#nonconsensual touching tw

[sctigthesecond]

TW: Flashing(?), nonconsensual touching, Uncomfy vibes

“I love you and you love me! You just don’t know it yet because you have never received something like this before. But don’t worry, Dogday. I’ll show you! I’ll let you understand!.. Let me show you my love!”

…

Bobby’s a bear full of love, she doesn’t mean any harm. All she wants is to spread her heart far and wide. But to do that, she needs to fix her ways of expressing these emotions.

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Mahito x AFAB!Reader

SFW (ish)

Word Count: 2'060

Warnings: Yandere, Previously established (forced) relationship, Invasion of privacy, Nudity, Threats, Implied stalking, Nonconsensual touching, Reader eats shit in the tub (as in they fall).

Additional Notes: Reader is a foreigner in Japan.

You decided to leave the door open this time.

There wouldn’t be much point in shutting it, you had decided. The door to the bathroom was there for privacy, and while this wasn’t your home, you were alone so shutting it would’ve felt redundant.

The scent of eucalyptus filled the air as you sat on the edge of the tub and poured a generous amount of foaming bath soap into the water as it filled.

The house you were in was more Western-styled than the rest of the neighborhood. Part of you found it funny since, if someone were going to move to another country, you’d think they’d embrace the cultural differences that came with it - including home design.

That being said it did make a few things easier for yourself since you were also a foreigner, however you hardly ever complained when it came to your line of work.

Your job was a simple one. While the residents were away on vacation, you’d stay and take care of their home as well as whatever plants or animals that occupied it.

The owners got peace of mind while they were away and you got both a free place to live and paid to do almost nothing. Wins all around, in your opinion.

The cat you were looking after sat just outside the entrance to the bathroom, the tip of its tail twitching back and forth as it watched the water level in the tub rise.

“Don’t worry, Ashy, this isn’t for you.” You said as you put the cap back on the soap bottle and tested the temperature of the water with your right hand.

Ashes, the sleek Russian Blue feline narrowed her eyes in apparent scrutiny and her tail thumped against the carpet a little harder. The sight made you chuckle lightly.

“It isn’t, I promise.” The assurance in your tone was the same one would use when talking to a toddler. “See?”

You stood from the tub and began undressing, making quick work of your shirt and pants. Your amusement only grew when Ashes immediately got up and walked away, presumably to find a place to lay down that wasn’t near temporary bodies of water.

Once the water was about six inches from the top you shut it off and removed the rest of your clothing. The sigh that left you was low when you stepped in and settled amongst the bubbles, the hot water enveloping you in a gentle embrace that made your eyes close and your head rest against the edge of the tub.

The bathtub was nice - nicer than anything you had ever previously owned. It was long enough that you could properly stretch your legs out while being deep enough that the water came just above chest level. The only thing that could have possibly made it better was if it came with jets, but you certainly weren’t complaining with how things were.

Taking in a deep breath, you sank under the water and resurfaced a second later, letting out a long exhale while wiping the water away from your eyes.

It felt good. Being surrounded by warmth and not having to think about anything you had to do.

“Well, this is an interesting sight.”

The unexpected voice caused you to startle - jerking up straight in the tub while your head snapped towards the doorway.

It was him again. The stitches lining his skin were unmistakable, as was the mirth in his bi-coloured eyes while he leaned against the frame where Ashes had been only a few minutes ago.

Indignation quickly came up to replace the majority of the embarrassment, and you scooped up the bubbles around you to cover your chest.

“Get out.”

“Why? I’d say the open door was more than enough of an invitation.” 

Mahito’s nonchalance was infuriating and your knees drew up as he approached the tub.

“Well, it wasn’t.”

Mahito giggled, both at your answer and your vain attempt at more modesty. He stopped about three feet away from the tub to lean against the sink and he shrugged “Could’ve fooled me.”

“What are you doing here?” Your tone was sharp, no-nonsense, although most of its bite was reduced due to your current state.

“What am I doing here?” Mahito parroted back, idly going through the items on the bathroom counter - picking through your perfumes and skin care products. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You snapped, irritation further clouding any mortification you felt. “You couldn’t find someone else’s house to break into?”

“Now that’s just it.” Mahito looked back towards you, a shit-eating smile on his face. “This isn’t your house.”

Fury and annoyance burned in your cheeks and Mahito giggled.

“You look like an angry, wet cat.” He said, toying with a bottle of your perfume. It was one of your favourites, cherry scented. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“I’d be lying if I said yes.”

“Awwee.” Mahito cooed with faux, overexaggerated hurt. “That isn’t very nice.”

“How did you even find me?” You asked, deciding to break off from the line of dialogue that was clearly leading nowhere. “The last place I was in was on the other side of the city.”

“Yes, it was.” Mahito sighed, like the reminder itself was exhausting and he pouted. Like an actual child. “Rather upsetting of you to not tell me you were moving around.”

Your teeth dug into the flesh of your cheek. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your questions are boring.” He replied, “In any case I’m glad I’ve found you again, you’re definitely a sight for sore eyes.”

Something curled in your gut at his words. It felt heavy, like sludge, and your lips pulled back into a sneer. “Horrendous.”

Mahito chuckled once more at your comment, clearly unbothered. “Now, now, is that how you treat a guest?” He set your perfume back on the counter and took a step forward to crouch next to the tub.

Your arm came over to cover your breasts automatically and he rolled his eyes.

“You know, there’s no point in covering yourself. I’ve already seen everything.”

Pure, unfiltered mortification burned in your face and you glared at him. “Go to hell.”

He feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. “How rude, and here I thought humans were more welcoming to their guests, especially in this part of the world.”

He chuckled again, his glee-filled eyes fixed on yours. “But I imagine that’s lost on you.”

“You’re not a guest.” Your reply was harsh, angry embarrassment still driving your words.

“No?” He leaned over the edge of the tub, getting far too close for comfort. “Then what am I?”

Dozens of answers sprang to mind. He was awful, for one. You often wondered if the stitches that ran along his skin were the only things that kept the rot in his soul from physically bubbling to the surface.

Repulsive was another. Abhorrent. Nauseating. Terrifying. Incredibly unwelcome in ways that caused words to fall short.

“A pain in the ass.” Was the savory answer you chose.

Mahito let out a bark of laughter - the sound loud and harsh in the acoustics of the bathroom and it caused you to flinch with how close he was to your face. Internally you were thankful when he drew back to sit cross-legged on the tile.

“A pain in the ass, huh? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.” He said, his smirk widening. “You know, it’s always fun when humans try to be feisty.”

The fruit was low-hanging, but you took it anyway, albeit reluctantly. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” His grin widened to the point it was a marvel his stitches didn’t rip. “It makes it more enjoyable when they realize nothing can save them.”

The heavy feeling in your stomach quickly turned to ice. You sank a little lower in the tub, although warmth did nothing for the goosebumps that blossomed along your skin at the threat.

But that wasn’t quite right, it wasn’t a threat. No, it was fact, and he stated it like one. Mahito enjoyed destroying people, peeling back layer after layer - both physical and psychological - to see what was underneath. It was entertainment disguised as research, since - even despite being shown what he was capable of - you refused to believe even someone as vile as him got any knowledge out of what appeared to be pure torture.

Mahito sniggered at the look on your face and he waved a hand dismissively

“Oh relax, nothing’s going to happen to you.”

The unspoken ‘yet’ at the end of his sentence lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of eucalyptus and poisoning it.

“Anyway, that’s enough of that.”

You looked at him quizzically as he stood back up, but the confusion was short-lived as you saw him reach for the hem of his shirt.

Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Uhm, what the hell are you doing?!”

“There’s more than enough room in there for two.” The casualness of Mahito’s voice was slightly muffled when he pulled his shirt over his head. “And it’s been a while since I’ve had a bath, the hot springs aren’t exactly close, you know?”

He wasn’t wrong. The house you were looking after belonged to a couple, and it was clear the bathtub was bought with the intention of having more than one person in it, but the mere thought of being near Mahito that way made you want to vomit.

When he stripped out of his pants your eyes immediately moved to the bubbles surrounding you. It was a hopeless situation since, even if you did move to get out, not only would he truly see you in all your glory, he’d likely drag you right back in anyway.

When he stepped in, the water was displaced so greatly that some of it spilled over the edge and onto the tiled floor. A grimace crossed your face and your eyes narrowed at the bubbles. You’d have to clean that up later.

Mahito was quiet for maybe a minute maximum, shifting around here and there and displacing more water onto the floor until he sighed dramatically.

“This isn’t comfortable.”

The urge to snap at him that he was more than welcome to get out clung to the tip of your tongue and nearly leaped off of it, but any kind of response was replaced with more of that awful but familiar embarrassed outrage as you felt cold fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you forward.

It threw you off balance horribly, and your free hand shot out instinctively to catch your fall a moment too late. Water went up your nose when you went underwater for a brief moment and you came up just as fast as you went down, coughing and sputtering as Mahito pulled you against him - twisting you so you were settled between his legs with your back against his chest.

His giggle mixed with the ringing in your ears.

“Whoops.” He said, apology non-existent. “But this is more comfortable, don’t you think?”

You didn’t want to think. You didn’t want to think about any of it. Not the way one of his arms was wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, or the way the bone in his chin dug into the muscles of your shoulder.

Each cough from you made more water spill onto the floor and Mahito sighed again while he smoothed the wet strands of your hair away from your face.

For a moment you wondered if this is what Ashes felt like whenever you bathed her.

“Humans are so fragile, it’s a wonder there’s so many of you.” His words were muttered like he was thinking out loud, and it was very likely that he was. “A bit of water and your soul is already down to seventy percent.”

It was more than just some water, you wanted to yell at him. It was the fact he was here in the first place, the fact he was holding you naked against him so you could feel as much of him as he could of you.

The fact that you were beginning to realize that no matter what house you took care of, he’d always be there.

And there’d be much more than water to clean up after.

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[azurlily]

Guess whose not dead?!

(This is an actual post with a character, just scroll down to the pink bow if you don't want to read this.)

I was in and out of the hospital for a long time. I'm sorry I haven't been writing, but I'm doing so much better. I've closed requests so I can catch up on the ones I currently need to do.

I also wanted to mention some of the newer works(that AREN'T being requested) that I plan to make will probably be either smut or darker stuff. It's a way for me to cope and I enjoy writing altogether.

Yandere!CEO x Fem!Reader

Morena(yan!ceo) x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're a young woman working in the tech industry, you know people(mostly men) don't take you seriously. Due to the constant stress of needing to be better (just to be considered good) you are constantly anxious and jittery, you've also developed a depressive mindset and you consistently struggle with taking your medication.

You just got a new job by a large, female owned, tech company! You thought you'd feel better and you wouldn't have to deal with a toxic environment. You were dead wrong; your boss is a bitch and expects constant perfection and no less. You were just barely able to make it under her radar, until she starts going through files- and you find yourself in her office with a deal you just aren't allowed to refuse.

Not like you can refuse a demon after all?

TW: Non-consensual kissing and physical touch, somewhat mentions future kidnapping.

The reader is kissed(while under a spell that takes away will-power from their body) and is forced to sign a contract against their wishes.

You stand quietly, with your hands in front of you- clasped together so tightly you'd think you were about to get in your knees and pray. But no, instead you were ready to beg to not be fired.

That's what this was right? You were getting fired and your horrible, asshole, bitch-faced boss wanted to say it to your face. You could cry, you almost did on the way here.

Yet as much as you wish you weren't in this situation, as much as you wish you could repent for whatever you did; you genuinely have no idea why you've been called here. You've never gotten a write up, all your reports are clean and bug free, and you work well with seemingly everyone.

You stand face forward, staring at the woman who decides wether you get to eat for the next month. The same woman who while you hate her, you can't -no you won't- deny her beauty. You-

"Hello?! Do you hear me or are you too busy pissing yourself to pay attention?"

You look down, wondering if you genuinely did pee yourself, only to see dry pants and floor. You look back up at her and she gives you the look of someone who both wants to laugh and yell(not in the good way).

You wondered if there was something who had tried to sue her for how rude she was. I'm sure there could be some sort of case, as long as there was proof. Hell, even witnesses would do.

"Sorry, ma'am. What exactly is it you called me for? Has my team done something wrong, did we miss some meeting, or did-"

She stands up, slamming her hand on the desk so loudly it echoes. You nearly jump out of your skin- was she going to hit you?!

"Be quiet. I can't handle you prattling on like a cow. I'm not firing you, nor am I firing anyone on your team. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Oh and please- call me Miss Morena. Thank you."

Oh she is definitely a condescending bitch.

You thought for a moment, 'quite the opposite'. So you aren't getting fired, hell you may be getting a raise! Maybe Morena wasn't so bad of a boss. Maybe she just likes hard workers.

"Thank you, ma- Miss Morena. If I may ask: does this mean I'm getting a promotion?"

Morena smiles, not the smile you give someone when they're right about something. The smile you give when you're a fox, and you've just cornered the bunny you've been trying to catch.

"Yes, a promotion of sorts. I actually have a contract for you, but I can give you the gist and read the rest to you later."

Morena pulls an inch thick stack of papers from the desk. She sets them aside with a pen and slowly steps out from the desk. Morena signals you to come closer, but you only take a few steps forward. You could practically feel how badly this situation was going to go.

As Morena got closer, you began to feel more compelled to make eye contact with her. Like someone was whispering into the back of you mind, telling you to look up. To look into the beautiful blue eyes that Miss Morena holds. To never look away; keep your eyes on hers.

Don't look away from me. I always get what I want and that isn't changing anytime soon, little rabbit.

"Well I've been looking over employee information and I noticed you moved from very, very many jobs before you got to this one. Never staying in one place. I never really liked people like that, and from what I've seen, people like that have done the same with my company. Now I hope -very strong word here- that someone with skills like yours wouldn't do something to this company. I hope that you'd stay, willingly of course. You would stay willingly, right?"

Of course you would, you never had any interest in leaving. You planned to stay past the one year mark, past the time where everyone would get raises in order to ensure you were getting a that this place was a good opportunity. You loved it here, you loved you teammates, your boss, you loved the office building itself.

"Of course I'm staying, Miss Morena. I would never leave."

The words coming out of your mouth felt robotic, they felt like you were lying to yourself and others. Like you were in your body, but you weren't the one speaking.

"Good girl, now go over to my desk and sign you name on all of those papers. Don't read them, you don't need to. You can put all your trust in me."

You did exactly as you were told, you signed every paper with you signature. You didn't even think, your body was moving like second nature. You had this warm feeling in your gut, this safe and controlled feeling. You like feeling like this- don't you?

You hear some shuffling behind you and yet you can't turn around to see what's going on. You only hear a voice.

"You know while your under I guess I can explain. You can't really yell at me or try to run away, so I can speak my peace. You're going to be the newest human I suck the life out of! But hey, for the next few months you'll get to live lavishly and without fear of anything. Other than me of course!"

Your brain registered what she was saying, but you couldn't respond. What were you doing to do? What could you do?

"Come here bunny."

You turn around and walk straight into Morena's arms. She gently grabs your face, you just noticed three of her fingers on her left hand have been filed down. Meanwhile the nails on her right hand, as well as her pinky and thumb on her left, are long and colorful.

Morena pulls you closer to her, her lips ghosting over your mouth. You feel her press her lips to yours and you get an overwhelming feeling of disgust wash over you. You feel nothing but utterly dirty as she kisses you, you feel like someone's just stabbed you and is trying to clean the wound to make themselves feel better about the act.

Your eyes are wide open the entire time, so you watch Morena go from kissing you deeply to pulling back in what looks to be shock. Her pupils dilate slowly, her eyes relaxing and you see nothing but black take over.

"Oh...oh you're much too sweet to kill."

Morena gently moves you head to the side pressing her tounge against your neck. You feel her shiver and watch as she pulls back with a dark smile on her face.

"I take back what I said about you enjoying these next couple of months. . . You'll get to enjoy such pleasures for the rest of your life. With me."

You let your body process her words this time, you don't know how to react. Instead you feel your eyes wet themselves, your expression hadn't even changed. And yet, you were crying. Morena notices almost immediately and you watch her face distort itself into a disdainful look of annoyance, until it twists into one of sadistic pity.

"Oh, shh, bunny. Hush now, stop those tears. I'll take the spell down once were home, in my home you wont be able to run away. So you can have a tantrum all you want there. I know you don't like me right now, you maybe even hate me, but give it some time. You'll realise you need someone, and I'm the best you'll be getting for the rest of your pathetic human life."

Everything goes black after that.

[whumpetywhump]

Mansuang (2023)

"All they want is my body. My pretty outer shell."

[whumpacabra]

30. Good Acting

Dehumanization, manipulation and coercion, manhandling, nonconsensual touch (nonsexual), anticipated recapture, fear of death, fear of recapture, past trauma, Anders is a creep

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

“Get out.” The Wolf’s growl seemed to reverberate in the room, teeth bared and hackles raised. Bark always better than his bite.

“Wolf, we’re just trying to help - ”

“I want to talk to the agent. Alone.”

Briggs’ sympathetic eyes asked Anders for direction. He was happy to take control of the scene. The Wolf was nothing if not a half decent actor, and the shaky desperation in his words even had the Captain inching toward the door.

“Agent?”

“I’ll be fine, Commander.”

He kept his eyes warm and smile soft. If he wanted to, he could wrap her around his finger and be on a first name basis by the end of the week. But Anders had a mission, one that he turned to with icy eyes and a scowl as soon as the door turned behind the lingering aide.

“Excellent performance, for such short notice.” It wasn’t ideal that Briggs had organized for him to meet Wolf today, but it worked well enough. The Wolf was properly cagey, escalating at the tiniest provocation from the others but gradually listening to Anders’ spiel.

Now they were alone, and Anders could stalk up to the Wolf’s bedside and look down on the disobedient dog.

“Thank you, sir.” That dead tone and those empty eyes were another of the Wolf’s well learned tricks. He wasn’t as broken as Smith made him out to be, after all this time… 

“You broke them out?” Anders let a few threads of anger color his voice as he wrenched the Wolf’s head up by his hair, glaring into those glassy eyes that suddenly shone bright with terror. Anders almost laughed at how easily he cried - almost. He had his own act to keep up.

“Yessir.” The Wolf’s voice was chipped with fear, so small and quiet. Anders released the Wolf’s hair, his head falling forward and chin hitting his chest.

“Bad dog.” Anders tutted, sighing and shaking his head. “What are we going to do with you?”

The Wolf’s eyes, trained on the limp hand in his lap, widened a fraction. Oh, Anders was going to enjoy this.

“Project protocol says you should be liquidated. Just another failed project, a mad dog that needs to be put down.” The Wolf was shaking - it was almost imperceptible, the tremor in his breathing. “Or, I drag you back to your handler and see how he sees fit to punish you. Not to mention he would really have to make a show of it for the overseers - they might still decide to liquidate you anyway. If you survive.” The Wolf swallowed thickly, throat bobbing. The terror was palpable. “Unless…”

“Unless?” In his fear the Wolf spoke without permission, but Anders could forgive that. The teary eyed expression begging for a scrap of hope was too delicious to ruin with an admonishment. Anders sat on the edge of the Wolf’s bed.

“Unless I decide to tell them otherwise. Our dirty little secret, hm? How does that sound Wolfie?” He held the Wolf’s chin with delicate fingers, feeling the tremor of teeth chattering with adrenaline. The Wolf flinched at the touch, chest heaving as hot tears slipped from his eyes, begging for an alternative. Anders wouldn’t give him one. “I asked you a question, dog. Yes or no?”

And there it was. That beautiful moment when light fled from his eyes like a candle snuffed out. The shudder of lungs accepting the inevitable with a final sobbing sigh. Anders could still feel him shaking under the delicate touch, but the Wolf’s voice was flat and dead. This, this wasn’t an act. 

“Yessir. Thank you, sir.”

Anders smiled, hand shifting to tuck a strand of the Wolf’s dark hair behind his ear before cupping the side of his face with a gentleness the Wolf feared more than any fist or blade.

“Good boy.” The kiss was mocking, planted just above the Wolf’s brow. “Now get some rest. Every good actor knows not to stay up late before a big show.” Anders stood with stretch, yawn exaggerated.

“Yessir.” What a wonderful sound, so hopeless and hollowed out.

“I’ll update you tomorrow morning. We need to keep our viewers entertained, after all.” Anders put his hands in his pockets, nodding toward the door. “Oh, and Wolfie?”

“Yessir?”

“Don’t fucking test me. I will put you down without hesitation if you so much as think of stepping out of line. Do you understand?”

“Yessir.”

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

Taglist: @stargeode @genuineformality @i-eat-worlds @light-me-on-pyre @risk606 @sacredwrath

[suusoh]

kind of random but likeee… what do we think of exhibitionist johan??? would he be the type to flash someone? because it seems ooc but you never know, considering he’s practically given up the title of the nameless monster after being a horny fuck (in reference to one of your posts). maybe it turns him on because of the reaction he gets from reader. imagine sitting on a campus bench after a long day, trying to collect your thoughts and he just whips it out. idk, me personally, i wouldn’t mind being flashed by him.

Hmmmm not sure if Johan would go all the way with flashing anon. He may not have shame, but he does have ~class~

Buuuuuut! If we're talking exhibitionist Johan anon, may I offer you Johan who delves in exhibitionism, for the sole purpose of watching you nearly breakdown in tears and bargains, as you get overwhelmed with the shame and fear of being seen?

I could imagine a scenario with pre-rurenheim Johan, where darling is friends with Karl and Lotte but not quite friends with Johan yet. Darling's only seen him once or twice, receiving the polite nod and introduction from him, but otherwise they've yet to be acquainted with him.

One day, they all agree to get lunch somewhere, and it's kind of a booth like situation or where the chairs are arranged so that there's two people on opposite sides of the table. Karl and Lotte seat beside each other (because Lotte has a lil crush on Karl and all that), which leads to Johan seating beside darling. Lunch ensues, yadda yadda, everyone's busy with the food and conversation;

and Johan starts touching you under the table.

He starts with accidentally brushing his hand against your leg, then nonchalantly places a hand on your thigh and rubbing it a bit, and sooner down the line— he begins palming your clothed crotch, keeps at his minstrations until he's full on slipping his fingers inside your underwear.

All while he continues discussing with Karl about how to get a clearer pronunciation in Latin. Doesn't even spare you a glance through it all.

Since Johan is still talking with Karl, Lotte even thinks you're accidentally being left out at one point, so she starts conversing with you too. Little does she know that not only is Johan literally rubbing circles on your clit right now, but his hand suddenly moves even faster the second he heard her trying to talk to you.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 20: “You will regret touching them”

Aaaaand now for today’s fic

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Time

- Summary: Time finds a wounded Warriors

CW for implied/referenced torture, captivity, nonconsensual body modification, blood and injury, and brief mention of vomit

———————————————-

If he clenches his teeth any harder, Time is certain they will break.

He stands in the middle of a cell – small, cramped, and smelling of sweat and vomit and blood – hands in fists, heart thumping an erratic beat in his ears. A blue eye stares up at him from the corner, bright in a too-pale face. The other is sealed shut with swelling and blood. The proud green tunic is sullied as well, the scarf long gone. Blonde hair so meticulously cared for lies limp and filthy. Strong hands tremble, bound together behind a hunched back.

“Captain.” It is half a whisper, half a low growl.

Warriors makes a small, muffled noise as though trying to respond through the dirty cloth tied tight between his lips. Time’s fingernails dig into his palm.

Here before him sits the hero he and his brothers have spent the last week searching for. He should feel relief. All he can feel is red-hot anger.

But there isn’t time for that. Warriors needs him. His big brother needs him.

Sheathing his sword, Time drops to his knees. Puddles of blood dot the floor, some mere splatterings, others worryingly large. He pays them no heed, reaching forward instead to tug away the gag. Warriors breathes a raspy sigh of relief as it falls.

“...bout-bout time you showed up, S-Sprite,” he teases in a voice so hoarse it’s nearly unrecognizable. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs up a mouthful of blood.

Time does his best to ignore it.

“I’m sorry that we kept you waiting,” he murmurs as he sets about undoing the ropes that bind the captain’s hands and feet. The apology tastes bitter. What good does it do now? The heroes had gone as fast as they could. And still, they had been too late.

Warriors shivers, suddenly, and Time is struck by how very small he looks.

“But don’t worry,” he says, gently, trying not to dwell on the fact that his big brother should never look that way, “I’m here now. You’re safe.”

Warriors gives him a weak smile.

A few more short moments slide by, in which Time works to untie the ropes. They are thickly knotted, but he has slipped from far tighter bonds. And soon they fall away to join the filth on the floor. Warriors lets out a sharp hiss of pain.

“S-shoulder,” he explains at Time’s concerned look. “Dislocated.”

That can’t be the only thing out of place, Time thinks, bitterly. The way he is struggling to breathe speaks to a few broken ribs at least. And as for the rest of him…well, he can only guess at the extent of the damage.

Anger flares up in him once more. He shoves it down.

“I don’t have Hyrule’s healing powers,” he says, reaching into his pouch. “But I have a fairy. Her magic should be enough to tide you over until I can get you back to camp.”

Warriors blinks dazedly. “You…you’re the only one h-here?”

A grim smile pulls at Time’s lips. “Yes. I came across this place entirely by chance. The others were taking a short rest and I saw no reason to drag them along on a search that would likely lead to another deadend. It’s alright, though. No one is here anymore…except for you.”

If they had been they would have regretted it, he thinks, bitterly.

Pushing the dark thoughts away, he lifts the bottle out of his pouch and unscrews it.

“Here, this should…”

He stops short as the fairy darts forward. The lighting in the room is decidedly dim, which he supposes is why he hadn’t seen it before. But now in the pinkish glow of the fairy’s magic it’s painfully obvious.

The word “murderer” is carved in jagged, blood-red lines into Warriors’ left arm.

Time’s vision goes crimson.

“Captain…” It’s everything he can do to keep his voice level. Suddenly, he’s a child once more, kneeling on the battlefield, begging his brother to stay alive, to stay with him. He’s a child being hurtled back through time without truly understanding what that even means. He’s a child being laughed at and thrown aside by the man he has been tasked with defeating.

He’s a child helpless and weak.

Late. Much too late.

“...did they do this to you?”

For a long moment, Warriors doesn’t reply. He merely watches the fairy do her work, gaze dull and almost detached. There are tear-streaks on his cheeks, Time realizes now, curving through the patches of blood and dirt.

“Their fa-families died in…in the war,” he murmurs at last, voice hollow and defeated. “They…they blame me.”

Time forces himself to take a breath.

Of course, they do. That is always the reason the traitors give, as though placing the blame on the hero can assuage them of their own guilt, justify their horrific deeds.

“Well, they’re wrong,” he says, firmly. “And believe me, anyone who does a thing like this was never in their right mind in the first place. You do not carry the blame of a war you didn’t even begin, but fought bravely to end. You are a hero, captain, not a murderer.”

Warriors drags his gaze up to him, something terribly vulnerable within it.

“Y-you’re really somethin else, Sprite,” he whispers, breath hitching. A small smile tugs at his lips and somehow it makes him look even more young and broken than before. “How c-come you say everything like…like you mean it?”

Time places a gentle hand on his good shoulder and he seems to melt beneath his touch.

“Because I do. I meant every word. Why hide from someone who can always tell when I’m lying?”

Warriors chuckles, slightly. It almost sounds like a sob.

The fairy finishes her dance and zips back to Time.

“I’ve done all that I can,” she whispers. “The word that they hurt him with…I lightened it as much as I could.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, inclining his head. And with a soft jingle, she disappears. He turns his attention back to Warriors. “We’ll see if there are any spells or potions capable of stopping that from scarring. There is no reason for you to carry the false burden they have placed on you.”

The captain merely gives a small nod, eye downcast once more. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and he hugs his arm to his body, as though eager to hide it. At the sight, the anger abates somewhat, replaced by the ache of his heart.

How dare they do this.

Time reaches out and draws him into his arms. Warriors slumps, bonelessly into his embrace, trembling slightly with pain and exhaustion and emotion.

“It’s alright. It’s over,” he says, softly, echoing the words Warriors had soothed him with so many times during the war. “I’ve got you.”

Carefully he rises, lifting the captain up as gently as he can. He wants nothing more than to tear this place apart, to find those who did this terrible deed and make them wish they had never been born. But his priority right now is Warriors. He needs rest and healing and for that cursed word to be wiped off of his skin. He needs safety and reassurance.

Vengeance will have to wait.

Though if he has his way it will not wait very long. The perpetrators were gone when he got here, likely cowering from the punishment even they knew they deserve. But once he finds them – and he will – he won’t hesitate to do what must be done.

No one touches his big brother without coming to regret it.

[citrus-the2nd]

Inspekta touching someone...

But WHO...

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugbanned

Day 21 - “On three.” | Dehydration | Memory Loss | Choke 

Day 25 - “Don’t move!” | Natural Disaster | Drowning | Stranded

Day 26 - “I made a mistake.” | Ambulance | Hopelessness | Numb

Contains: lady whump, infection, police, referenced noncon drugging, guns, restraints, panic attack (ish), referenced gunshot wound, referenced touch aversion, referenced broken bones

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Isa’s getting worse. Lainey has spent…hours, maybe - she’s sick of trying to figure out the passage of time - lying as close to her as she can get, checking her temperature with her hand every so often, watching her labored breathing and her eyelids fluttering restlessly as she dozes. Her ribs are killing her from this position, but she can’t bring herself to move. Isa’s skin has grown hotter since she first checked it. She’s more out of it, too, which she could just attribute to her being half-asleep but it’s like she can’t seem to fully wake up. 

She needs water. She needs medicine, but even water would be helpful at this point, before her fever dehydrates her. But the man, for the first time since he dragged Lainey back here, has now, of course, decided to stay upstairs and leave them alone. She’s itching to get up, to get as close to the stairs as she can and start yelling. Part of her thinks she should, regardless of what she told Isa.

But she doesn’t want to break her promise. And…rest is important, too, right?

She doesn’t know what to do. She’s so scared for her, can’t stop watching her chest rise and fall as if one of these times it’s just going to quit. 

And worst of all…Isa’s right. It’s been too long. They should have been here by now. Except she doesn’t know that for sure, and she keeps trying to remind herself that she’s clueless about time right now and she doesn’t know what all they might have to do first that might hold them up. But there’s this pit in her gut, a whisper in her mind saying that she just experienced two full days outside, she should know what it feels like. 

It feels like it’s been too long.

Lainey keeps up her vigil, trying not to fall asleep, herself. She stares hard at her fingertips and reaches deep for the magic that’s withered and tired inside of her, trying to force water drops to form from nothing, but that wasn’t something she was very good at even before she was pumped full of who knows what kind of drugs. Her fingers remain dry, and she’s forced to give up. She has nothing to offer Isa except her company.

She’s glaring at the staircase, on the verge of giving in and calling the man down despite Isa’s wishes, when suddenly the older girl wakes with a start, hazy eyes flicking up toward the ceiling. Her brow is furrowed, but Lainey doesn’t know whether it’s confusion, worry, or just the pain and fever. 

“What is it?” she asks softly, her own gaze following as if there’s something up there to see.

“Something…coming…cars…?” Isa mumbles. She swallows hard and grimaces, one hand sliding up slowly to rub at her sternum. “Too many…too many cars and…people.”

Lainey’s eyes widen. “Cars and people? Isa that’s a good thing, that’s a great thing!” They’re here. They came, they’re here to save them! Her heart is pounding out her chest but for once, it’s from elation and relief instead of fear.

There’s a sudden cacophony of sound from up above. Multiple voices are shouting so that she can barely make out anything they’re saying, though she catches, “Don’t move!” and “Hands where we can see them!”

Tears are pouring down her cheeks. “Isa, they’re here, they’re here!”

But Isa is moaning, clutching her shirt above her heart and attempting to bury her face into the floor. Lainey is torn between trying to comfort her and focusing on what’s happening upstairs. It sounds like they caught him, otherwise they wouldn’t have been yelling all those things. Any second now, that door is going to open for the very last time. She pushes herself up, barely even feeling the pull on her ribs in her excitement. If she could, she’d jump up to her feet and run to the foot of the stairs to wait for them, but with her feet shackled she’ll have to settle for sitting.

The locks start clicking and squeaking. For once, the sound doesn’t bring terror. The door flies open and a voice calls out, “I’ve got stairs going down, someone back me up.”

“We’re down here!” Her voice is so choked with emotion and with her rapid heart beat that she can barely get out the words. “Help us, please!”

Someone comes into view, wearing a navy uniform and crouching to sweep a gun across the space. Her eyes come right back to the two girls on the floor, and she starts down the stairs rapidly. A male officer is right on her heels, repeating her motions with his own gun.

“It’s just us,” Lainey tells them breathlessly. “Just us and…and the man upstairs. Please get us out of here.”

“We are.” The woman gives a quick glance into the alcove as she passes, then holsters her gun, slowing a bit as she approaches and crouching down beside them. “You’re safe now. It’s all over, okay?”

“You’ve got to help her.” Her emotions are a jumbled up mess that she can’t even decipher, so much relief and worry all at the same time. “She needs help, she’s sick, I think her back is infected. Please help her.” She stretches her hands out toward Isa, debating lying down so she can be close to her again. The girl is trembling all over, the hand that was holding her shirt now covering her ear.

The other officer is already back at the stairs, shouting up them. “Get the paramedics down here! And has anyone found keys?”

“Got ‘em!” Another officer thunders down the steps, two people in some other kind of uniform carrying kits following. The new officer has keys, which he brings over to Isa first, at the female officer’s instruction. 

“Hey, I’m just gonna get this off for you, okay?” he says softly, crouching down and reaching for the shackle around her neck. Isa only moans in response. She’s growing more and more agitated by the second, and Lainey’s worry for her matches.

“Isa, it’s okay. It’s the police, we’re safe now. It’s not him.”

The shackle is unlocked and pulled away, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s gasping for breath, digging her fingernails into her hair above her ear. As the officer moves toward Lainey with the keys, the other two - paramedics, she assumes - approach Isa, opening their kits and starting to reach for her.

Lainey tugs at the chain that tethers her to the wall, anxious to be free. “Wait, she, she doesn’t like to be touched, you have to be careful! And her back, don’t touch her back! You’ll hurt her!”

The woman turns to smile gently at her. “We’ll be careful, I promise, but we’re going to have to touch her some. As soon as you’re able, you can come sit next to her and reassure her if you want.”

Every whimper and hitched breath tears at Lainey’s heart. When the last of her restraints come off, she immediately starts a one-handed crawl to be by her side. They’ve pulled Isa’s shirt up in the back to see the inflamed lashes, and are currently trying to tug her hand away from her ear so they can take her temperature.

“She’s scared. She’s too sick to realize what’s going on, and she doesn’t like to be touched.” Lainey grips her knees to keep herself from reaching out, rocking back and forth slightly. She wants to be able to hold her hand or cup her cheek or anything to let her know it’s okay, but that will only make it worse. She also wants to slap the paramedics’ hands away from her, but she knows they need to help. 

She settles for leaning in and whispering, “You’re okay. It’s me, I’m here. You’re safe now.”

“Does she have any other injuries besides her back and these cuts?” the man asks as the woman finally manages to get the thermometer in Isa’s ear.

“She got shot,” Lainey blurts, pointing, “in her leg.” He immediately starts unwrapping the dirty bandage. “And um…I don’t, I don’t know, I can’t remember what else he’s done to her lately.” 

“That’s okay.” The woman reads the thermometer, then puts it away. “What about you? Are you injured anywhere?”

“Um. Broken wrist? And ribs. And…I hit my head a…couple of days ago, maybe? I didn’t pass out, but it bled.”

“Okay.” She focuses in on the gunshot wound that the man is inspecting for a moment, then turns her attention back to Lainey. “Stan is going to get the stretcher. Mind if I do a quick check on you while he’s gone?”

She glances over at her friend, who’s still on the verge of hyperventilating. “But…Isa…”

“We’re not going to let anything happen to her, I promise. As soon as he gets back we’ll get her loaded up and both of you on your way to the hospital, okay?”

Lainey nods shakily. The woman pulls a small flashlight out of her pocket and shines it in both of her eyes, watching her pupils contract, then puts it away and gently takes her hand to inspect her wrist. She’s carefully running her fingertips across the bouquet of bruises on her ribs when Stan returns, one of the officers helping him carry the stretcher down the stairs. 

They set it down, folded, right next to Isa, and both paramedics get in position to lift her onto it. “On three,” Stan states. “One, two, three.” 

Isa cries out as she’s moved, and Lainey clutches the side of the stretcher. The paramedics position her on her stomach and begin stretching yellow straps across her neck, hips, and legs. 

“Why are you tying her down? You’re going to make it worse!” They’re supposed to be helping her, not doing the same things he did.

The woman throws her a sympathetic look. “We’ve got to carry her up the stairs, and she’s moving around a lot. We can’t risk her falling off.”

It makes sense, but seeing her strapped down feels so wrong. Lainey can’t stop staring at her, knuckles turning white from how hard she’s holding the bar.

“Do you think you can walk up the stairs? We’ve got another ambulance on its way for you to ride in.”

Her eyes go wide. “No, no, I don’t need an ambulance. I want to stay with her.”

They glance at each other, then the woman nods. “Okay. I’ll walk with you, alright? Stan and Officer Calhoun can carry your friend.”

It hasn’t been that long since she was tearing up these stairs and running full speed through the woods, but somehow today she can barely make it up them. She’s weak, her legs wobbling and trying to buckle underneath her with each step. They eventually make it up, though, into the main part of the cabin. She purposely doesn’t look around. She doesn’t want to know the details of what it looks like, how this man lived when he wasn’t torturing them. Her focus stays ahead, on the stretcher holding Isa and on the front door.

Last time everything was a frantic rush. Even while she was in the woods for two days, she was constantly running and thinking and planning and worrying. Now she wants to take the time to breathe in the outside air, to gaze up at the night sky and marvel at stars she wasn’t sure she’d see again, to feel free.

And she does, some. But at the same time, stepping outside is overwhelming. Her attention is pulled in every direction, to all the people in uniforms talking all around, to…are those reporters? Her eyes are too blinded by the lights of the police cruisers strobing in the darkness to make out much of anything, just a lot of activity and sound all at once. Wincing, she holds up one arm to block the lights, and wonders if this is how Isa was feeling in the basement.

As they approach the back of the ambulance, she glances over to the side and stops short. It’s him. The man who’s been tormenting them for all this time is standing there, hands cuffed behind his back, being guided into the back of a police car. It’s such a strange feeling, seeing him restrained for once. Seeing him finally caught, knowing that it’s actually over. Her mind can’t fully comprehend it. 

“Ready to get in?” The paramedic’s voice jolts her out of her reverie, and she turns to see Isa already loaded into the ambulance. With some support at her elbow, she climbs in after her, taking a seat out of the way and returning to her vigil over her friend. The doors slam shut, the siren wails to life, and just like that, they’re driving away from their nightmare.

[yetanotheraltwhumpblog]

He hadn’t stopped bleeding. It had slowed, but he periodically had to open it to spit the liquid onto his bed and the wall. It didn’t get the taste out of his throat or the pain out of his gums. 

The bed was gross enough without Virgil exsanguinating on it, covered in mold and other substances he’d rather not think about. He barely registered the door unlocking over the running in his ears. 

“Good morning, sunshine. The universe says hello!” It was Nick. Of course it was, who else would it be? Virgil closed his eyes as if that would somehow make it go away. Maybe if he thought hard enough he would be back at his house, before any of this had happened. 

The bed creaked as Nick crawled into it, saddling up next to Virgil and spooning him. He buried his nose in the back of his neck but frowned when he smelled metal. 

“You should have stopped bleeding by now. What’s the matter with you?” He asked, annunciating each word in the last sentence to a hard flick to the back of Virgil’s head. He didn’t flinch. 

Nick grimaced as he looked at the wall, the red forming a Jackson Pollock painting of the remnants of injuries he caused.

“I wouldn’t have kept you around if I knew you would be this…gross.” He muttered to himself as he pulled some tissues from his breast pocket and dabbed at the dried blood like that would do anything.

Virgil didn’t say anything in response, only lolling his mouth open so that the blood he had left in his gums could spill out onto the thin sheet. 

Once Nick was satisfied with not cleaning, his gloved hand traced Virgil’s stomach through his tank top. He pressed hard enough to feel ribs, but not hard enough to elicit a sound. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, moving his hand from Virgil’s ribs to where he thought his stomach was. He ended up pushing on his liver. Virgil didn’t say anything in response, his milky brown eyes staring at the wall, trying to find patterns in the uneven paint. Anything to take his attention away from his voice. 

Nick scoffed before speaking. “If you aren’t you will be, and if you are too bad. Maybe this is how you’ll finally be able to lose weight. Fuckin’ fatass…” He whispered before wrapping his arms around Virgil and pulling him closer. After a few minutes of comfortable for him silence, he speaks again. 

“...If you ever left me, I’d kill myself. You don’t want my blood on your hands, do you?”

The only sounds after that were periodic coughs from Virgil.

[xviruserrorx]

MerlinRewatch2023 -> "The Gates Of Avalon" Sidhe ~ Masterlist [Prev <- • -> Next]

[yomica12345]

Pane-fully Obvious: Chapter 21

Prologue Link, Chapter 20 Link

Ao3 Link

Warnings: Threats of Rape / Sexual Violence, Sexual Coercion & Threats, Non-consensual Touching, Emotional Manipulation & Abuse, Panic & Trauma Responses, Mentions of False Accusations, Mild Violence, Emotional Vulnerability & Angst

Chapter 21: Uninvited

Janus watched the two hug, his face twisting into a grimace. “This isn’t good.”

“Yeah, when’s it gonna get spicy?” Remus cupped his hands around his mouth. “Boo! Make out already!”

Janus shook his head, looking past Roman and Virgil to Logan. He had actually made it. Logan was actually here to attend with him. He took a step toward him, a slight smile tugging at his lips, before an arm wrapped around his. He glanced back at its owner with a sigh though his chest tightened. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte forced a smile, her eyes brimming with a fury Janus hadn’t seen before. “Why don’t we talk?”

“I’d rather not.” Janus tried to shrug her off, but her grip only tightened. This really wasn’t good.

“That’s too bad, because if you were doing your job, we wouldn’t need to.” Charlotte flashed a smile at a few of her friends as she pulled Janus away. “This is all your fault.”

Janus sent a message on his phone with his free hand as Charlotte dragged him along. Logan needed to know he wasn’t ditching him. “I am doing my job, gathering information. For example—””

Charlotte threw him into a classroom, slamming the door shut behind them. “Information you’re failing to report to me. You knew they went on a date together and you didn’t tell me?”

Janus caught himself against the teacher’s desk, grunting. “It was a friend date. I didn’t see how that information would serve you.”

“A friend date?” Charlotte grabbed him by the shirt, yanking him down to eye level. “Friends don’t hold each other the way Roman was holding Virgil.”

Janus swallowed hard, his eyes flicking between hers. “Where did you—”

“I have a friend who works there, Janus,” she hissed. “I have friends everywhere. Friends who tell me you’re seeing someone.”

Janus ripped her hands off him, eyes narrowing as he lowered his voice. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is when nothing else is getting through to you.” Charlotte’s smile turned taunting. “I thought you didn’t want to be expelled.”

Janus straightened, moving to walk past her. “I don’t care anymore. Just leave him alone and I’ll—”

Charlotte shoved him back onto the desk. “Maybe if you don’t care about being expelled, you’ll care more about this.”

Janus’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Charlotte began undoing the back of her dress with a smirk. 

Janus’s eyes went wide as he scrambled further back, knocking pens and papers off the desk. His eyes darted from Charlotte to the door.

Charlotte quirked an eyebrow, raising a hand to smear lipstick across her cheek. “Do you know what the punishment for rape is, Janus?”

Janus’s breath hitched. His stomach twisted, bile rising to his throat as the implications settled in. “I—”

“Do you want to find out?” Charlotte whispered, grabbing Janus by the shirt again. She undid his bowtie, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt as his breath quickened. “Because no one's going to believe you.” She rested one hand on Janus’s upper thigh, sliding her other hand over his bare chest, her touch cold and unsettling over the pounding of his heart. “Scared now?”

“Get your hands off my friend, you filthy—” Remus yanked Janus off the desk, cutting himself off with a snarl.

Charlotte scoffed, fixing her dress, a twisted smile curling on her lips as she followed them to the door. “You better start listening, or you won’t be so lucky next time,” she called after them.

Janus wrenched himself free from Remus’s grasp as soon as they were out of the classroom. He stumbled into the hall. His breath came in shallow gasps as he ran, each step desperate. He burst through the doors into the parking lot, his chest exposed to the cold evening air. The chill bit at him, harsh and intimate.

“Janus!” Remus shouted from behind.

Janus locked eyes on his moped, grabbing the helmet with shaky hands that took too long to unclip the strap.

“Janus?” A softer voice spoke up from the other doors.

Janus ignored Logan, tightening the strap over his chin. This wasn’t happening. He’d ride away and forget everything that had happened. No one would know anything.

“I’m gonna cut that utter sucking—” Remus started as he stopped beside Janus.

“Not now, Remus.” Logan sighed. “Give us a moment.”

Remus huffed. “Fine, Fix-it-Factual, try your best,” he muttered, turning away.

Logan undid Janus’s helmet, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Janus, what happened?”

Janus looked away. Logan couldn't see him like this. He was stronger than this. He was supposed to come off as confident, in control. He needed his control back. “Nothing happened,” he insisted, the shakiness of his breath contradicting his answer.

Logan scanned him critically, a hand going to his shirt. He lowered his voice. “Did someone touch you?”

Janus rolled his eyes, raising a hand to hold the shirt closed. “No, this is just how guys wear their shirts.”

“Then why the bowtie? You were planning on dancing, weren’t you? Wouldn’t you lose it?”

Janus swallowed, shivering as the breeze brushed over him. “No, I—”

Logan draped his suit jacket over Janus’s shoulders, causing him to tense.

Janus finally raised his burning eyes to Logan’s.

Logan’s eyes held concern as he drew Janus’s head to his chest.

Janus stiffened as Logan pulled him close. He shouldn’t let himself relax. He didn’t deserve this. He wouldn’t be holding him with this much care if he knew. But Logan’s steady touch felt like an anchor, and before he knew it, his body sagged against him.

Logan wrapped an arm around Janus, using his other to button up his shirt with a steady, gentle touch.

A touch so gentle it was foreign to Janus. Janus opened his mouth to argue Logan’s treatment, but all that came out was an unsteady breath as the first tear trailed down his cheek.

Logan finished with the buttons, staying still as Janus continued to tremble, waiting for him to stop before stepping back to fix Janus’s bowtie, taking his hand. “Let’s move this indoors. It’ll be warmer there.”

Janus swiped at his eyes while Logan wasn’t looking, following tentatively after him as he led him through the hallway and into the band room. The two sat, leaning against the wall in silence. Just the two of them and the sounds of their breathing—Logan’s calm and even, Janus’s uncertain and quiet. Their fingers intertwined between them.

Logan exhaled softly, squeezing Janus’s hand. “I care for you,” he admitted.

“You really shouldn’t,” Janus murmured, watching Logan’s thumb caress his knuckles.

Logan cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Well, I don’t exactly have control over it.”

Janus laughed softly. “I’m sure if you did, you’d care about someone else instead. I’m not a good guy, Logan.”

Logan’s grip on his hand tightened. “We all do things we regret.”

“But I’m still doing them.”

Logan went quiet, his gaze drifting across the empty, dimly lit room. “By choice?”

“I always have a choice, Logan.” Janus ducked his head. “And I always make the selfish one.”

“Sometimes the right choice is to be selfish.”

Janus lifted his eyes to Logan’s, his gaze falling slightly to his lips. “I want to be, for you.” The words left him before he could process them. He rested a hand on Logan’s cheek. Waiting for Logan to pull away. To show he didn’t mean he cared in the way Janus hoped he did. But Logan didn’t move, he just waited patiently, giving Janus the control. The control Janus needed at this moment. To have something in his own hands to decide. Gently, hesitantly Janus kissed him.

Logan returned the kiss, squeezing Janus’s hand. “I won’t stop you,” he whispered.

Janus pulled back to rest his head against Logan’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “Will you let me stay like this, then?”

Logan hesitated. “That would depend… You don’t intend to stay like this all night in the school building, do you?”

“It’s just one night, my dear.”

Logan frowned. “But that would be trespassing…”

Janus quirked an eyebrow. “Is it? We had permission to enter the school, didn’t we?”

Logan sighed, his fingers idly tracing Janus’s knuckles. “That permission doesn’t extend indefinitely.”

“No, but if we never left, how can we be entering at a time we shouldn’t be?” Janus pointed out.

“It’s still legally considered trespassing if we don’t leave when we’re supposed to, Janus.” Logan returned, fixing his glasses again.

“We were never told to leave, were we? How can we know when we’re supposed to be out by?”

Logan rested his head against Janus’s, closing his own eyes. “The time was stated clearly on the poster.”

“And that time was?”

“...After school is out tomorrow.” Logan offered hesitantly.

Janus smirked, settling against Logan to get more comfortable. “Truly? Then they’ve practically invited us to stay all night.”

“They have.” Logan stifled a yawn into his free hand. “You’re a bad influence.”

Janus chuckled, peeking up at Logan as the other rested an arm over his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Remind me to teach you what a bad influence is,” Logan murmured.

“Will you be demonstrating?”

“Consider this your first and only demonstration.”

Janus smiled as Logan adjusted his suit jacket over him, the warmth inviting him to sleep. “I shall take that as a challenge.”

“You may do as you wish.”

[welcome-home-official]

TW, IRL non consensual bullshit

iwish i fucking stabbed him he just wanted to 'hang out' today and he fucking lied he just wanted to get laid and wouldn't stop groping and got on me and i had to yell at him toget off i want to stab him so fucking bad

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 6: Made to Watch

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Twilight

- Summary: Cia manages to capture Warriors and decides to try to force him to remain with her

CW for nonconsensual touching, nonconsensual transformation, mild body horror, torture, a character being possessive, vomiting, blood and injury

--------------------------------

Warriors glares down at his legs, trying in vain not to look up. He is all too aware of the faces grinning cockily down at him from every angle of the room. And he would really rather not gaze upon them. They give him the creeps, quite frankly.

Who knew his own visage could look so wrong, slapped on the walls of someone he abhors?

He shifts, flexing his bound hands to try and bring feeling back into them. The ropes are pulled so tightly that he is certain their pattern is indented in his skin. Magic reverberates through them, dark and thick and nauseatingly wrong. Even it feels possessive, as though its wielder has imbued it with her sentiments.

The thought sends chills running down his neck and back. It’s almost as if he can feel her hands on him already, like skulltulas crawling across his skin. Unconsciously, he curls in on himself further.

He doesn’t know how Cia returned to the land of the living. Frankly, he doesn’t think he wants to. But one thing is for certain, he wishes it had never occurred.

Neither had he thought he would set foot in this place again. Foolishly, he had thought it was all over. 

(Save, of course, for the creeping memories of his men lying in pools of their own blood; townspeople screaming in horror and pain; long nights spent agonizing over maps and plans, trying to figure out how to win the next battle, trying to ignore the constant, creeping terror that someone followed his every move, cold fingers reaching out to brush his neck.)  

Yet here he sits in the depths of Cia’s chambers, wounded and bound. His head still aches from where the moblin had slammed its club into it. A trail of drying blood tugs at the skin of his forehead.

Warriors closes his eyes for a moment, exhales long and slow through his nostrils. Fear is seeping past his defenses, turning his mind numb. He can’t let that happen. He has to stay alert, keep a hold of himself.

But that is awfully hard to do. Even more so when footsteps echo in the hall.

There are multiple pairs of them by the sound of it — three perhaps — some heavier than others. And as they grow closer Warriors finds it increasingly difficult to slow the mad rhythm of his heart.

Cia is coming, he can feel it, feel her dark magic seeping through the walls and floorboards.

His breath hitches the slightest bit and he forces himself to hold the next one, then blow it out slowly. It still shakes a bit but at least he is in less danger of hyperventilating now. 

Calm yourself, captain, he orders. He squeezes his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment to feel the serenity of cool darkness. All the while, the footsteps grow continually louder.

Remove yourself from the situation. You’re no good if you’re panicked.

Warriors clenches his hands, determined to stop their shaking. He can’t show her weakness, he refuses to. But he can’t do more than slow the manic bob of his knee, up and down, up and down, mimicking the erratic pound of his heart.

His body demands to retain one, small nervous tick and he has little choice but to cave. 

The footsteps come to an abrupt halt now, just outside of the double doors. Warriors inhales sharply, breath caught in his chest. He can hear his heart pounding like it’s the only sound in the room, filling his ears, reverberating through him like the beat of war drums. 

Then, both doors are flung wide open with a flare and fury that can only belong to one person. And sure enough, there she is, standing in the doorway with her hip jutted outward and her head tipped so the shadows play upon it, violet eyes gleaming like a demon’s, a malicious smirk curving her lips. 

She looks just as she did in the time of the war. A shiver tears up his spine.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” she croons, waltzing into the room. “It has been far too long, my little hero. But I am so delighted to see you again.”

She begins to walk toward him, every step making his heart climb higher into his throat. Then, she is mere inches away, grasping his chin and dragging it upward so he has no choice but to look at her. He fights not to recoil from her touch. 

“I brought you a little gift to celebrate the occasion,” she purrs. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

She raises a hand and motions to whoever still waits in the darkness of the threshold. Then, quick and quiet as a serpent, she slips behind the chair he is bound to. She leans forward, hands snaking around his shoulders, breath and hair tickling his ear. 

“Now, watch,” she murmurs. “I want to see your face when you see what I brought you. Or rather who.”

She has barely uttered the word when the sounds of a scuffle come from the doorway. Seconds later, a figure Warriors would know anywhere is hurled unceremoniously over it. The Hero of Twilight lands in a bloodied heap on the hard floor.

Warriors can’t help the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Rancher?” 

A moblin lumbers into the light. Grasping Twilight’s shoulder, it wrenches him upward so he kneels before Warriors. Slowly, the hero raises his head.

A gash runs jaggedly across his face, cresting the bridge of his nose. Its gory crimson stands out against the pallor of his skin. His hair hangs limply, weighed down by blood and sweat. His pelt, outer tunic, and armor are gone, his undertunic and pants bloodied and torn, allowing glimpses of the angry welts and bruises and cuts lying beneath. 

His eyes are abnormally bright when they meet the captain’s, but that all too familiar fire still burns within it. And when he catches sight of Cia, hovering behind Warriors, her hands still on him, his expression turns positively murderous. 

“Get away from him,” he growls, earning himself a swift kick in the ribs. He doubles over, gasping. A fresh streak of worry zips through Warriors. 

But the sorceress has no problem ignoring what is happening before her. She begins to laugh and the sharp sound echoes in Warriors’ ears. 

“Wonderful! Just the reaction I was expecting!” She steps back, clapping together her hands. “Now, we can begin.”

“Begin what?” Warriors spits, anger in his tone. He grasps onto it, if only to keep his fear at bay. “It seems you’ve done more than enough already.”

She chuckles again, as though she is privy to some wonderful joke that neither hero is. 

“Oh, captain, I certainly have missed you. Death was so unkind to keep me from you. Thankfully, there are those who understand the need to rise from the grave.” Cia grins. “And now that I’m back, I would really rather not have to lose you again.”

She runs her hand along the side of his jaw and neck, the movement almost gentle. Warriors is certain he is going to be ill.

“So you are going to stay here with me…” Her face is suddenly inches from his. Warriors cringes back, trying to turn his face away. But long fingers grasp his jaw and wrench it back into place.

“Forever.”

Warriors nearly chokes on the breath he had been holding. He had known it was coming, there was no way he couldn’t, but that doesn’t negate the terrible feeling that one word provokes. He has felt suffocated by this place since he awoke here. Now, he is certain that it’s crushing him. 

“He’s not gonna stay with you,” Twilight says, his tone firm despite the way he trembles. There is something dangerous in it too, like the bite of a wild animal. “He’s not your pet.”

Cia turns to him at that. A high-pitched, maniacal giggle bubbles out of her. 

“It is absolutely hilarious that you of all people would phrase it in such a way. Tell me, does your friend know?”

She closes the distance between herself and the rancher. Then, reaching out she grasps his chin, angling his face upward. With the other hand she traces the dark markings around his eyes and on his forehead. Twilight tries to pull away but she holds him fast.

“This one is dripping with dark magic,” she says, addressing Warriors now with an almost giddy tone. “He’s coated in it! Just look at these markings! And this” – She releases Twilight’s face and lifts the crystal he wears instead, turning it in her fingers — “This is the source of it all. He has used its power so many times now that it might as well be a part of him. I wonder, if all that magic were gone…or perhaps changed, would he break?”

Twilight’s expression doesn’t change from its steadfast mask of anger. But Warriors has known him for too long now to miss the flash of fear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, sharply. “It’s me you want, not him. Release him. Now.”

Cia giggles again. For a moment, she regards the crystal. Then, dropping it, she turns back to Warriors. 

“I’ll let him go eventually. But first we’re going to have a bit of fun. You see, the wonderful thing about dark magic is that it has no qualms. It can be warped and twisted however you wish. It won’t put up a fight. It might even decide to help you, if you’re lucky.”

Warriors’ eyes narrow. Panic thrashes within him like a bird caught in a cage. He has to find a way out of here, he has to. 

“So.” Cia stalks toward him, grinning as though she is exceedingly pleased with herself. “Either you swear to remain by my side for eternity, or your friend comes to know what it feels like when I bend dark magic to my will.” Her smile turns almost sweet. But there is blatant danger behind it, a temper that is too easily kindled. “It’s your choice, my little hero.”

Twilight skewers him with a look so cold it could send most grown men running. Under better circumstances, Warriors would tease him about how well he has managed to capture the old man’s glare of disappointment.

“Don’t do what she wants, captain. I’ll be fine.”

Warriors swallows, feeling vaguely lightheaded. He knows the answer he should give. But Cia’s presence is everywhere, smothering him so he can’t breathe or feel or think. His own face grins down at him from every wall, malicious and oppressive. And some desperate, selfish part of him wants to scream that he can never live this way. 

With an effort, he forces himself to open his mouth. The words he wants stick in his throat, though, and nothing comes out. 

“The clock is ticking,” Cia hisses, fire beginning to burn behind her eyes. “Your hesitation perturbs me, little hero. We are meant to be together, can you not see that? We are far bigger than the powers that try to keep us apart. Come, be with me the way it should be.”

Her words wrap around him like treacherous vines. Warriors can’t breathe past their grip. 

“He was never meant to be with you, witch,” Twilight growls. “And if you think your little plan to manipulate him is gonna work, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.”

She whirls on him, pent up fury radiating off of her in waves.

“Time’s up!”

Warriors jolts forward with a strangled shout. “No, wait!”

But it’s already too late. 

A flick of the sorceress’ fingers and Twilight goes rigid. His eyes blow wide with terror and agony. A scream breaks free, strangled and hoarse and terrible. Black flecks begin to dance in the air. They surround him, coalescing into something darker and more solid. Then, quick as a spear in flight, they zip into his chest. 

Abruptly, Twilight’s screams cut off. His eyes roll back in his head and he slumps in the moblin’s grip. For a long moment, the room is horribly quiet. 

Warriors doesn’t dare take a breath. His ears still ring from Twilight’s cries, head still pounds from woundedness and fear. Distantly, he realizes that he should look around the room for some method of escape while Cia is distracted. But he can’t tear his eyes from Twilight's limp form. 

Let him be okay. Dear goddesses let him be okay.

A violent screech suddenly fills the space, eerie and petrifying. It ricochets around Warriors’ skull and he yearns to close his eyes in an attempt to block out the noise. But it continues and he remains frozen, helpless to do anything more than watch as Twilight morphs. 

His body enlarges and elongates, pale skin turning the color of fresh tar, lines of silvery-gray tracing strange patterns along it. Lines of crimson weave deadly cracks along his chest. His hair turns long and wiry, spreading like mane from a face that no longer even remotely resembles something human. Oddly, Warriors can’t help thinking it looks more akin to a shield now, lacking in features as it is. It is adorned with lines and circles, shapes carved into it as though by a potter into clay.

The beast (or…Twilight he guesses, though there is nothing there to remind him that this thing was ever his brother) gives a screech again, so loud Warriors is certain his ear drums are going to burst. And then, he whirls around and hurls the moblin at the wall. The monster hits it with a deafening crack that makes the room tremble and creates a sizable, moblin-shaped dent. It disappears seconds later.

Cia begins to cackle as Twilight faces her, limbs trembling (though with anger or pain, Warriors isn’t certain). He regards her for a mere moment, then with an enraged howl, lunges. 

“Now, now,” she croons, stepping effortlessly out of the way, “be a good beast.”

She holds up the crystal (Warriors hadn’t even seen her snag it) and suddenly Twilight is back, darkness folding around him as he crumples. He just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, dazed eyes flitting to Warriors. There’s something in them, something urgent trying to break through the haze. And for a split second, Warriors tries desperately to decipher it. But then, the chance is gone. The rancher doubles over and vomits.

“Painful, isn’t it?” Cia says. She delivers a swift kick to the rancher’s chin and he falls. “I told you dark magic is not to be trifled with. And you, oh you, have certainly trifled with it an awful lot. But that is hardly my priority in all of this, only an observation that has proven oh so useful. No.” She turns to Warriors, a smirk on her lips. “My priority is you.”

He’s shaking, Warriors realizes dimly, with anger, with fear, with the guilt that tears up his insides. But he grits his teeth and meets her eye.

“Let him go.” He drags out the words, slowly, each one measured so that his voice doesn’t tremble. It’s the same method he used to address his troops before battle. “And I’ll stay with you. I swear.”

Her eyes light up and a little, giddy gasp escapes her. Warriors’ stomach churns, threatening revolt. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“Say it again,” she murmurs, prowling up to him, hands already outstretched to brush over his cheeks. “Tell me we were meant to be together. Tell me you’ll stay for all eternity.”

Magic revels at her fingertips, hot and oppressive on his face. Terror wedges itself in his throat and he closes his eyes. The taste of blood is sharp and nauseating.

“Keep them open,” she orders, voice taking on a harsh edge now. Fingernails dig into his face.

With an effort, he obeys. 

“Come now.” Lips hover inches from his and there’s no room to flinch away, nowhere to run. It’s just him and her, a nightmare made manifest in reality, an eternity of misery.

He swallows again, hard, to push down the rising urge to fight back.

“No,” Twilight croaks. “Captain…don’t! Don’t let this monster control you!”

Her eyes turn to blazing fire at that.

“Monster?” In an instant she is straightening, whirling to face the rancher, and Warriors can breathe again. “You think I’m a monster for wanting what I deserve?! You little — I’ll show you what a monster is!”

There’s a terrible flash of light and dark again. The room fills with the sound of agonized screams, turning quickly to the deafening, alien cries of before. And then Twilight is gone, and the beast stands in his place.

But that, it seems, is exactly what he had wanted. 

The rancher is shaking, blood dripping from wounds Warriors can’t see. But he doesn’t allow himself even a moment to catch his breath. With an animalistic shriek, he throws himself at Cia. Close as they are now, she doesn’t have time to evade. He comes down on top of her and she hits the ground, crying out in shock and anger. 

Desperately, furiously, she struggles, screaming obscenities and cut-off incantations. Twilight, however, doesn’t give her a chance to get the upper hand. He digs his talons into her with an abandon that Warriors can’t help finding a little terrifying. 

But he isn’t about to complain. Because the moment she falls, he feels the spell strengthening his bonds stutter and die. The ropes are useless without it, loosened as they are by his constant fight against them. They fall limply to the floor.

He’s on his feet without a second thought, mind locked in the numb determination of an adrenaline rush. Twilight’s crystal has fallen a short ways away and he snatches it up by its cord. 

“Rancher!” he calls, holding it up. 

Twilight spares him a quick, eyeless glance, then reels back and swipes at Cia so fiercely that she goes flying. She collides with the opposite wall, then collapses to the ground, blood dribbling from her mouth.

“You,” she growls, between agonized breaths, “you pathetic dog! I’ll get my revenge for this! Link will be mine!”

And then, in a cloud of violet and black, she is gone. 

He can still feel her presence in the room, still feel her on him, readying the spell that would enslave him to his own promise forever. But Warriors pushes all that aside and turns to Twilight.

“Here.” He holds out the crystal. “This will turn you back, right?”

Twilight nods. Carefully, he reaches out a dark, taloned hand and scoops the crystal into it. The shadows fold around him, there’s a faint “swoosh”, and the rancher is once again standing before him. 

He wavers, looking dangerously close to collapsing, but Warriors puts his arms around him before he can. His own legs aren’t feeling too steady, though, so he ends up lowering them both onto the ground. Twilight slumps heavily against his shoulder. His breathing is sharp, short, and shuddering, his face ashen and pale. But he drags his gaze up to meet Warriors’ anyway.

“You ‘k?”

Warriors laughs, bitterly. “I should be asking you that, rancher. What on earth did she do to you?”

Twilight frowns at the crystal still cupped in his palm. “Somethin’ she…she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out far quieter and more broken than he had intended, but at this point he hardly cares. 

“Shush. Ain’t you-your fault.” The rancher shifts, wincing slightly as he does so. “And don’t you try…arguing that-that it is.”

Warriors smiles, dryly. He had been thinking up an argument – more than one – while they spoke.

“You’re too much like the old man, you know that?” he says, with a sigh.

Twilight’s lips upturn in a grin, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes have slipped closed now. Warriors can tell unconsciousness isn’t far off. 

Shoving his tumultuous thoughts aside, he gives the rancher a gentle nudge. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet. We still have to get out of this place.”

And the sooner, the better.

“Can you stand?”

Slowly, Twilight nods. He drags his eyes open again, blinking up at the captain.

“Don worry, I’ll hang on. You’re skinny little self could…couldn’t lug me out of here.”

Warriors chuckles, despite himself. “Don’t sell me short, rancher. Believe me, I’ve carried heavier than you.”

Twilight sends him a look that says he doubts that. But he allows Warriors to help him to his feet. And as they start toward the door, he leans against the captain, not even bothering to protest his support.  

Despite the complaints of his own body, Warriors is glad of it. The very least he can do is get his brother away from this place where violet eyes gleam and long-fingered hands reach out to imprison. These are his demons to face, not Twilight’s. The rancher has endured more than enough on his behalf. And if Cia shows up again – and Warriors is not foolish enough to assume that she won’t – he will do whatever is necessary to ensure she never harms his brothers again.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

���Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

~

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

[del-phi-nium]

does everyone else carry this horrible hurt inside? the yearning to be split open by tender, patient hands and lay bleeding in their arms every night? who am i to abuse that power, one used over & over & over on me? when seeking hands didn't stop at my arms, my legs, stop. let's not rehash buried curses. the point i hope to make is how fucked up is it that i want [...] this badly when i've only known bad, bad, ugly endings.