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adisquietfollows · 27 days

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The reporters interviewed Amit Soussana for eight hours and doctors she spoke with immediately after her release. They also reviewed medical records, videos, text messages and photographs.

Full text under the cut.

March 26, 2024

Amit Soussana, an Israeli lawyer, was abducted from her home on Oct. 7, beaten and dragged into Gaza by at least 10 men, some armed. Several days into her captivity, she said, her guard began asking about her sex life.

Ms. Soussana said she was held alone in a child’s bedroom, chained by her left ankle. Sometimes, the guard would enter, sit beside her on the bed, lift her shirt and touch her, she said.

He also repeatedly asked when her period was due. When her period ended, around Oct. 18, she tried to put him off by pretending that she was bleeding for nearly a week, she recalled.

Around Oct. 24, the guard, who called himself Muhammad, attacked her, she said.

Early that morning, she said, Muhammad unlocked her chain and left her in the bathroom. After she undressed and began washing herself in the bathtub, Muhammad returned and stood in the doorway, holding a pistol.

“He came towards me and shoved the gun at my forehead,” Ms. Soussana recalled during eight hours of interviews with The New York Times in mid-March. After hitting Ms. Soussana and forcing her to remove her towel, Muhammad groped her, sat her on the edge of the bathtub and hit her again, she said.

He dragged her at gunpoint back to the child’s bedroom, a room covered in images of the cartoon character SpongeBob SquarePants, she recalled.

“Then he, with the gun pointed at me, forced me to commit a sexual act on him,” Ms. Soussana said.

Ms. Soussana, 40, is the first Israeli to speak publicly about being sexually assaulted during captivity after the Hamas-led raid on southern Israel. In her interviews with The Times, conducted mostly in English, she provided extensive details of sexual and other violence she suffered during a 55-day ordeal.

Ms. Soussana’s personal account of her experience in captivity is consistent with what she told two doctors and a social worker less than 24 hours after she was freed on Nov. 30. Their reports about her account state the nature of the sexual act; The Times agreed not to disclose the specifics.

Ms. Soussana described being detained in roughly half a dozen sites, including private homes, an office and a subterranean tunnel. Later in her detention, she said, a group of captors suspended her across the gap between two couches and beat her.

For months, Hamas and its supporters have denied that its members sexually abused people in captivity or during the Oct. 7 terrorist attack. This month, a United Nations report said that there was “clear and convincing information” that some hostages had suffered sexual violence and there were “reasonable grounds” to believe sexual violence occurred during the raid, while acknowledging the “challenges and limitations” of examining the issue.

After being released along with 105 other hostages during a cease-fire in late November, Ms. Soussana spoke only in vague terms publicly about her treatment in the Gaza Strip, wary of recounting such a traumatic experience. When filmed by Hamas minutes before being freed, she said, she pretended to have been treated well to avoid jeopardizing her release.

Ms. Soussana said she had decided to speak out now to raise awareness about the plight of the hostages still in Gaza, whose number has been put at more than 100, as negotiations for a cease-fire falter.

Hours after her release, Ms. Soussana spoke with a senior Israeli gynecologist, Dr. Julia Barda, and a social worker, Valeria Tsekhovsky, about the sexual assault, the two women said in separate interviews with The Times. A medical report filed jointly by them, and reviewed by The Times, briefly summarizes her account.

“Amit spoke immediately, fluently and in detail, not only about her sexual assault but also about the many other ordeals she experienced,” Dr. Barda said.

The following day, on Dec. 1, Ms. Soussana shared her experience with a doctor from Israel’s National Center of Forensic Medicine, according to the center’s medical report, which was reviewed by The Times.

Siegal Sadetzki, a professor at Tel Aviv University medical school who is helping and advising Ms. Soussana’s family as a volunteer, said Ms. Soussana first told her about the sexual assault within days of her release. Professor Sadetzki, a former top Israeli health official, said Ms. Soussana’s accounts have remained consistent.

Ms. Soussana also spoke to the U.N. team that published the report on sexual violence, but The Times was unable to review her testimony.

A spokesman for Hamas, Basem Naim, said in a 1,300-word response to The Times that it was essential for the group to investigate Ms. Soussana’s allegations, but that such an inquiry was impossible in “the current circumstances.”

Mr. Naim cast doubt on Ms. Soussana’s account, questioning why she had not spoken publicly about the extent of her mistreatment. He said the level of detail in her account makes “it difficult to believe the story, unless it was designed by some security officers.”

“For us, the human body, and especially that of the woman, is sacred,” he said, adding that Hamas’s religious beliefs “forbade any mistreatment of any human being, regardless of his sex, religion or ethnicity.”

Mr. Naim criticized The Times for insufficient coverage of Palestinian suffering, including reports of sexual assault by Israeli soldiers on Palestinian women, which have been the subject of investigations by U.N. officials, rights groups and others. He also said “civilian hostages were not the target” of the raid and said “we have from the first moment declared our readiness to release them.”

A Hamas planning document found in one village shortly after the Oct. 7 raid, which was reviewed by The Times, said: “Take soldiers and civilians as prisoners and hostages to negotiate with.” Video from Oct. 7 shows uniformed Hamas militants abducting civilians.

The Abduction

Ms. Soussana lived alone in a cramped single-story home on the western side of Kibbutz Kfar Azza. After hearing sirens warning of rocket attacks on Oct. 7, she said, she sheltered in her bedroom, which was also a reinforced safe room. From her bedroom, Ms. Soussana listened as the attackers’ gunfire grew closer.

The small kibbutz stands roughly 1.5 miles from Gaza, and it was one of more than 20 Israeli villages, towns and army bases overrun that day by thousands who surged across the Gazan border shortly after dawn. Some 1,200 people were killed that day and about 250 abducted, Israeli officials say, setting off a war in Gaza that local health officials say has killed at least 31,000 Palestinians.

Ms. Soussana was at the kibbutz almost by chance. Sick with a fever, she had been recuperating the previous day in the nearby city of Sderot, with her mother, Mira, who pressed her to stay the night. But Ms. Soussana drove home to Kfar Azza to feed her three cats, she said.

The youngest of three sisters, Ms. Soussana had grown up in Sderot. She qualified as a lawyer at a local college and worked for a law firm specializing in intellectual property. Her colleagues considered her a diligent, quiet and private person who kept her distance, her supervisor, Oren Mendler, said in an interview. In Kfar Azza, Ms. Soussana said, she rarely involved herself in village life and was not part of the local WhatsApp groups, which left her unaware of the extent of the attack on the kibbutz.

At 9:46 a.m. that day, she heard gunmen outside, prompting her to hide inside her bedroom closet, according to messages on her family WhatsApp group reviewed by The Times. Twenty minutes later, her phone died.

Moments later, “I heard an explosion, a huge explosion,” she said. “And the second after that, someone opened the closet door.”

Dragged from the closet, she said, she saw roughly 10 men rifling through her belongings, armed with assault rifles, a grenade launcher and a machete.

Part of the house was on fire — a blaze that would ruin the building.

Over the next hour, the group dragged her through a nearby field toward Gaza. Security footage from a solar farm near the kibbutz, which was widely circulated on the internet, shows the group repeatedly tackling her to the ground as they struggled to restrain her. At one point, a kidnapper picked her up and slung her across his back. The video shows her flailing so hard, her legs thrashing in the air, that the man tumbled to the ground.

“I didn’t want to let them take me to Gaza like an object, without a fight,” said Ms. Soussana. “I still kept believing that someone will come and rescue me.”

The Abuser

The kidnappers attempted to restrain her by beating her and wrapping her in a white fabric, the video shows. Unable to subdue her, the attackers tried and failed to carry her by bicycle, she said. Finally, they bound her hands and feet and dragged her across the bumpy farmland into Gaza, she said.

She was badly wounded, bleeding heavily, with a split lip, she said. The hospital report prepared shortly after her release said that she returned to Israel with fractures in her right eye socket, cheek, knee and nose and severe bruising on her knee and back. The report stated that several injuries were related to her abduction on Oct. 7, including punches to her right eye.

After reaching the edge of Gaza, Ms. Soussana said, she was shoved into a waiting car and driven a few hundred yards into the outskirts of Gaza City. She was untied, dressed in a paramilitary uniform and transferred to another car filled with uniformed militants. A hood was placed over her head, though she could still catch glimpses of her surroundings from under it, she said. After a short drive, she was hurried up a staircase and onto a rooftop, she said.

After the hood was removed, Ms. Soussana said, she found herself in a small structure built on the roof of what she would later realize was an upscale private home. She remembered that militants were busy taking more guns from a box. Then the gunmen hurried downstairs, and she was left alone, facing a wall, with a man who said he was the owner of the house and called himself Mahmoud, she recalled.

“After a couple of minutes, he said I can turn around,” Ms. Soussana said. “And I was shocked,” she added. “I find myself sitting in a house in Gaza.”

She said Mahmoud was soon joined by a younger man, Muhammad. She remembered Muhammad as a chubby, balding man of average height with a wide nose.

Later that day, they dressed her in a thick brown garment that covered her body, she said. They gave her three pills, which they said were painkillers. It was the only time that she remembers receiving any kind of medicine in Gaza, let alone medical treatment.

Fitted with a fan and a television, the room appeared to have been prepared for her arrival, she said. There were three mattresses, she said, one for her and two for the guards.

Early in her captivity, her guards chained her ankle to the window frame, she said. Around Oct. 11, she said, she was led by the chain to a bedroom downstairs. She understood that it belonged to one of Mahmoud’s sons, and that his family had been moved to another place.

The chain was reattached to the door handle, she said, next to a mirror. For the first time since her capture, she could see what she looked like.

“I saw the chains and I saw that my face was all swollen and blue,” she said.

“And I just started to cry,” she said. “This was one of the lowest moments of my life.”

The Jail

For the next two and a half weeks in October, Ms. Soussana said, she was guarded exclusively by Muhammad.

She recalled that the room was almost permanently shrouded in darkness. The curtain was usually drawn shut and there were rolling power outages for most of the day, she said.

She said Muhammad slept outside the bedroom, in the adjacent living room, but frequently entered the bedroom in his underwear, asking about her sex life and offering to massage her body.

When he took her to the bathroom, Ms. Soussana said, he refused to let her shut the door. After giving her sanitary pads, Muhammad seemed particularly interested in the timing of her period, she said. She said she had spoken in a mix of basic English and Arabic; she had learned a little Arabic at school and her mother’s family — Jews from Iraq — had sometimes spoken it during her childhood.

“Every day, he would ask: ‘Did you get your period? Did you get your period? When you get your period, when it will be over, you will wash, you will take a shower and you will wash your clothes,’” Ms. Soussana recalled.

When it arrived, Ms. Soussana said, she was exhausted, afraid and undernourished; her period lasted just one day. She managed to convince him that her menstruation continued for nearly a week, she said.

She tried to humanize herself in his eyes by asking the meaning of Arabic words she heard on television. She also promised that her family would reward him financially if she was returned without further harm to Israel, she said.

In the afternoons, two associates of Muhammad would join him at the apartment, bringing him a cooked meal, she said. Some of this food was given to her as her one meal of the day.

The Israeli strikes on the neighborhood became more frequent and frightening, Ms. Soussana said, noting that some shattered the windows. As the bombing intensified, she said, she started feeling sorry for the civilians, wondering why Hamas had never built bomb shelters for its people.

“I felt for them,” Ms. Soussana said. “Just think about growing up like this — it’s scary.”

The Assault

Early on the morning of the assault, she said, Muhammad insisted she take a shower, but she refused, saying the water was cold. Undeterred, he unchained Ms. Soussana and brought her to the kitchen and showed her a pot of water boiling on the stove, she said.

Minutes later, he brought her to the bathroom and gave her the heated water to pour over herself, she said.

After washing for a few minutes, she heard his voice again from the door, she said.

“‘Quickly, Amit, quickly,’” she recalled him saying.

“I turned around and I saw him standing there,” she said. “With the gun.”

She remembered reaching for a hand towel to cover herself as he advanced and hit her.

“He said, ‘Amit, Amit, take it off,’” she recalled. “Finally, I took it off.”

“He sat me on the edge of the bath. And I closed my legs. And I resisted. And he kept punching me and put his gun in my face,” Ms. Soussana said. “Then he dragged me to the bedroom.”

At that point, Muhammad forced her to commit a sexual act on him, Ms. Soussana said. After the assault, Muhammad left the room to wash, leaving Ms. Soussana sitting naked in the dark, she said.

When he returned, she recalled him showing remorse, saying, “I’m bad, I’m bad, please don’t tell Israel.”

That day, Muhammad repeatedly returned to offer her food, Ms. Soussana said. Sobbing on the bed, she turned down the initial offerings, she said.

Knowing that Ms. Soussana craved sunlight, she said, he refused to open the curtains, leaving the room in darkness. Desperate for daylight, she accepted the food, believing that she had no other option but to placate her abuser.

“You can’t stand looking at him — but you have to: He’s the one who’s protecting you, he’s your guard,” she said. “You’re there with him and you know that every moment it can happen again. You’re completely dependent on him.”

The Israelis

Ms. Soussana said her captors moved her away from the border after a major, hourslong bombardment overnight. Based on the extent of the explosions and snippets she caught on television, she later concluded it was around the start of Israel’s ground invasion of Gaza on Friday, Oct. 27.

On the following day, she was hurried into a small white car, she said. The driver headed southwest toward what she would later be told was the central city of Nuseirat.

“Muhammad is sitting in the back seat next to me, and with the gun pointed at me,” she said.

The car stopped outside what looked like a United Nations school and Ms. Soussana was ushered into a busy street, she recalled.

She said she was handed over to a man who called himself Amir. He marched her up the stairs of a nearby apartment block and into another private home, she said.

For the first time in weeks, she was free of Muhammad — but terrified to be entering yet another unknown. “‘Oh my God,’” she remembered wondering. “‘What’s going to happen to me?’”

The man ushered her into a bedroom and shut the door behind her, she recalled. Inside, she found two young women playing cards, next to an older man lying on a bed and an older woman sitting in a chair, she said. Ms. Soussana was wearing traditional clothes from Gaza, she recalled.

“They looked at me and I looked at them, for like half a minute,” she said. “Then I asked, ‘Are you Israelis?’”

“Are you Israeli?” Ms. Soussana remembered one of the women replying.

The Tunnels

Three weeks after her kidnapping, Ms. Soussana had been united with four other hostages. Hugging them, Ms. Soussana broke down in tears, she said.

The identities of the four others were shared with The Times on the condition that their names would not be used to protect those still in captivity.

A few days after her arrival, she was summoned to the apartment’s living room, Ms. Soussana recalled. Amir often played here with his children.

On that day, the guards wrapped her head in a pink shirt, forced her to sit on the floor, handcuffed her, and began beating her with the butt of a gun, she said.

After several minutes, they used duct tape to cover her mouth and nose, tied her feet, and placed the handcuffs on the base of her palms, she said. Then she was suspended, hanging “like a chicken” from a stick stretching between two couches, causing her such pain that she felt that her hands would soon be dislocated.

They carried on beating and kicking her, focusing on the soles of her feet, while simultaneously demanding information they believed she was hiding from them, Ms. Soussana said.

She still doesn’t understand what exactly they wanted or why they thought she was concealing something, she said. At one point, the head guard brought over a spike, and made as if to poke her eye with it, pulling away just in time, she said.

“It was like that for 45 minutes or so,” she said. “They were hitting me and laughing and kicking me, and called the other hostages to see me,” she said.

Ms. Soussana recalled that the kidnappers untied her and returned her to the bedroom, telling her she had 40 minutes to produce the information they wanted or else they would kill her. She said one of the young women was so frightened that she asked Ms. Soussana if she had any last messages for her family.

In mid-November, the hostages were separated: The two youngest women were taken to an unknown location, she said, while Ms. Soussana and the older couple were driven to a house surrounded by farmland.

They found the house full of gunmen, who ordered them to sit on the floor. Suddenly, the older woman began to scream, Ms. Soussana said.

The woman was looking into a shaft that descended into the ground, Ms. Soussana said. “I hear one of the drivers telling her: ‘Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’s a city down there.’”

“Then I realized,” Ms. Soussana said. “We’re going into the tunnels.”

The Release

A ladder, several stairs and a series of narrow sloping passageways led the three hostages deep underground, she said.

By the time they reached the bottom, the guards said they were 40 meters deep, something they hoped would reassure the hostages, she said: The Israeli bombs could not reach them there.

Ms. Soussana said a big gunman in a mask was waiting for them at the bottom. Initially, he started shouting at them, telling them that Israel had killed his family, she said, but then quickly stopped, removed his mask and took a different tone.

She said the man introduced himself in English as Jihad and told them his father had worked in Israel and had even had his Israeli boss to dinner, in the years when Israeli civilians could still enter Gaza. He spoke in Hebrew at times. Jihad said he had learned some from watching Israeli television and sang them a famous song that he had heard on a children’s show, Ms. Soussana remembered.

“I was shocked,” Ms. Soussana said. “Suddenly, he was the most humane guy we met there.”

The ground shook every time a missile struck nearby, making her fear they might be buried alive, she said. The tunnels were dark, damp and too narrow for two people to pass each other. And their subterranean cell was so short of air that they were left dizzy and panting after taking a few steps, she said.

Israeli troops would later capture and photograph the tunnel. Ms. Soussana identified fabrics and mattresses in the pictures.

Their captors spent little more than an hour a day in the tunnel, ascending to higher levels overnight for fresh air, Ms. Soussana said. The hostages pleaded with the guards to bring them, too.

After several days, the kidnappers gave in, brought them back to the surface and drove them to another private house, Ms. Soussana said.

They were still there when Israel and Hamas agreed to a hostage deal and a temporary truce, which went into force on Friday, Nov. 24. The following day, the three hostages were driven to an office in Gaza City — Ms. Soussana’s final detention site.

Every day brought hope and disappointment. It was never clear which hostages would be freed, or when.

On Thursday, Nov. 30, which turned out to be the last full day of the truce, the guards were making lunch when one of them finished a phone call and turned to Amit.

“He says: ‘Amit. Israel. You. One hour,’” Ms. Soussana recalled.

Within an hour, Ms. Soussana said, she was separated from the older hostage and driven through Gaza City. The car stopped, and a woman in a hijab climbed inside. It was another Israeli hostage: Mia Schem, who was also being released.

They were taken to a junkyard, Ms. Soussana recalled. Around them, she said, their guards changed from civilian clothes into uniforms.

Finally, the two women were driven to Palestine Square, a major plaza at the heart of Gaza City, where a raucous crowd waited to see them handed over to the Red Cross. Social media video showed that Hamas struggled to control the onlookers, who surrounded the car, pressed up against its windows and at one point began to rock the vehicle, Ms. Soussana said.

After a tense few minutes, the Red Cross officials managed to transfer the women to their jeep.

As they approached the Israeli border, a female Red Cross official handed Ms. Soussana a phone. A person who said he was a soldier greeted her in Hebrew.

“He said, ‘A couple more minutes and we’re going to meet you,’” Ms. Soussana said. “I remember, I started to cry.”

Aaron Boxerman and Isabel Kershner contributed reporting.

Patrick Kingsley is the Jerusalem bureau chief, covering Israel and the occupied territories. He has reported from more than 40 countries, written two books and previously covered migration and the Middle East for The Guardian. More about Patrick Kingsley

Ronen Bergman is a staff writer for The New York Times Magazine, based in Tel Aviv. His latest book is “Rise and Kill First: The Secret History of Israel’s Targeted Assassinations,” published by Random House. More about Ronen Bergman

A version of this article appears in print on March 27, 2024, Section A, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: Israeli Hostage Tells of Sexual Assault in Gaza. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

#jumblr #antisemitism #bring them home

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tiredmamaissy · 1 year

Text

Make Your Choice

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Listen to Gentrify - Da Vosk Docta whilst reading ;)

Read part II here

Characters: Lo’ak Sully (20) x Na'vi Reader y/n (20) x Neteyam Sully (21)

Warnings: NSFW, pure filthy smut, profanity, oral sex, edging, foreplay, consensual king neteyam, impatient dom lo’ak, see warning re incest below

❗️I don’t see this as incest because they are not engaging with each other - only with the reader. They take turns, and don’t touch each other in any sexual way. However, this does involve them both sexually engaging with the same person. Do with this info as you will. Do not engage if this is a trigger for you.❗️

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: Thank you anon, I love this idea. Sorry I took so long to get to your request, as well as all the other requests. See my post about requests, here.

Synopsis: Neteyam and Lo’ak both have a major crush on you. They’ve been fighting over you since childhood, and now that you’re all grown up, they take turns showing you who you should choose, once and for all.

Tags: @pandorxx (check out their ‘both’ series!) @lovekeeho @jakexneytiri

Intro:

Lo’ak and Neteyam have been fighting over you since childhood. Boasting about who could do what better – engaging in endless banshee and sparing matches to prove it to you. They did everything they could to win your heart over. You’ve always struggled to choose. Both were just so delicious – both perfect in their own ways. It was, and still is, the hardest decision of your life. Until one day, sitting in your tent, they decided that they’ve had enough of this long, drawn out competition – they wanted settle this once and for all.

----

“We settle this, today.” Neteyam growls, poking his younger brother’s chest.

“Yeah? Fine with me.” Lo’ak snarls, coming face to face with Neteyam.

They both slowly turn to you, undressing you with their dark, smouldering eyes.

“Y/n.” They say in unison.

Your eyes widen at the sight of their ominous demeanour. “Guys...” You mutter, taking a few steps back, looking back and forth between the two brothers that tower over you. “How exactly are we ‘settling’ this?” You ask slowly, with a shaky voice.

“Let’s face the facts.” Lo’ak begins.

“After so many years we have proved to you that we are both mighty warriors...” Neteyam steps towards you.

“...and we’re so handsome...” Lo’ak continues, as Neteyam rolls his eyes.

“...but who will make the better mate?” They tease simultaneously, inching in even closer to you. They look at each other, and grin, as if they were about to compete in the biggest challenge yet.

“What do we start with first? A kiss?” Neteyam suggests, raising his eyebrows.

Lo’ak scoffs. “C’mon, bro. Such a wuss.” Lo’ak smirks, turning to face you. “How about I give you the best head of your life?”

Neteyam head snaps toward you. “No. I, will be the one to give you that, y/n.” he comes closer you.

Lo’ak comes between you and Neteyam, shoving him away from you. Neteyam rushes towards Lo’ak, towering over him with clenched fists. Lo’ak peers up at him through hooded eyes, also assuming a hostile position. You come to the realization that this has gone way too far and needs to be settled. You quickly come between them, separating them with your hands.

“Boys.” You mutter, feeling their chests press against your hands, closing in on you. “Boys!” You shout, finally getting their attention. “Stop! We’ll do it. Okay?” You lower your voice, shaking your head to look at them both. “But we do it fair... just don’t fucking fight.”

They ease off, surprised by your intervention, and create space between each other. You exhale, feeling a sense of relief wash over you, and back up as well. They stand far from you, huffing and puffing from the adrenaline that courses through their bodies. Your eyes swing back and forth between the two, trying to decide who goes first.

Your eyes fall on the shorter boy, looking him up and down – lean, yet chiselled, younger, and gregarious. Eventually, your eyes settle on the taller boy, lingering as you examine his body thoroughly – muscular, yet tall and slim, mature, and reserved.

“Neteyam. You’re first.” You mutter, holding eye contact with the golden saucers that gaze down at you.

A smile plasters on his face. “Smart choice, my love.” He inches in closer to you, shortening the distance between your lips and his. He lingers there, allowing his lips to brush against yours as you both share each other’s breaths. “Can I kiss you?”

Lo’ak rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and seats himself at the back of the tent to watch the show.

“Yes.” You breathe into his mouth, closing your eyes.

He kisses you slowly, and passionately, following your lead to determine what feels good for you. He gently sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before his tongue asks for permission to swirl around yours. You melt into his kiss, allowing your tongue to intertwine with his as he runs his fingers through your hair. Feeling your body heat up from his sensual touches, you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth. You pull away suddenly, panting from the heat in your chest. You swallow your spit and step back, focusing on the seething figure behind Neteyam.

“Lo’ak.” You catch your breath.

He storms over, breathing heavily – not from arousal, but from jealously. He grabs you by the jaw, and kisses you hungrily, sliding his tongue into your mouth. Your teeth click together from his sharp, eager movements. His desire for you is evident from the soft grunts that vibrate through his nose onto yours. You feel the familiar heat build deep in your chest, as he tames you with his rough kisses. You push him away and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You take a second to gather yourself, already feeling your body respond to their touches. “Alright, then.” You pant, staring at the four glowing eyes before you.

You sense a sinking feeling in your stomach, realizing what you just got yourself into. It’s too late to have regrets, though – you might as well embrace this and make the best out of this situation. Besides, it’s undeniable what these two are doing to your body. It’s evident in your already wet loincloth. You back up quickly, bumping into the table behind you. Hopping on the table, you spread your legs slowly, looking at the two boys drop their gazes to your soaked loincloth.

“What was all this talk about ‘the best head of my life’?”

Your breath is heavy as you stare at Neteyam, who is visibly restraining himself from lashing out at his brother and taking you for himself. You could see a switch flip in him, like he got riled up from seeing Lo’ak smother you in that way – like he wants to have the final touch. Seeing him in this way excites you, making you want to see how far you can push him.

“Come take these off, Nete.” You moan softly, shifting your hips to provide him with better access to your undergarments.

“My pleasure.” He growls, fixing his gaze on you as he leans over you. He grabs your hips, yanking them over the edge of the table, and rips your loincloth off you. “Sorry, love.” He huffs softly, unaware of his own strength.

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath, becoming even more aroused from his possessive body language.

You watch him kneel before you, maintaining his fixed gaze, as he waits for your next command. Giving him permission with a slight nod, you watch his face make its way between your legs. He breaks eye contact, dropping his gaze onto your glistening slit. Your heart pounds violently as you watch his eyes widen, and lips part at the sight of your dripping slit. He rubs a single finger up and down against your cunt, lubricating it with your slick. He plays with your wetness a little, pulling his finger away to reveal a thick string of slick, connecting his finger to your pussy. Neteyam swirls the string around his tongue to finally taste you in his mouth. His eyes close, allowing him to savour the sweetness of your cunt before he swallows it.

It sends him into a frenzy, where he grips your soft thighs and eats you out ravenously. You fling your head back from the sudden warmth engulfing your clit, releasing loud, lengthy mewls into the air. You’re panting loudly – almost breathless from the intensity of his sucking. You lift your head back up, looking directly into Lo’ak’s famished eyes as his brother eats you out. Watching him watch you get off to Neteyam’s lewd touches makes it even more exciting. You can see the bulge in his loincloth, fighting to find a way out of its constraints.

A finger enters you suddenly, causing you to take a sharp breath. Neteyam hooks his finger towards him, and fucks your cunt erratically, trying to establish a good rhythm with his tongue and finger in unison. Your moans become more desperate – more needy, as you’re already nearing your climax. You want to cum in Neteyam’s mouth so badly, but you also want to give Lo’ak a chance. He’s watching you so intently, blowing hot air out of his nostrils from his mixed feelings of arousal and anger. You could tell how badly he wants to devour you, too. Neteyam notices that you’re staring at his brother and plunges another digit inside of you.

“Holy f-fuck. Neteyam!” you cry out, jolting your hips from the overstimulation. You find your pelvis rolls into his fingers as he’s flicking his tongue against your swollen clit. The feeling makes your entire body shudder, as the heat gathering in your chest shoots down into your cunt.

“Ne-neteyam...” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut. “I - I’m gonna cum! Stop!” You shriek, pushing his head away.

He pulls up, catching his breath and licking his fingers clean. “You should’ve let me finish” he says breathlessly, as your slick drips down his chin onto his chest.

Lo’ak takes this as his signal to come over. He pushes Neteyam out the way and takes his place, dropping to his knees before you. “My turn, yes?” he begs you with his eyes, already holding on tightly to your trembling thighs. You take note of his restraint, as he waits patiently for his command.

“Eat.” You push your pelvis towards his mouth.

He wastes no time and devours your sopping cunt, lapping up your juices greedily. He’s groaning into your pussy, spreading your lips with his warm tongue. Neteyam looks dumbfounded watching his brother’s animalistic behaviour. Neteyam shoots you a glance, seeing you bite back a moan.

“Ngh... Fuck. Lo’ak!” you rasp, unable to hold back your lusty noises anymore.

Lo’ak fucks you with his tongue while his nose rubs against your sore clit. This sends you over the edge, you feel your legs shake every time his tongue brushes past your sweet spot. You feel so vulnerable – so tender. He grabs your hand and places it on his head, squeezing it, telling you to hold on to him. You weave your fingers through his loose braids and grip tightly, humping into his face as you make eye contact with Neteyam.

You feel feverish yourself – rutting your hips into Lo’ak’s mouth in an erratic manner, whilst seducing his brother with your eyes. You were practically undressing Neteyam, imagining what the huge imprint in his loincloth looks like. You look down and see Lo’ak peering up at you, moving his tongue back up to your clit, massaging it with the flat of his tongue. A fire pools low in your abdomen, and it feels like you’ll burst any second.

Lengthy whimpers escape your gaping mouth, both Neteyam and Lo’ak could tell that you were close to cumming, hard. “Ugh... Oh. Oh – oh shit. Lo’ak!” you try to push away his head, but he just shoves his face into your cunt even harder. The overstimulation is maddening, to the point where stars start to cloud your vision. “Fuck! Fuck! Stop!” you close your legs around his head, yet he persists – sucking on your clit like his life depends on it.

Suddenly the burning sensation in your clit stops. Neteyam pulls Lo’ak off you, both falling on their bottom as they pant heavily from the whole ordeal. You desperately try to calm down, catching your breath and steadying your heartbeat.

“Play fair, brother.” Neteyam growls, squeezing Lo’ak’s neck. Lo’ak shrugs him off, hissing at him.

“Boys... don’t” you groan shakily. Sitting yourself up even more, you look down at your two boy toys kneeling on the floor.

“Neteyam. Show me what you have in there.” You demand, burning a hole into his crotch with your eyes.

Your gaze follows him as he stands slowly, hooking his thumbs under the band of his loincloth. He slides it down, releasing his rock-hard, throbbing cock. It smacks loudly against his stomach, leaving a sticky spot behind. The tip of his cock touches the bottom of his rib cage – he’s massive. How in the fuck will you take all of that? Not only is his cock the length of your forearm, but it’s almost the thickness of it, too. Beads of cum are already oozing out the slit of his mushroom-like, pulsing head.

“Oh, fuck.” You mutter, unable to look away.

Neteyam can’t help but grin, proud of his size. Still maintaining eye contact with him, you blabber out for his brother to do the same.

“Lo’ak... your turn now.” You turn your head in Lo’ak’s direction, yet you still can’t look away from this monstrous, hung, and veiny cock – boosting Neteyam’s ego even more.

You feel something velvety, yet rigid, brushing against your thigh. Tearing away from your locked gaze on Neteyam’s cock, you look down to see Lo’ak’s jumping cock, lying on your thigh. You nibble on your bottom lip as your eyes trace the rest of his torso, making their way up to meet his inebriated stare.

“I thought we were playing fair, y/n.” He spits.

Your eyebrow raises before dropping your lidded eyes back down to this heavy thing resting on your thigh. Why is it so fucking heavy? At first you thought he was trying to get your attention by resting his hand on your thigh, but this?

“Shit.” It comes out more as a soft whimper, rather than a whisper.

Length wise – he’s at most an inch or two shorter than his older brother, but – Lo’ak’s cock is thick. You thought Neteyam’s was thick, but this? This is actually the thickness of your forearm. Not only that, but it curves upwards ever so slightly. The tip of his cock is even girthier than his shaft – it’s pink, swollen and throbbing for attention. How could you ever take this inside of you?

“Good Eywa.” you breathe, now feeling Neteyam’s weighty cock rest against your other thigh.

How can I choose just one of these?

You look up to see Neteyam’s dazed eyes locked onto your leaking slit. In your peripheral vision you catch a glimpse of his cock, jumping, eagerly asking for permission to enter you.

“Make your choice.” The two brothers chant, both inching their cocks closer to your cunt.

“Let’s do it, y/n.” Lo’ak adds, taking your nipple into his mouth.

“I – I think I need to try you both first.” You moan softly, flickering your eyes between the two of them.

They both look at you and grin, dropping their gaze down to the slick pooling on the table.

“Let’s get it done, my love.” Neteyam says in a husky voice, sliding his hand over your cunt.

——

#lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #lo'ak avatar #lo'ak x y/n #lo'ak sully #lo'ak x you #lo'ak sully smut #lo'ak smut #loak smut #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam smut #avatar x you #avatar smut #avatar #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic

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moumouton4 · 11 months

Note

Idea. strip poker with tobirama, orochimaru, madara, and neji (seperately) but the reader is really damn good at poker. So the guys are sitting there in their underwear and the reader has only removed their shoes and socks. And the boys lose again and the reader (being the cocky asshole they are) says "I told you not to go against me, and look at you now." I just think this would be really goddamn funny, what happens after is completely up to you.

Strip Poker Hc || Naruto characters x reader

Including : Tobirama Senju, Orochimaru, Madara Uchiha and Neji Hyuga

A/n : That was so interesting to write ! Thank you so much for this opportunity 😍 I really hope you'll like it 🔥

Warnings : strip poker, sexual innuendo, spank, hint to oral fem!receiver, slow burn, kinda spicy at the end, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Words count : 1984

Tobirama Senju :

When you offered, he frowned and turned his head so you wouldn't see the blush on his usually cold face, telling you it was a stupid game he didn't need to undress you

Even when you told him that it'd be fun he turned you down

So you did the most logical thing to get his attention: doubting his abilities.

"You're quite right to refuse, I'd have beaten you so far you wouldn't have recovered"

That's it, he'd turned finally his head towards you, a look of challenge in his eyes

"I'll make you swallow your words like snakes"

Mission accomplished, now the real game could begin

The poker game was known to both of you, So the game was off to a flying start

The only thing he hadn't taken into account was that you'd never really played together before, crazy as that may sound

Round after round, and although confident at first, he began to feel disillusioned

You didn't decide to spare him, not when you knew how satisfying it was to see that look of satisfaction fade from his face

You took great pleasure in making him take off his shoes, his socks, his forehead protector ( you argued for 20 minutes about whether it was a piece of clothing ), his t-shirts...

You did lose a couple of rounds, underestimating him at some points, sensing victory was coming, but nothing to make you lose face

Then you won once again, and while he'd already made a fuss about taking off his t-shirt, what was it going to be like for his pants ? "Come on, Tobirama, don't be a sore loser. Take responsibility now"

With a sigh laced with a grunt, he removed his belt and pulled down his pants, trying to control the heat rising in his cheeks

"I think we can call it a game, I'm sure you won't have the balls to go on at the risk of removing the last article" you said, your eyes trailing towards his boxers

He didn't assume he'd been so easily loose that you stopped playing to preserve his dignity

"Unless..." you said your words trailing "you want. But then I can't promise that the game won't end up in our bedroom"

Okay if he wasn't flustered he really is now. You think you've won so much you allow yourself to be cocky too. But now he knew that you were much better at poker than he was

The reaction of his body, however, spoke volumes about his new resolve to lose the game

As you drew closer to him, you realized that his breathing was ragged, a grunt hidden beneath his breath

Before you even had time, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you flush against him. I'm going to show you something I'm second to none at"

"Ah ? What is it ?" you replied still cocky, anticipation lacing your words

"I'm going to make you scream" and with that he took you in his arms, threw you over his shoulder and led you to your room

Finally you'd got what you wanted. What would have been the point of playing poker against him, knowing that you were going to beat him to the punch ?

Orochimaru :

He'd heard about strip poker on his travels. He couldn't wait to come back and try it out with you

It would be a way of showing his superiority through gambling, and of revealing you to his hungry eyes at the same time

He seriously thought he was going to win. And his confidence was only boosted when you asked him in a small voice "You're sure about this ?" carefully faking your ability. He nodded eagerly before repeating in a commanding tone, "Come and sit here pet" "Okay"

You'd let him win the first two rounds to build up his confidence. You only had to take off your shoes and socks. You couldn't wait to see that smirk fade from his face, so you launched your counterattack

Now immersed in your game - he noticed the shift in your behavior - you won sleeve after sleeve, making him jump out of his clothes one by one. And as he wasn't wearing much, he soon found himself almost naked in front of you ( faster than he should have )

At this point he took off his clothes mechanically, but his jaw tightened when he found himself in his boxers in front of you. His eyes widened as you cockily said, "See, I asked you if you were sure"

There you were again, he knew that you were up to something

You continued to taunt him "Look at you now how path-"

But he cut you off suddenly, taking long strides towards you "You'll be sorry you played me" he said, his voice hoarse and dripping with lust

"Stand up" he demanded and you did. Then you followed him back to your room "I'll teach you that a good pet doesn't try to be superior to its master" he couldn't help being proud of you though, but he intended to remind you of your respective places

After he stripped you, he sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned you to lie on his lap, you could feel the effect your moment of cockiness had on him

"You think you're clever. Vey well. We'll see about that" he punctuated his sentence with a firm spank on your ass "Now count and be a good girl"

Madara Uchiha :

When Madara came to you proposing a game of strip poker, it was to prove to you that he was better than you. Uchiha superiority blah blah blah

In fact, he'd been on a roll ever since he'd won an earlier training fight with his Sharingan

He was sure that a simple card game would allow him to repeat another victory

"You sure about this ? I'm warning you, It's best to stick to the win you had before. It won't have the same flavor otherwise" you joked

"Just come and play the damn game with me Y/n" he said, a hint of excitement in his words, he was sure that in no time you'd find yourself naked in front of him

However, he should have been wary, given the great confidence emanating from you as you sat down in front of him, he was still a little baffled

At the end of the 3rd round, when your feet were bare from the two rounds you'd lost, you finally looked Madara in the eye during the game, concentrating less on your cards. You frowned when you saw his Sharingan activated

"Love that's cheating. No Sharingan allowed" your voice made him smirk "If you think it'll make you win. I'm not that close anyway" his pupils returned to their original black

"That's better" you said, the game could finally begin

And it did. Round after round, he had to remove an article of clothing, proof of your superiority over him in this game

The look he gave you was hilarious. He looked as if he'd been betrayed every time he unraveled a little more. Serves him right for underestimating you

His expression fell, however, when he lost yet another round and realized he had to take off his last piece of clothing, which was his boxer

"That's it, the game's over" he said, his voice laced with bad faith, he was disgusted to have lost without realizing it

"I told you to be satisfied with what you had before. Et look at you now" your eyes trailed down his figure "Don't be a sore loser and take responsibility. Take that off"

To your surprise, he smirked and slowly took it off, his eyes still fixed on yours. He moved away from his chair and you stood up institiously as he moved closer to you

Suddenly, he placed both hands on either side of you. Your back hit the table as his body pressed against yours. You could feel the warmth of his body, his ragged breath on your ear and his arousal pressed against you

"Done. Now what are you going to do about it?" he asked in a husky voice

Your hands wrap around him, pressing him closer against you "I'm going to take my reward"

"Alright. Show me how you slay pretty girl "

And something tells you that the Sharingan in his eye was there to make sure you didn't miss any of the show you both were about to play

Neju Hyuga :

He never wanted to play it with you, maybe out of embarrassment. But one day he overheard you talking to Naruto and Shikamaru about playing strip poker at a party with all your friends, and that's when something clicked in his mind

Suddenly he really wanted to play with you. How could your boyfriend not be the 1st to play strip poker with you well maybe because he's refused countless times

When Neji told you he'd heard you talking about it with your friends, you just wanted to tease him just to hear the hint of jealousy in his voice a little more "Na Neji don't worry about it"

He tried to suppress the jealousy you'd been able to feel for a while now under a calm, confident tone he was used to using "I'm your boyfriend and I think it would be appropriate to do it with you before you do it with our friends"

"I swear you'd better not tempt me. Besides, I know you can't handle defeat"

"Defeat ? What makes you think I'm going to lose ?" he said, feeling his competitiveness flare up in him - ouch, you'd just touched his ego

"Okay fine" you said after pretending to think "But I'm warning you, every time you lose, you have to take off one of your clothes. And no arguing, that's the rule"

At your words he turned red and nodded eagerly his gaze averting between you and the floor "By the way no Byakugan allowed to see through the cards" "Understood"

And he should have known he was in for a hell of a ride when he saw the little smirk on your face, but he couldn't wait to get started and secretly hoped to win a decent number of rounds

But what a disillusion, miraculously - according to him - you were winning

You did loose one or two rounds but it was only because you were drooling over his chest

"Neji you have to take that boxer off that's the game. You wouldn't have said the same thing if the situation was reversed" he blushed intensely bringing his hands at the waist band of his boxer "That's so unfair"

"And yet you're the one who wanted to play with me. You remember what you told me "I'm a hyuga I'm bound to win against you"" you joked mimicking his voice "Guess you won the right to be a naked sore loser. You shouldn't have to mess with me. At least you got to see my feet" you laughed

He chuckled at your joke nonetheless ready to accept his defeat when you raised your hand to stop him " Don't forget it's only a game you don't have to go that far if you don't want to"

He smiled at your understanding but he intended to take responsibility, and Byakugan or not, he could see that you were dying to see him take it off

"No, it's okay, you won, I'll do it" and with that he pulled down his boxer shorts, another shade of pink landing on his cheeks "And what now ?" he asked, his voice full of anticipation

"Well now I might just reward you for playing and maybe have a little taste. What do you say ?"

"I'd be honoured" he finally spoke, his blush gaining the tip of his nose

A/n : I hope you guys liked it ! 🌮🧀 Again my requests are open 🍩🍰

Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

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wifeofasith · 5 months

Text

Warnings — Dead dove - do not eat, psychologist!Anakin x reader, manipulation, coercion, captivity, blindfolding, tying up, drugging, loss of consciousness, both Anakin and reader are mentally ill, scissor play, undressing, dub-con, implied murder, hinted homicide, hinted torture, stalker behavior, implied APD, implied suicide, Stockholm syndrome? Generally a messed-up piece of work.

Word count — 3k

Notes — A small project for my friend. Not something I'd normally write, but I took it as a challenge. Not exactly smut, but it's hinted & characters make out. Make sure to read the warning list and be mindful. Wrote it in a different point of view to make it as gender neutral as possible. NOT PROOFREAD.

After seven visits and a night of consideration, I've come to the conclusion that Doctor Skywalker wasn't the correct mental health specialist for me. And it wasn't because he was bad at his job, no, quite the opposite. Anakin Skywalker was an attractive male in his forties. He never shared details about his personal life, and despite that, he managed to create an impression of a person I've known for months, if not years, of my life.

Anakin scared me. Not intentionally, of course. It was what he's supposed to do — pick up the details of me, the patterns of my brain, my movements, and my involuntary fidgeting. He was a modern mind reader, and I couldn't help but wonder if he's aware of every thought I've had when he sat in front of me, with his legs crossed, glasses hanging on the very tip of his nose, a linen button-up with the last button left free. Could he hear what my inner voice was saying during those stolen stares? The gentle tapping of a fountain pen on his notebook told me he could.

He wasn't the only one digging for specifics, though. His purposeful, secretive behavior made me want to figure him out. As if he were my medical project and not the other way around. I knew that it wasn’t ethical; part of his job was to keep the outside world, including his own, off his patients' brains to avoid influencing them. But I needed to know more. Anakin Skywalker was my psychologist, and I was utterly and entirely obsessed with him. Maybe that's exactly why I should stay in therapy. For one reason or another.

It was Tuesday morning, and I woke up especially early for my supposedly last appointment. I wanted to take a longer way to his office and connect all the pieces of private information my ill brain gathered and processed about Anakin. There were plenty of assumptions, facts I couldn’t know for sure, and guesses about his life that were possibly altered by whatever’s been lurking in my brain. However, I loved the image. In my head, Anakin was divorced. The absence of an expensive stone on his ring finger forced me to come to that conclusion. A glimpse of his phone wallpaper portraying two toddlers told me he was a father of two — a boy and a girl with the same gentle but intense stare he wore. The bundle of keys on his office desk told me the kind of car he drove, how many locks his house had, a keychain of his assumed favorite hockey team hinted at what he enjoys doing in his free time. Oh, and he was a smoker, that’s for sure. You could never miss the smell. No matter how many mints he swallowed before my visits or the scent of soap he used to wash his smoke-stained fingers, the cigarette trace was always obvious. But I didn’t mind it, not one bit. His natural smell mixing with the dirt of an addiction on someone who’s supposed to be an example of a perfect intellectual man was like knowing his dirty secret — it was arousing.

I came fifteen minutes early. My doctor worked on the third floor of a five-story commercial building; it was an environment I deemed to be perfectly suitable for a man such as Anakin. Modern architecture surrounded by enough green to not appear like a dystopian haven. And it was an excellent choice for a psychologist office, initially. Personally, however, I thought it was too perfect. Everything surrounding Anakin was a bit too perfect, from the way he carried himself to the choice of his work spot — it always rubbed it in for me that there are people doing okay, people who aren’t chained with the issues of their own heads, uncaged, people who can enjoy that perfect organic modernist dream.

I was going to spend the punctual sixteen minutes outside on a bench before stepping inside and greeting the doctor with a new wave of depression to discolor some of his lively world; after all, that’s what he’s signed up for. I sat down comfortably, not too far from the main entrance, admiring the surrounding park while judging parents chattering around while their strollers were left unattended near the children’s playground. It was enjoyable to see and possibly figure out the mindset of all the strangers and passersby. I felt like my own kind of psychologist, but I never had any intentions to help the people I marked as dysfunctional in one way or another. I lacked some empathy, yes, but that only made my life easier; I wasn’t as attached to problems that weren’t my own, and I could analyze people without their lives influencing mine. My doctor’s fairytale was unfortunately disturbed by the raspy voice greeting me.

“Good morning. You’re early.” Anakin greeted me with a welcoming yet slightly surprised tone. “I’m glad.”

The coffee in his hand told me otherwise; I could only assume though, but he probably expected to spend a good ten minutes alone in his office, enjoying the morning with a hot latte and with no bothering from his patients before his workday even started.

“Good morning.” I nod too nonchalantly for my own liking. It was obvious I was forcing the tone, and if someone is to pick on such a small detail — it’s him.

“Let’s go; I don’t mind starting early.” He smiles, and I can once again can tell what a liar he is.

I follow him inside a white-lit lobby area, where he’s greeted by a few people he’s familiar with. He walks with masculine confidence, and I find myself feeling so disgustingly small beside him, small and insignificant. I wonder if he’s ever aware of the effect his demeanor has on people. It pisses me off and excites me further. It’s a case of mental masochism, and I’m a pathetic victim.

After a few second elevator ride, spiced with his initiated small talk, we enter the office. He offers to make me a cup of tea, giving me a choice of peppermint and lavender. I was about to decline when I reminded myself that it was my last time here and that I had never drunk lavender tea before. So I agree, encouraging him to be generous with sugar.

“Can I assume you being oddly early to come means an improvement in your mood?” He asks as he brews my beverage. It’s almost as if he’s not even working yet, not taking notes and analyzing me, but I know it’s just a facade to make me feel more comfortable.

“Perhaps. More so that I don’t think I’ll be visiting anymore.” I confess and go along with his play.

“Can I ask why?” His broad back turns from me, and I’m greeted with his handsome face. There was no hint of confusion or surprise; you would think he'd expected me to say that.

I shrug my shoulders, following his hands as he stirs my tea and pushes a delicate porcelain cup forward. His voice is nice, but I would much rather stare at him than watch his miserable attempts to help me.

“I don’t think therapy is necessary. Not anymore, at least.” I take a sip of a hot lavender drink, my hands taking the cup involuntary to avoid speaking further. The brim touches my lips, and I hiss in pain from the burning liquid. I swear he chuckles at me.

“I would like to continue seeing you.” He crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. The gaze he’s fixed on me, mixed with the weird silence after he stops asking questions, is making my insides squirm with anxiety. It’s never like that around him.

“You see, y/n, you are an interesting case…” Anakin pushes his glasses up with his index finger, rocking his chair slightly. “You’re an obsessive stalker.” He blurts out as a wide grin spreads across his face. “And I dislike misbehaving patients.” His face is becoming more blurry as we speak, and I feel myself sinking into the velvet cushion of an armchair.

Fucking lavender tea...

I couldn’t tell if I was out for days or mere minutes, but I’m pretty sure if the familiar smell of cigarettes hadn't reached my nostrils, I’d still be asleep. I opened my eyes only to be met with a dark cloth concealing my sight. I know I’m still in Anakin’s office because the sensation under my restrained wrists is of the same velvet chair. I remained still, in hopes of figuring out what’s going on. Only one thing was clear: I shouldn’t have came today yet alone drank tea. That's a gut feeling for you. The blindfold is weak around my eyes, and I guess it’s less for hiding the view and more for intimidating me. Good job, doctor.

“Oh?” Anakin gasps mockingly. “You’re up early, little bird.” He’s standing behind me; one of his hands snakes up my neck, fingers twisting into my hair. “Good.” He tightens the cloth around my eyes.

“There’s something about you. You’re as annoying as you’re pretty, and I can’t decide if I want to keep you as my little pet or get rid of you and mask it as the tragedy of a weak-minded person.”

I can sense him walk away and then make his way back into his chair in front of me. I sat up straight, settling my head towards him to show how little his words were frightening me. My mind’s been playing games on me since I can remember myself, and a mere human couldn’t scare me with ropes and threats when my own head was a prison of torture most of my life.

“I urge you to make that decision now before your next patient finds us in this roleplay of yours.” I tug the restraints on my hands.

Anakin laughs; I can hear him light a cigarette.

“Yeah?” He pauses, probably taking a puff. “You’re stupid. You don’t think you should be scared?”

I know I should be; in fact, I am not mentally ill enough to be oblivious to how messed up my situation actually is. But I’m not scared, and that scares me way more than being held hostage by my own psychologist.

“So what then, doc? Don’t keep me waiting.”

I can feel Anakin rise from his seat and slowly make his way to stand in front of me. I can’t see him, but as he towers over me, I lift my head up. There is that sense of feeling small again. Maybe it’s less about his confidence and more about how twisted his mind is to lure in people like that.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed? You… Digging through me, trying to figure me out... Watching me. You’re sick.” He grabs my chin. ”You’re sick, and it pisses me off.”

“So you decided to tie me up?”

He sighs, and I’m pretty sure he’s fed up with my poor sense of judgment.

“No, I decided to tear up your dignity piece by piece to show you who’s the real maniac between the two of us.” He yanks the blindfold off my face, and I can’t help but wonder if the initial purpose of it was to do just that. It's as if he’s planned every single second of our sick encounter.

His piercing deep blue eyes star into mine intensely, filled with overwhelming emotions of visible hatred and lust, and I am no longer sure if I want to scream into his face or bite his lips off in an intense session of kissing. I want to make him bleed through both pain and pleasure. Can he tell what I think this time too, or is he sane enough to be unaware of the disturbing thoughts spiraling in my scrambled brain?

“Don’t look at me like that.” He says it with a disgusted tone.

“Do you not enjoy my stare, doctor?"

I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know why my tongue moved in such a seductive manner when I spoke to him. Maybe it was the fruit of his manipulation, making me feel safe, making me trust him, and then turning me into a mindless vessel that craves his approval. Or maybe my problems dive deeper into my body, and it’s just who I am. Maybe sickness excites me.

Whatever the reasoning, it seemed to amuse him. Though I still couldn’t read if his amusement was based on hatred for that twisted attraction he obviously felt towards me, part of me wished it was later.

“You’re a masochist.”

“And you’re a sadist.”

Anakin raises his eyebrow. “So you agree?”

We were both right, but I wasn’t just going to sign up for him hurting me. Or at least not this easily. As I wonder how this is going to go, he leaves the room.

I like to think he’s keeping me because he finds me desirable. It doesn’t exactly make the whole captive situation better, but hell, it’s satisfying when you’re entertaining enough for a man such as Anakin to consider not murdering you instantly. For other eyes, it would make his image less perfect, but to me, he’s becoming better by a second.

Anakin comes back with a pair of metal scissors in his hand. He towers over me again, this time raising my chin with a cold blade.

“You’re not letting go of that stare, are you, darlin’?” He bites his lip, looking down at me.

The stinging blade traces down my neck, sliding over my right collarbone. The thicker skin he reaches, the more pressure he’s applying, yet he's not breaking the flesh, only leaving a red, tingling line. It drags over my clothed shoulder and down the sleeve of my shirt. He does it slowly, not breaking eye contact, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. I question if I am as special as I thought I was.

“You have no idea what I am going to do to you.” He leans down to whisper as he hooks the cutting edge under the cuff and cuts into it.

A cold sensation sends shivers up my arm when he lets the two blades rip through the material all the way up to the neckline, leaving my left limb completely free of clothing. The dust particles tickle my nose, causing a sharp inhale, which he mistakes for fear.

“Scared?”

Not a chance. It’s better than just undressing me; it gives a sense of foreplay, whether before sex or murder. He repeats the same process on my other sleeve.

“You like playing with your food?”

Anakin grins widely. I think he’s liking me more and more. "Oh, how I’ll enjoy devouring you, my sweet dessert."

He drops down to his knees, placing his hands on my thighs to keep them apart and give him more access to be closer to me. He cuts into the hemline of my shirt and rips it across the middle, parting it and exposing even more of me for his eyes to eat. He doesn’t stop there and digs the point of the scissors into my chin, causing a painful sting. I look into his eyes, clouded with darkness, biting my teeth together to avoid hissing from the ache.

“Mouth.” He says that, and my lips part involuntary, as if he had control of my own body.

He slides the scissors fully into me, leaving only the rings hanging out.

“Bite.”

I clench my teeth against the metal to prevent myself from choking. Anakin looks at me proudly, as if saying how good I am for listening to his orders. He grabs the waistband of my pants and commands again.

“Hips.”

I lift myself up, and before I know it, I’m almost entirely naked, tied to a chair, with scissors digging into the back of my throat. And I don’t think ever in my life I’ve been this turned on by a mere thought of being hurt.

He stands up, grabbing the tool out of my mouth and yanking it out without any consideration. With trembling hands, he starts cutting the ropes off my wrists.

“I’m about to die from the feelings you make me feel.” He groans.

Once my hands are free, I clash into him like an animal freed from a cage who’s been deprived of meat. His lips lash onto mine, and his arms grab my thighs and lift me up against him. He’s kissing me, and my body’s burning with sickness and desire. Anakin carries me to his desk, sweeping all the papers and stationary on the ground with a loud, crashing sound, breaking whatever’s fragile and unlucky enough to interfere with our twisted fantasy.

Anakin’s teeth graze the skin on my neck as he throws me to lay on the wooden tabletop. He digs his teeth into my flesh, making me gasp. He’s marking my body with deep red bruises, and I wonder if it’s to hurt me, taste me, or make me see the sars. I’m pretty sure all three things are happening at the same time, though.

He pulls away for a second just to force his tongue into my mouth. And I kiss him. I crave him. I want to make him feel weak for not killing me; I want to make him feel vulnerable for giving into his desires, but the only one who’s feeling small is me. Just like every other time. I keep kissing him, tasting his spit in my mouth as it smears over my chin from how hungrily he’s working. And he keeps devouring me. He keeps devouring me, and I can’t force myself to stop him.

266 notes · View notes

afictionaladventure16 · 1 year

Note

Reader being Pedro’s co-star (maybe along Bella in TLOU or if not in another show/film) and him basically taking her in after finding out she’s not being well taken care of in her home, so he becomes her surrogate dad

It's Gonna Be Okay (Pedro Pascal x Teen!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Word Count: 5,091

A/N: I may have took this request and ran with it.... but uhhhh I hope this is somewhat what you least expected... enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of neglect and abuse.

If it were up to you, you wouldn’t have taken up acting when you were younger. You were forced into it at a young age, it was so you could help pay bills because your father was on disability and your mother didn’t want to give up her position as a housewife. You eventually fell in love with acting, being able to just escape your life and family and just be someone completely different.

You’d had been getting bigger roles now that you were older. At only age fourteen, you had gotten many roles in shows and movies. You were proud of yourself. Someone had to be. You were currently working on another film after just finished working on the Prospect, which starred Pedro Pascal as Ezra. You played Cee, a girl who is traveling planets with her father. This film you were starring in now was a small indie film, which had been something different than what you usually worked on. That didn’t mean that you didn’t like it, you liked the challenge.

You walked into your trailer after shooting a couple of scenes. Your mom was on the phone with god only knows who. For the longest, you wished your relationship with your parents was better. You wished they could be proud of you and that maybe they did this because they wanted a better life for you. But that wasn’t the case, they were only thinking for themselves.

Your mom hung up the phone, “your father and I were thinking about buying a new house.”

“We just bought a house,” you stated as you began to undress from your wardrobe for your character and into some regular clothes.

“Well, I think we could use something new. Plus with the money you made from your previous role, we can afford it?”

You let out a deep sigh, “but that’s my money, shouldn’t I have a say?”

“Your money? Sweetie, it’s our money.”

“I was the one who did all the work, my name is on the checks!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me, you know the money goes to an account that has me and your father as the trustees.” You couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve taken it for years and years, them using you to get money and you knew eventually you would be left with nothing.

“It’s my money, that money is supposed to be left untouched.”

Your mom let out a deep breath, “Well, it’s the least you could do for all we do for you.”

“All you do for me? What? Sit around and not do anything!?”

She began to rub her temples, “sometimes I wish I never had you,” she spat.

“If you hate me so much then why did you ever have me?” You asked, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

“We had you because we thought you could fix us!”

“So what I’m just some kid you have when your marriage is falling apart? So if that doesn’t work you can blame the kid? You were better off getting a dog!”

“Maybe we were better getting a dog! At least the dog would listen and be more appreciative! And you know what? You shouldn’t even be talking to me like that, I am your mother!”

“Barely! I only see you when it’s convenient! All I am to you is an ATM!”

“You are so ungrateful, you have no idea what we do so you could be some superstar!”

“You didn’t do shit! I did this! I walked myself to auditions! I took the bus to film locations! I did it!” You yelled, allowing yourself to finally yell out everything you had been holding back.

“Fuck this,” she said as she walked away to grab her bag.

“I’m not going home,” you said.

“Ni te quiero ahi de todos modos,” (I don’t want you there anyway) she hissed as she walked out of the trailer. You didn’t know where you could go if you couldn’t go home. If you could even call that place home.

You felt the warm tears make their way down your cheeks, and you were quick to wipe them away, “I don’t need them,” you said to yourself. You grabbed your backpack of essentials, you usually carried it around because it was stuff you needed for before and after shoots and now it was convenient because you couldn’t go home.

When you walked out of your trailer, almost everyone had gone home for the night. Most of the shooting took place in Los Angeles which was where more than half the cast and crew lived. The others rented places to live in until the end of the shoot.

You didn’t know where to go, but your feet seemed to lead you the way to the bus stop. It was almost like you were on autopilot to the only place you knew you’d welcomed.

Once you had gotten on the bus, you noticed dark clouds beginning to cover the sunset sky. Usually, you would be happy to see that it was about to rain, but since you were stuck in a bus and would eventually have to walk the rest of the way to your destination, you were feeling the opposite to see the clouds.

You had ridden the bus for a good twenty minutes, this was one of the routes you got to know over the past couple of months since filming. You’d ride the bus for twenty minutes and then walk the rest of the way, which was another twenty minutes.

It only sprinkled during the walk to your destination. But it didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. The whole walk to the neighborhood, you couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been if maybe your parents actually cared. What will life become if this continued? You couldn’t handle the way they treated you as if you were just an employee, you yearned for that feeling of being loved by your parents.

You couldn’t quite remember when exactly it started, you thought it could’ve been when your dad got injured at work, but even then you felt it was before that. You admit, that the words your mother said hurt. You were only created to fix their marriage and even that couldn’t fix it because it was obvious to everyone that it was falling apart day by day.

Once you had gotten to the neighborhood, you were glad that they didn’t live in a gated community or else this walk would’ve been for nothing. You ran the rest of the way to the house, running up the steps, and knocking on the door.

You stood in silence for a few seconds until the door opened, “Y/N? What are you doing here?” Pedro asked in shock, “Mija, you’re all soaked, get in.” Pedro pulled you into the house, before running off to grab you a towel.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve called,” you began to say.

He chuckled, “Yeah, I could’ve gotten you a ride.”

That was true, but part of you just wanted to be left alone. “Sorry,” you said again.

Pedro wrapped the towel around you, “Take your shoes off, make yourself at home.” You never understood that phrase, maybe because you never knew what a home should feel like. You cleared your throat as you took your shoes off, placing them by the door. You followed Pedro into the living room, “You came just in time, I was gonna start a movie marathon…” Pedro looked over at you standing by the couch. “Pues, mija sit down.”

“I don’t want to ruin the couch,” you gestured to your wet clothes. Pedro could care less if you got his couch a little wet, but he probably thought you felt uncomfortable in wet clothes.

“Hold on,” he said as he ran up to one of the rooms. He came down a few minutes later, “I remembered one of my little cousins left some of their clothes here the last time they came to visit. These pajama pants should fit and I have one of my old Fleetwood mac tees here.” He handed you the clothes, giving you a grin.

“Thanks,” you said with a smile.

“You know where the bathroom is,” he gestured towards the hallway. This wasn’t your first time in Pedro’s house, in fact, you came over to his house pretty often. Since being in the Prospect together, you have developed a strong bond with Pedro. You still hung out with him whenever he was in town and you even went to visit him in New York a few times. This house has become like a home to you, a true home. One in which you could actually be yourself, when you came here you never wanted to go to the one where your parents were. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t as surprised to see you, just more surprised you didn’t call him. You quickly changed in the bathroom, and when you walked back out to the living room, Pedro had microwaved some popcorn. He pats the spot next to him for you to sit down.

You rolled your eyes and sat down beside him, “What are we watching?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me what’s going on,” he asked in a serious tone.

You sighed, “don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do your parents know you're here?”

“All they know is that I’m not home and they’re happy with that,” you picked up some popcorn and began eating.

“Now why would you say that?” At this point he turned the T.V. off, giving you his full attention.

“My mom and I got into this big argument,” you said, hoping he would drop it and you could just go back to ignoring the situation.

“About?” But part of you knew he wasn’t going to just drop it. Pedro was a good listener and for some reason, he had done more for you in the little time he has known you, than your parents ever have.

“Money,” you began, not even trying to hold it in anymore, maybe he could help you do something about it. “They’ve been spending everything I’ve earned like it’s no tomorrow and now I’m scared that that’s all they care about.”

“What?” Pedro sat up, “They can’t do that, it’s your money,” he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he knew he had to be somewhat illegal.

“I know,” You sighed, “but they're my parents”

“Mija, they signed a contract. Only a certain percentage of that money goes to an account that they could spend for you, the rest has to go to a savings account for you.”

“It’s all in one account,” you responded. “I don’t know what to do, I’m too young to get emancipated, and even then… I have no other family I can stay with.”

Pedro got up, he knew he had to talk to someone about this, maybe one of the directors or even your manager. He just knew this wasn’t right. He grabbed his phone from the counter, Pedro hesitated for a second, what was he doing? The choices he made right now could change your life either for the better or for the worse.

He went into his contacts, tapping on his phone a few times before pressing it to his ear, “Pedro?” You called out, walking in the direction he went. “What are you doing?” You asked as soon as you saw him.

Before he could respond to you, someone had picked up, “Hello?”

“Chris,” he began, your eyes widen, you couldn’t believe he had called your manager, you had forgotten that they had been good friends. “It’s Pedro.”

“Pedro, what are you doing?”

Pedro didn’t respond to you again, “Pedro, what’s up?”

“Any chance you can come by my place? Y/N is here and we have something to talk to you about.”

“Um, yeah, I can be there in like thirty minutes, sound good?”

“Yeah, see you then,” Pedro hung up the phone, looking over at you, “It’s gonna be okay.”

“How do you know that?”

He sighed, “because I’ll be there to help you, okay? You’re not alone, Y/N. Do you trust me?” You didn’t trust a lot of people, but Pedro was one of the few you did trust. He had shown you that you could trust him time and time again. You gave him a small nod. He smiled softly at you, “you hungry?”

“I don’t think I can eat at a time like this,” you said nervously. Pedro understood he didn’t think he could eat either, but he knew it was rude to not offer.

When Chris arrived, Pedro did most of the talking. You sat on the couch, nodding every once in a while or talking when things needed more clarity. But for the most part, Pedro was your advocate and you were content that you didn’t have to deal with it. Chris was overwhelmed with the information he was given, but he knew what to do in these kinds of situations.

“I can get you a lawyer,” he began, “but I’m letting you know now, it’s gonna get messy. We’ll have to find a family for you to stay with-”

“I have no other family,” you confessed.

“Well, they might have you-”

“She can stay with me,” Pedro blurted out. “If she’s able to.”

“It’s possible. We’d just have to provide evidence that temporary guardianship is needed in this case,” Chris stated.

“I have evidence,” you began, “just do whatever is needed and I can provide the evidence.”

Chris sighed, “alright. I’ll keep in touch and It’s probably best if Y/N goes home tonight.”

“My mom told me not to come home.”

Chris glanced at Pedro before looking at you, he didn’t know what to say, “then I guess you’ll stay with Pedro for the night.” He didn’t say anything else before leaving.

“You think it’ll work?” you asked Pedro, he had sat down next to you once Chris had left.

“I like to think it will,” he gave you a reassuring smile before pulling you to his side.

“Did you really mean it?” you asked, receiving a confused look from Pedro. “When you said I could stay with you.”

“Of course I meant it,” he said. “You’re like a daughter I’ve never had, in just a few months we’ve known each other you have brought me so much joy and I have to admit, seeing you shoot your scenes, makes me feel so proud.”

You felt tears begin to well up in your eyes. Someone who didn’t even know you for your whole life was proud of you, more than your parents ever could be. “What’s wrong?” Pedro asked as he wiped away a tear off your cheek that had managed to escape. You shook your head, “Something has to be bothering you, muñeca, what is it?”

You let out a shaky breath, “it’s just… I wish my parents could say that they’re proud of me. I wish they could at least act like they loved me.”

“Oh, mija,” he cooed.

“You know what my mom said to me today?” you sniffled, “she said that they only had me because they thought I would help make their marriage work. What kind of person says that to their own kid?” You let out a soft sob, “Do I even matter to them? To anyone?”

Pedro held you tight, “you matter to me.” He placed a small kiss on your temple, “they may say all these awful things but you are here for a reason.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Sure.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re like a daughter to me and I believe you were brought onto this earth to shine some joy into my life,” he gave you a reassuring smile. “Okay?” You gave him a nod, “Now let’s watch our movie marathon, we’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.”

You laid your head on Pedro’s lap, watching as the opening credits began to play on the screen, but you couldn’t help but wonder if everything was going to be okay. When you woke up that morning you didn’t imagine this was how you were going to end your day, but then again, no one ever really imagines how they would really end their day.

You wondered if you’d need to move out and if so, how would everyone take it? Did that really matter? No, it didn’t. You know Pedro said he’d take you in, but would he be true to his word? You couldn’t help but think about all these intrusive thoughts, all you wanted to do was watch the damn movie, but your mind was so loud.

The next day came and no word from Chris. You went back onto the set, your mother was there too. You played your best role yet, the obedient daughter. You sat and listened to your mother as she lectured you for not coming home last night, even though she had told you not to.

Days went by and only one call from Chris, he was working on it. That’s all he said. You visited Pedro a few times before he went back to New York.

Then weeks went by and eventually you finished filming. You hated when you weren’t filming, it meant you had to go home and spend most of your time there.

It wasn’t until a month after the whole talk with Chris was when your parents received the knock at the door. You were at the kitchen table when your mother answered the door, you could hear the shock in her voice when the gentleman said the four magical words, “You have been served.”

Your head the door shut, and the smile on your face only lasted a few seconds before it was met with anxiety. You heard the sounds of the envelope being torn apart and then complete silence. You were beginning to regret everything that had just happened, maybe it was just all a big mistake. Suing your parents was a big deal, accusing them of stealing was another big deal.

You heard footsteps inching closer to where you sat. Then silence. You looked up at your mother standing at the doorway, It was at that moment you knew that it was probably best that she was served the papers when you weren’t there. Because up until that moment, you had thought that all your mother would do was mentally and verbally abuse you, or steal from you.

“You bitch,” she spat as she threw the papers onto the table, “after everything we did for you!” She smacked her hand across your face, your hand instantly touching the spot she had slapped. “This is how you repay us!?”

You felt tears well up in your eyes, you got up from your seat to leave but your mother quickly blocked your way, “move.”

“This is how you repay us?” She asked again. You remained silent, not daring to look at her. It was all quick, her hand on your throat pushing you against the wall, “I’m asking you a question!” Her grip was strong, you scratched at her hand, hoping that it would pain her enough to let go.

It felt like you were against the wall for minutes. Her phone began to ring, allowing you to break free. You fell to your knees as you attempted to catch your breath. “Leave,” she began. “No te quiero ver en esta casa nunca mas, no me importa donde vas.” ( I don’t want to see you in this house anymore, I don’t care where you go) You remained silent as you got up from the floor, “Me oiste?” You didn’t say anything again as you grabbed your phone from the kitchen table. “I asked you a question!”

“Yes! I fucking heard you!” You yelled.

Your reflexes weren’t quick, maybe it was because you were still trying to recover from being choked, or maybe it was because your nerves were everywhere. You weren’t quick enough to dodge your mother's fist, and you stumbled back. Quickly covering your eye, you groaned as you felt it throbbing.

Your mother shook her hand, “Leave before I do something I’ll regret.”

“You’re fourteen years too late for that,” you muttered.

“Eres una disgracia, no eres mi hija. Quiero que todos que sepan que no tengo hija.” (You’re a disgace, not a daughter. I want everyone to know I don’t have a daughter) she muttered as you walked out of the room. You walked into your bedroom, and quickly looked at the damage to your eye, it didn’t look too bad but you knew it would bruise, not to mention the red marks on your neck. You couldn’t worry about it right now, you had to pack what was important and the essentials. As looked around your room, you couldn’t think of anything you wanted to take, just things you needed.

As you began to pack things, you decided to call Pedro, it had only rang a few times before he answered, “Hey, Y/N! I was just about to call you,” He began to say. “I was gonna surprise you, but I might as well just tell you, I’m in LA! I have an interview tonight an-” he had rambled on, but you had to interrupt, or else he wouldn’t have stopped.

“I need you to pick me up,” you cut him off.

Pedro went silent for a moment, “Everything okay?”

“My mom just got served, Pedro.”

“Shit,” he mumbled, “I was hoping they’d tell me before they did anything, that way…” Pedro hesitated, he didn’t want to think about what could have happened. “are you okay?” he asks instead.

“Can you please pick me up?” You asked shakingly.

“Of course, Mija, I’ll be there right away, okay?” He said.

“Don’t hang up,” you pleaded.

Pedro’s heart sank, he could hear how torn you were, “okay, I won’t hang up.” You could hear car keys jingling on the other side of the phone, “I’m gonna connect the Bluetooth to my car, okay?”

“Okay,” you had zipped up the last of your stuff into one of your suitcases.

Pedro stayed silent for a few seconds, “are you still there?”

“I’m here,” you said. You began to make your way out of your room, and you spotted your mother still in the kitchen, phone pressed against her ear. You walked out of the house, without saying another word to her. You didn’t know how your father would react and you didn’t want to know. “I’m outside,” you said into the phone.

“I’m only a few minutes away.”

It felt more than a few minutes, it felt like hours. You stood at the driveway, anxious that you wouldn’t leave in time, you wanted to make sure you weren’t home when your father got there.

“I’m down the street,” Pedro announced.

You quickly spotted his car and you ended the call once he was close enough. Pedro parked at the curb, quickly getting out to help you put your stuff in the car. Before you could get in, he grabbed your arm, placing a hand on your face, “Mija,” he began as he noticed the marking on your neck and the swelling of your eye. “Did they do this to you?”

“Let’s go,” you pleaded. He sighed, he knew you were anxious to get out of there. He glanced over at the house you had come out of as you got in the car, he closed the door for you before getting in the car.

The car ride was silent, which was different. Usually, the car rides with Pedro were filled with music and laughter, but this time there was no music and no laughter. You stared out of the window for most of the ride. Once you got to the house, Pedro took your bags and you followed him inside.

“I need to make a phone call,” He informed you as he walked into his office.

You walked over to the window, looking out at the scenic view. Were you making a big mistake? Was he beginning to realize it?

You did the right thing, right?

You took charge of your life and you did the right thing, right? Even if it feels completely wrong and you feel so much guilt. Is it wrong to feel a little relief? Usually, relief meant a good thing, so did this mean it was a good thing?

You felt something on your shoulder, you jolted a bit at the sudden touch.

“Sorry,” Pedro apologized. You calmed down when you realized it was him, “I was on the phone with Chris and the lawyer.”

“What they say?”

“Well, I told them what happened and the lawyer is attempting to get an emergency temporary custody agreement from the judge so you could stay with me. He said he’ll be coming over to take pictures for evidence, but for now…” He sighed, “are you okay?” you shook your head. You didn’t need to say anymore, Pedro pulled you in for an embrace and you allowed yourself to feel everything.

For once you felt like you were able to feel everything without feeling guilty for doing so or even wrong to think such horrible things. But now that the truth has come to light, you were able to feel.

In most cases, this process would have taken days, but somehow the lawyers your manager hired made the process go by fast. Within a couple of hours, Pedro received the call that he was able to get temporary custody, but that’s all it was. Temporary. Eventually, you would have to go to court and maybe end up in foster care, but you didn’t want to think about that now.

“Let me see,” Pedro said softly as he joined you on the couch once again, he had been making some phone calls for the past twenty minutes. “Fuck,” he said softly, “They really hit you pretty well.”

“It hurts,” you groaned.

“I know,” he had a frozen pack of peas in his other hand, along with a small towel. He wrapped the bag of peas in the towel before gently placing it on your eye, “leave this on for twenty minutes, then rest it.” You gave him a nod as you took a hold of the bag of peas. “You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, “not really.”

“That’s fine,” he said, trying not to push you into talking.

But that’s the thing, you wanted to talk about it. You wanted to cry it out, you just didn’t want to feel like a burden, especially not to him. Not after all he has done for you so far.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, Pedro quickly took notice, pulling you back into an embrace. “I thought that I would be happier,” you cried. “They’ve always treated me so terribly and now that they’re no longer a part of my life… I don’t get it.” Pedro rubbed your back, “Why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel like-”

“Like you’ve lost your parents?” you nodded.

“Even if they never acted like parents.”

“I don’t know, grief is funny like that,” he said softly. “Some people don’t deserve to be parents, Y/N.”

You took in a deep breath, “you know what she said when I left?” he hummed in response, “Quiero que todos se sepan que no tengo una hija.” Every girl needs a mother, you needed a mother, and you had one. You just didn’t have the one that was portrayed in movies or the ones that your friends had. And you were always envious of that. You wished you had a mother that truly loved you and took pride in being your mother. Maybe you didn’t understand, what it was like to be a mother, but you think you could.

Because if you ever had a daughter, you knew you would love that person unconditionally without hesitation. So, why couldn’t she?

Pedro couldn’t understand it because like you if he had a daughter or even a son. He would love them unconditionally, just like he had tried to do with you. Like he was doing with you. Right now there was a hurting child in his arms and all he could think to do was comfort them even if he was fighting everything inside him to go punch your parents. He knew what he had to do at that moment, he had to comfort you because you needed him.

He kissed your temple, “She doesn’t deserve such a beautiful, intelligent, talented daughter like you and it hurts that she can’t see what I see.” He leaned back from the embrace, holding your head in his hands. “Just because someone shares your DNA doesn’t mean that they are family. If there is anything you have shown me in the time I’ve known you, it’s how to be a father to someone who isn’t even my own kid.”

You gave him a small smile as he wiped away a tear from your cheek with his thumb, “from here on out, we’re in this together, mija, okay?” you nodded.

Yeah, you really couldn’t understand it, but you didn’t have to because DNA didn’t mean they were truly your family. If there was anyone who actually knew you like the back of your hand, it was the man that was sitting beside you. The man who took time to be there for you when they couldn’t.

The man who knew what to say on your bad days and what not to say, who knew your favorite foods and knew your pet peeves, just like a father would. He knew what time you should go to bed for you to be not grumpy in the morning and he knew what subjects in school you needed help in the most.

And he mostly knew all of this in a short period of time. He spent time with you and not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. It didn’t take him long to create a bond with you and it didn’t take you long to consider him like a father.

“Okay,” you said softly. The pain would only be temporary, you knew that and you allowed yourself to feel it. You were still nervous about the outcome of the future, but you knew you had a small support system and that was all you needed.

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @Sophieelizabeth01 @tracysnook @cilliansangel @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy @oggystine93 @t-stark35 @twkobii @picklehat3r

To be added CLICK HERE

#pedro pascal x daughter!reader #pedro pascal x daughter #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x teen!reader platonic #pedro pascal x teen platonic #pedro pascal x teen reader #pedro pascal x teen #pedro pascal x teen!reader #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal platonic #pedro pascal platonic fic #pedro pascal x Platonic!reader #pedro pascal x platonic reader #pedro pascal x platonic

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klance-dreams · 1 year

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uh oh! someone leaked keith’s camera roll! 👀 ((this is an untraditional #UndressACharacterChallenge 🫣))

unlock the next photo to see what else keith has in his camera roll ✨💕

#UndressACharacterChallenge #undress a character challenge #lance mcclain #klance dreams #vld #voltron #klance #my art

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callsigns-haze · 26 days

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Out of All: Chp 7

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships

Mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy test

Your mind raced with a torrent of thoughts and fears as you sat in the bathroom, the pregnancy test boxes clutched tightly in your trembling hands. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon you, each passing moment tinged with uncertainty and apprehension.

Caila's reassuring embrace offered a brief respite from the storm of emotions swirling within you, but deep down, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that everything would not, in fact, be okay. The prospect of facing such a life-altering possibility alone filled you with a sense of overwhelming vulnerability.

As you retreated into the bathroom, you found yourself confronted with the stark reality of the situation. The instructions on the test boxes lay before you, a series of simple steps that held the power to confirm or deny your worst fears.

With trembling fingers, you opened one of the boxes and carefully read through the instructions. The process seemed straightforward enough, but the weight of its implications bore down upon you with a crushing intensity.

Stripping away your clothing, you settled onto the toilet seat, feeling a wave of unease wash over you. The simple act of counting to seven seconds suddenly felt like an insurmountable challenge, each moment stretched to an agonizing eternity in your mind.

Despite the anxiety coursing through your veins, you summoned the courage to proceed, allowing the stream of urine to fill the container as instructed. Each second felt like an eternity, the pressure mounting with each passing moment as you willed yourself to maintain control.

With shaky hands, you dipped the test into the urine, watching as the liquid spread across the surface, carrying with it the weight of your hopes and fears. In that moment of uncertainty, you found yourself clinging to the fragile promise of a future yet to be determined, praying for a glimmer of clarity amidst the overwhelming chaos.

The expletive escaped your lips in a hushed whisper, the weight of the revelation bearing down upon you with an unbearable intensity. Panic surged through your veins, threatening to overwhelm you as you struggled to process the reality of the situation.

Positive.

The word echoed in your mind like a relentless drumbeat, each repetition serving as a cruel reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead. You felt as though the ground had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you adrift in a sea of fear and apprehension.

Tears welled in your eyes as you clutched the positive test in trembling hands, the weight of its implications pressing down upon you like a suffocating blanket. How could this be happening? How could something so life-altering occur in the blink of an eye, shattering the fragile illusion of stability you had worked so hard to maintain?

Your thoughts raced in a frantic whirlwind, each scenario more dire than the last. How would you tell Bradley? How would you face Jake? The prospect of navigating this turbulent journey alone filled you with a sense of overwhelming dread, the enormity of the challenge ahead threatening to crush you beneath its weight.

But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, a small voice of determination whispered within you. You may not have all the answers, but you refused to let fear dictate your future. You would face this challenge head-on, drawing strength from the knowledge that you were not alone.

With a deep breath, you rose to your feet, the weight of the positive test still heavy in your hands.

---- As you entered your home, the weight of the pregnancy tests in your pocket felt like an anchor dragging you down into the depths of despair. Bradley's presence greeted you, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow and the gentle touch of his hands as he pulled you into a comforting embrace.

His hug was a lifeline in the midst of your turmoil, offering solace and reassurance as tears spilled from your eyes. You leaned into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace as he guided you to the couch. With a tissue in hand, he offered you a lifeline to wipe away your tears, his steady presence a source of strength in your moment of weakness.

But when words failed you, when the magnitude of your revelation threatened to consume you whole, you reached for one of the pregnancy tests, the silent messenger of your reality. As Bradley's gaze fell upon the test, comprehension dawned in his eyes, his shock mingling with a fierce determination to support you through this unexpected journey.

Though a myriad of emotions swirled within him, anger was not directed at you, but at the unseen force that had left you in this state of uncertainty. He longed to protect you from the harsh realities of the world, to shield you from the consequences of someone else's actions.

As you sobbed in his arms, his words of comfort rang out like a beacon of hope in the darkness. "Chick, everything will be okay. I'm here for you, till the end," he reassured you, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

But amidst the comfort of his embrace, a nagging thought lingered in the back of your mind. What about Jake? How would he react to this unexpected news? The uncertainty of his response loomed like a shadow over your newfound sense of security, casting doubt upon the fragile foundation of your world.

--The next day--

Jake was in the process of unloading his gear from his locker when Rooster stormed into the room with an air of agitation. His abrupt entrance caught Jake off guard, prompting him to inquire about the source of Rooster's evident frustration.

"Rooster, what's got you all worked up?" Jake's curiosity was piqued by his friend's uncharacteristic demeanor, especially considering Rooster's typically laid-back nature.

Rooster's response was unexpected, as he revealed that Anna, Bradley's sister, was the cause of his turmoil. The mention of your name sent a jolt of concern through Jake, his thoughts immediately turning to the incident in the Hard Deck. He couldn't help but wonder what could have happened to leave you in such a state.

"She told me something the other night," Rooster continued, his voice tinged with anger, "and she seemed really shaken up about it. But it's got me pissed off. She took a damn pregnancy test, man."

Jake's mind raced as he processed Rooster's words. The mention of a pregnancy test sent a shockwave of disbelief through him. He knew that he was the only one you had been intimate with, so the implications of the test were clear. But Bradley hadn't mentioned whether the test was positive or negative.

As confusion mingled with concern, Jake couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. Whatever the outcome of the test, he knew that he needed to reach out to you, to offer support and reassurance in your time of need. But as he contemplated the situation, one question echoed in his mind: What had led you to take a pregnancy test in the first place, you guys were always safe?

"W-was it positive?" Jake's voice trembled with a mixture of anxiety and disbelief as he sought confirmation from Bradley. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, and Jake's composure faltered despite his efforts to remain calm.

Bradley's response was heavy with resignation, his weariness evident as he rubbed his hands wearily across his face. "What do you think? My little sister is pregnant, Jake," he replied, the words carrying a weight of their own.

The reality of the situation hit Jake like a ton of bricks, his mind reeling with a flood of emotions. He couldn't bear to simply stand there, paralyzed by shock. Before anything else could be said, Jake made a hasty retreat from the room, his actions spurred on by a sense of urgency and the overwhelming need to find you.

As he sprinted down the corridor, he could hear Bradley's voice calling after him, but Jake's sole focus was on reaching you as quickly as possible. Every step propelled him forward, driven by a desperate need to talk to you and offer whatever support he could in the face of this unexpected turn of events.

--- Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you as you returned home from another day of filming. Nausea had plagued you throughout the day, and all you craved was a much-needed nap to sleep off the sickness. As you dropped your belongings by the door and slipped off your shoes, you made your way to the couch, longing for a moment of respite.

Lying on your back with limbs splayed out like a star, you stared up at the ceiling, succumbing to the pull of sleep. However, the tranquility was shattered by aggressive pounding at the door, jolting you awake. Blinking away drowsiness, you stumbled to the door, your head spinning for a moment before regaining focus.

The sight that greeted you was unexpected—a blonde, green-eyed Texan storming in with urgency written all over his face. Before you could even process the situation, his grip tightened on your shoulder, his voice urgent as he demanded, "Anna, are you pregnant?"

Shock coursed through you. How could he possibly know? But then it dawned on you—Jake worked with Bradley. Your heart sank as you realized your secret had somehow reached him. Taking a deep breath, you managed to nod in affirmation, confirming his suspicions.

Jake's demeanor betrayed his inner turmoil as he withdrew his hands from your shoulders, running them down his face in a gesture of stress. His forehead glistened with sweat, his expression pale and tense. Despite the gravity of the situation, he remained remarkably composed as he sought confirmation, "It's mine, isn't it?"

You met his gaze, unable to mask the uncertainty in your own. With a nod, you confirmed his fears, uttering the words that sealed your fate, "It's yours, Jake."

His reaction was not what you had anticipated. Instead of anger or frustration, he simply nodded, processing the information silently. His calm demeanor left you at a loss, unsure of what to expect next. As you braced yourself for his response, he surprised you by asking another question, his voice steady despite the weight of the revelation.

Jake's question hung in the air, pregnant with anticipation. As you nodded in affirmation, the weight of his words settled over you like a heavy shroud. You were indeed the mother of his future child, a reality that both terrified and astounded you.

Expecting a flurry of emotions or perhaps even his swift departure, you watched in bewildered silence as Jake turned away. But to your surprise, he didn't leave. Instead, he closed the door behind him before turning back to face you. His eyes bore into yours, and before you could comprehend his intentions, he closed the distance between you in a single decisive move.

A wave of shock washed over you as Jake's lips met yours, not with the casual familiarity of previous encounters, but with a passion that ignited something deep within you. The intensity of his kiss caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless as you surrendered to the unexpected rush of emotion.

In that fleeting moment, as the world seemed to fade away, you found yourself reassessing everything you thought you knew. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing was clear—this kiss had changed everything.

tagging:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@callsign-dexter

@horseslovers2016

@rosiahills22

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

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@jessicab1991

@ahh-chickens

@dingochef

@dizzybee03

@mrsevans90

@lynnevanss

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shannankle · 2 months

Text

Framing in DFF: Voyeurism and Sex

Okay I kept thinking about this conversation between @brifrischu and @lurkingshan over the last few days. They both make great points about how the show is using the sex scenes to convey conflict, themes, and genre expectations (or the subversion of these). Since I did a whole post thinking about visual framing and the camera's gaze, I wanted to compare how each of the sex scenes is drawing on different forms of voyeurism to convey ideas to the audience, and even draw us in and interrogate our reactions as viewers.

Before we jump into analyzing scenes, I wanted to establish a few levels of visual gaze/voyeurism.

The typical gaze of the camera. Here there's no obvious signals or framing of voyeurism apart from the natural voyeurism inherent in filming and watching any piece of visual media.

We know a character is being watched but we don't see the watcher doing this. Perhaps a character expresses feeling watched or thinks they saw something. At this level we may stay in the perspective of the character being watched or an outside perspective where the watcher remains off screen.

The gaze is mediated in a way that evokes watching. For example, through a camera, a window, or the first-person viewpoint of the killer (common in horror). The voyeurism becomes more obvious and experiential. We're implicated more explicitly in the gaze but not necessarily in a way that forces the audience to reflect on this fact.

We see someone else gazing in a mediated way. Hannah Bonner puts it best in a chapter she wrote about Cabin in the Woods and other films with surveillance: "The voyeur is no longer just the audience, squirming in their seats from Michael Meyers's point of view as he tracks down his naked sister and her boyfriend in Halloween...now the audience as voyeur watches the voyeurs watch the surveyed" (90). This gets meta on the viewer.

I'd argue that each sex scene manipulates these levels of voyeurism in ways that play with genre expectations, and in ways that play with and challenge our reactions as viewers to different kinds of sex.

Tee and White

The scene with Tee and White begins with us looking through the open door. We actually start with just Tee. White moves in from off screen and joins him as if the porch is a stage. So we start at a mild version of voyeurism level 3--our view is mediated in a way that evokes watching through the open door. It's not as obvious as other forms of mediation like windows (which we'll discuss later for Phi and Jin) but it's still getting us into that territory.

This quickly changes to more open shots on the porch. These are unmediated so we move into level 1 territory for a short bit as the two begin making out. That is until White sees a flash of Masky. There we enter level 2 as we see this from White's perspective. And of course, he then expresses the feeling of being watched explicitly.

The hand comes in to grope Tee, and I'd argue this lies between levels 1 and 2. We as the audience see the hand and certainly that implies a degree of being watched by whoever or whatever is getting handsy. But we neither see from their perspective nor see them watching per se.

In true slasher fashion however, we get the implication that the horny couple is being watched. In a straight 90s slasher, this would be the indication that at least one member of the promiscuous couple is about to die (and often they're the first to die in the film). The slasher film thus allows the watcher a titillating glimpse of sex or at the very least a woman undressing, while also punishing this promiscuity. It's quite common to have such scenes play out either from the killer's perspective (level 3) or at least with it implied they are watching (level 2).

So in a typical slasher, the fact that White feels watched and we see the hand would be the signal that one or both of these two will die soon after.

But as others have pointed out, this doesn't happen. We're pretty much told as much by the way the story skirts this genre convention narratively. But I'd also argue they subvert it visually.

When the two actually get down to the actual sex part, we cut to the two in the shower, largely blurred by the glass. Now, we could perhaps argue that this is a mediated gaze. But I'd argue that a) filming sex scenes in showers is so common that it doesn't necessarily feel like it evokes watching quite in that way and b) the gaze is intentionally limited and denied through blurring effects. Yes this is likely in part because Fuaiz was under 18 while filming. However, it also moves us into level 1 territory. This feels intentional in the way that it pushes back on the visual tropes of the slasher genre in a very deliberate way. It is not meant to be solely titillating, and it also drops any visual queues that might suggest they are being targeted, effectively detaching sex and sexuality from being inherently tied to death and the murderous gaze.

We get the threat but it is quickly dissipated. We get a similar move a few scenes later, where for Tee and White, outside voyeurism is explicitly denied. When the group is looking at the security footage they flip over to video of Tee and White on the porch. We move into a level 3 (we see the footage on the screen) and implied level 4 (the group watching said footage), but only for a fraction of a moment. Tee steps in to block the gaze of both the group and the audience. The threat of being viewed is once again blocked and diffused as me move back to level 1.

This denial and push back on higher levels of voyeurism stands in contrast to how Non and Keng are filmed. So on the one hand, Tee and White's scenes navigate and subvert the voyeuristic tropes of the slasher. On the other hand, they raise thematic concerns about surveillance. And not just surveillance but who gets surveilled and why.

Phi and Jin

Phi and Jin have had two sex scenes so it's interesting to compare them visually. In episode 1, we start off and remain primarily in level 1 voyeurism territory, with one exception. There is a moment as Jin is giving Phi head where we shift perspective. We move inside the house and view them for a few moments through a dew stained window. Like Tee and White there is some blurring happening, but much less pronounced. However, unlike the shower glass or the open door, the window much more clearly evokes watching, moving us into level 3 in the middle of Jin and Phi's first sexual scene.

In the second scene, we begin almost immediately at level 3 with a mediated gaze. It's unclear if this is a closet, wall fixture, or window, but we're viewing the scene through it as if we are hiding and watching. Throughout the scene we also get an unsteady almost shaky camera effect that fits this level. Of course, we then get the much more obvious moment where Phi pushes Jin against the window and we move to view them from outside. Finally we have the dog/astronaut doll who watches over the encounter. Since it's an inanimate object it doesn't actually move us into level 4 here but there is an allusion here to being watched at that level all the same.

All of this is clearly an intentional choice. As @lurkingshan points out Phi and Jin are filmed so explicitly in part to highlight their betrayal of Non. The scene clearly plays on Phi's emotional betrayal of Non and New (at least from their perspective) as that is what the episode is building to. But it also strongly dialogues with Jin's own guilt through it's framing. Jin who harmed Non through voyeurism has that gaze placed on himself.

It's interesting because this is the scene shot most consistently from level 3, what we would expect from a slasher scene. But it isn't the killer that is watching or hanging over them, but rather their own mixed up feelings of guilt. It's an interesting subversion of the role this level of voyeurism can play within horror. It feels particularly queer as well. Tee and White's sex which is narratively placed in the role of our first victims, is subverted and visually moves down to level 1. While the late in the game sex between Jin and Phi visually plays out like Tee and White's should have if this followed the slasher mold. Sexuality is decoupled from voyeuristic and narrative tropes that would link it to judgement and death. Instead it becomes a "window" into the characters' inner struggles and interpersonal dynamics.

While not as meta as Non and Keng's scene (which we'll get to soon), the framing here offers a subversion of the typical ways we tie sex into our judgements of morality and of other people/characters.

Non and Phi

Non and Phi's sexual moments are left to implication. We get no indication that anyone is watching them. Aside from the inherent voyeurism of the camera, their moments feel private, safely away from the world. They kiss in secluded places, squarely at level 1. The sex itself happens off screen, perhaps arguably even moving us into a level 0. If Tee and White's sex is framed in ways that push back on gazing, Non and Phi's sex is made entirely impossible to view in the first place.

Levels 1 and 0 feel right at home in BL. This isn't to say we don't get other levels in BLs but it's not exactly a primary mode or a consistent trope. The exception perhaps is the threat in some dramas of being outed: being walked in on or seen making out out or embracing. Depending on the story this ranges from a friend who ultimately accepts them to someone who reacts with rejection. In either case, in these stories voyeurism as a theme typically revolve around homophobia. However, here we're signaled from the get go that the show will be exploring other themes. Tee and White's brief exposure to the group isn't playing on the tension of the closet. So from a visual standpoint, the way voyeurism is played out for Tee and White (as the group sees their footage) also signals that the show isn't really playing in the BL sandbox, it's just borrowing some sand.

For Non and Phi, then, the private nature of their relationship, and the fact that it remains at level 0 and 1, isn't a reflection of them hiding their queerness per se. Rather it dialogues with the perceptions both the group and the audience have of Non up until this point. The assumption that he is an outcast through and through, that he is unloved, that they/we already see his full complexity.

Non and Keng

This privacy given to Non and Phi is contrasted strongly with how Non and Keng are framed. By juxtaposing the two pairs, I believe that the show is challenging certain assumptions and dialogues around sex.

As Non and Keng begin to kiss and touch we stay in level 1 territory initially. However, this changes sharply when Jin and Fluke come to look for them. When we see the sex it is not through a neutral camera but through Jin's first person perspective. The shot is cut as if looking through a cracked door. We enter level 3 voyeurism. Quickly, as Jin pulls out his phone, we move from level 3 to level 4. We are now not just experiencing Jin watching, but we've become voyeurs to Jin's voyeurism. He watches and films, and we watch him do so.

The show clearly has a lot to say about what it means to surveil others and about the ways our perceptions can do others harm. It's very intentional that Non and Keng's sex is framed this way. As @lurkingshan points out, the scene is intentionally graphic to hit home on the fact that this is SA. In line with this, the visual framing takes us to the highest level of voyeurism (level 4) to make this violation clear. This doesn't just stress how awful this is, but also ask us as viewers to be reflective on our own judgements and perception.

As @brifrischu points out, Non and Keng's sex is transactional and easily judged as cheating, slutty, and scandalous on Non's part rather than SA. This contrasts with the level 0 and 1 of Phi and Non, who are judged as sweet, safe, and monogamous in contrast. By pulling us into level 4, the show is getting meta, and asking us to reflect on these assumptions. It wants to draw these comparisons in a way that makes us stand back and think about our role as viewers and voyeurs. As an audience we are implicated in the dichotomy that's drawn. There's an awareness here of audience response (or at least one unfortunately common one) and a critique of it built into the visual levels being played with. This is of course highlighted further in the following episode where Non reads social media commentary about the leaked video.

By making us voyeurs of this voyeurism, we're made complicit in a deeply uncomfortable but intentional way as we're asked to reflect on our perspectives around sex and morality. In doing this the show is highlighting the harm we can do just as it highlights the harm the characters do to one another.

#hopefully this makes as much sense on paper as it does in my head #dff the series #dead friend forever #dff meta #dead friend forever meta #my posts #my meta #dff the series meta

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yuujispinkhair · 1 year

Note

Hi, I'm so sorry to bother you... but! I can't get this out of my head so I thought I'd share it with you since you are also obsessed with yuuji and Sukuna shenanigans.

You're going shopping with yuuji, but your taking your sweet ass time in the changing room. So long in fact that even sweet yuuji is getting kind of annoyed. Sukuna thinks it is a good idea to barge in on you and sees you in a state of undress and goes a little feral and fucks you roughly in the changing room with his hand covering your mouth.

- 🐝

Fuck yessss!! Thank you so much for this delicious thirst! You inspired me to write a little story for it :)

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) x Yuuji Genre: smut, fluff Word Count: 2k Warnings: 18+, Sukuna and Yuuji are separate people, reader is in a poly-relationship with them, smut, semi-public sex, mirror sex, creampie, cum eating, reader has sex with Sukuna and later on she has a threesome with Sukuna and Yuuji, anal (Yuuji receiving), light degradation (Sukuna teases reader and calls her a slut, but reader is ok with this, it's done in a loving way.) All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

"Hurry up, brat! We've been here for an hour!"

Your boyfriend Sukuna's low voice carries in through the thick curtain of the changing room. You roll your eyes, informing him,

"Only one more minute, Kuna!"

Admittedly you are really taking a little bit too long in the changing room today. But it's just too hard to decide which dress to get, and so far, your two boyfriends weren't much help since they both picked two different favorites, and those weren't even in your top five.

You sigh frustratedly as you stare at your reflection in the large mirror. You are feeling too hot in here, even in your current state of undress that leaves you only clad in your lacy panties.

You are about to grab your clothes to finally get dressed again and just call it a day when suddenly the curtain gets yanked open, making you squeal as you quickly bring your arms up to cover your naked breasts.

It's Sukuna. Of course! Who else could it be but your sexy menace of a boyfriend who comes in here without any prior warning, risking getting kicked out of the mall if someone sees him join you in here.

He pulls the curtain closed behind him and turns to you with that lazy confident smirk on his handsome, tattooed face and a challenging twinkle in his eyes.

"You are taking too long. And what are you doing here all naked?"

His smile turns devilish as he takes a step closer, which in this tiny space, makes him already press up against your back. His tall, muscular body is still fully clothed while you are naked except for your little panties. It makes a shudder of excitement run through you, your heart beating too fast and pussy twitching in arousal.

Sukuna's lips brush over your ear,

"Were you waiting for me and Yuuji to join you? Did you want to get our cocks in here, sweetheart? Is that it?"

"I..um...oh god, Kuna!"

He laughs softly, his warm breath on your neck making you tremble.

"Well, Yuuji got too impatient and left to get something to drink, but I am here to take care of your needy little pussy."

It only takes a few seconds before Sukuna has yanked your panties down your legs, exposing your glistening wet pussy to his triumphant gaze. And only a few seconds more until he has freed his large hard cock from his pants and is gliding it through your wet folds, making your hips buck and your mouth open in a horny "Oh!"

But it gets silenced immediately by Sukuna's large hand covering your mouth, pressing firmly against it, before he teases your swollen clit with his thick cockhead, making your head spin with the pleasure that is coursing through your body.

You are glad for the hand over your mouth when your boyfriend pulls back, only to then snap his hips and push his thick cock deep into your creamy pussy with one powerful thrust.

Sukuna doesn't go slow or gentle today. Not here in this small changing room where anyone could catch you at any moment.

He fucks you hard and rough. Skin slapping against skin as he sets a brutal pace, fucking you so hard that you see stars.

His sexy low voice is in your ear, whispering dirty things to you that drive you wild with need,

"That's what you wanted, huh? Such a little tease. You can fool Yuuji, maybe, but not me. You took your sweet time, so one of us would come in here and see your naked tits and your wet pussy. So we would play with you in here. You like that, huh? Turns you on so much to get fucked in here. You're so wet, you little slut."

You're bracing yourself on the mirror, your sweaty palms leaving stains on the shiny surface as your eyes fall shut from the intense pleasure of getting railed so hard.

But Sukuna is not having it.

"Open your eyes, brat. Watch yourself getting fucked like the little horny slut that you are."

You open your eyes, pussy clenching at the sight in the mirror. Sukuna's tall, muscular figure behind you, one large hand pressed over your mouth, the other sprawled over your hip, fingers occasionally dipping down to tease your swollen clit. Maroon eyes watch you in the mirror with a hungry fire burning in them.

It drives you wild to see yourself getting fucked. To see your naked tits bounce as Sukuna pounds your soaking wet pussy from behind, drilling his thick cock unrelentingly into your tight heat.

Sukuna's hand is pressed firmly over your mouth, muffling your desperate moans and whimpers as his fat cockhead tortures your sweet spot mercilessly. Sukuna always knows how to fuck your brains out, how to find that perfect spot that makes you cry.

Your legs give out when you cum so hard that your whole body is shaking, and you scream into Sukuna's large hand. But his strong arms and that gorgeous thick cock keep you in place.

Sukuna isn't finished with you yet. He fucks you through your orgasm, moaning in your ear as he chases his own release.

But as close to cumming as he is, he still won't stop teasing you.

"Such a needy little thing. So cute, hm? Cumming all over my cock here in the changing room? You needed it so bad, huh? You're such a dirty little thing. And now what? You want me to fill you up in here? Want me to fuck my cum into you? Yeah, princess? You wanna walk around the rest of our shopping trip with my seed in that cute pussy? Want to feel it run down your thighs?"

His words turn into a low moan as you feel his fat cock throbbing inside you, pulsing his hot cum into your waiting pussy, making you clench around him, milking him until Sukuna is swearing under his breath as he fucks all of his big load into you.

But the smug smirk is back on his face the instant he pulls out and wipes his spent cock on your naked ass before he pulls up his boxer briefs and black jeans again.

Your heart is still racing. You're high on post-orgasmic bliss and adrenaline after getting fucked so good at this semi-public place. But it's time to leave before someone catches the two of you after all.

You silently put on your bra and shirt and reach out to grab your panties, but Sukuna is faster.

He snatches them away from your grasp and smiles that infuriatingly sexy smile as he shoves the pink lacy panties into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Uh uh, you don't need those, princess. Just put on the skirt. I want to see you struggle to keep my cum inside you. It's what you deserve for making Yuuji and me wait so long."

You gasp and hit his defined biceps playfully, starting to complain loudly. But it gets silenced by Sukuna's lips capturing yours in a surprisingly tender kiss that makes you melt against his tall body, wrapping your arms around his neck as you get on your tiptoes to kiss him back, slow and sweet.

When you step out of the changing room a few minutes later, Yuuji is back. He quickly gets up from the couch he was waiting on, face lighting up with one of his typical sunshine smiles.

You smile at him sheepishly, knowing there must still be a dazed look in your eyes and your lips are still kiss-swollen, probably giving away what you were doing only a few minutes ago.

But sweet, clueless Yuuji looks at you with his big honey eyes, all worried.

"Are you ok, cutie? You look a bit feverish. Do you need something to drink? Are you feeling dizzy? Here take a sip of my coke."

He holds out the drink to you at the same moment as Sukuna steps out of the changing room behind you.

You can see Yuuji's golden eyes widen, but before he can say anything, Sukuna already walks over to him with that insufferable smirk and presses a kiss to Yuuji's cheek as he passes him.

"Nah, don't worry, sweetheart. She is fine. Just needed my help in there."

His gaze slips meaningfully to your still trembling legs, where a thin trail of his milky cum is slowly running down your left thigh.

Sukuna's voice is matter-of-factly as he grabs his jacket from the couch and is about to walk away,

"Let's go. We still have to look for some sexy underwear."

But Yuuji's hand darts out at lightspeed to wrap firmly around Sukuna's biceps, stopping his boyfriend from walking away as his hungry gaze trails over you, and he unconsciously licks his lips.

"No! Wait a moment, Kuna."

Yuuji's pupils are dilated when he takes a step closer to you. You are breathing heavily, knowing this look on Yuuji's pretty face all too well. Knowing it means he is horny and ready to fuck you until you scream. Ready for your pussy and for Sukuna's cock. Sweet, insatiable Yuuji.

Your pussy twitches when Yuuji's large warm hand gently caresses your thigh, catching the trail of Sukuna's cum with his fingers while his hand trails up further, under your little skirt and to your still-wet pussy, rubbing gently over your sensitive clit.

And then two fingers push inside you, slowly fucking Sukuna's cum back into you. You think you can hear the obscene squelching sound of Yuuji fingering your cum-filled pussy, even over the soft music playing over the shopping mall speakers.

You gasp when Yuuji pulls his fingers out of you again. There's a cute blush on his cheeks and a horny dazed look in his honey eyes as he lifts his now cum-and-cream-covered fingers to his mouth.

Sukuna and you both watch in rapt horny fascination as your pretty boyfriend's soft pink tongue darts out to lick up Sukuna's cum from his fingers. His eyes close in pleasure at the taste, and he moans softly.

You aren't sure whether the growl you hear is coming from your mouth or from Sukuna's. But what you know for sure is that it is Sukuna who places his strong hands on both your and Yuuji's back and quickly ushers the two of you back into the changing room, which apparently can even fit three people.

"If you like my cum so much, I'll give you some of it too, baby."

The three of you end up in a tangle of limbs, lips meeting in heated kisses, hands ripping at each other's clothes, but you can't even tell who is undressing who.

All you know is that this time it is Yuuji who is fucking you. Lifting you up and making you wrap your legs around his hips so he can pound you against the wall, giving you a big milky creampie on top of the one Sukuna gave you.

And Yuuji's cute ass is getting fucked full of Sukuna's hot cum, leaving him a moaning mess between your body and Sukuna's while his cute horny noises get muffled by Sukuna's hand, which is pressed over Yuuji's mouth this time.

You can feel every strong snap of Sukuna's hips too, as he fucks Yuuji into you, making your back hit the wall hard, making you gasp and your pussy clench around Yuuji's fat cock.

You cum with both their names falling from your lips.

You can't help but smile at your two boyfriends when they both help you get dressed again afterwards, looking at you with the same love-drunk expression you wear on your face too.

Sukuna pulls Yuuji into a deep kiss before they both turn to grin broadly at you. Your beautiful boys, who never stop getting you into trouble, but you wouldn't want it any other way.

They both wrap their strong arms around you, hugging you against their tall bodies, and both make sure to kiss you breathless before the three of you finally stumble out of the changing room again.

Today is definitely the best shopping experience you have ever had. Even though it ends in a lifelong ban from your favorite shopping mall when a horrified shop assistant walks past the changing room at precisely the moment when the three of you exit it with rumbled clothes and toothy grins.

Not even Yuuji's and Sukuna's combined charm can convince her to let it go.

But it was worth it. So so worth it.

You can't stop grinning from ear to ear as you walk out of the mall, with Yuuji to your right and Sukuna to your left, holding hands with both of your boyfriends and hearing both of them snicker in amusement.

"Guess we have to find a new mall to fuck in, huh, brats?"

Both you and Yuuji can't stop from bursting into loud laughter at Sukuna's words. Oh, how much you love your boyfriends!

Thank you so much for reading!! And thank you so much for sending me this sexy thirst, my sweet anon!! It drives me insane!! I turned it into a poly story because I absolutely LOVE the thought of being in a relationship with both Yuuji and Sukuna :) I hope you like it!!

Comments and reblogs mean a lot to me :)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #sukuna x reader x yuuji #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna fluff #yuuji fluff #jjk fluff #itadori x reader #itadori smut #yuji x reader #yuji smut

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pascaloverx · 2 months

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Forbidden Romance

Summary: You are in love with Prince Thor. He will soon be King and is hosting a ball between Kingdoms so he can find his future bride. Unfortunately, the Kingdom of Asgard is not ready to accept the Chief of the Royal Guard as the new Queen.

Warnings: inappropriate language, use of violence and adult content in the future of fanfic. some characters belong to the Marvel universe and others were created by the author.

chapter two

Chapter One

A calm morning awaits you as you don your attire of the Kingsguard. The duty calls to you. Guarding the safety of the great son of Asgard is an honor. The challenge is to leave your personal feelings aside. Damn was the moment you fell in love...

"Are you sure it won't be strange for you escorting your little boyfriend to a ball designed for him to find a future wife?" Loki quips as he strides into your room without any ceremony. You brandish your sword at the level of the rejected Prince Loki.

"It's conversations like these that make me know I should hit you every time you come to my room." You speak while holding the sword tightly. Loki walks away, smiling a little too much for those who seem afraid of you.

"I came in peace. Thor asked you to stop by his room before leaving to give instructions to the Kingsguard." Loki says, laying down under his bed and swinging his feet playfully. You roll your eyes reproaching him but I understand that it's good that he's helping you and Thor.

"You know if you tell anyone about this, I'll rip your tongue out of your head, right?" You say it knowing that he'll probably enjoy you hurting him but that he would feel humiliated for being hurt by a commoner like you.

"And miss the chance to watch you two fucking everything up when my precious father notices that his favorite son is the one who will bring ruin to his kingdom." Hearing these words coming out of Loki's mouth makes everything even more real. If you and Thor are caught, you will be sentenced to death. And he will be king anyway.

"Tell your brother, I'll see him at the opening ceremony to welcome the leaders of each kingdom and their children." You say finishing and getting ready to go. But to your surprise, before you could leave your room, Thor was waiting for you. Accompanied, obviously, by the guard responsible for his security. You straighten up and bow, paying homage to the future king.

"Lynox, you may withdraw. The chief of the Kingsguard and I have a private matter to discuss." Thor says, looking at you. He scans you from top to bottom, as if he could undress you with just one look. You would like to live in a world where you could reciprocate with him. But we're not in that world.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, Lynox can witness our conversation. After all, as the second-in-command of the Kingsguard, he should be informed about matters concerning your security." You say, looking seriously at Thor and Lynox, who is unsure whether to leave or stay to listen to the conversation.

"Lynox." Thor says, and that's all it takes for Lynox to leave us alone. In the kingdom, Thor's word is only second to that of his parents. Soon, you and he are staring at each other.

"Are you proud? Your word holds more weight than mine in every corner of the kingdom. Want to test that with someone else? Your brother is in my room right now. Want to try to get him out with just a command, Your Highness?" You're upset because when you and Thor started to see each other as more than just royal guard and royalty, he promised he wouldn't walk over you.

"Dove…" He speaks so softly. His eyes watch you as his arms draw near. Thor then pulls you close to him, embracing you tightly.

"You enjoy doing things that put both my position in the Royal Guard and my life at risk. And I'm a fool for accepting it without a fight." You say, lifting your face as Thor looks down to meet your gaze. As you lock eyes, you slowly lean in towards the future king's face, being kissed by him shortly after.

"I'll talk to my father. Try to delay having to choose a wife. Or you could…" He begins, but you already step back, knowing what he's going to suggest.

"Become your mistress?" — you are revolted by the possibility of becoming the King's mistress— "To be the woman who sleeps with the King when he's not with the Queen?" Thor looks regretful about what he was about to say. You, however, look at him determinedly.

"You will never be a mere mistress to me. We could have a family together while the queen and I can have a semblance of a wedding." You laughed at Thor's foolishness. In fact, you were even afraid that Asgard was in the hands of a foolish prince.

"My love...shut up before anyone can hear all this nonsense. I'd rather die in battle than be the woman you cheat on your wife with." You say leaving disappointed with reality. This reality makes you know that you will always be just that for Thor. A head of the Kingsguard or a mistress.

You are a little shaken when you hear a noise and go after it to find out what is happening. A man dressed as royalty stands in the middle of the kingdom's trophy room. He is not known to you, you find his presence strange but you know you need to be polite when questioning him.

"This room has restricted entry. Only Asgardian Royalty can enter here. How did you manage to get past the Royal Guard?" You question using the most serious tone of voice possible. You hold tight to the tip of your sword that is attached to your waist. The man looks at you as if enchanted.

"I think the Royal Guard is busy preparing for the arrival of great royal representatives from the main kingdoms allied to Asgard. Are you usually so straight-faced with everyone?"He asks turning towards you.

"One more step and I will be forced to attack you. Tell me who are you?" You ask, almost wielding your sword, as a way of threatening the man in front of you.

"I hope you can explain to the King how you treat visitors. But since you insist on knowing, I am Steve. Son of King Tristan, future King of Kyrax." He speaks with such petulant calm. It's like he knew you would regret being hostile towards him.

"Your Highness could have told me you were a prince from the beginning. I hope you know that my approach was just security protocol. I will leave you alone." You speak cordially, trying not to show how embarrassed you are.

"However, I prefer your company. " He says as he watches you walk away. You turn around almost abruptly, confused by his revelation.

"I don't know how things are in your kingdom, Your Highness, but here commoners and royalty don't usually keep each other company unless it's essential." You speak keeping a safe distance between you and Prince Steve. Something useless since he doesn't know personal space and quickly got too close to you

"The Commander of the Royal Guard is right, Believe me, she avoids spending time alone even with me if it's not necessary." Thor says, entering the trophy room and staying close, but in a professional manner. The tension between the two is palpable and you mentally prepare yourself for what's to come.

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nakunakunomi · 6 months

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Okay, this time it'll be someone else. Not because I don't wanna see a whole Nanami abc, but because I feel I should give you some variety 😊 so how about W from the smutty abc with Sukuna? Thank you babe!

Hahahah, I have written more Nanami than any other character, that much is true. This one was quite a challenge, still trying to get a grasp on Sukuna as a character, but I hope i did okay! Enjoy. 2nd person POV. GN reader. Minors DNI

W - Wardrobe - What clothes stay on, if any? Are there any clothes that are a particular turn-on or -off on someone?

Sukuna is an all clothes off kind of guy, especially for you. Heavily dominant and into power imbalances, there’s nothing like having you completely naked -and by extension vulnerable- before him. It’s just the way he prefers it, and generally he will make quick work of your clothes too. No need to rush the entire act, but the faster he can get you naked, the better.

Most of the time all of his clothes will be off too, but he’s not above staying partially or even mostly clothed, having you tug at his clothes, practically begging for him to get undressed as well. The whole powerplay is a turn-on in itself for him.

Sukuna doesn’t truly care what kind of clothes you wear. None of them are a turn-off. If he is craving you, he is craving *you*, whether you’re wearing your most expensive and beautiful clothes, or are barely in your pajamas. He does like clothes where you show your body off a little. Especially when they’re not too revealing, it’s nice to still leave a little to the imagination. And that makes it even more enjoyable for him to reveal what's underneath, because he most certainly will.

This is part of my AB(C)-Day event! Click here to join!

#jjk #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryoumen #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nsft #NakuNoSins #queue #2Nd person pov #gn reader

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wildbluesorbit · 4 months

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London II: Uncensored || JTK

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.

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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