#non con touching

[envy-of-the-apple]

Exception

Dark!Geto Suguru x reader

5.8k wc

Synopsis: You never bothered with Suguru's crush on you, knowing it would fade. After meeting him again years later, you make the horrible discovery that his feelings for you have only festered.

(Warnings: yandere, dark content, murder of a side character, slight gore, violence, rape/noncon, vaginal fingering, piv sex, unsafe sex)

When you were in your first year of college, you got a part-time job at a nearby cafe. 

It was easy work. Make coffee. Bake some pastries. Attend to the customers. Nothing too unmanageable. It was an insignificant part of your life. 

Then, Gojo and Geto came along.

 

Insufferably annoying. Especially, the loud one. They always caused a havoc in the cafe, often to the point where the manager had to physically kick them out. It was a turbulent two weeks, until one day you promised them if they kept it down, you'd let them try a few of your experimental pastries. 

Really, it was your own damn fault. They started coming every day after that, mostly to bother you. The only reason management hadn't outright banned them was probably because Gojo made 50% of their entire revenue. 

You warmed up to them eventually. Your fake smiles turned into more amused ones because of their antics. Once or twice, they'd get a good laugh out of you. You've heard rumors of a private, religious highschool nearby. You always assumed they were a byproduct of that. 

Eventually, Gojo becomes Satoru. Geto becomes Suguru. Nice kids, if not a bit overzealous. Despite refusing to hang out with them after work, you had to admit, you grew a bit attached to them. You found yourself asking about their day, hiding sweets for the two of them, sometimes you'd even let them steal a croissant or two. 

You bet the reason they hung around you was because, to them, you were some cool college student. Secretly, you found it a little flattering. Some days, their friendship was the highlight of your shift. It's clear Satoru is always the instigator, always looking like he's about to bounce off the walls (you have told him to lay off the sugar), it's not like Suguru was any better. He tried to act like he was the more refined part of the friendship. He often fails, at least in your eyes. 

It becomes pretty apparent that Suguru had a crush on you. You're not sure when exactly you started to notice the bashful looks, the slight flush on his cheeks whenever you accidentally brush his hand, the fact that he visits far more often (even though Satoru has the sweet-tooth) but you can't unsee it now. It doesn't help that Satoru looks downright giddy whenever his friend talks to you, barely controlling his giggles in the background. His reaction and Suguru's irritation often start a few skirmishes right outside the cafe doors. You've told them multiple times to take their fights in the alley at least. They never listened. 

For his sake, you don't acknowledge it, already knowing what it is. A schoolyard crush. Harmless, it'll pass. Eventually, when you're a distant memory to them, Satoru will tease him about it and Suguru will give a playful elbow nudge. Much to your relief, Suguru doesn't pull you to the side and confess. He's refined, in that way, never giving too much until you have the evidence and clues yourself. 

It continued like that for months. And then, something changed. 

They stopped coming around as much. Daily visits turned weekly. Weekly turned to every so often. Their energy felt off too. Satoru seemed the same as always, if not a bit more mellowed out. It was Suguru you mainly worried for. Each time he returned, he looked worse and worse. Darker circles. Eyes filled with exhaustion. 

You pull him aside eventually, asking if anything is going on, asking if he's okay, asking if he wants to talk. As sincerely as you can, you tell him that you're here for him. He at least attempts to smile at that. When you press, he shakes his head. 

"It's nothing," you both know he's lying, "it's just....it's nice to see that there is one exception." 

A little while after that, they stop coming entirely. You notice, but you aren't able to focus on it. School gets harder, you're cutting back your work to focus on it. You don't even recognize Satoru at first when he walks in nearly a year later. 

He's different. So much taller. Despite being a few years younger than you...he doesn't feel like a kid anymore. An easygoing smile is pulled on his face when he sees you, giving a lazy wave. You return it, though a bit hesitant. He talks to you as though no time has passed at all, asking what you made for him this time. He talks fast. His voice is too laid back. Too casual. Like he's avoiding something. You think you know what. 

"Where's Suguru?" you ask when you glance behind Satoru for the third time, "I haven't seen him around lately." 

He freezes, like he's been dreading that question ever since he came in. Finally, he shrugs, making a noncommital hum. His sunglasses obscure his eyes but it isn't enough to hide how cold he suddenly turned. Satoru seems to realize that too. His answer is pulled by reluctance. 

"We don't talk anymore." He doesn't say anything more. You don't need him to.

When he pulls out his wallet, you tell him it's on the house. He looks at you then. His mouth opens, searching for the right words. He waits too long. His mask slips back into place. 

Gojo grins at you, painfully fake. 

"Take care of yourself, will ya?" 

You never see him again after that. You know it's your fault. 

You think about them every so often when you can, Suguru especially. He rests in the back of your mind like an old piece of furniture you can't bring yourself to throw out. Suguru sometimes haunts your dreams with his darkened eyes and the pure brokenness on his face. For some reason, you think you failed him somehow. You felt like you could have done more. Maybe, if you'd tried harder to reach out, things would have been different. Two boys wouldn't be utterly heartbroken. 

Years pass by. You quit working at the cafe. You graduate college. You move cities. You get a job. Eventually, you settle into a nice apartment. You forget all about your days in that quaint little restaurant, your attention hogged by a couple of annoying high schoolers. You don't think about Satoru for years. You don't think about Suguru for years. 

Until one day, when he calls your name in the street. 

He was bigger now, towering over you with broad shoulders. His hair was longer, darker too, less of a green, more black. He's ditched his school uniform, trading it for a more casual outfit. It's his face that makes you hesitate before you use your voice, that same smile, physically at least. He looks the same, but then he doesn't. 

"...Suguru?" It's a question because you're still not sure. 

He smiles wider. 

"Long time, huh?" 

Somehow, your reunion culminates in a restaurant. You still feel out of it, somehow, like you're watching yourself in an out-of-body experience. Between the food and him, you're not sure if you can even believe it. 

He tells you he heads a temple now. A pious man. You shouldn't be surprised, considering his education, but you never knew he was so invested in religion. The two of you converse about other meaningless things. The conversation becomes less stilted. More sincere. You learned your lesson from last time. You don't bring up Satoru unless he does. 

Much to your disappointment, he doesn't. 

Compared to yours, his life is so crazy. Not just with the temple. Suguru tells you he's a father now too. Adopted two little girls. He's barely 22. You can barely hold your disbelief, shaking your head as you take another sip of your coffee. 

"In any case," you say when the conversation draws to a lull, "I'm just really glad you're happy, Suguru. You deserve it." 

When Suguru gives you a questioning look, you continue. 

"The last time we saw each other, you looked miserable." 

 His eyes widen in realization before a laugh bubbles out of his throat. Deep, rich like chocolate. 

"Back then, I was going through a lot." He sighs. "I was figuring out what I wanted. It...it was a tough time for me." 

You nod along, hoping you aren't forcing him to pry. However, the Suguru you're faced with now doesn't seem like that type of person anymore. He won't give if you press. He talks on his own terms. You never once thought of him as a pushover, but he's less open now. Perhaps it's because he's no longer a child. 

Suguru smiles then, a little more sincere than his first. 

"You know...I've always wanted to thank you." 

You tilt your head. "What for?" 

He plays with his empty cup like he's searching for the answer himself. "You gave me hope when no one else did. Everyone was so quick to tell me if I was wrong or right."

He leans back on his chair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling, "Other humans, they're always so enraptured by their own lives. You were the only person who reached out. At least, who cared enough to." 

The guilt from years ago slipped back into your throat. So he had been suffering. You should have done more. He was just a kid. They both had been. You could have done something. Maybe you could have saved a little more.

His hand finds yours on the table. They're rough, calloused. You can feel the scars. He squeezes your fingers. 

"Thank you," he murmurs, "For being an exception." 

You squeeze back. 

It's a tumultuous friendship, at first. It's much like a burn. Sensitive, it hurts at first. The wound is too fresh. Eventually, dead skin and memories fade away. You find yourself texting him. Once a week. Maybe a little more, if you get brave enough. 

Once, he sends you a picture of a white cat lounging in a sunbeam.

looks like Satoru, he types. 

(You stare at the caption for a long longer than necessary.)

It does, you send back.

You visit his temple once. He invited you, actually. A free tour, he had joked. It was beautiful. A large expansive garden filled with all types of flowers. The courtyard felt like it stretched for miles. That was just the outskirts of the temple. The building was something else entirely. A large ceiling. Expansive walls. White pillars that keep going higher and higher and higher. 

You notice his followers are everywhere. Most carry the same smile on their face. Bright, happy, cheery, but too strained. Like it's a job for them. It feels weird to say, but he fits nicely here. You think that because this wasn't the place you thought Suguru would end up. He dons the traditional clothing perfectly. Like they were made for him. They probably were, considering how high his reputation was. 

If he hadn't had the same face, the same hair color. You wouldn't have recognized him at all. He's managed to replace every single thing in his life with something new. It doesn't go unnoticed by you that you're the only thing he keeps from the past. A momento of sorts. You're a keepsake, for him. You don't mind the symbolism. You've always been easily flattered. 

You just failed to realize that not all of his feelings had changed. 

It was in front of your house. After, yet another visit to the temple (much at Suguru's insistence), he'd offered to walk you home. You would have declined if it wasn't so dark out. In the end, you accept his offer. 

"The girls have come to like you," Suguru says after a lull of pleasant silence. When you glance at him, you find his eyes on you. 

"Have they?" you prod. 

In all honestly, you didn't think they liked you at all at first. You don't have that much experience with young children, but you found it odd how unnerved Nanako and Mimiko seemed to get around you, practically hiding behind their father's figure, peeking out with untrusting eyes. Suguru had to gently coax them out with soft words, insisting that you were a close friend of his, you were 'different'. 

"Yes, they talk about you all the time," he continues, rolling his eyes in affection, "Mimiko especially gets very animated." 

Your heart skips a beat at his answer. You never felt one way or the other about children, but it felt nice when two little girls felt so highly about you. Those two especially. 

"It must be from all the sweets I bribed them with," you say, jokingly, "Please tell me I didn't cause them any stomach aches." 

He laughs, light and pretty. 

"It's not that," he responds, "it's because of you, mostly. You're different from the others."

You smile, but it's half-hearted, an attempt more than anything. It takes you a while for you to work up for the question. For some reason, you feel a bit nervous, like you're stepping on something you shouldn't be. 

"Different," you start, "you keep saying that. What does that mean? What am I different from?" 

He stops, just at the entrance of your flat. Suguru's fingers drum on his pants. You stare at him. He stares right back. 

"You are different, in so many different ways," he says, though it feels as though he's speaking to himself, rather than you. 

He takes a step forward. Tiny, he barely even moved. And yet, the distance between the two of you has vanished completely. 

"You've always been. Different from everyone else. The only one." You can't tell if he cut himself off, or if there was truly nothing else to say. 

It was barely a kiss. His lips brushed against yours, barely touching. Soft, like he cherished you the most out of all his possessions. The gentleness of it all is enough for you to freeze. 

Then his hand curls around your waist, and you jolt back into your body. 

You splay your hands on his chest, pushing him away until you have enough momentum to step back. His loose hold on you falls away. You can't look at him, even when you can feel his stare burn into you. 

"Suguru," you say, because you're mind is still running to catch up to your heart, "I-we-" 

Your name being called stops your babbling. You don't think he saw, god you hoped he hadn't. When you look over, he's smiling, so you don't think he did. He was never one to hide his feelings. Still, you step away from Suguru, ignoring how stiff the man had become. 

"Hey," you say, mostly out of relief because you couldn't deal with this anymore. When he wraps you into a hug and a chaste kiss, you wordlessly accept. Suguru's gaze on your back only gets stronger. 

"Who's this?" he asks, gesturing at Suguru. Your smile falters as you glance at Suguru. His face was blank. He wasn't even smiling anymore as he continued to stare at your man. 

"A friend," you say before Suguru can make this already worse, "and he was just leaving." 

"Oh," he says, before smiling down at you. Delightfully oblivious. 

"We'll talk later, okay Suguru?" You send Suguru a hurried smile before dragging him into your shared flat. 

You lock the door behind you. He says something just then, you laugh, trying so hard not to sense Suguru's presence through the door. You don't think he leaves. Not for a good long while. 

You don't speak to Suguru, after that. 

You wince whenever you see his name through your contact list now, as though even seeing a remnant of him is painful. You don't go to the temple anymore. Your communication with the girls turns nonexistent. 

Suguru hasn't said anything to you either. The line has grown dead both ways. 

You feel guilty, even though you know it wasn't your fault, you still can't help but wonder if you could have done something different. Did you do something that made him think you were interested? You probably had, knowing how unaware you could be, sometimes. You couldn't help but feel ecstatic when the two of you reconnected again. You'd been so excited for Suguru, happy for him because he'd finally found his way. You didn't know he still liked you after all these years. It was a schoolyard crush, at least, it was supposed to be.

Looking back, you didn't think you'd even told Suguru that you were already seeing someone. One blunder after a blunder. 

It must have been embarrassing for him, you can't help but think. Even when he was younger, Suguru had always held onto his pride dearly. You don't know if your friendship could ever be the same after this, but you'd like to extend the olive branch. If he'd take it. 

You tell your boyfriend about the incident eventually. You know it's not your fault, but you still feel like it is. He takes it well, once you explain, looking at you sweetly. 

"I could tell something was going on between you and him," he says, "but thanks for telling me." 

"You aren't mad?" you ask, half-afraid of the answer. 

"At you? Course not. Him, however"- he made a swing motion with his fist "-he does something like that again and I'll punch his lights out." 

You laugh, knowing it's a joke, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He beams. 

It takes a week of radio silence to forget about the mishap. You're humming a song you've forgotten the lyrics to when you arrive at your apartment. Your boyfriend said that he was coming home early tonight. You'd planned something quiet for the evening. A movie, cheap drinks. 

"Welcome home." Suguru grins. You freeze. 

He sits on the couch, splayed out like he belonged there. He's not wearing his priest garment, now garbed with a simple shirt and jeans. It takes a minute for you to figure out what you're looking at. Slowly, you close the door behind you. 

"Hey," you say, hoping your tone doesn't indicate just off-put by this encounter you are.

Suguru doesn't seem to mind your reluctance. 

"He let me in." Suguru points to somewhere behind you. Oh, your boyfriend is probably in the bathroom. "He was such a nice man. You were very lucky." 

"Thank you," you find yourself saying, "I am." 

His smile grows bigger, and you wonder if there's a joke you aren't let in on. Like he's saying something that's going right above your head. 

When you take a glance behind you, your partner is nowhere to be seen. It makes you wonder if you should say something to Suguru right now. Mend the bridge that's shattered between you. Currently, he seemed to be in a good mood. 

"Suguru," you start, taking a tiny step forward. You twiddle with your fingers. 

"Listen, I'm really sorry for how things went the last time we met. I just-" He hushes you, putting a finger to his lips. 

"You shouldn't air out your affairs in front of him like that," he tells you, "you might hurt his feelings." 

What? You look behind you again. Nothing. 

Suguru laughs. It sounds off. Wordlessly, he points behind you again but angles his finger a tiny bit higher. You follow his direction. 

Immediately, you wish you hadn't. 

He's in pieces, scattered all over the ceiling. A hand is above the door, a leg is above the kitchen. It's like his appendages were chopped before being glued onto the ceiling. There's no blood, just body parts. 

The worst part was that he was still alive. His head was still attached to his torso, the only part of him that was still intact. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and it took you a second that he was trying to tell you something. Repeating a word over and over. 

Run. 

Your hand covers your mouth as you continue to stare up at him. What was left of him. You think your knees are threatening to give before Suguru's holding you up. You can feel him lead you towards the couch, sitting you down in the plush mattress. He curls an arm around you, letting out a sigh.

"I meant what I said." Suguru adjusts your hair. "He was such a nice man, for a monkey anyway."

It doesn't occur to you that Suguru had done this until he speaks. You'd known Suguru said he performed exorcisms in his temple. You didn't-you couldn't-

"You?" you can barely push the wavering words out, "you-how-Suguru-" 

He hushes you, drawing you closer to his body. You're completely dwarfed by him as he rests his head on your neck, breathing in your scent. You are barely coherent, sucking in air as your voice dissolves into sobs. 

"I would have liked it if things hadn't turned out this way," he sighs, "but I don't believe it would have turned out any differently." 

His tone is almost pitying. 

"You may be the exception, but you are still one of them. Unaware of the true hierarchy." Suguru hums. 

"That's alright. It wasn't your fault. You were simply born this way," he continues, "I don't mind teaching you." 

You wiggle, trying your hardest to get out of his grip. Suguru only clicks his tongue. A harsh grip on your waist is enough to still you. You can't understand what's going on, maybe you never will, but you know one thing. You let a monster back into your life. Geto Suguru was not the same person you knew when you were younger. 

Or perhaps, he was always this way. He was just better at hiding it, back then. 

"I'm sorry," you finally let out, "Suguru, I'm-I'm so so sorry. I'll do whatever-whatever you want. Anything just please please please-" 

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him," Suguru doesn't sound too apologetic, "though, I could put him out of his pain. Would you like that?" 

You didn't need him to elaborate. Suguru would kill him. Or perhaps he was already dead. His moving eyes, his twitching lips, were all just muscle memory. The last of his brain synapses. There was no science, no magic, that could bring him back from this. 

And maybe, that tiny selfish part of you wanted to stop seeing his mangled body. 

You nod and you can feel Suguru's grin. He snaps his fingers. The thing disappears, vanishes into mist. 

"All gone!" Suguru declares. "There. Isn't that better?" 

You wince when he touches your face, brushing away the tears. You're too scared to do anything more. You don't fight when he kisses your neck. You don't fight when he kisses your jaw. You don't fight when he kisses your lips. 

It's with the same gentleness as the last time he'd kissed you, right outside of your apartment. Soft, warm, loving. 

You start sobbing then. Ugly, heaving, heartbroken. He takes it in stride, humming as he pushes your body down until your back is pressed on the couch. His lips brush your damp cheek. 

"There's no need to be afraid." Through your tears, you can see him smiling down at you. "The worst has passed. I'll take care of you from now on." 

The worst part about all of this is how honest he sounds. Like he truly believes he's doing this for your good. It makes you wonder who the delusional one is. Him or you. 

He's tuts in sympathy as you lay there, shivering underneath him.

"You must be so confused, poor thing." He tilts his head, the back of his fingers stroking your cheeks. "I should explain, shouldn't I? Unfortunately, I'm more interested in other things right now."

You must look horrible, but Suguru doesn't seem to mind, bending down, melding your lips with his. He sighs, like he'd waited eons for this. You stiffen when you feel his hands play with the band of your skirt. As if he can feel your beginnings of struggle, he pulls back, staring you down. Brown, almost black, eyes peer down at you. There's a hint of a warning curling on his lip. 

You still immediately. If he could do that, what could he do to you?

"None of that," he chides, and yet he's so painfully gentle about it, "be good." 

What was he? How did he do this? How could he? You want to ask them all but you can only get one out when you lift your head, getting your voice to work. 

"Why?" 

You don't know what you're asking. He clearly does. Another soft smile. You wish you could tear it off his face. 

"You were always the exception, even back then," He says quietly into the stale air of the apartment. His eyes drift and you wonder if he's remembering the you all those years ago, secretly passing pastries to him and Satoru, giggling at jokes only a highschooler could make. "The only one of the humans who didn't utterly disgust me." 

Fingers reach for the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your bare legs. 

"And it's natural, isn't it? To protect the exceptions, the rarities of the world," he says, "To keep them away from the impure." 

You start crying again. He patiently hushes you, kissing away your tears. This time, you don't bother putting up a fight. You just squeeze your eyes closed, flinching when he reaches to your inner thighs, feeling the cotton of your panties. His breath hitches. So does yours. 

He bypasses the cloth with two dexterous fingers. When he touches the skin, you flinch, trying to squeeze your thighs closed. It doesn't help. Suguru leans forward, you can feel his breath on your cheek as you shiver underneath him. He finds your clit, teasing it with a calloused thumb. You think you're mouthing it, even when you can't bring yourself to say it. Don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me. 

He doesn't listen. You don't know if he heard it or not. It didn't matter, either way. It wasn’t like he was planning to stop.

Despite how much you don’t want this, your body doesn’t listen. His touch is gentle, soothing on your pussy despite the horrors you’ve seen him do. It doesn’t take long for your cunt to adjust, dripping.

There’s a satisfied sigh above you and you know Suguru had felt it too.

One finger pushes into you. You gasp, curling your back, unprepared but Suguru’s giving a pleasant hum, easing you into it. Despite how humiliating this entire situation is, your one reprieve is being able to bury your head into his neck, keeping yourself there as he continues to have his way with your body. You can feel him kiss the crown of your head, an action that completely juxtapositions another finger entering your wet hole.

He’s gentle, but not slow. He fingerfucks you with earnestness, curling his fingers when your walls tighten around him. Your crying is interrupted by the reluctant moans and gasps every time he presses deeper into you, finding a spot that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. You bit your lip, keeping the noises inward. He tuts at that.

“Don’t be shy,” he coos in your ear, “it’s okay to enjoy it. I want you to.”

As if to highlight his words, he gives another particularly intense push, you wince when you can hear the wet squelch of his fingers.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Suguru asks, “I could always be this nice with you.” You let out a squeak when his thumb presses against your clit, unable to keep it in. Suguru gives a breathy laugh.

His other hand starts to explore, reaching up to your button-up, flicking them off with a single-experienced hand. The bra you wore is barely seductive, but Suguru’s tracing the ends of it anyway, touching the fabric just by your skin before pushing the undergarment down.

Whether it’s from the air or his fingers fucking your pussy, your tits are already sensitive. You let out a breathy whine when Suguru grips on of them too hard, squeezing the fat in his large hands.

“So sweet for me.” You can hear the smile on his lips.

Everything becomes too much, and before you can think, your hand is shooting down, grabbing onto his wrist, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Your other is pushing against his shoulder. He barely seemed to even notice, holding you down with his weight, thrusting in his fingers all the way to the knuckle.

“Suguru I-” It’s supposed to be another plea for him to stop, but your weak voice calling out his name only seems to excite him further. His thumb dances on your swollen clit, his fingers never relenting until he’s pushing you higher and higher until you fall.

White hot electric pleasure snaps within you, forcing your body to jolt, as you curl up from the sofa. You think he’s saying something, words of comfort as though he could be any crueler, but you’re not listening. You came so hard you almost forget where you are, who you’re with. You can feel Suguru watching until you fall against the cushion again, utterly spent. Your grip slackens against his wrist, before falling away completely.

“See? Didn’t I say I’ll take care of you?” You don't even have the energy to glare at him.

He’s giving another laugh, kissing your cheek before he’s leaning back. His fingers slip out of you, and then there’s a sucking sound. You can’t help it, blinking open your eyes. Suguru stares back at you, eyes half-mast, a pink tongue flicking out to lick at his fingers before he puts them in his mouth completely, swallowing down the evidence of your orgasm. A lewd moan escapes him, muffled. You once again wished you hadn’t looked.

You’re already expecting it, but you still flinch when you hear the zipper loud and clear. He moves his jeans low enough to pull out his cock. He’s already hard, a bead of precum right at the tip as he gives a few cursory pumps. He’s big, you blearily realize. Despite the mind-numbing orgasm he’d just given you, you doubt it’d be enough to even take him.

“It won’t fit,” you find yourself whispering.

Suguru just hums in acknowledgement, giving you a knowing look as he finishes tugging off your panties. The fabric slides off your shaking leg before dropping onto the carpeted floor.

It’s too late for a fight, but you’re rising anyway, pressing your hands against the cushions, trying to create some space. Suguru is quick to shut it down again, leaning back into you as he palms himself some more.

“You’ll be alright,” he assures but it doesn’t help the panic the fear in your soul, “I cherish you too much to break you.”

With little effort, he spreads your thighs. His cock rubs against you once, twice, before entering your throbbing pussy.

Already it’s too much. He’s thick, stretching out your walls, threatening to rip you in half. You close your eyes again, squeezing them shut as the pain starts to edge a little too close to bloody. Helpless, your hand finds his shoulder, not pushing but digging your nails into his shirt. He purrs when you grip him tighter, moving until he’s seated fully into you.

He stays like that, keeping himself there as your walls squeeze him tighter. It’s almost a relief that it ended, but now, he’s taken everything.

“Look at me.”

His voice is rough, almost a rasp, an order. You find yourself obeying. Through your tears, you blink up at him, finding his gaze.

He stares down at you, a look of satisfaction in his eyes and you don’t think you are yours anymore.

He pulls back, your cunt tries to suck him back in, but he drags his cock out anyway until only his head is barely inside.

“Perfect,” Suguru murmurs as though it’s a secret not even you should hear, “absolutely perfect.”

You cry out when he pushes back in. It’s a gentle pace, slow and steady like he’s easing you into it. He’s being kind, you finally realize, a thought that makes your skin crawl. It’s so much worse than if he had been nasty. Harsh and biting with thrusts that would make your body sore and weak afterwards. If he was abusive, not caring about you, just his own pleasure. You wish Suguru was being mean, being cruel. At least then, you wouldn’t like it.

Despite the unexpected size, your body is adjusting. Pain ripples into reluctant pleasure, numbing your mind as his hips meet yours. It gets even worse when Suguru leans down, biting and sucking at your tits, enough for there to leave a mark. Something that will bruise and remind you of what he did.

“You don’t know how long I wanted this,” he’s saying somewhere above you but your head is swimming and you can’t focus where you want to, “how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

Suguru sits up again, grabbing one of your legs, hiking your hips up so his cock can go that much deeper inside of you. You babble something that you yourself can’t decipher. Suguru’s lips curl into another painfully soft smile.

“Ever since highschool,” he’s confessing like he’s a sinner and you’re his God but you know that isn’t true because what sort of god would be humiliated like this? “Remember that apron you wore?”

His hand reaches over, spreading over your pussy, stretching the fatty part of your cunt so he can have a better view of him disappearing inside of you.

“I always wondered what you’d look like wearing nothing but that on, spread out on the counter for me.”

He flicks your clit, and for the second time that day, you can feel yourself crashing. As though he can sense it, his thrusts shorten, grinding against your pussy and there’s a hand catching your chin, forcing you to look.

Suguru’s smile is gone, replaced by a snarl that promises to eat you alive. His eyes are blown wide, and he’s gritting his teeth, barely holding control by a hair.

“Come for me.”

You’re too far gone to do anything but listen.

You stutter in his grasp, arching your back, cumming with a breathy whine. It’s like a tide, pushing you out into sea, refusing to take you in. Unconsciously, the leg he holds tightens around his waist as you pulse around his cock.

He follows after, barely holding himself together, not when your cunt is milking him for all its’ worth. There’s a few particularly harsh thrusts before something warm and sticky fills your battered pussy before he's falling into you, pressing your body against the soft cushions.

You lay there, panting with him on top of you. Slowly, you come back to yourself, feeling your arms your legs. Your brain resets, and you’re suddenly remembering that you have a murderer’s cock inside of you.

Suguru’s face is buried in your neck. He gives a shaky kiss to your jaw; another on the corner of your lips. You can only stare at the ceiling, where the remnants of a body used to be.

"You know, the girls have always wanted a mother," Suguru's saying into your skin.

"I'm sure they will be very pleased with my choice."

#yandere #yandere jjk #x reader #dark content #dark jjk #non con touching #tw:noncon #dark geto suguru #yandere geto suguru #tw:gore

[whumblr]

can you write a prompt for an intimate whumper x whumpee? 😭

"Sshh, it's okay, loved one, it's okay. I know you don't like being touched. That's fine. I don't mind. You're allowed to feel that way. You know, I might even prefer it that way. What you're not allowed to do, however, is pull away from me."

#whump #non con touching #possessive whumper #intimate whumper #whump prompt #whump drabble #have a smol dialogue prompt #creepy whumper #my writing #my prompts

[bigfootsmom]

hello i am on my hands and knees politely begging for a elevator fic snippet 🙏🙏🙏 (aka im foaming at the mouth and desperate)

well since you asked so nicely :3

TW for non-con touching and strangulation //

The small noise that Buck whimpers out is completely involuntary. It falls from his lips, unbidden and distressed, fluttering into the stifling air hanging between their bodies. The pressure on his throat increases, John’s fingers curling tighter. He thinks it’s just another warning, waiting for John’s hand to relax like before. But it doesn’t, the pressure becoming more and more uncomfortable. 

Panic slams into Buck’s gut, fear hiccuping in his lungs as his next inhale meets resistance. His hands twitch at his sides in an aborted movement to reach out and shove John away. But he can’t— he can’t because John’s threat against Eddie is still hanging heavy in the air. He has to keep him distracted so he doesn’t—

Bang! Buck jumps, briefly pressing against John’s hand before he pulls back again. There’s another bang, the doors of the elevator reverberating with the noise as several more metallic thuds follow in quick succession. Over the cacophony Buck swears he can hear someone calling his name. Straining his ears, Buck’s stomach swoops with a dizzying combination of dread and relief. It’s Eddie— Eddie is banging on the elevator and calling for Buck. 

Buck wants to call back, he wants to scream at Eddie to get far away, he wants to cry for help, he wants to— the hand tightening around his throat violently throws him back into the present moment, the possibility of calling out to Eddie dying in his throat along with his last stuttered inhale.

#molly got mail #molly writes #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fic #911 #buck whump #strangulation #non con touching #elevator fic #anonymous

[darkkitty1208]

Hello there, may I steal a bit of your time? I recently reread Defender Strange's comic and couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I'm asking ya out, can you please write something regarding this- Stephen was gathered from a battle field and SIMTony takes him to Tower with him after kicking the bad guy's ass and takes care of that worn out.

That's it. Thanks ya for hearing me out. Lots of love!

Thank you for the prompt, lovely! 💖 Super sorry it took quite a while. (I say, knowing full well it took longer than just 'quite a while' for me to finish this. *stares at my towering pile of WIPs and prompts sitting in my ask box that I've yet to finish*)

I feel like I've sort of lost touch on my writing style (and writing as a whole) a little bit but, hey, I finished this! Haha. 

Disclaimer: I haven't read the defenders or SIM comics yet, so this whole thing is just based on my assumptions of their characters. I'm only familiar with MoM's Defender Strange, and prompter seems okay if I'd write him instead, thankfully, so yeah. ^^ Feel free to point out anything that stood out, though!

TW: This fic contains NON-CONSENSUAL TOUCHING but NO RAPE.

~

Stephen stumbled back with a grunt, but quickly managed to catch himself before his back could land on the ground. Dodging the whip Mordo sent his way, he conjured twin mandalas over his wrists that glowed a bright blue. 

"It's not too late, Stephen!" the man called out, and slid his feet away from Stephen's attack. He took rapid, calculated steps towards the other sorcerer, getting close enough to loop his arm over the man's neck in a tight grip.

"You can still join me," he said, "we can work together."

Stephen struggled against him, clawing at the arm that constructed his breathing. 

"Like hell that would convince me," Stephen huffed out, strangled, and knocked Mordo's stomach by his elbow, who stumbled back, enough to let go of him. He panted, readying his next attack as Mordo stood back up. His limbs worked almost on their own volition as they danced their familiar dance in battle, and for a moment the only sounds echoing in the air were their grunts and puffs of air, the way their boots slid against the ground, the swish of their robes flapping at each turn, the way each new band and shield and mandala they conjured emanated familiar sparks. 

Just when Stephen thought he had the upper hand, one slip of his feet and a kick to his chest had him toppling to the ground with an 'oomph', and quickly found himself wrapped around bands. He let out a yelp as his hands were squeezed against his body, and struggled against the constraints. But it was to no avail, as it held a tight, inescapable grip around him. Struggling against it only proved to make the pain worse. 

It was useless, he thought, as he stopped his ministrations and settled on glaring at the eyes staring down on him. Mordo's stern eyes, looking straight at him, suddenly shifted at the sight, turning almost… soft, to his dismay, and Stephen hardened his glare in return.

"We could've been so good together," Mordo breathed out, almost in a whisper. "I didn't want it to end this way, Stephen. But you must know I have no other choice. You must know that this is for the greater good." 

Mordo lifted his hands, and Stephen knew that, at that moment, despite his panicked struggling, he couldn't do anything as the spell was about to be cast on him. It was a simple spell, really – even a novice could cast it – but it was a deadly one. It would render any sorcerer useless if cast against them, blocking their access to channelling interdimensional energy permanently, reducing them to what they once were before being introduced to the Mystic Arts. Mordo always had great capabilities, especially in terms of magic, but to think that he had managed to master that spell for such purposes was… beyond Stephen, to put simply. 

The spell wasn’t meant to incapacitate him, he knew that much. Mordo needed something more permanent – he couldn’t risk the possibility of all else. 

The spell, he knew, was meant to break him. 

“You should be grateful, you know. Many sorcerers have died at my hand in my quest to rectify what they have meddled in the natural law,” he remarked, and Stephen scowled at him. “I do not wish for you to fall in the same fate as they do, Stephen. You are like a brother to me. And perhaps… Perhaps so much more.”

His eyes flickered away for a moment, before they resumed their steely gaze towards him. 

Stephen turned his head to the side, clenching his eyes shut and taking in ragged breaths as he braced himself for the inevitable pain. His mind swirled about in a million ways to think of an escape, but he knew there wasn't any counterspell to this, knew that hoping would only lead to nothing. 

Mordo sighed. 

"It was the only way I could think of that would be quick and painless, Stephen," he said, "So please, consider this a mercy."

Before his mind could process the words, he felt a hit over the side of his neck that made him let out a choked sound. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, there was a sudden, almost electrifying flash of blue that blasted somewhere from beside him to hit against Mordo's head, and the last thing he heard was a familiar, menacing voice that drawled in a way that had always made the hair on his nape bristle. 

There was only one thought that flitted through his head as he finally lost consciousness; Tony. 

*.~ ◇ ~.*

Mordo stumbled to the ground as something blasted against him, head whipping about as he quickly looked around for its source.

He heard heavy footsteps thump against the ground, and it took a while for him to regain his footing to face whoever – or whatever – it was. Once he adjusted his vision, he noticed there seemed to be a sharp blue glow emanating as the smoke dissipated away from the shadowy figure that was stepping towards him. Mordo wasted no time and automatically went on fighting stance, his defences up in case the man prepared another surprise attack against him. He looked to the side, finding Stephen's unconscious, prone body on the ground a few feet away. 

"You really thought it'd be that easy to get your hands on him, did you?" The low voice said to the air. 

"Who are you?" 

The smoke cleared out. A very light blue, almost white, sort of liquid danced about to then solidify into an armour, its helmet forming around a grinning face. 

"C'mon. Everybody knows me," he said, a toothy smile on display but no emotions found in his eyes, his arms spread out. The smile dropped suddenly, and the next words were spoken in a way that could send shivers down anyone's spine: "Now back off. He's not yours." 

Mordo's eyes flicked hastily to Stephen's body, back to the man, trying to think of a quick way out. 

"Tony Stark," Mordo frowned, "I should have known Stephen had gained… unexpected allies. I didn't know he was so desperate." 

There were no possible ways to escape this, he thought, and begrudgingly decided to face him. Mordo conjured a band that whipped through the air and towards the man, but failed to have any intended effect as Stark flew up to avoid it. He conjured a couple of more blasts, which were easily avoided as Stark twirled about with little 'Woah!'s and an 'Oh! Almost got me!', occasionally forming a shield around him but ultimately left unscathed at each attack, as his laughter rang in Mordo's ears. Mordo continued to grunt at each conjured attack, getting irritated by the second. At some point, the laughter ended with a nonchalant sigh.

"Okay, it's getting boring now," he said, "My turn." 

He thrusts out his repulsors, whining a short warning before an electric flash of blue striked right ahead to send Mordo flying backwards before he could think of a way to dodge it. And then he blasted another, and another, slowly floating down to the ground as he did so, playfully experimenting different positions on each blast, humming a tune meanwhile. When he was satisfied, he took his time to step ever so slowly towards Mordo's body, which was lying on its side. He turned him over to lay on his back by nudging his side with a foot. Tony stared down at him, and then tilted his head to the side, huffed, and let a menacing smile slowly form on his lips. When Mordo tried to lean up and land a punch on his face, quite successfully, he clicked his tongue, wiped the blood trickling down the slight cut on his face, huffed again, and then carded a hand through his hair. He kicked the man then, straight in the stomach, and repeated so just a couple times. Just enough so that moving any muscle would hurt. And then he pressed his foot down over the sorcerer's chest, delighting in the pained wheeze and the cough that sent blood splattering about. He pressed his foot harder down, twisting it just so that he could hear another one of Mordo's wet, ragged cough, and made a sound that was intended as a delighted giggle but came out sounding like a huff as he leaned down to whisper: "Now let that be a lesson for you to never touch what's mine ever again." 

He gave the body a last kick, turning around just as Mordo's body rolled helplessly on the ground. 

"Well, that was easy," he huffed, dusting his hands off, and turned to look at Stephen's still unconscious body. "Now to claim my lovely prize…" 

The smile returned, but this time, something glinted in his eyes. 

*.~ ◇ ~.*

When Stephen came to, it was to the sight of bright, blue lights assaulting his eyes and vague, muffled sounds of what sounded like whirring machines filtering through his ears. His eyes shut closed against the onslaught of light almost on its own accord, and he quickly regretted shaking his head as it did nothing to lessen the pounding in his temples – if anything, it grew much worse. 

Gently, he fluttered his eyes back open, squinting as he adjusted to the lighting. He looked down on himself, noting the wrapped up and bandaged wounds over his body and the absence of his robes. 

“Ah, my sleeping beauty has finally awoken.” Stephen barely suppressed a flinch at the voice. “How was your sleep, sweetheart?”  

He tried to make out the blurry figure walking over to him – even though he already had a solid guess from the voice he had heard – and when the shifting blur of the man finally came to a focus, he lifted himself by the elbows. 

"T–" he tried to croak out, and then coughed when he realised his throat was dry as a desert. 

Tony sauntered over, grabbed a cup of water from a nearby bedside table, and gently lifted it to his lips, making a gesture with his head to urge Stephen to drink. Stephen stared at the cup, glared up at the engineer, and then snatched the cup with his own trembling fingers. If Tony saw the shaking in his hands and the way he tried desperately to look casual as the water splashed onto his fingers (and if anything, was failing to), he didn’t say anything. 

He did, however, huff out in amusement.  

Stephen downed the rest of the cup, and then placed it carefully upon the table Tony had taken it from. He felt the bed dip as the engineer sat beside him, and resisted the urge to scoot over and distance himself from the man. 

A calloused hand sneaked its way to a loose strand of hair on his face, tucking it over behind his ear in unsolicited gentleness. The same fingers – again, ever so gently – gripped his chin, leaning his head down to face the man. Tony traced a thumb over the cut on his lip, and Stephen tried not to bodily shiver. 

The smirk he earned, coupled with the intent stare of the man's steely blue eyes on his own, told him he had probably failed to do so. 

Tony’s eyes were a sharp blue, and now that Stephen was looking directly at it, he noticed there seemed to be something in it he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was something buried in them, something sinister and twisted and wrong in a way that made him feel unsettled. 

"You cut your lip…" Tony mumbled, "Does it hurt, sweetheart?" 

"Stop calling me that," he spat out. 

"I can call my sweetheart whatever I want," was his response, followed with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, answer my question. Does it hurt?" 

"Not if you stop touching it like that." 

Tony hummed. 

"He hurt you…" Tony said, a sudden sternness in his voice, a sudden shift in his expression, a silent burning in his eyes. The grip on his chin tightened, and Stephen had to stifle a wince. Tony's face gentled at that, thumb moving to rub (not) soothingly over his jaw in apology. 

"What did you do to Mordo?" Stephen asked. If and whenever Tony was involved, nothing really ended well. Mordo was his business, after all – Tony had nothing to do with it. 

"Took care of him." was the only response he received. The hand gently made its way to card over his hair, pulling out his tie and settling over his nape. Tony pulled him forward, breath inching closer to each other.  "And now, I just need to take care of you." 

Stephen's breath stuttered as he exhaled. 

"Stop touching me." 

"But you aren't pushing me away."

"I still don't want you to." 

Tony smirked. 

"You can continue to deny yourself, sweetheart, but I know you want it." 

And that was the last straw for him. Stephen lifted his hand, tried to call upon his magic, but barely managed to create sparks before he realised the ever present tingle of magic in his fingers had faded. There was… something blocking his access to channel energy and conjure magic. What previously felt like a steady stream was now blocked by some sort of unbreakable dam. 

He inspected his hand, finding what seemed to be… a bracelet, of some sort. A quick check over his other hand confirmed that a matching one wrapped around his other wrist, effectively blocking him from channelling any of his magic. 

This wasn't any worse than Mordo's spell, he thought, and a sour expression took its place upon his face. 

"Like it?" Tony asked, hands finally pulled away. "Made them just for you." 

Stephen grunted in frustration, and attempted to swing a punch towards the man, only to find it unable to move. 

A chain formed from his wrist from what seemed to be nanites that crawled its way to attach to the headboard, the other following suit. Stephen tried pulling himself forward, only to be pulled back harshly as the chain suddenly shortened itself. He struggled against the constraints, for only God knows how many times in how many occasions he had that day, and tried not to growl in frustration as Tony just chuckled at him. 

The hand snaked back towards his chest, rubbing back and forth in a way that made acid burn in the back of his throat.

"Look at you," he said, "I like it when you struggle. It’s cute. I like having you like this, baby,” Tony smoothed out Stephen’s hair again, fingers tracing the lines of his face and down his cheekbone, thumb tracing his lips as those blue eyes flickered down on it. “Now be a good boy and stay still." 

Before Stephen could protest, his words were quickly cut short as a sudden, heavy feeling clouded his head. 

"Shh, it's alright. That's it, darling. That's it," he heard Tony murmur, voice slowly morphing away. 

"Wh… 've you d…" his tongue felt heavy, his voice felt far away. His vision was blurring out at the edges, eyes drooping, and Tony's voice sounded muffled when he spoke. 

"It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. Just go back to sleep for now. Go back to sleep.”

~

Stephen: Fuck off. Don't touch me. 

SIM: 

SIM: Denial is a river in South Africa. You love me

Stephen: I literally told you to fuck off???

Once again super sorry took a while to get back to you, prompter. My writer self is not The Best at the moment and needs some time to get back to my past writing rhythm. There's no guarantee I'll be as active as last time?

But I really do hope you enjoyed this. <3 Despite the whole… 'lowering Defender's capabilities and overpowering SIM for plot purposes' thing. I really couldn't think of another way to write it without it seeming like that. :P 

#ironstrange #fanfiction #stephen strange #tony stark #defender strange #SIM!tony #superior iron man #tw #non-con #non con touching #no rape #my fic #my writing

[quietlyimplode]

leave everything but your bones behind

Whumptober 2022: day 11 - self done first aid

Warnings: Dreykov being a creepy mf (alluding to touching)/fighting/vomiting/injury/the red room being shit

Word Count: 2.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha becomes unwell and only the Red Room can fix her. The choice is die or go back to the very place that made her.

A/N: I think this is one of my favourite chapters (the last bit at least - 50 points if you know what book it’s appropriated from). Also, a long one today. Dreykov is a awful mf.

Main Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

———-

She’s paired against Lena first. The lithe girl she once knew with kind eyes and a love of braiding hair, wears guns on her hips and widow bites on her arms.

In fact, as Natasha looks to the two others, she realises they do too.

She carries no weapons, and it’s clear what’s going to happen here, because for every weapon she sees there’s likely two more in hiding.

Sharp eyes now watch her, as the guard offers rules.

“Disarm at any cost. No death,” he clarifies.

Natasha now notices that there’s two way mirrors in this room, and instinctively knows they’re being watched.

If she tries to communicate with the others, they might be tortured. If she tries anything, they might be tortured.

But that’s not why she complies.

She wants to be defiant, even if it’s just to see what happens.

“Fight,” the command comes.

Lena hits her hard in the face, the impact on her cheek as she just manages to turn before it impacts to her nose.

Get the weapons, she knows, as Black Widow works to disarm Lena.

She grabs for the first gun, but Lena is too quick. She avoids it and elbows Natasha hard in the gut, making her lose her breath. She plays on it, making Lena come in closer.

Natasha realises she is not in this fight. It’s Lena versus the Black Widow and Lena is winning.

It’s like she’s a spectator as she grabs for the guns, switches the safety off and ejects all the bullets.

Using the butt of the gun, she hits Lena; though the other gun distracts her.

The fresh feeling of electrocution pounds through her body, even though the voltage seems lower.

Growling, she attacks Lena full force, anger at her concept of her widow bites being used on her, but her weakened body is no match for a widow at full strength.

Two quick kicks and elbow to her jaw, sends Natasha to her knees and Lena on top of her arm wrapped around her neck, the choke hold complete as she crushes Natasha’s windpipe.

The black widow taps out before she passes out, but Natasha knows if it was her in charge, she’d just pass out.

It would be kinder to herself.

Lena let’s go, pulled off by the guard who hands her a long knife.

“Mark your win,” the guard tells her.

Lena approaches her, holds Natasha’s chin steady and guides the knife down her face.

She feels it cut into the soft skin of her cheek the blood running down into her neck as she stares at the woman, who won’t make eye contact.

“Next,” the guard commands.

Max steps up, her dark eyes staring into Natasha’s as the blood tickles her neck.

“Fight.”

Max doesn’t attack, instead reaches for her gun, making Natasha lunge at her; disarming her and walking straight into her play.

Max drops the gun, and picks the knife, stabbing at Natasha catching her by surprise. It’s not a deep cut, but it does push through her uniform cutting into her skin.

Dancing away, Natasha backs up, feeling short against the other girls height.

She can do this, she can fight.

The thing is she’s deconditioned and not used to the brutality of hits that are raining down on her as she backs up arms up.

Catching one, she throws the larger girl, leveraging her momentum and weight against her. It’s unfortunate that Max trips her as she does it and it turns into grappling on the floor.

She doesn’t have a chance.

Max holds down her arms; arm across her neck as she sits on top of Natasha. Leaning in close, she whispers in Natasha’s ear.

Black spots appear in her vision.

“Traitor,” she hears as she gasps for breath.

The guard stops the fight, as Natasha coughs, her windpipe free of pressure.

Max is handed the knife.

“Mark your win,” the guard tells her.

This time, Max pushes Natasha down, she slices the knife across her thigh, cutting through the uniform and into her skin.

Natasha grimaces as she breathes through her teeth.

“Next,” says the guard.

Jace steps up.

“Fight.”

There’s a pause as Natasha remembers them being sixteen, her brown hair thick and tied back laying next each other, clasping hands and making a blood pact that they won’t kill each other.

She still feels the scar across her palm, even though it’s long healed.

Jace throws a half hearted punch and Natasha feigns a kick to her head, changing it to a back fist at the last minute. The connection is loud as the crack across her cheekbone resonates.

Anger plays across Jace’s face and she starts fighting for real, knife out, stabbing towards Natasha as she dodges and weaves.

Jace throws the knife, narrowly missing Natasha and then follows up with a kick and then back fist that connects hard making her see stars.

She falls back and the guard stops Jace from following up.

She gets handed the knife and Jace pulls Natasha’s hand from her body, slicing across her palm; face set in a hard line.

“Stand,” the guard tells them.

The black widow stands, blood sticky in her clenched palm, down her thigh and on her face.

Pain in all the hits, a fatigued body and the disconnected feeling from herself makes Natasha want to shrink back, go back into whatever cell they’re going to push her into.

The others have to come.

She’s not going to survive the wrath of Dreykov, the guards and the other widows.

It’s only a matter of time.

.

Alarms blare throughout the house as Tony rushes into the surveillance room. He finds Clint holding up the tablet.

“It’s no longer transmitting,” Jarvis tells them, and Clint nods.

Tony backtracks to where the last transmission was; typing furiously as Steve and Bruce appear at the door.

“It’s no longer transmitting,” he tells them, a map appearing on the screens.

They watch the footage, or at least what they can see of Natasha’s vitals, as they spike, her heart rate doubling, tripling; then nothing.

Clint makes a noise, a groan that stays in his throat.

“I think.. I think they electrocuted her..”

He leaves the thought hanging.

Tony pulls the satellite footage up.

“How long ago?” Steve asks.

“Since it stopped transmitting?”

Tony looks, “fifteen minutes.”

Clint’s already moving.

“Three hours,” he grumbles. “We are three hours away.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left.”

Rushing to the quinjet, they all are silent in their thoughts, even as Tony swears, watching the overall satellite footage.

Steve pilots the plane.

Clint cleans his guns, making sure they’re loaded, and pulls his bow from the armory. The arrows he pulls makes Bruce frown.

“You think it’ll be needed?”

Clint’s face is dark. A look Bruce is sure he hasn’t seen before.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

Tony is in his full Ironman suit.

Bruce sits hands clasped tight, body curling in on itself.

“Update,” Clint orders.

Tony stares at the footage.

“Not change in it out of the facility, there doesn’t seem to be any movement.”

Clint nods.

He sits next to Bruce, adopting his posture of hands clasped, breath slowing even though his anger is hot.

With thirty minutes to go, Tony growls at the screen.

“No, don’t you fucking dare.”

There’s cars streaming out, Clint standing next to him, watching; knowing Natasha is in one of them.

“Can you track them?” he asks.

Tony nods.

There’s drones that appear from his suit and he sends them out, six drones for six cars.

“Will they get there in time?” Clint asks as the drones fly away.

Huffing, Tony nods.

“I hope so,” he says quietly. “I was going to leave them in Georgia but I didn’t want to leave any evidence we were there. Ross is a bastard and any stepping out, he’s threatened…”

Tony stops.

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

Clint thinks he knows. Tony holds more knowledge on the world than all of them. They don’t ask, and he doesn’t tell.

Tony tells Steve to cloak the jet as they cross the border into Russia, and he looks for a place to land it.

Koban is small, and Clint is worried that they’re going to meet resistance; and civilians. He doesn’t put it last Dreykov to do anything in self protection.

He’s thankful for the cover of darkness as they get off the plane, he motions for Tony to give them aerial view of everything.

They needn’t have worried though.

The place is deserted.

.

They take Natasha back to medical. March her back, even though she can’t do anything.

It’s clear they’re in Russia, the Cold War feel permeating through the halls.

Jace is on her right, Max on her left and Lena ahead.

It seems as though they are her handlers.

She wishes she could talk, but they said no talking, she wishes she could fight, but the cuts on her hand, face and thigh, prove she’s no match for the widows, even if she could.

Natasha wants more than anything to be left alone.

The doctors tell her exactly what to do, then they cuff her to the bed. They inject her with god knows what, and she feels herself falling, just as it did when Dreykov injected her the first time.

She’s still conscious but everything is delayed. They draw blood, they attach electrodes to her and monitor vital signs.

If she falls asleep, she can escape the trauma of them acting on a body that’s not hers, but then she wouldn’t know what they’re doing.

It’s a catch 22 where she can’t win.

.

They dump her in a cell to herself.

Jace stands watch and she’s thankful that it’s her; out of anyone.

There’s a single bang on the door.

It used to mean someone’s coming.

Apparently it still does.

Dreykov enters her room, Jace still stands tall, eyes forward as he enters.

“Lay down Natasha,” he tells her.

She does.

She hates herself.

He sits on the bed next to her and smiles, a snarl underneath.

“Look how well the Nanites are working, you’ve taken a beating so well,” he laughs, “well three beatings. The way Jace hit you, you’d think she hates you.”

He pushes his hand into the cut that’s deep on her thigh. She winces, unable to stop it playing across her face.

“Does it hurt? Does this hurt?” he asks squeezing.

His hand lingers as he pushes her hair away from her face.

“You look so pretty with all your bruises, but they’ll be gone tomorrow; we’ll just have to do it again.”

Dreykov stands.

“Maybe next time, we will have more fun with you, hmm?”

He takes a small washcloth from his pocket and throws it on her.

“You’ve taken this punishment so well, but this is only the beginning,” he announces.

“You think your friends will find us, but they’ll never find us here.”

There’s another smile.

“Patch yourself up,” he nods.

“You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

.

Natasha vomits in the toilet. The cell has a sink, a toilet and a bed.

She does as he says and wipes herself down. Gets rid of the dried blood and scrubs hard at the place she can still feel his hand on her thigh and face.

She’s trying desperately to hold it together but little by little she can feel herself withdrawing, let the black widow take over.

She knows what that means though, remembers how hard it was to claw her way back the last time.

It all hurts so much, not only in her body but in her soul.

It feels like it’s being broken bit by bit and the people that helped her to put it back together won’t be so lucky this time.

She won’t be so lucky.

Even if they find her.

How can she be whole after this?

She’s drifting,

Jace opens the door, and Natasha vomits once more, then stands, half dressed to face her.

“I hate you,” Jace opens.

“You left us and they… they got meaner, more brutal afterwards.”

She takes a step towards Natasha, the glint of a dagger in her hand, Natasha watches warily.

“But I never forgot you, and I wanted the best for you. Even as they tortured us, even as they asked if we were going to defect too.”

There’s a break in her voice.

“We hold onto what we can here. They’ll inject you daily. It’s chemical. It will take over your brain. It means you have to follow everything they say, whatever they say. They say jump, you jump until they say stop. They say strip, you do. They say kill, you have no choice. They say fight, and you hit your friend.”

She opens her hand and Natasha sees the scar on her palm. For it to still be there, for it to be scarred, she knows Jace must have cut into her hand nightly. It’s something she would have done too to stay present in herself.

“I think I loved you,” she says offering the dagger.

Natasha takes it, feeling emotions that she can’t deal with.

“I know I loved you,” she whispers back.

“I’m sorry.”

And she means it.

Jace shakes her head and adjusts her gun.

“Only use it on the widows, you won’t be able to on Dreykov or any of the guards. If they come for you, you can protect yourself.”

It’s an obvious warning. They’re gunning for you. No one is coming to save you.

Natasha nods in thanks.

Jace pulls her in for a quick hug.

Kisses the top of her head.

“Salaam Natalia.”

“Salaam Jace.”

A whisper and a prayer.

.

#whumptober2022 #no.11 #self done first aid #natasha romanoff fic #injury #red room #implied/referenced torture #non con touching #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #hawkeye #tony stark #clintasha fanfiction #natasha romanoff/clint barton

[whumping-in-the-dark]

Chapter 3: Very Soon

Ingredients: creepy whumper, intimate whumper, non con touching, alluded future non con, stress position

Throughout the rest of the ride, Matt could think of nothing but the abuse the man was sure to rain upon him. Even outdoors, he had already been stripped half-naked. Would he even be allowed to wear clothes indoors?

No. Don't think like that. The fucking law isn't dead yet. Just one complaint and the man would be arrested by the police, right? Just one. It's not like he's being taken to another country or something. Maybe someone would come for a casual visit, discover his bullshit and report him?

"Mhm. We're almost home, little rabbit." Finding the remote in the glove compartment, the man opened the garage door as if it was his own fucking house and casually parked the car inside, before closing it of course.

"Right." He mumbled as he got out of the car.

Matt held his breath, waiting for the moment he'd throw open the backseat door and grin down at him-- which he did.

"Getting impatient now, are we?" The man raised a brow at his glare, chuckling to himself. "Aw. Sorry to keep you waiting, love."

Matt squirmed as the man grabbed his ankle, rocking his vision as he dragged him out of the car. A muffled wince escaped his mouth as his head hit the concrete floor.

"Oh yeah?" The man let go. "I'm doing all the work, yet you have the nerve to complain, hm? How about you walk yourself then?" Matt would like that, yes. "Or should I say... crawl?"

Matt's stomach recoiled.

"That's right, mhm." The man leaned down to pat his hair, then smirked as he jerked away from the touch. "Unless... you'd rather I carry you inside? Would you like that, little rabbit."

Matt simply stared at him, wide-eyed. How low could this man go?

Grabbing a fistful of his brown hair, he pulled his face up close. "I'm sure you can give me a simple yes and no answer. Do you want to crawl the way inside?" His tone was low and measured-- deadly even. His eyes had suddenly lost all their mirth, instead being reduced to sharp slits.

Matt quickly shook his head as best as he could, heart ready to jump out of his chest.

As if he weighed nothing, the man pulled him up with a jerk and threw him over his shoulder.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut as the man began to walk, the ground swaying beneath him. Pitched forward at the hips, he felt like a child, waiting for punishment. With every breath he was forced to inhale the man's strong cologne. At least there was enough of a height difference that Matt's head didn't reach anywhere below the waist.

"Look at how sweet you are right now, darling." The man's playful tone had returned. Matt didn't know whether to be relieved or further upset. "Do you like me carrying you? Like this?" The hand on his legs slowly moved up, cupping his ass.

Matt whimpered.

"You don't want me to do that?"

Matt whimpered again, hoping it'd get the message across. No. Absolutely not.

The man chuckled, squeezing his ass now. "You've got such a pretty body, little rabbit. I'd love to explore it. Wouldn't you let me do that?"

Matt whined, squirming in his grasp.

"No?"

No. Nononononononono. No.

"Hmm... Fair enough." The man's hand moved lower, finally settling back on the back of his thighs. Matt was grateful he still had his pants on.

"You know..." The man stopped walking and, almost gently, laid Matthew down on the couch. As the couch dipped next to his head, Matt dared to open his eyes. "...one day..." The man stroked his hair, running his fingers through the locks, swiping them away from his face. "...you'll beg me to fuck you." And just like that Matt's near calm was ruined. "You will. I just know it."

Matt jerked his head away, uncaring that it made himself nearly slide on to the floor, if not for the man dragging him back up by the hair.

"I'm being nice to you, my little rabbit." The man continued as he went back to stroking his hair. "What I'm saying is that I won't fuck you without your consent."

Matt's guts twisted. Lies. He could already tell he was lying. Yet, the words provided a shred of comfort. He won't be getting raped right now. He still had time to steel himself. To run away.

"Alright." The man stood up abruptly. "I have to freshen up now-- explore our new house too, yes. I'll be back in a bit, hm? You won't miss me, right?"

Matt only frowned up at him. Why the fuck would he be missed?

"Aw. I know you will." The man smiled, reaching for the length of chains laid down unnoticed by Matt on the coffee take earlier. "Got these from the garage. I saw so many other wonderful tools there too. We could play around with them someday, yes?"

No. Matt watched helplessly as the man coiled the chains around his ankles, binding them together. No matter which furniture the man would tie him to, he was sure he could pull it all the way outside... right? All hope of that too, however, dropped from his chest when the man turned him down to his chest and grabbed his hands. Bowing his back, he bound his wrists and ankles together, before padlocking the chains.

Flipping him back up, the man grinned down at him. "You look so pretty like this already. If only I'd take that remaining clothing off of you and have you spread your legs for me." The man licked his lips and Matt felt himself slipping away... into hopelessness and despair. "That day will come though. Don't you worry. It will come very very soon."

With that, the man walked off to the door on the right, leaving Matt trembling in a cold sweat, a steady flow of tears dampening his hair.

#mewrites #mattanddanny #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #non con touching #stress position #hogtying #threatened future noncon #whumpblr #whump #whump writing

[envy-of-the-apple]

The Earth Kills the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part two of The Sun Eats the Moon

Synopsis: A retelling of The Sun Eats the Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you. 

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in. 

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you. 

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other. 

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.” 

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.” 

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru. 

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.” 

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty. 

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.” 

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you. 

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals. 

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter. 

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before. 

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before. 

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like. 

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru. 

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk. 

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects. 

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday. 

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash. 

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you. 

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says. 

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side. 

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger. 

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru. 

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were. 

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction. 

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks. 

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them. 

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful. 

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything. 

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you. 

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal. 

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms. 

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten. 

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times. 

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed. 

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru. 

It took a while for you to fully learn that. 

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar. 

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough. 

You made Satoru angry. 

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this. 

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago." 

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-" 

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?" 

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again." 

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze. 

"I'm sorry...’Toru." 

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness. 

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it. 

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it. 

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's. 

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you. 

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you. 

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things. 

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most. 

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again. 

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru. 

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does. 

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end. 

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down. 

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore. 

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy. 

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him. 

And then, you break. 

Just a bit. 

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him. 

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing. 

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there." 

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away. 

You were leaving. 

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words. 

You seem to realize this too, freezing. 

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve. 

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out. 

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further. 

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town. 

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru. 

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes. 

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back. 

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit. 

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise. 

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace. 

And Satoru breaks. 

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day. 

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it. 

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend. 

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds. 

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun. 

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark content #dark gojo satoru #dark jjk #non con touching #gojo satoru #yandere gojo satoru #x reader #bullying #harrassment #non con kissing #geto suguru

[a-crumb-of-whump]

tw // noncon

since you said you take noncon requests, i'd like to tie ollie down to a bed and use coco as a dildo.

THIS IS NEXT LEVEL CRUEL /lh

Content: Non-con, restraints, dehumanisation, begging, multiple whumpees, immortal whumpee, tiny whumpee, winged whumpee, humiliation.

Ollie knows where you're going with this the moment you tie him down on his stomach and rip his clothes off, piece by piece. He thrashes and screams at you to let him go, looking back as best he can at what you're going.

"P-please no," Coco whispers from inside your hand. It has tears running freely down Its face, staining Its cheeks as it watches you cover it in lubrication. "Ollie..."

You hear both Ollie and Coco let out a cry as you slowly push the fairy inside him. It has a piece of string around Its body to keep Its wings flat against Its back, and that only adds to the pain as you push it until all you can see is Its bare feet. Its struggling only causes Ollie to clench more, sending it slightly deeper.

"You are sick!" Ollie cries, desperately pulling on the rope holding him down. "Take it out! Take it out! Please!"

Instead, you start to slowly slide it in and out, occasionally ordering it to grow a little once he starts to get used to the feeling. It is so painful and so humiliating for the both of them.

#whump #whump stuff #whump things #whump thoughts #whump scenarios #non con touching #immortal whumpee #tiny whumpee #immortal whump #tiny whump #multiple whumpees #whump drabble #oc coco #o&c ask

[susiequaz12]

Marlowe the Immortal- Vampire AU Part 4

Part 4 of the Vampire AU for poor Marlowe. The masterlist for all their stories is here.  Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

CW: Immortal whumpee, nonbinary whumpee, vampire whumper, defiant whumpee, intimate whumper, multiple whumpers, drugged whumpee, noncon nudity, noncon touching, blood mention. 

- - -

Solomon was excited. He couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reactions- to see how they’d praise him when they discovered he’d found the perfect human. He’d deposited Lo outside the door to the main meeting room and untied all their restraints. They wouldn’t be needing any for a while. 

He walked into the room to find the other eleven vampires sitting around the long, rectangular wooden table. There was an empty seat at the head for him and he felt the stares as he walked to stand at his place. 

“Why are we here Sol, what’s the surprise.” Darian stated. He was seated at the opposite end, the unspoken leader of their camp. 

“God, please let it be some food. I’m tired of this pig shit.” 

“Shut up Roland.” Darian waved his hand across the table, motioning for Solomon to continue. 

Sol nodded, taking a deep breath, finding the best way to state this. 

“I did find food. In fact, I’ve found sort of, an end to our food shortage for good.”

“And how did you find this endless supply of blood? It couldn’t have been a simple task.” Darian stated.

“I tracked it for weeks. It finally let it’s guard down, so I was able to capture it. There should be enough for you all to get your fill, and then some.” Sol stated.

“Well, go get whatever ‘it’ is then, Solomon.” 

“Yes sir.” He nodded. 

Sol stepped out of the room with a sigh, finding Lo in a heap on the floor, drooling, almost exactly how he’d left them. He scooped the human up, eyes rolling around in their head as their arms went limp. They were so drugged up with vampire venom, it was a surprise the human was still conscious. 

There was complete silence as he entered the room. And then Roland spoke, rising slowly from his chair. 

“That’s just a human Solomon. How are twelve of us supposed to share one, pathetically small human?” 

So many pairs of eyes bore into the naked body in Solomon’s arms. So many pairs of hungry fangs drooled over the blood beneath the flushed skin. Sol couldn’t help but smile as they were all waiting for him. All eagerly anticipating this answer.

“This human can’t die.” 

- - -

There were too many bright lights. 

Lo could barely keep their eyes open as it was, but everything was so harsh- the sounds of muffled voices, the smell of the room, the feeling of rough hands holding them tight. 

They were moving. Someone was carrying them, laying them down on their back. 

The surface was hard- it was tough, wooden- they thought. Their fingertips lazily felt the grains beneath them, brushing over the cool surface as their body seemed to sink deeper and deeper. It was as if they were falling, but there was nowhere to go. 

They pulled back to reality as someone was touching them- a hand tangled in their hair. Lo’s eyes barely made out Solomon’s face above theirs, dark eyes seeming to stare into their soul. After focusing their vision they made out two simple words mouthed from the vampires lips. 

Be good. 

And then there was a sharp pain. 

They wanted to wince- to cry out but their body wouldn’t listen.

Someone’s hands were on them, gripping Lo’s skin in a tight fist. They could see countless figures all blurring in front of their vision. There was a presence near Lo’s head, and they realized, all too late- that the pain was a pair of fangs digging into their neck. Another pair quickly found their way into Lo’s other shoulder, and then their arms were grabbed and nearly pulled apart. 

Too many hands gripped into their skin- too many fangs piercing. One on their neck, the other on their shoulder, near the collarbone. There was a set of fangs on each elbow, one on each wrist, and a matching set of hands holding Lo tight, digging nails and raking bruises into their delicate skin. 

They felt their body flinch uncontrollably as a cold hand settled on their stomach, a pair of fangs digging into their hip. Another crawled up their ribcage, fangs nearly hitting the bone and Lo tried to whine. 

They couldn’t even count the rest of the fangs on their thigh, the ankle- they barely registered as their leg was grabbed and twisted, sharp pains in the back of their knee and further up their leg. 

Tears were streaming down their face- the pain was immense and their body felt like it was on fire, but there was nothing they could do. 

Even if they hadn’t been drowned in vampire venom, there were too many hands, too many iron grips and sharp fangs holding them so tightly in place- in whatever way the vampires wanted. 

They couldn’t move. They could barely register their breaths deep in their chest as their mouth hung open- trying to make room for more air. They could feel the tears streaming down their face, their sweat sticky against their skin. 

There wasn’t even enough air to scream. Anytime they tried, a pair of fangs would dig in deeper to cut off their breath, lips pressed tight against the skin as they drew as much blood as possible. 

Lo felt themselves fading slowly. Somehow their limbs grew heavier against the dark wood. They took some comfort in knowing it wouldn’t last much longer. 

But then what? 

Would they wait until the body was full of blood once more, and continue with their feast? How many times would Lo have to die in order for twelve vampires to get their fill of Lo’s blood?

Lo’s tear-filled eyes darted up as a hand carded through their hair. It was partially comforting- mostly possessive, and they could make out Solomon, they recognized the touch and the hot breath against their neck from where they were feeding. 

One of the vampires laughed as Lo’s muscles tensed when a hand gripped hard between their legs. They couldn’t flinch- couldn’t pull away or beg in protest as they were groped.

There was so much venom in their system that they could do no more than whimper from the back of their throat. The hand stayed there as another pushed their leg up further, and they felt fingers curving around the delicate skin, a pair of fangs searching for a spot to pierce. 

The vampire’s breath was hot and heavy against the back of their thigh and their fangs landed on the soft curve of Lo’s backside, piercing into the sensitive skin as the hand continued to grip them tightly. 

Lo wanted nothing more than to cry out and shove all of the vampires away. Their neck arched backwards against the table, but it couldn’t move far. A scream was lodged tight in their throat as they were groped and punctured, their body nothing more than a sack of blood to be devoured. 

Finally- after what felt like too long- they began fading. Black spots dotted their vision, and breaths came shorter and fewer in between.

Lo was always scared for what came next, but with the release of death came nothing but peace, if not for at least a moment. It was familiar, it was comfortable. That nothingness of existence, the floating in between of neither here nor there. It was like a home to Lo. 

The last thing they felt was each pair of fangs leaving their skin as the blood supply ran dry. 

The vampires wiped their mouths, licked clean the remaining drops of blood, and watched as the life faded from Lo’s body.

“Well shit, I thought you said it couldn’t die.” Roland stated, wiping his drool away from his face. 

“It can’t stay dead, I guess I should say.” Sol replied. He glanced at the human lying below him. Lo had gone incredibly pale, eyes rolled back in their head, arms spread out by their sides, legs flopped over and limp. He knew this was cruel, letting twelve vampires feed on one human all at the same time. Sol knew how tiring, and draining just one regular feeding could be, let alone twelve with the collective goal of sucking you dry. 

But as Sol himself had fed, his instincts had taken over. He did his best to ignore the rest of the vampires- their touches, their gulps of blood, and ignored the shaking and trembling of the figure as he held the human’s head in his grasp. 

But now, Lo finally looked at peace. They finally looked calm, and safe, despite all of the red, angry puncture wounds that were slowly beginning to fade. 

“How long is it going to take, Solomon?” Darian asked. 

“I’m not sure. But it should wake up. Look- the marks are already fading.” 

Sol was right, the dozens of tiny puncture holes were closing up, color already forming back into the human’s face and down their chest and limbs. 

“I don’t know if it’s the starvation, or something’s special about it- but that’s the best damn human I’ve ever tasted.” One of the vampires piped up. 

“No, I agree. Something about it just makes me want more- I could go for seconds.” Another stated.

“I think twelve all at once might’ve been a little too much. It doesn’t give us all a chance to take as much as we want.” Sol said.

“Well then what do you propose?” Darian leaned forward over the other end of the table, his eyes scanned up and down the body in front of them as if he could feed on looks alone. 

“Two at a time?” Sol suggested. “I should at least take it to get some water, to recover and get it’s blood supply up faster, and then we pair up and take turns getting as much as we want.”

The vampires hummed in agreement, glancing around the room to find their partner to take their turn with the human. 

“That’s a great idea Solomon.” Darian stated. “Take it and fix it up however it needs, and then be back in, fifteen minutes?” 

“Oh, I can’t wait fifteen minutes!” Roland whined. 

“Just for that Roland you can go last.” 

“Well shit.” 

Solomon nodded and slid the lifeless body off of the table. It was freezing cold, but slowly, as he carried Lo back to their little storage room, he could feel their skin begin to warm in his arms. 

- - -

Taglist: @imagination1reality0 @whumpsday @thecyrulik @no-terms-and-conditions-apply

#immortal whumpee #Marlowe the immportal #nonbinary whumpee #vampire whumper #multiple whumpers #vampire feeding #drugged #nudity #non con touching #they really did a number on Lo didn't they #this is honestly probably one of my favorite things I've written #Lo legit just gets devoured #it's so frustrating when they're not restrained and yet they still can't move #they'll get some sort of caretaking here soon though don't worry

[sapphireginger]

Title: Thrett Taeken

Pairings: Brileo (Brett Talbot + Stiles Stilinski + Theo Raeken)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Word Count: 4,581

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Brief Sexual Non-Con Homophobia/Homophobia Slurs

Square Filled: "Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are?”

Written For: @anyfandomangstbingo

Summary:

Two guys are in love with their oblivious best friend. What will it take for him to see that he has them and could have them completely??

Stiles picks at his curly fries barely looking up when his roommate and his best friend drop into the booth with him. Theo sits next to him and Brett sits across from him. They know why Stiles is there at the diner looking like he looks. His chocolate curls are disheveled and he looks like he hasn't slept but in spite of those things he looks beautiful.

His long sleeved red shirt accentuates his muscles and with the sleeves rolled up, his forearms are alluring. His eyes flicker from Brett to Theo and then he gives them a small smile. They always come when he needs them most. Especially when he has been stood up. Again.

"You know..." Theo starts. "...if you were mine I'd hold your hand and show you off to everyone. I'd tell anyone who would listen just how amazing you are. I'd never make you hide what we are."

Brett hums in agreement. "Mhm. If you were mine I'd take you out every night and then bring you back for cuddles. I'd treat you like a King and never let you doubt your worth."

They both smile at him and speak simultaneously. "We'd never stand you up like this."

Stiles feels his cheeks go hot and playfully rolls his eyes even as his stomach swoops. "You guys have each other."

The two guys quirk a brow at him. Brett is the one to reply. "We always have room for you."

It's comments like that which confuse Stiles. Both Brett and Theo make such comments all the time. He shrugs, deciding to wave it off as being anything other than teasing. "You're too much."

Brett and Theo grin. "Mhm. But we all know you can more than handle it," they say simultaneously before adding a wink.

Stiles feels butterflies swarming in his stomach and smiles, his eyes welling with tears. "You two are the best," he whispers.

"That's it! Movie night!" Theo exclaims. Brett nods as Theo continues. "You, me and Brett. Star Wars Movie Marathon. We'll have pizza, popcorn and soda. Topped off with cuddles under fluffy blankets."

Brett grins. "My place?" he asks, both him and Theo looking at Stiles.

Stiles wipes his face and nods, his heart swelling. "Sounds perfect."

The three of them get up and Stiles leaves money for the food before leaving with his best friends.

Once upon a time Stiles would've, if asked, said he didn't have a best friend, preferring to go it alone despite obviously being a social butterfly. Now though well he would answer that his best friends are Theo Raeken and Brett Talbot. Neither ask for more than Stiles was willing to give and never have any expectations.

Although Stiles can admit they are both hotter than the sun and when he's alone he will admit just to himself that he wishes they were serious about him.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Stiles has been Brett's roommate since freshman year of college. They are now both in their senior year of college. Theo was in Stiles's literature class sophomore year and they clicked instantly. Then when Stiles invited Theo over to their off campus apartment to hang out he introduced Theo to his roommate Brett.

Now at that point while Stiles found them both extremely attractive and appealing, he hadn't seen himself dating either of them. Which was just as well since a couple months later Brett and Theo got together. Despite expecting to be a third wheel, Stiles never felt like one. They always include him in everything they do which Stiles is confused about. He wonders if they ever even have sex because as far as he had seen they don't.

Over the course of their first semester of junior year at the university, Stiles develops a crush on both of them and he feels really guilty about it. They are his best friends and here he is picturing more with both of them. Not to mention whenever the three of them do hang out the two guys make sure to pull Stiles between them and cuddle him. He doesn't complain but he does feel guilty about how much he wants it.

This is why he starts dating or well setting up dates only to be stood up every single time. The one time he actually goes on a date the guy disappears, leaving Stiles with the check. The guy had said they'd split it but it makes Stiles wince at how much it will cost him now that he has to pay it all.

After that he tries to only do dates at diners or at least more affordable places because why risk another walk out? If one day he finds his forever person then he'll go to a fancier restaurant. For now, he will gladly live off of curly fries and bacon cheeseburgers.

He has almost completely sworn off anymore dates many times but then he will see how happy Brett and Theo are together and just can't resist trying to find what they have for himself.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Theo and Brett want to date Stiles, but he is oblivious to all of their attempts. They cuddle him, cook for him, take him to the movies, help him study, and many many more but it seems to go right over the amber eyed man's head every single time.

"The only other option is bluntness," Brett says around his toothbrush.

Theo sighs. "Maybe we should just kiss him one right after the other."

Brett rinses and spits before shaking his head. "He'd never forgive us or believe us."

"How can he be so oblivious to our advances?"

The two curl up in Brett's bed and Brett kisses Theo's temple. "It might be too good to be true in his mind. I know he has feelings for us but he probably needs more time or something."

Theo scoffs. "Or a more straightforward approach. We'll just say...Stiles we–"

"What's this about Stiles?" said man asks from the doorway.

Both guys immediately pull the duvet back and smile when Stiles dives in between them. Theo and Brett exchange a look over their friend's head as he dozes off. They'll figure this out. Stiles is worth it and more.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Stiles doesn't know why he chose to take a political science class but it's not as bad as he thought it would be. Not to mention the eye candy. The guy of course would never be with someone like Stiles and he's also not as hot as Brett and Theo but a guy can admire a good looking man.

The class ends and Stiles starts packing up his things only to pause when movement in the corner of his eyes catches his attention. It's the guy he's been watching.

"So...Stiles right?"

"Y-Yeah. That's me. Did you need something?" he asks shyly.

"Name's Tanner. I noticed you seem to really know what you're talking about in this class and well I love a guy with a brain."

Stiles's cheeks twinge pink. "Thanks."

Tanner grins and Stiles feels his heart race at the smile. "You're welcome. So I was thinking..."

"Sounds dangerous," Stiles snarks and then flushes.

"It can be but I think you'll like what I was thinking," Tanner replies, not missing a beat.

"Oh? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking we should go out."

Stiles's eyes widen slightly. "Out? Like a d-date?" he squeaks–a manly squeak–out.

Tanner chuckles and nods. "Yes. A date. You and me. There's a new club that opened up and it's got the best reviews. I think seeing you on the dance floor is just what the doctor ordered."

"We uh we barely know each other though," he points out feeling both nervous and slightly hopeful at the same time.

"Then this is the perfect opportunity to get to know each other better." He offers his number to Stiles and smirks. "Call me." He starts to walk away as Stiles holds the paper with his number almost reverently. "Oh and Stiles?"

"Huh?"

"Dress sexy. I mean I love the plaid but I want to see just what you have underneath."

Stiles's cheeks burn but he gathers his things and leaves the lecture hall. He's so focused on getting back to his apartment to tell his friends that he misses the snickering of Tanner's friends standing near the lecture hall door.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

"Brett! Theo! Guys!" he hollers as he hurries into their apartment.

Theo looks over from his place on the couch and Brett peeks out from the kitchen. Neither are wearing shirts, because of course they aren't. He shakes his head and starts bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I have a date."

The look they exchange isn't surprising but they do smile at him. Theo tilts his head. "Who is it with? Is he cute? Where is the date?"

Stiles grins his cheeks twinging pink. "His name is Tanner. He's gorgeous. It'll be at a new club." He bites his lip nervously. "He also told me to dress sexy."

Brett blinks and huffs. "You look good the way you are now. Why do guys insist on telling their dates how to dress?" He heads back into the kitchen with his jaw clenched. He doesn't want Stiles to go on a date. He wants him here with them.

Theo tells Stiles to go pick an outfit and then once he's out of ear shot Brett feels arms slip around his waist. "He wants us to go with him. He's nervous, baby. As his friends we need to be there for him. Plus, I don't like it any more than you do. If we're there we can intervene if the guy is a douchenozzle."

"He totally is."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Brett huffs. "We'll see."

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Stiles calls Tanner and they set a date for that evening. He is a ball of nervous energy as he gets dressed. The outfit is perfect and definitely sexy. He chooses a neon pink G-string thong, silver metallic shorts, pastel rainbow converse and a black hooded mesh crop top. Then he applies mascara, eyeliner and some lip gloss to top off his look.

"Well? What do you think?" he asks his friends when he enters the living room.

The other guys gape at him, their pupils dilating. Theo is the first to recover. "You're absolutely so fucking sexy. Tanner is a lucky guy."

"Oh, shut up," Stiles says with a shy smile. "Is it really okay?" he asks, his eyes on Brett knowing he'll give it to him straight.

Brett remembers Theo's words from before and smiles as he nods. "He'll never know what hit him."

Stiles beams at his friends. "Perfect! Are you both ready to go?"

The two guys are dressed in black skinny jeans, black converse and Theo is in a lime green shirt with a black leather jacket over it while Brett is in a neon pink shirt with a white jacket over it.

"I was born ready," Theo says.

Stiles laughs and heads to the door. "Let's go get our party on!"

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

The club isn't as packed as Stiles was expecting it to be, considering it's new and apparently five star reviewed. Tanner isn't easy to spot at first, so Stiles joins Brett and Theo for a little liquid courage. He startles when two hot hands grip his hips. "You look so fucking sexy," Tanner purrs in his ear.

Stiles swallows thickly as he blushes and leans into the contact. "Why don't you take me to the dance floor and show me just how sexy you think I am?" Thank fuck for liquid courage.

He lets himself be led away by Tanner oblivious to the way Brett tries to follow before Theo stops him.

"No Brett. Let him dance. We can't let how we feel ruin this for him."

"Fine," he snaps and downs two more shots. His eyes never leave their friend though. Theo doesn't blame him one bit. They are fiercely protective of Stiles and want the best for him. He's been hurt a lot.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Stiles is addicted to the way Tanner grips his hips and the feeling of his hot breath on his neck. He lets his head fall back on the guy's shoulder as their hips grind together. His back is to Tanner's chest and it's perfect. Stiles has never felt more desired than he does right now.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

"Tell me something?" Tanner whispers in his ear as he nips at Stiles's ear lobe.

"What do you wanna know?" he asks with a moan.

Their bodies undulate with the beat of the music and Stiles lets his eyes flutter closed. Tanner's grip tightens pulling their bodies flush together as he whispers in Stiles's ear again. "Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are?"

Stiles's eyes snap open and he freezes. "W-What? I-I don't–"

"Sure, you do," Tanner taunts as he squeezes Stiles's hard cock through his shorts. "Your little cock is all hard because of me. You were gagging for cock. Everyone knows how pathetic you are and how no one ever actually goes on the dates they ask you out for." His hand gropes Stiles, smirking at the tears forming in the amber eyes.

"Let go of me please?"

"Awww. What's the matter baby? Isn't this what you wanted?" His hand slides up and into the waistband of Stiles's shorts, his fingers grasping the now flaccid cock. "Now you can't get it up huh? Poor pathetic pretty sissy boy."

Stiles tries to fight back the tears but can't and they stream down his face. "Just let me go. Stop touching me!" His voice rises and Tanner is about to make another comment when he's shoved away from Stiles by a guy that to be honest scares the shit out of him.

"He said no! He told you to let him go! Do you not know anything about fucking consent?!" Brett snarls as Theo wraps his arms around Stiles.

Tanner scoffs. "He's a fairy boy who no one wants to date. So, the least he can do is be a good fuck, right?" He looks at Stiles. "We were having fun weren't we pretty bo–" he cuts off, hollering as he clutches his face where blood starts gushing from his nose as Brett pulls his fist back.

Theo guides Stiles to the bathroom and has him hop on the counter. Brett joins them not even five minutes later. His heart shatters completely.

Tanner—the "poli sci" guy—is a fucking asshole and Stiles's mascara that had looked so beautiful on him is running down his cheeks. Theo gets a wet paper towel to clean up Stiles's face and then Brett reapplies the makeup.

"He's right. I am pathetic. I just want to be wanted. I want to be loved. I want what you guys have. I want to be desired. I don't think that's such a bad thing or too much to ask." He sniffles and fiddles with the hen of his shorts.

Brett wraps his arms around Stiles and the amber eyed man loves it. He loves hugs from both of them, but Brett's height makes him feel small yet safe and protected at the same time.

"I don't know how I got so lucky to have you guys as my friends."

Theo smiles softly. "We're the lucky ones."

Stiles snorts. "Your luck sucks then. I'm not that great."

"Lies," Brett replies with a soft smile.

They see Stiles wave off their words as being a joke to cheer him up.

Once Stiles double checks his makeup and outfit are okay, he heads back out with his friends promising to join him shortly. They look at each other determined and nod. It's time Stiles understood how they feel about him.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Stiles is taking a breather at one of the standing tables when the lights suddenly dim, and two silhouettes appear on stage. He glances around for his friends only to gape when those very friends are the ones onstage.

"Dirty Thoughts" by Chloe Adams starts playing and Stiles thinks it's perfect for the two of them.

I get dirty thoughts about you They get worse when I'm without you Does that mean that I'm going to hell? Or are you thinking them as well? Whoa

When I'm lonely All the corners of my mind start racing Things that should be kept in the basement Spend my time trying to erase them (erase them)

But when you hold me In the fantasy, it's so convincing I shouldn't think the things I'm thinking But now I've gone and let them sink in (ah)

The more that I push 'em away The more that you're stuck in my brain The more I mentally undress, I confess

As the song continues, realization slowly dawns on Stiles that they aren't singing to each other. They're singing to him.

It makes him self consciously adjust his outfit. The silver metallic booty shorts catch the neon lights as the spotlights spin. He scuffs his pastel rainbow converse against the floor and starts chewing on the strings of his black hooded mesh crop top. He's glad Brett and Theo touched up his makeup because people keep glancing at him.

As they continue singing they draw him up on stage and he's treated to the best sexy dance ever.

I get dirty thoughts about you They get worse when I'm without you Does that mean that I'm going to hell? Or are you thinking them as well? Whoa

I get dirty thoughts about you They're so strong that I'm about to Say them all to you out loud God can't save me now, whoa

I'm frustrated Do you really look good naked? And I know that it ain't that holy But Lord, I need this one night only

The more that I push 'em away The more that you're stuck in my brain The more I mentally undress, I confess

I get dirty thoughts about you They get worse when I'm without you Does that mean that I'm going to hell? Or are you thinking them as well? Whoa

He melts into their touch and lets his body move with theirs. It's so good. It feels so right. He feels desired. It's almost perfect. He just wishes he could have it all the time.

I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts (th-th-th-thoughts) I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts about you

I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts (th-th-th-thoughts) I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts about you

The audience is so into it, and they cheer loudly as the song comes to an end. As much as Brett and Theo want to kiss Stiles then and there, they don't. They will but not yet.

Tanner has been banned from the club now and the owner comped their drinks.

They leave not long after the song finishes and make their way home. None of them say anything, all lost in thought, especially Stiles.

When they get home, they all get changed out of their club clothes. Brett and Theo pull on black sweatpants but forgo shirts. Stiles on the other hand needs comfort right now.

So, he pulls on a blue pair of Theo's boxer briefs and a black hoodie belonging to Brett. The hoodie is down to Stiles's mid thigh making the short shorts seem non-existent. It does something to Brett and Theo, seeing Stiles in their clothes. They just have to kiss him. Still, they wait.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Pizza is ordered along with a DoorDash delivery of curly fries which has Stiles doing a happy dance as he scarfs them down enthusiastically.

"You guys are the best!"

Brett grins, pleased that Stiles loves it so much. He glances at Theo who nods and then they each take a deep breath.

"Hey Stiles?" Theo starts.

Stiles glances up at the more serious tone. "Yeah?"

"There's something we need to tell you."

Brett offers a reassuring smile, knowing how quickly Stiles can jump to conclusions. "It's important but we want you to hear us out. Okay?"

Stiles lowers the box of curly fries to his lap and nods. "Okay. Are you kicking me out?"

"What?" Theo sputters. "No! Absolutely not!"

"Oh. Are you–Well you're not pregnant so you don't need my room for a nursery although if you did, I would totally move into the closet. Have you seen your closet?"

Brett blinks, his jaw dropping. "There's no baby, neither of us are pregnant nor will we ever be pregnant, and we'll never make you move out."

Stiles's brow furrows as his eyes narrow suspiciously. "Is this about Tanner?" he asks, his body tensing. "I didn't want it and I froze. I'm fine now. You don't have to worry about me. I have no intention of going on any more dates ever again."

"Ever?" Brett inquires softly. "What if you meet the right person?"

"There is no one right person," Stiles replies because it's true. In a perfect world he'd have the right people and those are the two people right in front of him.

Theo shakes his head. "It's not about the douchenozzle but we'll come back to him because you do need to talk about what happened."

Stiles pouts nibbling on a curly fry. "I know. So, can you tell me already? Wait! Did one of you contract a deadly virus and now we have to be quarantined for the rest of our lives?"

His friends look at him a bit exasperated even as their expressions are also fond. Brett sighs and pats the cushion between him and Theo. "Come here Stiles."

"It must be serious if I have to sit with you. Do you have cancer?" he asks even as he quickly and eagerly sits between them. It's his favorite place to be after all.

"No. Neither of us have cancer."

"Do I have cancer and you're trying to break it to me gently?"

Theo shakes his head. "No. You don't have cancer." He glances at Brett who is gripping his arms, so he doesn't latch onto Stiles yet. "Do you know what you do have though?"

Stiles tilts his head. "What?"

"You have us," Brett says, grasping the opening Theo gave him. "You have us. You've always had us, and you always will have us."

"Oooookay," Stiles replies, drawing the word out with a bemused expression on his face. "I should hope so. You're my best friends."

Theo grins. "We are but do you remember back when Brett and I got together, how you were worried you'd feel left out?"

Stiles nods. "Well yeah. It was scary to me."

"Did you ever feel left out?"

"No. Never. You guys always included me." He snorts. "Sometimes I felt almost like I was dating you guys which is completely ridiculous and would never happen. The only thing we were missing was kissing."

Brett smirks and gently takes Stiles's hand playing with his fingers. "Well if we kissed you now, would you feel like we were dating?"

Stiles frowns and snatches his hand away. "No. Because you're dating Theo. That would be cheating."

Theo takes Stiles's other hand making the amber eyed man glance at him. "Well, what if after he kissed you, I kissed you? Would you feel like we were dating then?"

"I-I–I don't know? What does–Why are you–I'm confused."

His nose scrunches up and the other two guys find it adorable. Brett takes a deep breath and meets Stiles's gaze. "We want to date you, Stiles. We want to be together. All three of us."

Stiles tilts his head as his heart pounds in his chest and his stomach swoops. "H-How would that work? Am I dreaming?"

"Count your fingers," Theo says, and Stiles does.

"1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10," he whispers. "There's ten. I'm not dreaming. Are you guys sure that you–"

Brett's hands gently cup Stiles's jaw as he smiles. "We're one hundred percent sure. We had hoped you would figure it out, but we realized that it was just not working. So, we decided it was time to be straightforward and blunt."

Stiles stares at him and then melts into his touch. "Are you sure?" he asks, swaying towards Brett so their lips are almost touching. "You won't change your mind, will you?"

"No. We want you as ours. Forever."

Their lips meet, Stiles soft and hesitant. Then he takes a leap of faith and eagerly kisses Brett with such enthusiasm Brett can't help smiling.

Stiles pulls back blushing furiously. Then he freezes and glances at Theo. "How does this work with three people?"

Theo moves closer as Brett guides Stiles closer, turning their bodies to face each other as Theo drapes himself against Stiles's back. "We'll show you if you'll let us."

Stiles searches their faces, turns his head back to catch Theo's lips in a heated kiss before pulling back and nodding. "Show me."

And show him they do.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Nothing really changes except the knowledge that they're together. That and the kissing. There's so much kissing. Not that Stiles is complaining. He loves every minute of it. He feels special. He feels loved. He feels— "Hang on!" he says at dinner one night a few months after the club.

They're having spaghetti Bolognese that Brett made, and the two guys look at Stiles with their signature in sync eyebrow quirk.

"So, we've technically been dating for almost three years and the only reason I didn't fucking realize it was because we didn't kiss?"

"Well..." Brett trails off. "You were pretty oblivious."

Stiles scoffs. "So, you should've just kissed me. We could have been kissing this whole time."

Theo looks at their boyfriend, his eyes shining with amusement. "We could have."

The amber eyed man starts shoveling the food into his mouth and quickly polishes off his plate. "Okay. Hurry up and eat and meet me in the bedroom." He puts his dishes in the dishwasher after rinsing them.

"Why?" Brett asks.

Stiles smirks at them. "We have years of kisses and such to make up for." He walks backwards towards the bedroom his eyes full of want. Just as he reaches the hallway he turns away and strips off his hoodie—Theo's hoodie this time—and winks at them over his shoulder. "First one done gets first choice of where their cock goes."

By the time Brett enters the room ahead of Theo, Stiles is naked on the bed with his fingers buried in his hole. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes glazed over as he rocks back into three fingers.

Brett and Theo moan as they strip, and Stiles looks at them coyly but smirking. "What are you waiting for? Show me who I belong to. Show me I'm yours and you're mine."

And show him they do.

🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶

Afterwards they clean up and curl up bare beneath the covers together, Stiles in the middle. They kiss lazily for a while before they're too tired to keep kissing.

Stiles nuzzles his nose against Theo's throat as Brett curls against Stiles's back and kisses his neck. It makes Stiles feel safe and protected and—"I love you guys so much."

His heart pounds with nerves but he needn't have been worried because they immediately reply in their synced simultaneous way. "We love you too."

#afangst #anyfandomangstbingo #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #brett talbot #brileo #brett x stiles x theo #brett x stiles #theo x stiles #brett x theo #dirty thoughts - chloe adams #angst #homophobia #homophobic language #non con touching #singing #good theo raeken #protective theo raeken #protective brett talbot #did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are?

[0nelittlebirdtoldme]

Harkula Whumptober Day 7 🔒✋🏻

Prongs Against the Lock

THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

Content: M, Mild NSFW, Non-Con Touching, Threats of Rape/Non-Con

Exerpt below the cut

Cold goosebumps raise in the nape of his neck and the icy fear bolts down his spine, nearly making him drop the lock pick, when he hears him speak behind his back. “And what do we have here?”

#whumptober 2022 #no.7 #the way you shake and shiver #shaking hands #silent panic attack #dracula #fic #non con touching #nsfwhump #my fic #dracula x jonathan harker #birdie doing whumptober

[diejager]

may i ask what's your thoughts on yandere horangi but like specifically just him (Konig excluded pls and thank you 😂)

Yandere Horangi

Headcanon

Pairing: Yan!Horangi x reader

Cw: yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, DARKFIC, non-con touching, punishment, forced relationship, tell me if I missed anything. Wc: 694

Horangi’s a cold and sarcastic guy, but Yan!Horangi has the added bonus of being mean and stupidly possessive.

Yan!Horangi could be laughing at something you did, be it a clumsy mistake or something he deemed ridiculous. He confronts you, glaring down at you with narrowed eyes filled with dark intent, something dangerous that has you shuddering, but you can’t talk back to him when he looks so menacing in his get up: mask pulled up to his nose, eyes gleaming under his red-rimmed glass, hood shrouding his face in darkness and his body exhuming death with his simple and minimalistic choice of clothes.

Yan!Horangi is cruel with his remarks, he demeans you, breaks you down for him to build up to something more profitable, more likeable to him. He prefers doing things hands-on, as he’s always done, moving you around as he deems fit, one hand on your shoulder, on your waist or the small of your back, anywhere he can touch you.

Yan!Horangi might be means and degrading, but it’s his way of showing KorTac who you belong to. As stated previously, he’s very physical, he isn’t shy of publicly touching you, manhandling you to his pleasure in front of his coworkers, uncaring of your enflamed and shamed flushed cheeks. He’s not bothered by how embarrassed and undignified you feel, you scratch and hiss, fight him whenever you can. He likes the fight, that feisty gleam in your eyes when you glare at him through your lashes and pouty lips, staring up at him with a subtle tremor.

Despite Yan!Horangi’s usual rough handling, he can be gentle, helpful and insightful. He might help you master or better understand a certain skill. If you have issues with a certain gun, he’d stand behind you, chest flushed to your back, hip to ass and him breathing down your neck. He takes training very personally, he expects you to commit to mind every word, every advice and every compliment, but he knows he’s demanding too much from you. He’s easy to understand, teaching with simple wording and visual cues to follow.

That, however, doesn’t stop Yan!Horangi from punishing you if you do something wrong, pulling you to his room to reprimand you for disappointing him. He has you kneeling before him, hands on your thighs, eyes downcast and lower lip pulled between your teeth. It’s a power play for him, to show you who’s in control in this self-proclaimed relationship he forced you into.

Yan!Horangi treats you as a pet behind closed doors, holding you on his lap, fingers carding through your hair and making you abide to his many rules. He’s finicky about it, easy to anger when you’re not doing things by his book. Although he has a few dozens, he only pushes for a few: don’t let other people touch you; don’t talk to anyone for too long; don’t spend too much time with someone who isn’t him, especially alone; don’t forget that you belong to him; and don’t forget to listen to his words. He’s especially hard on you to let people know that you’re his.

Yan!Horangi doesn’t want to be cared for, he has the money, the strength and the independence to live on his own, learning from his past gambling issues. He wants to care for you, that’s all he truly wants, to love and care for his little pet. Despite his wish to lock you up, to keep you to himself and deprive the world of your presence, he’s whimsically desperate, like a feline marking its possession, he likes when you smile, your crazed gleam when you return from a successful mission with him or another operator.

After all, Yan!Horangi is as in love with you sweet and submissive side, obediently listening to him after he pinned you to the ground, hissing at you, as he’s obsessed with your feral smirk, grinning as you cleave a man in half with a bloodthirsty gleam in your eyes, staring at him. You’re his pretty, pedigree cat, clean and posh, listening to him when he asked, yet bratty when you felt like it.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #horangi #kim horangi hong jin #horangi x reader #horangi x you #horangi mw2 #cod x reader #yandere #non-con touching #Punishment #discipline #horangi mwii #mw2 horangi

[tennessoui]

thinking about a soulmate canon au where you find your soulmate via touch and the jedi order is a bit more pious and has a very respectful no touching culture that obi-wan absolutely abides by. meanwhile anakin is raised on tatooine before coming to the temple and he's really used to touch, and it drives him a little insane, that no one touches him casually in the temple but he learns to abide by it as well and follow his master's example

only for him to fall head over heels for padmé as soon as they touch in aotc and he thinks his reactions to her are due to them being soulmates so they get married because padmé doesn't really know what finding her soulmate feels like either, but anakin's touch and attention feels good (and maybe he unintentionally uses the Force to convince her) so they must be soulmates

meanwhile obi-wan saved his padawan's life when he was like sixteen and was knocked unconscious and tossed into an ocean or something so obi-wan gives him mouth to mouth to resuscitate him---and discovers instantly that they're soulmates....but anakin's out cold and doesn't feel it so obi-wan's left alone with the realization that he's some kind of monster, being the soulmate of a child and anakin can never ever ever know.

so canon happens as canon does but with obi-wan knowing and keeping this secret to himself and carefully making sure he never touches anakin while anakin gets all of his touches from his wife and obi-wan watches from afar knowing he can never tell anakin or anyone else

but palpatine works it out and definitely tells anakin once he's Fallen and killed his wife and also been barbecued (by his soulmate), which makes vader obsess with finding obi-wan (more than he is in canon)

and he finally captures him and has the acolytes chain him up in mustafar. vader visits and asks if obi-wan cut off his arms so he couldn't touch him and know, and it's obi-wan's worst fear and biggest regret that anakin finds out they're soulmates, but now he has no control over the situation. not as vader approaches, not as he takes off his helmet, not as vader leans close and brushes what remains of his lips against obi-wan's cheek

and it feels just as good and right and perfect as it did the first and only time they touched, except now obi-wan isn't sure who the monster is. maybe it's both of them

#kit's silly lil aus #obikin #vaderwan #tw: non consensual touching #to be safe but also in my mind its wayyyy dubious and non con touching when vader captures obi-wan #obi-wan's relatively helpless and vader is still a touch starved cat #rubbing their cheeks together because it feels so good to touch his soulmate #but also his soul mate has made it impossible to touch him #what an obi-wan thing to do #obi-wan probably considers (for a brief brief brief moment) #letting anakin die when he first finds out he's his soulmate #but then he could never #but it adds to his guilt about the whole thing #and his shame #and his feelings of unworthiness #etc etc etc #for this to make sense i guess the jedi are also pretty unimpressed with soulmates because of the attachment issues they cause #and that's one of the reasons theyre very no touch #so shame upon shame upon shame for obi-wan here #also imagining Kenobi show era obiwan using himself as a distraction so leia can get away #all he’ll see is me dialed to 300% #with an added all he’ll want to do is rub the remains of his face against my body and say awful mean things that cut me to the quick #but I can take it because k agree with all the mean things