delicate wholesome rarity. To know Jake is to love him and you know anything he asks of you is already his.
Therefore, hearing Hunter traduce Jake’s name like some foul swear, only to implicate your night that would always belong to Jake was actually his set you ablaze.
You rear your head back towards Hunter’s face and spit on target, “Let go of me you sick fuck!”
He flinches as your saliva coats his face and his lip peels back in a snarl of disgust. You can’t help but feel some regain of control as one of his hands releases you to wipe his new glaze.
You unwisely decree this your opportunity to flee, gaining some advantage by shoving him away. Yet, Hunter only refills the space and barbarically thrusts you back into his pinhold. Your vulnerable skin catches the teeth of the exposed brick as it grates into your backside, eliciting a broken cry from you.
He irately swipes the back of his hand over the rest of his contaminated features and lifts it to the air in a fist. He tempestuously brings it down to make agonizing contact between your eye and cheekbone.
The sudden blow sends trauma throbbing throughout your head. The abrupt pain bleeding into the drug induced haze is paralyzing. You stand apathetic, striving to stay conscious at this point. Hunter matches his left forearm up to your shoulders to pin you against the wall and he moves his right to untie your blouse Jake had just gracefully done up minutes before. He yanks the material off your shoulders, the dark’s frigid wind and Hunter’s greedy gawk pricks your helpless frame against your concession.
Hunter reaches his hand to grope you freely now, lingering in annoyance where you're sure the love marks Jake had left behind are beginning to develop.
Even as hope for some sort of salvation begins to flicker out, you refuse to concede in your tussle to shimmy out of his hold.
He lets out an offended grunt, as if you are being a rude victim. He rolls his eyes and moves swiftly and precisely to jab you in the ribs, knocking all air out of your lungs and remaining will from your limbs; as well as pummel whatever fortitude your body was using to brave the drug’s gravity.
“I don't even know why you’re being so stubborn, you’re little wanker boyfriend isn’t around to see what a slut you are,” he growls through concentration and clenched teeth.
Out of all the elaborate ways he could have invented to torment you, this cuts you deepest. Simply because he is right.
Jake isn’t here. And it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t driven him away, you wouldn’t be here.
You’ve never possessed a moment more worthless than this moment. The thought of Jake seeing you like this is a weight you are sure you wouldn’t survive. You hope to never see him again. He would be absolutely heartbroken.
All the torment and tears you had stifled while fighting for your freedom suddenly bubbles and bursts to the surface. You are startled by the loud ugly sob that leaves you. A howl so eerie and animalistic, you hardly recognize it as your own. You immediately throw your head up in a sharp inhale to abolish any other cries that plan to escape on their own accord, as if this would preserve some portion of your pride.
Hunter forcibly snatches your jaw into his hand and steers your face towards his so that no matter how you maneuver you are forced to hold him. His pupils swivel back and forth across your face studying this new breed of terror your eyes produce.
He curtly arrives at a diagnosis, “Oh, I see, he broke you.”
The last fiber of your sanity slipped through your clenched fists: the notion no matter how fucked up he was, he couldn’t possibly read how shattered you are. The only thought keeping your head just above the violent current.
But he now stripped that from you too.
The concept that he might feel some perverted pity for you only diminishes your spirit further. But as quickly as it comes, he zones back into his mission.
Instead of returning his hand to your chest, Hunter travels to fumble with the zipper of your skirt. As he struggles to pull it open, clarity of what is about to take place cuts through the smog. You contemplate what is about to be stolen from you and just how powerless you are to stop it; how you will most likely struggle with the unrelenting haunt of this moment for the rest of your days.
Your pathetic shrieks voidly echoes throughout the lifeless alleyway, “Stop! No- Red- Get off- please!”
He grows impatient, demanding you shut up as a note of tattering intersects your imploration. He mercilessly pinches the hem of your skirt and tears the material apart, the two assaulted shreds hanging from your hips granting him full access.
Enslaved to complete stupor, he’s admitted to run his fingers over the waistband of your underwear.
You finally accept this as your fate. You accept that this will be the horror story you will have to recite everytime someone inevitably asks why you are so prodigiously fucked up. You accept this is the warning label you will have to tow around for the rest of your existence.
Your teary vision starts to tunnel and you finally feel your conscious giving way to the void. You just hope it consumes you before his deed.
Just then, you feel a gap finally open between you and your oppressor. You spill onto unkind asphalt once again, scrambling to register what has occurred but you're unable to refocus. The only sight you can identify is the hazy reflective neon glow against the wet blacktop.
You flail about on the ground to best cover your indecency. As you can’t see, you listen for any clue of the phenomenon proceeding just above your head, except your audio is now faltering too.
You hear the slurs of two tussling and shouting. In between the intervals of din, a familiar rasp of your name rips through the tumultuous turbulence to grace your ears. Then again. And again.
You snap your head upwards to decipher whether this is just another trick of the drug. You can only make out his silhouette as your line of sight slowly becomes clouded with black spots.
It is Jake. It has to be. You need it to be.
Yet, you do not trust your senses as they are obviously failing. You hold your hand out to ward off the figure now reaching for you and faintly crawl away. The being flinches at your motion and frets your name out like a mantra, begging for something you can’t seem to process.
However, the poison in your blood holds no regard for this development. You are suddenly enwrapped in the amplified feverish fire you felt earlier and almost immediately eject the rest of your stomach.
All tension finally leaves your muscles as your body becomes a burden too heavy to support upright. You recognize the sensation of falling backwards but everything becomes so still, so quiet, so black before you ever feel the ground cruelly collide with you.
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It's the sensation of the cool crisp white bed linens caressing your dormancy heated skin that wakes you. You force your lead heavy eyelids open and peer around what you suspect is a hotel room.
The space is dark except for a halo of light around the blackout curtained window, so you know it is daytime wherever you are. You tense in a stretch, freeing your bones of the deep slumber you had just escaped. You feel as if you have been asleep for a thousand years and struggle to recall anything existing before the darkness.
The recollection of how you ended up bedridden rushes through your mind in a searing headache. You spring yourself upward to find that the nausea and vertigo has left you but the febrile aching and a throbbing head remains.
Your first instinct is to flee until all at once your senses flurry with him. Jake’s aroma fills the sheets and emits from your skin as well. You seek refuge in the sight of his well-loved shirt draped against your torso; along with a pair of boxers, and fuzzy socks. You assume he must have helped you shower at some point.
You reach over to tug the remaining blanket off your limbs, the simple shoulder motion detonates a chain reaction of sore strain all over your body. A pain induced squeal resonates through you and against the foreign vanilla walls of the vapid hotel room.
You freeze and bite your bottom lip in an effort to stifle any other oncoming cries. You survey the room as if your siren can disturb anything within the lifeless compartment.
Nothing.
You draw in a deep breath against your aching rib’s wishes and wincingley scoot to the edge of the mattress to discover the bathroom is a few yards away. You vacillatingly make it on your feet, your legs shake as you stand but you are devoted to wobbling over to the bathroom.
Pitifully exerted from your trek, you throw your balance towards the counter and assign your weight to the marble slab by bracing the edge with your hand; careful to contain your yelps this time. You stabilize yourself before feeling out the wall behind you for a light switch, deliberate in your objective to only move the parts of your body necessary for this daunting task.
Immediately, regret pierces your eyes in blinding light. You swear the sudden attack on your sight is so vile it causes a ringing in your ears. What you logically know is mere seconds, seems to last for hours until your eyes finally focus.
As you cower your head to shield yourself from the bright sting, grisly bruises on your palms and legs that weren't visible in the bedroom are now illuminated.
You laggardly drag yourself over to the full body mirror in hopes the gruesome hues are an optical illusion and your reflection would prove you unharmed. You reexamine the skin in question, only for the glass to cruelly confirm your injuries. Sleeves of sporadic purple, green, yellow, and blue are strewn against your every limb.
You want so badly to be outraged at the sight. To be irate at how you were wronged. Yet the only words your mind will carve out for you are how could you be so foolish and so weak as to let this happen? It only further mocks your grief that you can’t seem to purchase any strand of anger.
But you don't let yourself succumb to the bleakness; your intuition anticipating the worst is yet to come.
You hesitantly raise your shirt to heed the discoloration traveling up your ribs. The sight abruptly brings back the petrifying sensation of Hunter excruciatingly shoving his prickly fingers into the crevices of your torso.
The intrusive recollection makes your stomach swell into your throat. For a brief instant, you think you might have to somehow shuffle to the toilet to be sick but you swallow it down.
You continue to raise your top past your breasts just enough to uncurtain your shoulders. The skin there is littered with dark fingerprint devised bruises.
It isn’t your victimhood now recorded all over your body that corrodes and eats away your insides, but is your inability to differentiate the assault from Jake's love marks. A palette of colors Jake left as a reminder in that moment you had given yourself to him completely; that he’d seen all of you, every last inch, and still he wanted more. He needed to consume you more than physically possible. A token he wants you to think of him just as much as he is thinking of you. A note that no matter how many times he unconvincingly tries to deny that he cares, he blatantly thinks of you as his. An objet d’art now defaced by the stains of a sick thief.
It is getting harder to see your reflection as grief starts to pool in your eyes and any desire you’d once had to examine your abrasions flees. You decide to barrel through the rest of your appraisal as you know your dark inquisitiveness will not let you rest till you have dug up the entirety of this aftermath’s hidden bones.
You try to lift the loose shirt completely from your body but are seized by an inadmissible fire catching throughout the flesh of your backside. Certain strips of your skin feel as if they’d split if you move too fast. Stubbornly, you trudge through the flames, determined to remove the piece of clothing. The sound of air shooting through your clenched teeth joins in with the rustling of the cotton material.
You finally rid yourself of the restriction and twist to see your back in the mirror, your expedition arriving at the concentration of the calamity; your skin tone a minority against the tyrenous bruising.
A shudder delivers the image of savagely being thrashed into that brick wall, rattling around your head like a pinball stuck on its course. A small sob drills its way into the room despite the defense of your palm sealing over your lips.
White rectangular bandages are taped exactly over where you had felt the splintering pressure threatening to tear your skin. You remove your hand from your mouth, no longer bothering to contain your shrills, and contort to the most accessible bandage starting at the bottom of your ribcage and extending to your pelvic bone. Your lethargic inertia only enables you to peel the material off slowly, the adhesive taking its time to part with your raw skin.
Fixating your gaze to your handiwork, you tug the gauze about halfway off to notice it is not white like the outside. The threads are dyed with streaks of dark red, brown, and discharge. Your eyes quickly flit up in the mirror to see a deep vile gash that hasn’t even yet begun to scab.
Your glistening brown eyes now overflow into warm streams down your cheeks. The left side of your face is pierced by a stinging sensation at the introduction of the salty tears.
You realize you have been avoiding your reflection above your shoulders and for the first time since the bar bathroom you allow yourself to study your own face. To your dismay, you discover your left eye and cheekbone are grotesquely swollen and bruised.
Ugly.
There is no other way to put it. No other word your brain would provide. No further way to break it down. You had never felt so broken and unlovable in your life.
You had never felt so fucking ugly.
You futilely attempt to wipe your tears away as they are already being replenished. As you vainly swat at your face your attention is drawn near the nape of your neck; alluring as it is the only pristine scene amongst your features. Your hair has been neatly brushed and delicately laid back into a single looped messy bun; just the way Jake always does his own.
A cruel notion ripples its way throughout your mind. Jake witnessed you beaten in that alley. He graciously undressed and bathed you and aided your wounds. He got to shelter you in his clothes and fix your hair and put you to bed.
And part of you hated him for it. You hate that he got to see you in such a vulnerable odious state. You hate that you let him.
How could he proclaim you are no good for each other only to turn around and take such inordinate care of you? You loathe his words of disownment that crash against such ardent acts of affection for you. This deep level of intimacy is the first for the two of you and most likely the last. Yet, you aren’t even sure if you were conscious, you certainly weren’t in your right mind. You don’t even get to archive the moment. He had no right.
You yank the band from your dotingly tied up hair, tangling it once again and thoroughly erase any evidence it had recently been combed. You thrust the band with as much might as your body will allow, intent for it to land in some bathroom abyss, never to be seen again.
Your glossy eyes dart to the population of hygienic products to pinpoint the first-aid supplies within the cluster. You swing your arm towards the kit, sending the medical equipment soaring off the counter. The clattering din of the tools crashing to the floor reverberates throughout the small room and rings in your ears.
You don’t even realize you are yelling until your voice cracks against you gasping for an air supply. You can’t bear the concept of facing your execrable appearance any longer and find your hands and knees bracing the piercing chill bathroom tile.
You give in to the malaise. You are swallowed whole by your own laments, the suite humming with the songs of your weeping howls. You have no will to ever cease your decimation. No desire to ever lift yourself from this very bathroom tile. You are going to decompose here.
But as quickly as you give in to your grief you are snatched from it. More than startling you, two hands from behind graze around your shoulders. You hadn’t heard any doors open or close, much less were you aware of any life stirring in the room.
Before any discernment or recognition can approach, you careen forward, leading with your pounding chest to cower near the floor.
You blare your terror in a panicked squeal, “No! Get off of me!”
“Whoa-,” the voice announces itself and you immediately recognize the lull as Jake, “hey- babygirl, you’re alright. It's me.”
He circles in front of you with his hands up indicating your safety and crouches down so he is eye level with you. Your favorite eyes, the prettiest pools of amber and fresh autumn now plagued by uneasiness. You immediately dive your beaten face into your hands not wanting to be held by those tormented brown eyes.
“You’re alright, you’re safe,” he passifies.
Jake places his hands to cup yours and slowly peels away the mask they were providing. You fling his hands away with your own and find you gain some unexpected relief from the slight blow.
Instinctually, you start to throw your hands towards him to achieve whatever contact you can, shoving at his shoulders and beating your fists against his soft chest. Jake doesn’t fight back or stop you or even protest. He only scrunches his eyes shut and lets out a shaky exhale; as if you are some toddler and he is simply tolerating your tantrum. He cups your jaw, freezing your thrashing movements.
He searches your eyes through his glassy ones and begins to fuss, “I know, babygirl, I’m so sorry.”
His sentiment does little to console you though. You shove him from your vicinity harsher this time, releasing you of his touch and knocking off his balance. He gently lands back against the nearby bathtub wall but he is still in reach. He frowns as you gain momentum again, thirsty for a mere drop of the initial remedy your first feeble impact released. Anything to rid you of this eroding ache in your chest.
His eyebrows turn upwards in clemency, which only makes you drive through your swings harder. However, it doesn’t seem to make any difference as he catches one of your wrists in his stark hands mid-swing, and then the other.
In one skillful motion, he jerks you forward into an upward kneeling position by both arms. Jake slings your limbs around his shoulders, causing you to lurch into him. Before you have any chance to protest, he nimbly takes hold of your hips and delivers the rest of your body into his lap.
Every nerve under your skin is on fire with the impulse to retreat, “No, Jake! I’m not worth it!”
Your own words draw light to why you are so hellbent on repelling from Jake’s touch. It hadn’t been that he said you are no good for each other but that some part of you had always felt he is too good for you. That's why when things got tough you would argue and run to someone else. You were constantly trying to flag his attention that never veered from you. He had fooled you with his placid exterior but little did you know you only had to ask and he would grant you the world.
You are not good enough for him, yet he still spoils you and when it came down to it he was your salvation; harbored you away from the monster that had its claws around you.
But you’re more trouble than you are worth. You are tainted now, only baggage he would grow to resent. Jake did not deserve to be dragged down by you. You won’t allow it. You certainly wouldn’t survive it.
You try to evacuate his embrace but he only squeezes you tighter, “I’m sorry, I never should have left you!”
You squirm further, lifting yourself to your knees in preparation to somehow walk away. But Jake is not having it. He clings to your waist and stabilizes you by placing his knees to the back of your thighs.
You frantically beseech him, “Jake, please, there’s no room for junk in your world, trust me.”
He shakes his head and nuzzles his face between your jaw and collarbone. He sighs against your neck and speaks a muffled decree against your skin, “Don’t speak about yourself that way. You’re more than worth it.”
Your need for space is overwhelming, but your urgency to be held together overpowers anything else in existence. Exhausted from fighting, you let your weary body go limp and melt back into his gravity.
He loosens his arms a bit that are sealed around you, no longer afraid you’re going to make a run for it. Your head heavy, you rest your forehead against his clavicle and your hands center against his supple chest, trapping your arms between bodies as you bend your legs to the side and lean into him.
Your grief returns to you as soon as you stop moving and you concede to its demands. You find that these clamors, though, are different. They’re muffled as they’re collected by someone else. Not echoing void into space, an expression lost and forgotten with no purpose once they’ve passed from you. Now there is someone to record your sorrow, you are no longer just an inconsolable calamitous clutter on the bathroom floor. You let yourself fall apart in the arms of someone you trust can put you back together again.
“Jake, he almost- I-,” you struggle through your hiccuping breaths.
“I know,” he doesn’t pressure you to finish your thought.
Your voice becomes concerningly soft, “You saw?”
“I did,” he gulps.
“I wish you hadn’t,” your shame doesn’t let you speak above a whisper.
“Don’t say that. What if I hadn't been there in time? What if I hadn’t- you could have-,” you can hear his voice begin to crack and splinter, rendering him unable to finish the unbearable horror.
For the first time it occurs to you that you are not the only victim. You imagine Jake must have lost his mind at the sight of you. You most definitely would have been petrified if the roles were reversed. And though he doesn’t owe you a thing he took you upon himself as his own responsibility. He acted while his mind must have been racing up and down, pondering the right thing to do. Whether you would wake up okay or not. Whether you’d wake up and blame him. Would you forgive him for leaving?
But you would never blame Jake for this. Even if you had, you’d never been capable of sentencing Jake to your storm for long. You’d forgiven him so many times before for a hundred things and you would continue to do so for the next ten-thousand offenses. And you prayed he’d never wake one day with enough sense to forget about you because you know now that you need him in this new season.
“Jake, hold me tighter,” you heedlessly pule, acutely aware of how needy and demented you sound, consumed by the exigency to be closer to him than ever, “tighter, please?”
“I want to, baby, more than you know, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he fretts.
You could hear the compulsion to accommodate you in his trembling tone and the sudden tense of his arms that carefully circled around you.
“How could I be so invisible? I feel like some foul disposable thing,” your own words ambush you, a blubbering tumble into the air on their own perturbing accord; subconscious thoughts you had not dared let slither into the forefront of your reality. Mere shadows come from the corners of your mind that have expedited any real contemplation.
“And I know I'm not supposed to but I feel like this is all my fault,” you sob out the confession.
Your sadistic ears register the fractious cries inhabiting the small room now as the same ones that haunted you in the alley. Sounds you hadn’t known you were capable of prior to your casualty. You have no idea whether the grotesque marks along your body would stay with you in a scar but you know that this despairing tune was one of an everlasting requiem and these tears would never dry.
Jake pulls away from you to tug his sleeves over his fists. He examines your face and shakes his head before swiping his cuffs to carefully towel the tears away from your afflicted skin. He kisses both of your eyelids shut and draws back into you, cradling the nape of your neck to bury you further into his shelter.
“Nothing you did, my love,” he begins to vow, “was even remotely deserving of what happened. Don’t you ever let anyone ever make you feel less than beautiful, not even me. You are perfect, I swear it.”
Your consoler rakes his fingertips along your backside, between your shoulder blades, down to your tailbone and back again. However the migration of his hand doesn’t follow your spine. The irregular pattern of his touch graces around your wounds without him having his eyes navigate. How long he must have studied your comatose skin to plot a mental map and detour your injuries. The cozy concept grounds you, enabling you to finally catch your breath.
The air eventually stills. The only stirring sounds of your sniffles and shared quaking breaths.
You hoarsely whisper, “Jake, where am I?”
“My hotel room, babygirl,” fragments of his side of the nightmare begin to spill out, “and I know I should’ve taken you to a hospital or something but- I’m sorry- I didn’t- I was terrified they might make me leave or not let me see you or something and I couldn't- I just- no- and we had to move on to the next city- I was not leaving you again- or ever.”
Now he holds you tighter as if he can no longer deny the urge; afraid you could still be confiscated from him, a kid clinging to his favorite blanket.
“I had one of the medics I trust come check you out,” he rambles on.
You choked a bit at the thought of another man having access to your unconscious body, “He-”
“No, no. She said you were going to be fine and your body was working through whatever it was you ingested. She only handed me pain meds and some heavy duty first aid for liability. I tried to dress your wounds as best I know how. I’m sorry if i-”
You slip your arms around his neck, cradling his nape to bring him closer into your orbit, “Stop apologizing. Thank you, Jake.”
“Don’t thank me, you could have told me you hated me a million different ways in that bathroom and I still would have done the same thing,” he precisely threads his words, conviction weighing down every syllable, “I take care of what's mine.”
The room grows quiet once more as you bask in contemplation of his last words. Jake starts to rub your back again and you find yourself tempted by a drowsy spell once more.
“Jake?”
His hand springs from your back, “God- Am I hurting you? I’m sor-,”
“No, just thank you for taking care of me,” you drowsily sigh against his skin as slumber cocoons you in its grasp.
You flicker in and out of consciousness until you wake to Jake carrying you back to bed. He sits you down on the edge and pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket.
“For the pain,” he gives the bottle a good shake and pulls a water canister from the amenities on the dresser, handing it to you.
After you’ve taken the medication he encourages you to drink the rest of the water. Once you appease him, Jake helps you recline, careful not to lay you on your back. In his assistance, you grab his hands, the bruised and split sight commandeering your regard.
“Your hand- It's bruised,” you gasp.
He lets out the smallest chuckle, “Yea, I broke his nose.”
“Jake, that's not funny,” you lethargically scold.
“I know-”
“But thank you,” you make sure he understands your gratitude before he can beat himself up.
Still holding onto his hand, you pull Jake to lay down next to you and curl around him. He reciprocates by tucking your head under his chin. The grounding warmth of him travels across your skin and brings you to safety.
He tilts his head towards your ear and bashfully asks, “No more games?”
“No more games,” you concur.
He draws in a breath deep of solemnity and panic as he runs a finger down your temple and tucks your hair behind your ear. You prepare yourself for his bad news before he can even speak the opposite.
“I think I love you but I can't keep chasing you from halfway around the world,” his confession so subtle you almost miss his first five words.
“Well, lucky for you I don’t think I can go back to London and I have nowhere else to go,” your antic tone does less than mesh with your words.
Jake mimics your earlier sentiment back to you, “That’s not funny, baby.”
“I know- I just- I don’t want to go to London,” you drop your facade.
“You know I have a few guest rooms at my house,” he begins fidgeting, twirling your hair around his fingers, “but they never see any guests. And I know my house gets so lonely when I’m gone.”
“You mean- your house-,” you gulp, “in Nashville?”
You can hear the smirk in his voice now, “Yes, gorgeous scenery and a lovely people. It also happens to be very far from London. You’d be doing me a real favor if you came and looked after it.”
You ponder his proposal as if you have a choice. As if you hadn’t slowly been moving towards this leap since the dawn of Jake and you. As if you could ever grant your caretaker any answer that isn’t yes.
And of course any life with Jake would be better than a life without but still you never thought the question would come, certainly not before others. You are clueless as to what role you are to play and what life is supposed to look like after this, outside of London. How would you even fit into his tumultuous musician’s life?
He breaks your thought flow. You can tell Jake is trying not to pressure you but your silence terrifies him, “What’s swirling around in that pretty head of yours?”
You tilt your face up towards his and speak against the corner of his mouth right where his lips begin to curl when he gets giggly.
The course hair there prickly against your whispered affirmation, “I love you too, Jacob.”
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tropes-and-tales · 1 year
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I’ll Make it Up to You
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Day 16:  Bath/Shower Sex (Nick Amaro x F!Reader)
(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen​​.  The original post and calendar/list can be found here.  So very, very late because I had other things I needed to do.)
CW:  Established relationship; (shower sex; hand job) 18+ only.
Word Count:  1416
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Nick comes home in a bad headspace:  long shifts working a series of date rapes at Hudson, another case failing in front of a grand jury.  He just wants to collapse into bed and try to sleep, but he hasn’t seen you in days, has only fallen asleep beside you for a few stolen hours before he had to be back to work.
You’re on the couch when he gets home, and he sheds his coat and shoes before coming over to kiss you.
“My wayward boyfriend,” you say with a soft smile.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of finally seeing you at a semi-reasonable hour?”
“Caught the bad guy, and my grand jury fell through.”
Your smile drops, and you press your lips together in a sympathetic frown.  
“What can I do to help?” you ask, and you reach out to take his hand in yours.  “Did you eat yet?”
“At the precinct.”
“Want me to put the game on for you?”
Nick squeezes your hand gently, shakes his head.  “Nah.  I just need to shower and then maybe we could go to bed?”
Your smile returns, and you kneel on the couch, stretch towards him, your neck craining to kiss him again.  “Sounds like a plan.”
*****
It’s immediately obvious that Nick needs sleep more than anything, judging by the three deep, jaw-cracking yawns he makes when he’s just stripping out of his clothes.  His eyes water at the force of each yawn.
Though you’d never say it….the man looks awful.  His complexion has an unhealthy cast to it, and he has deep circles under his eyes.  There’s a spot where he missed shaving that morning, and a second spot where a cut has only just healed.  He hasn’t been eating right, and he certainly hasn’t been sleeping.
As much as you’ve missed him, it wouldn’t be fair to make him stay awake when he needs hours of good, quality sleep.
And yet, you’ve missed him terribly.  
So you split the difference and wait for him to climb into the shower, and then you join him.
If there’s one thing about Nick that genuinely irritates you, it’s how he never takes care of himself…and how he scoffs when you try to take care of him.  You guess that it’s a symptom of his upbringing—his father was no treat, and he grew up under the usual patriarchal bullshit that taught him men don’t need care.  Or maybe it’s just his work—detective work is usually thankless, and working with special victims is extra rough.
“What are you—” he starts to ask when you peel back the shower curtain, but you cut him off with a quick kiss.
“Hush, Nicholas.  Let me take care of you.”
If you get irritated by his lack of self-care, you do love how much he enjoys being babied and cared-for, when he finally gives in to it.  Nick Amaro, resident tough guy:  he practically purrs like a big cat when you lather up and help him bathe, kneading your fingers into his knotted back and shoulders.
When you help him shampoo his hair, you scratch your nails into his scalp, and the man groans like he’s being tortured…but then he wraps his arms around you, pulls your naked form to him, and you can feel how aroused he’s gotten despite the soul-deep exhaustion he must feel.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he mutters against your ear.  “Let me rinse off—”
You cut him off again, this time by reaching down and grasping him—lightly, but it’s enough for him to choke against the rest of his words.
“Shhh.”  You tilt your head towards him, and he kisses you.  You break away a moment later, shift your head.  Kiss the side of his neck, kiss under his ear where the hinge of his jaw is.  You lay a gentle trail across his collarbones, pressing your lips in the divot of his throat.
“I want to take care of you,” you whisper against his wet skin, and you grip him more firmly, give him an experimental stroke with your hand.  He huffs out a frustrated breath against your head.
“I won’t be able to….shit, if you make me come now, I won’t—”
You tilt your head again and gaze up at him, offer him a soft smile.  “You can make it up to me later, Nick.  Let me take care of you now.”
He doesn’t answer—he just huffs another frustrated sigh—but he presses his hips forward into your hand, which is answer enough.  You shift a little, find firmer footing in the slippery shower.  You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, lay your hand on the back of his neck to hold him against you.
Then you shift your other hand against him.  You get a better hold of him and begin to deal him languid strokes.  You bend your head to watch:  the flushed head of his cock slipping between your clenched hand, the tip wet and leaking. You swipe your thumb against it, use the slickness of his pre-cum to lubricate the stroking and twisting of your fist.
“You can…harder,” he groans after a moment.  “Harder.  Please.”
You oblige him with a grin.  You were never a natural at hand jobs, always too gentle, too afraid of being rough and hurting what seems to be a sensitive part of the body.  But you squeeze Nick harder, nearly enough to encircle his thick cock with your fingers, your fingertips almost touching the tip of your thumb, and he hisses praise in your ear at the sensation.
“Fuck, don’t stop,” he mutters, and his hips find the rhythm of your hand, meets you thrust for thrust.  “Feels so good.”
You keep going.  You huff out a breath, a low moan when his hand reaches down to grasp the curve of your ass, but you don’t stop stroking him, twisting your wrist so that the bend in your hand where your fingers meet your palm run along the sensitive underside to his cock.  You can sense him unraveling—his shallow thrusts lose their cadence, and his breathing takes on a ragged quality—so you grip him harder.
He comes a moment later:  a hoarse fuck spilling from his lips, the hot spill of his cum spurting over your hand, up your wrist, across your belly.  He digs his fingertips into your hips, hard enough that you may have bruises, and he chokes out your name as he finishes, then calms.
You can feel how relaxed he is now.  Your hand on the back of his neck—you can feel how the release, the hot water of the shower…it all helped to loosen the tight knot there.
It doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty, apparently.
“I could live a thousand years and still not deserve you,” he grumbles against the side of your head.  He shifts his hands, settles one between your shoulder blades and the other to the back of your head, cradling you gently against him.
“I like the thought of you living that long and trying though.”
“Hmmm.”  He moves a little, presses a light kiss to your temple.  “How about I start with a date night tomorrow, huh?  Take you out for a nice dinner, maybe some dancing…”
“I like the thought of that too.”
Nick pushes away from you a fraction, just enough so he can peer down at you, those earnest brown eyes of his almost pleading.
“You take good care of me, mi alma,” he says.  “I’ll make it up to you.”
You purse your lips at him and he kisses you.  When you part, you tell him with a smile, “that’s just what good girlfriends do, Nick.”
You turn away from him then, so you miss the way his expression turns soft, turns maybe a bit introspective.  If you would have stayed facing him in this moment, he might have cracked—might have blundered out a half-assed proposal, might have mentioned the ring he had picked out.
But you turn away and reach for the washcloth and soap, so Nick has a beat to get himself under control.  To stick to the original plan of proposing in a month’s time, though he’d be happy to be married to you now, to drag you down to the courthouse and make you his wife now…because you take care of him, and he wants to take care of you too.
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elemit · 4 months
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A Gift, A Curse
A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.
Read in full on AO3
dead dove/not beta read
fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites
(chapter warnings highlighted)
Chapter 1: Ascension
“Help me do this. Please.”
If the desperation in his eyes and the heartbreak on his face hadn’t already been enough to break you, the tremble in his voice would have done it. And even without all that, how could you ever say no to this man? He who stood beside you as you discovered your lost self. He who remained beside you when you learned your cursed history. He who bound the knots of your restraints and stroked your hair through the night, even as you writhed and fought to end his life. He helped you gain your freedom from the damnation of your birth. How could you possibly deny helping him with his own same freedom?
But, says a voice in your head, seven thousand souls.
“It will kill so many people,” you say, the words numbing your mouth like poison.
“People? Those ‘people’ died years ago, trust me on that. All that’s left are feral spawn, desperate for blood. Think how many people they’d kill. Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? But if we complete the ritual, think of the power I’ll have. With me by your side, we can save the city - we can save ourselves. And I’ll be able to walk in the sun. I’ll be really, truly free. Isn’t that what you want?”
Of course it is what you want. It’s all you want. Freedom to be together, to escape your haunted pasts, to forge a new and brighter future.
“Please,” he whispers, “I can’t do this alone.”
The words cut you like a knife to your heart. Your eyes meet, and you willingly open your mind to him. Your thoughts join as you become one. You feel the knife in his hand as if it were in yours, and you taste the tang of power and blood that fills his mouth. It is intoxicating, almost all-consuming, and if you focus your mind on it hard enough, you find you can almost drown out Cazador’s screams. Giving Astarion control of your eyes puts you in a dreamy, trance-like state; an escape from the cold, echoing horror of the Szarr dungeon in which you stand.
You do not know how much time has passed when Astarion severs your connection and you are dragged back to the nightmarish present. The corpses of Cazador’s servants surround you once more, and death hangs thick in the air. Cazador’s screams have diminished to exhausted whimpers, and you regain your vision fully just in time to see Astarion brandish the vampire lord’s staff, sending his old master flying to take his spot for the ritual. 
You watch as your love brings the staff down with a crash in front of him. His voice is harsher than you’ve ever heard it as he begins to chant.
“No, Astarion, stop this!” Shadowheart’s voice sounds quiet and weak beside his.
“Don’t you dare! I can feel their power flowing into me!” His voice is a roar now, and his very words seem to carry a magic within them. Any thoughts of stopping him slip away into the void.
You’re not sure you had any thoughts of stopping him anyway.
His chanting continues, and a magic unlike any you’ve ever felt permeates the air around you. You feel your companions stirring in terror beside you, but you cannot take your eyes off Astarion. He stands at the centre of a circle of glowing runes that are far beyond your understanding, his perfect body incandescent with infernal power, his beautiful eyes nothing more than white-hot spots of brilliance. You hear a sickening series of cracks and bursts around you, and you are glad that your lover is the sole focus of your fascination. The fact that you do not even have the stomach to watch the destruction you have helped unleash around you makes you flush with shame, but you shove the feeling down. You did this for him. For him, you would do anything.
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