#and instead rapes him right back. Fuck you dad

[leprosycock]

it is VERY reasonable to assume that it’s canon even in just the first few episodes because right out the gate it’s weird as hell, but no, it’s not really technically canon. there are so many jokes about it and so many vague potential illusions to it that one of the characters straight up asks “is his dad molesting him?” when oreI is putting on a claymation movie he made about his life. in essence, no, but in my heart, yes

#i think Personally that oreI was so crazy about his daddy that he eagerly went along with everything #at least in the beginning #cIay would drink a Lot and be unable to look at bIoberta and he’d fuck oreI in his study #’remember the 37th lost commandment: you must satisfy the lonely bastard who was forced to bring you into this world’ #and then after nature pt 1-2 oreI refuses to let cIay touch him anymore #and instead rapes him right back. Fuck you dad #but that’s just a theory ! #bunnyaskz

[pupcuck]

ASKING FOR IT !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, smut, cheating (not on reader), ooc leon sorry, he’s mean, negging, misogyny, reference to past rape/non-con, unresolved trauma, suicidal thoughts duhhh, he calls reader ugly a lot, leon subs for his gf but doms reader, non-con to consensual sex, manipulation, some .. uh waterboarding? he dunks your head in water, opioid addiction but it’s minor LMFAOO

note. haii… um feedback whether it’s good or bad appreciated really forced myself to write this so im like ack. hating everything i write but! ignore typos :3 it’s not as fleshed out as i wanted .. soooo it reads pretty jolty but yah 😭 and the smut is like not. IDK I’m ugh not into it just couldn’t bring myself to extend stuff that I really wanted to develop n he’s ooc. BUT!! again ignore typos or I’ll cry n feedback/constructive criticism appreciated <3

Leon has a girlfriend. He can never hold down a girl, his ability to scare women away is preternatural, so it’s a big deal. And she’s fucking hot. Not like model hot, but pornstar hot. She’s got tits so firm they might as well be bulletproof. Bottle blonde with eyes that swallow up her whole face. Her stomach doesn’t crease when she sits. It’s the type of beauty that takes its form in slashes of red lace and nylon. Not many women are out of his league, but she is.

They have hot sex like attractive people tend to do, and it goes something along the lines of this.

He goes:

Is that dick good, baby? You like it? Right there, baby?

And she goes:

Fuck, yes, baby! Harder, deeper— Oh, right there!

And then she doesn’t cum.

So there’s that, but he’s working on it.

Leon doesn’t take well to tips on how to fuck. Reading advice columns in the Men’s Health magazine leaves a funny taste in his mouth. It might be the blood from the castrated image of his masculinity. Who knows.

He struggles with that sort of thing. A nice face does nothing for a man who doesn’t actually like anything about himself. Leon’s still that wimpy self-hating loser he was all those years ago. In all fairness to God, there are a few added tweaks here and there. Some bug fixes. Now he’s drunk and shallow too! Misanthropic when he’s at his very best.

As a kid, mom told Leon to be a nice boy so he was a nice boy. Not because he was ever a particularly nice boy, but for her sake. So instead of acting out he would go and crush ants beneath his thumb in the front yard because there is this mean part of Leon that splinters inside of him like cooked bones.

Life to Leon is being fucked into apologising for being alive so it’s no wonder he’s still harbouring the insecurities of a boy he isn't.

When he was eighteen it was by ugly old men who abhorred him for being the embodiment of whatever it was they were hiding from their wives. His legs looked nice thrown over a pair of big shoulders. They were so thin back then, model-type shit. All of those men mildly resembled his dad, but that’s something he wouldn’t quite like to crack down on yet. Leon’s being open enough as it is.

When he was twenty-one it was his headache of a first girlfriend. It was the bullet wound in his shoulder. When he was twenty-two it was being passed around boot camp like a dirty needle. When he was twenty-seven it was Luis who was nothing and everything in between. It was a picture book princess like Ashley. The scar on his shoulder. Stigmata. Glory Be. Whatever.

(And Jack, it was always Jack. Pale all over like a healed scar.)

What Leon is trying to get across, he’s not quite sure. Maybe that he's nice in theory and the reality is he’s a self-confessed charlatan of niceness. Or that he can’t fuck. He can’t fuck because he is deeply traumatised. Yeah. Maybe that’s what he’s trying to say. It’s an excuse, sure, doesn’t make it the truth though. Leon can’t fuck ‘cause he’s useless at most things that don’t include guns. He can’t fuck ‘cause he was unattractive as a teenager and that solidified the way he feels about himself now.

Leon’s got one thing going for him - he fingers her pussy till his fingers prune. Eats her out till he gets lockjaw.

“Oh, you’re so good at that,” she says, kissing his slicked-up lips.

Then her eyes flit to his hard dick and she gives him that strange half-smile. One that seems to say: Not with that. His dick. Obviously.

His shit is big enough, it’s long enough— It’s enough. And it’s pretty. Could put a bow on to make it real cute. Could manufacture a dildo inspired by it. So Leon cannot for the life of him wrap his head around her problem. It’s not his dicks fault her pussy is fucking broken. Her broken pussy doesn’t get to make his dick sad. Doesn’t get to lay devastating blows on his gone-with-the-wind ego.

Another thing is, her sister is an ugly bitch. That upsets Leon and his dick in tow. You’re a student, taking a break for some reason Leon has not bothered to fathom. He couldn’t care less. Go do it someplace else. In this house, you’re nothing more than a cockblock. Leon could forgive you for being a cockblock if you weren’t ugly. Or vice versa.

It would be okay if Leon wasn’t stuck at home with you for hours at a time. Work fucked up his back, so he’s staying here in his girlfriend’s apartment eating her food, running her taps, fucking her badly and shitting on her sister.

You’re sat on the other end of the table with a soggy bowl of cereal while he nurses a juice box like a real man. What do ugly little things like you think about anyway?

When Leon was ugly he thought about forcing his dick into the cute girl next door between his more regular thoughts of what to eat for dinner and whether he stocked up on toilet paper or not.

When he was ugly, his day was made simply by a pretty girl looking in his general direction. So Leon makes sure to look in yours. Y’know, to fuel your perverted wet dreams. Your rape fantasies. What freaks think about when they’re near hot guys. Well, it’s strange actually. You tend to totally ignore him. When the two of you make brief eye contact, you don’t flounder or duck or bow your head like you’re shy— You just move on with your life. That bothers him. Leon’s hot now. He’s not the type of man you just brush over like that. He’s the type you gawk at in broad daylight, he’s the sort of guy you see in soft porn magazines.

“Good morning,” his girlfriend greets, “have a good sleep, sweetie?” She bumps your hip when you stand up to hug her.

She’s wearing stockings today. Oh, he loves stockings. He loves pencil skirts. He loves— He loves office wear. He wants to be put over her lap and spanked raw perhaps.

“Yeah, it’d be nice if your boyfriend stopped moaning like a girl though.” It’s said into her ear, but Leon hears it.

“I’m going now, honey,” his girlfriend tells him.

Like a good boy, Leon stands to bid her goodbye. Her blouse is sheer, shows off her black bra and he eyes it with distaste.

“What’s wrong, Leon?”

He doesn’t speak. Just glares at her perfect set of tits like a baby weaned off milk.

“I can’t take them off,” she snorts.

Leon wishes she could. Hang ‘em up in the closet and pop them back on when it’s time to play. Tits are for the bedroom. Otherwise, they’re too much of a distraction. Instead, he settles on slipping his hand up her skirt to check if she’s wearing panties. (There’s no panty line showing through her pencil skirt and that’s always a bad sign.) She shoos him away.

So Leon leans in for a kiss, and she says, “Nuh-uh, honey, you’ll ruin my makeup.” Then she gives in ‘cause Leon can be kinda cute when he tries hard enough. “Just one, okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon nods. Her kisses are analgesic. Which is unfortunate considering he has an opioid addiction. Almost an addiction.

“One,” she counts, Leon kisses her again, “two, three, four.”

She’s teasing him now.

“Okay, well, keep an eye on her, Leon.”

“I’m not twelve,” you say, exiting the kitchen to spare yourself the sight of him groping your older sister.

Yeah, and Leon’s not a bang nanny.

He wipes the red from his lips, takes his juice box from the table where you’re no longer and decides jerking off in the shower will make him feel better. Leon does. He finishes. Watches his seed wash down the drain and wonders if that was wasteful. A short intermission is taken, then he jerks off in front of her full-body mirror. His biceps flex and his abs tighten, and he looks fucking good.

Why isn’t she cumming? What’s wrong with her? Is she getting too old? Is menopause hitting already? She’s only thirty-something. It can’t be that, and she asked Leon to pick up tampons last week— Unless they were for you.

Nobody in this house tells Leon anything. Another shower is what he needs. No, he needs a smoke. Leon doesn’t smoke. He does the next best thing, rests idly against the railings of her balcony, observing the ballet of D.C. life. Man, he could throw himself over right now. Splat against the asphalt and that would be it. It’d all be over. Hauling his weight over would be no problem. Catastrophizing to pass the time. Men used to do this for a living in Ancient Greece. What happened to philosophising? Leon could be a philosopher, all they did was spout nonsense and he is good at that. Not at fucking, however.

Beer. Yeah. Beer. That’s what he needs. Leon ransacks the fridge to no avail. Health-conscious living is the reason for misery, he believes. See, very insightful, modern-day Socrates right here. Lean proteins, vegan substitutes, low-fat yoghurt— It’s so girly it makes him sick.

“She’s still on a health kick,” you say from behind him, “I thought it was a New Years thing, but she’s still, like, super into it.”

Why are you talking to him? Leon blinks at you owlishly. “Right,” he says.

You give him a funny look, turning back to the counter to use the coffee machine. Don’t you want him? You’re not shy. Why aren’t you shy? Shouldn’t you be shy? Ugly Leon was mute around girls whether they were short, fat, ugly or pretty. Shit, he is clucking for a beer.

“There's Chardonnay under the sink.” Well, that’s unhelpful.

“Yeah, I don’t- I don’t drink that.” He would like to finish his sentence off with ‘girly shit’ but you seem like the type to find that offensive.

“Figured.” The coffee machine whirs. A lobotomised silence ensues. “Good talk.”

You’re so ugly you’re asking for it. Perfect subject for the ‘I can’t make my girlfriend cum, is her pussy broken?’ experiment. Ugly girls don’t count as a fuck, right? Not when they’re sent to the very back of your mind after said fuck. He wonders how many girls counted the uglier him as an official lay.

You’re on your tummy reading a book. The Beautiful and Damned. Leon had no idea they wrote a book about him. The door creaking exposes his creeping against his will.

“Do you need something?” you ask without batting an eye.

The swell of your ass is nice. “Uh, yeah, I do.”

Rolling over and sitting up to face him, you tilt your head to the side. “Go on.”

“I want to have sex with you.” Woah. Okay. That’s a genie he can’t put back in the bottle. Fuck, why does he do this stupid shit? Leon should just kill himself. All roads lead to suicide. Every sign points towards suicide and he is still holding on for dear life.

Think about Sherry. Sherry won’t care, kids hit sixteen and don’t give a fuck about much, he reasons with the voice in his head. How about Claire? Oh, she’ll think good fucking riddance. Redfield? No way. You are truly out of options, Kennedy.

“I’m sorry?”

Oh, god no, Leon’s the one that should be sorry. “You heard me.” The apology comes out incredibly wrong. “I’m helping you out.”

“Helping me out with what? I’m sorry, Leon, I didn’t… I didn’t think I— I don’t know what made you think I wanted this from you, but I don’t like you—“

You don’t like him? Why not? He’d like a list of reasons with a page-long explanation. What’s not to like? The hair. It’s the hair. Blond is too girly. That’s what it is.

“—I mean, you’re with my sister, did you really think I would say yes? I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused, where is this coming from? Gosh, I really… I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m helping you out,” Leon repeats, using his hands to gesture at your face, at your body. “No one else is gonna do it.” This apology has gone way out of bounds. A simple sorry would have sufficed.

“What..?” Something doleful crosses your face, then it twists unpleasantly. “You think I want to have sex with you… ‘cause I’m not cute? Like, you think I’m…”

Ugly, yes. He does. Only a little. Can you turn over? He wants to make you cum. “You’re a virgin, yeah?”

“Oh my god, there’s, like, something wrong with you!” You stand to your full height in a pitiful attempt to appear frightening. That face is enough to scare a man away already. “Get out— And I am so telling her when she gets back home, I told her I didn’t like you, I told her and now you just-“

Leon grabs you by the jaw, squeezes you so tight it clicks. “Okay, sweetheart, here’s how this is going to go,” he starts, taking both your wrists in a single hand, “we’re going to start over, and you’re going to be a good little girl and apologise to me like you really mean it.”

“Apologise for what?” It comes out muffled through your forced pout so he chooses to ignore you.

“I don’t know what you fuckin’ said.” Leon should just end it here, he should let go of you and check into the nearest asylum. He’s hot. Leon is box blond. He’s tall enough to dwarf most girls. His face is nice. His body is nicer. So he doesn’t know what his problem is. Once pinned down, you shrink away from him, expression so sour your skin looks ready to melt off your skull.

And then he fucks you till you stop screaming. He leaves you in a withered heap, heads back to his room to take a well-deserved nap, hides his face in the pillows. They smell like her. He should think about killing himself some more. That gun looks awfully shiny. Nth time could be the charm.

She gets home in the evening, drops her bag on the floor to alert him of her entrance.

“I missed you.” Leon noses at her neck.

“You were sleeping.” She ruffles his hair like he’s a child.

“I still missed you.”

“Even when you’re sleeping?”

In the least creepy way possible, he wants to wear her skin as a suit, and she thinks his body doesn’t yearn for her at every sleeping second?

“The most when I’m sleeping, have bad dreams without you,” Leon mumbles groggily.

“How cute,” she muses, “good day?”

“Great day.” Leon nods. “Real productive.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you get up to?” A singular red nail strokes along his spine.

“Thought about you,” he answers, leaving out the part where he spent half of his time jerking off. Oh, and the part where he fucked her sister into submission. He raped you. He did. Leon doesn’t like that word. Far too harsh.

“Now, don’t push it, mister.” When she smiles there’s a lack of wrinkles— Not even smile lines, it’s artificial almost.

Leon’s good at pushing buttons. He should get paid for it. “It’s true, if you said jump I’d ask how high.”

“You’re so funny, Leon.” She kisses his head and laughs all prim and proper.

“Serious, babe, I’m super partial to jumping,” he says to hear her laugh again. He’s more partial to suicide. It’s great. A one-way ticket off of God’s green inferno. Who would he even be without suicide ideation?

“Alright, but I’d like you all in one piece.” She kisses his cheek. “No jumping, okay, honey?” She kisses his neck and his collarbones and his Adam’s apple and he’s unable to breathe.

“Okay,” Leon says. He gets it now. She’s mommying him. Maybe this is what Leon needs. To play house. A daddy to fuck his throat and a mommy to sit on his dick and tell him that he’s a good boy and he’s needed and he won’t have to think if he has a mommy and daddy to do that for him.

Can he backtrack on the rape thing? Trust Leon to take a good thing and ruin it in the worst way possible. If he kissed you he could’ve wormed his way out of it. Told her it was the medication he’s on, that he had a mental breakdown, a midlife crisis.

At dinner, your silence slips under the radar like cumstains on motel bedsheets. You pick at your food, and when Leon’s knee brushes yours under the table, you excuse yourself. Sometimes he thinks that he is a bad person, this can be backed up by many things. Violating you might outweigh saving the world.

In bed, he thinks about changing, about calling his therapist in the morning, he might take a leap off that balcony, cleaning up his act sounds terribly hard. Leon does this all with his head tucked into the hollow of his girlfriend’s neck. The thinking has killed his boner and now he can’t get it up. So he pretends to fall asleep. It’s an unconvincing performance ‘cause the moment she swipes a hand over his ass he lets out a disgruntled noise. Leon clenches so quickly his stomach caves in.

“You don’t like that, honey?”

He shakes his head, overgrown bangs falling in his eyes. Leon has a nice ass. It’s no wonder she wants to touch it, leg presses have done him wonders, but still, it’s off-limits. She can’t sweet talk her way into this anytime soon.

“Why, Leon?” She’s cupping his ass like he’s a girl. Leon’s not a girl. “You’d look so cute.”

“No,” he whines, and it sounds kind of sexy. He gets it. He can see the appeal.

“I think you just need some encouragement, baby.” She’s taking him apart like a gun. Folding him like laundry. Milks his prostate so well he sleeps like a baby. Not even a shadow of an orgasm to be seen from her side.

She leaves early the next morning and he’s left alone to ruminate. What he finds out today is that you’re pretty diligent at sucking dick when forced.

Leon thinks he would like to break you in a way that only he can fix.

He pushes your head down on his dick till your lips are stretched so far they split at the corners, you gag wetly each time the fat tip knocks the back of your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin.

“Aww, look at you,” Leon coos, “little girl taking big things.”

Fat tears well in your eyes, a faint tremor betrays your effort to hold them back, a single blink and they roll down your cheeks like dewdrops. It might be the dick lodged in your throat, pulsing under your tongue— Yeah, no, it’s his dick in your mouth. That’s why you're upset. No other reason for it. Leon finds you a little ungrateful. A lot of women would pay for this, to drain his balls. Hell, your sister loves to do it.

“One at a time, sweetheart,” he says as he guides you to his balls, “can’t have you choking, can we?” You look up at him blankly. Leon thought he was funny and that’s all that matters. “Go on, spit on ‘em, get me nice and wet.” The drool pooling beneath your tongue drizzles his balls in clear strings, his drippy tip bumps the bridge of your nose, rests comfy on your brow ridge.

You’re struggling real bad. He’ll take it as a compliment. The thing is, you refuse to just lick them, pulling off each ball with a wet pop! and a dry cough. Leon starts to zone out so he shoves you off and quite pathetically, you fall flat on your back.

“You didn’t shave,” Leon notes in distaste, he was going to do you a favour too.

“No— Not for you.” You squirm like a fish on the docks when he hovers over you.

“Not for me, right.”

“Anyone but you.”

“You're not gonna do it for anyone, sweetheart, know why?” Leon clicks his tongue when you dodge his kiss, twisting your neck to keep a distance.

“Why?”

“No one else wants you,” he states, “you’re lucky that I want you.”

“Well, that’s not true.” You’re stubborn amongst all your other undesirable traits.

Leon scoffs. “What, so you ever had a boyfriend?” He runs his index finger along your slit. Bone dry. Serious? He assumes you’re still sore from yesterday.

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t get mad at me, honey, I’m just helping you out.” Leon spits on your pussy, then on his thick cock for good measure, jerks his shaft and presses a thumb to his tip to guide it into you. Your lips fold inwards around him as he breaches your tiny hole. There’s too much resistance for it to be a smooth sailing journey, and you’re new to cock, cunt pushing him out as your body tenses. “I’m being nice to you, so you should say thank you.”

“Oh, god,” you mutter, brows knit in what might be pain or pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s what you’re calling me now?” The look you give him is priceless, small hands settling on his chest as you push at him weakly. “No, baby, you don’t get to do that.” Leon bottoms out, he rolls his hips forward to grind the head of his dick into your cervix, the fleshly opening moulds to his tip and you cry out. He can never tell if you’re enjoying it.

Leon sticks his fingers in your mouth to coat them in spit, you retch and he rubs figure eights on your clit, only then does your cunt loosen up its hold on him. It’s a quick process, the quicker he rubs you raw, the wetter you get, biting down on your tongue to keep quiet, but low groans slip past your cracked lips.

“Oh, there we go, baby, that’s it,” Leon coos, his cock slicked up by your wet pussy, sliding in and out with ease. His hips snap forward, forcing himself deeper into your messy little pussy, so wet you’re dripping down his balls, wetness stuck to your inner thighs.

“Fuck— I can’t, I can’t do it, ‘s too big,” you whimper, a hand slipping between your bodies to lay on your stomach. What you don’t understand is that he is big, yeah, but your pussy just needs to be broken in. Like a new pair of shoes.

“You’re doing it, baby,” Leon says, ‘cause you are doing it. You’re taking it. Body going rigid with each brutal thrust into your sopping wet hole. Whether you can take it or not isn’t for you to decide anyway. “I’m going to stuff your little pussy full,” he tells you.

“No,” you choke out, scratching at his chest, nails too blunt to do any sort of damage. Thank fuck. His girlfriend would go nuts.

It’s a satisfying victory, he covers your mouth to concentrate all his energy into this creampie, fills you to the brim, seed thick enough to stick to your insides. The original aim of his ‘experiment’ is forgotten, Leon doesn’t care if you cum or cry or pass out on his dick.

“I’m tellin’ her when she comes home.” Your threat is weak. He feared the consequences of yesterday, but you said nothing.

“You’re not telling her, you like me too much,” Leon decides, “I know you do, baby.”

“I don’t like you at all.” Your bottom lip trembles, fists balled up by your sides. The contempt only turns him on.

“No, but I think you know I’m right, don’t you?” No one else wants you, and you know that. Leon knows you know that. He’s the only one that is ever going to fuck you.

“Right about what? You’re a fucking psycho— I could get you locked up, I should get you locked up.”

“You should, so what're you waiting for?” If you did report him, Leon would just kill himself, going to prison sounds like a bore. “I think, sweetheart, that secretly, you really like it when I rape you.”

And your silence proves him right.

That report never comes. Duh. You love his dick. You like being roughed up. You know you’re deserving of it. Jesus Christ, Leon needs to call his shrink. Honestly, being around you is hard. It’s like his guilty conscience has developed a human body, shambling around the apartment in the shape of a malformed ghost girl, reminding him of the shit he’s said and done to you. You’re spinning in his necrosed brain like one of those music box ballerinas.

“Leon, be a doll and do me up,” his girlfriend is facing away from him, the smooth skin of her back and shoulders bared to him.

Leon only hears the ‘do me’ part, kissing the nape of her neck, reaching round to grab at her fat tits. “I love you…”

“I love you too, baby, but what do you think you’re doing?”

Leon makes a motion with his fingers, she sees it in the mirror.

“What is that, sign language?”

“No, I want to finger you.”

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, baby, but it’s not the time for that. I asked you to zip me up, Leon.” He zips her up while wondering how she can be so unaffected by him being so stupid.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” You knock on the door, you keep hiding your face from him today. His girlfriend said it’s ‘cause you have makeup on. Apparently that changes things. It’s sort of cute. Like, are you shy? You should be shy.

“Oh, no one likes cliffhangers, honey,” she says, forcing you to swap out some open-toe sandals for a pair of her heels. “Okay, Leon, I’ve left your dinner in the fridge, yes?”

Yes, mommy. “Yeah, babe.”

“And there’s snacks in the cupboard now, oh, and don’t use the tap water, it tastes strange so I stocked up— Leon, will you stop doing that with your jaw?”

Sorry, mommy. “Sorry, babe.”

“He’s totally fucking gurning,” you inform her in a way that screams playground snitch. He’ll choke you out for that.

“Gurning, what’s that?” His girlfriend asks cluelessly. This bitch is in her early thirties, Leon has no idea why she acts fifty. Whatever, it’s hot, he gets a girl with all the traits of an older lady without the sagging.

“Like, y’know, ‘cause he’s on meds.” What a little shit. Is this you getting back at him? Some petty fucking act of revenge? Getting his medication taken away from him by his health freak girlfriend?

“Medication? I didn’t know about this, Leon.” She looks at him like he’s killed her mother. Or raped her sister. If only she knew.

“Yeah, for my back, my back hurts, babe— Th-That’s why I’m on leave. My back hurts.” What a compelling act. Totally not a dude that’s two minutes away from injecting black tar heroin.

“Who prescribed them, a doctor or a vet?” You cock your head to the side. Fine. You fucking got him.

“Same thing.” Leon shrugs.

She makes him empty the bedside desk of pills. “Leon, good boys don’t do this. We don’t take drugs in this household, let me take them off your hands.”

“They’re- Babe, they’re not drugs, they’re for my back— I hurt my back.” Granted, his back stopped aching a few days back, he’s just taking advantage of the break. Also, he’s not a child.

“Your back, honey, I know it hurts.” She waves him off. “We can fix it, huh? I can book you in for acupuncture or cupping— Oh, what about a chiropractor?”

“Fine,” Leon says, voice cracking, watching in devastation as she takes his pills in a black garbage bag.

“Bye, Leon, see you later, honey.” She blows him a kiss and he catches it. He has to catch it.

“Yeah, bye, Leon!” You wave at him, looking happier than you have in days.

The door opens an hour later and Leon takes his hand out of his pants. You stand in front of him with red eyes and messy makeup. Leon, being the gentleman he is, takes you into his arms and rubs your back to soothe you as he tells you, more than a little cruel, I fucking told you so.

At least now you know that some guys aren’t as nice as Leon. Some men will spit in your face without considering how tight your pussy is, they won’t even think about how good your tits look in that push-up bra. See? That’s what the real world is like.

The bath fills as he bends you over the sofa. You’re prettier from behind, dress hiked up, soaked panties around your ankles. His hand smooths down the front of your stomach to cup your puffy cunt, prodding at your swollen clit. You shaved. Funny. Thought you were going to get a dick that wasn’t his.

Leon kneels, he spreads your ass cheeks to lick into your pussy from behind, tongue lapping up the beads of arousal that dribble down the seam of your cunt like sticky honey. He laps at your hole and you arch your back to push into him, his tongue fucking your pussy so well, sloppy sounds fill his ears.

“Been wanting to do this,” Leon says into your cunt, tongue making its way back up the centrefold of your fat pussy, he blows spit bubbles on your clit and then he nips at it until you cry out, startled by the jolt of pain. His dick kicks in his sweats. You taste good to make up for that face of yours.

You cream in his mouth so sweetly, toes curling against the wooden floor. Leon wipes his mouth on his forearm, then he wraps it around your neck, pulling your body flush to his. In his chest, his heart flutters when you press a delicate kiss to his bicep. He feels it and you can’t unfeel that.

“I’m sorry, Leon,” you get out through shaky moans as he sandwiches his shaft between your chubby pussy lips, bumping the tip into your clit as his hips move back and forth. “I’m sorry… Didn’t know-“

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses behind your ear. “It’s alright ‘cause you know now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree tearfully, tilting your head so it rests on his broad chest, he gives your pout some wet kisses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm, baby?” Leon nudges you with his nose.

Your idea of cleaning up might be far from what Leon’s is. He doesn’t think you were expecting something so extreme. But it’s for thinking you’re worth something— For thinking that anyone else would do as little as touch you. It’s to wash off that pitiful attempt at makeup.

He bends you in half over the tub. Your tits hang low enough to be squashed against the edge painfully as Leon dunks your head into lukewarm water. Holy shit. Tomorrow will be the day he overdoses. Why is he doing this?

A strangled noise passes your lips as he lets up, and you re-emerge, Leon wipes a hand over your face to rid you of the streaky mascara and sticky gloss.

“There we go, sweetheart, nice and clean.” He presses the tip into your leaking cunt, it catches on your hole, and you flail, water spilling over the edge, surface tension broken as it ripples.

Honest to god, Leon hasn’t fucked a pussy tighter than yours, and when he holds you beneath the surface? Man, you might deglove his dick. He works his cock into you, and when he’s balls deep in your sloppy cunt, Leon allows you to lift your head to which you pant and gasp and cough. All the shit a drowning person does when they’re tossed a lifesaver.

Your body sags, hanging limp with only Leon to hold you up as he roughly fucks in and out of your poor hole, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“I love you, Leon,” you tell him, rubbing at your stinging nose with your fist, pussy tightening when he pinches your throbbing clit.

“Aw, do you, baby? You love me?” Leon laughs, the mean smile on his face hidden in your shoulder, “That’s so cute.” He rocks back and forth, shallow thrusts that are more for him than they are for you, rabbiting his dick into your squelching pussy until his balls pulse and his shaft twitches inside of you. “Real— Real fuckin’ cute,” he grits out as he buries himself to the hilt, shooting his load in your willing little pussy.

“I think so,” you whimper, thighs trembling as the knot in your stomach snaps and you coat his cock in your slick. Hey, his dick isn't a problem then.

Leon thinks about calling his shrink. The bad shit he does won’t fix itself like he wants. “Clean up,” he tells you, looking at the wet ground. The soaked rug. Your face.

“What… Leon, where are you going?” You use your palms to mop the excess water from your face. “Seriously, Leon? I just… I told you that…”

He has things to do - Leon’s going to call his shrink and very promptly throw himself over the balcony when she doesn’t answer his call.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy angst #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[weirdfangirly]

—No Pure Blood

(Part 1)

Dark-Fiction Central ©️

Dark!Dad!Joel / Dark!Uncle!Tommy x Reader

Summery: You don’t want your dad to find out, so you let your uncle fuck you from behind.

⚠️ : Age-Gap (Joel is 53, Tommy 45, Reader 20), Rape, Dub-con, blackmailing, Dark!Joel, father/daughter relationship dynamics (everyone knows Reader to be Joel’s “adoptive daughter”), Reader calls Joel dad, confused Reader (Stockholm-Syndrom), father-figure Joel but messed up, manhandling, Daddy-issues, overprotective/obsessive Joel, manipulation, degradation-kink, throat-fuck/face-fuck, blow-jobs, breeding-kink, cum-eating, misogynistic-views/behaviour, name-calling, Uncle!Tommy (yes, it’s a warning from now on)

A/n: I had trouble giving Joel a title for this fic since he’s readers father-figure, kidnapper, rapist, pseudo-boyfriend—so I decided to just call him dad!joel and move on.

There will definitely be a part 2 because I’m not satisfied with the ending. Please like and reblog and leave me a comment—it will definitely motivate me to ACTUALLY write part 2 down instead of just thinking about it…

————

Joel needed you today.

He needed your juicy little mouth that was always so eager to do and say whatever he wanted.

His heavy balls were resting on your chin, his throbbing cock was sticking out over your face. The mascara ran down your cheeks along with tears, sweat and spit.

Just five seconds ago you were suffocating on his cock, not daring to pull away. Not daring to fight back.

He might as well have killed you then and there, and you still wouldn't have objected.

You respected him too much…or maybe you were confusing respect with fear? After all, he still wore the face of the murderer of your father. Your real father. But that felt like a lifetime ago…

Whenever you tired to think about your beloved father, his face morphed into Joel’s.

“Good girl.”, he praised you for your obedience and you couldn’t help yourself but find comfort in his words.

Joel couldn't decide whether to cum on your pretty face or make you swallow his load. He liked to know you full of his cum.

One day he would get you pregnant, just to see you round and full of him. He wanted to watch you raise his children. After all, your place was right next to him—and a life in Jackson wouldn’t change that. He would make sure of that.

This damn place was full of soft little boys who all grew up in the comfort of a thick fence that kept danger far away from them. They wouldn’t know how to protect you. They were trying to get your attention, running after you like a bunch of dogs. Joel was sick of witnessing it and not being able to do anything about it but to play “overprotective-father”.

He was sick of pretending that you weren’t his bitch.

He would knock you up soon enough. He would make a little mommy out of you and ruin your pretty body for every men out there. He would tell Tommy and the others that a random boy got you pregnant, so that nobody would get suspicious of it.

Poor girl got herself pregnant and dumbed by a random boy at a party while drunk—sounded believable enough. Joel couldn’t let anyone find out that he was fucking his “adoptive daughter“—that would be a fucking scandal.

His brother’s bitch would definitely try to kick his ass out of Jackson and this time she would actually have a good reason to do so...

He tapped your flushed cheek, signalling you to open up for him. You did. You opened your mouth widely, bracing yourself on his thick hairy thighs. He put his cock back in your mouth, it belonged there. You closed your plump lips around him.

“Ya‘gonna take what I give you, alright?”, he mumbled and grabbed a fistful of your hair. You closed your eyes and nodded, knowing what that would mean; its going to be rough and unforgiving.

He pushed his cock deeper and deeper in your mouth, before hitting the barrier of your throat.

You felt so good to him. He let his head fall back, relishing the moment.

You gagged, your eyes sprung open. You looked up at the tall man with big painted eyes that only made him want to fuck you even harder.

He wore nothing but a white undershirt. His broad shoulders and strong arms looked even more intimidating from this perspective. He was so handsome.

You wanted to make him proud.

So you braved yourself mentally, dedicated to not give him a hard time. He started to fuck your throat like it was your cunt, picking up on speed and force. Pushing himself down your throat making you gag and spasm under his hold.

All you could focus on was to not bite him even though every cell in your body was screaming at you to do exactly that. You couldn’t though. Your punishment would be way, way worse than getting used by him like this and he would most certainly not let you go to your friends birthday party tonight…

“Such a pretty fucking slut.”, he hissed, searching after his release that was seemingly hidden somewhere deep down your throat. Thankfully, it didn’t took him a lot of digging to find what he was looking for…

He exploded inside you mouth in such an absurd intensity that his cum leaked down from your nostrils, making you cough and choke around him. He was holding you in place tightly, watching your struggles intensely. Breathing heavy, strong chest falling up and down.

For what felt like minutes to you, there was absolutely no way for you to get fresh air into your system. His cum was blocking your airwaves. This had never happened before.

You were panicking. He wasn’t letting you go.

You just looked too pretty like this.

Eventually though, he let go of you with an animalistic growl, pushing you away from him. Your head hit the wall and you started to cry from what just had happened. Totally overwhelmed.

Like so often, you felt like a used napkin. Trash.

You crawled over to his legs and hugged him, trying to comfort yourself. “I-I c-couldn’t b-breathe.”, you hiccuped and looked up at him.

He was still trying to come down from his high.

„Walking around all day long in that skimpy little skirt, what did you expect would happen?“, he panted. “Told you many times not to dress like a whore.”

“M’sorry.”, you sniffed and whipped your tears away.

He made you let go of him and you immediately felt lost. „M’gonna take a shower now, girl. Wanna join?”

You wished. Joel wasn’t a softy, little things like asking you if you want to take a shower with him were the most he could do.

You shook your head. „I can’t…I’ll be running late to Anna’s birthday party.“

Joel was about to walk upstairs but stopped in his tracks. „Birthday party.“, he repeated like it was a curse-word.

„I-I told you last week.“, you reminded him. „You said yes, dad.“

How many fucking friends do you fucking have? Being invited to some kind of party every other night…

Joel was sick of it. Sick of Jackson. Your place was wherever he was and not at some random parties, or hangouts.

„Did I?“

„Yes.“, you said, truthfully.

„Mh.“, he looked over at you. You were still sitting on the floor in your tight little skirt. Spit and cum drooling down your face. Mascara running down your cheeks and half of your cherry lipstick—that he had gotten for you on his last hunt for supplies—smeared on his cock.

You did good—and good girls get rewards. His own rule. That was their system. That was how Joel got you where you were; confused, obedient and submissive.

He couldn’t let a life in Jackson ruin that. But you did a good job today and therefore you deserved a reward.

Good girls get rewards. Bad girls get punished.

„You remember the rules, girl?, he asked sternly.

„I’ll be home at 9. No entertaining boys. No drugs.“, you repeated like a mantra.

„Which one of them sluts was Anna again?“, he frowned. He could never put a face to the names of your friends, even though a lot of them would spend a lot of time over at their house throwing heart eyes at Joel.

„The one with the black hair and nose piercing.“, you said. “She’s not a slut, dad.”

“Mh.”, he just made and started to walk up the stairs. “If ya ass ain’t home at 9, me and my gun are coming to pick you up.”

“I won’t be late.”, you said, smiling. “Big promise.”

————

You whipped your face clean from Joel’s mess and tried your best to make yourself look presentable again. This was a special night after all…

You changed into a new shirt and applied another cover of lipgloss onto your lips.

You wanted to look your best for him…

It was a dangerous game you were playing—a deadly game even—but it was all too exciting.

Dean Winchester liked you. Really liked you.

He liked you so much that he wasn’t afraid to secretly meet up with Joel fucking Millers girl, risking to be caught. Risking to basically die.

Joel had a reputation in Jackson. Everyone knew about him and what he was capable of.

You had told Dean many times that if he wants to see you, it has to be discreet. Nobody could know about him and you, ever. You had told him that their relationship—no matter what kind of relationship—would mean danger.

For both of you.

Joel would kill Dean in a heartbeat, not even give it a second thought. However the things he would do to you would be much worse, because you had to deal with his outrage and anger for the rest of your life. He would probably start to tie you up again—he used to do that at the beginning, where he couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t try to run away from him.

You didn’t want to go back to that stage of your relationship with Joel. You didn’t want to be tied up to trees, heaters or posts again. You didn’t want him to walk you around on a tight leash again.

“I don’t know if we should see each other again, Dean...”, you whispered.

You weren’t sure if Dean was worth the risk. You didn’t even like Dean that much…You just liked to have the attention that Joel didn’t give you.

It wouldn’t be fair for Dean to get killed just because you were bored…

“Your old man won’t find out, babe.”, Dean said, knowing what you where getting at. He kept on kissing your neck and kneading your tit from under your shirt.

You were at the stables. It was your little hideout. Nobody would be able to find you here.

“But what if he does?”, you asked, voice full of worry. “What then?”

You already knew the answer.

Dean sighed and let go of you.

“He’s not the only one who had to survive out there for a long period of time.”, Dean said, now sounding annoyed. “He thinks of himself as tough, but guess what? So am I. I was part of a Raider-gang. Clickers and runners were the least of my problems. I had to showcase strength and dominance every day in order to not get fucked with. It was like living in a cage full of starving dogs. I know people like Joel and I know how to deal with them-“

Dean saw your big fearful eyes, hanging onto every word that left his mouth. He decided to better shut the fuck up before drying you out too much.

“Babe, don’t worry.”, he softened his voice again. “You are too pretty for that.”

He started to stroke your bare leg, making your skin prickle.

“C’mon let me make you feel real good, ya?”, he whispered in your ear before placing kisses all over your neck. He let his hand vanish under your top again, playing with your nipples. He was a good kisser and as you found out, you really liked being kissed on the neck. He made your eyes roll back.

Joel never kissed you like this. He never kissed you ever.

Dean’s lips eventually found yours, his tongue immediately entering your mouth, dominating your tongue. His hand wandered downside, finding his way between your legs. You jumped a little at the contact.

“You are not wearing panties.”, he realised and couldn’t believe his luck. He smirked into your mouth.

You blushed. Joel always liked it more when you didn’t wear any underwear around the house, so you figured Dean would like it, too. You could find a lot of similarities between them actually. Dean wasn’t like the other boys in Jackson, he was older and more experienced. Maybe you picked him because he was so much like Joel?

Dean was good with guns, good in killing clickers and a survivor. That’s why he got a position as a hunter—just like Joel.

“God, you are such a little tease, babe.”, he said and carefully slipped his finger inside you. You were wet since Joel had face-fucked you and you got nothing in return. Maybe Dean would give you the sweet-release you so desperately wanted. His hands were as skilled has his tongue. He fingered you in such a manner that you were surprised to actually feel your orgasm forming.

“Can you…can you keep kissing my neck, dean?”, you managed to get out without sounding too pathetic. It just felt soo good and it would help you cum.

He liked his name on your tongue like that.

“‘Course, babe.”, he whispered and started to kiss your neck again.

“And-and can you…can you call me…a slut?”, you whispered.

He stopped doing what he was doing.

Was that weird to ask?

You didn’t know. It was certainly normal for Joel to call you that.

You opened your eyes and blushed.

“What?”, he asked, confusion written all over his face.

“Never mind.”, you murmured in shame. You closed your legs and straightened your skirt.

You felt dumb.

“Wait, wait, wait.“ Dean said, not liking what you were doing. “You want me to call you…a slut?”

You nodded, face turning red. There was no point in denying it. Although you thought about acting like that was not what you said.

“That’s whatcha like to hear? You like being degraded like that?”

Joel always called you mean names like that when he was fucking you. At the beginning you didn’t really like it. It was hurtful to be called such nasty names all the time when you already felt bad about what was going on. It made you cry and you asked him to not call you that. You didn’t know what shifted inside you, but at one point you started to like it. It felt like a compliment to you. The only kind of compliments Joel was willing to dish out to you. You liked to be Joel’s slut and you wanted to be Deans too.

“Yes, it’s…it’s hot.”, you simply said.

Dean smiled at you in awe. “Damn, you really are a bombshell trough and through...”

Of course he would call you a slut. Dean was holding back anyways. This whole „boyfriend-act“ was knew to him too. He figured that the rules in Jackson were different than what he was used to outside. The only rule he knew was „take what you want, or someone else will“

However he was not with the raiders anymore. He couldn’t just take you from your father. He needed to make you fall in love with him first and soon he would’ve a cunt to warm his cock again. Dean liked a challenge anyways.

And you definitely were the biggest challenge in town.

“You should work on your compliments, son.”, a voice suddenly appeared from behind.

You jumped up from your spot and turned around. All colour left your face when you came face to face with…

“Uncle Tommy…”, you gulped, nearly choking on your own words. “What-what are you doing here?”

Tommy was standing there, hands casually tucked inside his jacket. A cigarette hanging from his lips.

How long was he standing there?

How much of your conversation did he witnessed?

Oh how embarrassing.

“Hi, sweetheart.”, he said to you and smiled, cigarette dangling between his lips. “Oh, well you know, I like to watch the horses while I smoke.”

He pointed at the stables behind him with his thump.

Oh this was the beginning of the end of your life.

Dean who was still casually sitting on the bench, one foot dangling over his leg and arms outstretched, looked over his shoulder to Tommy and greeted: “Mr Miller. Nice to meet you.”

Judging Deans very relaxed body language and the lack of horror in his face, you couldn’t tell if he realised how bad the situation was for him—and you.

“Nice to see’ya too.”, Tommy replied.

There was a tension building pause between all of you. Tommy was the one breaking the silence.

“You should go home now, son. I put’ya on patrol together with Joel tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the protocols.”, Dean nodded and rose up from the bench to his full height.

“You will definitely need to be well-rested, is what I’m sayin.“, the threat in Tommys sentence was hidden but there.

Dean nodded, in amusement and understanding.

Your worried eyes wandered back and forth between the men. You were close to hyperventilating.

“Yes, it’s late.”, you awkwardly said in hopes to debunk the situation. “I’m tired too.”

Another heavy pause placed itself onto everyone. You looked up at Dean, non-verbally telling him to please play along and just go home. That it wasn’t worth it. He looked down at you and winked, before tuning his attention back to Tommy.

“Good night, babe.”, he said while looking at the older man, provocatively.

Tommy kept his cool. He wasn’t impressed by Dean at all and he most certainly wouldn’t let him ruin this promising night.

“Mr Miller.”, he eventually said and walked away, leaving you alone with Tommy.

Tommy watched Dean wander away. He scoffed and shook his head in amusement. He took one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground. “What a charmer.”, he murmured more to himself than to you.

He walked around the bench and took a seat, grunting. “If it was up to me,”, he started, “I wouldn’t let that prick anywhere near a gun, but you know, Joel was quite pleased with the way the boy handled himself out there. Skilled. The kid has experience, many people in Jackson don’t.”

You didn’t hear a thing Tommy just said. You heart was beating too loud and too fast, you feared to suffer a heart attack.

“Uncle Tommy, I-I’m…please don’t tell Joel.”, you begged. There was nothing but worry in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, relax.”, he laughed. “I was young once too. You don’t even wanna know what bullshit I pulled behind my parents backs…”

You cracked a little smile at that.

“And, believe me, ya don’t want me to tell you about Joel’s business when he was your age…”

That made you giggle. You couldn’t even picture Joel as a young man.

“Ah, you’re smiling again.”, Tommy pointed at your face proudly. “I like to see that. C’mon sit down next to me.”

“I should go home, uncle Tommy. I have to be home at 9 or else…”

He looked at his wristwatch. “Got planty of time then.”

He was right. You still got half an hour. You nodded and placed yourself next to Tommy.

You met Tommy for the first time here in Jackson. Joel had told you a lot about him during your journey. You warmed up to Tommy almost immediately. At first you were a little sceptical about the man, he looked a lot like Joel. However he was nothing like him—Well, maybe only a tiny-little bit. According to Joel’s many stories, Tommy was pretty badass too. „We used to be a duo“, Joel had told you.

Tommy was definitely more charismatic though. Everyone in Jackson liked him. He was warm and welcoming towards you, immediately accepting you as part of their family.

“You will not tell Joel?”, you asked again, just to make sure.

“Nah.”, Tommy shook his head. “M’sorry for ruining your little date, sweetheart.”

You smiled. “It’s ok, uncle Tommy. I’m not mad at you.”

He smiled. “That’s nice to hear.”

He paused for a second before speaking again:

“As your uncle though…I feel like I have to give you the speech.”

“The speech?”, you repeated, not knowing what ‘the speech’ was.

“Yea, the speech.”, Tommy sighed. “He’s your first boyfriend, right?”

You looked at Tommy, unsure what to answer. Dean wasn’t your boyfriend yet—and he probably never would be. Joel was. Was he? No he was your dad.

“Guys like Dean…they mean trouble for girls like you. Gonna take a bite out of your heart before spitting it back out. Ya understand?”

“I…I don’t think so, uncle Tommy…”, you truthfully said.

Tommy leaned back and looked up at the night-sky, thinking of the right words. He turned his attention back at you. “M’tryin to say is, you are a pretty girl. That’s all guys like Dean care about. You give him a bit of yourself and he will expect more and more, until you’re left with nothin more to give. That’s when he gets bored of you and leaves.”

Your eyes widened at Tommys cryptic message. What he was trying to say is “if you let him fuck you, he will not be interested in you any more”—but that would be to harsh for you to hear.

You couldn’t help yourself but think…Will Joel get bored of me too?

You kept quiet, biting your lip. Not sure what to say.

“Maybe I should tell my brother about this, about Dean...”, he suddenly said and making every alarm bell inside your head ring. “That Dean kid is bad blood. Joel should scare him a little, make him understand that he shouldn’t break ya heart.”

You grabbed his arm and frantically shook your head. “No, no, no! Uncle Tommy, please don’t! Joel will kill him.”

“Sounds just about right to me .”, he chuckled.

“No, you don’t understand. He will also punish me. I’m not allowed to see boys. He thinks I’m at Anna’s birthday party. He will be very, very angry with me. I don’t want him to be angry with me. Please you don’t understand, uncle Tommy.”

Tommy was studying your reaction closely. Oh he did understand.

“You really don’t want me to tell him?”, he asked, playing dumb.

“Yes, please don’t. I’ll do anything.”, you nodded. “I’ll bake you the carrot cake you like so much!”

“What if I want something else?”, he asked voice suddenly lower, his eyes darker.

He sounded much more like Joel now.

You frowned, not understanding. “You want me to bake you another cake?”

“Close. I do want something sweet from you.”

“Something sweet?”, you repeated still confused about what exactly he wanted “Like…chocolate?”

“Ya can’t be this dumb, sweetheart...”, Tommy chuckled.

You opened your mouth, but closed it immediately.

Dumb?

Tommy never called you dumb before.

“…Or should I say ‘slut’?”

That answered the question you had earlier; he did indeed heard everything you said to Dean…

You wished to drop dead on the spot, feeling utterly embarrassed.

You seriously didn’t know what to say. You just looked down and swallowed the wave of emotions down that were otherwise going to burst out of you in form of a mental breakdown.

“I’ll go home now.”, you whispered, when you found your strength to speak again. You stayed seated though, not making the move to stand up and go, as if you were waiting for Tommys permission—Something told you that he wouldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

He nodded and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

“I’ll bring you home…after you’ve convinced me not to tell Joel about the fact that his girl begs strange guys to treat her like a common whore. Wonder how he will take that...”

Tommys soft tone didn’t fit his vile words.

You could feel yourself shutting down—this happened a lot at the early stages of being with Joel, after he had brutally killed your father in front of your eyes and forced you to be with him, to act like everything was totally fine. You stared into the void, not willing to acknowledge the level of betrayal you were experiencing right now. He was blackmailing you.

You liked Tommy.

He was one of the good guys.

Tommy looked at you intensely, analysing your soft features. There was a war going on inside your confused little head, he could see.

He had always wondered how you still look this stunning during the end of times while everyone else’s looked like they been through the gutter. Even on the day you and Joel arrived at Jackson for the first time after a year of living in the wilderness that was now the whole country—you still looked like an angel. Joel did a good job of taking care of you, Tommy had to admit.

Tommy admired your devotion towards his older brother. The way you would look up at him, as if he was your god. Always searching for his approval, his affection, his permission. Joel was a cold bastard, leaving you empty and starved.

Or maybe he was just smart really, since you couldn’t get enough of him no matter what.

And when Joel introduced you to him that day, your pretty eyes lit up with excitement. Uncle Tommy, you called him, even though you were not the same blood. You called him that out of respect for Joel.

Tommy wasn’t stupid. He could see right through Joel’s facade of protective-father. Tommy was his brother after all. He could tell that Joel’s liking in you wasn’t of…innocent nature. Quite the opposite. It was much, much darker. He always knew. Your dynamics always seemed a little off to him. Joel hadn’t even looked at another women since he was in Jackson—he had no need to. He had you.

Tommys suspicion was confirmed when one day he saw Joel touching your ass. It was a few month ago at Christmas dinner. You were standing in front of the sink—washing dishes like the little slave you were for Joel—when suddenly he walked up to you, seemingly to bring you more plates to wash, when his hand grabbed a fistful of your soft ass, so tight his knuckles turned white—and you didn’t objected.

At first Tommy was angry. Disgusted even. Joel was like your fucking father. You called him “dad”, for fucks sake. It was disgusting, vile and wrong.

But then Tommy felt stupid for not putting one and one together much earlier. Why else would a guy like Joel take care of a girl that wasn’t even his own blood? What did he get out from feeding another mouth? What was his merit? What could a girl like you possibly give to a man like him that he wasn’t able to get for himself?

The answer was so obvious.

Tommy heaved himself up from the bench and let his eyes wander over the era, looking out for potential witnesses…

“Ya’got two options, sweetheart.”, he started. “First option; we go home and I tell my brother what just happened between you and Mr Bombshell. The kid will die most likely tomorrow on patrol and Joel will not let you out if his eyesight for the rest of your life. Second option…”

He looked down at your bare legs and licked his lips.

“You stand up, turn around and bend over…”

He paused for a second. “S’up to you.”

„Second.“, you whispered, you didn’t even need time to think about your answer—not that you where thinking anything at all right now. Your mind was blank.

There was nothing that Tommy could do to you, that Joel hadn’t already done. You feared Joel more. The answer was easy. Second option.

You hadn’t even realised that you got up, turned around and bend over. Holding onto the back of the bench tightly.

It was only when you felt Tommy lift your skirt up and your bottom was exposed to the cold night and Tommys hungry stare that you realised that there was no turning back.

You couldn’t see what Tommy was doing behind you, and a part of you was thankful for that; at least you didn’t have to look him in the eyes.

Tommy pulled his cock out. He was hard the second he heard you beg Dean to call you a slut. He gave himself a few pumps and then lined his cock up with your entrance. He wasted no time, immediately ramming all of him inside your juicy cunt.

Dean had worked you up good for him.

The invasion was sudden and forceful. You whined and your knees buckled. You clenched your teeth together.

Tommy started to fuck you the second he was in, leaving your body no time to adjust to his length. He was fucking your hard and fast. He was holding onto your petite shoulders tightly, hurting your flesh and bringing your body down to his in a forceful manner.

The sound of clapping skin was loud and sinful. It sounded so wrong in your ears. And it only got worse when Tommy started to grunt like an animal.

„Shit, girl. Never fucked a cunt as tight as yours.“, he hissed. „Fuck.“

You started to cry. Not because you were in pain, but because you were about to cum…

„Stop please.“, you cried. You didn’t want to cum. Not for Tommy. You didn’t want him to think you enjoyed his assault.

“Your body is betraying you. You like it.”, you remember Joel say to you the first time he took you against your will.

This isn’t normal. I’m not normal. I’m sick. I’m a sick girl.

You started to cry even harder, or were you moaning?It was a mixture of both and it was pathetic. Your were so close. You cunt got even tighter around Tommy. He could feel it.

“You wanna cum little slut?”, he laughed, a nasty dirty laugh. He gave your ass a hard slap.

“No!”, you cried out. “Please stop!”

It wasn’t your fault. You were wet since Joel had fucked your throat earlier today and left you on the ground sexually frustrated. Then there was Dean who had spend minutes fingering you while kissing your neck. It wasn’t because of Tommy.

It’s not because of Tommy.

It’s not because of Tommy.

It’s not because of Tommy.

The more you tried to work against it, the pressure inside you only intensified. You couldn’t hold it out any longer.

You came.

You came around his cock.

First your legs started to shake—it was like a wave—then your whole body. Your thoughts were completely flushed away. Your were biting your lip so hard that you could taste blood on your tongue.

“That’s my girl.”, Tommy praised and kept fucking you hard. “God, you are so hot, sweetheart. I see why Joel keeps you around.”

After you came down from your orgasm you were basically jelly. Without Tommy holding you in place you would be panting on the ground by now. He kept ramming his cock inside you a few more times before pulling out.

He turned you around and manhandled you on your knees.

“Hold your palms out, bitch. C’mon.”, he barked and grabbed your wrist and yanked them up.

You put your palms together and held them up.

He frantically stroked his cock while grunting and growling like a wolf before finally releasing himself inside your hands.

A poodle of your uncles warm, sticky, hot cum could now be found inside your shaking hands. You didn’t dare to drop it. You didn’t move, holding your palms up as if his cum was holy.

The tears had dried on your face. You looked up at Tommy, waiting for him to finally end your suffering.

You wanted to run home.

He put his cock back inside his jeans and pulled out a cigarette. Exhausted.

“Eat it.”, he said and pointed his cigarette at his cum.

He wanted to see how far he could go with you. He wanted to know how well his brother had trained you.

“C’mon, eat it up.”, he repeated when he saw your confused face.

You hesitantly brought your shaking hands closer to your lips. If you had anything in your stomach right now, you would’ve puked it all out. You carefully took a small lick from his cum and cringed a little. It was salty. But soon you found the taste to be familiar. It tasted like Joel’s.

“Be careful not to drop anythin. We don’t want Joel to find cum on you, do we? He might think it belongs to Dean…”

You shook your head and carefully licked your palms clean. Eating your uncles cum.

Tommy watched you intensely. You looked like a little kitten drinking her milk. He was already hard again. He would definitely think about this image of you when he would fuck his wife later tonight.

“Good job, sweetheart.”, he praised you. “Now C’mon. Let’s get’ya home. And you better thing about an excuse why you look like someone had fucked you silly…we don’t want Joel to get suspicious.”

He pointed at you puffy red eyes and ran down mascara.

He helped you up from the ground and you silently followed him home.

————

#dark!joel miller #joel miller #joel x reader #dark!joel #tlou #dark!joel x reader #mean!joel #the last of us #Tommy #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller #dark!tommy #Joel #au #fanfic #dark fantasy #dark fanfiction #dark-fiction-central #pedro pascal #din djaren

[tempestuous-lush]

Crimson & Clover || SoA ||

chapter one - take me down

warnings - Masturbation. There is mention of rape, a guy being creepy in general, but nothing too crazy yet. But it's a sons of anarchy story. It'll get there real fast.

summary - Jax Teller found his father's journals, shaking the foundation of what he thought he knew about samcro. And, just when he thought he could distance himself from the life, there you were...the daughter of another club's president, and trouble clearly painted on your face. However, if you're trouble, he quickly realizes, he'd sign up for that any day of the week.

misc: I KNOW I am due to give other things, but I lost inspiration for writing them. It isn't that I plan to never continue them. I just need to take a break and put my creativity into other stories and WIPs in order to replenish. Thanks for understanding.

banner curtesy of @firefly-graphics

[series masterlist][next chapter]

You weren’t sure why Naomi wanted to meet you here. 

This fundraiser was promising to be dull. 

As were most things in small town life, you reckoned. 

But hell, excitement wasn’t why you were here. No, it was the asshole you followed here that decided to skip town. So, naturally you took the money you made selling stolen cars to your local MC up north and invested some in a run down shit hole on the outskirts of Charming to turn into a bar and live up top. Because you’d be damned if the asshole that raped you eight years ago suddenly got to live without any eyes on him, to terrorize other girls without anyone to remind him of exactly where his dick didn’t belong. 

Your first day in town, ripping out half rotten wood from downstairs, a group of bikers pulled up. You saw the cuts and knew it must be a few of the samcro boys if you had to guess. You threw the piece of wood in your hands down and walked outside, the door staying open behind you. One of the guys took his helmet off and looked at you, face surly and you could tell he’d seen some shit. He looked over the front of the building before focusing on you and speaking in a monotone voice, “Name’s Clay. I’m president of”-

-”samcro if I had to guess, yeah?” He seemed taken off guard that you interrupted.

You weren’t an idiot and it wasn’t like Clay didn’t come with a reputation. A smile of sorts lingered on his face, “Yeah, you guessed right. We just wanted to stop by and meet the new business owner in Charming. So, lady, is that you?”

“Yeah, it is.” You looked at his bike. Nodding at it, you comment, “That dyna is beautiful.”

Clay huffed and the guys with him chuckled, one of them speaking up, “What do you know about bikes, little sweet butt?”

A memory flashed through your mind like a light bulb. Your mom came home from that MC, trying to talk to your dad about how a girl needed her father, and instead came home crying after getting passed around to remind her she was nothing more than a ‘sweet butt’, not an old lady. You were five, draping a blanket over your drugged up and whored out mother. At five, you knew the drill. Keep a cool washcloth on the back of her neck and tell mommy how much you love her as she works through the sickness and the shakes. Within seconds you snapped out of it and pulled a gun from the back of your waist band, pointing it at the asshole that spoke out of turn, “Let’s get one thing straight you fucking dick, I’m not a god damn sweet butt for your stupid little club and if you ever try, I’ll shoot your fucking balls off.”

The one who hadn’t said a word had his gun out within seconds, though Clay held up his hand and kept anything from firing, “Sorry for Tig, ma’am, he doesn’t get out much. Chibs, put your goddamn gun away. We don’t shoot at women, especially when we started it by speaking like an idiot. Tig!”

The one that went by Tig took his helmet off and smiled. You hated it. However, you slowly put your gun by your side. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Anyways, my guys and I wanted to come by and welcome you to the neighborhood.” Clay was looking at you, observing you with those shrewd eyes. You watched as his eyes fell on your tattoo on your arm. Your medusa head. You saw the surge of recognition briefly on his face. That was when his eyes fell back on you, “Either way, we got stuff to do so we’ll head out. Do me a favor, if you need help with any of this stuff, call up Teller-Morrow garage, yeah?”

You tucked your gun back into your waist band, “Yeah. Not likely, but alright.”

And here you were, pulling up a week later at this god forsaken fundraiser.     

Tig and Chibs spotted you pulling up on your bike. However, they weren’t the only ones that did. 

Jax felt his attention pulled to you and once his eyes fell on you they weren’t leaving. You pulled in on that ruby red Indian Chief and took that damn helmet off, and he was a goner. You had that thick hair braided back out of your face, a face that suggested no one would push you around. Your eyes were framed by dark lashes, nose sloped and leading to those perfect lips, painted a ruby red that matched your bike. His mind immediately raced with thoughts of what they must feel like. Taste like. You swung that leg over and stood up, giving him sight of that perfect ass in those jeans that could be painted on. 

Chibs playfully smacked his back, “Shame that she’s got to sit on something so pretty, eh Jackie boy?”

“That’s the broad that bought the piece of shit bar on the outskirts of town. Seemed real familiar with club life if you know what I mean Jax. Look forward to getting to know her.” Tig smiled, knowingly at Chibs, as Jax rolled his shoulder to get Chibs’s hand off his back. They chuckled as Jax headed over to you. 

Chibs elbowed Tig, “How much you wanna bet that fiery girl’s gonna gut him, eh Tig?”

Jax didn’t hear that though. He was already intent on talking to you, hearing your voice, trying to know your name to see if it matched. He couldn’t explain this sudden need he felt. He lit a cigarette as he blazed a path to you. You were looking for Naomi, but you saw him coming. A sigh escaped you as you stopped short, allowing for him to reach you sooner. Best to get this over with. Jax took a drag of his cigarette before stopping in front of you, a smile on his face, “You must be new to town.”

“I didn’t know samcro rode in white sneakers, sunshine.”

Now that he stood right before you, you couldn’t help but call him sunshine. The long blonde hair alone. That sweet talker smile suggesting he was absolutely used to getting whomever he wanted. A small smile pulled on your lips as he faltered for a second before continuing, “Sunshine?”

“Yeah, we’re in California. Long blonde hair. Coming over here with a smile like you think you’re gonna get somewhere all because you’re likely the popular one in town. Girls probably love the cut. Spread their legs for a bit of the samcro experience. But mostly the hair. You remind me of someone.” Jax wasn’t quite sure what to say at your words, and you patted him on the chest, “Nice talking to you sunshine.”

He grabbed a hold of your hand as you walked away, your fingers threaded with his for only a moment before you pulled away, and he commented, “Name’s Jax, darlin.”

“Well, sunshine, mine is certainly not darlin.”

Jax took that as his opening, “Well then why don’t you tell me just who you are? Cause I’m starting to get the feeling you’re trouble at this point.”

A smile ghosted your lips before you commented, “I’m not interested in whatever you're trying for, sunshine. You want a sweet butt? It ain’t gonna be me. And if it’s an old lady you’re looking for, then it certainly isn’t me. I don’t fuck around with members of an MC. Least of all the fucking vice president of one. So go find legs to spread somewhere else. And if you touch me without my permission again, I’ll break your fucking hand. So, we clear, sunshine?”

The sounds of Chibs and Tig laughing caught Jax’s attention and he huffed before looking at the ground and back up at you, “Yeah….yeah, we’re clear trouble. But I gotta say, I love a challenge.”

“I’d say good luck but that would imply you have a chance.”

Jax smiled as he watched you walk off, just for the smile to falter as he watched you greet Naomi. 

After that interaction, of course the person you’d go and talk to was someone who’s blown him a handful of times…and always hoping for more. And you were hugging her. So, on some level, the two of you were close. Jax took a long drag from his cigarette one last time before throwing it on the ground and putting it out with his shoe, “Fucking hell.”

Throughout the day, you watched the amount of samcro members wax and wane. 

However, when Jax came through he was hard to miss. 

Naomi caught your line of sight and started laughing when she saw you were looking at Jax. Your cousin lit another cigarette and her smoker’s voice sounded off, “Lookin’ at Jax little cousin? I’ve gotta say. I’ve had my mouth around that cock a few times. Impressive for sure. Takes a lot to make me choke.”

“Oh god Naomi. Please shut up before I find another impressive item to make you choke, yeah?”

You spared one last glance at him. 

That was when you saw a brunette girl walk up to Jax with a baby. He greeted them with a smile before taking that baby in his arms and laying a kiss on top of his head. That’s about right. It fits the biker narrative that you spent so many years learning about. 

Yet, that was when you saw it. A different face pulled you from your thoughts. You held up your hand, “Hey, Naomi? I’ll meet you at your house in a bit yeah? See Aunt Emily there and help you get started on some of the house stuff. I gotta settle a score, okay?”

Naomi looked at the other guy, confused, before nodding, “Yeah, okay doll.”

That was when you headed off to trail the asshole that brought you to town. You watched as he came to a stop to look over a group of teenage girls. If you had to guess, around the same age you were when he made you his target. You swallowed the anger rising in your throat as he stood off to the side, eyes latching on to one in particular that was wearing a short skirt and a pair of boots. He walked up to them and commented on how he had a dog at home and was hoping to ask if any of them would be interested in coming by to walk her as a side job. A breath of relief escaped you as they all turned him down. He laughed with them before slipping back and headed off to a building, slipping inside. 

You had zero hesitation in following him. By the time you slammed the door open he had his dick in his hand, spit for lube, pumping himself and grunting about just how tight they’d be.  He startled just as you yelled, “You sick motherfucker. Can’t fucking help yourself, huh? Wanna tell me what your next step is, huh?” He moved to get it back in his pants and you were nearly snarling, “No, leave it, makes it easier to take the whole fucking package!” 

“Fucking hell, just stay away from me you rabid bitch!” 

Your anger increased only ten fold as he spit at you. Leaning over, you quickly grabbed the handle of your switchblade from your boot and clicked it open, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He stared at you, nervousness all over his face. Your voice was low and even. Nothing about it suggested you were fibbing. The glint of your blade was menacing in the low light. A laugh escaped you as you saw him get scared, “Yeah, should have taken the balls you had to rape me with when I drove that nail gun through your sack, huh? And uh…still gutted you like the pig you are.”

He quickly took off running in the opposite direction.

Satisfied he wouldn’t be trying anything today, you closed your switchblade and tucked it back into your boot. You followed behind him and as he ran out, he ran into a handful of samcro. They helped him stand up straight before giving him a gentle push and laughing, “Where you running like that, man?”

That was when he looked back to spot you and took off running again. The samcro boys gave a low whistle as you walked out and headed to the parking lot. One of them called after you, “I wouldn’t be running away from you if that were me darlin.”

You rolled your eyes as you kept walking, ignoring them entirely otherwise. 

No, you wanted to find out what this asshole was driving. He changed cars on you, that much you knew. You just didn’t know to what. So, that was the plan. Scare him into getting into his car and driving off like the bitch he was. All so you could see what car he was in. And there he was, clambering into a red ford pick up truck. A piece of shit. You mumbled to yourself, “Guess he figured since I stole the nice car…”

Meanwhile, Jax watched you and looked over at Clay, “You know anything about that, Clay?”

Clay paused mid sip and lowered his beer bottle to look over at you. He chuckled and commented, “Why you wanting to know something about that, Jax?”

Gemma overheard and paused, playing with Abel after Tara brought him over. She still didn’t like Tara. Didn’t trust her. So, if there was someone else, she had to know who. Jax shrugged and commented, “Nothing like that. Just…curious. Besides, I’m not blind.”

Taking a puff of his cigar, Clay commented, “I believe that little girl is the medusa of the devil backs from up North. Why I offered her help with her bar on the outskirts. That club has helped our charter more than once, and her dad’s the president. Doesn’t claim her. But everyone knows, don’t fuck with her.”

Jax watched you closely as he learned this. He’d heard about you. You stole cars. A lot of them. And you did it incredibly well. You brought in a lot of income for the devil backs. So, why were you here? Jax lit a cigarette before clearing his throat, “Hey, you got the kid, mom?”

Gemma looked at Clay with a curious smile before speaking up, “Yeah, I got him.”

Jax looked at Abel with his signature smile, “I’ll see you at home little man. Be good for grandma.”

As Jax headed to the parking lot, Gemma muttered, “Ass.”

You straddled your bike and started it up. 

Soon, you were pulling out of the parking lot and headed back to your place. You’d go to Naomi’s later, just like you promised. But for now? For now you just needed to decompress. You pulled out just as Jax got to his own bike, starting it up and pulling out behind you. Tara watched as she got in her car to see him follow you out of the parking lot. Her eyes glossed over with concern and confusion, toying with the idea of not going to the hospital but ultimately her job won out. 

Meanwhile, you were halfway down the highway with Jax on your heels. You waited till you were out of town though to pull over. As you did, he kept going with a small wave and a cocky smile your way. Maybe it was just a coincidence he was following you, then. Though, part of you doubted it. Your thoughts were proven correct as you pulled up outside the shithole you bought just to see him sitting on the step of the porch with a cigarette in hand. As you got up, you didn’t say a word to him as you walked inside and put your helmet down on the bar counter.

He followed you inside and huffed, “So the devil backs, huh?”

You tossed the keys next to the helmet and looked over your shoulder, “So, been talking to your step-daddy, huh?” Figuring there was no need to keep it covered, you peeled off your leather jacket. The large medusa’s head on your arm is clearly visible, bits of other ink peeking from beneath your sleeves. Calm, you pushed yourself up onto the bar and took a seat, “Why is VP of samcro standing in front of me?”

“I was curious. The guys mentioned you bought this place. Figured I’d offer help if you needed it.” 

“What kind of help is that? Besides”- you thought of the brunette handing him the baby -”I don’t like drama, sunshine. And the last thing I need is your old lady I saw earlier coming around here.”

“Old lady? You mean Tara?”

The confusion in his voice was met with confusion across your face, “Sunshine I don’t know her name. All I know is she was handing you a baby and honestly, the look you gave her showed it all.”

A smile crossed his face when he realized you were watching him, too. Then he sighed, “Tara isn’t my old lady. I don’t know what she is, but it isn’t that.”

“And the baby?”

“Oh, he is mine. Name’s Abel. His mom is my ex wife. Nothing there. Nothing crazy will come at you. That’s a promise. If it does, I’ll take care of it. Now, taking my help means taking the club’s help. So, what do y”- You held up your hand to shut him up. You sighed and pushed yourself off the bar and headed to the stairs before calling out, “You gonna follow me sunshine, or what?”

As you headed upstairs, Jax behind you, he commented, “These stairs safe, trouble?”

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there sunshine?” With a smirk you jumped up to the next step and you let out a laugh as he chided you, “Hey, watch it, I don’t want a trip to the er.” 

Though, a part of him did take a second to admire that ass of yours before you continued walking and teasing him, “Let me find out vice president of samcro is afraid of stairs.”

“I’m afraid of death traps.”

You came up on the second floor that had clearly been worked on more before answering, “Sunshine, running guns is a death trap all on its own.”

That one sentence cut through Jax, reminding him of everything he recently read in his father’s journal. He was so distracted he didn’t realize you led him straight to your bedroom. The room was completely finished, as was the bathroom attached to it, though he couldn’t see that far. It didn’t match what he expected of you so far. Everything was soft. The bed you slept in was covered with a down comforter, low light bulbs casting specks of color from the stained glass covers on them. The floor was wood, the coldness of it interrupted by a plush rug. Shelves were filled with books along the wall. Then, you dropped to the ground on the other side of the bed and pulled out a heavy metal lock box. You caught him looking around, and smiled, “You didn’t expect me to be sleeping somewhere in the state of downstairs, did you?”

A sheepish smile appeared on his face, “I gotta admit, I was curious.”

“Now”- you pulled your key from around your neck and opened the lockbox, revealing a hefty stack of cash -”if the sons are gonna help me, we’re gonna keep it legit. None of this favors bullshit, alright? I have the rest of the supplies I need for this, and I know how to do the things needing to be done, I’ll pay for manpower because frankly, what the crew I have now is charging me hourly, this’ll be a fucking discount. I need a solid business to sink this into. So, I’m willing to overpay to get it done quicker. 50k. That’s my offer. So, what does vp have to say?”

Jax’s brow quirked up, “You made that by stealing cars?”

Closing the box and locking it, you handed him the 50k, “When I set out to do something, I set out to also be the best at it. So yeah, I made it all by stealing cars. Why? Is gun running not as profitable?”

Jax hesitated before answering, “We’ve been hitting some…difficulties lately.”

You let out a laugh as you handed him the bills, “Sorry to hear that, though I can’t say I’m surprised. Now, if you’ll do me a favor, I’ve had a long day sunshine and I’d love to take a hot shower and lay in my bed for a bit before I have to go and help Naomi with my sick Aunt.”

“About Naomi, I”- 

-“have used her mouth more than a few times? She already mentioned that. I get it. Probably figured a big mouth like hers would be good to fuck. Or at least an effective way to shut her up.” Jax looked at the ground before looking up at you with that grin. You kept your face neutral but god did you want to smile for a reason you didn’t even know.

Jax cleared his throat and tucked away the money in his pocket before looking at you again, “Suppose it doesn’t matter. I’ll get with Clay on helping you out. We’ll give you the manpower you need.”

“Good. I can let go of the idiots with their thumbs up their asses that barely move without a prod.”

“Did you test that out personally?”

“Why? Would it excite you if I did?”

Jax leaned against the door frame of your room with a huff before smiling, “Yeah, you’re trouble alright.”

“Well trouble or not, sunshine, remember I want a shower and a nap before I have to go and deal with Naomi’s mom. So do me a favor. Take that money to Clay and tell him my offer and”- you went to your nightstand and opened a drawer where Jax said nothing about the handgun to pull out a piece of paper and scrawl a number on it -“he can call me on this number. Or you can. Whichever.”

You watched as Jax took the slip of paper and opened his wallet to tuck it away before putting it back into his pocket. You followed him downstairs and slowed as he came to a stop. Those eyes of his wandered around the place before landing on you. He lingered before turning to leave, “Catch you later trouble.”

You watched as he got on his bike and started it up before murmuring to yourself, “See ya, sunshine.”

Jax headed back home, knowing Gemma was gonna bring Abel home anyway and that way he didn’t have to go back to the fundraiser either. Pulling out his cell he called Clay and on the second ring Clay answered, “Yeah, Jax.”

“Well Clay, I got the rest of what we owe plus some.”

“From where?”

“The new girl in town. The one you pointed out at the fundraiser.”

Clay scoffed a little, thinking how Gemma was already excited after Jax left to follow you earlier. She really didn’t like the other one at all. You on the other hand? The idea excited Gemma. 

Clay sighed, “What’s the terms?”

“We help her finish construction. Get it done quicker.”

“That’s it?”

Jax took his wallet out and threw it on the bedside table before pulling off his shoes, “Yeah, why?”

“When she got to town a week ago I offered our help for free. As a favor.” 

That made more sense. Why you wanted to pay, emphasized you didn’t want to owe the club any favors for the help. Jax smiled.

You were smart. You knew Clay would consider it a favor needing to be repaid. And you didn’t want that, hence the money and even overpaying. If anything, the club would owe you a favor. He smiled at the thought before commenting, “I’m not sure man, but I have the 50k. I’ll bring it to the club first thing tomorrow, yeah? Stay at Gemma’s fundraiser, since we ruined the last one.”

Clay huffed and commented, “Yeah, having a blast.”

“See ya tomorrow?”

“Yeah alright kid.”

Jax hung up and dropped his phone onto the bed before stripping down to get into the shower. As he stepped in and turned the hot water on, an intrusive thought came to his mind. You mentioned showering. Were you showering now? He couldn’t help it. He thought of what you must look like underneath the water, body slicked with soap. He had his hand wrapped around his cock before he realized what he was even doing, muttering as the water ran down his back, “Fucking trouble.”

He braced himself against the wall with his free hand as he started pumping himself, picturing that smart mouth of yours instead of his hand. A grunt escaped him, followed by a moan as he thought about how wet he could get you and just how fucking good you’d feel taking him after. Jax thought of how you must taste. There’s no doubt in his mind just how sweet you’d be on his tongue. Another moan escaped him as he squeezed his eyes shut, “Fucking trouble, that’s what you are.”

Tara had been distracted at work, not quite trusting that everything was fine. She wasn’t sure why, but something was bothering her. That’s how she ended up here, outside of Jax’s home. She stepped in and called out his name but heard nothing in response. As she walked into his bedroom she saw his clothes on the ground and heard the shower. The smile growing on her face faltered as she heard him grunt out “fucking trouble, that’s what you are”. 

Was he talking to someone?

She peeked into the bathroom and saw him through the clear shower curtain, stroking his cock with eyes screwed shut. He kept going as he was nearly panting, “Gonna drain me dry with that smart mouth?”

She could feel her anger coursing through her veins as she slipped back into his bedroom. She sat on the bed, wondering what her next move should be. Out of curiosity she grabbed his wallet and opened it, just to see a slip of paper with some writing. A phone number. No name. Just one word written over it. 

Trouble.

Tara stared at it until she heard Jax from the bathroom, growling out one word, “Fuck.”

Jax felt his balls tighten before he came hard and fast. His hand joined the other on the wall, stretching and enjoying the feeling of the hot water on his muscles until finally, he turned the water off. Toweling off, he headed into his bedroom just in time to see Tara, “Hey there gorgeous. How long you been waiting?”

“Oh you know”- she stood up and walked around, holding her arms to her chest -”long enough to hear the big finish. Thinking of my smart mouth I hope, Jax.”

Shit.

His smile faded before commenting, “I only ever think about you.”

Tara thought of the note, the copy of it she wrote down nearly burning a hole in her pocket.

She’d give a call and let whoever the hell it was know: Jax was spoken for. 

Meanwhile, you stepped out of the shower and dried off. You got some clothes on and headed downstairs to grab your phone where you left it before spotting a piece of paper next to the device. A small smile appeared on your lips despite yourself. A phone number was scrawled on it along with a note that very cockily said in case you get impatient waiting to hear from me.

tags (if you'd like to be added, let me know in comments): @ambassadortotrilliusprime

#jax teller story #sons of anarchy story #jax teller x you #jax teller x reader #jax teller x trouble

[tiffray]

Got any NSFW Otis headcanons?

is water wet?

WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

Heads up these aren’t your regular vanilla ass “oh hes into blood play 😍” type shit. If you need a warning, consider this to be it. Very much focused on what he does to victims.

Warning for rape, incest fantasies, necro, and god knows what else.

- Necro: while this one’s canon, I don’t think the movie really conveyed how gross Otis gets with it. He loves to kill mid-rape, just really go at it with stabbing, strangling, bashing their face in, decapitation, you name it. And then will keep going till they get cold.

- Dehumanization: when he has a victim, he loves to make sure they know their place. As we see in Rejects, he keeps bitches in cages in his room so he could use them any time he wishes. He will put them on leashes, chains, keep them naked, piss in their faces, and sometimes even knock their teeth out so he could fuck their mouths. And if they bleed on his boots, they better put their tongues to use too and clean it all up unless they want it cut out.

- Daddy kink: generous description, more like incest play. While he’s into being called daddy in general, he also makes his victims call him dad. If they talk back or “misbehave” in any way, Otis brings the belt out and gets his “little girl” to beg for dad to stop and to go gentle while Otis does anything but. He gets especially creepy while doing this, instead of being outright violent besides slapping, spanking, beating and choking, he’ll be feeling up his victim to really make them feel like they’re being molested.

- Blasphemy: no matter who they are, he will find a way to incorporate religion into playing around with a victim. Starting off with making them pray while he’s groping them, going rougher the louder they pray, he also likes to force them to fuck themselves on a cross while he talks about how pathetic they are for having faith in the first place. He’ll mock them for believing in any greater good while The Devil himself is right there in front of them, I mean where is their God when he’s taking away all their purity and innocence? His victims are especially lucky (unlucky?) if they are virgins and he’s able to make them bleed, he gives them special treatment by carving them up the gentlest.

- Sadomasochism: the rare times he chooses to jerk off instead of shoving his dick in someone’s raped out pussy, or a cold mouth, he’ll be inflicting just as much pain on his own self. He might not like to show this side to him but he likes to fuck himself on a knife handle, gripping the blade tight, then jerking himself with his bloodied hand.

- And whatever this is in his official Rejects bio

#this took me so long to write up im going through withdrawals LMFAO #these aint even hcs i just know these things ☝️ go figure. #otis driftwood #otis b driftwood #house of 1000 corpses #the devils rejects #specifically also left out what he does with his clown #also what is up with the pink swirly font #asks #rz

[bullet-prooflove]

Sugar Cookie: Will Trent x Reader

Tagging: @yezzyyae @words-and-seeds @trublu2u @cassiopeiablog @kmc1989

Companion piece to Father

Will’s redecorating the living room when you turn up at his door. It’s something he does when his world’s in disarray and his life right now, it feels like it’s falling apart. When he sees you standing on his porch, his heart just breaks because he’s just as in love as he’s always been. The only difference is you aren’t his anymore.

“Can we talk?” You ask quietly, your fingertips toying with the slender silver watch on your wrist. He doesn’t speak, instead he steps back and opens up the door a little wider.

The truth is he doesn’t know what to say. There’s no magic wand that can fix this situation but there are thousand things that he can do to make it worse, and he doesn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already has.

“I like the colour.” You say gesturing towards the open paint tin and the roller tray.

“It’s called sugar cookie.” He informs you as he turns his attention back to the wall. It’s easier to focus on that than to look at you right now.

It’s when he hears the crinkle of plastic that he inclines his head in your direction. You’ve already unwrapped the second roller and are proceeding to dip it into the paint tray. He follows your example, picking up his own roller before he spreads the new colour onto the wall.

“My dad wasn’t a good person.” You say quietly after a couple of minutes of silence. “We weren’t speaking by the time you started your investigation. My mom had just petitioned for divorce. He’d gambled the house out from underneath her, it was the final straw.”

“His addiction is how it all started.” Will says, focusing on the task at hand. “He started losing big, owing favours, it’s a slippery slope.”

“I wasn’t around for the trial.” You tell him, the roller gripped tightly in your hand. “I was in Denver working a Fentanyl operation. I don’t know…”

Will sighs, pausing the motion of the roller. He knows what you’re asking, he also knows the damage it can do.

“It ain’t a pretty story sugar.” He says softly. “If I tell you about your daddy, you won’t ever be able to look at him the same way.”

“I haven’t spoken to my father for over two years.” You inform him, the roller creaks under you grasp as you exert more pressure than necessary. “I can’t see that changing because of what you’re about to tell me.”

He pauses for a moment, his lips pursing together as he stares at the wall. =

“When the case came across my desk, there were five officers I was assigned to focus on. Your daddy was one of them. He was suspected of guiding investigations in a certain direction, away from certain suspects.” Will resumes painting as he plays through the series of events in his head. “By the end of the investigation I had uncovered three others he’d been involved with including the rape and murder of a seventeen-year-old girl. The perp had been trying to send a message to her father about paying his debts and he didn’t realise she had a heart condition.”

You’ve stopped painting the wall. The roller hangs by your side, the paint dripping onto the plastic covering underneath your feet.

“The cases fell apart when key pieces of evidence disappeared from storage. I learned that your father was in deep to his bookie, he was trading favours in return for the reduction of his debt.”

“Did you catch him?” You ask, tossing the roller into the tray. “The person who hurt that girl?”

“Yea.” Will says, giving up the pretext of painting entirely as he turns to look at you. “Your daddy still had the evidence in his possession, he hadn’t had a chance to dispose of it.”

You lean back against the unpainted wall behind you before sliding down into a sitting a position. You knew your father had been arrested for corruption, there had been rumours of evidence tampering but you had no idea of the extent of it. That your father had been willing to let a young girl’s murder go free because he’d been so fucking selfish.

“You set a trap.” You summarise, the back of your head coming to rest against the wall.

“I did.” Will admits taking up residence beside you. His shoulder bumps against yours lightly and you lean in a little closer because there’s a comfort in this man, there always has been. “I did my job and now your daddy’s in jail because of it.”

He’s surprised when you take his hand, your fingers interlacing with his. Your thumb chases along the scar in the grove of his hand and he sighs at the sensation because he’s missed how good it feels when you touch him.

“My dad’s in jail because he tried to help his bookie cover up the murder of a kid.” You say quietly. “That’s on him.”

He shifts then, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, gathering you up against his comforting form. Your head comes to rest upon his chest as he cradles you close. He senses that you need this from him right now, the proximity, the connection. It’s a lot to hear, he knows that. He wants you to know he’s here for you no matter what happens between the two of you.

He can feel your tears dampening the front of his t-shirt, but he knows there’s a catharsis in the grief. You’re one of the strongest people he knows, but you’ve borne this burden alone for far too long. He can’t imagine what it must have been like to carry it, to keep it locked up inside, knowing if you dared speak about it, you’d be tarred with the same brush.

“This doesn’t change anything for me.” He reassures you, his thumb brushing over your cheek, chasing away the tears. You’re still the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. He knows you always will be because when he looks at you, he doesn’t see the physicality, he sees the real you, the person you are underneath everything else. “It doesn’t matter that you changed your name or who your father is. You’re still the woman I fell in love with, the one I’ll always love.”

Love Will? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#ramon rodriguez #will trent x reader #will trent #will trent x you

[finelinevogue]

h and y/n are like cuddled on the sofa having deep convos and they’re like massaging eachother?? super duper fluffy please!!🌷🍰

okay for some reason this is both sad and fluffy, and idk how we got here

warnings: touches on sensitive topics in the current news

May 24th 2022

The BBC News was playing in the background and the clock struck 10 PM.

You and Harry were snuggled down deep on the couch, Harry spooning you from behind. One of his arms was helping keep his head up to peer over your body, whilst his other draped casually around your waist. You were both facing the TV, but neither of you were actually watching it.

Brixton ONO had finished a couple of hours before and you couldn’t be more proud of him and what he’s achieved. The rest of the band had gone out in London to celebrate, along with crew and some members of management, but Harry decided to come home with you instead.

He would always come home to you.

“The news is so sad at the moment.” You pointed out after watching the headlines.

“It’s because the world is so fucked up at the moment. It’s just, we don’t see it daily because we live on our little familiar bubble.”

“I just struggle to live every day freely when those people are suffering in Ukraine and there’s school shootings to innocent children. Then the cost of living crisis in the UK. It’s all just so fucked, H, and it makes me terrified to bring this one into the world.” You took his hand and rubbed it over your still flat belly.

You were only a few weeks into your pregnancy so there’d be no bump for a while. Harry couldn’t wait for it to start showing though. So much so he would make you wear the tightest top he could find and judge whether there was any difference in bump from the day before. You kept reminding him that it was just your extra belly pouch. He loved on it all the same though.

“I would hope that our love for this little one would be enough to keep them safe and healthy.” Harry answered, calming you down by kissing along your neck.

“You’re going to be such a good dad, H.”

“Yeah? And you’ll be an even better mum. In fact, y’already are. Keeping them all safe and warm.” Harry squeezed your belly a little tighter, as is he were giving the baby a hug.

“H, it’s a literally just a blob right now.” You laughed.

“A blob that I love.” He laughed back, kissing your cheek because he couldn’t quite reach your lips.

“Okay, off topic, but that reminds me. Have you seen all that shit with the abortion laws in America?” You felt Harry’s arm tighten around your stomach.

“Yeah. It makes me feel so sick that men in high powers think they can just take away womens rights, as if they’ve ever owned a uterus before.” Harry shook his head.

“And if we’re raped it still doesn’t constitute an excuse for an abortion? I mean what kind of sick and medieval law is that?” You exclaimed, feeling yourself get riled up over this issue.

You turned so you were now laying on your back instead of your front and turned your head to face Harry, who was looking at you with awe. His hand stayed placed on your stomach and your hands went and sat on-top of his.

“I know, baby. It’s fucked, I’m sorry.”

“Harry, it’s not you who should be apologising. I mean of course I, we, have a voice in this, but we shouldn’t be louder than the people who actually have been through these situations. Their stories need to be heard and they are the ones that deserve apologies.”

“You’re right. Do you know anything that we can do?” Harry asked, always wanting to be the first one to join the rally.

“Spread awareness on the media. Sign petitions and call up local offices. Voices need to be heard, so make everything as public as possible.” You explained and Harry nodded his head in agreement.

“I could donate to some women’s rights visitors too.”

“We both can.” You raised your hand to cup his cheek, because you wanted to remind him that it were a team and you’d face all of this together. “Sorry, by the way.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and he slid his hand underneath your t-shirt so he could softly rub the skin there. “What for?”

“For you having to lay here and listen to me rant about sad issues, when you could be out with your friends celebrating your success.”

Harry chuckled, leaning down to kiss your lips softly. It had been ten minutes too long since you’d last tasted his lips and you couldn’t help but moan at how good he still tasted. He was so perfect and his plump lips fit perfectly between yours.

“You could never be sorry for that, baby, because I would rather be here, with you, than out there, with them. I celebrate my success by spending time with you and getting to be happy. Seeing that smile on your face is success enough.” He kissed your lips again and you let it last a little longer this time.

“You’re the best, ever.” You smiled up at him.

“And I thought that was you?”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #finelinevogue #harry blurb #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harrys house #harrys house masterlist #harrys house finelinevogue #harrys house fluff #harry’s house blurbs #harry’s house #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fluff #brixton ono #harry styles ono

[thegeminisage]

it's TNG UPDATE TIME. last night* we watched "birthright" parts i & ii. just this once, i'm not combining them because i can distinctly differentiate between the episodes, they were actually (after all that angst) kind of unconnected, though i would have DIED to have left it on that cliffhanger

* time changed i'm scheduling this to go up when people are awake

birthright part i (tng):

DS9 CROSSOVER! i wish it could have been for both halves. also, i kind of wish odo could have been the one to talk to data even though he has no reason whatsoever to leave. it just would have been so much autism in one room

human brent spiner HORRIBLE to look at. the faces he makes as dr soong (which...why would dr soong be white...was that old man white idr...) remind me of lore's.

however: thrilled that data can dream now. i was so happy also that everyone treated him really niceys. except bashir who microaggressed him one time but i forgive him because it was funny

it was WWWWILD to see tng characters walkin around ds9. i hated tng in my ds9 but i loved ds9 in my tng. i wish they had a budget for a proper crossover. did sisko have to be in the same room as picard again? did o'brien go aboard and say hello? i miss him so bad.

minor deanna and worf moment in this ep when she comforts him over his dad potentially being alive. mwah. i feel like the tng side characters have been non-existent for awhile...first we stopped watching tng as much for ds9, then we got that deanna-only ep, then that picard-only ep, and now the ds9 crossover and the worf-only ep...can we PLEASE get the gang back together

final note i love that worf loves shitty replicator food and also riker's terrible cooking. king.

birthright part ii (tng):

i have complex feelings.

worf's dad plot as a means to get worf to be the pov character for the ethical dilemma of this episode kind of undermined the entire ethical dilemma

the ethical dilemma tng THOUGHT it was presenting was, "if klingons and romulans have escaped the war to live peacefully together, is it right to disrupt their way of life just because their children might choose differently?"

THE ACTUAL DILEMMA IT PRESENTED WAS. IF YOU HAVE SEVENTY-THREE KLINGON PRISONERS OF WAR. actually that's not even a question. they just have them. let's break this down

this romulan guy, unclear if he was the one actually in charge at the khitomer massacre or not (i thought he looked familiar, i looked it up and he previously played a totally different romulan on tng lol), but this guy is running this fucking prison with seventy-three klingons completely at his mercy. yes, they ""asked"" to stay, but they WANTED to die, they ATTEMPTED to die, and they would have CHOSEN to die had the option been given to them, but they're doing this instead in order to keep from bringing consequences down on their families heads. so he has total power over them and he... "marries" one???

i am going to start discussing conception via rape please consider this your warning.

this is of course coming after tasha yar had a FUCKING BABY VIA RAPE in a romulan prison and then got killed for trying to escape. he "married" a klingon woman. ALL RIGHT

even if she thought she loved him and consented to everything SHE IS A PRISONERRR. SHE WAS NOT ALLOWED TO DIE. SHE IS NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE.

like, when worf kissed that girl and realized she was half romulan his revulsion should not have been from the fantasy racism but from realizing she is a rape baby. like, this whole sitch is horrifying

and it really brings into perspective too how lucky worf must have been...he was so young when khitomer happened and yet he's very in touch with his heritage, but something as simple as old klingon stories are considered dangerous by the romulan warden

AND HE IS A WARDEN. again: nobody is allowed to leave where they are. this isn't a peaceful group of equals, conscientious objectors who chose a different way of life. THEY ARE PRISONERS. they're not allowed to look at or even touch any of their old things. they have to find fun and entertainment with old weapons. klingon tai chi classes are NOT allowed

in fact, the REAL ethical dilemma is, is it right to try and force this half-romulan half-klingon girl out of her "home" when it is clear she is happy in here and will be reviled out there? i argue yes because her home IS A PRISON CAMP like girl if spock did it u can too but what do i know

it makes no sense also that these people would be choosing to procreate. if this prison camp is only marginally better than death, or worse than death in some ways but a necessary evil, why bring kids into it??? unless the romulans are the ones making the babies

god this dude even sat at the head of the table and had everyone bring his food to him and then was ready to execute worf for bringing klingon culture into and i repeat the KLINGON PRISON CAMP

anyway, this episode did pop off at a few points. it was cool to see worf help them get back in touch with their own culture and doubly cool to see him get "even" with his like...sort of enemies. ALSO fun to watch that little bootlicking klingon who was sucking that romulan guy's dick finally come to his senses and stand w/ worf

i also loved the part where worf was perfectly happy to die as a klingon rather than live as someone with dishonor...it felt so different from the episode where he tried to kill himself because this time he WAS being honorable and not cowardly. he would have had nowhere to go had he run and he would have been leaving those other klingons behind

i am disappointed though that after all that. worf's dad really was dead. also, how did that guy know where the camp was and why did he tell. ALSO also, how are the klingons gonna get by when they can't tell anyone what bloodline they come from...that's like your picture ID in the klingon world

the point is, as usual, tng almost had something really cool but couldn't get out of its own way and as a result dropped the fucking ball.

NEXT TIME: ds9's "move along home" and "the nagus."

#personal #star trek blogging #tng lb #ds9 lb #not really but...

[inhernature]

Poem about My Rights

BY JUNE JORDAN

Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear

my head about this poem about why I can’t

go out without changing my clothes my shoes

my body posture my gender identity my age

my status as a woman alone in the evening/

alone on the streets/alone not being the point/

the point being that I can’t do what I want

to do with my own body because I am the wrong

sex the wrong age the wrong skin and

suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/

or far into the woods and I wanted to go

there by myself thinking about God/or thinking

about children or thinking about the world/all of it

disclosed by the stars and the silence:

I could not go and I could not think and I could not

stay there

alone

as I need to be

alone because I can’t do what I want to do with my own

body and

who in the hell set things up

like this

and in France they say if the guy penetrates

but does not ejaculate then he did not rape me

and if after stabbing him if after screams if

after begging the bastard and if even after smashing

a hammer to his head if even after that if he

and his buddies fuck me after that

then I consented and there was

no rape because finally you understand finally

they fucked me over because I was wrong I was

wrong again to be me being me where I was/wrong

to be who I am

which is exactly like South Africa

penetrating into Namibia penetrating into

Angola and does that mean I mean how do you know if

Pretoria ejaculates what will the evidence look like the

proof of the monster jackboot ejaculation on Blackland

and if

after Namibia and if after Angola and if after Zimbabwe

and if after all of my kinsmen and women resist even to

self-immolation of the villages and if after that

we lose nevertheless what will the big boys say will they

claim my consent:

Do You Follow Me: We are the wrong people of

the wrong skin on the wrong continent and what

in the hell is everybody being reasonable about

and according to the Times this week

back in 1966 the C.I.A. decided that they had this problem

and the problem was a man named Nkrumah so they

killed him and before that it was Patrice Lumumba

and before that it was my father on the campus

of my Ivy League school and my father afraid

to walk into the cafeteria because he said he

was wrong the wrong age the wrong skin the wrong

gender identity and he was paying my tuition and

before that

it was my father saying I was wrong saying that

I should have been a boy because he wanted one/a

boy and that I should have been lighter skinned and

that I should have had straighter hair and that

I should not be so boy crazy but instead I should

just be one/a boy and before that         

it was my mother pleading plastic surgery for

my nose and braces for my teeth and telling me

to let the books loose to let them loose in other

words

I am very familiar with the problems of the C.I.A.

and the problems of South Africa and the problems

of Exxon Corporation and the problems of white

America in general and the problems of the teachers

and the preachers and the F.B.I. and the social

workers and my particular Mom and Dad/I am very

familiar with the problems because the problems

turn out to be

me

I am the history of rape

I am the history of the rejection of who I am

I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of

myself

I am the history of battery assault and limitless

armies against whatever I want to do with my mind

and my body and my soul and

whether it’s about walking out at night

or whether it’s about the love that I feel or

whether it’s about the sanctity of my vagina or

the sanctity of my national boundaries

or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity

of each and every desire

that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic

and indisputably single and singular heart

I have been raped

be-

cause I have been wrong the wrong sex the wrong age

the wrong skin the wrong nose the wrong hair the

wrong need the wrong dream the wrong geographic

the wrong sartorial I

I have been the meaning of rape

I have been the problem everyone seeks to

eliminate by forced

penetration with or without the evidence of slime and/

but let this be unmistakable this poem

is not consent I do not consent

to my mother to my father to the teachers to

the F.B.I. to South Africa to Bedford-Stuy

to Park Avenue to American Airlines to the hardon

idlers on the corners to the sneaky creeps in

cars

I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name

My name is my own my own my own

and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this

but I can tell you that from now on my resistance

my simple and daily and nightly self-determination

may very well cost you your life

#poem about my rights #june jordan #feminism #rights #human rights #womanism #Youtube

[ch4p3lofbl00d]

I want to be her Dad-Chris Motionless

Imagine Chris being your boyfriend of 3 months, and he wants to be the father of your 4 month old, Avril

Y/N Pov

I'm currently trying to calm down my 4-month old baby, Avril, I tried everything to calm her down, but somehow she keeps on getting louder with each cry. I sighed, and held back tears; I was a terrible parent. Avril didn't even have a dad, he walked out on me when I told him that I was pregnant with his child. He had never wanted kids, and I knew that he didn't want any, but it wasn't my fucking fault that he stuck his dick inside me; I didn't even want to have sex with him, but he raped me and abused me afterward. We only dated for a few weeks before that happened; right after it happened, I reported him to the police, but his new girlfriend bailed him out of jail, after a week that he was in there. I flinched at the memory, and looked down at the crying baby in my arms, I didn't know how to calm her down. Tears blurred my vision, I tried to stop them from falling, but I couldn't. I needed help, but I hate asking for help because I feel like I'm taking them for granted. I sighed, and started rocking Avril back and forth, doing that didn't even calm her one bit. I put my head against the wall, and gave up; I need help, but I didn't have anyone to help me with Avril. My parents 👭 had disowned me from the family and their lives when I was 15 years old because I had gotten tattoos and piercings, which they didn't want me to have, they said that "scars with jewelry in them isn't pretty, and neither is body art". They also disowned me because I listened to rock and metal music, instead of pop music like they wanted me to listen to. I rolled on eyes, at the memories of my parents mentally abusing me for years. I sighed, and picked up my phone📱, which was laying beside my leg, and dialed Chris' number. I hope he isn't busy.

Chris Pov

I just got of the shower, when I heard my phone 📱 going off; I walk over to my dresser, and see that my girlfriend, Y/N is calling 📞 me. I smiled, and answered the call🤙, when I answered, I heard👂Avril screaming, and my girlfriend had tears 💦 running down her beautiful face. She started telling me what was going on, while I quickly put on my shirt and shoes. By the time the call ☎️ ended, I was already at her house. I was already planning on going there today, but as soon as Y/N started telling me what was going on, I knew I had to go quickly. I'm currently wearing a Misfits band tee, a leather jacket, and ripped jeans. I just quickly threw on clothes after my shower because I needed to get to my girlfriend's house to help her take care of Avril. I parked my car in her driveway, and turned off my car; I started walking to the front door, and stopped to pull out the key 🗝️ that Y/N had given me to her house, incase of emergencies, I also gave her a key 🔑 to my house too. I walked inside, and the first thing I hear is Avrik screaming at the top of her lungs; I started walking up the stairs, and when I reached the top I saw, Y/N holding Avril in her arms while crying 😭. I sighed, and walked closer to her, and grabbed Avril out of her arms; I pulled Y/N closer to me, and said "baby, go to sleep alright, I got her while you're sleeping". I saw Y/N shake her head 'no', and I hear her say "No Chris, you don't have to take care of her, she isn't your responsibility". I sighed, and said "she is my responsibility, Y/N, I knew when I started dating you that Avril was gonna be around all the time, and before I didn't want any children, but being around Avril so much has changed my mind; I want to be her dad, I know I won't be her biological father, but I want to be there for you and her. I love you both very much, and I will be there for the both of you forever." I saw Y/N nod her head, and say "you'll be a amazing dad, Chris, I just don't want her finding out that her biological father is a dick head to raped her mother". I nodded because I knew she was right, but I told her "she will never find out, we are her parents and not that fucking dick head rapist". I heard Y/N giggle, and walk into her room; I walked behind her with Avrik peacefully sleeping in my arms. I layed down next to my girlfriend with my baby girl sleeping on my chest. I had a perfect family.

I hope you enjoyed reading, let me know if you want a part two of this!!🖤💙🖤💙🤘 Thank you for reading!!!

#chris motionless #fanfic #fanfiction #motionless in white #Chris Motionless fan fiction #Chris Motionless imagines

[callsign-bunnie]

Can I get some Price, Gaz, and Alex comfort after that one shot you just did? Please and thank you :)

Of course, thanks raccoon.

--

Gaz curled up tightly on the couch, sipping the tea Price had given him. He ignored the way Price paced and ranted and raved. He was so tired but he couldn't sleep.

Violation filled his very soul and he felt like throwing up with every movement.

Alex finally came back to the apartment. He looked... downtrodden. He'd immediately left to find the bastard, but Gaz knew he'd be too far gone. That was the way the world spun. Alex came over and crouched down, taking Gaz's hand, gently.

Gaz melted when he saw Alex had his ring in his hand. Alex slid it on Gaz's finger. "I couldn't find him but I found this. I think it fell off."

Gaz relaxed. Price had stopped moving, just watching them. "You need to go to a hospital."

"I'm not doing a rape kit." Gaz mumbled. "No I've... No. I've seen my friends have to get those done. It would be like reliving it. Besides, they're not going to process it."

"They might." Price grred, but he didn't fight Gaz. "You still need to go to the hospital. Your arm is messed up." His tone softened as he sat on the couch. His demeanor had turned to be more gentle, though this was clearly uncharted territory for him.

Gaz slumped. Price was right. He'd need to get tested... He tensed, suddenly, the fear of pregnancy striking deep in his soul. He couldn't even stop the sobs from erupting out of his body, causing him to slump forward.

The tea spilled everywhere but Gaz couldn't care less. Alex immediately had his arms around him. Gaz didn't get it. His friends hadn't wanted anyone to touch them, afterwards, but Gaz wanted nothing less than for Alex to keep holding him.

Price eventually gently touched his shoulder, rubbing it gently.

Gaz relaxed fully, though he kept sobbing. Alex's scent surrounded him and Gaz felt blanketed by it. "God, what if he got me pregnant?"

"We'll take care of it." Alex shrugged, almost nonchalant. But Gaz could feel the tenseness in his body. It was so subtle anyone else would have missed the rage that was there, held barely at bay. But Gaz knew Alex, well enough, to know that this was a false calm.

Somehow, it only comforted him more. He looked up at Alex, melting as Alex wiped the tears from his face. "You... you still want to marry me, right?"

"What kind of question is that??" Alex frowned deeply. "I want to do so many things. I want to go find that motherfucker and snap his fucking neck. I want to break every bone in his body. And I want to marry you."

Gaz melted.

"Kid, it wasn't your fault." Price spoke up. "It's never your fault."

Gaz shook his head. "I... no, I had the warning sign. I should have been more careful... He... made it pretty obvious in the restaurant what he was going to do..." He felt ashamed. He could have avoided this.

Alex immediately shook his head. "No. No. Do not blame yourself." He almost was ordering it and Gaz paused at the intensity in his tone, tensing a little. Alex leaned down, kissing over his face. "You. Did. Nothing. Wrong." He separated each word with a kiss.

Gaz melted and the guilt started to subside. He nodded, after a moment. Everything would certainly not be alright. But... Alex still wanted to marry him. Neither of them blamed him.

"Can I take a bath?" He asked, after a moment, suddenly aware of how disgusting he felt. "I... I really want to get clean."

Price seemed to hesitate and for a moment, Gaz worried he'd mention the rape kit again, but... instead, he just nodded. "I don't see why not."

"I'll run it for you." Alex said, immediately, and left to the bathroom.

Gaz curled back up into the couch. The tea made him feel sticky but he preferred that to the earlier feeling.

"I'll clean up the couch." Price murmured, after a moment. "Come here." He offered his arm and Gaz immediately moved into it.

"Thank you... Dad..." He rarely used the nickname but Gaz didn't plan to deny himself, that night. He needed Price like he needed a father and Price clearly was willing to fulfill that role.

"Of course, son." Price murmured and kissed his temple.

#Kyle Gaz Garrick #Gaz Cod #Alex Keller #Alex COD #Gaz x Alex #Alex x Gaz #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare II #John Price #Price COD #A father and his son #the part 1 is dead dove don't eat so i'm not gonna link it

[veg-hotwings]

Why Eiji x Ash is an awful pairing

Last year I watched Banana Fish for the first time, and I loved and hated it. I deeply appreciated how blunt and raw it could be when trating the abuse/rape themes, and got me a heartache and dehydratation for how much it made me cry.

However, I recently rewatched it with a friend of mine and we were apalled at so many things I don't even know where to start. I still like the story itself, but I reevaluated some characters entirely, especially Max and Eiji.

Max, for instance, proclames himself as Ash's protector/dad, but when they were in prison he didn't do anything for him, and left Ash alone to be raped multiple times. He also joked and found it funny when Ash was harassed in his nurse uniform, and in general treated him like he hadn't been abused since he was a child.

But this post won't be about Max.

It's Eiji and his relationship with Ash I want to talk about, and honestly I don't understand what the author was trying to do with them and how can people ship the two of them.

Let's start by saying that everything that happens in the series is Eiji's fault, including Ash's death. Since the beginning he egoistically did everything he could do to put Ash in danger, refusing to follow his orders or to leave the fucking country and stay safe because he wanted to "help him", "save him", or just couldn't handle the idea of leaving him. Spoiler alert: if you claim to care about someone, you don't put them in a situation when they have to save your ass every time. Hell, Ash let himself be abused again and again in prison, by Golzine and many other disgusting men all series long just to be sure Eiji would be safe. Ash cared about him, not viceversa.

In ep.11 Eiji wakes Ash up by literally hitting him in the head (WTF?!), and then proceeds to joke about Ash's pubes and hints about having Ash showing him his dick. What the actual fuck?! And he already knew about the abuse Ash went through. Afterwards, he has the brilliant idea to organize a party for him with Jack O' Lanterns despite Ash telling him he's scared by them and why. During the party Ash was clearly in discomfort but who cares, it was fun, right? 😃

In ep.12 he guilt trips Ash for killing Shorter and being a murderer when he knows what kind of life Ash lives and why he does what he does. He knows Ash hates killing and hates being so good at it. He knows Ash and Shorter were best friends, so obviously he blames Ash for his friend's death, the most compassionate thing he could do.

In ep.13 Ash pleads for Eiji to go back to Japan, clearly saying that it's dangerous for him to stay there, but Eiji ignores Ash's needs and will and of course triggers another series of problems. Cherry on top, he says to himself he heard Ash's cries at night and how bad they were, but ignored him altogether. What kind of asshole does that?!

In ep.18, after Ash fought for their lives and escaped Golzine's villa, he accuses Ash to be a weak girl because he's tired and bedridden. Excuse you??? But that's not everything, because he also invites Ash to Japan saying he won't have to fight or have a weapon there, but he could work as a model instead. Tell me you didn't understand shit about Ash without telling me you didn't understand shit about Ash. He. Was. Fucking. Abused! He knew about the videos and the photos and how much Ash hates being photographed (he says so in fucking episode 1!), and he still has the nerve to propose such a job for him just because he's attractive. Sure. Let's sexualise him, nobody did that before. 'Cause his looks are the only thing that counts, not the fact that Ash's smart and kind.

In ep.20 he almost touches Ash's butt. Yeah, go ahead, that's totally fine.

In ep.22, after Ash managed to escape from Fox, injured and once again raped, he doesn't even ask him how is he or offers him his jacket, just leaves him there.

These are the most evident flaws to his character and, consequently, to his relationship with Ash that I noticed. It's not healthy for the both of them, but for Ash especially. The only reasons Ash grew fond of him it's because of his fucked up life and because he sees Eiji as the epitome of innocence, something he needs to protect to save himself too.

#banana fish #eiji okumura #ash lynx #aslan jade callenreese #ash #eiji #eiji x ash #ash x eiji #controversial opinion #i hate them as a couple #and also as friends

[hearts4farryn]

July 19, 2023

TW! ed, sa, addiction, basically dead dove don’t eat

After years of an ed, I finally find myself on Tumblr; the HOLY GRAIL of disordered people. You’d think after 3 years of therapy, several hospital trips, and multiple attempts i’d learn my lesson. At this point I think I just like wallowing in my mental illnesses. Once quarantine started, I just went spiraling down a path in the wrong direction. But this year has been the most wild point of my life. It’s funny, a couple weeks ago my step-dad asked me if I had hit rock bottom. His question didn’t sprout from just a few of my life’s mishaps though. My biological dad who lives across the United States sent my and in-depth suicide note through his Gmail; causing me to stress over him for weeks. A few months earlier I had been raped by a man in his 20’s, but he got shot 2 weeks after. Karma’s a bitch when it needs to be. And finally, the cherry on top, my parents and relatives found out my therapist was grooming me. I knew that his sexual advances towards me weren’t necessarily normal, but he has told me countless times I was “one of a kind” and he “thought about me often.” The worst part of him grooming me was people finding out. I could handle that my middle aged therapist (who was actually very cute!) found me attractive and had other plans than me just being a client to him. I didn’t mind it. Being victimized and the stress of taking legal action was a completely different topic. Thank God, my parents decided to stray away from the police. I’ve already had enough encounters with them anyway. Back to my step-dad saying I hit rock bottom, I already knew I hadn’t. Not even a week after he asked, I overdosed on my bedroom floor with Euphoria playing in the background. No fucking joke. This was also not on purpose (surprisingly) and I had been using for a long time before this. My blue leds were on too. My mom found me in my bed; grey-faced, convulsing, while my friend held back tears as she watched death almost swallow me whole. My mom dragged me to the floor, called 911, and started CPR. Mind you I was in a thong and bra during all of this. EMTS eventually arrived at my house and I woke up to lights flashing in my eyes and realizing everyone there has seen me half naked. I cried in the ambulance and apologized to the officer beside me countless times. To be honest, he was probably getting pissed and how much i was whining and the amount of “I’m so sorrys” i was throwing out there. If anyone out there has experienced addiction and thought, “oh! there’s no way that’ll happen to me! i know what i’m doing.” There is always a way. ALWAYS. Especially with hard shit. I’ve been sober since then and hope to continue, but i still haven’t processed it fully. Instead of realizing it was a very serious situation, I just giggle at the thought of it and move on. Anyways, all this crazy shit has sprouted into my life after my first heartbreak. I had been cheated on after I poured everything into a relationship. At the same time, what did I expect out of a teenage boy? I won’t go too in depth about that, it’s always the same story for everyone. Now Im about 2000 miles from home, with my childhood best friends. It’s a nice and quiet break from everything. I just kind of relive the same day and don’t have to worry about being around my triggers. These 3 weeks have been the easiest weeks to get clean. I just hope i stay clean, i honestly never know. Without a therapist, I’m just going to have to figure shit out on my own and hope I’m doing life right. This year I’ll be going into my sophomore year of high school, and I kind of can’t wait for summer to be over. But first I need to be skinny!! I want to be sickly. That’s just kind of what I’m relying on to cope right now. If anyone needs to rant in my dms they are always welcome, I am here for this community! I get it. This is my first update here, I’m not sure if anyone will read it but hi if u do! Thank you for listening!

xoxo

farryn

#tw ana diary #i want to be sick #tw ed rant #b0dy check #tw ana fast #th1n$pø #4norexi4 #th1n$po #thinspø #low cal restriction

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Her Song part 20

FIVE YEARS AGO

I walk through the halls of my childhood home with my head held down. I know that both of my parents are in the living room. I'm dreading this conversation, but I know I don't have a choice. This isn't just about me anymore.

I walk into the living room and they barely pay me any attention as I stand anxiously in front of the couch upon which they sit.

"Mom? Dad? We need to talk," I finally say, swallowing thickly as they gaze at me with anxious curiosity.

"About what?" my mom asks.

"A few weeks ago, s-something happened and I didn't know how to tell you, but Mark Lucas...he, um, he did...things to me. I've been feeling sick lately so I took a test and...I'm pregnant."

It's silent for a minute. I can see the anger swelling on my parents' faces. For just a flicker of a moment, I stupidly believe they're angry at Mark for what he's done to me.

"You had sex with Mark Lucas? God, Y/N, I thought we raised you better than this," my moms spits with disgust. "You're too young for this. And now you're knocked up. I'm calling the doctor in the morning and we're going to get rid of this mistake of yours as soon as possible."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as tears well in my eyes. "What? Mom, I didn't have sex with him-"

"Oh really? Because I'm pretty sure that's how a girl gets pregnant. By whoring herself out to the star football player," my mom yells. The vein is popping out of her neck. My dad remains silent.

"No, you aren't listening to me," I sob. "I didn't have sex with him. He- he made me do it, Mom. Dad," I pleaded. "You have to believe me, please."

They stare at me in silence. My mother's face has been taken over by a foreign expression of disgust. My father clenches his jaw. I can't tell what he's thinking.

"Quit lying, Y/N. If you're old enough to have sex, then you're old enough to own up to your mistakes instead of blaming them on someone else. I mean, rape? Did you honestly think that you could get away with accusing the town's golden boy of rape? First I find out you're a slut and now I find out that you're just a fucking idiot," my mother mutters.

"Mom," my voice cracks, shaking my head in shock at her words. "I promise I didn't have sex with him. He made me. I don't even- I don't even like guys that way. I like girls. Mom, Dad, please, you have to believe me," I beg, my chest shaking with sobs.

My father scoffs. It's the first time he's really reacted, and my eyes are instantly glued to him to see what happens. "So first you're sleeping with jocks like a whore, then you're pregnant, and now you're a dyke? What the fuck are you trying to do, Y/N? You're going to tear this family apart," my father snaps.

"Pack your bags and get out," my mother instructs coldly.

"What?" I breathe.

"Pack your bags and get out. You're no longer welcome under my roof. I won't have you ruining my reputation in this town. If you figure out how to stop lying and repent for your sins, maybe we'll consider letting you come back," she finishes

I stand there, frozen in place. This can't be happening right now. I look to my dad for help, but his eyes look just as hateful. I spin on my heels and run up to my room to pack my bags.

I'm out of the house within twenty minutes. I get in my cheap 1982 Chevy and drive to the edge of town. Sitting on the tailgate, I watch as the sun slowly disappears behind the trees.

"I guess it's just you and me now, huh?" I whisper to the little life growing inside my belly. "But that's okay. We don't need those assholes. I'll take care of you, you little Satanist. I promise. I'll keep you safe."

PRESENT DAY

"Get the fuck out. I don't want you around my kid."

"What? Y/N, don't be ridiculous. I'm your father," he tries to convince me.

"Not anymore. I'm done. I already have all the family I need."

"My flight doesn't leave until Saturday," he scoffs.

"So stay at a hotel. It's gotta be easier than trying to find an apartment at 16," I snap. "Pack up and get out. You have fifteen minutes."

I head to Syd's room and close the door behind me, leaning against it and taking a deep breath.

"You didn't want me to know about my dad, did you?" Syd asks quietly. I sigh and sit on the floor next to her.

"I...It's complicated, honey. But no, I didn't plan on telling you about him. He wasn't a good person."

"Did you love him?"

"No. I didn't."

"Well, that's okay. We don't need him," she states. "As long as we have each other, we'll be okay."

"Yeah, we'll be just fine," I sniffle quietly. "I'll always take care of you, you little Satanist. I'll keep you safe."

"I'll keep you safe too, Momma. Is Grandpa going to leave?"

"Yeah, baby, he is. Are you upset?"

She hesitates, thinking it over. "No. He's fun, but he makes you sad, and I don't like when you're sad."

I let out a watery laugh, silent tears now flowing freely down my face. Syd notices and frowns, crawling into my lap. She wipes the tears off my cheeks and kisses my forehead, the same way I've always done it for her.

"Don't cry, Momma. We'll be okay."

"I love you, Sydney. You know that, right?"

"I know. I love you too, Momma."

#florence pugh x reader #florence pugh

[hessofather]

Chapter 3- The Angry Man

TRIGGER WARNING: Physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. This chapter will be less comical but I feel it is still important.

A/N: This chapter is about my Dad, and also that saying that goes, “If you grow up with an angry man in the house, you will always have an angry man in your house.”

My first memory of my Dad is when I was somewhere between the ages of 2-4. My mom and I were sitting on the couch. I remember my dad yelling and then a glass flying between my mom and I’s heads, shattering behind us, taking the window blinds out with it. Don’t worry they weren’t the good blinds, they were the kind with the drawstring that you pulled up with ease and spent twenty minutes trying to lower it with both sides even. To this day I have no idea how he didn’t break the window. I’m honestly impressed.

After the explosion of the glass, my Mom had me stay on the couch while she cried and cleaned up the broken glass. I hated my dad. I hated him before I knew what the word “hate” meant. I hated him for making my mom cry so much and making me scared all the time. Even more so I hated him because he always seemed to throw the nice dishes. The ones that came from Walmart instead of the dollar tree. I remember being so upset that he broke one of my favorite glasses in the house, that I just couldn’t contain my rage and screamed into the couch cushion. “That’ll show him” my tiny brain thought. My dad continued his rampage throughout the house while I watched my mother clean up the glass and then, when she gave me the ok, ran to my room and hid under my blankets.

I have a lot of memories of my dad like this. To the point where it just became a normal thing. Going to other people’s houses and seeing their cabinets full of dishes that all matched seemed so weird to me. When my friends would get scolded for doing something wrong I would just sit and wait. Wait for their father to pick something up and throw it at us, or start calling his children names like “stupid idiot” or “fucking bitch.” But their dads never did. I just thought to myself “Wow you must be a horrible kid since you don’t get disciplined right.”

I remember the first time my dad called me stupid. I was six. He asked me for a glass of milk, like the true sociopath he is, just straight milk, and yelled at me for not giving him enough. I thought it’d be funny to try and take the glass back from him to go put more in it. That was a mistake. I didn’t realize that he’d had the glass tilted towards his mouth, so when I pulled it out of his hand it clanked against his teeth. I heard the noise of it clanking and instantly felt the blood drain from my face and into my legs, making them too heavy to move. “YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT!” He seethed between his teeth as loud as he could. I don’t remember what happened next, all I know is that I came to hiding in my closet listening to my parents yell.

My dad and I did have some good memories though. Like when I was twelve and him and I blew up our mailbox on the Fourth of July. Going to watch the movie “Beverly Hills Chihuahuas.” Or when I was a kid, if he was in a good mood that night, he’d come in my room to say goodnight and we’d tell jokes and have wrestling matches. Helping him when he went on roofing jobs. Or the time he taught me how to change my oil, rotate my tires, and change my breaks on my first car. I cherish those memories and try desperately to hold on to them and make them the ones I remember the most. The good times were few and far between so I tried to remember them while they were happening.

I used to beg my mom to divorce my dad. I started begging her when I was five. Mostly because he scared me and because the whole family seemed happier when he was away. Then around the time I was ten, I heard the sounds of my Dad raping my mom, then he came out of their room like nothing happened. I hated him. I knew what the word “hate” meant this time and I knew that I felt every last bit of it for my dad. I wanted nothing more than to watch my mother drive away from that house as far as she could and never look back. Even if that meant leaving me behind. I wanted her to be happy and free, no longer in debt to my father. I would gladly take on her debt if she let me but she would always say she loved him too much. I knew what “hate” meant but I wasn’t so sure I’d ever understand the word “love.”

I had a special spot in the house that I’d retreat to if things got out of hand with my dads anger. I could smell it coming from a mile away. The second I felt the danger rising, I’d run to my room, go in my closet and climb onto my shelf. Hiding behind my clothes until the yelling stopped. Sometimes all night. I’d wake up behind my clothes, lines embedded in my face and arms from the shelving, wondering where I was, then remembering all the horrible things I overheard the night before. My parents still live in the same house, I can’t stand that fucking closet.

I have nightmares every night. Mostly of my past sexual assaults, but every once in awhile a nightmare fills my night with images of my dad molesting me. To this day I have no idea if it happened or not. I hope to whatever god is out there that it didn’t happen. I have no idea if it is simply a mix of my fathers anger and my past experiences with sexual abuse. Or maybe those bedtime wrestle matches weren’t as innocent as I remember. It haunts me that I will never have an answer to that question.

I have more memories of the angry man I grew up with. Like when he’d get angry while he was driving, he’d go 100mph down back roads and scarring the shit out of my mom and I. I remember screaming and crying for him to slow down but he’d just continue to speed up and scream at my mom and I. Or the time he punched the ceiling of the car so hard and so many times that to this day, twenty years later, there are still markings on the ceiling. I still remember my mom screaming “GO AHEAD AND KEEP PUNCHING THAT’LL HELP!!” Or the time he punched his rear view mirror and it came off. He never fixed it. I remember a time where he grabbed a handful of potatoes straight out of hot oil and flung them across the kitchen at me screaming “YOU NEED TO LEARN TO SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!”

I remember my father shouting at me for having an attitude saying “NOBODY WILL EVER LOVE YOU IF YOU KEEP THIS UP” Which is why to this day I don’t believe anyone could truly love me. I never lost the attitude. I lost my virginity at the age of 18 and about a year later broke up with the guy. My father came into my room while I was crying and said, “Don’t you regret losing your virginity now?” My dad loved rubbing every mistake I made in my face. He got so angry when my reply was “No.” There were many times when he wouldn’t shout when he was angry at me, he would simply look me in the eyes and say “You shouldn’t even call me dad anymore. Since you don’t want to respect me as your dad I don’t see the point.”

He hated me too. In the moment of the arguments I was fine with the knowledge that he hated me. I thought it was funny that he finally met his match when it came to anger. I was the only one in the family brave enough to give him a taste of his own medicine as I got older. I didn’t mind that he hated me. That was, until, I was in dance class watching all the girls my age practicing with their dads for the daddy daughter senior dance. I sat against the mirror smiling and so happy for my class mates and later that night cut my thighs and wrists open and cried myself to sleep, hoping to not wake up. I hated him and he hated me. I ached for a father, I still do to this day.

I grew up with an angry man in my house, and statistics show that I will always have an angry man in my house. Meaning I would marry an angry man. Strangely enough I married the most even tempered man I possibly could. Sometimes it drives me insane that he is so mild tempered but then I think of what the alternative is, and I’m grateful. What really scares me though, is the fact that while I did not marry an angry man, there still ended up being one in my house. I see him every time I look in the mirror. Every time I throw something out of anger it flys just like my dads did. Every hole I’ve left in a wall resembles the same ones he made. Every time I speed out of anger, the engine starts sounding like it did when I was a kid. I have done one thing better than him, my anger is hidden. Nobody I love will ever see that side of me. While I may be the angry man in my house on the inside. I will always be a kind, loving woman on the outside. Because I refuse to let my child understand what the word “Hate” means, before he understands what the words “Love” “Compassion” and “Happiness” means.

#white trash #family trauma #this is my life #pstd

[cryptid-called-ash]

He question is answered as soon as he thinks it, because, instead of his normal lunge forward, Motoyasu grabs Naofumi's wrist tight and yanks his arm out of place, still staring him down. Naofumi struggles, trying to yank his hand away and get his shield back into place, but he's met with the spear going straight through his arm instead. His brain doesn't even process it yet, he feels the blade go through his bicep, going out the other side, and pinning him to the tree, but it's numb for a second, and all he can feel is fear and anger. It registers fast as the speed of light, though, and he's met with a sharp, searing pain, and he screams. Naofumi looks at the spear impaling him and he can feel himself trembling, it makes the pain spike and flare with each tremor, and he wants to stop but he can't; blood is gushing from the wound and he's starting to feel way too hot right where the injury is and way to cold everywhere else.

He whips to face Motoyasu again and he can see Bitch taunting him, pulling her eyelid down and sticking her tongue out just like when he was first accused of rape. He can barely think, all he can feel is the mind-numbing pain of the spear tacking him to the wall and his heavy breathing and the heat of his blood feels and how cold he himself feels and how pissed off he is at Bitch's dumb piece of shit face. Naofumi sees the expression disappear and change into some fucked up version of gratitude as Motoyasu turns and walks to her, grabbing another spear from the small pile.

"What The Fuck are you doing, you idiot?" Naofumi gasps. he can barely hear himself over his own heartbeat and his magic desperately trying to heal him. Motoyasu does not answer.

"I'm glad I get to be the one to do this, Naofumi Iwatani." Motoyasu walks back to him, poison and malice oozing from his words.

Naofumi struggles to focus on him; he feels clammy and frigid and his right arm feels like boiling water is pouring out from the inside. Naofumi knows he should be doing something, anything to heal himself or get out of this situation, but his body refuses to stop staring at Motoyasu in fear and hatred; He can't pull the spear or he will get shocked, but against his will he feels his hand touch the spears handle, and he's met with a fast, thudding shock that numbs his arms and his brain at the same time and makes his arm jolt. He can't even get himself to scream again.

"Scum like you doesn't deserve to walk freely. And if no one else will stop you, I will."

Naofumi feels the spear go through his stomach, and he screams in agony as it is pushed through to the wood behind him. He tries not to look at it, but he does anyway and sees a bloody, wretched mess flowing from his abdomen, and blood falling out of his mouth.

~~~

:) don't worry Nao will be alright/gen

Sounds like a nightmare sequence that his daughters are going to have to help their dad with.

Written really well, keep up the great work 🥰

#~your local witch #shield dad #the rising of the shield hero #naofumi iwatani #motoyasu (derogatory) #not my work