#actually no that does count a noncon right??? yeah

[leonsrailway]

hello my love! been thinking about creepy stalker leon lately <3 maybe vendetta leon! he's damaged mentally and he can't stop himself from being fixated on you. like he corners you somewhere and dubious consent things proceed. IN PUBLIC WOULD BE HOT, but they don't get caught. for a fem! reader

ive been watching you.

AHHHHH first request ate tf up. something about vendetta leon makes me blush. i hope u like!!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW UNDER THE CUT

CW: smut 18+, p in v, fingering, oral (f! receiving), dubcon, semi-public sex, stalking, obsession, masturbation, leon being a creepy perv, age gap (reader is like 22), noncon photography, choking, size kink if u squint and tilt ur head

fem! reader

divider: @leonsdolly

hes not a weirdo. really! he never meant for it to go this far.

it was a random day last august when he wandered into the restaurant you worked at. but as soon as you came to his table and introduced yourself with that pretty little smile and those big doe eyes, he knew he'd been in trouble. after a short pause, he turned his charm on and started a conversation with you.

then he found himself back the next day. and the next.

he swore the only reason he showed up was for the coffee, which was the laziest excuse he could muster considering the coffee was from K-Cups, but you didnt seem to mind. every time you worked, you found your eyes glancing to his booth hoping to see his dark hair poking over the top of the booth in front of him. he could see the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, he just hoped you didnt notice the way his cock twitched when his eyes locked with yours.

during your small talk at his table, even after he learned you were half his age, he could only ever think about the way his large, rough hands would feel running all along your body, from your pretty tits, to your waist, to your thighs, to your- oh shit, what were you saying?

"you with me, Mr. Kennedy?" fuck, he loved when he heard his name leave your lips. "uh, yeah, sorry. long night. what were you saying?"

"did you want your regular?" you were smirking, almost mocking how distracted he was.

"yea, add something for yourself pretty lady, come sit with me on your break?"

leon had been a regular of your months. he looked to be in his late 30s-early 40s, and you'd be lying if you said his little nickname didnt make your knees a little weak.

"as much as id love to, Mr. Kennedy, i cant today. but i can definitely get that order in for you" you reluctantly deny his request.

he didnt appreciate that.

-

after a week of discreetly following you home after your shifts, he'd learned your routines. what time you shower in the evening, what time you have dinner, what time you touch yourself when everyone else falls asleep...

leon invested in some binoculars from the local nerd store and even found a little bush he could hide in perfectly angled to show him your bedroom. he even bought himself a new camera so he could take pictures of you when you look your best, oblivious.

when you had gone off to work one day, he snuck in right as you left. he's not sure what possessed him to do this, he used to be such a good guy. he wanted to protect and serve and... now look at him, rummaging in some 20 somethings underwear drawer.

-

you slam the register shut after counting your money for that night, it had been a long one. full of old men, not leon, telling you to "smile for them" or snapping at you for a refill of their sweet teas. everyone else had gone home for the night, and you were just about to lock up. your body ached, you felt like falling on the nearest flat surface and knocking out for the week.

until you heard the bell ding.

"we're close-" you were cut off by yourself when you saw who walked in, "oh, hey Mr. Kennedy."

theres his girl. "hey honey, you alright? you look tired" he approached you from behind.

"its been a long day, but nothing i can't handle. i was actually just about to lock up the restaurant... so.." you trail off, hoping he may get the hint that you just want to go home.

"well good thing i came in, huh?" he laughs, and so do you, but you didnt find it too funny. he was starting to stand a little bit too close to you for your comfort, even though you trusted him.

"i guess" you say, blushing when he gives you a look that made you almost rip off his shirt right then and there. but you cant, thats wrong, what would your parents think?

"you look pretty, angel" leon says, tilting your head up to look up at him. god, he was tall, and his one hand could cover your whole face.

"t-thank you Mr. Ke-"

"Leon. call me Leon"

"thank you, leon" you reply, crossing your arms, tensing up. you knew you shouldn't be feeling this way, it isn't professional.

he couldnt hold himself back anymore. whether it was the way your big pretty eyes looked up at him like a trap, or the way his hand was finally grazing your soft skin, something made him bold enough to kiss you.

"Le- Leon... we can't" you made out between kisses, as much as you were denying him, you were still kissing him back, that kept him going.

"we can't? that's too bad..." he mutters in your ear, breath fanning against your neck as his fingers wandered below your waistband, "because im gonna do it anyway"

you squirmed against him but you couldn't deny the way you mewled in his ear when he grazed your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. he laughed meanly in your ear before putting his free hand around your throat and gently squeezing when he applies the slightest pressure to your clothes clit, making you moan, "i knew you'd like that". he lays you down in a booth in the empty restaurant.

"p-lease... fuck" you tugged at his shirt, shyly asking for more. he laughs at the change in your charcter from only a moment ago, before ultimately complying with your silent request. he rips your clothes off and leaves a trail of sloppy, wet kisses from your neck, to your tits, to your stomach, and finally down to your pussy.

he gazes up at you with the hungriest eyes youve ever seen, glazed over and half lidded yet so focused on you. he makes out with your cunt, his nose bumping into your clit as he slips his tongue in and out of your hole, making lewd, borderline pornographic sounds. you were a wreck, writhing under him and grinding your hips into his face as he moaned incoherent praises into you, the vibrations making you soak his face more than you knew you could.

he eventually sticks two fingers into you as he sucks on your puffy, neglected clit, and once he curls his fingers to the spot that makes you jolt, he keeps on hitting that spot again and again and again until you cum in his mouth. he doesnt stop then, using his tongue to clean up your mess until you're pushing him away, a stupid cocky grin plastered on his wet lips.

you didn't realize you were taking his belt off until his cock was in front of you. he was big, leaking precum from his pretty pink tip and his eyes were piercing yours as he pumped himself a few times before lining himself with your entrance, the two of you gasping in tandem as he bottomed out inside of you.

tears pricked at your eyes as he began to move, the pain and pleasure and overstimulation from your last orgasm all combining and making a cocktail of sensations you've never experienced before. your head lolled to the side and you squeezed your eyes shut while leon rocked you into next year, until he just almost cuts off your airway and forces you to face him and look in his eyes as he drills into you like a jackhammer.

"ah-ah-ah-f-uuuck, Lee!" you moaned into his neck as you scratched pretty red lines down his back, making him grit his teeth to keep from letting out a whine he'd only heard when cumming in the panties he stole from your room

"i know pretty girl, feels good doesn't it?" he lets up on your throat, not that you could catch your breath at the rate he was plowing you. "y-yes- i'm cumming, oh my god im cumming" your eyes roll into the back of your head and you draw blood from biting your lip.

"go ahead princess, im right there with you" he grunts, slightly angling to hit you impossibly deeper, which was your final straw, you let out a string of curses and chants of his name as you cream his cock, he spills his load inside of you. not that you're that angry, his warm cum spilling out of you felt so nice you couldn't dare be angry.

the two of you catch your breath in silence until leon snaps a photo of your leaky cunt, both of your cum spilling onto your thighs.

[notthecutesttrash]

Nostalgia

Content: Sukuna found himself intrigued by your spunk, and when he notices that Yuji is struggling to overpower him one day, he finally has a little fun.

Trigger Warnings: 18+ DARK, NONCON, readers a bit obnoxious at first, time skip for obvious reasons, Smut, suffocation, no like actually, blood, loss of virginity, fingering, hair pulling, spanking

Word count: 4.3k

The school is blatantly empty today, which was rather boring. You had decided from the moment you woke up, that this would be the day you saw Sukuna’s supposed vessel. How disappointing to notice everything so empty, like an abandoned building. No Gojo, no other first years, whatever. It was all lame. 

Huffing to yourself you open the door to another spacious classroom with zero people intact. You thought to even check the nurse’s office, only to see Ieiri doing who knows what with the bodies there. She turns up at you as blood adorns her lab coat,  “Oh, hey, what’re you doing here?” You blink and close the door. She shrugs and diverts her attention back to work. 

Where else could they be? Principals room? Sealed room? Ah possibly there. 

You make way for the chambers, passing the empty hallways. The year above you's class is more than interesting. There's a panda, a dude who speaks in rice ball ingredients, and a zen’in lady. The lady was also able to keep up with your rude remarks which was amusing.

As you walk you hear small far away grunts. Humming, you curiously begin to switch directions, and near the sounds of groaning and “Hyah’s!”

From far away, you’re able to see a faint, puffy pink-haired man slapping a training dummy with a weird fuzzy blade. He’s so caught up in training that he doesn’t notice you, so you watch, judging his stance and how he struggles while dragging his breaths.

He’s doing it all wrong.

Though you’re amused at the pure confidence brimming in his expression; he was almost cute it's laughable. Eventually, that makes its way from your mouth, and he shifts to you, completely oblivious that you were even there that whole time. He’s a bit taken aback, and you near closer to see him.

“Um.. who are you?” He asks, dumbfounded. 

You press your hands to your waist ignoring the question and direct one back at him “Are you a first-year?” 

“Yeah. Are you one of those second years? Did you guys already come back from your mission?” 

You shake your head, and point to him exclaiming loudly, “No, I’m with you! Yuji Itadori!” 

He blanks, “Uh.. okay..” you squeal, throwing your hands in the air. 

“I knew it! Sukuna picked you? Look at that, you’re so innocent looking, you’re not even holding that blade right.” You giggle to yourself obnoxiously and he tilts his head, a small flicker of annoyance inside him. 

“Actually, he didn’t pick me, I just swallowed one of his fingers and-“ you cut him off with a sound of disgust. 

“You did that willingly? Ugh, how interesting, what did it taste like? Was it crunchy? Gooey? Was it old?” 

He ponders for a moment before answering, “Old, definitely old, and wrinkly.. and his fingernails are sharp.” 

“Ew.” You cringe at the thought, and he tilts his head to ask, “So, what are you here for?” 

Shrugging, you think. “I just wanted to see,” you answer vaguely. Being Sukuna’s vessel is more than interesting, considering it’s been what, hundreds of years? 

He opens his mouth to speak and you look at his cursed tool, probably one that was given to him by Gojo. Something in you wants to admit the morbid curiosity of seeing Sukuna, but in reality, you know that would be terrible.

“So, how does that work? Do you just have him inside of you? Does he talk? Do you hear him? See him like a ghost and he talks to you, is he standing here right now?” You ramble all your ideas at him and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. You were definitely weirding him out.

“No nothing like that, though I do hear him every now and then. It’s sort of annoying.” He points to the back of his hand, “or he’ll show here.” You tilt your head, weird. 

You move close to him, enough to invade his personal space. You lift your hand and he’s confused, then you dive it down on his head, patting the fluff. 

Beaming, you pet him mockingly while cooing, “I heard you’re going on your first real mission tomorrow, how exciting.” 

Yuji lightly slaps your hand away, grumbling, “Can you not do that?” he steps back so you would no longer be at arm’s length.

You smile. Truthfully, you were planning on being more annoying. Why? Well, you're not sure. You quite liked him instead, he was cute, and you know you're going to enjoy teasing him often. He's still fussing over his hair as you think until you twirl away with a laugh.

“Hey, tell Sukuna I said hi when he saves your ass from death.” You stick your tongue out at him and Yuji furrows his brows immediately. That annoyed him.

Safe to say, Sukuna was definitely amused by you since then.

Yuji is your boyfriend, and he's someone you love to death even if you can still tease the heck out of him. But you've calmed since then. And through the years nothing ever came of Sukuna. Many times you had even forgotten he existed.

Occasionally you two would get food together, and sometimes you had a morbid curiosity when remembering after all this time. 

“Does Sukuna still talk to you?” You’d ask and he’d turn his head to the side with a grave expression. He knows, but he never admits.

“No, not really," he'd mumble to himself. You’d nod in response, giving him a knowing gaze. Was it really that bad? 

Yes. 

From the day he first met you to now, all that was always on the curses mind was how he just wanted to kill everyone and have fun with the punk’s lively girlfriend. Luckily, that day never came, and it never will. 

That was until.. he got sick of course. 

You’re patting the washcloth against Yuji’s head, a worry setting a deep frown on your face. His breathing is heavy, and he's panting with a newfound flame that burns in his forehead. He’s hotter than you’ve ever felt, it was almost inhuman. No reverse curse technique seemed to have been helping, no doctor, no medicine, no bath, no rest, just nothing was working. 

You’re rushing to look through Yuji's cabinets. There has to be something here that you haven’t seen before. No simple pain medications would help, nothing generic. You pick up a bottle, maybe this one? It was a herbal medicine, and you knew it was a fat chance, but you’re desperate. So you rush back to Itadori and pour him a small cup of water near the pills. 

“Hey, Yuuji.. baby,” you lightly caress his cheek, but to no avail. His skin is steaming, and his eyes are clasped shut.

You frown and take the pills in your hands, pouting at what you have to do. You open his mouth and drop the pills in lightly, holding his head up at a good position, then making sure a very small amount of water is poured in so he won’t choke. This reminded you of something, but you weren’t sure of what. 

Setting the cup back down you stare at it, then him, then gasp as a bad thought strikes you. Sukuna. The only person who can heal him. 

You can’t do that. Sukuna only works for his own gain. He probably wouldn’t even care if he died with Yuji. But still, you won't just let that happen.

Albeit.. are you really going to allow possibly hundreds, if not thousands to die by his hands just because you selfishly want one man to live? Emotional connection or not, that wasn’t smart. Or is it?

Yuji is probably the only person who could hold Sukuna off- or not probably, he is the only person who can hold him off. Maybe besides Gojo, but that didn’t count when it came to a literal internal affair. 

Either way, the fingers are all stowed somewhere. Surely you could find one. but still, you’d rather not have the god of curses of all beings roam around. You knew Yuji wouldn’t want that either, in fact, he’d probably be disappointed.

You sigh and pat Yuji’s head, giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. “Hope you get better… I’m gonna go now, okay?” You stand and stare at him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you, or respond. You were sure he was deep in there somewhere, maybe even kicking Sukuna’s ass.

Sighing, you arrive at your home and slam your back into the bed, draping a hand over your forehead. You’re exhausted. Lately, you’ve just been spending days and nights at his house.

Sometimes you aren’t able to sleep depending on the day, this time might be one of those, but you aren't sure.

Battling with the idea of Yuji’s worsening sickness and Sukuna’s possible revival made you almost get a migraine.

You glance at the time. It’s already been a full hour, and your corneas are burning from the lack of sleep. Alright.. suppose it was time. You sigh and make yourself comfy, curling in a small ball before closing your lids. 

When you awake, there’s a blur in your eyes as you tiredly open them. It’s dark and when you glance at the window you’re thinking it’s maybe 2 AM. 3? Rolling over to your side, you pull your leg up and get comfy again, groaning at how hot your pillow now is. Lifting your head to turn it, you slam back down comfortably, a flicker of pink in your sight. Yawning, you rub your eyes and blink at whatever that could be, but decide eh, whatever, it’s your room, nothing out of the ordinary. What you needed was sleep for tomorrow. 

Shuffling, you clutch your pillow and squeeze it against you, loving the feel of the brisk cold that rubs against your cheek and satiates the heat of your neck. Closing your eyes with a small moan, a faint chuckle sounds near you. Blinking your eyes open, a jolt of fear slithers down your spine, and you raise your upper half and rotate to survey the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. You’re tired, just hearing things.

Huffing, you press yourself against the pillow again and clench your eyes shut. Just go to sleep damn it.

This time you heard an audible step. Your heart sped into your chest and you forced yourself to rotate the other way. You’re just hearing things, lack of sleep will do that to you, it’s been a long day too, so surely it’s that.

Step. It must be a curse, but you didn’t feel anything, so it had to just be you. If you go to sleep now, then it’ll all be gone. Just keep closing your eyes and when you open them again it’ll be morning.

Step. You squeaked at the sound and the creak in the floorboards. That’s when you heard another chuckle.

“How long are you going to feign sleep?” A raspy deep voice erupts a squeal from you. 

Turning shakily, you struggle to adjust to the lighting as you see a familiar figure ahead. “Yuji?” Your small voice whispers out. He grins wide. No, something was not right here. Yuji didn’t have markings or whatever this was on him, and he never kept his bangs back.

When you glanced down to study his body you froze. There was a hole in his chest, not an incision, not a Halloween effect, a full-on hole that you could look inside of. Blood was dripping from the wound, but it seemed as if it was drying judging by the goop. 

A realization hits you, and you gasp, your body shaking under the weight of Yuji- no Sukuna's gaze. His smile is large, and his dark orbs glow red in the darkness. “Y-You’re…” you hold your breath.

“H-How..?” You’re still whispering, tremoring as nears your features. He suddenly laughs loudly, cackling horribly with that new voice of his. It echoes into your ears and makes your heart drop. This was it, you were going to die. 

“You see, I was planning on having fun with that other lively girl. But, because of the brat’s affection for you, I have decided to pick you first.” He has a rumble in his hoarse throat when he verbalizes, and a horrifying smile still paints his face. You’re stuck, shaking in your spot.

“A-Are you..” you struggle to think of the words, your voice cracking as he gleams at you. “Going to.. kill me..?” Sukuna’s grin widens, and finally, you can see the way his double pair of eyes glimmer even in the lack of light. 

“After you’ve quenched my insatiable thirst, then yes.”

He takes a moment, pausing to press his hand against his chin as he thinks. “Or perhaps I’ll bond you to a life of servitude, whatever amuses me more at the moment.”

You know he’s more than serious. You had to do anything, talk, and keep on conversing until he got bored. Reason with all your might. 

You attempt to continue as you swallow hard. “B-But… Yuji will switch back.” He had to switch back, right? Won’t he? Or does the hole in his heart not prove to you enough that he won’t be able to? 

“Unless the punk wants to die, then he’ll have to be my guest. But he seems to be struggling at the moment, so, I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”

He gets close, his finger twirling around your hair. 

You bawl your fist into the sheets. You have to escape. You have to. Your legs quietly press beneath you, as if readying for a sprint.

“If you so as flinch I’ll make quick work of your death.” 

Suddenly you’re rigid as can be, terrified that the quaking in your heart and the stammering in your hands would get you killed. All you’re doing is heaving, barely able to meet his gaze. 

“Now bow.” He commands and you quickly rush to cradle your head between your hands that lay flat against the bed. He enjoys the scene, delighting in the fear. 

A second passes, and you’re flipped on your back with a strength you’ve never felt before. It was enough to bruise you just from the sheer weight. He lifts his clawed finger and suddenly your clothes are ripped, and before you can think to cover yourself with a blanket or anything he’s over you, staring into your desperate eyes. 

He was truly a pure evil that no one could think to reach. 

Tears are forming. You’re terrified. “Please don’t,” you mutter weakly.

He cackles loud enough for you to flinch. He won’t kill you yet.

The glimmer of his teeth when he grins wide makes you gasp. He’s snickering to the point it becomes manic laughter, and it makes you sick to your stomach. It sounded nothing like Yuji. His laughs are always a lot lighter and sweet. 

Sukuna sighs longingly to himself, trailing his fingers down your body as you cry.  “It’s been a thousand years, and I will never stop delighting in these sweet whimpers.” His palm meets your cunt. He presses against your clit hard and you squeal out from the pain. He doesn’t care for your enjoyment. All he wants to do is force himself down your tight hole and release every bit of cum he's had stored up for years. 

“To believe the fool hadn’t claimed you, what a shame.. for him. A treasure to me.” He’s chuckling as he kneads your clit more. It’s impatient and mean, but it gets you wet enough. His middle finger promptly shoves inside you, and you whine at the pain, curling your toes into the bed. Blood drips from the wound, lubricating his finger to pulse into you more. Sukuna grins at the liquid, and he’s purposely speeding up his pace. 

Tears swell in your eyes. You always wanted to save yourself for Yuji. Save yourself for the perfect moment.. and Sukuna just took everything away from you. 

“A thousand years and I get a virgin, ah I just delight in it, this is going to be fun.” His eyes are glimmering wide, brimming with joy as he adds another finger. You hiss at the sudden discomfort. His other hand moves to your neck, but it pauses, just hovering above it. You gulp tightly, scared for what was to come. 

“On second thought,” he pulls away and uses his free hand instead to circle your clit harshly. You’re tensed up, quivering with the pain of him spearing you mercilessly while gasping at the pleasure of your clit.

"I wouldn’t typically allow you the pleasure to breathe, but since you’ve never felt this, your cries will satisfy me more," Sukuna grins. If it wasn’t for the need to stretch you out, he wouldn’t be doing this at all. But he enjoys the way your cunt attempts to swallow his fingers whole as if attempting to expel him. He forces another in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. You’re hands are clutched around your sides desperately as you moan and cry.

His fingers are fucking you furiously, eventually attaining a pleasant amount of wetness from your cunt. The obscene sounds feel as if they’re blaring in the room. You’re still tense as could be, but once he finally takes them out, you slump in response, heaving in relief. 

Sukuna chuckles evilly at the slick surrounding his fingers. As if it wasn’t a moment ago that he had just broken you and stretched you wide. 

“Ah, virgins. So easily excitable.” He breathes in delight to himself. You’re quivering, attempting to remain stiff, but every time his hand grazes your skin you flinch. You forcefully drape your arm over your sight while streams roll down your cheeks. Whenever you would glimpse at him all you wanted to do was cry and run. 

There’s no remorse in him, no guilt, nothing but happiness as he lives his fantasy. 

You feel his tip suddenly poke at your entrance, and you don’t even feel how clenched up you are. Your teeth are dragging against one another in anticipation, and he attempts to push in. You can’t help but peek fearfully, and you tighten at the sight. Sukuna gazes at you, annoyed. You shiver. Did you move? Did you do something wrong?

Quickly you’re spun around, your chest landing on the bed and your face bouncing off the pillow. Your view is met with the headboard. You can’t see anymore, and you panic. Your head moves up and you attempt to turn your body to fixate on him. He forces you back down instantly with a grip on your scalp. It tightens and you're shoved into your pillow hard.

When you attempt to move, the strength increases. His sharp fingernails are grazing your skin, almost drawing blood. You can’t breathe. You try to take an inhale and you’re stopped by the force of the pillow stuffing and blocking your airway. 

Without warning your pussy is spread wide by his cock and you scream incoherently. He instantaneously groans loudly at the warmth that meets him. His gaze turns to the ceiling, and his eyes are practically rolled to the back of his head as he relishes the feeling. He’s been waiting centuries for this exact moment. This scene has been revolving in his mind since day one. The idea of forcing a helpless virgin on their knees and taking them completely.

“Ah, I thought I’d never feel this again.” He exhales a deep breath of satisfaction, “It’s wonderful."

Your tight cunt swarms around his cock, sucking him in helplessly, and he groans, a newfound lust within. You're struggling to swallow his size, quivering as you feel your pussy forcefully stretch. You cry into the pillow, convulsing beneath him. He’s usually a patient man, but not this time. 

He moves, gripping your head tight and pulling you down while he begins to pound you murderously. The brutality of his thrusts while you gasp for air has you thrashing around, adamant to get him off of you. He has no care. He'd make sure he would let out all of his frustrations from being in your punk-ass boyfriend’s body for so long. 

“Do I need to remind you of what I’ve said? That would be rather impolite don’t you think?” Sukuna breathes heavily, annoyed by your muffled screams. He rams his cock to the very end of you and back. He's huge, and it burns endlessly when he thrusts. You’re shouting against the fabric, desperately attempting to shake off the force and lift yourself for just one inhale. He was going to kill you and defile your body. This is how you’re going to die, in the worst possible way. 

He’s using you like a mere plaything. Eventually, the pressure rushing to your head starts to make your vision go dark. You limp against him as he fucks you senseless. Sukuna starts cackling, and he pulls your weak head up, watching you come to life with a heavy inhale. Tears are pouring down your cheeks, drool falling from your lips as you greedily heave. He's still bucking his hips sharply into you, slapping your ass hard.

Sukuna would've sneered, but there was a large amount of impatience beginning to surge. “Now, if I need to remind you again, then the next you won’t be breathing. Not that it matters to me. But you wouldn’t like that, would you?" His tone is dark, and you shake your head a complacent no. Anything to not go through that again. 

“Good."

He slaps your ass with a rush of strength, making you jitter against him. He pulses into you, enjoying the way your pussy is now melting into a wet slop. 

“It appears you enjoy this just as much as I.” You’re sputtering with your breaths, unable to even hear him chuckling as he slams into you. Your hair is suddenly pulled back. Sukuna is grabbing a fistful and the ache in your neck has you groaning uncomfortably. 

You’re moaning nonsensically and his pace is merciless.  “How cute, maybe I will keep you alive.” 

His tug is impossible to push back at, and you yelp when he pulls you even further. He’s still slapping your ass repeatedly and you’re squeezing tight around him at every hit. His force is painful, and he finds it amusing. He only thrusts himself to the brink of his own orgasm while yanking you like a rag doll and stretching you wide. 

You’re whining desperately as he speeds up, and a jolt of electricity rises. It pulses into a quivering release while you slur incoherently, subconsciously circling your hips into him.

Sukuna breathes hard against you, merciless excitement running through his veins as he pulls you back hard and fucks your exhausted core, all while you still ride out your climax. He finally hits deep inside of you, reaching the furthest his cock can and even more. There's a sudden warmth in your walls as a heavy thick stream of cum pours inside of you.

“How I miss this.” Sukuna exhales loudly, nearly moaning at the sweet release. His clutch on your skin is still tight, causing you to jolt beneath him. 

And It was only a few moments that had passed before he left your sore cunt, only to push himself back in and slam into you. You’re a slop, whining desperate slurs into your pillow as he fucks you senseless.

You don't know how much time passed, but it never stopped. You found yourself eventually heaving and imagining a place where this wasn’t happening. Where Yuji was alive and he was the one taking you instead. 

Sukuna had whirled you around, pushing himself deep into you, his tongue dragging against your neck. Your legs are barely gripping his as he pounds you beneath him. His grasp was tight on the sheets beside you, and you were just relieved it wasn’t on your skin anymore.

Suddenly a rush builds and you’re whining loudly, your thighs feeling a new strength as you clasp around him. Your hands don’t dare to grab him, but as you lose yourself in your orgasm you can’t help the way you claw at his back. Sukuna pulses into you and lets out another stream of cum. The eventual number you didn’t know. Tears were rolling down your face, you're tired, you just want it to stop.

“No more.. please,” you whisper desperately. 

Sukuna snickers into your neck, breathing not nearly as hard as you were. He pulls himself from your throbbing hole and you still manage to whine at the loss. Relief follows swiftly, and the cum that clogs itself inside of you drips slowly.

“Did you think a mere few climaxes would be enough for me? You truly don’t understand.” His tone gets low as he grins. “I am going to keep playing with you until I get bored.” You pant exhaustedly, barely able to register his words. You just want to go to sleep.

As quick as that relief had come, it diminished the moment he buried himself in your cunt again. You whimper and let out a choked breath, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head. His deep breath brushes your skin, his groan rumbling something deep within you. 

“And yet you have joined them all so wonderfully. It’s been so long since I had a woman keep up with me,” he beams wide with that evil sparkling in his red eyes.

“I’ve decided I’ll let you live. I’ll keep you by my side whenever I feel the need to use you.” At his words, sobs begin to overtake you. He grips your arms tight, pushing into you repeatedly and cackling maniacally.

You would never be free from that grating sound ever again. 

[ryomens-vixen]

Yandere!Gojo Satoru -Drabble?

❤️‍🩹 CW: Gojo is a Warning, Cheating, Slight NSFW, Yandere Tendencies, threats, dub/noncon?

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 🤷🏾‍♀️girl idk...no wc today.

❤️‍🩹 Author's notes: This was COMPLETELY out of no where, I was bored and instead of finishing this Toji fic I randomly decided to write Yandere Gojo. So enjoy and don't ask me to write for Gojo 🙄 this is a one time thing...

I don't think y'all understand how TERRIFYING yandere Gojo could actually be- like I'm not a Gojo girlie, but I pay attention to him enough to know this nga is real deal terrifying. Like let's say you and him had a bad break up and he pops up at your house after you blocked him on everything, trying to explain himself and you close the door in his face. Now the RATIONAL thing to do would just be to leave. But Satoru? Chile his only rational thoughts are he either hollow purple the house or simply teleport inside and continue where he left off. Cause what the fuck does he look like letting you go?

Nah, he'll teleport in the house and of course scare tf outta you- and whatchu gone do about it? Nothing, you can't even touch this man. Like yeah you can scream, shout, throw shit at him all you want, but it's not like you can touch the nga. You gone hear him, you gone listen to every word he has to say and even if you do decide to reject his advances he WILL stay in your house, all up in your face, all up in your bed, eating your food, etc. He's gonna make you take him back whether you like him or not, but you not leaving him. Whatchu gone do? He's the strongest, nobody can step to him except Suguru, but where is he? Nobody knows. So really all you can do is deal with him being there, annoying you, trying to talk your panties off, the mood swings I mean really you have to watch what you say to him cause his cheerful mood can switch to unhinged so quick and you know exactly how bad he can get so it's better to just play along with him until you're no longer mad at him.

I mean just the other day he told you he loved you so much but you- you clearly forgot who you were dealing with and slipped up saying you didn't love him. Now why would you slip up and say that to him? Now he's all eerily quiet and you were standing there washing the dishes like you didn't just piss off a monster? Next thing you know he's got your head in the dish water and his dick buried in your pussy, His blindfold restricting your hands, every now in then he feels you pushing your head against his hand he pulls your head up from the water only to ask you in a serious tone of you love him or not. Now... There's a right answer for everything so even if you didn't love him it would be very.. Wise to say you do- unless you want this blue eyed, white haired demon to drown you?

Or the time he caught you swiping on tinder? Are you out of your mind? You have to be- ain't no way you forgot who's in your house. Gojo had half a mind to trap you in his infinite void for a second, but listen- he's trying, he's trying to not be so impulsive, trying to communicate better, trying to not show you how weak you are compared to him. He tried to communicate to you how much it hurts him to see you on tinder, and what did you say to him?

"We're not together so it doesn't matter, Satoru. "

It's something wrong witcho dumbass like do you just forget how much danger you're in fuckin around with Gojo? THEE strongest? The Six Eyes? Head of the Gojo Clan? Now you're sitting here wondering why you can't breathe and seeing stars. He literally took you're phone and shattered it, now he's knocking the Sonic Rings out your pussy. Do you still wanna keep playing with this man? Because after this you're sure as hell going to watch what you say or do around him now.

Only after you get done getting the Chaos Emeralds knocked out your pussy. I mean he is ruthless, turning your ever which way but loose, knees always behind your heads while he's quite literally bullying your cervix, but the way that you're a babbling mess underneath him turned him on even more, but I guess that's you're fault you should have watched what you said, and now here you are getting stuffed to the brim with his cum, those bright blue eyes, that crazied smile stretched across his face, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Gojo enjoyed seeing that expression you were making, he knows he's the only only who could ever fuck you like this, his dick is the best you've ever had nobody could compare to him no matter how mad you were.

"That's right baby, you're my girl, aren't 'cha? Mine, Mine, Mine. You.. Fuck.. You and this pussy mean so much to me!"

"Say it, Y/N, Say you love me baby, say it, say it, say it!"

"Fuck- This pussy s'good, s'good baby, just for me."

"You'll t-take me back, be a family again, you'd like that wouldn't you? Putting a fuckin baby in you- wouldn't you?!"

Out of everything he said that's the only thing that caught your attention, your panic? You were never ready for a baby- But what were you gonna do? Deny him? You've already fucked up denying him a relationship, Yeah he cheated, but in your current situation was it really ever that deep? He never showed his crazy until now and too be honest it was scary and arousing at the same time. But you had to come back to earth before he ACTUALLY baby traps you. Maybe tricking him into giving you a break? You had just the idea, asking him in strangled moans to let you ride it, damn near begging.

Surprisingly- it did work, you were engaging with him instead of fighting against him, Gojo thought to himself as he sat up pulling you on of him. His demeanor seemed a bit more cheerful than deranged like earlier. But now that you've come back to your senses and realized who you're fucking with.. It was time to play along, maybe even reason with him. Once you were on top of him finally able to catch your breath- your fingers interlaced with his, impatient as ever he bucked his hips up into you making you plead with him to wait a second.

*Pant* "Sa- Satoru wait, just a second lemme talk!"

He looked so annoyed, so irritated with you, but way not he'll bite.

"Fine, what more important than me putting this fat cock in your stomach?" Oh that devious look only his face.

"Satoru, you're right, I do wanna get back together, I was just being jealous, Toru- I wanna fix us before we ever consider having a baby, okay? Please?" God he loved the way you pleaded with him, even saying please? Man it made his dick jump, but it also mad him so happy, you wanted to be with him again.

You watched his facial expressions in worry since he hadn't said anything yet. That was until he bucked his hips into you again ... Repeatedly. But at least he had on his usual joyful expression- he seemed happy now. Nothing could ruin it just as long as you were cautious about the things you say or do. There's no use in being petty or angry with him because will always without missing beat show you his crazy.

But you should be glad you don't live in an apartment, because babeh.. The noise complaints y'all would be getting right now, I mean the headboard is literally banging against the wall. Your screams were nothing to talk about either you two were being so loud right now, you were his again and even though he didn't respond to your statement beforehand, his actions would surely speak for him. Like instead of his baby trapping you Gojo pulls out cumming all over your stomach and himself.

"My Girl.. Now how about we try for a baby when you move in with me tomorrow?" He said so cheerfully like it was nothing.

"HUH?!"

Yeah... Gojo Satoru was insane and you're the only person that has EVER seen this side of him. You're stuck with this monster now, but at least his dick is good, right?

Tags: no tags this time we'll see what the algorithm does with this and again do not bother asking me to write more Gojo I literally hate this dude. 💕

[dilf-in-peril]

20 Questions for Writers

tagged by: @grand-magnificent thx :3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

163.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

450,140

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Professional wrestling right now, obviously, which for the rest of the questions I pretend is the only thing I write to stay on brand. I also still write the occasional fic for my old fandoms or films you've never heard of, partcipating in exchanges makes you write a lot of random stuff.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Just giving you the ones for Wrestling:

Kayfabe (missing that old man hours, kayfabe breaking cmjf)

Top Guys. In. (cmftr DP)

He Gets Papi (rhea/dom pissfic) - wow that one's got a long tail huh?

Welcome to the BCC (yutamox hole initiation ceremony)

Making Amends (punk asks HHH politely to be allowed back into wwe)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. I rarely ever have anything to say in response unless it's a question and I feel silly when I say "thank you for noticing what I tried to put down" but I like to let people know I appreciate their comments, because I very much do.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably that CMJF noncon fic which had everyone miserable and worse by the end of it. Also all of the PunkRaven stuff, which never has much of an improvement of the situation in sight.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

idk, I don't write a lot of longfic anyway and I think most of the PWP stuff that's not super messed up ends with people showering together or falling asleep next to each other which is a pretty happy ending as far as sex goes.... oh wait, it's the HHH fic where Punk implicitly returns to WWE for his efforts (I guess here too it is up to the reader whether this is a happy ending or more of a "came back wrong")

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Only once for the underage cmjf fic, and I think it was the same person grand-magnificent mentions ironically. Maybe it helps that the kind of wrestling fans that I can see being haters have been condemned to writing incest fic so they don't have much ground to stand on.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah. All of it. I also actively hate writing it most of the time. I enjoy writing mood, tension, the build and the aftermath but not much of the actual in and out.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Don't think I ever have, no. I never got the appeal of "what if Goku met Superman" and I am clearly not funny enough to pull of something like WWE meets Succession.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah but not Wrestling fandom, it was Dune.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. Actually, if you want to do that, hit me up.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

All-time ship is a bit wild if I've only been writing this fandom for a little over a year but it's PunkJoe. This bad boy can fit so much love. And kink. And H/C.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Hey now, mind your words.

16. What are your writing strengths?

People have told me it's physical sensations, descriptions that give a visual image even if you've got a bit of the old aphantasia, and discomfort.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Introspection. Writing out feelings. Not using the same words all the fucking time.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

idk... don't, unless you speak the language or have a beta that does? I guess now it's easy to just google translate it as a reader but with older literature it always throws me out... am I supposed to just speak latin and french to get what you're having your characters say?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter like almost two decades ago.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I am still very proud of the Smoke and Mirrors PunkRaven fic. I could probably improve it a bit now that I actually have access to the whole feud and learned more about them but it's surprisingly on point just from my gut feelings.

tagging: @doctorworm @glamrocktrash @tache-noire and everyone else I have ever interacted with on ao3 and forgotten about right now

[ohlovxr]

may we add prince!sirius

prince!sirius has the exact same reaction royal guard!remus had when he finds out :(( there’s really no other way it would go. and the thing is - he’s your ‘betrothed’ and he’d be within his right to turn you away, but he doesn’t because… why wouldn’t he use yours and servant!james’ actions to his advantage?

he doesn’t even just use it to blackmail the both of you into doing things like fucking each other to the point of overstimulation for his own pleasure, but also to guilt you into doing things like suck his cock (you don’t do it often because you’re a princess and above it and he’s gotta appeal to you through guilt just so you stay still and let him fuck your throat as rough as he likes :(()

also he lets remus have his turn with you every once and a while as thanks for informing him about what shameful things you and james did :((

[kadssp-main]

A/N: i was just writing for albedo but fuck it il dottore thoughts now and forever

warnings: mentions of drug and injection usage, light bondage, afab!reader, dubcon, noncon, minors dni

——————————————————————

Il Dottore enjoys studying and experimenting on humans. Trying to make powerful beings that could rival the power of the archons and Celestia.

Yet what most don’t know, and what they don’t want to know is that his favorite thing to experiment on is you.

He tries different methods to get the same or better results, tries different objects or tools or maybe even pricking your skin with a needle holding a new and experimental fluid he’s been meaning to try out.

He keeps count of every reaction, his notes scribbled and filled with words and numbers as he keeps track and rewrites parts for new records.

Your face contorted from surprise into pleasure as your tongue lolled out? He’s writing it down since your expression evolved into a lewd one. Your thighs tremble against the cool metal of the examination table as you come again? He’s writing that down hastily to see if he can get your entire body shaking next time.

He gets off on the slight hesitant look in your eyes when he stalks closer to you, about to begin the day’s tests. Or when you hold fear in your wide eyed gaze as his wraps a hand around your throat and gauges at your reactions.

He wants to make you scream, sob, whine, mewl and keen from his touch and his demonstrations. Even creates things to use on you, made specifically for you and only you.

He’ll occasionally praise you, but most things that leave his mouth sound taunting as your body is wracked with another sob from the overstimulation.

”Oh so good, such a good doll, yeah? You can do better than that though, right?“

He pushes your limits, you’re stuffed full with one of the many “tools” he had created while his gloved fingers poke and squeeze at your breasts. Pulling and twisting hard on your nipples as you squeeze your eyes shut and if only you could reach down and grab at his wrists, but your hands are bound to the table so all you can do is take what he gives you.

He’s relentless, always has something new to try on you too. Keeps you anticipating what he’s going to pull out and use on you next, is he going to use drugs and injections to make your body hypersensitive and hot to touches or will he make you play with yourself as he sits back on his stool and watches with a sly smirk on his face.

You can be in that room for hours at a time. Used for his own enjoyment and studies for days or even weeks at a time, when he does let you leave it’s because he’s grown bored and went to find something else interesting to past the time with. But don’t think you can actually leave his lab, you can leave the room for a break, not the entire building.

You’re his favorite thing, his favorite test subject to study. You fancy his desires and curiosity for the time being, and if you’ve mistaken it for love then you’re wrong.

He doesn’t see it as love and if you do he’d laugh with a unhinged look in his red eyes before he bullies his length into your tight cunt.

This isn’t love to him, it’s a hobby, it’s ownership to show you’re his and that’s all it is. He isn’t thinking about how much he adores and cares about you. He’s thinking about how you’re his to play with and test on. Mine, mine, mine.

Don’t get attached to him, you’ll never be nothing more than another human he’s working to evolve and enhance, only in a different scenario.

[mypoisonedvine]

peaches & cream || soft!dark Jake Wyler x reader

for @stargazingfangirl18​'s 5k challenge! I used the prompt, "the town golden boy isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks."

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut (noncon), stalking/obsession, some degradation/negging (but lots of praise during the actual smut), kinda yandere vibes?, touch of breeding kink at the end, definitely flirting with the boundary between soft!dark and regular dark but I like to think it’s a fine line

“Sorry, but that’s a seasonal flavor,” the girl at the counter explained in a snarky monotone.

“Well, yeah, but isn’t it still… the season?” you pressed; normally you weren’t the sort of person to argue with a cashier over a milkshake, but the look she was giving you made you feel like she was holding out on you— especially when the promotional poster for the very thing you were trying to order was just behind her head, and said the flavor was available for two more days.

“We’re out,” she answered firmly, but then her face suddenly shifted to a much more pleasant expression as you heard the chime of the front door opening behind you.  

You felt his body hovering behind yours just as his hand laid on the counter beside you, caging you in.  It was even more unsettling with the context that there was a whole line of people waiting behind you already.

“I’ll get your usual,” the girl promised to the man beside with a flirtatious smile as she disappeared to the back, returning almost instantly with a shake in her extended hand.  “Peaches and cream milkshake— extra whipped cream, no cherry.  Enjoy!”

Your eyes widened at the reading of your own order.  “I thought you were out!” you protested, going completely ignored.

"If you were my girl, this sort of thing wouldn't need to happen."

You recoiled from Jake's voice in your ear, and he smiled in spite of your snarl, bringing the straw to his lips slowly.  With a shudder you walked away, deciding it was probably better to forgo a milkshake anyways— especially if it was a chance to avoid everyone’s favorite senior, the football king who basically owned the whole town for no other reason than being good-looking, athletic, and allegedly “charming” or whatever.

Of course, he followed you, sitting across from you in a booth and silently shooing his posse of fellow teammates to go off and give you two some space.  If only he would give you space.

“We can share,” he offered as he held the milkshake out towards you.  “I know it’s your favorite… it’s mine too.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you explained quickly as you pulled a book out of your backpack, intent on ignoring him since you couldn’t physically force him to leave.

He shrugged and returned to sucking on the straw, watching you unwaveringly as you tried to read your book— staring at the page was going well, but you couldn’t seem to actually get any words down.  Had you forgotten English as a written language or something?

“Could you leave?” you finally asked as you groaned and looked up from your book.  “You’re distracting me.”

“I’m literally just sitting here,” he reminded you.

“And it’s distracting!”

He smirked proudly.  “My presence tends to have that effect on people.  Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You rolled your eyes, burying your face back in your book.  “You know, you may have everybody else fooled, but someday you’re gonna have to leave this pathetic little town and go into the real world where throwing a ball isn’t a career and nobody fawns over you just because you have the audacity to be attractive.”

He chuckled lightly.  “Right, because you have those big city dreams of yours, but believe it or not some of us like this ‘pathetic’ little town.”

“Well, of course you would,” you snorted.  “Your dad’s the mayor and your girlfriend’s the head cheerleader.”

“My ex-girlfriend,” he corrected, finally getting your attention enough to make you shut your book.

“What?” you blurted out.

“Yeah, she dumped me,” he explained plainly.

“Why would she do that?” you asked, making him look much too proud of himself again.  “Finally snapped out of the brainwashing, huh?” you added, effectively killing his smug expression.

“I guess you could say that.  She met some college guy from out of town… I think her parents liked me too much, she needed a bit more rebellion.”

“Well, my condolences to you,” you smiled, “and my congratulations to her.”

“I thought you hated her,” he scoffed.

“Well, now she and I have something in common: a complete lack of interest in you!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t go that far,” he smirked, “she still comes over every now and again to suck my cock.”

You choked on nothing, face getting warm at his crude language.  He didn’t talk like that with anyone else; it was so cruel the way he kept everybody in town under his spell except you, the way he let you in on his real darkness with no one else to confide in or believe you.  

It was so fundamentally lonely, being the one person who wasn’t in love with Jake Wyler.  It was even worse being the one person Jake Wyler loved.

At least, that was the word he used multiple times in his semi-anonymous letters, his incessant calls and emails, his speeches outside your window.  He’d actually cooled off lately, you wondered if maybe he had finally let go of this ‘the one thing I can’t have’ obsession and learned to appreciate his girlfriend (who, for all her personality flaws, was objectively gorgeous, and seemed to at least be nice to him if nobody else).

But now that she left him (which you were still trying to process, honestly), you were surprised he hadn’t already moved on to the next best wannabe model and/or reinstated his campaign to win you over.

Then again, the look in his eye kind of made you think you were about to witness the second one.

“You know, when she does come over, I can only ever finish because I’m thinking about you,” he revealed in a low voice.  You grimaced and slid out of the booth, stuffing your book into your bag and barely managing to throw him a goodbye before you dashed out.  

It wasn’t like you really thought you could get away from him— he had made it clear over and over that you couldn’t— but the idea of being crammed in that booth with him, surrounded throughout the diner by his adoring fans who somehow didn’t manage to overhear him when he said those awful things, made you feel nauseous.

What you should’ve considered was that, fans or not, those people were witnesses, and now that you were running out into the dark streets of the town and he was chasing after you, you didn’t have any.  It was just you and him, and when you turned into an alleyway to try to get home faster, even the dim glow of the streetlights couldn’t see you anymore.

“Hey,” he stopped you with a tight grip on your arm, pulling you back into him.

“Let me go!” you whined, trying to tug yourself away but only ensuring that his hand would leave a bruise on your arm.  

“I will when you just hear me out, okay?” he hissed, spinning you around to look up at him.  "Why don't you just give me a chance?  Don't you wanna be popular?" 

"I don't want to be anything that requires being within ten yards of you!" you spat.

He seemed bewildered, but you knew he wasn’t actually that stupid.  "Why?"

"Because you know why!"

He sighed, slumping his shoulders a little.  "Are we still on that, really?  I told you, you should take it as a compliment.  You know how many girls would kill to catch me jerking off in their panties?"

"You're sick, Jake,” you sighed, “and you're really good at hiding it from everyone else but I know what you really are.  You told me you needed help with algebra and I actually believed you, for months you were lying to me to get close so you could perv on me when you already had a girlfriend and two side chicks anyways— god, Jake, you're crazy!"

You yelped when he pinned you to the wall, blue eyes darker than ever.  "I really, really hate that word."

Against the wall, your back straightened as you felt the tone shift completely for a moment before he was back to his jovial self again, giving you a somber but almost-genuine smile.

“The only kind of crazy I am is crazy about you,” he defended with a laugh, leaning in a little closer.  “Why can’t you see that?”

As his eyes moved from your own to your lips, a renewed sense of fear shot through you.  “Jake…” you mumbled, apparently your feeble attempt to ask him to stop.

“Just one kiss,” he bargained, “and then I’ll let you go.  Okay?  That’s all I need.”

“N-no,” you whimpered, turning your head away as he leaned in even further.  “Stop.”

“Come on, it’s just a kiss, baby,” he cooed.  “Then you can leave.  Hey, you might actually like it.  You know, I think that’s what you’re really scared about… and I get it!  When I first realized I was in love with you, it was scary for me, too— I mean, I’m the most important guy in town and you’re just some bookworm, it’s sort of social suicide for me so I had a lot to worry about.”

There he went with his negging again, trying to bring you down to his level.  Your brain knew that, it saw right through it, but your gut still sank with doubt.

“But I know now that love is nothing to be afraid of,” he concluded.

“No, Jake,” you whispered, feeling tears well in your eyes, “I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me if I don’t do what you want.”

“Well, that is something to be afraid of,” he replied with the coldest laugh you’d ever heard; you didn’t hear any agreement, but the lack of denial was deafening.  “So just be my good girl and let me kiss you…”

You swallowed dryly, your eyes wide open and searching for anywhere to look but up at him.

He was so close now that his lips brushed against yours with his command: “say it.”

You stammered over your breath, not sure exactly what he was asking for, and you winced as you felt his grip tighten on your arms.

“Say, ‘kiss me’,” he clarified in a harsh whisper.  “Say, ‘please’...”

“Please,” you repeated awkwardly, hearing it in your voice but so clearly not your own words, “kiss me.”

He let his mouth intertwine with yours and your eyes were still wide open as he let his own fall shut, moving his hands to clutch your face gently instead as you gave a weak effort to kiss him back.

Objectively, he was good at this.  A lot of things were objectively true about Jake: as much as you forced yourself not to see it, he was handsome; as much as it didn’t really matter to you, a boycotter of all things sports, he was talented; and, as much as no one else realized it, he was completely deranged.  For every word of kindness from him there was another of anger.  For every love letter in your locker, there was a threat left scrawled on crumpled paper inside your bedroom, just so he could remind you that your parents would let him into the house if he asked and never question it.

Which was why it was extremely important that you did not enjoy this kiss.  You needed to hate the way his fingers traced over the pulse in your neck, the way his tongue tickled yours, the way his teeth just barely grazed your lip until your knees went a little weak.  

But wow, there was something primally satisfying about melting into his arms, feeling his strength support you like it was nothing when he held your waist and pulled you closer.

You could almost forget that it was him.  But then he mumbled your name into the kiss, nearly moaned it in fact, and it pulled you back to reality.  With a gasp, you pushed him away and blinked your eyes open, not even realizing you’d closed them; hating how quickly you’d started to give in to him.

“There, one kiss,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.  “I’m gonna go home now—”

“You can’t be serious,” he laughed incredulously.  “You’re gonna kiss me like that and tell me you don’t feel this, too?  We’re so meant for each other— we even order the same milkshake!”

“That doesn’t matter!” you denied.

“I love you!”

“That doesn’t matter either!”

You turned to leave but he grabbed you again from behind, covering your mouth with his hand when you opened your mouth to scream.  “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he hissed in your ear, “and don’t walk away from me.”

Fighting against his grip did nothing but exhaust you: he only needed one arm to hold you back as he dragged you deeper into the alley.  Your legs swung wildly and landed a kick to his shin, and he plugged your nose while he was covering your mouth so you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen to me, you stuck up little bitch,” he growled.  “I’m really sick of this ‘hard to get’ act.  I know you want me.  So shut up and let me show you what you’ve been missing out on, okay?  You gonna be good?”

In that moment, you would’ve agreed to anything for a chance to fill your lungs with fresh air, and so you nodded, the back of your head rubbing against his chest.

“You gonna be nice and quiet so nobody catches you getting fucked like a whore in this alley?”

Another nod, more feverish than the last, ended with a sharp inhale as he let go of your nose.  But he was still covering your mouth, his arm around you now feeling less like restraint and more like an embrace.

"I've wanted you for so long, you can't even imagine," he explained softly as he leaned down and kissed your neck, gripping your waist tighter.  "You and this perfect body of yours.  This smart little head that thinks too much…"

You swallowed dryly as his hand trailed lower.

"This pussy you've been hiding from me for much too long," he added darkly, roughly shoving his hand up your skirt.

You whined behind his hand but he didn’t seem to care; he pulled your skirt up and grinned at the sight of your panties— because he recognized them.

“I remember these,” he purred.  “They look good on you, baby, but they looked better covered in my come.”

Your cheeks burned with shame— you already hated yourself for still wearing the pair he’d tampered with, but it was harmless after a few runs through the washer, right?  You weren’t going to stop wearing your favorite panties just for him, that would mean he won, in a sense; or, that’s what you told yourself to justify not burning them.

“Don’t worry, they’re gonna be soaked by the time I’m done with you,” he purred, slipping two fingers between your legs and growling slightly.  “Well, actually, you’ve already done a lot of the work for me.”

He pulled the fabric aside and explored your pussy instead, tightening his grip over your mouth as you made little muffled yelps.  The rough pads of his fingers found and targeted your clit instantly, that megawatt smile pressed against your ear as he started to rub your bud harder.

“Mm, feels good, huh?” he taunted, moving even faster as your hips jolted unintentionally.  He stopped only to bring the fingers to his lips, humming at the taste of you which he sucked off of them.  “So sweet, babygirl�� better than any peaches and cream milkshake, that’s for sure.”

The wet fingers trailed down your body again, finding your entrance that he suddenly pushed into; it was a little too much without any warning and it made your eyes shoot wide open, a squeak barely escaping your throat.

"Just as tight as I imagined, baby,” he sighed, “all those times I used your panties, or hooked up with somebody who almost looked like you from behind.  You’re gonna feel so good on my cock, I know you want it so bad.”

He took his fingers out of you to reach back and open his belt with one hand, the sound of the buckle matched in upsettingness only by the sound of his jeans sliding down to his thighs.

You heard your own breath loud and heavy against his hand as you felt his hard cock press against your thigh, a drop of precum smearing on your skin.  Your breathing halted suddenly, though, when he slid himself between your legs to rub his cock over your exposed and swollen pussy.

“Oh, babygirl, you really are too good to me,” he grinned, kissing your ear tenderly.  “So fucking wet and ready for me, huh?  You need it that bad?  You’re gonna get it, baby, ‘m gonna give it to you so good…”

Bracing yourself as best you could, you felt the head of his cock push against your entrance before he slammed in all at once, making you hiss in pain.

“Oh god,” he groaned, “fuck, you’re so warm…”

Already he was fucking into you roughly, pumping faster and deeper, paying no mind to your choked sobs of pain from the wide stretch.  Even when it stung it felt oddly good, and the underside of his cock seemed to slide perfectly over your g-spot with each movement until your eyes began to roll back in your head.

“So fucking good,” he moaned hoarsely as he braced you against the brick wall for leverage, reaching back down with his free hand to rub your clit again.  He chuckled when your legs quivered, and he must have felt your walls tighten around him, too.  “I wanna hear those pretty moans, baby, if I take my hand away are you gonna be good?” he asked darkly.  You nodded, enjoying the brief feeling of freedom that came from not having his hand over your mouth anymore.  But then again, it was humiliating that now he could hear your panting breaths, your desperate mewls that you failed to swallow down.

He made a sound that was almost like a laugh as he watched you squirm in his arms, one more way he had to lord this all over you, as if forcing you to take him in an alley wasn’t enough on its own.

His breath against your ear was hot and strained, each meeting of your hips to his accentuated with a little grunt from him.  It didn’t help at all that his fingers were rubbing you just right, with so much skill that you wondered if he’d somehow figured out how you touched yourself when you needed to get off.  Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him to have spied on you before, even if you couldn’t figure out when or how.

The hand that used to cover your mouth slid up under your shirt and pulled your bra down, a large, rough hand groping each breast and pinching your nipples until you bit down on your lip to stay quiet.  For all the mocking and teasing he’d done before, he was pretty direct now— like he was trying to make you come as fast as possible, overloading your body with sensation.  

And did he have to be so fucking good at it?

“I know you’re close, babygirl,” he whispered in your ear, “just let go…”

“Jake, please,” you sobbed, too far gone to appreciate that no begging would make him stop now.

“Come for me,” he demanded roughly, fucking you even faster as he sucked a mark onto your neck, and finally it all came crashing down with a choked-out cry of his name and a gush of warmth dripping out around his length.

“Ohh fuck, there you go, fuck it feels good when you come for me,” he grunted, thrusting even faster.  “You’re gonna milk my cock with that pretty pussy, babygirl— you’re gonna make me come…”

“J-Jake, not inside!” you interjected, getting his hand back over your mouth in return.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, “waited too long for this to pull out now.  Feels too fucking good.”

Behind his hand, the difference between whines of hatred and moans of pleasure was irritatingly subtle.

“I love you,” he reminded you in a voice exhausted yet heavy with desire, “so fucking much…”

A few more erratic, brutal thrusts accompanied by heavy pants and he was gone; you could feel his cock pulsing with each rope of come that filled you, so deep that your head fell dejectedly with the realization you had no hope of washing it out now.

His hand fell from your mouth but he didn’t pull out for another few moments as he caught his breath, gently peppering your neck and cheek in slow kisses.  “Baby,” he finally sighed, breaking the crushing silence, “you’re so fucking perfect.  I knew you were made for me.”

I hate you, you wanted to cry out, but words escaped you as he hugged you tightly and pulled your panties back into place, soaking them with his come as it leaked out of you just like he’d promised.  He stuffed his cock back into his jeans and helped you adjust your clothes back to looking almost presentable, finishing it off by turning you around and smiling at you with serene pride before kissing your forehead.

"You're gonna make such a beautiful prom queen," he cooed, “especially if you’ve already got a nice little bump showing…”

His hand rubbed beneath your belly button for emphasis, making you whimper and force your eyes shut as tears rolled down your cheeks.

"Shh, don’t cry, baby,” he soothed, kissing your cheek softly.  “Trust me, you're gonna love being my girl."

[butterflyinthewell]

I don’t care what side of fandom discourse you fall on…

But this is meant for fandom antis who claim to be against pedophilia and incest (but are liars and are not.)

I say this as a proshipper who hates most of the same ships fandom antis harass people for. There are posts in the proship tags I don’t touch because it’s not my thing.

If you fight so hard against seeing underage fictional characters getting molested, yet tell a real underage person who got molested that they deserved it for being proship, you don’t actually care about csa survivors and you are a disgusting person.

I thought you fandom antis cared about protecting children, yet you’ve mocked children for getting molested and even driven some to suicide. Are you fucking proud of yourselves?

Proshippers aren’t into getting molested. Nobody is into that.

It doesn’t matter if their AO3 account is full of fics about characters getting molested, nobody is into that actually happening to them. (Barring kinks with consensual noncon, but that’s still consensual and it stops with a safe word, real molestation doesn’t stop with a word!)

Look, someone can say Ed Elric deserves to get fondled all they want because he’s a fictional character from FullMetal Alchemist and it doesn’t matter. I think that’s gross, but I won’t care much that someone said it. He’s not real, go wild, I can look away.

I do care when you say that about real people. When you say a 13 year old deserved to get molested because they’re proship and “into that”, you cross so many lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

If you say someone deserves to get raped, hurt, murdered or abused because they created fiction you don’t like, you are the bad person and you are not wanted in fandom.

You don’t belong in society either.

You don’t belong anywhere until you can tell fiction apart from reality and realize real people matter more.

No, having psychosis or delusions isn’t an excuse either. Those are terrible to deal with, but they don’t give you permission to be shitty in fandom.

No, “people can care about more than one thing” doesn’t fly either because fictional characters cannot thank you for protecting them from a creepy adult.

Aaaaand no, “some pedo freak might use it to convince a child this is okay” doesn’t work either because that’s the fault of the predator misusing the material, not the material itself or its creator (unless the predator made it, then it’s still the predator’s fault!)

I don’t care how vile someone’s fiction is because I pay attention to how they treat real people. If someone who makes gross fiction does gross things to real people, I’ll judge them based on how gross they are to real people.

You can write wholesome, sweet, cute stories, but if you’re vile to real people, you are a vile person. Period.

Fictional characters can hold meaning to us. There are characters you don’t want to see or think about in a sexual way, and that is fine.

What isn’t fine is prioritizing them over real people.

Fandom antis have a body count and a track record of being horrible at real people to protect fictional characters, but ohhhh noooo they claim they’re the good ones who are here to keep fandom safe.

Yeah, right... 🙄

Real people matter, fictional characters are just actors or ink.

Get the fuck out if you won’t tell the difference. Everybody is sick of you.

[spicysoftsweet]

A Thorn In The Side - Gojo x Reader

Summary: Infatuation enduring from high school is more of a problem than you or he think (~3.4k words).

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, noncon, kidnapping, yandere, wlw mention, gojo is a pos

A/N: Part of @suedebunn​‘s Hanahaki collab! 

When the strongest jujutsu sorcerer to have ever lived wakes up in the early am with the sensation of thorns scratching his throat and fullness in his stomach, he’s baffled.

Even more so when he doubles over in bed to cough profusely to the point of near emesis, shocking for a man who rarely gets sick. He stares blankly at a pillow covered in droplets of flecks of red, and his eyes widen with trepidation, until he realizes those large drops strewn across his bed come from flowers rather than blood.

He must be dreaming, Gojo Satoru tells himself, but the satiny feel of the scarlet petals between his fingertips is very real.

Or perhaps a curse.

“So you expect me to diagnose you over the phone?” 

Shoko pulled a drag of her cigarette as though for dramatic effect, blowing it out with a sigh, but continued to listen. She had to be up early anyway and ignoring Gojo would only make him more annoying in her experience.

“So what are your symptoms again?” she asked.

“Apparently my insides are trying to match my beautiful outsides~” he sang.

Shoko rolled her eyes, and as though he could see her, Gojo laughed loudly.

“In all seriousness, I’m turning into a garden. Coughing up flowers apparently.”

“Coughing up flowers, huh?” She leaned a little further against her balcony, her eyes setting on the early morning sunrise she could view from her high rise apartment. “Do you think it’s some type of curse?”

“It’s… different,” he replied, somewhat noncommittally. “I don’t think it’s cursed energy, actually.”

This was unexpected.

“What else do you feel?”

“Uneasy…”

It was Shoko’s turn to laugh. An interesting choice of words coming from him.

“Any ideas?” Gojo insisted.

“I mean, it could be some kind of undetectable curse. I’d know if I got to see you… How does your heart feel when you cough up the flowers?”

“It races.”

“Your mind?”

“Also races… lightheaded.”

“Any thoughts?”

“None.”

“As expected.” she teased, laughing again until she realized that for once, Gojo was silent on the other end of the phone. She scratched her head, then ran her fingers through her fingertips.

“Come in at 2pm today, okay? Don’t be late.”

---

“Well, you’re right,” Shoko stated, stepping back from the examination table, and crossing her arms as she set herself down on a stool to formulate her assessment. 

Her friend, already graced with the palest of color palettes, did actually look ill, dark circles prominent enough to match hers marring his porcelain skin. He sat, legs spread apart, and leaning onto the weight of his hands besides him, raising an eyebrow quizzically..

“It’s not cursed energy, alright,” she said, with a sigh. She stretched out her hand.

“You brought the sample, right?” 

Gojo, uncharacteristically a bit listless, tossed her the bag of vomited petals from this morning, covered in now dry saliva and other fluids. Not batting an eyelash, Shoko slipped on a pair of gloves and felt inside the bag, petals crumbling at her fingertips.

Definitely not cursed energy. She placed the bag on a disorganized counter behind her, making a mental note of scrutinizing it further under a microscope.

“Ideas?” Gojo asked after he’d decided that the time he’d given her to think was enough. It turned out the idea of being sick irritated him more than he expected. 

The very idea of being vulnerable made him slightly nauseous.

Shoko let out a chuckle that sounded more nervous than she had intended.

“My only other thought is Hanahaki disease.”

“Hanahaki?” Gojo repeated.

“Yeah,” she stated. Crossing her legs, she relaxed into her stool further as she watched the young man carefully. “Who’s the unlucky one?”

“You mean?”

“Who’s the unfortunate soul you’re in love with?” She asked again, waiting for his response. The truth was that she was quite shocked at the idea of Gojo being afflicted with Hanahaki, that he of all people could have such a pure, destructive form of love given his track history.

She’d known him long enough to know that his body count was near ridiculous.

He tilted his head, then burst into laughter.

“Myself, duh.”

“Well, auto-Hanahaki isn’t a thing, but I suppose if it was, you’d be the one to be afflicted with it.”

She decided not to press further. “Whoever it is, I’d recommend you settle your feelings as soon as possible,” she added. “People don’t usually die from this but you look surprisingly like shit so I’d be careful.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, hopping off the table and pulling back on his shirt.

Settling his feelings may be more complicated than either of the two of them expected.

---

You were in the middle of your drive home when Shoko’s name finally flashed on your dashboard. Grinning, you picked up on the car speaker, mischief in your voice.

“It’s 7:03 and you promised me you’d call at 7 sharp, babe. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“You’re going to hold 3 minutes against me?” Her sultry voice filled your ears as you made the last turn between the grocery store and your apartment, and you hoped she’d be inside your home waiting for you so that you could actually hold something tangible against her.

“I did say I wasn’t going to tolerate you being late for anything anymore, didn’t I?” You teased.

“Bold declaration for someone who isn’t even home yet,” Shoko retorted.

In minutes, you were walking through the door, arms charged with bags full of groceries for dinner you’d planned to cook together. Shoko greeted you with a kiss on the forehead as you placed them on the counter.

“Did you miss me?”

You did, but you stuck out your tongue at her instead. Her hand intertwined with yours briefly before you separated to unpack items for dinner.

“I promise I’ll be less busy,” she offered as the two of you worked in tandem. Your stomach was already growling, so the sooner you had food on the table, the better.

“It’s no problem,” you replied, and you meant it only half-heartedly. It’s true she was less busy than a regular civilian doctor, but it seemed recently that her clinic was getting overrun with more and more curse victims. Things had been bad recently in the world, you figured. 

You were happy to step back from the world of sorcery, but small reminders like these persisted.

“Did you still manage to fit Gojo in today?”

She had complained earlier today that Gojo always managed to make a bad day worse.

“Mmm,” is what she offered over the sound of chopping vegetables. You understood that she couldn’t say more, on top of the fact that any discussion of Gojo was already a sore subject. It didn’t have to be, and it shouldn’t have been, but this was what it was.

“Hope he’s okay,” you offered, as you turned on the stove.

“He’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice now quieter than usual.

---

The first and last time Gojo fell in love was in the spring of his third year, he suddenly recalled in the middle of a tryst, as an upsettingly subpar blowjob allowed his mind to wander. The young woman whose gags sounded almost theatrical when compared to the amount of pleasure he was actually receiving was starting to get on his nerves, but instead he took matters in his own hands, wrapping her long ponytail around his wrist before guiding the back of her head so she took him deeper.

If she was gonna choke, she should commit to it.

He’d fallen in love with you at first sight. It was a strange feeling for him to immediately be enamored with someone upon first glance instead, having always been the recipient of many an awe-filled or fawning look.

You were a transfer from the sister school, already a rare occurrence, and what was even rarer was the fact that you both had little affinity to jujutsu and little interest in getting better. One could wonder why you even showed up in the first place, much less why you’d moved from one school to the other. 

You’d quit as expected just before graduation, but not before you caught his eye. 

“You’re pretty shitty at this,” he’d remarked, attempting to win you over with humor when he’d been assigned to you for both orientation and possible tutoring. “Of course, you can always ask me for help,” he added, flashing pearly whites at you.

He was the opposite of successful in wooing you.

“I suppose since this comes easy to you, this is just funny, right?” You’d quipped.

Your words cut more than both you and he anticipated, but it didn’t exactly matter. You were not interested in him, the way he was interested in you. 

But Shoko was different.

You became fast friends and upon your departure from the technical college, you’d remained in contact despite withdrawing from everyone else related to magic. 

Even if Gojo tried many times to either bring you back to this world you’d left behind or be part of your new one, you’d rebuffed him every time. Harshly. 

“I don’t know why you expect everyone to worship you,” was the last thing you’d said to him. “I’ve already made it clear that I don’t want to be part of this life,” you’d insisted. “Why would I change my mind just because you asked me to?”

You were right. 

And yet you loved Shoko.

The young woman whose name he’d forgotten’s face was now pressed against his pubic bone and she now began to squirm, slapping and scratching at him like some kind of trapped animal as she struggled to breathe, reminding him that he’d daydreamed for too long.

“Sorry,” he offered, as he released his grip, leaving her to sputter and choke. Looking at her, knowing that she was not you suddenly made him want to choke himself, to bring forth that impromptu garden of unrequited feelings.

He patted her on the back gingerly, and once it looked like she’d restabilized, pulled her in for another kiss. 

If only her lips tasted like yours.

---

Shoko’s hand glided against the curve of your hips, taking in the image of you sleeping softly on your side, facing her. She dipped down to kiss your nose; it was the only time the fact that she had such an issue with sleep benefited her, this ability to almost always wake up before you.

You looked incredibly peaceful while sleeping, and she had to admit this angelic view of you was even better than your features twisted in a pleasured mewl (not that it wasn’t a close battle).

There was a nagging concern in the pit of her stomach, however.

Gojo suffering from unrequited love could be a problem, if the object of his affections did happen to be you. But it had been years ago that he’d pursued you unsuccessfully, why present now?

Why present to her office of all people? Gojo could be inconsiderate, but not to this extent. 

But what if he didn’t know that this was what he was feeling? Suppressed feelings taking root and morphing themselves into the tangible he couldn’t ignore?

She sat up, resting her back against the backboard, the lack of a cigarette between her lips being palliated with the gnaw of her thumbnail. 

It couldn’t be. Not you. 

Please, not you.

---

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Shoko checked in about a week later.

Gojo didn’t share that he’d spent the entire morning in a coughing fit of petals, now definitely streaked with blood, and the entire last night vomiting enough flowers into the toilet that it had overflowed.

He didn’t comment on the entire scarlet sage plants with large green leaves that threatened to sprout from every orifice, not just his throat, but his ears and nostrils, possibly from behind his eyes.

He didn’t know what was next, only that it was getting worse.

The constant fire in the pit of his stomach, the shivers, the chills, the incessant flash of you running through his mind, your name moaned in the darkness, his body drenched in sweat.

The fact that he knew it was because he loves you and cannot find an alternative for you.

The fact that he must have you, and only you.

“Has it gotten better or worse?” Shoko asked.

“I’m fine,” Gojo reassured her, masking the exhaustion in his voice, and she made the mistake of believing him.

---

You awoke in darkness with an icy cold searing into your skin.

It took you a moment to let your eyes adjust to the light and for your body to resume the motor control it had briefly relinquished in sleep before you could reorient yourself. You were laying on ground of some sort, maybe hardwood which implied that you were in some kind of building. 

Your head throbbed viciously as you shifted slowly to a sitting position and you almost expected there to be blood as you ran your hands over the back of your head, checking for injury. But there was nothing, just the normal feel of your hair, and the steady thump of your temples in time with your pounding heart.

Looking around, your eyes soon fixed to the low light, not actual darkness to center on a figure in the center of the room.

You let out a gasp of surprise.

Gojo.

Not only had it been a while and he was the last person you expected to see, he looked stranger than he ever had.

He sat perched on a chair backwards, chin leaning on the top of the backrest. His head was tilted, and he watched you warily but fixedly through eyes that looked sunken into their orbits. Their clear blue was still sharp in the darkness.

His skin had taken on an almost ghostly cast to match his hair, and he was thinner than you remembered as though he had been slowly withering away since the last time you saw him. That was ages ago.

Your limbs froze in anticipation. You didn’t have to be a genius to recognize that whatever was happening or was about to happen was bad.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He stared at you blankly for a moment, unmoving. If he weren’t so extraordinarily fatigued, he would have sat up straighter in his chair and offered you a smile. You were still as pretty as the day he first laid eyes on you, after all. What a welcome sight.

“I guess I missed you,” he responded instead, quietly. 

Your teeth gritted as you flared up in indignation.

“Excuse me?”

He cut you off with a loud, exasperated sigh, mustering the little bit of energy he had left to run a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I thought I’d forgotten myself, but it turns out that I’m being betrayed by my own body.”

As though to add effect, a coughing fit began just at the end of his sentence, and you watched as he spat flowers into the palm of his hand, lowering them for you to see.

“And it seems like you’re the cause of this.”

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of bloody petals falling through his fingertips and hitting the ground.

He was completely out of his mind.

“I…,” you shakily got yourself up to your feet, not letting your gaze leave Gojo for a second. He didn’t get out of the chair, but he did shift so that he leaned back in the seat, a wicked smile on his face.

“You...?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You spat. “Where the hell am I and how did I get here?”

He finally did get up, although it was done in a dramatic, strained movement. He really had lost weight, you noticed, picking up the flash of pale wrists before he shoved his hands in his pocket.

“I know it sounds crazy but apparently, according to your girlfriend, I’m suffering from lovesickness.”

He bared more of his teeth now, looking more like a grimace than a grin by this time. “I didn’t believe it either, but then I started seeing you in my mind every single waking moment.”

In the split second it took for you to blink, he had crossed the distance between you, so that he was now in your personal space, the palm of his hand inappropriately caressing your face, as tender as you’d expect from Shoko.

And you immediately jumped back and backhanded him as hard as you could.

The crack of your hand was loud and exaggerated, reverberating in the room. For a moment, you froze in shock, surprised the slap had actually landed, before shaking out your now burning hand and following up with a hiss.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Gojo’s icy blue eyes glint, demonic in their delight.

“That’s the feisty bitch I remember.”

---

It was nearing 24 hours since you’d failed to reply to Shoko’s text and the normally collected woman was terribly anxious.

She’d stayed at work late, and still, not a single message from you. 

The nagging feeling in the back of her mind returned.

What if it were you?

Gojo couldn’t be that insane, could he?

When she entered your home to find traces of red salvia scattered throughout your home, it only confirmed her fears.

---

“I don’t want to do this either. I mean it.”

It was hard to believe him when he seemed to savor every brush of the lips as he trailed kisses along your inner thighs, spread open with the force of his hands. Gojo had always been deceptively strong, even now, when it looked like he was wilting just as much as the flowers he coughed up. 

Your wrists were bound to a fixed point at the head of a foreign bed, and your ankles to the bedposts anteriorly to prevent you from fighting. Not that you would have been able to fight back anyway, but the severe fatigue permeating his very bones made him less willing to risk anything.

When his lips made it to your center to circle your clit, you writhed in disgust, forcing back the sighs of pleasure that would inevitably ensure.

“Y-you can’t - ah - make me love you…”

Gojo paused the swishing of his tongue to give you a look that reeked enough of apathy that it was almost startling.

“I’m aware, but there’s no harm in trying.”

---

“Where the fuck is she?”

Satoru had the ostentatiousness within him to receive the phone call on speaker, so that you could hear Shoko beg to find out your whereabouts.

“She’s with me,” he replied, calmly to her, holding the phone in one hand and pumping fingers in and out of your slippery cunt with the other. 

By this time, Gojo had gotten tired of your expletives which no longer retained the initial cute charm, so your screams for help were muffled by a gag over your own wet panties shoved into your mouth.

He’d been at this for hours.

There was a pause on the phone from Shoko’s end that sounded like something crashing to the ground, maybe a plate breaking.

Her tone changed immediately.

“P-please don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not.”

He glanced at you who glared back at him with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You looked even prettier when you were so totally helpless.

“I would never,” he added.

The pump of his fingers slowed but did not stop.

“This won’t fix you,” Shoko warned, almost in a low protective hiss, her own voice breaking. “This won’t fix anything, you bastard.”

He cut off the phone abruptly, and let out a sigh before shifting his attention back to you.

“Where were we?”

---

Maybe if I pretend, he’ll stop?

Or will he continue? Will I just affirm that he won?

His thrusts were relentless, as was the constant tugging at your hair, the teeth sinking into every inch of your skin, the moans and groans whispered into your ears or your bosom.

A violation in every sense of the word.

You were running out of tears.

The fact that it’s pointless, you and he both know it. Your true love knows it, that this is just an excuse to get back at you. For what? Rejection? 

He would die anyway. You would never return his feelings, if there even truly were any. 

He continued to rut into you, and flowers started to stain every inch of your bodies, covering them in a deep scarlet.

Red. Red. Red.

Blood. Rage. Power. Passion.

You probably didn’t need the restraints anymore. You had no fight left in you. 

Just the satisfaction, however small, that regardless of what he did to you, he would still eventually succumb to nature and perish in a bed of putrid efflorescence.

[hotwings0203]

i’m thinking abt Police officer reader arresting scummy smexy Touya. Like he smirks when she arrests him and cuffs his hands to his back. I want him in me fr 😍‼️

Tw:none really, maybe sexual harassment and implied noncon

“Officer 776, we got a black sedan coming up your way on I-10. Do you copy?”

You sign and turn your music off before reaching for your walkie talkie and responding, “Yes, I copy.”

And sure enough, the only car that zooms by at 2 am on a Saturday night is a black sedan. It’s a shame, really, you were enjoying the city view by yourself without anyone to keep an eye on. You’re usually posted for ticket duty, but this time you got promoted for night watch.

You would’ve liked to continue leaning back in your seat and watch the only sky slowly dust with stars, but duty calls as the blue custom headlights go streaking past you.

Begrudgingly, you pull your driving handle back and start going after him, turning your lights on in the process and raising the siren.

You’re not even surprised when it takes some slight honking and almost a two mile mini-chase to get the car to pull over at the side of the gravelly road.

The car in front of you stalls, and you observe the status of the car itself. It’s hard to make out the look of the vehicle in the dark even with your headlights blaring in front of it, but you guess it’s a Mazda sedan or something of the sort just like how your higher-up said.

You take a deep breath and gather your flashlight as you open your door and swing outside.

On the short walk to the driver’s side you notice darker marks on the car…almost like they were scorch marks.

That’s strange.

The window is tinted and up. You roll your eyes in annoyance and give three sharp raps to the glass.

“Open the window and keep your hands on the steering wheel after.”

You wait a moment. It doesn’t budge.

A crease appears in your eyebrows and you quickly glance around. It’s completely deserted, just you and the perpetrator.

“I’m gonna have to ask you once more. Open the window otherwise-“

You cut off as the black glass slowly rolls down, revealing a man with ivory hair and black tips at the ends, his face scarred but astonishingly handsome. His mouth, eyebags, lower half of his face and ears are laced with silver piercings…stitches? Maybe, but whatever. Focus on the task at hand.

“What can I help you with meter maid?” Comes his sleazy, gravelly voice.

You lean down and rest an elbow on his lowered window, squinting at his smug face. His eyes are crinkled with the slight upturn of his lips, imitating a crude smirk.

No ones in the car with him, but you can faintly smell some kind of skunk aroma, and alarm bells go off in your head.

“Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?”

“Fast enough apparently, if I copped a sexy thing like you all for myself.”

He props his chin on his scarred hand and rests his elbow right next to yours, mocking your petulant expression.

You grimace and move your hand away from his. He pouts as you continue berating him.

“It’s 2am on a weekend, sir. Where were you headed off to that you had to be there in such a rush?”

The man sighs loudly and lets his head fall back against his leather seat, lips puffing out and fingers moving to drum against his steering wheel.

“Oh you know, the usual. Fucking bitches, getting money, anything a no-good handsome bastard like me does on the regular. Not like I’d expect you to know, meter maid.” He smirks showing his white canines and slowly looks you up and down.

When you scowl he raises his hands innocently and shrugs.

“Just kidding sweetheart. I was actually on my way to burn a few bodies, I’m a hit man y’know. Very much on the wanted list. I’m good at what I do…if you ever need a man, or a body,just call me.” He winks and his infuriating grin doesn’t falter as you yank open the door and practically throw his lanky figure out of the car.

He doesn’t put up any effort of resistance, just lets you push him down by the neck onto the hood of his car, his body bent as you begin searching him.

You know you smell some type of drug in the car but you’re not actually rooting through his pockets looking for gold. You just want a little bit of saving-face from his sleazy mouth.

He exhales and laughs as his cheek smushes against the black steel, his breath puffing up condensation on the hood while you pat his sides down.

“Put your hands on the car sir, and don’t move unless you want to be taken into a cell overnight.” You mutter as you feel his studded belt, his white tee revealing a toned yet sharp body underneath.

The man sighs in faux annoyance. “What’s with the attitude babe? If you’re feeling me up you might as well lose that cold shoulder. The name’s Touya by the way, I would’ve given it to you sooner if I knew you just wanted to get under my pants.”

You freeze as his words register right when you pay down his inner thighs for any suspicious substance-just following protocol.

Nevertheless, you instinctively shoot your hands to your side and sputter indignantly.

“You-you can’t talk to an officer like that! Are you drunk? Count to 100 for me.” You try to divert the conversations to where you have the upper hand, but you should’ve known Touya wasn’t gonna let it be that easy.

“Sure thing meter maid. It’s 1-800-*******.”

“What?”

“That’s my number. Be grateful, I don’t usually give opps my digits that easily, but you’re giving me a fun time so why not?” He cranes his head toward you and licks his lips seductively.

You’re thankful for the darkness of the night, for you can surely feel the best rise to your cheeks at his blatant…flirting?

“Shut up. Just let me do my job asshole.”

The walkie talkie crackles with static as your supervisor calls in to check on how you’re doing, but before you can speak into it Touya cries out suddenly.

“Help! Oh, help me officer! This meter maid is touching all over my little willy! She has ulterior motives I swear it!” He moans loudly and you snap the device shut before turning to him.

“Are you fucking crazy? Do you want me to get fired?” You hiss, but all you get in return is a maniacal grin.

“Sure, ‘means you can fuck around without any protocol then, right?” The man starts arching his hips up in a perverse manner and shoves his ass back into your torso.

You snarl and reach over his back, grabbing both of his hands and slapping a pair of cuffs on him before manhandling him the other way, his face finally aligned with yours, back against the cool steel.

“Oh, so you like it rough, huh?”

You ignore him and drop to a squat, taking his combat boots off less-than-gently and shaking them out for any real baggie.

“Shoulda’ told me sooner doll, we could’ve gotten this along wayyyy sooner.”

You slowly raise your eyes up and take in an eyeful of his thrusting hips mere inches from your eyes.

He’s looking down at you with one eyebrow raised and his usual smirk adorning his features.

Your blood rushes through your body like you just ran a marathon, and you abruptly stand before him, making sure your shoulder checks his straining bulge on your way up.

He yelps and doubles over, unable to clutch his prized possession.

This time when he straightens up with a twisted scowl, you’re the one grinning at him instead.

“Yeah, you’re right, actually. If you’re gonna get me fired anyways might as well do what I want, right?”

You open his passenger door and give him an innocent smile as he watches you warily.

After about 10 minutes of looting through his car and trunk, sure enough you produce a couple of large ziploc bags filled with white powder and copious amounts of cash under thinly concealed pockets in the back.

You hold all of these findings up, and each one of the revelations are either met with a mocking pout or a careless shrug.

Your skin starts to get hotter despite the chill of the night as none of your efforts to match his energy are met with any fruition. In fact, it seems to rile him up more.

“Looks like you’re getting tired hon. Why not use all that energy on this dick?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re not very good at this job, huh? You’d be better as some kind of stripper. Actually, nah, that’s too good of a job for you, maybe a prostitute stuck in my bed would satisfy you.”

On and on he goes as you practically raid his car, even throwing out belongings that aren’t in any way questionable.

Eventually you reach your tipping point. You make sure he’s watching you as you walk around back towards him and plant your feet squarely in front of him, taking your stance.

You reach into your pocket to produce your walkie, cock your arm back, and throw it as far as you can into the surrounding field.

“Where’s that smile now Touya? You scared you can’t defend yourself without anyone on the other side listening in?”

The ivory haired man shakes his head and sighs as if dealing with a grace loss. Your own brows furrowed as he looks up at you with a sorrowful expression, one that doesn’t quite scream sincere when the car lights reflect an excited gleam in his cerulean eyes.

“Nah, sweetheart. I’m actually more worried for you.”

And with a sound as soft as bell chimes, the tugs his hands at the back for a moment and brings his arms forward, palms spread and showing you cuff-less palms of blue hellfire.

He thinks you look pretty when the blue light reflects pure terror on your shadowed face.

“That was a stupid move, throwing your only hope of salvation away. I wasn’t lying, y’know. I really am a hit man. But I’ll take my own offer.”

As you turn to begin to sprint away he smiles again, this one more earnestly remorseful.

“I’ll be a hit man and a body you need for tonight.”

[multifandombookstore]

Thinking of You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader Genre: angst, fluff Warnings: kidnapping, blood, torture, mentions of BDSM??, noncon kissing, degradation, shooting, death Summary: the reader is taken by the unsub and she starts to hallucinate a certain dork Word Count: 4.7k words

All you can see is red and, no, it’s not from anger. Well, maybe a little bit of that too.

Blood trickles down your forehead into your eyes, your vision blurring with every drop that drips from your wound. With your hands tied up like this, you can’t wipe the blood from your eyes. With your head pounding, you try to remember how you got here. 

You playfully punch Spencer’s shoulder with a laugh, watching him rub his arm where you hit him. “There’s no way that actually happened!” you shout once you calm your laughter. You watch Spencer smile and nod his head, still rubbing his arm. 

“It did! You can ask Hotch,” he replies. He was telling you a story that happened before you joined the team as you two drove to the jet for a case. 

“There’s no way Garcia actually said that to Morgan on speaker! How was she not fired?” you ask incredulously, starting to cackle once more. He laughs along with you, remembering the shock on Morgan’s face when she said it to him. 

“I wish you would’ve been there to see it. Everyone’s face was priceless,” he says, his voice softer than before. You calm yourself again and look over at him, your heart warming at the sight of him. It was still pretty early in the morning, so the sun was shining right in his eyes as you drove, the sun visor doing nothing to protect his beautiful eyes. 

You’ve been on the team for about a year and a half now and it’s honestly been a wild adventure after the next. You were only supposed to stay on the team for a year but, of course, Spencer convinced you to stay and it honestly didn’t take that much convincing. You loved this team as your second family now and you couldn’t imagine working anywhere else or with anyone else. 

You park the car and get out, heading towards the jet where everyone else is walking to. Seeing Morgan, you quickly drag your luggage over to him and start teasing him. You watch him sigh and move his head to glare back at Spencer. You and Spencer start laughing again as you climb the steps, leaving Morgan to stare after the two of you. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny do you?” he asks you two, a playful lilt to his voice. You nod your head, trying to stop your laughter but Spencer kept cracking you up. “Reid, should I tell (Y/n) here about the peach incident?” Morgan asks him with a smirk. Instantly Spencer stops laughing and blushes a dark pink, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought,” he finishes as he sits across from the pair. 

“What? Peach Incident? I wanna know!” you say with a new light to your eyes, looking between the two males. Blackmail on Spencer? Who would’ve thought that existed. 

“No. Nothing happened. He’s bluffing,” Spencer stutters out, his face growing darker, causing Morgan to laugh. The others start to chuckle to themselves, finding the three of you amusing. 

You all stop when Hotch comes to sit down with his fresh cup of coffee, his voice serious as he starts to discuss the case. You all go around tossing ideas out, trying to brainstorm different answers. The flight went by in a minute, it feels like. Then again, your attention was on Spencer for more than half of the ride. The others have never seen you two go more than fifteen minutes without talking to the other. 

Once you touch down in a new state, you all pile out and into the cars waiting for you. You and Spencer take the back of one car while Rossi and Morgan take the front. “This unsub is kinda harsh,” you say softly, looking over the file again. 

“What makes you say that?” Rossi asks curiously, wanting to hear more of your input. 

“I mean, we’ve seen some things in our day but this? This just seems so...ruthless,” you say quietly, looking down at the pictures. Maybe you only thought it was worse than the others because all of these women kind of look like you. 

“Yeah, the stabbing of the genitalia is an overkill. I thought maybe he knew these women but maybe he just hates women in general. Since they all look similar, my guess is that they’re a surrogate for someone,” Morgan replies. You nod your head, trying not to imagine what pain these three women felt before being killed. 

Once you reach the station, you all walk in and set up in an extra room that they’ve allowed for you to use while here. From there, Hotch gives you all your orders. “JJ, Reid. I want you to go interview the two families that showed up today. Morgan, (Y/n). I want you two to go give the second family a visit. See why they haven’t been answering any of the police’s calls. Blake, we are going to go look at the kill sight where the last body was found.” 

With everyone having their orders, you all disperse out of the station. You give Spencer a goodbye smile before following Morgan to one of the cars. “So, peach incident?” you ask as soon as you two are enclosed inside of the car. He laughs as he starts the black vehicle, looking around him as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

“How did I know you were going to ask me again as soon as I heard we were paired up,” he teases with a smile. You grunt and look over at him, placing your cheek into your hand as you watch him drive. 

“C’mon, just tell me! I won’t tell Spencer that I know!” you plead. He scoffs at that, trying to hold back his laugh. 

“Yes, you will. I’m not dumb,” he replies as he checks his GPS to make sure he’s driving the right way. You let out a long groan and dramatically throw your head back against the headrest. Guess you’ll have to blackmail or guilt-trip him if you ever want to get that information. 

He parks the car on the road and checks the GPS once more to make sure that you two have the right address. “Well, this house is...interesting,” you comment as you study the exterior. I mean, it wasn’t terrible but you can tell by the yard and the house’s structure that they don’t take care of it very well. 

“Does anyone even live here?” Morgan asks half playfully as he steps out of the car, making you do the same. You two walk up the driveway and to the front door, both of you staying quiet for a moment to see if you can hear anyone inside. 

Hearing nothing, Morgan knocks on the door. “Hello? Anyone home?” he calls loudly. You both wait for a long moment, hearing nothing once more. 

“Despite their yard, I saw a shed and greenhouse in the back. Maybe they’re back there?” you guess, turning away from the door to look at Morgan. He silently nods his head before turning around and going back the way you two came. You two walk around the house and into the backyard, the dead grass crunching underneath your feet. 

“I can check the greenhouse while you check the shed,” he offers, leaving you to agree and split away from him. You walk over to the shed, noticing the lock is missing from the door. You take one last glance at Morgan before slowly opening the shed door. 

“Hello?” you call, looking into the poorly lit area. There were lots of boxes along with tools lining the wall. You look around the area, looking for clues as to if they’ve killed anyone here or with any of the equipment. You stop at a workbench, seeing tools and papers littering the desk. You pull a glove from your pocket, starting to move the papers around to read them. 

All of a sudden, you hear wood bending and creaking underneath someone’s weight. You turn around to look at Morgan, only to find a tall man with a shovel. Then, you don’t see anything except for black. 

You grunt at the memory, feeling your head throb as you recall the events. The edge of the shovel must’ve been what caused the injury on your head. You don’t doubt that you have a concussion. With blood still dripping into your eyes, you try to figure out where you are. From the looks of it, you’re in an abandoned factory of sorts. 

You tug on your arms again and feel something wrapped around your wrists, holding your arms out behind you. This is also keeping you sat up, the strain of whatever is binding you too great for you to slouch forward. You tilt your head back, hoping to get the blood out of your eyes. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been out for nor do you know how long it is until someone shows up. You bring your head back down and watch as the same man as before walks over to you with a handheld toolkit. He gets down on one knee and then opens up the kit. 

“Are you Mr. Jenkins?” you ask softly, finding your throat a bit dry. He ignores you, pulling out a cloth and dousing it in saline solution. He then cleans your wound, not bothering to be gentle about it. You don’t make a peep though, remaining quiet as to not irritate or upset him and make him stop. Once done with that, he dries the area before wrapping gauze around your head. There’s still caked blood on your face and with your injury, you’re not sure cleaning it up and wrapping it was the best way to go but you suppose this is better than nothing. Besides, you can’t even see how bad your injury is. Maybe it feels worse than it actually is. 

When he deems his job done, he packs everything back into his kit before standing up. “Wait!” you call weakly, watching him not even hesitate to leave you alone once more. You sigh and look around, finding it much easier to see now. After some time has passed, you feel a streak of blood start to trail down your face. You were right, the wound is bigger than he’s letting on. 

You tilt your head back to keep the blood from getting in your eyes again, closing your eyes since all you’re looking at is a ceiling. You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to think of a way out of this situation. Already knowing the answer, you bring your head up for a moment to check to see if you still have your gun. Confirming that you indeed don’t have it, you tilt your head back again. You then wondered if he knows you’re not just a random person that wandered into his shed. Your badge is in your coat though, so you can’t check to see if it’s gone or not. You’re guessing he checked all of your pockets before leaving you alone though.

Guess you just need to remain calm and wait to see what happens.

Morgan walks into the greenhouse, finding dead and withering plants scattered around. Despite no one being inside, he starts to look around for evidence or hints as to what these people really do. 

He stops his snooping when he hears a truck on gravel, his boots stepping on dead plants and dried leaves as he walks towards the exit. What he finds though isn’t at all what he’s expecting. 

There you are, limp in someone’s arms and being tossed into the bed of a truck. “Hey! Stop!” he shouts, pulling out his gun as he starts running. The guy, knowing he’s been caught, starts to run to the driver’s door. Morgan aims his gun at the driver and fires, the first shot just missing by a couple of inches. With the man in the truck and starting to drive off in his truck, Morgan shoots at the tires. He curses loudly when he misses or the bullets don’t do anything to stop the driver, simply slowing him down a little. Morgan memorizes as much of the plate as he can before the truck disappears around the corner. 

Morgan curses loudly again and takes out his phone, calling Hotch. With everyone alerted, they all come to the Jenkin’s home. Caution tape is put up at the entrance of the property to keep nosy neighbors at bay, forensics showing up and starting to take pictures of the crime scene. 

Everyone turns when JJ and Reid pull up in another car, knowing that this isn’t going to be good. Reid is in front of them in practically a second, his eyes wide and fearful. “What happened? Where is she?” he spits out faster than anyone can decipher. Morgan, already knowing what he was going to say, places his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, calm down. Take a breath,” he says calmly, hoping Reid won’t lash out. Lash out is exactly what Reid did though. 

“Calm down? How am I supposed to be calm when (Y/n) was taken by someone? Look at all the blood! She’s probably bleeding out! What were you doing? Why weren’t you here to protect her?” Why wasn’t I here to protect her?

“Reid,” Hotch warns, stepping up beside Morgan. Morgan sighs and looks over at the blood, a frown hanging heavy on his face. “Morgan, tell us what happened now that everyone is here,” Hotch commands. 

Morgan sighs again, refusing to look at them. “(Y/n) and I knocked on the door and there was no answer. She then pointed out that there was a shed and greenhouse in the backyard, and that they might be in there. So, she took the shed while I took the greenhouse. I was looking around inside when I heard a truck. I come out of the greenhouse to see...to see our unsub carrying her to the back of the truck. I called out to him as I drew my gun, starting to fire as he escaped.” 

Everyone stays quiet for a moment after he finishes, no one really knowing what to say. Reid, of course, is the first one to speak. “You should’ve been with her. You shouldn’t have separated. You—”

“Reid,” JJ interrupts, placing her hand onto his back. “You can’t blame him. All of us probably would’ve done the same to cover more ground quicker,” she says softly, trying to soothe him. His hands clench into fists, his eyes stinging with the want of tears. He can’t cry though, not here. 

“I’m sorry. Let’s just work hard to bring her back,” he mumbles, staring at the red ground. 

It’s been a couple of days, you know that much. Mr. Jenkins hasn’t given you any food and has only given you enough water to not die from dehydration. You’ve barely slept a wink, the position you’re in keeping you upright. Besides, you’re too worried and scared to actually close your eyes for long. 

You’re assuming that Mr. Jenkins doesn’t own this property or else the gang would’ve found you by now. You wonder how Spencer is handling this.

“Well, I’m quite upset, I’ll tell you that much.” 

You turn your head to the side, finding Spencer leaning against an old, rundown machine. A smile comes to your face just from the sight of him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you,” you reply hoarsely, your throat dry as a bone and begging for water. He smiles back and walks over to you, squatting down in front of your slouched figure. 

“That’s quite the bump on your head,” he says as he runs his fingers over your wound. You can’t feel his touch though. 

“How did you find me?” you ask, wondering why he isn’t freeing you. 

“You know, I kind of like you tied up like this,” he teases, a smirk spreading across his face. You feel your face heat up at his words, your eyes now avoiding his face. 

“Spencer, I don’t think now is the time for us to be talking about this,” you stutter out. He chuckles at your embarrassment, his hand moving to cup your cheek but you still can’t feel his touch. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know? I never get tired of looking at you,” he whispers, leaning closer to your face. Your embarrassment only grows at his compliment, your head shaking. 

“I don’t understand—”

“Do you remember that one time we played chess? The time before we worked that one stone case? You were right, I did let you win. I just wanted to see you smile when you realized you won,” he whispers. You let out a weak laugh, remembering the memory like it was yesterday. 

“I knew it. I’m a profiler, after all. I can tell when you’re lying,” you respond softly, all this talking starting to drain your energy. He chuckles and leans forward, his breath fanning across your face. Just like you figured, it smells like coffee. He’s addicted to the stuff. 

“No you can’t. You just think you can,” he replies playfully. He then starts to lean closer, his lips ghosting over yours. You close your eyes, waiting to feel his lips against yours. You’ve been wanting to kiss him for so long. You always imagined he would taste like coffee. 

Well, you had your eyes closed until a creaking door is pulled open. You open your eyes to find Spencer gone and in his place is your captor. “What? Wanna kiss?” he snaps, squatting down in front of you. You look away from him, the smell of his breath making you want to puke. He reaches up and grabs the back of your head by your hair, forcing you to bring your head up to look at him. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he snaps. 

He then smashes your lips together, his cracked and dry lips completely covering your own. You don’t return the kiss, simply sitting there as still as a statue. He doesn’t bother kissing you long, knowing you won’t return it. “Dumb whore,” he mumbles as he stands up again, reaching for a container that he had set down when he came in. He pulls out a half filled water bottle and a piece of moldy bread. 

He sets the water bottle down without the cap before setting the bread down onto the dirty floor. “Bone apple teeth,” he jokes as he leaves. You feel your eyes sting but you force yourself not to cry. You bend over with your arms still behind your back and take the top of the water bottle in between your teeth. You then slowly sit up and tilt your head back, using your mouth alone to drink the water. You then look down at the bread once you finish the water, deciding that it’s not worth the trouble. You haven’t gone that long without food, after all. 

After the first visit, Spencer always comes back to visit you more. He never gives you that kiss though. “I have to leave you wanting more or you’ll leave me,” he explains after you confront him one day. Your brows furrow in confusion, your eyes barely even open at this point. 

“That’s not true. I would never leave you,” you reassure. He turns to look at you from his seat beside you, a sad smile coming to his face. 

“Just trust me. If I do...something will happen to you,” he whispers, turning away to look around the dank factory. You let out a sigh and nod your head a bit, understanding what he’s saying. 

“Okay. Just because I’m accepting that though doesn’t mean I like it,” you reply lightly. He hums and looks at you again, his face going from sad to heartbroken. 

“I miss you, you know.” This makes you smile and your heart flutter in your chest. 

“I miss you too. Why else do you think I’ve made you up?” you reply. It took a couple times of him showing up for you to realize that you’re hallucinating him. You didn’t really mind though. He helped you stay sane. 

“Because you need someone handsome to look at?” he asks jokingly. You hum and nod your head, coughing weakly before you can reply to him. 

“There’s that too,” you admit. He laughs and leans over to rest his head on top of yours. In return, you rest your head on his shoulder. Honestly, he’s probably the only reason that you haven’t gone insane yet. 

“I’m getting close. I’ll find you soon,” he promises. You let out another hum, hoping he’s telling the truth and not lying to make you feel better. 

He’s gone in a blink of an eye when the door opens and your captor walks in. “Alright, your time has come,” he says as he starts to undo your binds. Your shoulders and arms scream in pain but you keep your lips tightly sealed to keep you from actually screaming. 

“Do you know who I am?” you croak out. You hear him scoff as he makes you stand up, your vision instantly swimming and causing you to get light headed. You lean against him to prevent yourself from falling down, fear starting to crawl it’s way through your mind. 

“You’re in the FBI, right? I found your badge in your pocket. I took it upon myself to see this as a challenge,” he replies, shoving you forward and causing you to fall face first. You barely have the strength to push yourself up but it didn’t matter since he’s grabbing you by your hair and arm to drag you back up. “I think I’m doing a standup job too. They have no idea where we are,” he informs you proudly. 

You can’t tell where he’s taking you, your vision swimming too much to tell, but the next thing you know, you’re being laid out on a hard, cold surface. “I figured that you’re special, so I’m going to give you some special treatment.” You grunt before letting out a dry cough. 

“Yay me,” you reply sarcastically. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s cutting off your shirt and dress pants. It didn’t take him long to start cutting you. You bite your tongue to stop from screaming but the pain eventually gets to be too much. You try to fight him off but god, you can hardly keep your limbs up or moving. You wouldn’t be surprised if he also drugged the little water he gave you. 

You’re not sure how long you’re there for. A couple minutes, an hour, a day, you don’t know. It doesn’t matter. You’re losing blood fast and you know what comes at the end right before he kills you. “Ready for the finale?” he asks darkly, trailing his knife from your foot up your leg towards your crotch. 

You refuse to beg though. You won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Aww, you’re no fun. By this point, all the other girls were whimpering, snotty messes begging me to spare them. I even got offered for them to be my sex slave and what have you. I wish you’d offer me something like that,” he whines playfully, a dark smile on his face. With the tip of his knife a little above your pelvic bone, he connects his lips to yours again. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, starting to drag that knife down and lighting a fire in the blades place. You bite his tongue just as multiple doors bang open. 

“FBI! Move away from the woman!” someone calls. He pulls his face away from yours, blood pouring from his mouth where you bit into his tongue. 

“You little bitc—” he starts to yell as he pulls his arm back to stab your genitals, just like he did for his other victims. He doesn’t get the chance to stab you though, a gunshot ringing throughout the factory and piercing right through his brain. His blood sprays on you before he falls dead to the floor, relieved tears starting to leak from your eyes. 

Spencer was by your side in a second, holstering his fired weapon. “You’re okay. God, we were almost too late,” he mumbles, tears coming from his own eyes. He helps you sit up before draping his coat around your shoulders and pulling you close. Paramedics are quick to come over to you two, trying to separate you two to put you onto a stretcher. 

“No, stop! I’ll carry her,” he says quickly, keeping you wrapped up tight in his arms. He then turns you to pick you up bridal style, whispering calming words to you as he carries you out of that wretched place. He kisses you on your temple before handing you over to the ambulance, refusing to leave your side as he rides with you to the hospital. You smile lovingly at him as he squeezes your hand, your body not having the energy to return the act. 

You don’t remember passing out but you did, apparently, since the next thing you know, you’re waking up in a hospital bed with a certain nerd asleep by your side. You let out a sigh as you shakily bring your hand up to run it through his messy hair. He wakes up right away and looks up at you like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh thank god,” he sputters as he stands up to wrap you in a hug. You grunt when you feel the pain flare up in your arms, this making him pull away instantly. 

You find tears in his eyes, your own eyes starting to tear up as well. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he cries, his voice sounding crushed. You sniffle and gently grab his hand, being careful of your wounds. 

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you reply shakily. He smiles at you and uses his free hand to wipe away your tears that started to fall. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, almost too quiet for you to hear. You laugh weakly at this, remembering how you begged imaginary him to kiss you back in the factory. 

“Please.” You barely get to finish before his lips are meeting yours. Not to your surprise, he tastes exactly like you thought he would. Coffee. He kisses you passionately, every single emotion you both feel being expressed through that kiss. Fear, guilt, desperation, love, admiration, and so much more. 

You two pull away when someone clears their throat. “Well, at least I know that you’re okay now,” Rossi teases, the rest of the gang looking in from behind him. You and the others laugh as you wipe the tears from your eyes while they all come in. 

“I’m more than okay. Thanks for saving me, guys.” 

“Don’t thank us,” Hotch says. 

“It’s all because of boy wonder here that we were able to find you,” JJ supplies. You look to Spencer to find him blushing. 

“He went on an absolute rampage,” Blake starts, getting a ‘no, I didn’t’ in response from Spencer, “He refused to sleep until he found you. I don’t think anyone has ever been scared of Reid until that moment.” You’re starting to feel warm now. He did all that for you? 

“Stop exaggerating,” Spencer snaps, giving your hand a squeeze. This makes everyone laugh. Well, except for a certain member of your crew. 

Morgan walks over to your bed, his whole body tense and he almost seems ready to cry. “(Y/n), I’m sorry that I got yo—”

“Stop. Don’t blame yourself. There’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just learn from it and move on, yeah?” you say kindly, a warm smile on your face. He lets out a hefty sigh and nods his head, a small smile coming to his face. 

“Now, give me a hug. In fact, everyone give me a hug!” you command, making everyone chuckle as they follow your orders.

┍━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┑

MASTERLIST

More with Spencer Reid

Should I make a Tag List? 

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[disturbedbydesign]

Lie To Me - Chapter 8

Pairing: dark!Professor!Bucky x reader

Chapter 8 Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: After getting a spot in Professor Barnes’s coveted writing workshop, you start to form a close relationship with your handsome new teacher. But Bucky Barnes is not who he appears to be, and once he has you where he wants you, he’s not going to let you go.

Warnings (for complete work): noncon/rape, dubcon, sexual assault, daddy kink (not ddlg), voyeurism (hidden camera), blackmail, manipulation, age gap (reader is 21, Bucky is late 30s), student/teacher dynamic, physical violence, reader has history of physical and sexual abuse by a family member, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of campus rape, body image issues (reader has scars), ableism, smut/explicit sex (oral, vaginal, anal), unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), choking, biting, breeding.

A/N: Written for the @writing-in-the-dark-bingo challenge (bingo card at end of chapter). This one got away from me but there’s just something about creepy manipulative Professor Bucky that really does it for me. I apologize in advance for how messy this gets. Also, please heed warnings. This is a dark!fic and you are responsible for your own media consumption. 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Eight

Bucky had been pleasantly surprised by the amount of pain you were able and willing to tolerate. Given your history, he hadn’t taken you for the type who takes pleasure in pain—an emotional masochist perhaps, but that’s it. He’d thought he would have to work up to that with you, but he’d been delighted to find out he was wrong. You’d wanted to please him, sure, but it was more than that—you wanted it, you needed it, and your willingness to submit to him in every way was a most welcome discovery. Because he has plans for you, and now he thinks you might actually enjoy them.

Much as it pains Bucky to do it, Steve was right; he needs to patch things up with Sharon before she does something rash. When she arrives at his office, he wears his best mea culpa face and hands her a flute of her favorite champagne.

“What’s this for?” she asks.

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what exactly?”

“Listen, Sharon, I know I’ve been especially prickly lately and I’ve taken my shit out on you and I want to apologize for that.”

“Well, I appreciate that, Professor Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he says. “It’s Bucky to you. You know that.”

He can see her cheeks redden a bit and he raises a flute of his own.

“To your success,” he says.

“I don’t understand.”

“I made a few calls. You have an interview for that summer internship at The New Yorker set up for tomorrow afternoon. It’s a formality, of course. You’ll get it. I made sure of that.”

Sharon’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God, Bucky, thank you.”

“I know how much you’ve always wanted it. I figured I owe you that, at the very least. I’ve been a real shit lately, Sharon. You’ve always been nothing but good to me.”

“It’s ok,” she says. “Water under the bridge.”

“Cheers to that.” He smiles wide and they clink glasses.

“So,” she asks, “you still need me to go talk to her?”

Bucky pretends to think about it. “I’m honestly not sure. Could use your input, actually.”

“Where are you with her? I mean, broad strokes. I don’t need the details.”

“The Parker thing threw her, but I think she’s coming around.”

“The roommate is coming back tomorrow,” Sharon notes. “If you want me to talk to her, I need to do it now.”

“Maybe you should, then, yeah.”

“Not a problem. I’ll go over there right now.”

“Finish your champagne first at least. I got you the good stuff.”

Sharon smiles as Bucky pours her a second glass.

“If you insist,” she replies, and when she smiles at him, Bucky can see that it’s genuine.

📚

Sharon is a little tipsy as she makes her way across campus to your dorm. She knows that Bucky only ever does things that serve his purposes—that his little olive branch is just another chess move—but she doesn’t particularly care. Bucky Barnes giveth and Bucky Barnes taketh away. Sharon has learned not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth when he’s feeling charitable. Besides, The New Yorker internship has been a dream of hers for years, and what was all of this for if she doesn’t get to reap the ultimate reward?

She knocks on your door and you look flustered when you open it.

“Oh, wow. Hey, Sharon. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company. Lemme throw something on real quick.”

Sharon spies the bite mark on your shoulder before you get your hoodie over your tank top. She remembers those. She hated them.

“Sorry, I probably should have called first. Can I come in?”

“Of course. Sorry. So, uh, what’s up? I didn’t miss a deadline, did I?”

“No no, it’s not that. I wanted to talk to you about Peter Parker.”

She sees you wince when you hear Peter’s name. “What about him?”

“Well,” Sharon begins, “I know that you have a personal connection to the whole Peter situation. I mean, I read your interview and it wasn’t that hard to connect the dots. At least, not for me, because I know something about what happened. Anyway, Professor Barnes sort of let it slip that you’re angry with him that he didn’t come forward with the information about Peter right away, and I just wanted you to know that that’s totally my fault. You have every right to be angry, but it shouldn’t be at him.”

“I… I don’t understand. What do you-”

“Barnes came to me for information because he knows my sorority throws joint parties with those guys sometimes, and I didn’t want to but I told him what I knew on the very strict condition that he not tell anyone. There’s sort of a code of silence when it comes to Greek life around here and it would be bad for me in terms of networking if I got branded a snitch.” She pauses, feigning contrition. “I know that’s no excuse and it’s selfish, but it’s the truth. Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me—especially having Peter in class with you—so I went to Barnes and told him to go ahead and pursue it, and that if he absolutely had to attach my name to it, he could. He would never have sat on it if I hadn’t begged him to. I just thought you should know that and I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry.”

Sharon watches your every move as she speaks, trying to gauge your reaction, and you seem to believe her. It takes you a minute to gather your thoughts and Sharon waits patiently to hear them.

“I appreciate you telling me that, Sharon. I do. And I’m not mad at you or anything. I mean, I’m not in a sorority, but I know enough to know that it’s kind of a fucked-up complicated social dynamic when it comes to shit like this, so I get why you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with it. You were just trying to protect yourself—believe me, I get that—but can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What did Professor Barnes say to you about me exactly? Like, how did that even come up?”

“Oh, it was nothing really,” she replies. “He was moping around his office yesterday when I went to drop off some research and he almost bit my head off when I asked him what was wrong. Then he felt bad about being snippy so he told me that you were angry with him about the Peter situation. Between you and me, Barnes acts aloof sometimes, but he’s actually a very sensitive guy. He doesn’t like it when people are upset with him. He just wants to be adored at all times, I think.”

That makes you laugh, and Sharon laughs with you.

“Sounds like every moderately successful male writer in the history of the craft,” you quip, and Sharon gets a kick out of that. She still doesn’t like you, but she gets why Bucky picked you.

“Anyway,” Sharon continues, “I told him I would come and talk to you because it was my fault that it all happened the way it did. So here I am, begging you to please forgive Barnes so he doesn’t make my life miserable for the rest of the semester.”

“I’m not mad at him anymore,” you admit. “I was—I was fucking pissed—but I’m not now.”

“I’m glad,” she says. “Barnes is a good guy. He would never do anything to intentionally hurt someone—especially not one of his students. That’s just not who he is.”

“Yeah,” you say, “I know.” Sharon can hear the lovesickness in your voice and it makes the champagne churn in her stomach.

“Alright, well, sorry to barge in on you like this. I’ll get out of your hair now.” Sharon wears a fake smile on her way out of your dorm and texts Bucky on her way to her car.

She bought it. You were right. She really is easy.

📚

The second Sharon is out the door you snatch up your phone and text Bucky.

So Sharon stopped by... You should have just told me the whole truth. I would have understood

I know you would have but I made a promise to her and I don’t break my promises

I get that. But I don’t know why you’d think I’m still mad at you. I figured after the other night…

I honestly wasn’t sure if it was just sex or if you actually forgave me

It wasn’t just sex and I think you know that

Do I?

Well if you don’t now you do

Come over tonight? It’s Friday... you can stay in my bed all weekend if you want

You sigh because, as amazing as that sounds, you have a lot of fucking work to do.

I can’t. I have so much work. I’m behind on like everything. You’re really fucking distracting, you know that?

I would apologize but I’m not even remotely sorry

You’re such an asshole. But ok let me see how much I can get done tonight and tomorrow and maybe I can come by tomorrow night?

Anytime you want, babygirl

The pet name makes you ache for him but you may actually fail half your classes if you fuck around this weekend so you force yourself to stay strong, gathering up your shit and heading out to try and hammer out your Classics paper.

You stay strong at the coffee shop when he tries to bait you: You sure you don’t wanna come over? I’m so lonely…

You stay strong in the library when he starts sexting you: I’m so fucking hard right now. Need your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock

You even stay strong late night in your room when he sends you a pic, hand gripping the base of his cock, cum absolutely everywhere, and a message: Thinking of you...

OK, maybe you don’t stay totally strong after that one. Maybe you shut your laptop for the night and crawl into bed and call him and fuck yourself with your fingers, telling him you wish it was his big fat cock instead. But, hey, at least you finished your paper.

Bucky is relentless all day Saturday—you even have to turn your phone off after a particularly lewd text about the things he wants to do to you made you audibly moan in the otherwise silent library. By 7pm, you’re way over-caffeinated, starving, and basically braindead. But you did well. You got most of your work done. You’re proud of yourself. You were a good girl, and now you deserve a reward.

You walk to your car in the library parking lot and find Bucky waiting for you.

“You turned your fucking phone off, didn’t you?”

“Christ, Bucky. You scared the shit out of me. How long have you been out here?”

“Not long,” he replies. “I needed to grab something from my office and I saw your car. SInce, you know, it’s Saturday night and you’re basically the only one at the library. Wasn’t too hard to spot. I was gonna come inside and steal you but I figured I’d better not.”

You remember one of Bucky’s many texts from earlier that day—the one where he described in detail how he wanted to drag you down to the archive room and fuck you in front of all the first editions.

“Well, I was just about to call you, but since you’re here already like a psycho stalker, I am absolutely fucking done working for the weekend and I’m starving.”

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “Not gonna lie, I thought I could get you to cave.”

“I do have some self-control, you know.”

“I don’t.” He pulls you into the shadows, grabs you by the neck, and steals a deep, hungry kiss.

You let it happen, and you kiss him back, and you want to whisper “choke me” but then your brain starts to work again thinking what the fuck is wrong with me and this is a very bad idea and you push him off.

“Bucky, stop! Not here.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. That was bad. Felt good, though.” He gives you that devious little smile that makes your pussy throb and you know it’s time to go.

“Ok, let me just run back to my room and grab some stuff and I’ll meet your at your place.”

“I’ll order dinner. What do you want?”

“Thai?”

“Perfect. Just text me what you want. See you soon, babygirl.”

He gets into his Jag and speeds off, and as you watch him go, you can still feel his metal hand wrapped around your neck. It’s all you can think about on the short drive back to your dorm, all you can think about as you pack an overnight bag, all you can think about when you pull up to his place and walk in the unlocked door. You drop your bag and practically run over to where he stands in the kitchen, standing up on your tiptoes and kissing him. You want him to do it again—to feel the cold metal squeezing your skin—but he doesn’t, and you can’t bring yourself to ask for it.

📚

Bucky has you curled up next to him on the couch, one arm across his lap and the other holding a glass of wine. You’re on the third episode of one of those murder shows you love and Bucky is content just to watch you watching it.

“We don’t have to watch any more if you don’t want to,” you say.

“You worked your ass off this weekend, baby. If you want to watch the whole fucking thing tonight then that’s what we’ll do, but can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” You pause the show and turn to him.

“Why are you so obsessed with true crime?” he asks.

“Well I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed with it. I just find it fascinating—the evil that some people are capable of, what motivates them, the lies they tell themselves, the truths behind all of it.”

“Why do you think that is? I mean—and feel free to tell me to fuck off and mind my own business—but do you think maybe it’s because you… well, because of your-”

“Probably,” you admit. “I’ve never really thought about it like that, but I guess it’s sort of… not cathartic, not comforting exactly. I don’t know. I guess there’s something about watching other people’s tragic horror stories that makes me feel like, well, at least that didn’t happen to me. That’s really fucked up, huh?”

“No,” he says, rubbing your arm. “It’s not.”

“Yeah it is,” you laugh. “It’s ok. You can say it. I’m kinda fucked up.”

He kisses the top of your head, taking a deep breath full of you, and speaks into your hair. “I think you’re doing just fine.”

You take a sip of wine and put the glass down on the coffee table. “I lied to you, you know.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I know.”

“I mean not completely, but-”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. You didn’t even know me.”

“I know you now,” you say, looking deep into his eyes. “But can I trust you?”

“I can’t make that decision for you, babygirl.”

You sigh. “I know. I want to trust you, I do, but it’s really hard for me.”

“I understand.”

Bucky remains calm, but inside every cell of his body is on fire because he is so fucking close to getting the answers he’s been seeking ever since your file came across his desk. But he needs to have patience. He needs you to feel completely safe with him or he will never get what he needs.

“I just… sometimes I feel like jumping out of my skin. Like all this shit I have to carry is rotting me from the inside. And I can’t talk about it. I can’t tell anyone about it. Well, I mean, there’s one person I can talk to but she has so much of her own shit I feel like I’m burdening her with mine.”

“You can tell me anything. Just know that.”

“I do,” you say. “I think.”

“Well alright then. That’s all you need to say.”

He can tell just how much you want to spill your guts out all over him but you don’t—you’re not ready yet, but you will be.

By Episode 5, he’s got you completely naked and squirming on top of him as you cum all over his fingers.

“Feels so good, Daddy.”

“My cock’s gonna feel better. Ride me, baby.”

You raise yourself off him just enough for him to get his pants down before slowly sinking down onto him. You moan “fuuuuck” in tandem as you take the length of him, and then you start to move. Bucky prefers to be in control, but he is absolutely dumbstruck by the way you look bouncing on top of him. When you start to roll your hips, he throws his head back and bites his lip.

“That’s it, babygirl. Use me.”

He brings his hands from your hips up to your tits and lavishes attention on each one with his fingers and his tongue, When you find the right angle—the one where each stroke hits your sweet spot just so—you grab two fistfuls of his hair and you pull. He grabs your hips and starts to fuck up into you, meeting you halfway, and it’s not long before Bucky hears your telltale little whimper.

“You gonna cum for me?”

“Mhmm.”

And then you grab his metal hand and put it on your neck and whisper, “Choke me, Daddy.”

The sound that comes out of Bucky’s mouth is absolutely feral and of course he does what you ask—not too hard, though, because that’s not what you want. What you want is to feel like he has your life in his hands, to roll the dice—to trust him—and see if he’ll hurt you or keep you safe. He applies just enough pressure to constrict your breathing as he fucks you through your orgasm, and you make an absolute mess all over him as he praises you. When he lets go, you gulp down some air and then kiss him slow and deep.

When you pull away, Bucky takes your face in his hands and presses his forehead to yours and whispers, “I love you.”

You look startled, scared even, but you don’t stop circling your hips.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Bucky.”

“I mean it,” he says. “I love you,” and he thinks to himself that he might not even be lying.

“I-”

“You don’t have to say it. It’s ok.”

But you do say it, and he knows you mean it because he can feel it in every inch of your body.

He whispers against your mouth, “Say it again.”

“I love you, James.”

When his given name falls from your lips, Bucky cums so hard he thinks the veins in his neck might burst. He can’t catch his breath. He can’t see straight. He hears you ask, “Are you ok?” and he truly doesn’t know if he is ok but he doesn’t care because he’s got you now.

When Bucky finally gets it together, he gathers you in his arms and spoons you, running his fingers up and down your bare arm. Neither of you say anything, but it’s not awkward. The silence is comfortable. It feels like home. Until you break it.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“You know my car accident?” you ask, but it’s not a question, and there’s something new and different in your voice—something almost malevolent that chills Bucky to the bone. “It wasn’t a fuckin accident.”

Chapter Nine >>>

[wildernessuntothemselves]

I’m just so so pissed at gyu for being a r^p1$t and being so…close-minded and shit (every time he makes an excuse as to why he did what he did it infuriates me! You don’t do that to someone you love man..). On the other hand I LOVE how he loves her…he’s totally whipped for her and that has me kicking my blanket! 😅 And I do recognise how much he’s been struggling with the marriage, with his father, with OC being so upset with him. And as much as I hate to say it, I low-key feel bad for him. But then I remember how he’s so possessive and batshit insane and I hate him all over again. 😩

I’m happy that OC is with tyun now and I really want him to learn to be more…human? lmao but really, he’s so cold-blooded. I love him though, in my eyes he saved her and hasn’t done anything insanely wrong either (not counting his casual murdering spree). I’m optimistic, but I’ll still expect a bit of disappointment…he doesn’t love her like gyu does yet… 😏😏. It would be everything if the ‘I can change him’ ideology works and he starts being more gentle because of her (knocking people unconscious instead of killing them lol). No but how cute would it be if everyone notices a shift in him. He’s smiling more and he’s kinder etc. I feel like even if he changes and falls in love with OC and OC still stupidly wants to go back to gyu he would let her because he’s strong and values her human rights and freedom.

Back to gyu lol. I feel like it’s gonna be WW3 he’ll literally declare war on tyun cause of OC and scour the lands to find her. But hopefully if they do ever reunite, she’s more street smart. She would’ve gone though hell and back with tyun and eventually she’ll get stronger and she’ll be braver too. She’ll stand up for herself and be more respectable. Kind of like Mulan learning to be a man.

I’m one of those readers who discovered this at like chapter 3. I was just curious as to what this whole thing was and then I ended up reading it from start to finish! I might go back and read 1&2 but I feel like my view of gyu is tainted (I know the terrible shit he’s about to do) so it might be hard to read…Idk what do you think?

#yamqn i seriously love your writing!! 😭🤍

The dichotomy of gyu is insane 😭 and i love how you view his character as that is how i intend people to see him. that he loves her a lot and that he suffered so much but that that doesn't excuse his behaviors at all

yeah tyun is just starting. he might be changed by oc like he will change her so it's understandable that he's so severe now. he still has a journey to go through. question is if he'll be too prideful to bend. and yeah that's actually the start of the new chapter lol oc dissecting tyun's previous actions and concluding that so far he didn't really do much wrong and that he did save her lol

"No but how cute would it be if everyone notices a shift in him. He’s smiling more and he’s kinder etc." that would be stupidly cute but might not be safe for him for reasons we'll see lol. and yeah he'll probably let her go if she wants. he's great like that (lmao the bar is so low)

yup hopefully if she goes back to gyu she would've at least learned how to fend for herself and how to stand her ground. honestly your takes on the story so far are pretty thoughtful and make a lot of sense for the story so thanks for sending them in!

honestly i wrote gyu from the start in a way that would, not necessarily foreshadow, but not make you surprised when the noncon happen so i feel like he was ruined from the start you get me? a rereading will just reveal how that would've inevitably happened

[olderthannetfic]

Ah, I do see your points, anon. I'm not going to post all your asks publicly because if you really feel that unsafe, it's probably best not to have a bigass chunk of your text for people to analyze and try to guess your identity from. I think one of the best points you made is about how close to home it hits when the non-fave is not only your fave but is similar to you in some way like demographic. You're not wrong for having those emotions. I do wonder if they make it hard to see how some other people feel similarly embattled on other axes.

TBH, I think one of the big problems here is that the large aggregate patterns you're talking about are racist, but most individual fics and fans are not really the problem. It's hard to know how to talk about this or who to tell to "fix" it when we're looking at free, hobbyist art.

A lot of people's tastes are certainly formed by shitty society, but once they're formed, they don't change fast if at all. Asking someone to rewrite their libido is a big ask, yet tumblr does it all the time as though it's as simple as snapping your fingers.

This leaves me with the sense that a lot of tumblr is... like... the political lesbians of porn fic or something: desire is not real, only choosing based on logic and politics. Or maybe people are so asexual that they just don't understand the lizard brain's "YES!" at some porn things and complete indifference to others?

I don't think it's great if great swaths of people feel like bottom!Nicky is super hot and top!Nicky fundamentally isn't, but I also don't think they can necessarily just turn it off like flipping a switch.

(If someone reading this doesn't like their current tastes and wants to attempt to alter them, I do think it's possible. What you should do is line up a large slate of media that prominently features characters of the ethnicity or whatever that you don't find hot/interesting. These should be leads whose emotional development drives the plot and is supposed to be central to the audience's enjoyment of the media. Watch/read/etc. this media all the time. All. The. Time. Try out many pieces because you won't like every character or every show, and we're looking for genuine enjoyment, not the fandom equivalent of a pity fuck. Spend enough time on this, and your unconscious sense of who's hot and interesting will eventually shift somewhat. This is a project you should expect to take a few years.)

But I digress.

The one tweet thing is a very toxic pattern. If TOG fandom is doing that, guys, please try to be more conscious of holding the actors of color to a higher standard (or the women or whomever). I know this often comes from a place of paying more attention to our own and wanting to set a good standard, but the effect is that minorities can't fuck up ever while white dudes get infinite passes.

Okay, on to the fic thing... Gotta say, my instant reaction to that description is "Ooh!"--as it would be for the same scenario with the characters reversed. (Ships who start out trying to kill each other are my favorite! x1000 if they're resurrecting style immortals and they literally do.) I can see how it would feel like slamming into a brick wall if you aren't kinky in just the right way and you didn't know it was coming though.

Part of why I react so strongly to a lot of discourse that runs along these lines is that I am a naturally extremely kinky person. It's not so much about what I do (which as a deeply lazy person in a long distance relationship is essentially nothing), but it's absolutely how I'm wired.

And I can tell you that my quotidian experience in fandom is sharing something I don't even realize is a big deal only to have someone I like, respect, and trust react in horror and tell me that it's triggering and awful and should not be allowed in fandom spaces because it makes "people" unsafe. It's such an instant, kneejerk reaction they don't even realize I was sharing it because it spoke to the very core of me. Lesson learned, friend. Lesson learned.

That sounds a bit off topic, I know, but bear with me: The point of that anecdote is that it's pretty common for me to get people trying to raise my awareness of things I have already thought deeply about while denying my essential humanity and not even realizing. As a kinky person who likes to make my fave the top (and generally a conflicted sadist), this constant request to explain and justify is exhausting.

I doubt most of the top!Joe fans have this precise problem simply because people who make their fave the top are much less common in fandom than people who make their fave the bottom, but I see a similar pattern with fans who are just fundamentally wired for rape fantasies (one of the most common fantasies that exists) vs. fans who just don't get rape fantasies at all. Or substitute your BDSM/kinky/messed up fantasy trope of choice. Covertly radical feminist attitudes towards kink and power are on the rise in fandom, and as a naturally kinky person, boy do I notice it!

I know that it feels like crucial activism to share these insights about why the ratio of top!Joe is hurtful, and the pain you feel is real. But it's also the case that it's a big ask to want people to listen. (Not me. Obviously, I routinely choose to engage with discourse. I mean overall.) The reason for that is that you're only seeing a fraction of what they do or who they are, and you don't know how many previous people they've listened to how many previous times. It's a very different situation from someone whose job is making some major TV series or movie or something. That person does, in my opinion, owe you some amount of listening.

Now, I'm not saying no top Joe fan was ever a jerk. I'll bet they were. There's a tendency to be rude and to publicly air your schadenfreude when you feel like everyone has been yelling at you. What I am saying is that a lot of the problem here boils down to conflicting needs, and that means there isn't a good solution. It's a situation where people are genuinely hurt, but I don't necessarily agree that other people have harmed them.

I like that you did an actual count of the explicit fics, btw. It's good to look at the real numbers. I see too little of that in these situations. My off the cuff reaction is that 2/3 to 1/3 is not a bad ratio at all compared to many fandoms, but yeah, it definitely shows a strong trend, and that can be painful. (I have a fandom where I think there's maybe like 1 bottom so-and-so fic in the entire zine era fandom. One. It's pretty extreme.)

I guess my thinking here overall is: What is the practical solution? What are we hoping to gain? What is reasonable to ask of people?

And it can't be "Well, if they would just listen..." That's just a sneaky way of saying "If you haven't done it my way, it's because you haven't listened to me yet."

So the question I would ask of people is this:

What does a non-racist fic where Joe tops look like?

What does a non-racist sex pollen, dubcon, or even noncon fic where Joe tops look like?

And if you say the latter is impossible... well... sadists exist everywhere in the world. So do doms. So do people who prefer to top in a purely physical sense. People with rape fantasies where they're the rapist exist (people who are not actually rapists, I mean). None of this is restricted to any one group. We can't categorically say fic like that about Joe is coming from a place of racism without denying the fundamental humanity of kinky MENA people who'd want to make Joe like themselves or like their ideal partner. (Yes, I agree this won't be the majority of fic writers writing top!Joe, but this is a place to start for figuring out what the better version would look like.)

IDK, maybe you're that kinkster yourself, but your asks gave me the vibe that you don't really get the drive towards those darker kinds of fics and what might be motivating it besides stereotypes and shittiness.

If we can answer these kinds of questions, we can better critique the way people write what they write without telling them all of their taste is bad and they should just stop writing. Even if we think the latter is true, it isn't going to get us anywhere. Figuring out how to make Joe more multidimensional in the fic they already want to write or finding very specific wording that should be avoided might actually work.

Beyond that, the actions I think are productive would be running prompt fests, exchanges, or other events for bottom!Joe or for top!Joe where he's the main character and the fics are required to be from his POV. Themed collections and recs lists are great. (I've seen a bit of this going around in TOG fandom in the past, and that's an excellent approach! Keep it up!) Positive actions tend to work better here. Make more of what you want. Promote what you want to see.

I don't mean this in some fluffy magical thinking way: you aren't going to change that ratio radically just by the power of positivity. But I've seen this kind of thing play out in many, many fandoms, and going after the people who write what you don't like, even in a well-intentioned effort to educate and even in a polite, kind way doesn't do much. A few people feel guilty. A few feel defensive. A lot ignore you. The overall fic doesn't change. It's not a good use of your limited time and energy.

I'm off to look up that fic to see what I think of it in practice, but I'm going to post this before tumblr manages to eat it.

[mrs-gucci]

There seems to be a darker, more violent take on Clyde floating around right now and I LOVE it!! I’m working on one for him too!

Since you say open for darker requests, I’d love to hear your take on a more violent Clyde! He could be saving you from a stalker. Clyde can show him what a real bad ass can do and then show you how well he can treat you too lol! He could be protecting you from someone at the bar. He could be showing you his special forces skills after some gets aggressive. You name it lol!

Secrets of the Blood Moon {werewolf!Clyde x Reader darkfic}

author's notes: helloooo! my friend shannon, thank you for this request!! I am also a fan of the darker take on Clyde and I hope I did it some justice!! I worked really, really hard on this one, and I’m super pleased with how it turned out.

**PLEASE HEED THE DARKFIC WARNING!! THIS FIC INVOLVES SEVERAL VERY HEAVY AND VERY DARK THEMES, SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!**

warnings: angst. smut. hurt/comfort. a minor car crash. mentions of alcohol consumption. rut. knotting. breeding kink. werewolf stuff. attempted mating bite. murder coverup. clyde feels guilty.

tw's: noncon touching (not by clyde). involuntary attempted sexual assault (werewolf clyde pins her down & dry humps w/o consent, but human clyde doesn’t know he did it nor would ever intend to do it). blood & gore. graphic depictions of murder and violence. human-hunting. depictions of human body consumption (is it cannibalism if he’s technically a wolf when it happens?). werewolf sex.

**this is a work of FICTION. the author does not attempt to condone the actions/behaviors of the characters written.**

word count: 5.9k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

Last Night

Stepping out of your car, you’re instantly suffocated by the thick humidity of the West Virginia evening. The sun paints cotton candy across the sky as it sets behind the trees on the mountainous horizon, the almost full moon hot on its tail, slowly rising on the other side of the sky.

The blood moon comes tomorrow, and from the old folk tales your mom used to tell about the deep West Virginia countryside, some weird shit goes down under the crimson moon. You never really believed her. What all could happen in lil ol’ Boone County, anyway?

The moment you step into the refreshing, air-conditioned Duck Tape, you’re immediately greeted by a loud call of your name.

“Y/N!” You smile and wave at Jimmy. 

Clyde looks up and smiles at you as you come and sit down at the bar next to Jimmy. He serves the customer before coming over to talk with you and the eldest Logan.

You lean over the bar to give him a kiss, earning a couple hoots and hollers from the bar crowd, which made you both laugh as you pull away.

“How was work, buttercup?” He asks, wiping off some glasses. “Weren’t ya doin’ that one presentation today? How’d that go?”

You’re always so flattered that Clyde actually pays attention when you talk about work stuff. Most guys just smile and nod, but Clyde actually listens and remembers. He even remembered your one year anniversary at the company you currently work for, sending you takeout from your favorite place along with some flowers.

“Yeah, it was alright. Boring as hell, but the partners seemed pleased, so that’s all I can really ask for at this point.”

Both he a Jimmy give a small chuckle, nodding before Clyde mixes your favorite drink, setting it down in front of you a few minutes later. You thank him, and the three-way conversation continues before the bar door swings open. 

Something about the man’s entrance makes you look over, already smelling trouble as he steps over the threshold. His eyes are glued on you, a smug smirk etched on his expression. 

A hush falls over the patrons for a few seconds, all eyes on the leather-clad man. Clyde’s hackles are immediately up, body tense as the mystery man saunters over, plopping himself down onto the vacant stool next to yours. 

Things on the floor continue as normal, the chatter picking back up, and you subtly scoot a little closer to Jimmy. 

“Bartender?” A thick New York accent calls.

Clyde walks over, plastering a fake smile on his face, seemingly the epitome of southern hospitality.

“What can I getcha, sir?”

The man gives Clyde a once-over and snickers. “No, seriously, where’s the bartender? I’d like a drink.”

Your grip clenches around your glass. You absolutely hated it when people were dicks about Clyde’s hand.

“Seriously, I am the bartender.” He states firmly. “So, what can I get ya?”

His tone sends a chill down your spine. Normally, Clyde just shuts down whenever someone starts poking fun at his missing hand, but tonight, there was a certain air of frustration, of dominance.

You just thought he’d finally cracked, after years of dealing with this bullshit. But as you would learn, there was an alternate explanation for his sudden outwardly alpha-like behavior.

The guy seems to back off a little bit, just asking for a cold Coors straight from the bottle. You startle a bit when Clyde slams the bottle down on the counter in front of him, and you could swear his eyes turn a light grey for a second before returning to the dark brown pools you’re familiar with.

Everything’s quiet for a little while, the man sipping his beer in silence, before he turns to you. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply allowing his eyes to drink in your seated figure.

“What’s your name, baby girl?” The beer smell of his breath is strong as he leans in. “You lookin’ for someone to keep you company tonight?”

You roll your eyes. Douchebag. “Nope. I’m perfectly content just sitting here, thanks.”

Clyde’s watching the interaction like a hawk as he makes someone’s drink. It’s a wonder he can concentrate on the drink when his thoughts and eyes are glued to you.

His slimy hand touches down on your bare thigh, just above your knee, and you jump in your seat. He grins, trailing it up as he leans in even closer.

“Are you sure? I could show you a real good time...”

Glass shatters from behind the bar and then, Clyde’s grabbing the man by his biker jacket, tossing him onto the floor with an almost superhuman strength. You stand up, appalled, as the man on the hardwood scrambles to get up.

An icy grey begins to frost over his sweet chocolate irises as Clyde clenches his fists by his side. 

“Don’t ya dare touch ma girl, ye pervert.” He growls, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Someone ought to show ya what respect looks like.”

The bar has fallen pin-drop silent, all sets of eyes focused in on the developing scene. He cocks his fist above his head, snarling as he readies to pounce on the helpless man. 

It’s then that Jimmy hops up and puts himself between the two men, holding his hands up in front of Clyde. “Don’t do this t’ yerself. Ye know what’ll happen if ya do.”

This seems to bring him back, the warmness flooding back to his irises. His shoulders slump as he huffs softly, pushing past his older brother angrily, storming into his office and slamming the door behind him.

Shakily, the man stands and puts a twenty down on the table before running out of the bar, bell jingling against the wooden door as it eases shut after him.

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

The rare blood moon hangs in its place against the pitch black sky as you pull up to the Logan’s trailer home. There aren’t any stars in the clear night’s sky, despite it being the dead of summer, but you don’t think much of it as you approach the shadowed porch.

Moths flutter around the dimly flickering porch light while you peek through the windows, which were as black as the night. Not a single light was on.

Odd. The Pontiac’s parked in its normal spot outside.

You flip the threadbare ‘welcome’ mat up, revealing the rusting gold key beneath. Sticking it in the lock, you turn until the door pops open, an eerie creak accompanying it.

"Clyde?” You say, looking around the trailer’s living room as you flip the living room lights on.

You call for him again. Maybe he’s just taking a nap. “Clyde?”

Still no response. 

Now, you’re getting worried. There’s no note, nothing noticeably out of place; in fact, it’s almost all too still. It gives you the creeps, how still and quiet it is in here.

The scent of suspicion thickens the air around you, and you just get the most awful feeling in your gut that something bad is happening or is about to happen.

Adrenaline begins to pump through your veins as you quickly walk around, peeking in the kitchen, and in the spare room. The air seems to thicken again the closer to draw to Clyde’s room, and you push the door open with bated breath.

You’re absolutely mortified at the sight before you. 

Shreds of carpet, fabric, and mattress stuffing is scattered the floor, and giant claw marks have torn straight through the drywall. The blankets and comforter, at least the remains of them, are disheveled where they lay across the clawed-up mattress. 

His vanity mirror is almost fully shattered, and the products that once sat atop are now tossed across the floor. The chilly summer’s night air flutters the curtains on the opened window above the bed.

The first thought that comes to mind is a bear attack of some kind. Now fully freaking out, you’re wondering how in the world a bear got into the trailer, and why it only seemed to attack Clyde’s room. You scramble to grab your phone from your purse with shaky hands, dialing Jimmy’s number in haste.

Was this one of the blood moon enigmas mom warned about? No, no, bear attacks are pretty common around here.

 It takes a few rings before he picks up.

“Y/N?” He sounds out of breath, exhausted.

“Jimmy, hey. Do you know where Clyde is? I’m at the trailer, and--”

Something that sounds like a growl rips through the speaker, followed by a woman’s voice. 

“Is everything oka--”

“Mellie, I can’t help ya right now! I’ll be there in a second!” He yells in the background. “Sorry Y/N, you were sayin’ somethin’?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just at the trailer, and I peeked into Clyde’s room...”

“Ya didn’t touch anything, did ya?” His voice is rushed.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, no, but--”

The growl comes again, louder this time, and it almost sounds like it’s...a voice. A very deep and very animalistic one, but a voice nonetheless. And it was saying something, although you couldn’t really hear clearly enough.

“Jimmy, do you know where Clyde is?” You’re getting a little impatient.

“Don’t worry ‘bout Clyde, he’s okay, he’s, uhh, here with us.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay.”

But tonight was supposed to be your special night together.

“Y/N? Listen real close, now. I need ya to get outta the trailer and go home, right now. Don’t linger, and refrain from touchin’ anything in the trailer. Lock all yer doors n’ close all the windows when ya get back home, okay? ‘N don’t go outside for the rest’a the night.”

Okay, now you’re starting to get fearful. “What--”

“Jimmy!” Mellie’s panicked voice comes through the phone speaker again, this time a bit clearer. He curses under his breath.

Her cries clearly rattled the eldest Logan, and he quickly tells you to just do what he said and then hangs up in a frantic state. 

You’re frozen for a moment, but then you quickly scurry outside to your car, frantically looking around as you scramble to fit the key in the driver’s side door.  By some miracle, you hold your hand steady enough to unlock it, quickly shutting the door and turning on the engine, peeling out of there like a madwoman.

Suddenly, as you go to pull out of the driveway, a strange apparition appears at the edge of the wood across the street. You squint, trying to figure out what the hell it is. Whatever it is, though, it’s panting heavily and looks...inhuman.

It’s standing on two legs, but its large, probably almost seven feet tall if you had to guess, and must’ve had some type of black fur or skin since it almost blends in with the darkened forest.

The reddish light of the moon is the only light that reflects upon this mystery creature, before it seems to notice your car idling in the driveway. The crisp light grey pupils seemingly glimpse into your soul as the creature looks upon you.

Clearly, now, you can decipher what exactly it is, although you’re in utter shock and skeptical to think it real: A werewolf.

You quickly put the car in reverse, slamming down on the gas, flying backwards for a few seconds before colliding with the trailer’s tin wall. Your head slams forward onto the steering wheel, trickles of blood dribble down your forehead and nose as your consciousness is lost.

When you come to, only a few minutes later, you groan as the welt forms on your forehead. You look around, groggily, seeing that your car is in drive but isn’t moving. Surely when you’d passed out, your foot would’ve come off the brake and you would’ve rolled away...

Stepping out carefully, you find that some bricks have been placed in front of all four tires, effectively keeping the car at a dead standstill. 

Who in the world did this?

Then, you turn your head and walk slowly around to the front of your car, seeing the remnants of sharp teeth marks on your bumper. You’re frozen, a lump slowly crawling up your throat as the realization hits. 

A low growl comes from behind you, and your worst fears have suddenly been realized. You slowly, carefully spin around on your heels, afraid that one wrong move may make you tonight’s surprise entree.

Your eyes meet the soul-piercing grey’s of the werewolf, the one you’d seen at the edge of the forest minutes earlier. The one that seemingly saved your life, but...how did a werewolf know what to do?

As you continue to gaze at the large being before you, you’re struck with a sense of familiarity, almost as if you’d met them before. Strange, because you can’t recall ever encountering a werewolf. Hell, you’ve never even seen a wolf before, other than in pictures. Surely you’d remember coming into contact with a seemingly impossible biological phenomenon such as this one.

His presence is scarily comforting, and you find yourself briefly wondering what it’d feel like to be enveloped in his woolen arms. Well, arm, technically speaking. This particular werewolf seems to be missing the lower half of his left paw.

Then, your mind connects the dots, and you’re shocked to your very core. It wasn’t a bear that attacked Clyde’s room, it was Clyde. This werewolf that’s standing before you is Clyde. That’s why Jimmy and Mellie sounded so frantic and breathless on the phone; they must’ve been trying to keep him contained.

But why? Werewolves usually recognize the important people in their human lives...right? That’s why he’d saved you from rolling off...

Your headlights’ reflection was speared by your figure, creating a shadow that covered most of Clyde’s form, except for the very tips of his paws, which had enormous claws emerging from beneath the thick layer of fur.

“Clyde?” You whisper, and he seems to soften for a moment, falling down on all threes.

Just as you swallow the lump in your throat and begin to cautiously approach the creature, hand outstretched to allow him to smell you, his eyes suddenly darken, the once snowy grey now more like the color of storm clouds. 

He snarls, white teeth shining in the moon’s moody crimson-tinted reflection, and you immediately backtrack. Oh god, I’m fucked.

Your bottom collides with the front of your car, the engine thrumming lowly as it idles happily, grille warm from the machine inside. The headlights are now fully shining on the creature, fur shining under the bright lights as he approaches, lines of drool strung between his sharp fangs. 

“C-Clyde, please,” You plead with the creature. “It’s m-me, Y/N, your g-girlfriend. You know m-me, you don’t w-wanna do t-this...”

It doesn’t seem to do much to dissuade him, the animal within now overshadowing the kind, gentle man you know and love. No, this creature is something else. This isn’t your Clyde.

The wolf stops short of the hood, where you’ve crawled up onto and are laying back, raising his nose up in the air, sniffing. You’re perplexed by this action, but it becomes evident when his ear prick and he says, in that same deep, animalistic voice that was in the background of your call with Jimmy, 

“Mate.”

And then, he’s pouncing, trapping your hands above your head with his one arm while his legs scramble to find a good grip on the metallic surface of the car, hips rutting frantically. 

His muzzle dips down, wet nose running along your jawline and neck, teeth scraping dangerously against your thin skin. He quickly settles on a spot behind your ear, growling as his pink tongue darts out to begin lapping at the spot. 

You’re completely still, both physically restrained and unable to bring yourself to even try to move as the creature drags his fangs across the skin behind your ear. Your car is rocking back and forth with his hips’ violent movements, dragging his enormous cock against your lower stomach. 

He pants into your ear, breath hot as he prepares to sink his sharp fangs into your tender skin, marking you as his forever...

“CLYDE!”

Jimmy’s voice pierces through the still of the night. Crickets stop chirping for a moment, and Clyde’s body stills. His head whips around, snarling at his brother.

Mellie’s right behind him, and she peers around him, trying to look at you. “Y/N, are ya alright?”

“YYYeah,” You manage, somehow. “I-I’m o-okay.”

Clyde hops down, all three feet planted on the ground, hackles up as Jimmy takes a step forward. “Mate.”

“She ain’t yer mate.” Jimmy says, calmly. He points to you. “Look at whatcha done to ‘er, Clyde. Would a mate look like that, huh? Look at ‘er, Clyde, she’s all beat up and scared outta her damn mind.”

The wolf visibly stands down, slowly turning his head to look back at you, seeing the scratches on your wrists and the marks on your neck. He sees the bit of wetness on your shirt and shorts, from his slick.

He hangs his head and begins to cry, whimpering and whining as he sprints off, surprisingly agile and quick for a wolf with three paws, across the road and back into the woods.

His blood’s boiling, he’s angry that he couldn’t defend you against Jimmy, mad that his alpha instincts had failed him. Even as a werewolf, one of the most powerful beings in the forest, he was still weaker than and overshadowed by his showboat older brother. 

Loud barks of anger rip through him as he masterfully maneuvers through the forest, weaving through the trees, dodging thorns, leaping over the fallen tree trunks. 

The sky suddenly begins to empty down onto Earth, the cool summer night’s rain a welcomed refreshment on Clyde’s fur. He looks up at the blood moon, huffing softly as he silently curses the orb for bringing this condition to him each full moon, as he did every single moon before this, and will continue to do with every one after.

He reaches his cave a few minutes later, stopping dead in his tracks when he smells smoke coming from inside. He’s on high alert, now, as he moves to peek into the cavern.

There, he finds a lone man sitting by a very small fire, rubbing his hands together over the heat. He’s clad in head-to-toe tree camo with a shotgun laying just out of arms reach.

This man’s scent feels awfully familiar, Clyde thinks, but it takes him a minute to figure out why. And, when he does remember, Clyde is suddenly not so sympathetic for the unwanted visitor in his cave.

The wolf’s mind falls to a certain memory from last night at Duck Tape. This is the jackass that thought he could get away with feelin’ you up. The one that poked plenty ‘a fun at his missing hand. 

Clyde’s still-hard cock presses up against his furry stomach in excitement, tongue licking over his razor-sharp fangs. He couldn’t protect or avenge you last night, again due to Jimmy, but maybe he can now. 

Jimmy ain’t gonna get in my way this time ‘round.

He can’t just come running into the entrance, no, that allows him too much time to grab the gun. He thinks, and thinks, until he remembers the connecting cave that he’d recently found on the last full moon. He bets he can get in there and creep up behind the man, do a sneak attack. 

He’s salivating in anticipation as he bounds down to the opposite side of the cave, paws padding lightly against the soft gravelly dirt floor, trotting along carefully.

The man is none the wiser to the wolf’s presence, and the hum of the loud rain certainly wasn’t hurting. A loud crack of thunder suddenly rips through the forest, vibrating the ground. Clyde freezes briefly as the young man curls up further, chin resting in the gap between his knees. 

Predatory instincts pumping through his veins at an all-time high, he crouches down as he stalks closer and closer to the unsuspecting body by the small fire. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, now right behind the man, moving in slow motion so as to not alert his victim.

When the time is right, just as the next clap of thunder rumbles the rocks, Clyde pounces. He grabs the man’s shirt, dragging him out of the cave with an unprecedented swiftness. The fire is extinguished with the tussle, leaving the cave shrouded in darkness, the shotgun laid abandoned on the ground where he’d put it.

He struggles against the wolf’s grip, fabric ripping violently the further his body’s dragged along. Clyde throws him out onto the forest floor, pawing at the ground like a wild stallion as the disheveled man scrambles to his feet.

His hands are shaky as he holds them up in front of him, as if trying to calm the creature like a domesticated dog.  “E-Easy, easy.”

If he could, Clyde would’ve rolled his eyes at the man’s pathetic attempt to talk down at him. He snarls, watching in amusement at the way he startles and stumbles back. 

Clyde’s got the man backed against the trunk of an old oak within seconds, and he stands up on two legs, glaring at the much smaller figure. He bares his teeth, a wolf’s version of a devilish grin.

“Run.”

It seems like the man is caught in between being shocked that this wolf just spoke English and being chilled to the core by his word. He sputters for a moment, brain smoking as it churns on overdrive, before his legs carry him as quickly as they can down the mountainside. 

The wolf casually trots along after him, in very little rush to catch him. He’s throbbing hard now, the excitement translating into pure arousal. Clyde knows these woods like the back of his hand; there’s no where for this man to hide from his inevitable fate as the wolf-man’s next meal.

His head continuously whips around, meeting the grayish-white orbs tucked behind a thick coat of jet black fur. In a frenzy, he tucks himself behind a large tree, catching his breath.

Twigs snap in seemingly all directions, his breath heavy as his eyes flicker all around the dark, damp wood, the only light coming from the crimson-tinted orb above. He reaches back and wraps his arms around the tree’s trunk, panicked.

A low growl rattles his eardrums and he looks to the side, seeing the black creature right at his side. Clyde’s head snaps to the side, looking directly at his victim.

Crying out in fear, the man leaps forward to make a run for it, but is quickly taken to the dirt by the wolfish creature. The man squirms and screams out for mercy, for God, and Clyde knows what he has to do now.

He quickly sinks his teeth into the back of the mans neck repeatedly, effectively severing the spinal cord, leaving the man completely limp and defenseless. A quick and effective manner of disabling a victim, he’s learned through hunting animals, but keeps him just alive enough to see what’s being done to him. 

Clyde flips the limp form over, now on his back, and his eyes are wide as he watches the wolf above him, black fur now stained red around the mouth, stare down at him with a hungry gaze.

His mouth opens, probably to beg for his life, but it’s too late. Fangs sink through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest, just above where his rapidly beating heart lay.

The thump-thump rhythm slows, then stops, the life leaving his body. Sweet copper tang coats the wolf’s tongue as the body is drained of its remaining energy. 

There is little feeling better than watching the life slowly and steadily drain from the eyes of a victim, and suddenly, Clyde’s throbbing arousal has reached an almost unmanageable point.

But, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to devour his freshly-caught prey, especially while it’s still warm. So he digs in immediately, carving further into the hole over the heart he’d already created, ripping out the vital organ.

He holds it triumphantly between his teeth for a moment before setting it aside. His craving is more for the meat, he’s never been much of a fan of organs, so he gets to work separating the good meat from the corpse.

Once he’s done, he lifts his nose in the air, howling loudly. He’s never been this hard before, he swears it, and there’s only one person that can satisfy this urge:

You.

For a wolf on three legs, he reaches your house in record time. He can already feel the wolf-ness fading steadily, the human beginning to peek through the cracks. But, his rut doesn’t give at all, and he bounds up the steps and scratches at your door.

You’re startled by the noise, already a gut feeling you know who it is. When you open the door, Clyde’s wolf figure is sitting politely on your doormat.  Should you let him in?

He pushes past, whimpering as he does so, before you can make a decision. You shut the door slowly before turning around to face the creature. He seems a bit different than when you saw him earlier, seeming a bit more human.

You stand against the door, back pressed up against it, looking down at the wolf in your living room. 

“Y/N.” He breathes, huskily, attempting to ignore the hardness pressing up against his wooly stomach. “N-Need you. Please.”

He’s ashamed as he stands up on his hind legs, wrapping a clawed hand around his oozing cock, jutting his hips out as if to show off for you. The alpha in him needs to show you how suitable of a mate he is, what strong pups he can give you.

“It hhhhurts, b-buttercup.”

The battle going on inside him, animal versus human, is painfully evident on his expression. Your hearts been ripped in half as you watch him struggle with himself, the human trying to overpower the animal, and the animal trying to fight off the human.  He doesn’t even know what he did to you earlier. 

“What do you need from me, Clyde? I’m here to help you, honey, I’ll do whatever you need.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but its quickly replaced by a look of what can only be described as pure, primal hunger.

“Floor. A-All fours.” The wolf-man manages, desperately humping his hand to offer some relief. “G-Get the lube, ffffuuuck, I mmuhhmight hurt ya without it.”

You rush to get the lube, placing the tube next to you as you pull your leggings down, exposing your bare cunt. Clyde watches with an eager anticipation as you spread yourself for him. 

As soon as you’re into position, he practically falls over on top of you, hips rutting uncontrollably as he smoothes lube over his drooling cock and lines up with your entrance. 

“B-Buttercup, I...I’m sssorry ‘bout what’s ggon’ happen. This ain’t me, ppuhpplease remember that, mmkay?”

You nod, tearing up at the pure agony in his voice. “I w-will, Clyde.”

His hips shove forward, a choked howl escaping his lips, balls tightening. You cry out, the burn of your walls stretching to accommodate his girthy length more prominent than usual.

Veins bulge out of his neck, jaw clenched as he begins moving, mercilessly plowing into you from behind. He plants his clawed hand next to yours, loud and desperate scratching noises accompanying the wet squelch of your joined torsos. 

The carpet is shredded, hardwood floor scratched permanently by his feet as he humps you with a desperation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. This really wasn’t Clyde, but you soon realized that you exactly mind this side of Clyde, this primal instinct, this roughness. It was arousing, bittersweetly so.

When you look over your shoulder at the wooly mass moving behind you, your eyes widen. You didn’t notice the shiny substance from a distance, but now that he’s up close, you see that it coats his snout and has even dripped down onto his breast.

A gripping fear bubbles in your stomach. But then, you rationalize immediately, before you find yourself too deep down in this rabbit hole of worry. He probably just hunted a deer or a rabbit or something. He’s a fucking wolf, remember?

You almost sigh out loud in relief, but you keep it in, instead moaning along with each of his thrusts.

“D-Did ya like muhmmahhmm--ma w-wolf cock?” He asks. 

You nod. “Y-Yeah, ohhh god, I liked it.”

“Gonna gguh-give ya real nice p-pups.” His muzzle rubs over the spot behind your ear, the same one that he’d been after earlier, smearing some of the crimson across your skin. He licks it with as much consistency as possible, considering the speed and intensity of his hips. “F-Fill ya u-up, knot ya gggood ‘n deep.”

You’re almost positive he’s talking pretty much nonsense at this point, his rut brain having completely taken over. You know you’re not gonna cum, but it doesn’t really matter; you’re doing this for him, after all.

“Oh g-god, I’m cummin’, I’m gonna--”

He pauses his hips, howling softly as he cums. But this time, something else begins to swell, and you cry out as it does so. 

“M-Ma k-knot,” Clyde breathes in explanation. “Keeps it a-all inside y-ya.”

You nod, not really knowing what all he’s talking about but not really caring for an explanation right now. 

“‘m gonna h-havta stay inside y-ya fer a lil while. S-Should be ‘b-bout 30 minutes or so.”

His tongue begins moving over your cheeks and neck, something that makes you smile, that helps you remember that your beloved boyfriend’s in there somewhere.

The half hour waiting period passes, and as much as you’ve loved snuggling with your boyfriend (who’s wolf counterpart is relatively cuddly, despite previous reservations), you’re happy to have him off you.

After wishing you a final goodbye, citing the need to ‘clean up his cave a bit’, he trotted back out the door and galloped like a madman (wolf?) back out into the shadowed wood, leaving you alone once more.

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

It’s all over the news when you flip on the TV a couple days later.  Hunter Found Slain in Boone County Woods, Bear Attack Suspected.

You have this awful, sick-to-your-stomach feeling that what happened the other night, when Clyde came to your house still in wolf form with a snout and chest covered in blood, had something to do with this. 

When the picture of the victim came up on the screen, you audibly gasp, recognizing the face. It’s the guy that was feeling you up at a few nights ago at Duck Tape. 

Oh god, no. 

Suddenly, the door flies open, and Clyde’s panting as he rushes in and shuts it behind him. He looks pained, bottom lip trembling. “Have ya s-seen the ne--”

“...Police are still investigating the scene...foul play has not yet been ruled out...”

His entire demeanor falls, and the tears fill his eyes. He’s visibly shaking. You stand up and rush over to him just as he collapses on the floor. 

You’re freaking out, trying to confirm what it is you’re pretty sure you already know.

“C-Clyde, did you...?”

He looks up at you from where his head now rests in your lap. “I c-can’t quite remember, b-but I think...I think I m-might’ve.”

Sobs wrack through his body as he cries hoarsely. You’re in shock, somehow hearing the words makes the reality suddenly hit like a damn semi-truck. You run your hands through Clyde’s slightly matted mane, soothing him as best you can. 

“Clyde, it’s okay, baby. It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah it i-is, though. I k-killed ‘im.”

You try to stay strong, for Clyde’s sake, but the tears are swelling in your eyes at an uncontrollably fast rate.  “But you d-didn’t do it o-on purpose, h-honey.”

His face seems to drop even more when he sees that you’re about to cry. He sits up shakily, pulling you into a big ol’ bear hug.

“Oh, buttercup, oh god, ‘m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to drag y-ya into all ‘a t-this.”

You sob into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. It’s hard to believe that this man, this kind, gentle man, could’ve done something like this on purpose. Clyde would never hurt a fly.

From what he’s told you, which granted is very little, the line between werewolf and human for him is quite a blurry one. He seems to only be able to remember parts of what happened, and his subconscious is only there for part of the time.

Which means that he’s technically innocent, since he can’t remember nor could he control his canine impulses or instinct. As far as you’re concerned, werewolf Clyde and human Clyde are two different beings.

“I-If anyone ever f-found out ‘bout ma c-condition...”

You pull away and look up at him, holding his face in your hands. “Clyde, I-I’m not gonna turn y-you in.”

“What?” He looks at you with a furrowed brow, like he’s surprised to hear your words. “Y-Yer not g-gon’...?”

Shaking your head, you swing your leg over his lap, hugging him once more while your face settles into the crook of his neck.

“No, of course not. I know you’re a good p-person, and like I said before, it’s n-not you. Your w-wolf side is not really you, Clyde, at least not entirely.”

Clyde looks down at you with an incredibly grateful expression, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He tilts your head up with one of his meaty fingers, immediately pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is relatively short, just a showing of his gratitude, of his love for you. When he pulls away, you maintain eye contact.

“Okay, so most of the solid DNA evidence will have been washed away by the rain and tampered with by the elements over the past few days that the body’s been outside. Plus, they aren’t looking for wolf DNA, and even if they somehow knew, your wolf DNA wouldn’t lead to your human identity, at least I don’t think so...”

Hours and hours of watching countless true crime shows, movies, and documentaries are finally paying off.

“But, do you remember leaving anything, anything that could indicate foul play? Really search your memory.”

He puts his metaphorical thinking cap on, closing his eyes as he tries to recall anything of use from that night, but nothing comes to mind. His eyes swell with tears as they blink open and he shakes his head. “I can’t ‘member anythin’.”

“That’s okay, Clyde. They won’t find out, I promise, they won’t.” You kiss his neck. “For now, let’s just try to relax and we’ll keep an eye on the news. Will you come snuggle on the couch with me?”

Clyde smiles softly, nodding as you pull away and stand up, extending a hand to him. He takes it, standing up seconds later.  As you walk into the living room, he says your name, causing you to turn around with a slightly perplexed expression.

“Thank ya.”

You smile brightly. “I love you, Clyde.”

“I love ya, too, darlin’.”

[protect-namine]

okay here’s my internet essay on the land of tender arc because I’m still thinking about it and I can’t seem to move on with the novel until I sit through my thoughts and process them.

tw self harm / violence / underage and noncon elements because that’s what the arc was about, although underage and noncon didn’t really happen

I've been thinking about the Land of Tender arc and if I'm gonna be honest, the thing that bothered me the most is that I feel like I should have been more uncomfortable with the sexual undertones of the scene when in actuality I... wasn't? On paper, it’s a terrible setup. It’s a sex pollen scene with a minor and a god, where the sex pollen makes someone feel sexual lust and blood lust without either party’s consent.

Yes the violence part of the scene shocked me (although I was prepared to read it because of the tw and because... it's Xie Lian, self-sacrifice is his bread and butter during Book 2). But I was shocked not because it happened, but because of how far Xie Lian pursued it. Not that I was expecting him to give in to the sex pollen (which would be horrifying) but I certainly didn't expect him to literally pierce a sword to his stomach to prevent himself from doing anything to Hua Hua.

But anyway, I'm digressing. So I was surprised that I wasn’t uncomfortable with the sexual undertones of the Land of Tender arc. It's set up to go horribly, terribly wrong if one of them made a single mistake. Like if Xie Lian didn't create the arrays to protect Hua Hua. Or if Hua Hua got manipulated or did things he didn't understand, you know.

So I was thinking like... why wasn't I worried though? Why wasn't I nervous that things could go wrong? Like yes, I did feel the tension and the dread of "oh no this can go into underage noncon territory very fast" but also I never really believed it would happen (and thankfully, it didn’t!)

I think what really helped was that: 1) MXTX did not make make the scene appealing at all. It was wretched and terrible and the descriptions make it wretched and terrible. At no point during the arc was the scene described in a positive or arousing light. So right off the bat the author was telling me yeah, this is bad. Nobody's enjoying this, especially not Xie Lian. If anything, this was torture for Xie Lian.

2) I think the way Xie Lian was already preemptively setting preventive measures was so reassuring? The whole time he was thinking a mile a minute about how to NOT debase himself or Hua Hua. Even before entering the cave, he was already planning to create arrays specifically to shield Hua Hua from the outside of the cave and from Xie Lian himself. Also there was the whole “I’ll stab myself in several body parts to prevent harming another person” which was very painful to read. It says a lot about Xie Lian's tenacity and will to not cause harm, but also about how that tenacity will lead to hurting himself in terrible ways. It's both relieving (because yay he protected Hua Hua) but also tragic and sad (because it sets a precedent to the reader of just how far he's willing to go to be good and to protect someone).

That aside, I'm also thinking about how this was probably a moment of sexual awakening for Hua Hua and man... that's such a terrible way to realize that. I know it’s important for his character to discover this about himself, but it must also be traumatizing for him to discover it in that way.

So considering all of that, my takeaway is: yeah this was all intentionally written this way, and I have to conclude that MXTX deliberately wrote this scene the way she did. Land of Tender was not sexy in any way. There were literal corpses there before we even enter the scene. Does this count as sexual horror? Maybe? The horror of having pleasurable feelings in a situation where you shouldn’t have them; the torture of needing to repress such feelings because it’s the right thing to do; the dread of one of them possibly violating one another if they’re not vigilant enough. The horror is in the lengths Xie Lian has to go through to keep both of them in check, which includes: setting barriers between them, trying to ignore everything through sheer will by reciting the ethics sutras, and eventually culminating in a lot of self harm to the point where Xie Lian only survived all his self-inflicted stabbing because he’s immortal (but if he was mortal, he certainly would have died).

The horror is in the reader being helpless to accept this violence, and more than that, the relief and potential admiration the reader (and Hua Hua!) feels upon understanding what it means for Xie Lian to overcome such a trial. I think it’s fascinating because on one hand, yes it’s very relieving to see that Xie Lian was able to endure the torture without violating or straight up killing Hua Hua. And one might even say, “wow he’s really determined to be righteous and good to the point where he suffers for it, this is a god that walks the talk.” On the other hand, the reader also has to sit through graphic descriptions of that suffering, to sit with Xie Lian’s pain, to be a helpless voyeur that has no choice but to accept that this must happen because nobody (not the reader, not Hua Hua, and not Xie Lian) wants to witness the alternative of Xie Lian giving in to the sexual/blood lust.

I actually bookmarked a quote from this scene because my “what the fuck” moment was exactly this excerpt from the novel:

The urge to kill was boiling in his blood. He raised that worn sword with his shaking hand, and a voice inside his head screamed, “I WON’T DIE, I WON’T DIE, I WON’T DIE!!!“

The next moment, in a split second decision, the blade turned. [cue descriptions of Xie Lian stabbing himself in the stomach]

And when I think about it some more, despite the novel being in Xie Lian’s limited POV, what we feel as the reader is exactly what Hua Hua must feel later on when he’s able to process what happened. Except Hua Hua isn’t just a third person voyeur to the whole thing like we are as readers. He’s a devotee to this suffering god who just wants to be good and wants to help others. And on top of that, he’s young and going through puberty and will realize that: 1) there is a possibility for him to see his god in a different light, in a sexual light even, although this is something he has not explored yet (and, I imagine, he probably doesn’t really explore until much later on); 2) Xie Lian is good and will respect boundaries and maybe even unintentionally taught Hua Hua (in an unfortunately traumatizing way) that boundaries must be respected.

Also, going back to the plot, someone clearly set this up specifically to make Xie Lian fall in a very humiliating way. Man who is this villain because this is very horrifying... what a terrifying antagonist Xie Lian is up against.

Also, as another aside, is it bad that I also found the scene kinda funny in an absurd way? The flowers were absurd, the whole setup is like a fever dream. If this was a tragicomedy, the tragedy is in Xie Lian’s suffering but the comedy is reading the literal flowers sprout from the ground and say, “My root is hard!! The fruits have ripened!!”

It’s funny in a dark way.

Anyway. All that to say, the sexual parts didn't disturb me as much because at this point in the novel, with what we know about Xie Lian and his compassion, Xie Lian already earned my trust that he can handle this kind of situation. Just like how a devotee would trust a god. He did, he delivered. He didn't cross boundaries, good for him. But I just didn’t expect what that means, what it would take, for me as the reader to expect this from the protagonist. Although I haven’t finished Book 2, I know it will end with the fall of Xianle. I wonder, then, if what I felt about trusting Xie Lian is a glimpse of what his actual devotees (not just Hua Hua) feel, what they expect of him, and the burden they’re unconsciously asking him to bear. What that kind of devotion is really asking from him.

The sexual undertones of this arc may not have worried me, but the violence sure did. I think, despite the scene being sexual, it wasn’t really about sex (for Xie Lian; it certainly was about both sex and violence for Hua Hua though). It was about the violence. But maybe that’s the point? The novel did say: “At the end of the day, ‘lust’ and ‘murder’ were both extremely aggressive desires, and Xie Lian had even heard that some thought the nature of both were one and the same.”

tl;dr It was awful to read, and I think it was meant to be awful to read.