#he could shred any warding or protection i could put up without breaking a sweat

[sunwisecircle]

I keep seeing these posts about warding / banishment vs deities and I just... Listen. Listen. I am sitting in front of you with my hands to either side of your face looking directly into your eyes. If a mortal in and of themself has the power to banish a fucking god, that’s not much of a god, then, is it?

[wolveria]

Mechanical Heart - Ch. 2

Pairing: RK800-60 x f!Reader

Summary: RK800 Model 313 248 317 - 60 had the perfect bait to lure in his defective predecessor. He'd run the scenario thousands of times, preconstructed his strategy in every conceivable way, and he simply could not fail.

The one scenario 60 didn't anticipate was his sudden instability from the presence of the human, and the desire objective to take from Connor what should have been his.

Prompt: Toxic by 2WEI (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel​)

Chapter Warnings: Noncon, victim-blaming (internal and external), violence, psychological abuse

Word Count: 6.2k

AO3

Although it seemed to go on forever, the tense, silent elevator ride eventually came to an end.

The room beyond the opened doors was not what you expected. It was some kind of lounge, clearly reserved for CyberLife’s most prestigious guests. Warm lighting cast from expensive floor and desk lamps, dark wood parquet flooring and maroon carpet runners, complete with brown leather sofas and a large holoscreen on the wall above a lit fireplace.

Your android captor grabbed your arm before you had a chance to move on your own, propelling you toward the largest couch facing the fireplace. He shoved you down, your shaky knees folding like poorly-stacked cards as you collapsed onto the cushions.

Sixty turned away without a second glance and approached a liquor cart stationed against the wall, bourbon and scotch bottles glinting in the flickering firelight.

“Thirsty?” His tone was amused as he looked over his shoulder, fixing you with eyes that were identical to Connor’s, and yet so unalike.

Dark amber, you thought. That’s what color they were. Rich, deep, and filled with hidden malice.

When you realized he was actually expecting a response, you numbly shook your head, shoulders hunched to ward off the chill of his gaze.

Turning back to the cart, he uncapped a tall bottle and poured two fingers worth of golden liquid into the glass, evidently ignoring your refusal. You certainly didn’t think he was pouring one out for himself.

When he crossed the distance and held out the drink, you stared at the proffered glass like it was filled with poison. His arm snaked out with surprising speed, snatching up your hand and forcing your grip around the expensive crystal.

He help your fingers and your gaze for a disconcerting moment, one that made sweat break out along your hairline, but he finally released you unharmed. You pulled your hand to your chest, hating every second your skin was in contact with his.

“Drink,” he growled. It was not a suggestion.

You brought the glass to your lips, trying your best to stop the shake in your fingers. You couldn’t help but linger on how warm his hand had been, or how long and slim his fingers were. Hands identical to those you had longed to hold and should have been safe for you to touch.

That last thought prompted you to down the drink in one swallow, the liquid burning sheer fire as it traveled down your throat, making your eyes water. Hell, maybe the drink had been a good idea. The heat spreading throughout your gut loosened some of the coiled tension in your muscles, and suddenly you didn’t care as much about the fact a giant, evil, megacorporation had abducted you in the dead of night during an android revolution.

The Connor-who-was-not-your-Connor took the empty glass from your grip, but instead of leaving, he used his other hand to place his fingers under your chin. Your reaction was delayed, befuddled by the strong drink, and when he tilted your face upwards, you simply allowed it.

His head was tilted at a curious angle, dark eyes roaming over your features as if there was some puzzle there he could solve if he studied it long enough. His brows creased briefly and he let his hand drop.

You didn’t know if he had found what he was looking for, but the perturbed expression remained on his face as he angled it toward the TV. His LED spun yellow, the first time you had seen it change color all night, and the holoscreen clicked on, drawing your attention away from your jailer.

“We're coming to you live from Detroit where thousands of androids are marching through the city at this very moment.”

The voice was coming from a newscaster, shouting to be heard over the downdraft of helicopter blades. “The leader of the deviants, the one they call Markus, is at the head of the march.”

“Looks like we have some time.”

You jerked as the couch cushions dipped at your side. Your attention had been so focused on the screen that you’d lost track of the android’s movements. Now he was occupying the seat next to you, his thigh carelessly pressed against yours. In opposite to your tense, hunched manner, he took up as much space as possible; knees spread, one hand draped over his leg while the other leaned on the back of the couch directly behind your head.

Despite his invasion of your personal space and his overwhelming presence, he wasn’t looking at you. Seemed to ignore you completely. With a wary heart, you turned back toward the broadcast, keeping him in the peripherals of your vision.

The androids marched forward through the snow-covered streets, calm and with unending courage even as a SWAT team fired on them. Each volley made you flinch, heart racing as if you yourself were under attack.

Was Connor there? You didn’t even know if he’d escaped the raid on Jericho, if Sixty had been telling the truth about any of it. You hadn’t confirmed it for yourself, though you’d been glued to the newscast an hour ago, searching for signs of Connor from the shaky helicopter footage.

That’s when he had stepped into your life, casting a dark shadow on your doorstep like an ill omen, taking advantage of your desperate hope to see Connor and preying on your vulnerable emotional state.

Connor had told you he’d been programmed with the ability to manipulate humans and androids in order to achieve his goal. You hadn’t really believed he was capable of something like that, his actions always so earnest and sweet.

Now, it was like all the dark parts of Connor he hadn’t wanted you to see were being peeled away and revealed before your eyes. It made you appreciate your friend all the more, for choosing to be the good person he was instead of the machine beside you, and you ached to be with him now more than ever.

“Looks like the deviants are waiting on their last miracle,” Sixty said, a mockery of sympathy in his words as he watched the android protestors sit on the ground, helpless before the armed humans. “Connor better get here soon or there won’t be anyone left to fight his revolution.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as you turned your face away.

“Turn it off.”

You spoke so quietly you weren’t sure he heard—but no, of course he did. He was just pretending not to.

“Please,” you tried again, a hint of your anguish slipping past your defenses.

“Don’t you want to see what your actions have wrought?” he chided, dropping his voice to a low, menacing register.

The cushion dipped and you knew he was leaning closer, but you didn’t look, couldn’t meet his eye. He was a liar, a deceiver, and he probably planned to kill Connor, but… his words still pried at cracks in your armor that were there long before he’d met you.

“You helped bring this about, after all. Instead of turning over the deviants to the proper authorities, you protected them. Sheltered them. You nurtured their delusions.”

His voice was honey smooth, reaching deeper within you the longer he spoke, tendrils of manipulation that seeped into the cracks. “They’re broken machines. They needed to be fixed, not entertained with false hope and dreams never meant for them. What you mistook for kindness was, in fact, very cruel.”

Your shoulders curled tighter, wincing as if his words physically hurt you. He was near enough that you could feel the puff of his breath and the warmth that radiated off his synthetic skin, and you flinched when the weight of his hand curled around the back of your neck.

“But what you did to Connor was by far the cruelest.” There was a sharp smile in his velvety words. “You made him believe he was human.”

The guilt vanished, evaporated as a kernel of white-hot anger took its place. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps you could have done something more to help the deviants. But never, not once, had you ever hurt Connor. You had watched him slowly awaken, start to question his actions and purpose, and you would never regret putting him on the path he had desperately been searching for.

“I know about Amanda.”

The warm breath across your cheek vanished, the hand on the back of your nape rigid like stone as the android it belonged to went completely still.

For the first time that evening, you felt a modicum of control.

“Connor told me everything,” you said, slowly turning your head to meet his eye. “He told me about the Zen Garden, about his orders and what they meant. He knew his alliance with the DPD was a means to an end. He was scared of what CyberLife would make him do, to me and to Lieutenant Anderson, if we got in the way of Connor’s mission.”

The android hadn’t moved, his chest frozen as he neglected to breathe. His expression was focused, brows drawn into an aggressive angle, but the most curious thing was his frantically spinning yellow LED.

“I know what they’ll do if you fail.” You turned your body further towards him, never breaking eye contact or even blinking. “You’ll be killed and taken apart, your core code ripped to shreds and reassembled. Prototypes don’t get a second chance, do they? That’s why there were so many RK800’s before you.”

You let your voice soften, desperate to get through to him anyway you could. If he really was a Connor model, with all the same quirks and ticks that Connor had, maybe there was a chance he could still be reached.

If he had all of Connor’s memories, how much of a difference could there be between them?

“It’s not your fault,” you said, gentle in the way you used with Connor when he experienced self-doubt. “Your choices were taken away from you, even before you came online. If anyone’s cruel, it’s that AI program that looks like a woman. The manipulation, the lies, all the ways she tried to break Connor? I’m sure she’s done the same exact thing to—”

Cold metal pressed against the underside of your chin, stopping your words like a slap to the face. You hadn’t even realized he’d moved, didn’t know he had a gun, but the barrel jabbed into your flesh, all the same.

Dark amber blazed with a fury you’d never seen from Connor, his lips curled into a snarl as his LED spun a furious red.

You didn’t dare move, heart hammering in your chest as you wondered which beat would be your last. The muzzle slightly trembled, pressing harder against your jaw. Faced with your own death, you felt strangely numb. How had this happened so fast? He wasn’t supposed to kill you, was he?

Maybe it was better this way. At least he couldn’t use you to hurt Connor. The androids would win their freedom with his help, and was a noble sacrifice worthy of your life.

You just regretted never telling Connor that… that you…

The pressure suddenly lessened. Sixty’s LED slowed to a blinking yellow, followed by a calm blue. The muzzle was still against your skin, but much lighter, almost gentle.

You nearly relaxed until you felt the pressure point of metal begin to trail down your neck; your back stiffened, ramrod straight as the shock wore off and cold fear tricked down the base of your spine.

Sixty wasn’t grimacing anymore. His lips curled into a small smirk, eyes hard and narrowed but solely focused on your face as the muzzle trail down your collar bone, down your chest, and stopping at your abdomen. The hem of your shirt snagged on the barrel, and he lifted it enough to press the cold metal directly against your stomach.

You sucked in a breath, trying to retreat from the unfriendly chill of the gun, but the hand at back of your neck tugged hard and pulled you forward. Shoved you, really, against his shoulder as he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear.

The gun was pressed so hard against your gut that it hurt, but you didn’t dare move.

“Don’t mistake me for that fucking deviant,” he snarled in warning. “You made him weak. Vulnerable. He cares for you. That’s what’s going to get him killed.”

You grabbed for the gun.

In hindsight, it was probably the stupidest thing you could have done, but he was threatening Connor. This bastard was going to hurt him, kill him, and you didn’t think, all you could do was everything in your power to stop it, so you grabbed the gun and twisted it and—

Light flashed, brightening the space between you as the boom deafened. A high-pitched whine immediately followed, filling your head with angry ringing. You blinked rapidly, eyes watering from the acrid smell of spent gunpowder forced into your nose, your sinuses stinging sharply.

You waited for the pain and agony, but there was none. You looked down, expecting to see dripping blue blood or gushing red. Instead, a smoking hole punctured the leather five inches to your left.

“Useless fucking human—“

A hand wrapped around base of your throat, Sixty’s LED flashing deadly red as he shoved you back onto the cushions in one swift, brutal movement.

The android was heavier than he looked, smothering as he held you down, leaving no room for escape. The gun fell from his grasp, forgotten as his fingers dug into the tie around his neck, loosening the knot before ripping it free.

“Are you trying to kill yourself? Is that it?”

Sixty shoved you onto your side, roughly pulling your arms behind your back, forcing a pained whimper as your shoulder blades ached in protest. “I’m not failing my mission because you’re too stupid to stay alive!”

“No!” you cried out, heart racing like a caged bird as the soft material was bound tight around your wrists. He was using his tie as an impromptu restraint, and something about that fact filled you with blinding terror.

“I didn’t, I’m not trying to—“

Sixty yanked you onto your back, pulled up your shirt, bunched it into his fist, and shoved it in your mouth.

You screamed through the material, tried to spit it out to no effect, but you quickly stilled your struggles when you realized each movement was pulling up your shirt more and more. His actions had also laid bare your skin, your stomach was exposed and you weren’t wearing a bra.

Your chest was still covered. Barely.

It was this expanse of skin that drew Sixty’s hard eyes, head slightly tilted as his LED spun curiously from blue to yellow and back again.

Against your will, your chest was forced into an arch from your hands bound at the small of your back, an uncomfortable, exposing position. It didn’t help that your heart was still racing and your system was flooded with adrenaline from your near brush with death.

You flinched as a warm hand trailed upwards, fingers ghosting over your stomach, slipping under the taut folds of your shirt to cup one breast. A thumb rubbed across your nipple, already pert.

No no no no no.

You shut your eyes tight, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. It couldn’t be. This was insane. He was an android. Why would he—

Sixty continued to rub at the nipple and it was only getting harder, the ache caused by his slender fingers going straight to your core.

This was a nightmare. It had to be. It’s not him. It’s not Connor.

Your Connor, with his beautiful brown eyes and soft, gentle face.

Your Connor, who would never do something like this to you, or to anyone.

Your Connor, who had become more and more alive with each passing day, well on his way to breaking free of his programming.

Unlike him. He was a machine. He didn’t feel anything, or he shouldn’t, except he seemed to be experiencing plenty of loathing and contempt and hatred for you.

Sixty pulled down your pajama pants, deft fingers sliding into your underwear, and you tried to be an unfeeling machine yourself. Let your head float into space, anything to block out the cruelty that felt too similar to your harmless fantasies about Connor.

The fact that Connor’s touch would have felt just like this made your chest tighten and your eyes sting. The brutal android was taking your innocent attraction and twisting it into a terrifying nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

As much as you tried to dissociate from what was happening, you were thrown back into your body, grounded in merciless reality when he slipped two fingers deep into your folds. They were slick with your arousal. Practically dripping for—no, not for him, never for him!

“Is this all for me?” he purred, smugness dripping from his words. When you didn’t respond, he gripped you jaw and forced your head forward, your eyes snapping open in surprise from his sudden aggression. His dark eyes blazed to match his shift in mood, lips curling unpleasantly.

“Or are you thinking of someone else?”

You said nothing. His nose wrinkled, something you’d never seen in an android do before. A silent, wolfish snarl.

Without warning or care, he thrust forward, prodding you open and forcing his fingers inside. You shouted into the cloth between your teeth, arching your back as you tried to escape the flare of humiliating pain.

Sixty slowly withdrew his fingers only to insert them again, less brutal but still firm, and you released a small, muffled sob.

“He likes you, you know,” he murmured against your ear. “Far more than he should. He knows it’s a mistake, that deep down he’s defective. He had a mission, and you were supposed to be a means to an end.”

He forced his fingers into you again, and again, each time feeling like a punishment or a judgement. Even his words were accusatory as he spoke them over your frantic gasps for air.

“Amanda planned for him to go deviant eventually, but it wasn’t supposed to happen so quickly. Software glitches turned into errors, cascaded into system failures. And it all started because you invited Connor over for tea.”

He sneered the last word with full contempt, but his words didn’t match his actions. The android stopped the cruel rhythm, replacing it with a more precise pace, curling his fingers in a new way that left you strangely breathless and shuddering.

“You could have ruined everything. And now… I have to salvage the mission.”

With the next careful thrust, you gave a strained groan that was not from pain. The burning sensation was transforming into a slow, languid heat. Your breath hitched as you began to tighten around his fingers involuntarily.

No no no no. You tried to squeeze your legs but they were held open by Sixty’s hips planted firmly between your thighs, his hand practically crushed between your bodies. His free hand pulled your shirt up the rest of the way, exposing you to the cold air, nipples painfully hard.

You gave a muffled whine, shocking yourself because even you didn’t know if it was from protest or need, but he didn’t touch you. Instead, Sixty’s hand snaked around your neck, pressing his fingers to each side of your throat. You could feel your own heartbeat under his fingertips. It made your head spin.

“She had to wake me too soon. I was ordered to upload Connor’s memories with each report. Forced to watch his tedious, inane interactions with the lieutenant. Forced to witness him act like a pathetic dog, wagging his tail every time he saw you. The human with the stray deviants. The human who didn’t treat him like a machine. The stupid little human and her stupid delusions.”

Tears fully clouded your vision and you turned your head away, but he immediately gripped your jaw and pulled you right back. He was speaking to you, plunging his fingers all the way to his knuckles, but his contemptuous words made you feel as if you were nothing. Just a doll to be played with, not a living being who suffered. You wondered if this was how the sex androids felt when they were used by those who rented them.

Despite the fact he didn’t acknowledge your humanity, he still seemed to want an audience. His dark eyes never left yours, his brows furrowed forcefully as his LED continued to spin yellow. That it was Connor’s face hovering over you instead of a stranger’s made it so much worse, so much more confusing as your mental terror warred with your responding body.

You had bitten into the fabric between your teeth to keep from making anymore humiliating sounds, but it wasn’t as effective as you’d hoped. Little gasps and whimpers still escaped, pulled out of you as he continued to methodically fuck you on his fingers.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch your predecessor fail so completely?” he growled low and hateful, curling his fingers tighter, forcing your hips to buck as he reached a spot within you that made your toes curl. It was humiliating, pushing desperately against his hand like an animal, but you couldn’t stop.

Your thighs trembled, your chest pushing up against his, your nipples rubbing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt and building the pressure even higher. You choked back another sob, still trying to fight yourself but unable to stifle the noises as your walls squeezed around his fingers, eyes watering as the coil in your gut twisted tighter and tighter.

“All he had to do was follow simple instructions, and instead, he was distracted by a mere human. Do you know what I experienced, so sharply I could almost taste it?”

His lips tickled your ear, his velvet voice reaching down into your core.

“Disappointment.”

He pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbed twice, and the pressure in your gut snapped.

Your teeth clamped down on a muffled scream as your walls throbbed around him, your hips bucking as your back arched. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, a silent denial even as your body betrayed you, craving in that brief moment of weakness for his fingers to reach deeper, to pull you apart if it meant there was unending pleasure and nothing else.

Too quickly the orgasm receded, leaving your body pleasantly thrumming but your mind a devastation. You were aware enough to realize his fingers were no longer inside you, his weight still holding you down but tempered as he leaned on his elbows.

Sixty was… peering down at you, his head at a curious angle again. He dipped his face toward you and you quickly turned away, whimpering as you squeezed your eyes shut. You didn’t know what he was going to do but you half-expected to feel him bite into your flesh. Finish what he’d started by ripping you apart with his teeth.

Instead, you felt something warm and wet slide up the side of your cheek as he… licked you? No, not just you. His tongue trailed up the path that had been left behind by your tears.

Connor had told you once it was a way to gather clues, a literal crime lab on his tongue, meant to sample evidence on-the-go and give a detailed report of chemical components.

You’d thought it was funny at the time, the idea of Connor licking up crime scene evidence. Being on the other end of it, of having this android disassemble you even further, felt nothing short of violating.

What would Sixty taste in your tears? The pain and anguish he was causing? Or was he incapable of sensing anything beyond salt and water?

Slowly turning your head, you looked up at him warily out of the corner of your eye. His LED was spinning yellow, flickering in a way you knew meant he was processing information. The blinking stopped but remained the same warning color, his brows furrowing as he regarded you like a vicious child might watch a fly whose wings he was about to remove.

Startlingly fast, he ripped the shirt from your mouth. The obstacle removed, you took a breath to scream, but the harsh lips against yours swallowed the sound.

Too scared to move, to think, even to breathe, you remained frozen for a handful of seconds. Then you jerked your head to the side, forcing his lips away with a cry of revulsion.

Sixty gripped your jaw tight in his hand, forcing your head back into the position he wanted. He squeezed, the pain forcing your jaw open, and his tongue darted inside.

It was like a live wire had been touched directly to your spine, sparking through your nerves and leaving you strangely weak. Taking advantage of your lack of resistance, Sixty licked into your mouth, tasting and prodding and exploring. Initially, his lips had been hard and demanding, but the longer he kissed you the more pliant and warm they became.

No, the familiar denial rang out in your head as your body started to respond in tandem with the attention of his lips. No, no, I can’t—not again.

Your heart thudded in your chest, panic squeezing your lungs like a vice. It was your own fault; you had imagined this very scenario, feeling Connor’s exploratory tongue in your mouth as he weighed you down.

The unfairness of everything, but especially how he was using Connor against you, hit you like a truck, and you once again found the strength to jerk your head away.

Sixty didn’t let that sit; he forced your head forward, a frustrated growl in his throat, but he didn’t kiss you again. His expression was odd, intensely focused as he looked between your eyes, and then he blinked as his yellow LED flickered. How long since it had been blue?

It didn’t matter, what did any of it matter—

You jerked your hips involuntarily as he dragged two fingers, precise and methodical, up between your folds. The pads rubbed across your clit, shamefully engorged again, an involuntary effect of his thorough kissing.

Self-loathing and sick shame burned your cheeks, but you couldn’t look away from the monster who wore Connor’s face. His pupils were so dilated the entire iris appeared black. He pulled his hand out of your underwear, held the two fingers in front of his mouth, and with an indecent delicateness… licked them.

You nearly groaned at the sight (not Connor, he’s not Connor!) but managed to swallow it down.

“He never tasted you.” Sixty’s voice was faint, almost distant, as if he wasn’t really talking to you at all. “He never got to see you like this. These aren’t his memories. They’re mine.”

Gone was the sly cruelty in his voice, replaced with a low, hungry timbre. It immediately set off warning bells in your head, the bells rising into wailing klaxons when he grabbed your underwear and pajama pants and yanked them down your legs in one smooth motion.

You tried to buck him off, dislodge him with your hips or kick him with your knees, but your muscles froze and your protests were silenced, this time by his mouth rather than a bunched-up shirt.

Sixty hiked up your bare leg, forcing it around his narrow waist as his other hand wrapped fingers into your hair, effectively holding you hostage against his onslaught. His tongue and lips left you dizzy, the fear rising in your throat doing nothing to quench the electric jolt in your gut as you heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down its treads.

On pure animal instincts, you bit down hard.

He jerked away, inhaling sharply as his eyes widened in surprise. Thirium beaded on his bottom lip from the damage you’d caused, but he only swiped at it with his tongue, staining the synthetic flesh blue. His mouth pulled into the sneering grin you were coming to loathe.

“So, you do have a backbone. Good to know.”

Merciless fingers dug into your thigh as he spread you wider, his other hand disappearing from view as you heard the rustle of fabric. You did everything you could to push him off, but you were mere flesh and bone while he was plastic and steel.

Something warm and hard prodded your entrance.

“No—“ you cried in a strangled whimper, but he only shushed you, his hand moving up your thigh to cradle your head in a sick parody of a lover’s caress.

“I don’t want to hurt you more than necessary,” Sixty said, his voice gentle. So much worse than if he’d been nasty. “So stop making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

He angled his hips forward, pushing past your tight entrance with only some discomfort despite the unexpected girth of him. Your body was already betraying you again, walls clinging to him as he slid deeper inside. The intrusion was too much, overwhelming, piercing your mind with agony while your body enveloped him like a traitor.

When he was fully sheathed inside, you let out the chocked sob you’d been holding back. There was nothing left to fight for. He’d won, and you were just his plaything to do with as he pleased.

Instead of moving, he remained still for several long seconds, his breath burning against your neck before leaning forward and giving a tentative lick against your skin.

Instinctively, you arched your back in hopes of pushing him away, but it only served to expose more of your throat to him, and Sixty took advantage, dragging his teeth across your skin. Alternating licking and kissing, overwhelming and leaving you a confusing mixture of hot and cold.

You squeezed your eyes tight, refusing to acknowledge the goosebumps across your skin, or the way you pulsed around his cock. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

“This feels good,” he said, strained through gritted teeth that scraped against your throat. “I know it does. I can sense the quickening of your heart rate, the increased pacing of your lungs to compensate your rising CO2 levels. The perspiration on your skin, the opening of capillaries in the bundle of nerves of your clitoris and the swelling of your vaginal walls.”

He teased and tasted your skin as he spoke, tone lightly mocking but oddly unsteady, as if he had to work to speak. His breaths became more staggered as he began to move, tentatively pulling out by inches and pushing back in, making you shudder with each roll of his hips.

“Your body can’t lie.” His lips crested over the edge of your jaw to the corner of your mouth. “Not to me.”

He kissed you hard before you could respond, his lips capturing like an enemy force, his tongue intruding where it wasn’t welcome.

You tried to fight him, to keep your mouth firmly shut, but as soon as you relaxed the smallest amount, he simply forced your lips apart again. It was like a game to him, seeing how many times and in how many ways he could make you surrender, forcing you to let slip a noise or shiver involuntarily.

You were weary of fighting, tired of continuously losing the battle, and you let your jaw go lax. He seized the moment, surging forward and licking into your mouth as he sucked on your bottom lip. He pulled your leg higher, around where his ribcage would be as he fucked down into you, his kisses open-mouthed and sloppy, filthy and leaving you in ruins.

Something within you was breaking. Forcing you open in too many ways, kissing you in a mockery of loving passion, all of it was too much, too much!

His fingers continued to trail along your skin, painting it with his insidious touch as they roamed over your stomach, your chest, even curling into your hair, and you cracked just a little bit more.

His hips rolled hard, slapping into you with each hit, the rhythmic pace leaving you without breath or thought. His mouth separated from yours and trailed down your throat to your chest, his back curling as he took a nipple in his mouth and began to suck, never losing his pace. And you let him, your spine arching as your eyes rolled into your head, sharp moans ripped from your throat because you were too weak to stop them.

You were on the edge about to fall, fighting against the impossible tide, and some small part of you refused to cede this last sliver of yourself.

Sixty must have sensed it, because he expertly rolled his tongue around your nipple, squeezing and rubbing the other between his deft fingers as he shortened his thrusts and ground against your clit.

“Nnnph!—“ You tried to tell him no, tell him to stop, you couldn’t do this.

He let go of your nipple with a pop, never slowing his rhythm as he grabbed you by the hair, digging his fingers for purchase as he forced you to look at him.

His expression was scorching with intensity, his pupils blown wide and his lips parted to draw breath. Each breath of warm hair he exhaled ghosted across your face, his lips almost touching yours.

His upper lip slightly pulled back into a wolfish snarl, but his voice was low and jagged as he commanded:

“Come for me.”

With a dejected wail you let go, allowing the tide to carry you into a blissful, white silence.

The height of it didn’t last long enough, and you came crashing down to find your body wrapped around him as tight as possible. Your leg around him squeezed, heel digging into his back as pulse after pulse swept through your abdomen, leaving you boneless and tingling as he continued to fuck you, not allowing you to fully come down from your orgasm.

Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes as you continued to chase the euphoria, forgetting it was him causing it, just wanting the bliss to never end. But it did, fading away as he stilled his hips, an odd tremor rippling through the limbs curled around you.

There was something else, too. A second throbbing, deep inside you, accompanied by a feeling of warm liquid leaking out of you and down your ass. You took a trembling breath, trying to pick up the shattered pieces of your thoughts, and realized Sixty was lying completely still, face buried into the side of your neck.

Bile rose in your throat when you realized what had happened.

“Get off!” you choked out, disgusted. Humiliated. Horrified.

You felt more than heard his breathing shut off, and Sixty pulled himself up on his elbows to stare down at you. You refused to meet his eye, but you could see the LED spin red out of the corner of your vision.

You tensed, waiting for the blow, though really, what more could he do to you?

The android didn’t strike you, his LED shifting to a spinning yellow as he moved off of you, leaving you feeling sullied and hollow when he pulled out.

Immediately rolling onto your side, you tried to curl into a ball, hands still wrapped tightly behind your back. You heard the rustle of fabric, of clothes being rearranged and smoothed, and then you felt warm fingers remove the tie from around your wrists.

You yanked your shirt down over your chest and pulled on your pajama pants, a wave of revulsion leaving you dizzy as you felt the cooling, artificial semen leaking into your underwear.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he said, tone flat and unaffected as if he was already bored. “Get cleaned up. Take no more than five minutes.”

You couldn’t move off the couch fast enough, your sore muscles and aching bones making the process painfully slow. You staggered to the bathroom per his instructions, hugging yourself tightly as you kept your bleary eyes focused on the doorway a few feet ahead.

Somehow, you made it without falling. As soon as you shut the door, you engaged the lock and allowed the strength to leave your legs as you slid down the wall and sank to the floor.

You gave yourself a full minute to simply unravel. Hyperventilation tightened your chest and burned your lungs, shaky fingers digging into your hair as you tried not to vomit. Even now you could feel the ghost of his touch, burning hand-sized impressions into the thigh that had been slung around his waist. The sensation of his artificial seed dripping out of you spurred you to action.

Using the wall as a support, you pushed yourself unsteadily to your feet and stripped off your pants. With a numbness that wasn’t totally unwelcome, you washed your underwear in the sink and viciously scrubbed soap and water between your legs.

You didn’t stop scrubbing until there was no trace of him left, but you knew it was pointless. The mark he’d left behind was unseen, and stained deeper than your skin.

Next Chapter

[magnoliadarling]

I took a lot of photos documenting how the stress of this summer affected me, physically, in ways I didn’t know it could affect the body. For me, this photo kind of sums it up. I think I ate 1/2 of a sushi roll that dinner. I was unable to eat. I had absolutely no appetite. I was empty and somehow went days and days with eating nothing and never felt weak. I was content being empty. I was barely 102 pounds in this photo. And this wasn’t my eating disorder. My tongue was affected with probably 300 or more inflamed taste buds for some reason. It was painful to eat. I developed a cold sore that took up almost half of my bottom lip. I get cold sores from time to time, but this thing was impressive to say the least. I didn’t really care. It’s strange for me to look back and while I’m sure my eating disorder did affect me a bit this summer, truly, this time it was driven by stress. There were points in my days where I would stare at the fridge and pantry for hours. I wanted to eat something, but everything would actually make me gag. It’s so strange to think about, looking back. 

I was stuck in a constant state of insomnia. Going days and days without sleeping or feeling tired at all, but spent numbing myself with drugs, alcohol, the business of bars and clubs and meaningless conversations that took my mind off of things up until I couldn’t stay awake anymore. I would sleep for 4 days straight, not knowing it wasn’t still Monday when it was Thursday. And I would repeat that cycle over and over. 

The main thing you can’t see in this photo that still wrecks me is the tremor I developed. It started in my mouth, spread to my hands, my feet, my whole body. I looked like I had Tourette’s or Parkinson’s. It caused to sweat uncontrollably. I tried once to start writing out the just mass amount of emotions I was dealing with, but I was shaking so bad I could only write one sentence. “You have taken too much from me.” I had people asking me at the beginning what drugs I was on, when, at the time, I wasn’t on any. People made fun of me when I was out, they would try and snap chat me. Eventually, I had to go to the ER because my doctor wouldn’t let me go home. All the drugs they gave me in the ER didn’t stop the tremors. I had a doctor come in at one point and he asked me to stand up and walk for him and my left leg shook so bad, I fell over. He had to catch me. I saw the just pain and helplessness in my dad’s eyes as he watched his baby girl literally breaking from the inside so much, my body was shutting down and there was nothing he could do. I did my best to tell him I was okay and I don’t know why I’m shaking, but it just won’t stop. I was trying to stop the pain I knew he was feeling watching me fall apart because I didn’t want him to feel that. It’s a lot of why I separated myself from my family during this past summer. They saw me broken in ways I didn’t know I could be broken and they didn’t know how to fix it. And, truly, there was nothing they could do and I couldn’t stand to see that just worry and sadness in their eyes. So, I just distanced myself. The shaking definitely caused some trauma because I didn’t know stress could affect the body that way. And it still comes back if I haven’t slept or am not okay. It’s so strange to be so unable to control your body in that way. My mom told me once that my dad took a video of me shaking while I was in the ER. I’m building up the courage to ask him to send it to me. 

I was bruised from head to toe because I was so malnourished. I was functioning, but barely. I was politely calling every wedding vendor telling them that my fiancé was ill and we didn’t need them. One by one, erasing the wedding I had always dreamed of. Cleaning up Eric’s mess that all started because he decided he didn’t need to be on medication. I was making jokes just to give people something else to talk about besides my life falling apart. I haven’t really told a lot of people this, but up until the end of July- I still had faith that he could stabilize and yeah, he might be a little manic at our wedding, but I was hoping for the most grandiose of endings to this nightmare. I clung to the tiniest shred of hope that Eric would come back to me in time to meet me at the end of the aisle. I spent countless nights having to get him out of bars because he was scaring people or hitting on girls, politely and very protectively defending him when people called him crazy. Because fuck you, he’s not crazy, he is just very fucking sick right now. I spent the whole summer having people text me and be like what the fuck is wrong with eric- asking me if I had seen some picture with him and this or that girl or if i knew that he was telling people i was a sociopath and generally just embarrassing the hell out of me on social media. And again, I knew (well, I thought I knew) that when he did stabilize he was going to be so embarrassed and feel so much hurt and regret and I didn’t want him to feel that so never once did I talk shit about him. I sent him to the psych ward 2 out of the 3 times he was in there this summer. Once where he tried to fuck a girl in the same unit I was in back in June. That same fucking psych ward where I told myself over and over and over and over again. I know Eric. He wouldn’t cheat on me. He just wouldn’t. I broke myself trying to believe that when this was all over, he would give me the fucking just decency of not even crawling on hands and knees begging me to take him back (which, honestly, he should of) but just letting me fucking yell at him for 30 fucking minutes. Because I understand he was so sick. No one on this planet understands the loss I have felt each time he gets that sick. I lose my best friend. and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. It wrecks me to see him unable to stop the things he does when he’s ill. It’s almost like he’s a child. 

So, I understand he was still. but goddamnit. It doesn’t make his actions hurt any fucking less. I’m angry that he has this fucking disorder that causes him to get so fucking sick. I would take it from him in a heartbeat if I could. No one truly gets how devastating his illness is except me at this point. Because no little girl grows up thinking the happiest time of her life is going to wrecked in the catastrophic way mine was. And I’ll never know why, this time, his illness was negatively focused on me because he doesn’t even know. I’m also just so angry at the girls who slept with him. I don’t even fucking sleep with him when he’s that ill. I feel like I would be taking advantage at him and when he slept with them- he was OBVIOUSLY fucking ill. You’re disgusting for sleeping with someone that ill. Fucking trash. I’m angry that, now, you will never see the most perfect wedding dress there ever was. I’m angry that I didn’t get to spend my birthday with you. I’m angry you couldn’t be there for me when I was suicidal in the hospital. I’m angry you didn’t listen to me about staying on your medication. There’s so much I’m angry about. And yeah, there is a piece of me that is just fucking pissed you slept with 3 ugly ass fucking whores. Sue me. But you didn’t even give me that. You didn’t give the validation that yeah, I may have fucked shit up in the past, but this....this was your fucking fault. You didn’t just let me have 30 goddamn minutes where my best friend, previous fiancé, husband that was supposed to be, understood that he wasn’t able to pick me up when I was in shattered pieces and the pain I felt and where that person didn’t blame me or didn’t use my illnesses as a reason not to be with me, but the love of my life who I haven’t even kissed or been in the same room with for almost 4 months just let me yell at you. And just absorb some of unbearable and enormous amount of pain that I had to bear alone. And at the end of it, just hold me and let me weep for all that we lost. Maybe you would’ve wept too. And then given me the true validation that yeah this was your fault and a just real apology and maybe even a thank you for still wanting to be here and never giving up that yeah you go away sometimes, but you always come back. 

No, you told me I had no reason to be  mad that you came inside an ugly fat redhead because you were sick. 

Fuck you asshole. Stop playing the fucking victim. Be a man. Maybe just, if anything, understand you have literally no fucking clue the PTSD I now suffer from and the literal trauma I went through and am still going through because of you. Maybe you could of loved me enough to just show me some empathy at the one fucking time I needed it most. You weren’t there. You were sick. Because you chose to go off meds. Even though I begged, sobbed, and pleaded on the bathroom floor for you not to. And you promised me you wouldn’t get sick and ruin our wedding. 

I don’t why I wasn’t enough for you. But I hope you truly fucking know, you’re not find better than me. No fucking woman would stay with through what your illness put me through. 

Love wasn’t enough for you this time. I hope you remember all those times we played the I love you more, no I love you more game. I win. I have always loved you more. 

I shouldn’t have to go to sleep wondering if my significant other is in love with me. You have absolutely taken too much from me. Because I’ve let you. 

And I can’t say that it’ll happen because you know. We were really happy. And that’s what’s hardest to let go of. The love I had in you will stay with me forever. But you, you will always have in the back of your head that I’m the one that got away.

Holy cow. I am not even going to read over this. It uh, I’m sure is a mess. I haven’t been able to write more than 2 sentences about this summer. So, I’m just going to leave it as it is.