#warnings for suicide threat and assault

[eternal-evergreens]

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧JJK Men as Yanderes ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Mahito, Choso Kamo

Word count: Each piece is roughly 750 words

Warnings: implied sabotage (Gojo, Toji, Choso), invasion of privacy (Gojo), kidnapping (Gojo, Sukuna), murder (Geto), kidnapping mention (Nanami, Toji), suicidal ideation (Nanami), light gore (Gojo, Sukuna, Mahito), reader injury (Sukuna), threats of bodily harm/mutilation (Mahito), sexual assault (Mahito), implied murder (Choso)

Satoru Gojo

You're nothing special. Not compared to him, at least. With no long line of sorcery or blue blood running through your veins, your family is just about as average as it gets.

You're nothing special---not to Jujutsu society, anyway. But who gives a shit about that? To Satoru, you're more than special.

You're everything.

He's always been the strongest, and yet, when he's with you, he just feels so weak.

Like a schoolgirl fawning over her latest crush, Satoru often finds himself checking his phone while away on missions, hoping to see your name appear on his screen. It doesn't have to be anything special—even a picture of some ugly animal with the caption "That's u, lol." is enough to get him going. Just knowing you were thinking of him at all, even in an unflattering light, makes him feel lightheaded in a way not even battle can emulate.

It's weird. It's embarrassing.

But he can't get enough.

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel, he'd kneel. If you asked him to beg, he'd beg. If you asked him to rip out a man's heart and present it to you, he'd ask if he should do so on a silver or gold platter.

If you asked him to let you go, however...

You sigh and fall back onto the couch. It'd been a week since your landlord mysteriously kicked you out, and Satoru took you in with a frankly suspicious eagerness. To say that he was an overbearing roommate was to put it lightly.

He'd follow you around the flat from room to room, enter your bedroom without knocking, and once, you even caught him sifting through your laundry. He wasn't even embarrassed about getting caught, let alone the fact that he had done it in the first place.

You decided to start searching for a new roommate after that.

"Y'know," Satoru says, slinging his arms around your shoulders---you hadn't even heard him approach. You quickly close your computer, which happens to have very clearly been showcasing cheap apartments in the area. "I could have just taken ya'. Snatched you up off the street like some kidnapper."

"What...?"

"---But I decided to play nice instead. I thought we could forge a real relationship that way. But you've just been pushing me away. I'm starting to think I've been too lenient with ya'. Like maybe I should have just locked you up instead."

"That isn't funny, Satoru."

"Who said I was joking?" You open your mouth to respond, but Satoru cuts you off before you get the chance. "You want dinner? I can order us takeout. Anywhere you'd like."

Drop it, his eyes say. You do.

That very night, you pack a bag and head to the nearest hotel. In the morning, you'll ask your job if they can transfer you to another city. For tonight, you'd like to just get a good night's rest without the lingering fear of waking up to his figure looming over you.

You wake up to familiar surroundings. It doesn't register as strange until you remember checking into a hotel the night prior. You shoot up to get a better look around. Sure enough, you're in your own bedroom, not the hotel's.

But how...?

You're sure you left last night. Did you dream it? You go to check your phone, but it's not there.

Just then, the door opens. "Oh, you're up," your roommate says.

"Satoru, what's---"

"I called you in sick for work today," he says casually, "and tomorrow. Actually, starting today, you're unemployed."

"What?!"

"Don't worry. I can take care of us. I've got more than enough money."

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel...If you asked him to beg...

If you asked him to let you go, however...

"C'mon, baby, you know I can't do that," he'd say, arms around your waist and head in your lap. "Ask me for something else, anything. Just not that. Do you want a pony? We can get a pony."

"No---"

"What about a cat? Or maybe you prefer dogs? I could get a purebred if you wanted one. I know it gets lonely being in the house all by yourself."

"I want to go outside, Satoru."

"We could get a fish tank, I guess. Though I doubt they'd make good company."

"Listen to me---"

"Actually, maybe that's for the best. Wouldn't want to compete for my lover's attention in my very own home, you know?"

Suguru Geto

When he was at his lowest, Suguru thought of you. It kept him going. It kept him sane.

So, of course, you were the first person he asked to join him in the creation of the new world. His world.

"Our world," he said, the look on his face desperate, pleading.

You declined, of course. His ideals went against everything you stood for as a Jujutsu sorcerer. As a person.

He took it well---or seemed to, at least. He flashed you a plastered-on smile and released your hands from his, leaving you with no further fuss.

For a while, that seemed to be the end of it.

Life went on. Though you would occasionally catch wind of his nefarious deeds, dealing with such things never fell within your purview. In fact, it almost seemed as if the higher-ups were purposefully keeping you from any cases that involved him.

You had all but forgotten about that fateful evening when a call from the higher-ups had you booking a flight to Okayama.

Apparently, there had been a sudden influx of cursed spirits in the region. And as the lead researcher in cursed phenomena, you were called to the scene.

You had already been given a file outlining the happenings, but out of courtesy, Yumi, the assistant supervisor assigned to the case alongside you, filled you in regardless.

"It's not that there's a higher rate of cursed spirits being born in this area," she said. "They're migrating here."

"Hmm," you look over the map on your tablet again; colour-coded dots mark the locations and grades of each (presumed) non-native sighting. The spacings are far from natural. They seem to have been made with intent, almost as if forming a pattern of some kind.

"We've set up a barrier to track the arrival of new cursed spirits. Nearly every curse from fourth to semi-first grade in the neighbouring towns has been coming here. Some of our windows have even spotted them moving together in groups."

"Was there anything strange about their behaviour? Like moving in single-file lines, with strange movements, or perhaps even speaking?" Yumi lights up.

"Yes, actually! They were all---"

Your screen flashes, suddenly restarting the tablet without your input.

"Huh...?"

"[Last]-San..." Your supervisor almost whispers. You tear your eyes from your screen to hers as she weakly holds up her tablet to you.

Over four hundred cursed spirits have been spotted crossing the Okayama border within the past fifteen minutes.

Your tablet finishes restarting, and you scramble to view the map again, hoping what you just saw was nothing more than a glitch.

The loading screen seems to take ages to complete, but when it does, the map shows exactly what you feared.

Oh. You get it now.

The pattern it was trying to spell out. It's "愛"

---"Love".

You hear a scream.

"Ah, it's good to see you again. How long has it been now?" A voice---one you're all too familiar with---says. "Two, no, maybe three years?" Suguru is wiping blood off of his hands. You don't want to look down. You can't look down.

Yumi is dead.

You looked down.

"I'm not sure why I phrased that like a question I didn't know the answer to," he says, smiling in a way that makes your heart ache. "I've been keeping track down to the days, you see."

"Were you...behind this?" You've never been one for combat. You can't use reverse cursed technique to save Yumi. You can't fight to save the others. There's nothing you can do.

You've never felt so helpless.

"I did," he admits casually. "I recently got my hands on a new curse. First-grade 'Pied Piper', its technique creates a sort of call-and-response between itself and other curses of a lower grade through a musical frequency only other curses can perceive. With that technique, I can manipulate the movements of curses I haven't yet acquired without leaving my residuals behind."

"But if it's coming from the technique of a curse you possess, your residuals would still be left behind," you counter.

"Ah, as quick on the uptake as always, [First]," he praises. "You're right, or you would be if this curse were under the control of my curse spirit manipulation. No, this curse was tamed, not subjugated."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He's going to kill you once he's finished explaining.

"I've always appreciated an inquisitive mind," he says. "especially when it's your inquisitive mind." Your mouth forms a vague 'O' shape as the realisation dawns on you.

"愛"

"Love"

...You're never getting away.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is someone who has never really been all that content with life.

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Sometimes, on his darkest days, Nanami thinks about what would have happened if he had joined Haibara—or better yet, if he had never even been born in the first place. If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?

But then he met you, and suddenly, the world didn't seem all that bad.

Don't get him wrong, it's not like your presence suddenly made all the wrongs in the world right, but it did make him feel like they all mattered just a little bit less. Like maybe all this suffering was worth it, if it also meant he could see you smile.

So, of course, he'd do anything to keep you safe. To protect that smile.

The easiest way to ensure that, of course, would be to clip your wings. To lock you away somewhere where only he could reach you. A songbird that only sings for him, a dove in a birdcage.

He'd treat you like royalty, of course. His job pays well, but he's a somewhat frugal person by nature, so he has plenty of savings lying around. Whatever you wanted, he'd get you.

As long as you stayed safe, he couldn't ask for anything more. Even if you didn't love him, as long as your smile could be protected, that would be enough.

He's in the middle of researching what kind of restraints would cause the least damage and irritation to your skin when he realises what a grave mistake he was about to make.

'If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?'

What if...

What if you started feeling that way, too?

What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?

He could offer you all the material things in the world, but if it comes at the price of your freedom, it might still not make you happy. After all, it was the same for him.

If money didn't make him happy, why would you be different?

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Nanami is worse.

He doesn't deserve you. It's with this thought in mind that he begins to avoid you. He refuses to meet your gaze, leaves the room when you enter, and declines all missions that involve your presence.

He feels like he's going crazy. Separation has made him sloppy and reckless. He comes home with more injuries, and a part of him thinks he deserves it.

Bags begin to form under his eyes as two weeks go by without the haven of your presence. He sees you everywhere now. The girl across the street is dressed in a substyle you like. The model in that magazine has your eyes. The cafe down the block is having a special on your coffee order.

"Nanamin, why're you avoiding [Last] all of a sudden? They do something to you?" Nanami scoffs at the remark but doesn't answer. He turns to leave but stops when Gojo continues. "Y'know, they actually came cryin' to me about it. Said they had no idea why you suddenly started treatin' 'em like they've got the plague." Nanami turns to look at Gojo, who's fiddling with his blindfold. "You should make up with them soon. Can't leave our cute little assistant supervisor feeling so down, you know?"

Nanami hates to admit it, but Gojo might be right.

'What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?'

Fuck. He can't do anything right.

He really doesn't deserve you, but what can he do? If he leaves, you won't smile anymore, but if he stays, you'll be smiling at a monster.

But what can he do? He'd do anything to protect that smile.

Even if it means hiding his fangs.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is a man who takes what he wants and doesn't care if he has to get his hands dirty in order to take it.

Naturally, this applies to you as well.

It's strange, he's never wanted someone as badly as he wants you. Not his past flings, not even his late wife.

Toji is no stranger to romance. He was married, after all. He knows love. It's a familiar feeling.

That's why he's inclined to believe that what he feels for you isn't love. No, what he feels for you is far too primal to be love. It's rough and all-consuming. It's nothing like the soothing feeling he had around his wife.

Love wraps around one's heart like a warm blanket. This wraps around his heart like a python.

But if it's not love, what is it?

Actually, scratch that. It doesn't matter.

Whatever it is, it's some form of desire. And if he desires something, then all he has to do is take it.

Yes, it's better to keep these kinds of things simple rather than getting tied up in technicalities.

There is a problem, however. He'd like nothing more than to just lock you up and keep you for himself, but with his somewhat unstable income and his habit of bouncing around from place to place, that isn't exactly feasible.

Ah, what to do...?

He could settle down or stop spending his money as soon as he earns it, but where's the fun in that?

No, rather than try to adapt to your lifestyle, he'd much rather force you to adapt to his. Still, he supposes some sacrifices will be necessary, as his lifestyle is currently only fit for one.

You'll have to quit your job since you'll be moving around from place to place alongside him, but he'll just take on some more jobs to cover the extra cost; it's no big deal.

He proposes the idea to you so matter-of-factly that it's almost as if he believes you to have already agreed to the plan beforehand. In reality, this is your first time hearing of such a thing, and you're so stunned that you momentarily lose your voice.

You've known this man for two, no, maybe three weeks, and yet he's asking you to drop everything and come overseas with him? You're not even friends! He's just a regular at the cafe you're employed with.

It dawns on you that he must be joking, so you chuckle awkwardly and avert your gaze. Perhaps you simply haven't known him long enough to gauge his sense of humour. You feel a little embarrassed for nearly having taken him so seriously.

Then, he shows you the plane tickets.

Bewildered, you end up being more blunt than you perhaps meant to: "I'm not going," you say, pushing his tickets back to him.

"Sweetheart," he says dryly. "I'm not asking." You shoot him a strained, confused smile, which quickly morphs into a more genuine one as the door chimes.

To think you'd ever be happy to serve a customer. It's a foreign sentiment, but if it means an end to this strange interaction, you'd happily serve a hundred---no, maybe even a thousand customers.

You take their order and get to making their drink, shooting quick glances at the man---Toji, you think---from behind the bar.

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you.

It's days like this that you wish the company wasn't so stingy about hiring more than one person for shifts. You're about to clock out, and if that man is going to stay until closing, you'd really like to have a coworker walk you back to your car.

It's twenty minutes until closing when Toji finally leaves. You let out an unconscious sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders relax. That was weird, but you shouldn't have to see him again, right? He's going overseas tomorrow, after all.

Yeah, you won't see him again. Thank goodness.

It's with that thought in mind that you flip the "We're open!" sign to its side and lock the doors. It's only 6 PM, but the fall season means it's already dark. You shiver from a cool breeze as you make your way towards your car at last.

Huh. Flat tire.

Ryomen Sukuna

Those who know of Sukuna will inevitably feel sorry for anyone who happens to catch his gaze. Sorcerer or not, none will ever possess even a fraction of the strength he carries, and for someone like Sukuna, that means you're no better than a bug to be trampled on.

What a poor, pitiful thing you are. You must be treated more like a pet than a person. A plaything for him to toy with, to discard once you've ceased to entertain.

However, this interpretation couldn't be more wrong.

What others fail to realise is that Sukuna would never waste his time on someone he doesn't consider his equal. Weak as you may be, there's something about you that seems different in his eyes.

Like a precious gem left unpolished, there's a certain allure to you that only a trained eye could see, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone else stake a claim on you first.

No, he'll be the one to bring out your true potential.

Sukuna has never met someone worthy of being his companion. This has never bothered him, however. Loneliness was not something he was familiar with. There are those who have tried, of course, to prove their worth, to stand by his side, but none have ever moved him.

None until you, that is.

The funny thing is that you don't even try to win his attention. You never once asked for his gaze to land upon you. And yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Sukuna doesn't know what to do with you. You make him feel things he's never felt before.

Is this weakness? Is it love?

Is there a difference between the two at all?

Should he kill you? Should he keep you?

What can he do to make these feelings go away? What can he do to ensure they never go away?

In exchange for not pillaging your homeland, the townspeople offer you up as a sacrifice. It was Uraume's idea.

At midnight, you're dragged out of the comfort of your home and tied to a stake, where you stay for hours. By dawn, you've worn yourself out with struggle, dried blood sticking to your hands and the ropes around your wrists, when a white-haired stranger comes to collect you.

The stranger undoes your bindings, but only the ones keeping you bound to the pole. You're dragged along like a dog on a leash for countless hours until you eventually arrive at the largest estate you've ever seen in your life. It's midday when you're untied and allowed to bathe. The warm water releases all the tension from your aching muscles, and as you bathe, the white-haired fellow replaces the garments you arrived in with robes made of fine silk.

The stranger's name is Uraume, they tell you. They'll be taking care of you until their master is ready to meet with you.

"What happens after that?" you ask tentatively.

Uruame flashes you a smile that refuses to answer.

Before you know it, a full week has passed you by. You're still yet to see this so-called master, but Uraume tells you not to worry. After all, the master has already seen you lots of times, they say.

The thought of being watched in secret sends a shiver down your spine.

Though the prison is large, you're confined to only one wing of the estate, and after a week of having nothing to do but wander, you have the entire layout memorized. Bored and unattended, you decide to venture out into the unknown past the garden's gates. There, you come face-to-face with the largest man you've ever laid eyes upon.

A hulking figure with four arms and fiery pink hair turns to you, and in an instant, you fall to the ground, only vaguely aware of the blood pooling around you and the pain across your chest.

In truth, Sukuna had tried to kill you, but his technique missed your vitals. It takes him a moment of watching your blood ooze out of the open wound to realize he did it on purpose. Before he even realizes it, he's picked you up in his lower arms and applied reverse cursed technique to your injury. You've lost consciousness, and your pulse is weak, but you aren't dead. Relief floods through Sukuna's veins as he listens to your soft breathing.

From that day on, you're never to leave his side unless absolutely necessary. From that day on, Sukuna has someone worthy of standing by his side, not as a servant, nor a pet, but as a companion. From that day on, Sukuna has a lover.

Whether you like it or not.

Mahito

As a curse born from the hatred and fear humans feel towards their own kind, Mahito relishes humanity's anguish and despair. He kills without a second thought, not caring who he hurts or who gets swept up into his path of mass destruction.

So why is it that this particular human sways him so? Why is it that he thinks your soul looks pretty, just the way it is? Why does he want to touch you but not to warp you beyond repair?

Why does he want you to look at him? Why does he want to scoop your eyes out of your sockets so that you can never look away?

To be a curse is to always follow your own desires, no matter how contradictory or inconsistent---that's the motto that Mahito lives by.

So, of course, this philosophy applies to you as well.

It doesn't make sense, and he doesn't understand it. But that doesn't matter to him. Why would it? He's a curse, and curses take what they want. What he wants is you, so, of course, he has to take you, too.

Mahito doesn't spend long watching you before he makes his move. First, he has to check if you can even see curses to begin with. If you can, that'll make things easier. But if you can't...well, that'll be fun too.

He bumps into you at the train station around 2 AM. It was a late night at work, and you're now dead on your feet. There's no one around, so it's the perfect time for him to test you. He taps your shoulder with a smile.

If you don't react, he starts feeling you up, talking aloud about how much he wants you as his hands roam your body.

"Mm, you're so weak," he says, palm on your stomach. "Look at you, all unguarded. If I wanted to, I could take your soul and just—" he squeezes the flesh on your abdomen. "—until you go splat! Hmm, but I don't really want to do that. I wonder why?" His hand trails down to your hips, brushing past—but not quite landing on—your private areas.

"It's weird, isn't it? You can't even see me. You don't even know I exist. But I know you exist." He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. "Humans usually wear rings when they're married, right? I wonder why you don't have one? You're such a catch," he giggles. "Ah, well, I guess it's better for me. Less work, y'know?Though, I would have liked to see the look on your face, coming home to dear, sweet hubby, all mangled up in your living room. I wouldn't even bother transfiguring him. No, I'd want you to see his face clearly, all contorted in pain with his guts splayed out all over the floor."

He follows you home. You still can't see him, but you at least seem a little aware of his presence, with the way you keep glancing over your shoulder, randomly picking up the pace and taking more turns than necessary.

How fascinating! You can't see him, and yet you can sense him? He's swooning already.

"Don't worry, [First]," he says, arms around your shoulders as you fumble with your keys. "You'll be able to see me soon. And after that, you're never getting rid of me."

If you do react, however, he holds himself back, opting to strike up a lighthearted conversation with you instead.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?" He asks. "Don't you know the subway is dangerous at night?" You visibly bristle, clearly on guard. He grins.

"Do you need something?" You ask, clutching your bag to your chest and stepping back. His grin widens, easily closing the distance you've just created.

"You're lonely, aren't you? All you do is work; you don't even have any friends! It's kind of pathetic, really. That's okay, though, I like you anyway. I might be the only one."

"What do you---"

"I could help you, you know. Ease your loneliness, maybe?" He's touching you now. Nothing outright inappropriate, but you could smell his intentions from a mile away.

"No thanks," you say. The train stops, and you hurry off the platform. Fortunately, the stranger doesn't get off with you. He waves at you as the doors close, and you run all the way home.

Finally feeling safe, you don't bother to do anything more than kick off your shoes before collapsing on your bed. It creaks under your weight, then creaks again. You freeze, your eyes shooting open.

"Heya," the stranger says. "Fancy seeing you again."

Choso Kamo

If you were to describe him in one word, 'inexperienced' may be your best bet.

Though it's true that he has 'lived' for over one hundred and fifty years, he spent most of that time as a cursed womb, unable to truly experience the outside world for himself. Even after being incarnated and absorbing the memories of his host, Choso finds himself unable to relate to any of his body's experiences. He knows what love is and what lovers do, but only from a technical standpoint. To actually experience it is something he's never even dreamed of doing.

So, of course, when he starts feeling these things for you, he's unable to properly put a label on them. At first, he thinks he's sick, which isn't unreasonable, considering his rather long list of symptoms (fever, shakes, sweats, heart palpitations, and clouded mind, he notes dutifully).

However, that idea is quickly shut down. Being a cursed womb death painting, it's highly unlikely that he even can get sick; plus, his symptoms only seem to surface when you're around (or when he's thinking of you, which, admittedly, is often).

Did you curse him? No, you don't have a technique like that.

Then, what...?

It takes him a somewhat embarrassingly long time for him to realise the truth behind his feelings. It isn't until after he catches himself staring at your lips and thinking about how soft they'd feel against his that he concludes he likes you.

So, he's figured it out. Now what...?

Choso searches through his host's memories in an attempt to figure out how to woo you. Unfortunately for him, his host was a frat boy with commitment issues who knew more about one-night stands than how to build the foundations for an actual relationship.

So, Choso consults Yuki Tsukimo, who he, with his very limited circle of friends, considers to be an expert.

As expected, Yuki is ecstatic at the news that Choso has found his type. Immediately, she's giving an impromptu lecture on the ways of the heart.

"First, you have to figure out their type," she says, wagging a finger. "If it's a match, you're all good. If not, you either need to give up or double down."

Through Yuki's mentoring, Choso learned the general rules for signalling romantic interest. Flowers, chocolates, walks in the park, walks on the beach—a lot of walking in general, actually—candlelit dinner, pick-up lines—he's got it all memorized.

The problem is that his throat gets dry, and his knees lock up when he so much as thinks about talking to you.

So he takes to following you with his eyes instead.

"It's just until I gather the courage to talk to them," he tells himself. "I'll stop once I figure out their type."

Right, if he can't ask you about your interests, he'll just have to observe them instead.

So, he watches you. All the time. Eventually, he all but forgets about his previous plan of it being a temporary habit.

It's just so...addicting. Watching you go about your day like normal. Completely unaware of his presence in the shadows. 

He learns about your hobbies, your interests, what kind of shows you like, your favourite foods, whether you still keep stuffed animals in your room, and more. He has a mental folder of all your likes and dislikes. And while there are some things he’s not able to learn, some places he’s not able to follow, it’s enough. Just knowing this much is perfect. 

He doesn't do anything. He doesn't plan to, either. He’s content with just watching. It's comfortable like this. He doesn't want anything to change. So, he forgets about stopping, and instead sinks even deeper into his newfound obsession.

If he had it his way, things would stay like this forever. Him, never confessing, and you, never knowing. But, unfortunately, fate had other plans in mind.

It was 10:15 AM, and you were at a local coffee shop by yourself when the barista handed you their number with your receipt. You shyly accepted, and just a day later, the two of you had plans for a date the next week.

Unfortunately, your 'date' canceled last minute and blocked you with no explanation.

It's a good thing, then, that your good friend Choso just so happened to bump into you, lending you his shoulder to cry on.

Well, there's no reason to waste a good dinner reservation, right?

You never do go back to that cafe, but if you did, you'd find the barista missing from the register.

[szarina]

❝ LOOSE ENDS. ❞

✞ FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

▶ SERIES MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS. college au + heavy bullying + gaslighting + noncon + dubcon + implied sexual assault + allusions to depression/suicide + alcohol consumption + drinking + implied drugging + fatphobia + overdosing + naoya zen'in is an asshole + humiliation + threats + minor oc character + DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

NOTES. this might come as disappointing since some of you wanting revenge what this two idiots had done to reader. there are some matters that i think is too complicated and impossible so i came with this way as the breaking point where reader starts to retaliate/plan her revenge. will get to it later and to that anon, who asked for the revenge, i will get once i start to finish this one up. please read the warnings, i don't want someone bitching in the comments telling me that the contents above is uncool. it truly is not cool. that's why it have warnings. it is on a fictional context. do read the warnings before continuing. also do let me know of what you think of this chapter.

SYNOPSIS . you let them take and take what they can from you. you were a nobody after all but everybody have their breaking point.

the world is a blur to you. colors of red and blue dances in your vision while voices whispers to you. what's happening? you can't move. it's like your body were made of lead. you can't understand what they were saying. multiple faces stares at you, are you dead? is this what you see when people surround you while they lower your casket. is it? you hope it was, cause you didn't plan on living anymore. there's nothing worth moving forward and the world around you turns black.

there's a beep and then silence. you hear before you see and when you opened your eyes, all you can see is a bright light above you. it took you minutes to adjust your vision and realize where you are. you're in a hospital. laying on a bed and you started to get irritated at your oxygen mask. you tug at it. getting frustrated why it keeps coming back at you before someone put their hand on it. completely removing it and there you breath. your sight darted to the hand who helped you until your sight travels to his arms and then to his face. a brief recognition flashes through you.

“nanami?” you call his name unsure but you know it was definitely him. it was hard to mistake him for someone. there's his blonde hair, neatly parted. his pristine beige sweater paired a dark colored trouser, not a crinkle in sight and his signature silver watch in his wrist. you met him once at the literature club and decided you were going to be there too not until it changed due to some circumstances. his lips parted but before he can speak, a cheery voice interrupted him.

“she's awake!?” said haibara, you also knew him since he and nanami were always together. seeing your confused state, his voice died down. “what happened?” you asked them and they exchanged looks before haibara answers you.

“we found you passed out in the lawn. thought you were drunk but you weren't breathing.” haibara's voice was soft while he slowly breaks down the reason why you ended up here.

a doctor comes inside to your room before haibara can finish. you took note of her pristine white coat with her surname embroidered on it. clicking her pen and whipping out her clipboard she pulled out of nowhere. you were distracted by it. the doctor's eyes is on you now and you began to frown.

the doctor coughs clearing her throat before speaking. “hello, ms. (y/n). i'm glad you're awake now.” noticing your confused expression she pauses began answering the question. “to answer your question you were unconscious for two days and is brought for possible assault. we need your con—”

“no!”

“ms. it would help for you t—”

“you heard me!? i said no!” you scream at the doctor and your tears appeared in your eyes. you didn't realize you were screaming. nanami and haibara stand there in silence but the looks on their face said otherwise. concern painted in their faces and the doctor bows before leaving. looking at the men inside in your room to call her if you need anything.

cause if they would test you, they would find the remains of their sperm inside you and then report? who will believe you? it would be buried like the case of another girls like you who were too afraid nor fight their abusers. you don't find the point of that. they would twist the words out of you. it was easy to believe than you.

you curled up in bed and did the next thing you can. cry. now, you're in here and the events before this plays in your head in repeat.

“f-fuck”

satoru curses out while suguru bites your ear. your body like jello as they spilled their load for the nth that day. both of them lowered your body after fucking your brains out. warm up, they say. you shiver as you feel their cum running down your thighs. feeling disgusted as it began to stick after being exposed to the air. you grab the wipes but suguru stopped you, grabbing it from your hands and cleaning you up. fixing your skirt in the meantime.

“worth every penny.” suguru mutters. staring at the new clothes they bought for you. a baby blue corseted puff-sleeved, square neck top matched with a black skirt that rests on your mid thigh is what they forced you to wear. it feels tight. intentionally buying it one size smaller than you usually wore and it more feel you like a stuffed sausage rather a comfortable piece of clothing. you can't say no to what they wanted. you're a bit of grateful that they allowed you to wear your white sneakers rather than those kitten heels that would put your feet in blisters.

satoru's fingers brushes through the expanse of your exposed flesh. playing with the small bow in your top. sighing, “suguru, can we have more with (y/n)-chan?” his best friend chuckles at him. “idiot, we're already running late, after that we can.” satoru pouts. “tch, party pooper.” he ignores gojo and moves his attention to you.

“smile, this is your first real party. you're going to enjoy this.” suguru lifts your chin up with his finger and you obediently nodded. “ditch and you know what will happen.” he warns.

it was a bad idea. the moment you stood in the front door. the party was already in motion. you can hear the people inside shouting profanities and booming music mixed with already drunk frat members and student bodies. this was never really your crowd and when you were shoved inside with gojo and geto you were done and you already felt like crying. you look at the duo in front of you. they were already engaged in conversation with the other people here.

“gojo, you son of a bitch. you fucking came.” a guy hollered in the side and you see more of his features as he gets nearer. a snarl in his face with multiple piercings in his ear. a hair dyed blonde with green accents.

“ah, zen’in. wouldn't missed this just i could wipe that smirk off your face.” gojo mocks him and before the guy whom gojo called zen’in darts his sight to you. he raises a brow. “you two in fat bitches now?” pointing at you with hand cupping a plastic cup. gojo scoffs. “none of your business, zen'in.” glaring at him but he can't see that gojo's looking at him with dark glasses in the way. “then you two wouldn't mind me using her.” he suggested and suguru gaze darkens at him. “fuck off, naoya.” almost growling at naoya and the latter raises his hand in mock defeat before finding shit he could entertain himself with.

suguru scowls after naoya left, he looks at you like you just turned his mood sour. “you're an embarrassment.” he says and you bit your lip. keeping the tears at bay and you don't really want to embarrass yourself more at this party. “hey, hey suguru.” gojo taps his shoulder. “let loose, don't naoya get to you.” satoru glances at you. his blue eyes peering in his glasses. “you're right.” his stare cold at you. “find a seat, (y/n). you're embarrassing us now with you around.” you nod and you find yourself in a vacant corner. near to those already wasted or just plain chilling in the couch in front of you.

what did you expect? that were all sex talk or when they're in good mood. all those praise and compliments are just enough to feel you good about yourself for a bit and then they'll come destroying it. you stare at the view through the window. the night's particularly beautiful and peaceful except the place you're in and you're already missing the comfort of your bed.

you take a sip from your cup. a girl gave it you earlier saying that it's a special concoction that's only made at this parties. unsure you took it. not wanting to show ungratefulness to someone whose only been polite to you and she seems nice. you cringe slightly at the taste and the burning of the liquid as it flows down your throat. coughing you bring down the cup, not used to drinking.

your first time being a party, your eyes wander how your peers lost their selves in the influence of alcohol. some where dancing and mingling. talking like they were friends and you caught of others taking their business upstairs. you were kind of jealous how everyone are the life of the party and you sit here in your misery. you continue to observe everyone and you caught gojo. it's impossible to miss his tall stature and his white hair standing in the crowd. a petite woman is linked to him. her thin arms are wrapped around his neck and it was clear what they were doing. there they stood in the crowd. kissing.

“satoru.” gojo was taking a swig of his drink when a girl approached him. calling his name like they were lovers but it was more like an ex-fling. never had a relationship with her. she was only a temporary fun. “ah, sar—ah, sayuri.” he almost curses at himself. sayuri playfully pouts at him and there it is, the batting of eyelashes. “that's mean, satoru. you already forgot me.” her lips puckers before placing a hand in his chest. if this was a another party of gojo and he really liked this girl. he would have taken her upstairs. he caught you in the corner. you were like a child in awe at the people in this house. gojo almost chuckles at your cute antics but suppressed it and then a cruel idea pops in his mind. “missed me?” he asks sayuri and there was no answer needed as he crashes his lips to sayuri. his sight never leaving yours and when you caught him. he watch as your eyes widens, you lower your head in embarrassment before chugging that drink in your cup in one swig. he smirks in the kiss as he watches you wiped your tears away. he always liked making you cry.

you should have ditched this stupid party, even it means getting punished by those again. you were hurt. they always like to torture you. listen as they tell you how worthless and unlovable you are while they keep girls who are clearly not you by their side. those girls were perfectly fit for them to be seen in public and you were there for them to humiliate you. with your head lowered, you stifled a sob. wiping your tears with your hands shaking. they kept flowing and you kept messily wiping them and with that you slowly made your way outside. discreetly making your way through the door and you almost laugh. you were a nobody. you're not made for pretty things and this goddamn outfit you wore only added to your misery. you never felt beautiful and it looks ugly on you. wrapped a sausage with a different and it will still look the same.

no one noticed you leaving except for suguru's watchful gaze.

suguru finds his friend making out with a girl he definitely doesn't remember. suguru slaps his back and satoru broke the kiss. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and ignores the girl he was just making out seconds ago. suguru points the door where you left earlier. you're really looking for trouble and with that they left following you.

sayuri was stunned being shoved aside again. she was angry. how the fuck did you get those two's attention especially gojo's? she's beautiful. she's thin. academically excelling and you, a fat nobody bitch easily made those two fall for you. she knows they were just playing at you and sayuri could take it but being shoved again by satoru isn't what she expected tonight. she's going to be satoru's bride. it was decided from the start and satoru knows it. their fathers friends since their college days had made a decision to marry their son and daughter before they were even born and she did everything she can just to have satoru's attention but why can't she even get to look at her without her trying. it's your fault. it's your fucking fault! you deserve to die. you're fucking stupid for accepting that drink like you're a fucking saint and now, maybe you'll rethink your choices of making those your own and satoru will only have his eyes for her and only her.

weird. why are your hands sweating? it's cold. freezing cold. you know this temperature at night is normal but why are you freezing cold. hah, your vision's starting to get funny too. where there always stars in the sky? ahh, i want to go home. i wonder if akira's still awake. i didn't told her that i was going away tonight. my eyes hurt. you were crying. this was your thoughts as you walked away.

it was to easy to catch you with their long strides. satoru grabs your flabby arm angrily. “we told you, you don't leave without us. do you really want to get punished, (y/n)-chan?” his voice snarky as he digs his nails in your arms. it hurts. it really must really hurt but you're suddenly numb to feel anything. you just stare at him in confusion and then you hear voices. they were calling them to get back.

gojo scowls at them. your knees buckled and you sat in the ground. geto tsked. “we're going back to you later.” he says and they left you there and there were loud cheers. you lay there in the ground. numb and your vision fades away.

you blinked as you stare in the nothingness. that's what you last remembered. they left you there and you hoped you died. you can't take another bullshit of what they put you through. the tears continuously flows from your eyes and your blanket is wet with tears. haibara puts a comforting hand in your shoulder and you bursted crying again. this was the real kindness you felt since the accident. they didn't blame you. they only stayed and made sure you were resting enough. stranger they maybe or an acquaintance. you would never forget this kindness from them.

days. nights. you stayed in the hospital until you were cleared. you made nothing of what happened to you. putting it in the records as an allergic reaction in which the hospital agreed. just like that even when you're in the brink of death of what happened to you. if you took the procedure for assault. they would be guilty but it was days old now and bruises are left in your skin as nothing but reminders of the humiliation of what they did to you.

for now, you're going to cry. cry until there's nothing left to cry for.

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

Additional Warning(s) for This Chapter: Implication/Reference to Sexual Assault & Non-con (Bucky as the victim), Threats of Sexual Assault & Non-con (Reader as the victim) — No graphic descriptions, but the implications are really present (HYDRA is the worst). Read with caution.

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Word Count: 4.5k

CHAPTER 6: January 2004

February 18, 2004. 10:10 AM

I have never been more scared in my life until January 18.

I saved James for the 8th time, but I almost failed. 

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Your teeth were already chattering when you woke up. The cold wind made it difficult for you to keep your eyes open, already biting at your skin as you struggled to sit up from the icy ground sprinkled with jagged gravel. Groaning, you looked around to find yourself in an alleyway in the middle of the night, half-covered in white as it just started snowing. 

You shivered—you weren’t dressed for this at all. You lived in California, so your hoodie and sweatpants were enough for you to stay warm. But here, you trembled as you stood up and shoved your hands into your pockets, as you already felt your fingers freezing. But you didn’t have time to dwell on that.

You had to look for James.

It had been almost six years since you last saw him, and while that meant he wasn’t in a life-threatening situation during those years, you couldn’t help but actually miss the man. The faster you looked for him, the sooner you would see him, so you jogged out of the alleyway and navigated the London streets.

The streets, however, were eerily empty, as if you were roaming around in a ghost town. You took a moment to take in your surroundings—there was a wide river on your left and many buildings on your right. Whereas the city on the other side of the river was bright and lively despite it being past midnight, some of the buildings on your side looked abandoned, while others were stores that were ready to shut down. The street lamps above you were either shining dimly or flickering, struggling to keep your view lit. 

It was silent. Almost perfect for someone like James to be in.

You gritted your teeth against the cold and went back into an alleyway, partly to avoid the wind but mostly because you figured that James would be lurking around in between the buildings. But when the strange maze behind the buildings showed no sign of the assassin, you went to exit the alleyway and go back on the streets.

When you turned the corner of a rundown building, you immediately faltered, retreating a few steps before crouching down. You pressed yourself against the brick wall, listening to grunts and hisses as you quietly moved until you could see out onto the street. Your eyes widened when you saw James fighting another man.

Typically, you would try to move closer to the assassin to have a better chance of blocking whatever deathly injury would come at him. But the fight before you froze you completely.

The assassin was struggling.

He was struggling.

The man he was fighting was as quick as him—no, maybe even quicker. You could barely make out their movements due to their overwhelming speed and power, and your heart thumped knowing that this wasn’t a typical mission or usual fight.

The assassin had always been an unstoppable force, but now? He was barely blocking his enemy’s punches and struggling to land a blow. He would try to push forward, but you watched him slowly step back as he dodged every hit. They were moving in perfect sync, yet they weren’t dancing—it was a desperate clash with each of them trying to outpace the other.

Blocking a punch with his metal limb, the assassin clenched his teeth at the vibrations shooting up his arm. He had been tasked to kill Dr. Markelov and his accomplice, both traitors to HYDRA. Dr. Markelov was a master scientist who stole HYDRA’s latest version of the super-soldier serum, escaping the organization to start his own uprising with Dimitri Yegorov, one of the deadliest operatives HYDRA had ever trained—a man born into violence, living with victories and never failures. The assassin had been successful in tracking them down and murdering Dr. Markelov before the man even felt the ghost’s presence, but the operative threw him for a surprise.

The assassin had been warned that either one or both of them might have taken the serum, enhancing their abilities to a greater degree. What he didn’t expect, however, was that Dr. Markelov had managed to engineer the serum to be more powerful before administering it into Dimitri’s system. He had gathered many of the research files into a case, intending to give it to HYDRA, until Dimitri appeared out of nowhere and threw a grenade at him, causing the papers to burn away. The assassin had barely avoided the explosion before Dimitri tackled him out of the fourth-floor window. 

He was pretty sure he heard a bone snap, but didn’t have time to think about it before he found himself in a fight against the operative. By now, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed since they’d begun. The assassin had used all of the bullets, whereas the operative still had one or two to spare, saving them for the right moment. Dimitri reminded him of a distant memory—of when he was training the next set of Winter Soldiers before they were deemed failures. But unlike them, he was stronger, faster, and tireless, as if having control over his mind—no brainwashing or mind-wiping—allowed him the ability to do anything he wanted.

You gripped the corner of the building as you watched the assassin fight, noticing that his movements were slowing down while his enemy's were speeding up. He was relentless and dared to smile as he landed a punch across the assassin’s face, sending him to the ground briefly.

You clasped a hand to your mouth when the operative suddenly pulled out a gun and shot the assassin twice—once in his right calf and the other nicking his left thigh. He faltered, slipping to the ground again before quickly standing up to dodge the next bullets, but Dimitri put his gun away.

Then he laughed, and it hit you that he didn’t miss on purpose.

He was toying with the assassin.

You cursed under your breath. Why didn’t you feel it? The tug on your heart—where was it just now? Why didn’t the world send you to his side before you watched the bullet rip through his leg?

You wanted to scream for him—to rush in—but all you could do was watch as the assassin readied himself for the next wave of fighting, ignoring the blood trickling from his legs. But you could see that despite his coldness, there were cracks in his body. Exhaustion was trying to pull him down, but he ran at Dimitri instead and did his best to fulfill his mission.

The fight carried on as you crouched lower. Your heart pounded in your chest as you glanced around, trying to find a potential opening to save the assassin, but you just couldn’t see it.

How the fuck were you supposed to protect him from this?

Then, with a swift movement, the assassin pinned Dimitri to the ground, attempting to snap his shoulder. But just as fast, the operative spun around and threw him to the ground. Your stomach churned at the sound of the man’s fist colliding with the assassin’s face, knocking his mask off, but he quickly grabbed the man back by the neck and threw him aside. The assassin then followed up instantly with a kick, sending Dimitri back, his body skidding across the icy pathway.

Both men rose—the assassin stood with his fists raised while the operative nonchalantly dropped his shoulders.

He spat out blood before chuckling. He spoke in Russian, “You just don’t know when to give up, do you, Soldat?”

The assassin didn’t respond. His frost-blue eyes just narrowed while the rest of his body stood still, waiting for the right moment to strike, even though his right calf was screaming at him to sit down.

Dimitri smirked, his voice dripping with confidence as he stepped around. “I don’t know how you do it. Have all of this power and let them do whatever they want with you. I can’t imagine doing that.”

The assassin, once again, did not speak. He weighed his options as he carefully observed Dimitri, keeping his cold expression on his face to hide his exhaustion.

“If you just let me go, then you can go back too!” Dimitri happily said, raising his hands to his sides as a welcoming gesture. “Go back to them and enjoy your time as their puppet. We can end this right now, Soldat. Or…” He smiled wickedly, “I’ll kill you here and let them find your body because I assure you…you won’t be killing me.”

The assassin’s eyes darkened, which was all the operative needed to know that he wasn’t backing down. He chuckled again before pulling out a knife and spinning it around in his hand in a teasing fashion. You felt a surge of fear overcome you as the assassin also reached for his knife, and the two fell into another fight. They circled each other, narrowly missing and dodging slashes, jumping back before stepping forward.

Dimitri swiped at the assassin, but the blade glided along his metal arm. Finding an opening, the assassin sliced across the other’s face, starting from the forehead, over the nose, and across the cheek. Dimitri let out a shriek, stumbling back with his hands flying up to his face. The assassin attempted to use his disorientation to strike him again, but Dimitri kicked him away. He landed on the ice with a groan and immediately scrambled to his knees, huffing as his enemy cursed in pure rage. Gritting his teeth, the assassin went to rush him but faltered.

Because in the distance, behind the operative, you tensed up. Your breath hitched as the coldness in the assassin’s eyes flickered at the sight of you.

James froze, recognizing you but unable to pinpoint from where or when. But the operative was still reeling in pain by the time James widened his eyes and opened his mouth.

You saw him whisper a word.

Rose.

You gasped in disbelief—James had never remembered you this quickly. He had always felt an overwhelming sense of trust in you the instant he spotted you, letting you roam close to him. But it wasn’t usually until you were dying that he’d remember that he had seen you before. Yet, at this moment, you could see him staring at you in horror—terrified that of all the missions you could've joined him for, you were there when he was on his most dangerous one.

James didn’t have time to speak to you before Dimitri lunged at him again, causing him to spin around to avoid getting slashed across his face. The war between the men waged on, and the sound of metal hitting metal echoed through the silent night.

Your heart hammered against your chest, paralyzed by the fight unfolding again. You could not understand how you could possibly help James against a man who was just as deadly, if not more. But every instinct was screaming at you to do something—you just didn’t know how you were supposed to save him this time.

And when Dimitri grabbed James by the arm and spun him around, you fell back with a yelp as he was launched in your direction. James smacked into the wall, breaking the bricks behind him before falling to the ground, his knife slipping from his grasp. He let out a groan, struggling to stand up. The operative, gripping his blade, ran full-force at James, though he did briefly notice you hiding around the corner—a witness for him to kill later, it seemed.

You went to scream at James, tell him to get up and fight, and—

Something tugged at your heart.

You leaped from your hiding spot, dashing towards James as he got on his feet in time to see Dimitri aiming the knife at him. You reached him just in time, placing your hands on his shoulders and pushing him out of the—

James shoved you back.

As you tumbled to the ground, eyes shot open, you watched the operative plunge his knife into James’s stomach. 

James barely had time to register the pain before he was pushed hard into the brick wall, an arm across his chest, while the other firmly pressed the blade deeper into his body. James let out a strangled gasp, his teeth clenched and face contorted with pain. He tried to push him back, but Dimitri forced him back.

He twisted the knife, and James finally screamed.

You felt the world around you crash.

Sitting up, every part of you trembled as James refused to give up. His body shuddered as he desperately tried to move Dimitri off of him, straining against the knife still lodged in his stomach. Every muscle in his body screamed with pain, and the operative just smiled as he kept the assassin pinned.

You watched gushes of blood escape from the wound that was meant for you.

You failed.

You failed.

You—

“JAMES!” you shrieked, your voice raw with pure agony.

The operative suddenly looked over his shoulder, staring at you as his smile vanished at your cry. He couldn’t comprehend why a random bystander screamed for the killer. Why— Wait. What did you call him—

The split second of his confusion was enough for James. A wave of adrenaline flowed through him as he headbutted Dimitri, the sickening sound of a nose cracking echoing through the street. He cursed aloud, loosening his grip on James just enough for him to shove the man back and collapse to his knees, clutching his bloody stomach with a sharp yell.

Dimitri staggered back, and you didn’t want to give him another second to catch his breath. You looked around, spotting an empty beer bottle while James got back on his feet. You threw the bottle at the operative with all of your strength, and it bounced off his head. He stumbled back again, gritting his teeth out of irritation before turning to you, but barely took a step before James tackled him. With a long yell, James gripped the man as tightly as he could by the waist as he bolted to the edge of the street and threw him over the railing. Dimitri screamed as he landed in the dark, icy river.

You didn’t wait to run to James, who was already on his knees with his hand on his stomach.

You slid onto the ice and grabbed his metal arm. “James!”

He looked up, his face pale and his breath shallow. But when he locked eyes with you, the darkness vanished.

“Rose…” he muttered while you wrapped your arm around his waist.

“Come on,” you said urgently, helping him back to his feet. “Come on! We have to go!”

He weakly let you hold him as you both ran. His steps were unsteady, but you did your best to keep him upright against the slippery ground. He was heavy and stumbled quite a bit, but you forced yourself to stay strong for him as you both tried to find a secluded area to hide. You tried to focus, but your mind kept getting drawn back to the blood staining your sleeve and James’s heavy breath.

Eventually, he leaned to his right, guiding you to an empty building. The lock on the door was sturdy, but he still easily punched the door open. You both stumbled inside to find an abandoned office space, trashed with broken glass and loose papers. James suddenly tripped over his foot and tumbled, his body crashing into the wall, and you both dropped to the floor.

“No… No, no, no—” You kneeled beside him, his hand trembling over his gushing wound as he sat against the wall. You pressed your hands against his stomach, making him seize. “No! Fuck! FUCK!”

Your mind was in shambles. You looked around urgently, hoping to find some miracle to save James. But as you only found more shards of glass and random office supplies, you choked on your breath, your chest tightening with sadness but also anger.

“Why did you stop me?” you snapped at James, your voice breaking at the sight of his eyes on you. You felt tears forming in your eyes, but you refused to cry when he was in so much pain. “You’re not supposed to stop me! Why the fuck would you do that?!”

James didn’t respond to your question. He instead continued to look at you, almost admiring your face as his breath quieted.

“Go,” he ordered, his voice harsh yet soft at the same time.

You stared at him in disbelief. “No.” The word came out sharper than you intended as you put more pressure on his wound. “Absolutely not.”

“Go…”

“No! Don’t you dare ask me to leave. I’m not going anywhere.”

His breath shuddered, and he put a hand on your arm. “Rose, pl—”

The sound of a window shattering pierced through the room. You flinched, lightly curling over James before you both looked at the other side of the room. Dimitri emerged from the shadows, towering tall as his presence suffocated the room. His hair was half-frozen, and the blood on his face was mostly washed away, but his scar still burned bright.

His gaze flickered between you and James, the frown on his face contorting as he narrowed his eyes. “You know him?” he asked in English, his Russian accent rough against your ears.

Fear constricted your throat, preventing you from responding. You then felt James squeeze your arm.

“Go,” he whispered with a tint of desperation.

But you didn’t move. You didn’t even look back at him—you kept your eyes on the monster. You shifted, your body tensing into a more protective position, and your eyes hardening. At your slight movement, Dimitri blinked. He suddenly let out a laugh, amusement seeping into his attitude. 

“You do know him.” He then turned to James. “Do they know, Soldat? That you’re hiding a secret from them?” He smiled. “They’ll be very angry if they find out.”

Despite the agony in his stomach, James pushed himself to sit up, his eyes dark and his grip on your arm tight. You naturally put a hand on his back, supporting him as he never broke his gaze from the operative. But then you heard him whisper fiercely at you. “Leave. Now.”

You shook your head. You couldn’t leave. 

James clenched his teeth. “Rose. Leave,” he hissed at you.

“Rose?”

You both turned your full attention back on Dimitri, who had heard James’s whisper with his super-soldier hearing. He tilted his head with a sinister smile. “Rose, huh? What a gorgeous name… So, Ms. Rose, how long have you known Soldat? Or…I guess, James, if that’s his real name. How long have…you two been going on?”

Ignoring the operative’s words, James squeezed your arm, quietly begging for you to get out of there—for him to handle this alone. But you refused to leave him behind, so you continued to stare at Dimitri, staying quiet while your mind whirled for an escape route of some kind. 

Dimitri continued to speak, chuckling as he found so much enjoyment in seeing their subtle panic, “To think that you are capable of caring for someone… What would happen when they find out?” He walked to the side, his voice dropping into a low, taunting rasp. “They’ll be furious that you’re this aware... Thinking for yourself again. You know how much they hate it when you decide what you can and can’t do.” 

You shifted closer to James, hoping that your presence alone might shield him from those venomous words.

“You belong to them. Every part of you—your loyalty, your mind…” Dimitri’s smirk deepened. “…your body.”

Your breath hitched.

You know Dimitri noticed it all—the way your shoulders tensed and eyes shifted. Suddenly, the suspicion you had carried since reading all of those horrific stories about prisoners of war and their experiences was no longer a possibility. It was the truth.

James flinched beside you, his jaw tightening and fists clenching not in anger, but in repulsion. You felt his body shudder and you glanced at him, noticing the disgust in his gaze that wasn’t just for Dimitri’s words. It was also for himself as if he could feel those hands pulling him back into that cage at this very moment.

A cackle echoed through the room as Dimitri clapped in amusement. “You know, Soldat, I promised myself that I’d drag your corpse back to them, but maybe I’ll bring her too. Let them see how you failed your mission, and the very person who’s been waking you up. Or…maybe…” his smile widened, dripping with pure malice, “they’ll be grateful for her presence. A brand new toy for them to play with once I’ve broken you.”

You swallowed back the bile in your throat as his venomous words shattered your shield. 

But suddenly, you flinched at James jerking forward, letting out a growl that didn’t sound human at all. His body was barely holding itself together, but the urge to protect you burned within it furiously. His frost-blue eyes burned like frostbite—sharp and chilling, carrying fury and something deeper. 

“Don’t touch her,” he hissed at him, his body trembling but ready to break to protect you.

You froze at his words, seeing a sudden, clear glimpse of the young man trapped by his programming. All of those feelings, buried by decades of brainwashing and torture, were now abruptly rising to the surface. You weren’t sure whether to be afraid of the power that he was unleashing or awed by the raw humanity he was showing because of you.

Dimitri’s eyes gleamed with a mix of surprise and twisted pleasure. He couldn’t seem to look away from James, his mocking tone shifting to something more intrigued. “So much feeling in those eyes… What a wonderful surprise.” He took a step forward, much to your dismay. “Go on, Soldat. Protect her! Try. Try and stop me!”

James moved, and your breath hitched at the sight of him trying to get up. You tried to support him, but he fell back against the wall and seized in pain, grabbing your hand for some form of comfort while glaring at Dimitri. You squeezed his hand back, overwhelmed by his frantic need to fight for you.

The operative watched James in awe, his smile curling more at watching him hold onto your hand. “What a sight. The Winter Soldier… Choosing to fight for someone else.”

You turned your head at Dimitri, blinking at his words while James’s breath hitched. The Winter…what?

“You can try all you want,” he chuckled, “but you know you won’t succeed. The doctor made me stronger, faster than you. There’s nothing you can do.”

James squeezed your hand, and you turned back to him.

Your heart stuttered. You thought you were seeing things, but no—his eyes were glassy and lightly shined in the dim lighting.

“Go,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Please.”

Please. 

He had never begged before. Never pleaded for you to run away.

It was always you telling him to go—to leave you behind before he found himself in another life-or-death situation. But now, he looked so human, fragile beneath the weight of his wounds. And yet, his pain wasn’t just from the blood seeping into his clothes—it was from you. He cared.

He didn’t want to lose you. 

Dimitri cackled. “You can’t win.”

And you didn’t want to lose him.

“You won’t survive.”

You refused to lose him.

“You can’t save her.”

…Maybe not.

But your life had never mattered to you.

You didn’t wait for James to react. Cautiously, you finally stood up, surprising both men. James’s hand slipped away from your grasp, and you slowly stepped away from him, never looking away from Dimitri. Your legs trembled, but you forced yourself to move.

James exhaled, his chest straining with both panic and relief, believing you were finally going to try to escape. He sat up against the pain, bracing himself to fight Dimitri the moment you would run away—to stop him from putting a finger on you.

But when you grabbed a rusty pipe off the floor, his cold heart froze even more. With a shaky breath, you firmly wrapped your hands around it, raising it at the operative with tears forming in your eyes. You couldn’t possibly win, but you had to try.

You had to save James.

Dimitri paused, almost admiring you for both your bravery and stupidity. He curled his hands into fists, his footsteps heavy and threatening, and he smirked. “You really care about him,” he sneered. “What is it? The looks? Those gorgeous eyes?”

You didn’t reply. 

“No,” James whispered, his body straining as he attempted to rise to his feet. He used the wall to push himself up with heavy breaths while you gripped the pipe tighter, bracing yourself for a fight you were never prepared for.

Dimitri stopped in his tracks, but you could feel the tension thick in the air, knowing he was ready to kill you at any second. “You’re really ready to die for him, huh?”

You didn’t speak for a bit. Your lips trembled as you shifted your stance, holding the pipe like a baseball bat. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you glared at the monster with such fury.

“I always am,” you hissed.

There was a heavy, suffocating pause.

James raised his head, gazing at you with horror and…something else. Something warm spread across his chest. It was the familiar kind of warmth that greeted him every time he saw you appear out of nowhere, but there was a fire to this particular one. A fire not caused by him but by you. 

You, who stood in front of the deadliest man James had faced, ready to fight as if he couldn’t snap your neck in an instant. You, who stood with a pipe in your bloody hands, ready to swing the weapon as if your strength would put a dent in the enemy. You, who stood by his side, again and again, ready to sacrifice yourself for a man like him.

James’s chest tightened with a feeling so overwhelming that he couldn’t understand it, but what he did know was that this was no longer about the mission. It was no longer about trying to stay alive and win the fight. It was about you.

Because maybe—just maybe—after getting saved so many times, it was finally time for him to save you.

Dimitri scoffed lightly, a twisted grin tugging at his mouth.

“Wow.” He chuckled. “How romantic.”

He lunged at you, and you swung the pipe.

NEXT CHAPTER >

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust

Thanks for reading :)

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: dead dove: do not eat; Typical TWD violence and gore; dark subject matter; human trafficking; description of injuries; description of illness; sexual assault; forced prostitution; poorly written smut; reader’s poor mental health; mentions of past sexual assault; description of injuries from sexual assault; suicidal ideation; masturbation; male on female violence; female on male violence

Summary: Daryl accompanies Rick on a mission for information regarding threats to the group's home at the prison. Their quest leads them to engage with some unsavory characters, leaving Daryl with more than he bargained for. Slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, drama, romance, violence, hurt/comfort.

+ Chapter 1

+ Chapter 2

+ Chapter 3

+ Chapter 4

+ Chapter 5

+ Chapter 6

+ Chapter 7

+ Chapter 8

+ Chapter 9

+ Chapter 10

+ Chapter 11

+ Chapter 12

+ Chapter 13

+ Chapter 14

+ Chapter 15

+ Chapter 16

+ Chapter 17

+ Chapter 18

+ Chapter 19

+ Chapter 20

+ Chapter 21…in progress

moodboard by @dustbunniess 💙

fanart by @bananafire11 💙

[traumadumpwriter]

Memory Games - 10

Newt x Female OC🐰

A dark Maze Runner romance between a very damaged girl and our soft boy Newt. With trigger warnings for self harm, abuse, assault, PTSD, mentions of suicide and general violence. Also written in the style of multiple POVs.

"All that was clear was that they were all boys - all of them - and it filled me with even more dread, instinctually defensive and fearful of the opposite sex. Even if I couldn't remember anything specific about where I'd come from, I knew that men were dangerous."

All interaction is appreciated! Reblogging is allowed <3

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Masterlist

Chapter Ten

I was angry at Newt again and I didn't even really know why. Maybe because he'd made me feel like I was safe, and then taken his words back. Or maybe because he'd made me feel embarrassed by acting like I was so weak, so vulnerable. Or maybe because he'd brought me back to the reality of being in this place, the ever-looming threat of being the only girl, the idea in my head that I'd been sent here as some kind of punishment. Maybe that's what the creators wanted - for the boys to hurt and violate me. Maybe I'd done something awful to deserve that. Maybe that's why I'd tried to kill myself.

The thought of the scars under my sleeves had me even more worked up and I didn't realise until I sat down that I was shaking and all eyes were on me. I wanted to say something - to make a joke and break the ice - but my words got caught in my throat and I just stayed silent. Newt rejoined my side seconds later, sitting down in his usual spot, and though I heard words come out of his mouth I was unable to distinguish what they actually were. He wasn't talking to me though, someone else in the circle responded and soon there was a conversation happening around me. The stares seemed to lift and the ice seemed to break, though I couldn't entirely tell, my eyes focused on my lap and thoughts too loud to hear anything else.

Was Newt right? Of course he was. I'm stupid for getting cocky. I'm stupid for thinking I would be safe here. I'm stupid for trusting Gally and for not trusting Newt. I should apologise for being rude, but I can't bring myself to do it. Especially not in front of everyone. I'm sure they must already think so much bad stuff of me. They've probably heard so many things and half of them might be true. Why am I here? Why has this group taken me in? Do they just feel bad for me? Or do they want to rape me too? Is Newt in on it? Is that why I remembered his name? Does he have something to do with me being here?

"Angel, you alright?" Minho's whisper broke through my spiral and I jumped back at the sudden noise.

When I looked up, I was relieved to see that no one but him was looking at me, all seemingly amused by whatever they'd been talking about. Minho looked concerned though, his brows furrowed and eyes wide. I opened my mouth to answer him, but my words got caught in my throat again and I couldn't force out the lie. Instead, I just nodded and swallowed, taking a deep breath before bringing myself to speak.

"Y-Yeah. I'm gonna go bed." I forced a smile, and he could clearly see through it as his expression remained worried. Before he could question me further though I quickly stood up, avoiding the confused stares from all the boys around me, and started to walk towards the homestead.

"Where are you going?" Newt's voice came from behind me, assertive and accusatory, and I felt my face heating up. Now I would have to speak, if I ignored him it would surely just make things worse.

"Bed. Why?" I turned around and answered shortly, trying my hardest to act like I was fine - to act like I didn't care. But then at his next words I felt the anger inside me bubble up uncontrollably, induced by the humiliation I felt.

"Do you not remember the conversation we just had? You can't go off by yourself." He almost hissed, clearly as irritated with me as I was with him. I thought that our conversation had been private, so for him to mention it in front of everyone like that - let alone in such a demeaning way - had my teeth gritting and my heart in my throat. It was a sickening mix of anger, embarrassment and anxiety, made a hundred times worse by the silent watching from the group.

"It's a two minute walk." I replied with a scoff, trying so hard to pretend that I didn't care, knowing that if I pretended hard enough it would feel real. "Are one of the builders going to rape me between here and the homestead?"

Newt looked taken aback at that, as did everyone else, though the shock on his face didn't last long as he was soon looking angry again.

"Do you think it's a joke or something? Those lads would've had you already if it weren't for us."

"Ooh my saviours. Thank you so very much. How can I possibly repay you?" I muttered sarcastically.

"Try showing a little respect." Nick suddenly chimed in, standing up and pacing towards me. He stood inches from my face, blocking my view of Newt, and started to venomously hiss. "Things are already tough enough around here without some prissy princess threatening to make everything fall apart. He's right. If it weren't for him the whole Glade would've had you already."

"Oh is that right? Is that including you?" I challenged.

"Do you really want to find out?"

"Try me, pussy."

Nick sucked in his lips, visibly maddening with rage, and although I knew I ought to stop, knowing that I was under his skin served as much more of a delight. He was rude and miserable and I didn't like him, now was my chance to put him in his place even if it meant getting hit in the process. I was sick of feeling degraded by these lads, it was time to turn the tables.

"You forget your place, shank. You're still a greenie, girl or not, don't push people's buttons." He hissed and I let out a dry laugh.

"Or what? What are you gonna do about it? Go cry about getting stung again and the awful, awful memories it gave you?”

At that he shoved me hard, and I fell backwards onto the ground. I heard commotion from the lads and a few of them stand up, but now that I'd started I couldn't stop.

"Ooh I'm so scared. I'm fucking terrified of you, Nick. Big man Nick, scared of a little griever. Why don't you punch me, Nick? Huh? Show me how to show respect?"

I felt the hands of someone on me, and could see that someone else was holding Nick back, but my sight was focused entirely on him - his rage filled face, and suddenly he broke free from their grip and was bent down on top of me, his hand gripped tightly around my throat.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, bitch." He hissed, and I felt my oxygen start to deplete.

I was scared, but not enough to stop. It was like some kind of animal took over me, and my rage was one to match his.

"You'd be doing me a favour." I choked out and then added "Pussy."

"Fucking stop it!" I heard Minho's voice in my ear and I didn't know if he was talking to me or Nick.

There were hands on his body trying to pull him off me, but none of them seemed to be working. It had never occurred to me before that Nick was a big guy, bigger than Minho even, and perhaps I would die at his hands. The thought of death seemed like bliss in that moment, and I decided to accept it. I would let him end my suffering, and he could live for the rest of his life with his. My lungs had completely run out of oxygen at this point and I could sense my vision darkening. All around me there was noise, but it was impossible to distinguish one voice from another. My body rocked like a fish out of water and my vision went completely. I couldn't tell if I'd closed my eyes or if I was almost dead, and though it was unpleasant, I flowed with it.

Then there was suddenly a loud clang, followed by more shouting, and the blackness disappeared as fast as it had came. The weight from around my neck was gone, and my vision started to come back.

"Why'd you stop?" I forced out, confused as to where he'd gone. Then a coughing fit broke through my chest and my body started to automatically heavily breathe, almost hyperventilating. It was overwhelming, my acceptance of death followed by its cruel withdrawal, but as I was about to begin my taunts again, there was a gentle hand touching at my neck, stroking at where it was now sore.

*Minho’s POV*

"Try showing a little respect." Nick suddenly chimed in to the argument, pacing past Newt and standing in Angel's face. Everyone in the circle was sat with wide eyes, completely shocked by her attitude, and now that Nick had joined in, we were all visibly bracing ourselves for things to get worse.

"Things are already tough enough around here without some prissy princess threatening to make everything fall apart. He's right. If it weren't for him the whole Glade would've had you already." He hissed, and I cringed at his words. Was that what he really thought? Would he have been with the builders were his friends not all against them? Did he actually want to hurt her?

I expected Angel to back down at that, to at least show a little fear, but it only seemed to make her resolve stronger. A smug smirk appeared on her lips.

"Oh is that right? Is that including you?" She scoffed.

I looked over to Newt in disbelief. He was also wearing an expression of shock, frozen to the spot as he watched the argument go down. I knew how complicated his feelings towards Angel were, and I imagined that in that moment they only got ten times more complicated.

"Do you really want to find out?" Nick chortled.

"Try me, pussy." She laughed fearlessly and I felt my eyes widen even further. I looked around the circle and it was clear that everyone was in shock, except for Ben who was chuckling with amusement. I already knew what he would say as soon as the coast was clear - "That was hot" and though he wouldn't be wrong, my mind was far too frantic to think that in the moment.

Nick sharply inhaled and clenched his fists, and I got ready to throw myself into him, a feeling of dread building in my stomach.

"You forget your place, shank. You're still a greenie, girl or not, don't push people's buttons." He spat to which she quickly replied "Or what? What are you gonna do about it? Go cry about getting stung again and the awful, awful memories it gave you?”

"Oh shit." Ben chuckled, but then suddenly Nick had shoved Angel hard and sent her flying onto the ground. At that, we all stood up, half of the group going to Angel and the other half going to Nick. I had half the mind to knock Nick out, but I decided to go to Angel, worried that she'd banged her head.

"Don't fucking touch her" I heard Newt hiss and Ben say "Dude, what the fuck" but I didn't see Nick's reaction to that, too focused on the girl on the floor.

She moaned lightly - obviously something had been hurt - and then I heard Jeff frantically say "Are you alright, Angel? Did you bang your head?"

She didn't seem to hear him though, opening her eyes and looking at Nick with a taunting grin. For shuck's sake. What was wrong with this girl?

"Ooh I'm so scared. I'm fucking terrified of you, Nick. Big man Nick, scared of a little griever. Why don't you punch me, Nick? Huh? Show me how to show respect?" She spat, trying to sit up. I held her down though, whispering as soothingly as I could "Stop, Angel. Stop."

Her vision was focused entirely on Nick, and I wasn't sure if she'd even heard me or Jeff speak to her. I looked up at him and could see Newt and Ben holding him back, his teeth bared and eyes wide like a rabid dog. I'd seen him lose his temper before, but never like this.

And then suddenly, one of the boy's grips slipped and he was on top of her, his hands wrapped around her little throat. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Quickly, I tried to shove him off her but it wasn't working, his strength focused entirely on her neck.

"Get off her!" I shouted and I heard a few of the other lads say the same thing, but he didn't stop. Newt was desperately pulling at his shoulders, as was Ben, but it made no difference.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, bitch." He hissed, and I felt my panic increase tenfold. I grabbed his arm and pulled at it, feeling his veins popping out beneath my hand, but his grip on her remained strong.

"You'd be doing me a favour, pussy." She choked out, and I turned to her in disbelief. Did she really want to die?

"Fucking stop it!" I hissed at her, mind-blown at her determination. Where was the timid girl that had ran from the box? Maybe this was to be expected, she did punch Gally moments after arriving after all.

"Stop it!" Chuck's scream was piercing above everyone else's shouts, his voice shaking. At this point, her eyes had rolled back and her body had started to rock from the lack of oxygen. I started to desperately punch Nick, going for his face and his neck, definitely leaving bruises, but he didn't react. What on earth had come over him?

Then, something metal had struck his head - hard. His eyes closed and his grip loosened before he fell backwards and passed out on the ground, blood dripping from the fresh wound. I looked up and saw that Newt was stood there panting, a spade in his hand and his face contorted with more fury than I'd ever seen on him.

"Restrain him!" I heard Alby's voice shout, and my head snapped towards him. He must've just arrived, Clint was stood at his side breathing heavily. Zart and Ben moved quickly to tie Nick's arms and legs while he was still out, whilst Newt rushed to Angel's side.

"Why'd you stop?" She whispered, her eyes bloodshot, before starting to violently cough. Her whole body caved in on itself as she coughed and gasped for air, and I quickly put my arms under her back to sit her up straight.

"Hey, stop it. What's wrong with you?" Newt said quietly, his hands visibly shaking as he stroked the red marks on her neck. He was angry - I could tell that - but I wasn't sure who with. Then Alby was beside us with Clint and I backed away to give them some space, though Newt didn't move an inch.

When I stood up I realised I was shaking too. I turned to where Nick was and saw that Ben and Zart were dragging him in the direction of the slammer. I raced to catch up with them and picked up his legs, making it easier to carry him.

"Dude, what the fuck was that?" Ben muttered in disbelief. "I mean, she was grilling him, and then he just.. choked her like that. He's gonna get banished. I can't believe this."

"He deserves it for that. I get he's different since he got stung, but that was not alright." Zart said lowly, shooting Nick a glare before turning to me. "Is Angel okay?"

I shrugged, struggling to find the answer in my shaken up state. In my head I could still clearly see the image of Angel's rolled back eyes and Nick's hands around her throat. It sent a feeling of unease down my spine.

"I-I don't know. All the shit she was saying, it's like she wanted him to do something. L-Like she didn't care if he killed her." I finally managed to say, unable to wrap my head around it all.

"Well good thing he didn't. Think Newt would've killed him. That's if he's not going to already." Zart muttered and Ben hummed in agreement. "I think that's probably on his mind."

*Newt’s POV*

I smacked Nick as hard as I could with a spade I'd quickly grabbed from nearby, my heart going a thousand miles an hour. I could hear it thumping in my ears, louder than any of the commotion or the clang that the metal had made as it struck Nick's head. He fell down almost instantly, and though I saw blood start to leak from the wound, I felt no concern for the boy I'd once considered a friend. In fact for the split second that I looked at him, all I felt was disgust. His threats had shown me the true nature of who he was - a pig just like Gally - and I couldn't help but feel betrayed by that. Then after watching him lay his hands on Angel like that, the betrayal had turned to rage. How dare he.

I quickly rushed to her side, glad to see that Minho and Jeff were already there. Then I heard Alby's voice but ignored it, my focus being entirely on Angel. Her neck was red - there would certainly be bruises in the morning - and she looked tired, like that whole confrontation had physically drained some life from her. I suppose it sort of had - almost entirely.

"Why'd you stop?" She finally choked out, a violent coughing fit following her words. Words that stung to hear.

As she gasped for air, Minho slipped his arm under her back and sat her up straight whilst I found my hands automatically moving towards her neck, gently stroking the redness. Her skin felt so soft and another wave of rage burst through me, cursing Nick for daring to damage something so delicate. Just moments ago I had been so annoyed at her, but now I felt sick, wondering if I'd been less harsh would she have felt the need to wind Nick up? To have put herself in harms way?

"Hey, stop it. What's wrong with you?" I said quietly, her words playing on a loop in my head. Why would she continue trying to taunt Nick after he'd almost killed her? Did she really want to die? Was it that bad being here?

I moved one of my arms so that it was wrapped around her, keeping her sat up whilst she spluttered, and Minho moved away. Alby and Clint were at my side seconds later, both clearly panicked.

"What happened?" Alby demanded and I swallowed before answering, trying to get my rage under control so that I didn't spit his name.

"Nick's lost his bloody mind. Almost killed her." I answered before turning my attention back to Angel who was still coughing.

"You okay?" I whispered, her body shaking in my arms.

She nodded whilst Clint inspected her neck, flinching away from his touch initially before realising who it was.

"Y-Yeah. I'm fine." She spluttered, her breathing starting to return to normal.

Alby raised his eyebrow at Clint who nodded.

"She should be fine, just some bruising. But a minute more and he would've killed her. I've never seen anything like it Alby. He just snapped."

"It's my fault- I wound him up- on purpose. I- I don't want him to- die- because of me." She said in between coughs, craning her neck with a hiss of pain to look at Alby. "Punish me- if you want- I don't care."

"We don't punish Gladers for words, Angel." He hesitated before saying her name, looking at me with uncertainty before continuing. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah- I'm fine. Just tired." She answered and then looked at me. Her eyes were bloodshot but fully open now and her coughing had finally stopped. "Can I go to bed?"

I almost smiled at the question and how it fell so innocently from her lips, but my heart still hurt thinking of her previous words and so my mouth remained in a straight line as I nodded.

"I'll take you.. I should've just done that earlier. Sorry."

"What? No. I was being a bitch, Newt. I had that coming-"

"He almost killed you." I cut her off dryly and her mouth quickly closed, clearly having no comeback to that. She looked embarrassed and I instantly regretted my words slightly, knowing how she hated to feel weak, but it was true. I then said in a softer tone "Can you walk? Or should I carry you?"

I already knew what her answer to that would be. She pushed herself from my arms and wobbled for a few seconds before standing up.

"I can walk." She answered in a mutter, clearly uncomfortable as she looked around and realised a small crowd had gathered. I shot a harsh look around and some of the group instantly began to disband.

I stood up and had to fight the urge to pick her up anyway. Her touch had felt like heaven against my skin and now that it was gone again, I was desperately craving it - even more than usual. I was definitely still shook up from the drama of what had just happened, but I knew then that I could never bare to loose her, that she was probably right about me being in her dream, that it was no coincidence that she'd remembered my name. We belonged together, I just didn't know if she knew that yet.

I walked with her to the homestead, staying as close to her as I could without actually touching her, and neither of us spoke until we were in her bedroom.

"Newt- I- I'm sorry." She stammered once the door was closed but I cut her off, pulling her into a hug. She froze for a second before returning it, burying her face into my chest. I was sure she could hear my heart racing.

"Did you really want him to kill you? Is it that bad being here?" I asked quietly. She felt so small in my arms, like a tiny hare I'd just caught, and I once again felt the rage for Nick bubbling up in my gut.

"I don't know. I think I was sent here as a punishment. That's why they made me the only girl. The creators, they want you all to hurt me. I must've done something bad to earn this." She whispered and then looked up at me, still pressed closely against my body. "It wouldn't be so bad if I died, would it? It would make everything easier for everyone, surely?"

"No Angel, don't say that." I sighed, moving one hand to rub her back. "If you died.. well it would really fuck me up to be honest. Just seeing that then... has kind of fucked me up."

"Really? But I'm fine."

"But you almost weren't." I whispered, grimacing as I looked at her red throat. "And the fact that I couldn't even pull him off you... I've never felt so weak."

"I'm sorry." She apologised again, her eyes radiating with guilt. "I shouldn't have said all that stuff. I knew I was getting under his skin. I just couldn't stop. I don't know why."

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're okay. Lord knows I would've bloody killed him if you weren't."

A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips and she let out a bashful giggle before saying "Didn't take you for a killer, Newt."

"And I didn't take you to have such a sharp tongue, but here we are." I chuckled lightly.

She let out a little huff before leaning her head into my chest again and I instinctively moved one of my hands so that I was holding it, cradling her head like a precious gem. We stood like that for a short while, comfortable silence filling the room. Then there came a cough from the doorway and we quickly pulled apart, both of our faces going pink as we met eyes with Alby. He didn't look impressed.

"I've spoke to all the boys, they said he almost killed you. He's going to be banished." He said plainly.

"Good." I thought but Angel started to visibly panic.

"B-Banished? Like sent into the maze? To d-die?" She stammered and Alby nodded.

"But I wound him up! I said stuff just to make him mad! You can't kill him! It's my fault!" She protested but Alby remained unfazed.

"I heard all about what you said, Greenie. Might have been harsh, but doesn't warrant attempted murder. You know the rules; Glader's can't hurt other Glader's. I let him get away with it and you might not be so lucky next time." Then he let out a frustrated sigh. "It'll be done tomorrow, you can watch or not, makes no difference. But don't go far, as soon as that's done there's a meeting due. Get ready to explain yourself, some of these boys aren't impressed."

Hiii I hope you all enjoy, I don’t know how I feel about this chapter hence why I hadn’t uploaded it. Thanks @extremebookreader for the inspo to read through this and upload it though, kind words mean the world 💝 Stay safe my lovelies xxx

[icumpinkglitterxo]

You can't hurt me

part 2 (a)

a/n: i love angst. this version is the depressing one but its good i promise 🙏🏻

warnings: angst, mentions of sh, mentions of suicide, mentions of eds,

part 1

enjoy ★

She sat with him, bandaging his wrist. Slash stayed quiet. He hadn't shown his face in public since breaking up with Axl.

His fake girlfriend, Natalie, came over after school to talk to him. He hadn't told her about their breakup yet. She tapes his bandage and cups his face, "you look awful... when was the last time you slept?" He shrugs.

She sighs, "wanna tell me what happened?"

He nods slowly, then tells her everything, not leaving any detail out. "I fucked up, I mean I really fucked up, Nat. Bad." She wraps her arms around him tightly, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry this happened. I'm so sorry it's so difficult. It shouldn't have to be this difficult."

He felt safe with her. They had known each other since they were little kids. She was the first person he came out to, resulting in her doing the same and leading to their fake relationship.

He sighs. "Am I an asshole?" She looks up at him, "what makes you think that?" He looks down and frowns, "I'm the one who broke up with Ax... Because I said us being together is wrong." His voice shakes. "Well, do you really believe that?" She asks cautiously, knowing how vulnerable he was already feeling.

He shrugs, "I...I don't know."

Nat sighs, "what makes you think it's wrong?" Slash looks at her. For a long time. Then he comes up with an answer.

"Everyone hates me. They judged me before for having long hair, and for being black, and for dressing the way I do, and for the few times someone saw me with red nails. They judged me. But they tolerated me. They talked to me in class. I got invited to parties. But now they hate me. They look at me with pure disgust. They write shit all over my locker. They write death threats and put them in my locker. They tell me I should end it. The day I broke up with Ax, I was assaulted. I was walking home alone, and these two guys from the football team started attacking me. And they weren't stopping. They were actually going to kill me for the simple reason that I love a man. I love him so much, and I know love is hard, and it takes patience. But I don't want to live my life hiding from people who might actually try to beat me to death because of who I love. That's not fair."

She frowns. "Oh baby, I'm sorry..." Slash shrugs. "I guess this is just how it has to be..."

A few weeks go by. With the help of Natalie, Slash felt comfortable enough to start coming back to school. He dreaded seeing Axl. He was surprised when the entire day had passed and Axl was nowhere to be found.

He shrugged it off and went to find Nat. She was waiting for him outside the school with a big goofy grin on her face. He scrunches his face up, "why are you so happy?"

She grins up at him, "I have a date."

His eyes widen, "a date!? With who!?" She smiles, "she's new here. She's called Michelle. She's super cool, and she's really pretty and -" Slash interrupts her, "I get it you little lesbian." She giggles. She was so excited. He smiles. This was nice. He was happy for her.

The two of them start walking away from the school. Nat looks up at him, "you hungry?" Slash looks down at her, "yeah, I didn't eat lunch," she frowns, "why not?" "Fish."

She nods. She knew there was a time when he had a difficult relationship with food, but this was just him hating any kind of food that came from the ocean. "Well, my dad said we can go to the diner and get lunch and dinner whenever we want," he looks down, "yeah? How much?" She rolls her eyes, "it's free, dumbass." His eyes light up.

The diner wasn't far, and the walk there only built their appetite. They were walking towards the diner, Nat walked a little bit ahead of Slash before she realised he had stopped.

She turned back to look at him, "what's wrong?" He stayed silent. Just kept staring at whatever it was he was so interested in. She looks over to see what he was staring at, and then her face drops, "oh..."

Axl.

With another man.

[call-me-kermit]

✿Hate To Love You✿

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul • The Ghoul has found himself an insufferable Vaultie fresh out of the box. Chaos ensues.

Series Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Conon Violence, Guns, Murder, Drinking/Drugs, Human Experiments, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Loose Mentions Of Sexual Assault/Harassment, Sexual Content

Notes: I had no direction when starting this, so it's whatever. !One Part Will Be Released Daily!

✿•·······························•●❀✿❀●•·······························•✿

Chapter Index:

✿ PART 1 • Vaulties & Cowboys ✿

✿ PART 2 • Smiles & Lies ✿

✿ PART 3 • Ghouls & Cannibals ✿

✿ PART 4 • Memories & Lessons ✿

✿ PART 5 • Friends & Foes ✿

✿ PART 6 • Bluffs & Betrayal ✿

✿ PART 7 • Regret & Take-Backsies ✿

✿ PART 8 • Guilt & Tears ✿

✿ PART 9 • Denial & Promises ✿

✿ PART 10 • Vials & Coughs ✿

✿ PART 11 • Deals & Relizations ✿

✿ PART 12 • Understandings & Confessions ✿

✿ PART 13 • Bets & Bonding ✿

✿ PART 14 • Cults & Fruit ✿

✿ PART 15 • Drinks & Mistakes ✿

✿ PART 16 • Hangovers & Gunfire ✿

✿ PART 17 • Screaming & Crying ✿

✿ PART 18 • Stims & Campfires ✿

✿ PART 19 • Graons & Moans ✿

✿ PART 20 • Smooches & Threats ✿

✿•·······························•●❀✿❀●•·······························•✿

✿Kermitt'sMasterlist✿ 

[munstysmind]

WARNING/S: non-con, rape, loss of virginity, rough sex, rough vaginal sex, rough oral sex, rough anal sex, unprotected sex, multiple men, blood, assault, abuse, slavery, trauma, threats of forced prostitution, mentions of kidnapping/abduction, mentions of death, mentions or murder, mentions of injuries, mentions of suicide. If I’ve missed anything, please let me know.

DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT

THIS IS A DARK FIC, DO NOT READ IF THIS TYPE OF CONTENT TRIGGERS OR OFFENDS YOU.

You and you alone are responsible for what you choose to consume online.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Thank you to @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure for being my ideas gremlin, and @themaradwrites for beta-ing. This wouldn’t have been written without your help.

MAIN MASTERLIST

please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list

CH. 1 - THEIR REWARD

{54 BC}

Her heart pounds in her chest as she slowly walks down the hall towards the man she despises more than anything in this world.

Dominus Julius Fabius. Her owner. Her master.

She wishes she could stick him in the neck with a dagger and watch him bleed to death, just like all the men he condemns when he forces them into the arena.

He’s pure evil.

The kind of evil Orcus uses to make an example of. The God of punishment and the Underworld is going to have fun with her master when he passes into the afterlife.

She’s lost count of how long it’s been. Five years? Probably more, if she’s being honest with herself. She doesn’t even know who she is anymore.

Except her name.

Amina.

To everyone around her, she’s a thing. An object meant to do as she’s told. No exceptions.

She runs her finger along the cold iron bolted around her neck, her slave collar.

Thirty coins. That’s what he paid for her. She didn’t know you could put a price on someone’s life but that’s what hers was worth, thirty whole coins.

“There you are girl” he growls as he grabs her wrist tightly and drags her towards a door at the end of the hall “I’m in a right mind to give you a lashing for making me wait”

“I’m sorry, they… they wanted to make sure everything was perfect” she mumbles, keeping her eyes on the floor to help hide her tears as she recalls the looks of pity on the faces of the women who got her ready.

She knows they know what her Master’s plans are, and she suspects the reason they took so long was to keep her from her fate for as long as they possibly could.

“I don’t care. Those fighters in there won me a lot of denarii today. You’re going to let them do whatever they want to you. All. Night” her master tells her, getting so close to her she can feel his warm, vile breath across her face.

“I… I’ve never…” she stammers, her eyes going wide as she realises what he’s saying.

“I know. I know you’ve never laid with a man before, they checked you when I brought you. That’s why I chose you” he says, a smirk spreading across his face. “Maybe I should put you in the Lupanar and whore you out after they’ve broken you in. Gods know you’d make me a fortune”

It takes everything in her not to turn and run as fast as she can as she swallows down the bile rising in her throat.

It would be pointless though, there’s guards everywhere. She wouldn’t make it to the end of the hall before they caught her. She’d be guaranteed a lashing too, a public one at that. Just like Vesta.

“I mean it girl. You’re theirs tonight. I don’t care if it hurts… in fact, I want it to. A lot” he whispers, pulling out a small dagger and cutting one of the shoulders of her dress, exposing her breast.

He runs the dagger tip over her nipple, pressing it into the sensitive bud until it breaks the skin, making her let out a small whimper of pain.

“If you resist, or put up a fight, you’ll be punished, and it’ll be much worse than what they’re going to do” he growls before pushing her into the room.

She can’t help but flinch as the large wooden door is slammed in her face, the echo of the metal latch being closed ringing in her ears.

She just stands there, staring at it as she takes shuddery breaths.

She knows what’s about to happen. What she’s about to go through. And there’s nothing she can do about it.

She’s trapped.

Locked in a room with three blood covered fighters.

Their reward for winning their master 5000 coin.

She’s their prize.

“Turn around” a deep voice commands, making her jump.

She closes her eyes, praying to the Gods that she wakes up from this nightmare as she slowly turns around.

She sees the man the voice belongs to and her breath catches in her throat as she fights back tears.

He’s the one who killed her brother.

Champion gladiator August.

“Name” he growls, slowly approaching her with a look similar to the lions in the arena before they attack.

“Am… Amina” she stammers, stumbling back against the door as he towers over her.

She can smell death on him. The twang of iron, of blood. Was it her brothers?

Her stomach churns at the thought and she wants to be sick.

“Amina” he repeats “honest, faithful. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman”

Under any other circumstance she might have smiled and thanked him for his compliment, just like she was taught, but not this time. She just can’t.

“I like to know their names before I take what I want” he tells her with a smirk.

He remembers them, every name. All the women he’s taken this way. Amina’s the latest entry on his ever growing list.

He grabs her dress and tears it off her body, letting the fabric crumple to the floor.

She instinctively tries to cover herself, but he stops her, prying her hands away from her body before grasping her breasts and squeezing.

A grin spreads across his face as he continues to grope her, pinching and rolling her nipples tightly between his fingers, making her whimper in pain.

The noise makes him let out a low growl from deep in his chest and his eyes go dark, almost black.

Before she can fully register what’s happening, he grabs her by the back of her neck and yanks her towards the small table on the other side of the room, forcing her onto her back.

He takes her legs behind the knees and pushes them open, exposing her to not only him, but the other two men in the room who are now standing behind him and looking over his shoulder.

Her stomach churns as she stares at the ceiling, her face burning with embarrassment as she tries to think of anything to distract her from the way he’s inspecting her.

She bites back a whimper as he touches her, his fingers playing with her most intimate area before spreading it open.

He lets out a satisfied hum, a smirk spreading across his face when he sees she’s intact, just like their Master promised.

“I’ve never had a pure one before” he says, to no one in particular as he pinches the small bundle of nerves above her opening, making her gasp loudly.

“They’re my favourite. Oh, the noises they make” one of the other men says excitedly, much to August’s annoyance.

“She’s mine, Lloyd” he growls, glaring at the man before turning his attention back to her, really looking at her for the first time since she entered the room.

And as much as she tries to look away, to look anywhere but the face of the man that’s about to brutalise her, she can't. Her green, terror filled eyes just stare at him, transfixed.

He’s seen her eyes, and that look, before. He knows he has. There’s something so familiar about them and it takes him a minute to place it. The man he killed in the arena a mere hours before. Her brother.

“You’ve got his eyes” he tells her before turning his gaze back between her legs.

She’s so caught up in the flood of emotions at what he just said that she doesn’t notice his finger pushing into her until it’s too late.

She lets out a loud yelp at the sudden pain between her legs, her body instinctively trying to close her legs and move away from the beast of a man in front of her.

He lets out an angry growl and yanks her up by her arm, turning her around and bending her over the table with so much force all the air leaves her lungs when her chest makes contact with the wooden surface.

“Don’t move” he growls, kicking her legs apart with his feet.

She grips the edge of the table, so tightly her fingers hurt, as tears well in her eyes. She prays the talk of his stamina is wrong, that it will be over quickly.

But it won’t.

When he’s done with her, there’s two more waiting.

And they have her all night…

The sound of his armour dropping onto the ground behind her makes her heart pound.

It’s happening.

Right now.

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying her best to relax when she feels him prod at her again, but it doesn’t matter.

He snaps his hips forward and tears into her with force, pulling a scream of pain from her that makes him grin.

In all the beatings she’s gotten over the years, she’s never felt pain like this.

It’s like a searing hot poker being forced into her over and over as she’s split in two.

The tears in her eyes escape and spill onto the table as he thrusts into her, over and over and over again. It feels like the more she cries, the harder his thrusts become.

“Best one I’ve had yet” he grunts as he lays over her, pressing her against the table with his full body weight, and starts grinding into her, moaning loudly in her ear.

He’s enjoying this, getting pleasure out of hurting her. How can he not? He’s a sadistic bastard!

Little does she know she’s not the first woman he’s forced himself into. It’s the whole reason he’s stuck fighting in that gods forsaken arena in the first place. And unless he dies there, she won’t be the last.

“You’re mine now, gonna take you like this whenever I want” he pants, making her let out a loud sob at the thought of him doing this to her over and over.

It all becomes too much and her stomach churns as bile rises in her throat, burning it as she chokes and coughs it up.

His moans start becoming louder as he ruts into her hard, his hips slamming her body into the table over and over and over.

“Oh Gods!” he roars, moaning loudly as his hips stutter then still before he thrusts into her as hard as he can, filling her with a strange warmth.

He says something to her, but she doesn’t hear a word of it, unable to hear anything except the loud ringing in her ears.

She lets out a loud whimper as he pulls out of her before kneeling and pushing her legs wider, smirking at the blood mixed with his spend dripping out of her.

He catches some with his fingers and pushes them inside her, forcing it back into her as she lies on the table, her entire body shaking and twitching from shock as she takes shallow, gasping breaths.

“My turn” the second of the men says, all but pushing August out of the way before grasping her by her hair and pulling her to her feet, making her cry out.

He pushes her to her knees, making quick work of removing his armour as she glances behind him at August drinking wine from a goblet and sees the size of him for the first time, enough to make Priapus himself blush.

She looks back at the second man, terror spreading through her yet again as she comes face to face with his member.

She can’t tell if he’s bigger, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to defile her the same way August did without a care for her.

He hooks his finger into her mouth and forces it open before pushing himself in until she starts to gag.

He holds onto the sides of her head and starts thrusting, hitting the back of her throat with each snap of his hips.

A smirk spreads across his face as he moves one of his hands to the back of her head and forces her down onto him, deep throating her.

He holds her there, moaning at the feeling of the muscles in her throat squeezing him as she chokes.

“We can’t kill her, Lloyd” August warns as she starts scratching at his legs, trying desperately to get air.

He lets out a growl as he pulls himself out of her mouth and slaps her hard across the face before grabbing it and pulling her to her feet.

“You’re going to pay for that” he hisses, manhandling her onto the small bed in the corner of the room.

He climbs on after her, roughly pulling her hips up and slamming into her from behind.

“Gods, I’ve not taken a woman this good in years” he moans, throwing his head back and gripping her hips tightly as he thrusts hard, spurred on by her cries.

“I wonder if her other hole’s just as good?” August says with a smirk, leaning against the table he just had her bent over.

“Let’s find out” Lloyd replies, spitting on her ass. He pulls out and lines himself up with her tiny puckered hole before pushing himself into her, moaning loudly at the muscles squeezing him tightly in an attempt to force him out.

She lets out a shriek of pain, her body going rigid as she tries, and fails, to get away from the man violating her in a way she didn’t think was possible.

He lets out an evil laugh and pushes her face into the bed as he starts thrusting, going out of his way to hurt her as much as he can.

The noises leaving him as he uses her body for his pleasure are burned into her mind as she prays to the Gods to take her and put an end to the indescribable pain coursing through her body.

He looks down at where he’s thrusting in and out of her and smirks proudly at the sight of blood.

“It’s even better” he grunts to August, gripping her hips so tightly his nails break her skin.

“I’ll have to try it next” August says, slowly stroking himself as he watches Lloyd pound into the woman at their mercy over and over again, moaning to himself at the sound of her cries.

Lloyd lifts her hips higher, thrusting as hard as he can into her at the new angle, turning her cries into screams with every snap of his hip.

He lets out a long moan, throwing his head back as he cums hard, filling her with the same strange warmth August did.

“Gods, I’m doing that again” he pants as he slowly pulls himself out of her bloody back passage before slapping her ass, making her yelp as she collapses into the bed.

“You’ll get your chance. It’s your turn, Nick” August says, getting the attention of the third man standing on the other side of the room.

Until now, he’s not paid much attention to the events happening in the small room, trying to drown out her cries and think of anything other than what he wants to do to her.

It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, but he doesn’t care. He wants her. And it’s his turn to take her.

He slowly walks towards her, removing his armour as he does before gently turning her over and climbing into the bed.

“No more… please” she begs quietly as he spreads her legs with his knees and settles between them.

Asking for mercy is useless, she knows that. All she is to them is an object to seek pleasure from, to defile.

The only thing she can do is close her eyes and brace herself for the pain as he slowly pushes in, a long moan leaving him as he fills her.

But when he starts to move, the pain doesn't come.

She opens her eyes and stares at him, confused, and scared, by what she's feeling.

Why doesn’t it hurt?

Why is it so different?

Why does it feel… nice?

“Gods” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut as he starts to speed up, letting out a moan that drowns out the one that slips past her lips.

She has no idea what he’s doing differently to August and Lloyd but she prays he keeps doing it because it feels good, amazing even.

Her mind races as she tries to understand what’s happening. Why does she feel bad, so embarrassed and ashamed, when what’s happening right now feels so good?

He moves his hips faster, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he gropes one of her breasts before pinching her nipple hard, pulling another moan from her.

He slowly glides his hand up her chest to around her neck, squeezing the sides. The sudden restriction of air makes her panic and start clawing at his hands, making him squeeze even more.

Her eyes roll back as a weird pressure builds between her legs, making whatever he’s doing to her feel even better.

It suddenly breaks, making her moan loudly as a pleasant burning sensation washes over her, before everything goes black…

VENERIS FILIA TAG LIST: @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @pixie88 @aussieez @identity2212 @fanfics-r-us-official @km-ffluv @ktficworld @sillyrabbit81 @juliaorplI78 @kingliam2019 @thebejeweledwatercat @red-write-hand @queenzee27 @therockandaroll

[visardistofelphame]

A trigger warning for the content below. Suicide and abuse are lightly touched upon, so please keep that in mind when reading.

Here is the old article (if you need context)

┌────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────┐

“Witchcraft is an old hag, dead and rotting. She sits on a pile of bones, and hides behind the graves of her elders. It is here where she lurks waiting for the right moment. Witchcraft hungers for youth, it hungers for you.”

It is said that the Craft has continued to survive, despite being ‘destroyed’ time and time again. No matter how many times it has been uprooted, it is a weed that will regrow. So why the visceral description? What is it about Witchcraft that invokes such violence and wrath within the imagination? Why link it to death? To cannibalism? To these things that are faux pas in our modern world?

Within the British traditions (as well as others I am certain), there was a push to change the viewpoint of what the Craft was to the general populace. The hope being to reveal it not as some boogeyman cult, but as a private faith as genuine and fulfilling as any other. The idea of acceptance and freedom was forefront, and it can be understandable why. Who doesn’t want those things? 

As a queer woman, I certainly crave acceptance and freedom. I imagine it's what we all want: to live as we will, unafraid of the threat of shame or assault. But what happens when societal mechanisms press down upon you? No one is specifically stopping you from living your life, free and happy. Yet, can anyone truly achieve those if we cannot even afford shelter and food? I can only speak from my understanding of the world, living within the USA. What was once the American Dream has transformed into a nightmare. The paralysis demon that is Despair and Dread, a future with no hope.

I sometimes wonder if my passion for the occult and (more specifically) witchcraft is an act of escapism? It's easy to understand why one would turn to the past for relief from the thought of what the future will bring. A bit of “Yeah, obviously” sort of thing. The idea of nostalgia isn’t new, whether it’s a longing for your childhood or for a history you were never a part of. I feel like it is a perfectly natural thing to experience. I know for me, it is less nostalgia for my childhood and more towards general history. 

I flocked to fairy tales, folktales, old Irish ballads, ghost stories, and was thrilled to learn history. I’ve always been fascinated by how people lived their lives, how the world once was. It seems natural that I would get caught up in the obscured parts of it, into the secret histories of the Occult. Though there was also a hidden side to my interests, an obsession with death. This is what led me to find Witchcraft. I know that not all are drawn to the Craft have experienced trauma in their life, but many I know have. I certainly have. Perhaps it is an aspect of the Craft being counter-culture, being quite attractive to those that are othered.

So what is my point? All I’ve described and talked about isn't revolutionary. These topics have all been discussed by far better writers than I. Yet, we each individually come to our own revelations and realizations about these things in our own time. It is the nature of the mystery, to be experienced. And for me, all this has brought me to the understanding that we aren’t any different from the peoples of the past. The struggles I’ve described have been universal, social society evolving alongside mankind. These feelings of a hopeless future, dread and despair? The only thing that’s different is the specific nuances: technology, our understanding of how the physical world operates, etc etc.

When writing the original piece, it was fueled by my feelings of anger and frustration, fueled by a spiteful hope - The acknowledgement that I will die, traditions die, movements die. Yet, death is part of a greater cycle and that such primal and universally human desires will never be gone for long. They can only be suppressed for so long, before boiling over. 

So I ask myself again, why did I write with such bloody description? I find the modern world to be oppressive when it comes to allowing the presence of healthy feminine rage. I was taught to be quiet and calm, only pleasing to others. The abuse and pain I had experienced was mere inconvenient to everyone else. It is a culmination of the many times that I had tried to end my own life, only to somehow still be alive and learn how to keep on living. A feeling of kinship to peoples long dead. 

Yet with all that said, who I am now is very different from who I was then. It's true of everyone and everything, we’re moments in time: always changing and always becoming. True of people and everything we have and will ever create. The revelation of my own understanding, both as a spiritual and physical creature. The even greater revelation that this is true for every person. 

“The very moment you step within the Sabbat these secrets are made possible. The witches are waiting there ready to teach and pass their secrets; however, are you ready to be dined upon by their wicked cannibalism? For when you are torn apart and thrown into the cauldron, the witch blood truly takes hold.”

I bring my entirety, whether I want to or not. The good and the bad, the love and hatred. No one is exempt from this. Things are not cookie cut perfectly as desired, everything is thrown in both good and bad. To a practice of those who have been othered, one cannot live in the fantasy that being othered prevents them from those same acts. We are all susceptible to misinformation, propaganda, bigotry and hate. The witches have a wicked cannibalism, they dine upon all of me. They dine upon all of those that seek this. And as I said before, “You are what you eat”

So to this diabolical nature, the untamed current of Witchcraft. No one group can ever hope to have ownership, despite some who have tried. No one controls when the witch cult rises and falls, it simply is and will continue to be. 

Please keep in mind that all this said, I do wish to note that all this is more towards the nature of Witchcraft as I understand it and have experienced it. The untamed nature is its own beast, so do not confuse it with the depths that is the well of magic. Even so, I know that the greatest mystery for any who explores these hidden paths: to know yourself.

Hope you all enjoyed going over an older article I had written back in 2018. My current practice has been heavily influenced from my dive into philosophy, so it's good to be able to write a think-piece like this. Nothing like a healthy dose of self analyzing to help get the creative juices flowing, though I hope that I'm not the only one~

[gr3at-s4ge]

when i post it on tiktok it gets taken down, so im doing it on tumblr.

there is a user on tiktok who has done many problematic things, and unfortunately when i do try to post about this person, tiktok silences me time and time again. thus, i have decided to document the stuff that keeps getting taken down in a google slideshow.

the rest is under the cut

warnings for sexual assault, suicide, and religious trauma.

essentially, cassie/angel/whatever they're going by now:

- is a proshipper, and lied about quitting being one for damage control.

- dated a 14 and 15 to despite being ALMOST EIGHTEEN

- claimed theyd break up with said fourteen year old, lied about it, and only actually did it when forced to add them to a gc with a screenshot of the breakup message so they couldn't delete it later.

- lied about their age to excuse their actions, then backtracked and said it's mentally your age in littlespace (after being shown proof it was false multiple times)

- sent nsfw messages and content to people who weren't comfortable with it (including minors) [included in slideshow due to tiktok's guidelines]

- faked having a traumatic experience involving sa to "one up" someone

- downplayed someone's trauma involving sa and said it was "interesting for hypersexual people"

- are likely faking hypersexuality, bpd, adhd, and autism

- repeatedly tried to use suicide as a means of gaining sympathy. [included in slideshow due to tiktok's guidelines]

- stalked my tiktok account on at least two accounts and lied about it, and lied about stopping.

- tried to force christianity on people who are not christian or arent religious in general (personally im agnostic pagan but that's besides the point) specifically using it as a "god will forgive me for my shitty actions so you should too!!"

- tried to frame the fact that im aroace and genderfluid as an insult, despite also being genderfluid and having claimed to be aroace at some point

- supports and is a fan of meowbahh, which is ironic considering she's mocked their respective religion.

- sent me threats of sexual assault. [included in slideshow due to tiktok's guidelines]

- said racial slurs against me

- lied about their race three times

- made an entire hatepage about me solely to one-up my awareness vid i made about them, which was taken down by tiktok this morning.

i have since made a google slideshow of all the evidence i couldn't add in a tiktok, and have also made a post on my tiktok about this thats clear enough to get the basics across but vague enough to not get taken down.

cassie, if you're reading this: you haven't changed. youve just hidden it better. a pearl at its center is still but a grain of sand.

[somethingisoccuring]

Beauty and the Beast

PAIRING : monkey d. luffy x fem!oc

GENRE : canon!au, fanfic

WARNING / S : violence, gore, heavy topics mentioning attempted suicide and eating disorders, strong language, misuse of medicine and knives, mentioned sexual assault. more to come, please read at your own discretion!

There is beauty in the world. birds sing bright and early, and the ocean waves hello at you. The sun shines on your face and the moon rocks you to sleep.

But there is also ugly. A deep, raw ugly that climbs into your soul. It consumes you, only leaving the very bones of your body.

When I was born, there were murmurs of my beauty. Of course, beauty doesn’t age well.

By the age of twelve, my sneaky hands had reached into a deteriorating cardboard box, pulling out a large fruit with multiple colors.

Only one thought ran through my mind, the fruit was beautiful. Enticing. It was a deep red color and molded into a cherry, my favorite fruit. I leaned forwards to sniff it, the smell of fresh fruit filling my nose.

My mother had walked in as I was finishing the fruit, her face dropping into one of horror. That was the day i became something more than what i was, I lost my a ability to swim.

And I lost my beauty.

˙⋆✮

Grunts and padded noises fill a room, shouts and cry’s echoing through halls. There’s a punching bag hung from the ceiling, paint chipping and divoted, caved in from years of abuse.

A girl, no, a woman is slamming her fists against the punching bag, sweat dripping down her brow. She’s strong, that much is obvious, but her mentor slaps her against the leg with a metal rod. “Again!” The snarky voice shouts, the slap of the metal causing her to move faster.

Her fists and feet move together in sync, delivering a flurry of attacks that brutally slam against the bag. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, and sure as hell doesn’t whine.

Her back glistens in the light, sweat painting her skin like a determined tattoo. “Engage your core. Go faster.” A tut, repetition of what she’s been doing. Somehow, her fists go faster, angry grunts leaving her mouth.

“Stop.” The hard tone leaves the mouth of the person she hates most, “Go run a few miles and come back after. If I find puke, your dead.” There’s the threat, those words go through her head until she finishes her fifth mile.

“Stupid old man.” She grunts, deciding that’s enough running as she walks back into the training facility. Yellow eyes glare at her, “You’re already done?” Only earning a firm nod a sigh follows loudly, “I’ll see you next week. Same time.”

She quickly turns, trying to walk as quick as she can to the door. “Next time leave your emotions at the door. Or i’m kicking your ass.” Her eyes roll, only slamming the door shut.

Once she’s outside, she takes a deep breath, listening to the birds and feeling the wind against her sweaty neck. Her feet tiredly walk down a path, to a run-down bar.

Walking into the back, an apron is thrown at her face. “Get to brewing girl! We’ve got a crowd.” A voice shouts, coming from the one person she tolerates. “Izzy.” The woman growls, raising a brow when she just shoves a cup of coffee in my hand.

“Go, Sora. Did you even shower after training?” She urges, swaying her hand, her sly remark earns her a glare from the tired woman.

“There’s loads of customers. Got a group with some kid babbling about being King of the Pirates. And some blonde guy asked if we could go on a romantic getaway.” She giggles, and my face softens for a moment.

“Oh geez.” Sora grumbles, but she walks through the door to the bar nonetheless. She’s met with many voice shouting at her, asking for a drink and demanding that get them right away.

Great, she thinks, just what I needed.

[whilereadingandwalking]

The Antidote by Karen Russell is a compelling book about what it means to willingly forget. The prairie witch of Uz is a vault: people place memories in her when they don't want to hold them anymore. But when a dust storm to rival all others rolls through, she's left bankrupt. And in the wake of lost memories, the town will have to face all the pasts they tried to turn away from. As a young basketball player tries to find her way, a farmer notices a strange light over his field, and a photographer arrives in town to document strange happenings, a plot driven by magic unfolds into a story of the American West and what people are willing to do—or become—to thrive.

This was such a rich read. Like Kazuo Ishiguro's The Buried Giant, this book grapples with how communities can weaponize forgetting. How forgetting can be a tool for cruelty, for violence. People came to Uz to escape oppression, but to live with themselves, they had to look past and forget who lived here first. Russell unpacks this with intricate and delicate braiding, unpacks the cruelty of "better you than me," unpacks the fury of remembrance, of hearing what you wanted or needed to forget. Of photography as vehicle for memory, and of art as vehicle for imagining. A luscious historical fantasy filled with gritty dust, eerie wheatfields, the chemical smell of darkroom, the threat of an arrogant sheriff. Russell's newest continued to reinforce my love for everything she writes: it is compelling, well-researched, metafictional (real photos illustrate the book), and visual. Certainly a best of the year.

Content warnings for animal cruelty/death, suicidal ideation/suicide, sexual assault, anti-indigenous violence.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Fortuna Major Chapter 2

Summary:  Steve Rogers came home from World War II shell shocked and overwhelmed by the place he once called home.  After losing his mother he and his injured best friend Bucky decide to find a quieter, slower way of life to heal from the war.  They head out west until they hit Fortuna, California, and get jobs in the lumber industry.  Steve comes across a local lodging for miners and lumber workers, and falls head over heels for the female owner who takes no man’s shit.  

Warnings: mentions of war; injuries, loss of limb; PTSD; talk of suicide; cat calling; sexual harassment; attempted sexual assault; eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky was embarrassed at first, but Y/N was quick to reassure him that it was fine and she was happy to help him.  If any of the other tenants ever even whispered an unkind word in his direction she would reprimand them heavily.  Everyone learned very quickly not to mess with the owner’s star employee.  The only person who refused to get the memo was Brock.

“Ugh,” Brock groaned as he went through the line of people grabbing their plates for dinner one night.  Bucky didn’t even glance up as he was plating the food and handing them out to the line.  “Do I have to get served by a fucking cripple?” he sneered at Bucky louder to get his attention.  Bucky looked up at him finally with a dark glare.  “Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” he pouted.  Suddenly a hand shot out and slapped the plate from Brock’s hand, clattering loudly to the floor and making the food fly everywhere.  Brock made an indignant sound at the loss of his meal, stepping back as the hot mashed potatoes fell down his front.  “What the fuck?!” he yelled.

The lodge fell silent as Y/N stepped forward in front of Bucky.  “Pack your shit and get out,” Y/N growled.  “You are no longer welcome.”

Brock scoffed.  “Are you fucking serious?  You’re kicking me out over this sad sack of shit?” he yelled, pointing at Bucky.

“ENOUGH!” Y/N screamed.  “Get out, or I will have you removed.”  She glared at Brock, who turned to the group of workers behind him, looking for a friend, but there were none to be found.  The rest of the men kept their faces down, pretending to be unaware of the situation.  Steve started to walk forward from the table he was sitting at, ready to step in at any moment.  

Brock turned back to her.  “You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered.

Y/N’s head tilted.  “Is that a threat?”  Brock smirked at her and she scowled.  “Steve?” she said, not looking at him.  Steve stepped closer.  “Out,” she gave Brock a disgusted look up and down his frame, waving her hand and turning away from him.

Steve nodded and pushed Brock forward.  “Let’s go.”

Brock turned to him.  “Oh, I see, so you’re the lapdog, huh?” He mocked him.  “Big, bad war hero come to save the day?”

“No,” Steve grumbled.  “I just don’t like bullies.”

Brock swung his fist at him, but Steve quickly dodged it and punched him in the stomach.  Brock doubled over, wheezing as the air was knocked out of him.  Steve grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to the front door.  When he opened it Brock tried to twist out of his grip, rearing back to try to hit him again, but Steve caught his hand and with the momentum aimed at him made Brock hit himself in the face, causing him to fall back on his butt outside the door.  Y/N came over with the key to the front door.

“Stay away, or I’ll have you arrested,” she barked at Brock, then shut the door and locked it.

She turned back to the lodge and saw the faces of the men staring at her.  “If any of you even think of acting out of turn like that, you’ll be treated the same.  Do I make myself clear?” she yelled. 

“Yes Big Mama,” they all said.

Y/N sighed heavily as they all turned back to their food and conversation slowly picked up again.  She turned to Steve.  “Thank you, Steve,” she said quietly.

“No problem,” he smiled at her.  “I enjoyed it.”

Y/N huffed a laugh.  “I’m sure you did.”  She breathed deeply.  “Can you go check on Buck?  I need to go grab Brock’s stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, quickly walking to the kitchen.

Later that night as Bucky was walking the trash out to the trash bins outside, Y/N gathered Brock’s things together and walked them outside to the side of the lodge.  She let them fall in a heap before turning back to the front door.  When she walked back in she was suddenly grabbed from the side.  Before she could scream a hand was clamped over her mouth.  “You bitch,” Brock grunted in her ear as she struggled against him.  “You think you can embarrass me and throw me out like that?”  He leaned down and bit the space between her neck and her shoulder hard, making her yelp and try to squirm away.  “I’m gonna teach you some manners,” he groaned as he dragged her to the kitchen.

Bucky, not seeing what had happened, walked back to the building slowly, and once he entered the front door looked around for Y/N for his next instructions.  When he couldn’t see her he walked around the bar.  “Y/N?” he called out.  He heard a faint, muffled cry coming from the kitchen, quickly followed by a shuffling noise and whispering.  His brow furrowed as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.  He slowly looked around the cabinets in the corner then gasped.  Brock was holding Y/N against the counter, his hand over her mouth and his other hand trying to pull down her pants.  Her shirt was ripped open, nearly falling off her shoulders, and her bra pulled down so her breasts were against the counter.  Y/N looked at Bucky with wide eyes and let out a muffled scream.

Bucky turned back to the hallway.  “STEVE!” he screamed.  “STEVE HELP!”

Steve, already back in their room at the other end of the lodge, bolted off his bed where he had been sitting and ripped the door open, looking down the hall.  Bucky looked frantic and turned back to the kitchen, running in.  Steve didn’t know what was going on but ran as fast as he could down the hallway.  As he came closer he could hear a cry and shouting, then scuffling and the sound of pots falling against the floor.  When he finally reached the kitchen he ran in and saw Bucky punching Brock as hard as he could in the face with his one hand, his knee on Brock’s chest to keep him still.  He looked over at movement in the corner and saw Y/N huddled against the wall, covering her chest with her arms and crying heavily.  He saw her ripped shirt and the pieces fell together, making him see red and stalking over to Bucky and Brock on the floor.  He pulled Bucky off of Brock and then grabbed Brock up off the floor.  “I thought we’d made it clear,” he growled as he hefted him back towards the front room.  As he passed the hallway he could see men peeking out from their rooms, some of them walking into the hallway to see what was happening, dark looks on their faces as they saw Brock.  “You are no longer welcome,” he sneered and punched him in the face.  Brock buckled and fell to his knees, grunting and holding his now shattered nose.  

Steve kicked him, making him sprawl backwards and knock over some of the chairs at one of the tables.  “Bucky,” he called back without looking.  “Call the police.”  He grabbed Brock by the scruff, dragging him to the front door and throwing him against it.  Brock tried to swing at him, then kick at Steve’s legs, but Steve merely shoved them away. He leaned down over Brock, kneeling on his chest like Bucky had.  He slapped him across the face, making Brock cry out.  “I should kill you,” he said quietly.  Brock looked at him with wide, scared eyes.  “You sad, pathetic, waste of human skin,” he growled.  “If you ever come near Bucky or Y/N again, I will see to it that I personally escort you down to the gates of hell, do you hear me?”  Brock huffed but nodded.  “Good,” Steve said, then punched him again, knocking him out.  He stood up as Brock lay motionless on the tile near the front door, bleeding heavily.  Steve turned back to the kitchen and walked back in.  He found Bucky sitting next to Y/N in the corner, whispering to her as she stared at the cabinet in front of her, every once in a while speaking louder into the phone that he was holding.

“Yes, he’s still here, please hurry,” Bucky said quickly, before pulling the receiver away from his mouth and turning back to Y/N.  “It’s okay, Y/N, they’re coming.  He won’t hurt you again.”  Y/N wasn’t responding and Bucky turned around to look at Steve.  “I think she’s in shock,” he said before holding up the phone again.  “Okay, yes, we’ll see you soon.”  He stood up and walked the phone back to the wall as Steve walked forward to meet him.

“Are you okay?” he asked Bucky.

“I’m fine,” Bucky shook his head, wiping at the sweat on his forehead.

Steve nodded and turned back to Y/N, walking slowly over to her and kneeling down next to her.  “Y/N?” he whispered, reaching a hand out to her arm.  When his fingers touched her skin she flinched and stared at him wide-eyed.  “Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me,” he said quietly.  She still stared, barely blinking as her breathing sounded strained.  “The police are coming, they’re gonna take him away.  He won’t hurt you again, I promise,” he said.  Y/N’s breathing started to calm down, and she nodded slowly as he spoke.  “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, leaning forward a little bit, his hand moving up to cradle her face in his palm.  “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N’s lip trembled as her tears started again.  Bucky came up behind her, pulling off his flannel shirt and spreading it over her to help cover her up and then sat on the floor in his undershirt, letting her lean against him as Steve helped her put her arms into the flannel.  Y/N continued to cry for a few more minutes until they could hear the police enter and start shouting.  “I’ll take care of them,” Steve said, standing back up.

As he handled the police, who quickly took Brock away and took statements from Steve, Bucky, whatever they could get from Y/N in her fragile state, and from a couple of the men down the hallway, they finally left and Bucky walked Y/N to her room as Steve cleaned up the blood from the floor in the kitchen and out to the front door.  When he was done he walked toward her room to check on her and Bucky.  He knocked on the open door and peered in.  Bucky was sitting on a chair from a desk across from her bed, where she was sitting in her nightgown, holding it to her chest tightly.  “Hey,” greeted them.  Bucky looked up at him and gave him a tight smile.  

“Hey jerk,” he said.  “We’re okay.  Just trying to relax after all that.”

Steve nodded and looked at Y/N.  She kept her gaze to the floor.  “Is there anything I can do for you now, Y/N?” he asked, unsure of what to say or do.  She finally glanced up at him and shook her head.

“I just want to sleep,” she whispered.

Bucky nodded and stood, taking a step toward her and reaching out his hand to squeeze her knee.  “We’ll be down the hall if you need us,” he said before walking towards Steve and out the door.  

Steve sighed and walked over to Y/N.  He kneeled down in front of her so he could look into her eyes.  She slowly looked at him, her tired eyes making his heart hurt for her.  “Seriously, anything you need, please tell me,” Steve pleaded.  He reached a hand forward and held it out for her.  Y/N stared at it for a moment before letting go of her nightgown and taking his hand.  She squeezed it hard as she fought off another wave of tears.  Her movements made it so her nightgown slightly moved away from her neck and Steve could see the red and already bruising imprint of Brock’s bite mark on her and grimaced.  His other hand moved to touch it, but quickly paused when her eyes widened at him.  He breathed in deeply before moving his hand away and focusing back on her face.

“Thank you Steve,” she whispered.  She pulled his hand up and kissed his fingers and then his knuckles that were red and starting to bruise.  

Steve’s eyes widened, but he merely nodded, squeezing her hand back.  “I’m with you, doll.”

Y/N was surprised by the pet name, but gave him a small smile.

@slayerofthevampire

[alice-after-dark]

Why Do We Hate Valentino and Love Alastor?

So as I'm sure most of you are aware, there's been some discourse over the Valentino Valentine's Day merch. Many people see it as the glorification of an abuser. Valentino has been the subject of controversy in the fandom since his very first appearance in the Hellaverse franchise, so I can't say I was surprised. But it got me thinking. Why is there no hate for the merch of someone like Alastor, a serial killer and a cannibal who also abuses the souls he owns?

I have some thoughts. Let's unpack.

Trigger warnings for discussions of Valentino being Valentino (really, the man is his own trigger warning), abuse of every kind, murder, suicide, and other canon-typical triggers.

So let's just dive into it. Why is Alastor a fan-favorite while Valentino is despised? Now, just to be clear, I'm choosing Alastor as a foil because I think his is the easiest to compare and contrast. This isn't because I have an issue with Alastor. Anyone who has been on my blog for any amount of time know that RadioStatic is my heart and soul and I adore the stinky dear from the bottom of my black little heart. I also enjoy Valentino. He's not really one of my faves, but I do like the Vees dynamic and his dynamic with Vox and find his relationship with Angel to be fascinating. No hate to him or those that like him either.

With that out of the way, it did baffle me that people have such an easy time adoring Alastor, but have such a problem with Valentino. Of course Valentino has his fans, but there's probably more hate for him in the fandom than any other character. And I completely understand why people don't like him. He's abusive in every capacity. Physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually. He's a horrible person who takes "no" as a personal attack. I completely see why he upsets people and they don't like the idea of him being glorified in merchandise.

But then we have Alastor who is arguably one of the most popular characters in the Hellaverse fandom. A cannibalistic serial killer who also engages in abusive tactics, though he does focus much more on mental and emotional abuse/manipulation over physical (though physical harm is a threat he uses). Yet people cheer for him. Why? Why is it so much easier to forgive Alastor over Valentino?

It's all about empathy for the victim.

When we learn about a murder, who do we hear it from? We learn about it from the news, people from their community, their family members. We hear about how much pain the family is in from the loss of their loved one. We hear about their grief. How tragic this loss is. Most people understand grief. Most people understand loss. And we empathize with their suffering.

We empathize with their suffering.

The family, not the victim.

Because at the core of it, empathizing with a murder victim is impossible.

It's not an experience that you can ever have to share with others. It's not an experience you can research to learn more about what it must have been like. Sure, you can hear about all the horrible things they went through, but there's a detachment there because we cannot truly understand what they felt and went through. Even people who survive murder attempts still can't quite liken their experience to that of actually being murdered. Because they survived. They can find other survivors, share their story, find comradery with those who have suffered similarly to them. Murder victims cannot do this. Our ability to empathize with a murder victim is limited.

Now consider, who do you usually hear about abuse or sexual assault from?

The victim.

Unlike murder, it's easy to find personal accounts of abuse and sexual assault. We hear about the experience directly from the person who experienced it. And if you know someone who has had a similar experience or have even experienced it yourself, you're going to have a much easier time empathizing with the victim than not. If someone is abused or sexually assaulted, you won't have to look far for a community of survivors to support you. If you accuse someone, it's not uncommon for others to come forward with their own stories. But no one goes:

"That person...they murdered me."

"Oh my gosh, I was murdered by them too!"

There is no "Me Too" for murder, even when a killer has multiple victims. Because the victims don't survive to have that commiseration.

And that's another thing. As horrible and awful as it is, once someone is murdered, it's over for them. The people who are still suffering are those left behind in the aftermath. For victims of abuse and sexual assault? It's never over. It may get easier to deal with. Maybe even some days they'll be able to not think about it at all. But it will always be something they lived through and carry with them. Some days that burden will be heavy and some days it will be light. And some days it will be just too heavy.

We don't see the struggles of a murder victim because there aren't any. It's over. They're dead. The struggles we see are those of the family and those that loved the victim. But we do see the struggles of those survivors of sexual assault and abuse. We see how things that were once easy become impossible. We see their lives deteriorate. We see when they can't keep going.

We see the aftermath of the victim.

It is far more likely that a person will know someone in their life that has been abused or sexually assaulted than murdered. It feels more real and that is why it is so much easier to hate Valentino than it is Alastor. They are both fun, chaotic, and lively characters who bring a lot of energy to the show, but Alastor's crimes don't feel real to us. Valentino is far more likely to remind people of someone they know in real life, of their own abuser or the abuser of a loved one. He feels too real for people to look past that he is a fictional character. And I think this is also why people react with so much hostility towards people who like Valentino. Because in a way, it feels like a personal attack, like these people are adoring the person who you know, justifying what was done to you or your loved one. And then when Valentino fans fight back, especially when some of them are victims of abuse themselves and see Valentino as a safe way to explore their trauma, it just creates a toxic and volatile situation.

Everyone is valid for their feelings and their emotional needs. What is not valid is attacking people for their emotional needs clashing with yours. Everyone has different needs and is at a different place in their healing. People process trauma differently. Respect each other and empathize.

(Sorry for the long post. If you made it to the end, you're my favorite.)

[euphoriacafe]

You Belong to Me

WARNING: free use??, lewd srry, threesome???, afab reader, fingering, sexual tension, mention of BDSM, aggressive, MDNI

Pairing: Captain Price x Phillip Graves x Female Reader

Summary: Graves is really getting under Captain Price's nerves and Price decides to vent onto you to the point he becomes jealous of the assignment he gives you. Part 2??? Thoughts???

I stood in silence, a vigilant shadow among the elite soldiers of Task Force 141. The weight of my gear felt almost comforting against my frame, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air around us. My eyes remained fixed on the back of Captain Price, a beacon of unwavering authority amidst the storm brewing in the room.

Commander Phillip Graves, the embodiment of Shadow Company's relentless pursuit of power, stood opposite Captain Price. His presence alone was suffocating, a reminder of the fine line we walked between duty and defiance.

As they exchanged heated words, I couldn't help but feel the weight of their rivalry bearing down on my shoulders. Graves's piercing gaze swept over the room, his eyes lingering on me for a moment too long, a silent challenge that I refused to acknowledge.

"Price, you know damn well this mission is our best shot at taking down Makarov," Graves growled, his voice laced with contempt.

Price's response was measured, his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "And you think I don't know that, Graves? But sending in a full assault team is suicide. We need a surgical strike, precision over firepower."

I could feel the tension mounting with each passing moment, the air thick with the unspoken threat of violence. But I remained rooted in place, my focus unwavering despite the storm raging around me.

Graves took a step forward, his gaze narrowing on Price. "You're letting your personal agenda cloud your judgment, Price. We can't afford to miss this opportunity."

Price's jaw clenched, his resolve unyielding. "And I won't let you jeopardize the lives of my team for the sake of your ego, Graves."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two titans locked horns, the weight of their words hanging in the air like a promise of never ending conflict.

Graves scoffed, his eyes flickering to me briefly before returning to Price. "Maybe if you kept a tighter leash on your team, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, now would we?"

My jaw clenched at the insinuation. I knew Price could handle himself, but the personal attacks only fueled the fire. I glanced at Captain Price, silently urging him to maintain control.

Price straightened, his gaze unwavering. "Graves, my team is the best damn group of soldiers you'll ever have the privilege to work with. We'll get the job done, with or without your approval."

But before the tension could escalate further, Price turned his gaze to me, a silent command passing between us. Without a word, I fell into formation beside him, a silent reminder of where my loyalty lay.

Graves took a step forward, his gaze locking onto mine for a split second before returning to Price. "You may be the golden boy of 141, Price, but don't think for a second that your reputation grants you immunity from the harsh realities of war."

I exhaled slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins as I turned to face Price. He met my gaze with a knowing look, his eyes conveying a silent reassurance.

As the door slammed shut behind him, I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, the weight of the confrontation lifting from my shoulders

"We'll make this right, Y/N," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. Everything in the air made it known that Price was more than pissed off.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the door slammed shut behind Graves, leaving only Captain Price and me in its wake. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, intense and piercing, as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and gruff, "Keep your eyes open, lass, more on Graves, if anything. He's a loose cannon, and I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

I nodded, my jaw set in determination. "Consider it done, sir."

I nodded, my throat tight with unspoken words. The proximity between us, the charged atmosphere, made it hard to ignore the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.

Price's gaze narrowed, his face inches away from mine as he spoke in a hushed tone. "This mission's gonna be a bloody mess, but we'll get through it. I know we will...especially when I have my eye on you. "

His words lingered in the air, and I felt the warmth of his breath against my skin as he came closer. The proximity was both unnerving and electrifying, a dance on the edge of something unspoken. The closer he stepped the more his eyes bore into mine, dark and intense, as if daring me to look away.

"He pisses me off, Y/N," he muttered, his breath warm against my skin. "The way he thinks he can waltz in here and call the shots. It's like he's trying to undermine everything we stand for."

I held his gaze, refusing to back down in the face of his frustration. "We won't let him, sir. We'll show him that Task Force 141 doesn't bend to the will of anyone but ourselves."

Price's expression softened, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That's the spirit, Y/N. Just keep your wits about you, and don't let Graves get under your skin when you watch over him, alright, lass?"

I nodded, a surge of determination coursing through me. "I won't, sir. You can count on me."

My voice almost came off breathy, as I looked up to match his eyes the heat of his hand as he reached out was almost scorching wanting him to touch already.

A sudden knock on the door shattered the moment, and Price pulled away, his expression a mix of frustration and resolve as his voice was rough and quiet. "Damn interruptions."

And with that, Price took a step back, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "I know I can, Y/N," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "Now let's get to work. Report back to me if anything happens with Graves."

The training room buzzed with activity as Ghost, Soap, and I engaged in rigorous combat drills. The sound of fists meeting pads echoed off the walls, mingling with grunts of exertion and the occasional bark of instruction from our trainers, the sharp clang of metal against metal, the swift thud of boots on the floor. .

I focused on my form, channeling the adrenaline of the upcoming mission into each strike and parry. Beside me, Ghost moved with effortless grace, his movements fluid and precise. Soap, ever the powerhouse, unleashed a barrage of punches with relentless determination.

But amidst our intensity, my gaze kept drifting across the room to where Graves stood with his Shadow Company comrades. They moved with a calculated efficiency, their movements sharp and controlled. Graves watched his men with a critical eye, his expression unreadable as he assessed our performance.

"Focus, Y/N," Ghost's voice snapped me back to the present, his eyes narrowed in concern. "You're letting your guard down."

I nodded, refocusing on the task at hand as I kept punching the punching bag in front of me.

Across the room, Graves moved quickly and steadiness, his gaze piercing as he critiqued the movements of his Shadows. My eyes involuntarily drifted to him once again, analyzing every nuance of his posture, the way he held his weapon, the calculated precision in his steps. It was a habit I'd developed, a skill honed through years of working in the covert world of Task Force 141.

Price's orders resonated in my mind – keep a close eye on Graves, understand his tactics, anticipate his moves. It was a chess game, and I was determined to stay one step ahead. My attention, however, wavered as my thoughts meandered into uncharted territories.

Graves was undeniably attractive, a fact that I acknowledged with a detached professionalism. But in the midst of the training room, my mind took an unexpected turn. Images flickered like elusive shadows – Price, Graves, and myself entangled in a dance of desire. The scenario played out in my mind, a surreal concoction of forbidden fantasies that I struggled to reconcile with the reality of our mission.

I shook my head, attempting to refocus on the training at hand. Ghost and Soap exchanged glances, sensing the shift in my concentration. I forced a smile, pushing the inappropriate thoughts to the recesses of my mind.

As the session progressed, Price joined us in the training room, his eyes scanning the dynamic between Graves and his subordinates. He approached me, his gaze piercing through the layers of my composure.

"Y/N," he said in a low voice, "keep your focus. Graves is a slippery one, and I need you sharp."

I nodded, the gravity of Price's words grounding me. The fantasies dissipated, replaced by a steely resolve.

The training room pulsated with energy as Ghost and Soap engaged in a series of fluid movements on the wrestling mat. Their bodies moved in tandem, a seamless dance of combat that showcased the camaraderie forged through countless missions. Captain Price, ever the hands-on leader, stepped onto the mat, ready to test his skills against his trusted teammates.

I leaned against the wall, observing the intense exchange. Ghost and Soap moved with practiced precision, each maneuver a testament to their training and experience. The sounds of grunts and thuds filled the air as they grappled, a display of raw strength and tactical finesse.

Price joined the fray, his movements fluid and calculated. He sparred with Ghost and Soap, each exchange a symphony of skill and strategy. Despite the controlled chaos on the mat, a heavy tension lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the usual banter that accompanied training sessions.

As I watched the three men grapple, my attention shifted momentarily to Graves, who stood on the sidelines, observing with a smug grin. His eyes locked onto Price, taunting him with a challenge that hung in the air like a storm on the horizon.

"You think you've still got it, Price?" Graves called out, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Or has age finally caught up with you?"

Price shot him a steely glare but continued his sparring with Ghost and Soap. The tension in the room escalated, the weight of unspoken challenges adding an electric charge to the atmosphere.

Ghost and Soap, sensing the undercurrent of tension, increased the intensity of their movements. The grappling on the wrestling mat became more aggressive, each maneuver a subtle assertion of dominance. I could feel the room holding its breath, awaiting the inevitable clash between Price and Graves.

Graves, undeterred by Price's silence, stepped forward, his taunts escalating. "Come on, Price! Show us you're not past your prime. Or are you scared of facing a real challenge?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence as Price finally stepped away from the sparring match. His eyes locked onto Graves, a storm brewing within them. The air became charged with anticipation as the two leaders, each a force to be reckoned with, faced off in a battle of wills.

"Fine," Price growled, the words like thunder in the silence. "Let's settle this."

The wrestling mat became the arena for a different kind of battle, one fueled by personal vendettas and a history of animosity. As Ghost and Soap retreated, creating a makeshift ring for the impending brawl, I watched with a mix of concern and fascination.

I couldn't shake the feeling of impending disaster as Graves arrogantly dismissed my attempt to intervene. I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. "Gentlemen, maybe this isn't the best—"

Graves turned his gaze towards me, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, the little lady thinks she knows best," he remarked, his tone dripping with disdain.

Graves his eyes returned back to Price "Sweetheart, this is a man's business. Why don't you step off the mat and let us handle it?"

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Before I could respond, Price interjected with a glare that could cut through steel. "Enough, Graves. Let's get on with it."

Graves chuckled, a patronizing tone underlying his words. "You're getting old, Price. Maybe you need a bit more time to catch your breath."

Price's jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. "Enough talk, Graves. Let's see if your skills match your mouth."

The room fell into a tense silence as Ghost and Soap backed away, creating a circle for the impending showdown. I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a physical clash; it was a battle of egos, a test of dominance that had the potential to fracture the unity of the team.

Price and Graves circled each other like predators, their movements measured and deliberate. And then, with a sudden surge of movement, they clashed.

The sound of bodies colliding echoed through the room, a symphony of brute force and primal instinct. Price and Graves grappled with ferocity, each maneuver executed with precision and determination.

The wrestling match between Captain Price and Graves unfolded with an intensity that seemed to transcend the physical realm. Their bodies collided with a wham that echoed through the training room, the sound of fists connecting and grunts of exertion filling the air. It was a deadly fight, a struggle for dominance played out on the wrestling mat.

Price and Graves grappled, each attempting to gain the upper hand. Their movements were swift and calculated, a chaotic ballet that showcased the raw power and skill of two seasoned warriors. Fists flew, each blow a testament to the unspoken animosity that fueled their rivalry. Graves's men cheered from their side of the mat for him while Ghost and Soap stood arms crossed watching silently.

As I watched, my thoughts swirled in a black sea of conflicting emotions. The air crackled with the energy of their clash, the heavy weight of their egos blinding them to the potential consequences of their actions.

In the midst of the struggle, a dangerous undercurrent of desire flickered within me. It was a treacherous territory, the primal intensity of their fight awakening a forbidden longing and almost tugging on the fantasy. Their bodies entwined in a battle for dominance, their egos waging war, and a part of me yearned for that same fierce determination to be directed toward me.

To have them fight over me, pin me against the mat, to have them fight for control on who gets to own me.

My breath caught in my throat as I felt a wave of heat surge through me. The intensity of the fight seemed to seep into my skin, and I found myself becoming breathless, my pulse quickening. It was a dangerous game, the line between duty and desire blurred by the charged atmosphere in the room.

Their bodies moved with a fluidity that spoke of years of training and combat experience. Each attempt to pin the other to the mat was met with a countermove, a dance of strength and strategy. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken understanding that this was more than a physical contest—it was a battle for supremacy.

As the wrestling match continued, I couldn't escape the awareness that my desires were navigating through my body. The primal allure of the struggle, the intoxicating scent of sweat and determination, left me feeling disoriented, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm.

The realization of the dangerous territory I was treading only heightened the allure, and I felt an internal struggle between duty and the untamed yearning that stirred within me.

The room seemed to close in around me as the fight reached its climax. I was torn between the duty to my team and the intoxicating pull of something forbidden. As their bodies grappled for dominance, I found myself teetering on the edge, a silent spectator to a battle that transcended the physical, leaving me breathless and yearning for something I dared not admit.

Graves's smirk widened as he caught me in a moment of vulnerability, lost in my own thoughts as I watched the aftermath of their brawl. His knowing gaze lingered on me for a moment before he turned away, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

Captain Price's voice shattered the spell, pulling me back to reality with a jolt as he was looking at me with a deadpanned glare. "Y/N," he called out, his tone firm but jealously. "In my office. Now."

I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away from Graves and following Price out of the training room. The air crackled with tension as we entered his office, the weight of unspoken frustrations hanging heavy between us.

Price closed the door behind us with a decisive click, his expression tight with frustration. "Graves is a damn nuisance," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable.

I nodded in silent agreement, the memory of their brawl still fresh in my mind. But before I could offer any words of reassurance, Price closed the distance between us in a blur of motion.

With a sudden, unexpected movement, he pushed me against the wall, his lips ghosting my neck in a tantalizing caress. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse racing as his proximity ignited a fierce longing within me.

"Price," I whispered, the word a breathless plea as his touch sent shivers down my spine. But he didn't respond, his lips trailing a path of fire along my skin, igniting a firestorm of desire within me.

Every inch of my skin tingled as Captain Price's lips continued their tantalizing journey along my neck. My breath hitched, and I tilted my head back, offering him unrestricted access. His grip on my hips tightened, a silent declaration of possession that sent a shiver through me.

The air in the room crackled with frustration and a potent undercurrent of desire. It was a dangerous game, a dance on the razor's edge of forbidden fantasies and the harsh reality of duty. The line between the two blurred, and I found myself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Price's voice, low and gravelly, resonated in the small confines of his office. "Graves is a thorn in our side, Y/N," he murmured against my skin, his words sending a rush of heat through me. "But I don't like the way you were looking at him."

My heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed hard, the tension in the room escalating. The raw honesty in Price's words hung heavy in the air, a revelation that added an unexpected layer to our already complicated dynamic.

"He's nothing but trouble," he continued, his lips trailing upwards towards my ear. "And I won't have you getting distracted by his games."

His breath fanned over the sensitive skin of my ear, and I struggled to find my voice amid the rising tide of desire. The frustration in Price's words mirrored the tumultuous feelings within me, the magnetic pull of his touch warring with the rational voice urging caution.

His grip on my hips tightened further, his fingers digging into my flesh as if grounding himself. The sexual tension in the room reached a fever pitch, and I could feel the delicate balance between us teetering on the edge.

"I can't have you looking at him that way, Y/N," he growled, the possessiveness in his tone sending a jolt through me. "It's dangerous. I can't afford distractions, especially not when they involve you."

As his words hung in the air, I felt the weight of his frustrations, the tangled web of desire and duty that bound us together. The dangerous game we were playing intensified, and with each passing moment, the line between professionalism and passion blurred, threatening to unravel everything we had built.

A charged silence hung between us as Captain Price's lips hovered dangerously close to mine. The room pulsed with a heady mix of desire and frustration, the air thick with unspoken promises and the weight of the dangerous game we were playing.

His lips finally met mine, a soft, lingering kiss that ignited a fiery passion within me. A low moan escaped my lips, the sound a desperate plea as he deepened the kiss. His fingers tightened on my hips, his touch both possessive and demanding.

"I can't have you looking at anyone else," he murmured against my lips, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "You're mine, Y/N."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. I felt a rush of heat pooling between my thighs, the intensity of his desire fueling my own. It was a dangerous revelation, a declaration that sent a thrill through me despite the rational voice warning of the consequences.

Price's body pressed forward, grinding against mine with an urgency that mirrored the pent-up frustrations in the room. The fabric of our clothes created a barrier, yet the undeniable hot tension between us bridged the gap. I could feel his desire coursing through every touch, every kiss, as he bent me forward, my chest against the cool surface of the wall.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he held me firmly in place. The raw intensity of the moment overwhelmed me, the boundaries between us eroding with each passing second. It was a dance of dominance and submission, a dangerous game that left me breathless and yearning for more.

"You need to be punished, Y/N," Price growled, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "And you're going to learn that you belong to me and no one else."

His words sent a thrill through me, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. The air crackled with electricity as he held me captive against the wall, his touch possessive and commanding. In that moment, I surrendered to the intoxicating blend of desire and authority, caught in the dangerous web that Price had woven around us.

As Captain Price's hands moved with a commanding force, ripping my pants down and exposing my bare skin, a gasp escaped my lips, the rush of cool air against my heated flesh sending a shiver down my spine. I was vulnerable, exposed, and yet a surge of desire coursed through me, urging me to surrender to the raw intensity of the moment.

His fingers traced the curve of my exposed ass, sending a jolt of electricity through me. A soft moan escaped my lips as he delivered a light, stinging spank to one cheek, the sensation both exhilarating and arousing.

Thoughts raced through my mind in a dizzying whirlwind. The forbidden nature of our encounter, the thrill of surrendering to his dominance, the overwhelming desire to be consumed by him completely. It was a dangerous cocktail of lust and longing that left me breathless and wanting more.

Price's voice, low and commanding, cut through the haze of desire. "You like that, don't you, Y/N?" he murmured, his tone dripping with a mixture of authority and derision. "You're nothing but a naughty little slut, craving punishment."

His words sent a shockwave of arousal through me, the forbidden thrill of being degraded by him igniting a firestorm of desire within me. I bit my lip, fighting to contain the moan that threatened to escape, the tension between us reaching a fever pitch.

Price's grip on my hips tightened, his touch possessive and demanding. With each spank, I felt myself spiraling further into the abyss of desire, my inhibitions crumbling under the weight of his dominance.

"You're mine, Y/N," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "And I'll do whatever I damn well please with you."

His words were a potent reminder of the power dynamics at play, the dangerous game we were playing pushing us both to the brink of madness. And in that moment, as he delivered another punishing spank to my exposed flesh, I surrendered completely to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain, lost in the heady haze of desire that consumed us both.

The atmosphere in the room thickened as Captain Price's demeanor shifted. His touch became more aggressive, the spanks landing with a force that sent waves of heat through my body. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my breath catching in my throat as the intensity of the moment escalated.

"Tell me, Y/N," Price commanded, his voice a low growl, "who do you belong to?"

A mix of desire and trepidation coursed through me as I tried to form words. "You," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.

Louder, he demanded, "Louder, Y/N. Tell me."

"I belong to you," I answered, the words hanging in the air like a forbidden confession.

Satisfied, Price continued his dominating assault, each spank pushing the boundaries of pleasure and pain. His commanding presence left me breathless, my body responding to his dominance with a surrender that both thrilled and terrified me.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he held me firmly in place. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise both unexpected and exhilarating.

The room echoed with the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, punctuated by my occasional gasps and moans. Price's commanding presence intensified, and I found myself lost in the dangerous dance of desire and submission.

"Who makes the decisions here, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure.

"You," I responded, my voice barely audible above the sounds of our shared intimacy.

"Damn right," he growled, his aggression escalating. "You're mine to command, to please, and to punish."

The air was charged with electricity as his dominant presence enveloped me, the boundaries between pleasure and pain blurring in the intoxicating swirl of our encounter. The spanking continued, each strike sending shockwaves of desire through me, pushing me further into the depths of submission.

As the room spun with a heady mix of pleasure and surrender, I realized that I was teetering on the edge of something profound. The dangerous game we played had unleashed a torrent of desire, leaving me captivated by the magnetic pull of Captain Price's dominance.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as Captain Price's hands moved with a fierce determination, tearing my underwear apart with a single, forceful motion. The fabric gave way beneath his touch, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, my breath catching in my throat at the sudden rush of pleasure.

I whimpered in a mixture of pleasure and anticipation as his calloused fingers trailed along my soaking clit, sending sparks of ecstasy coursing through me. My hips instinctively arched towards his touch, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation he provided.

"Look at you," Price taunted, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. "Soaking wet like a little slut."

His words sent a jolt of arousal through me, the raw intensity of his dominance driving me to the edge of sanity. I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper as I struggled to respond.

"It's… it's for you, Price," I managed to gasp, my admission hanging in the air like a confession.

Price's smirk deepened, a glint of skepticism in his eyes as he toyed with me. "Oh, is that so?" he teased, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on my sensitive flesh.

I squirmed beneath his touch, the pleasure bordering on unbearable as he pushed me further towards the edge of ecstasy. "Yes," I moaned, the word a desperate plea for more.

But Price remained unconvinced, his smirk widening as he continued to tease me mercilessly. "I think you might need to prove it to me, sweetheart," he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement.

The air crackled with tension as Captain Price's fingers continued their relentless assault on my clit, driving me to the brink of ecstasy with each skilled stroke. The atmosphere around us was thick with desire, the heat of our shared intimacy suffusing the room with an intoxicating energy that left me breathless and wanting more.

The room seemed to close in around us, the only sounds the sultry moans escaping my lips and the rhythmic squelching of his fingers against my wetness.

Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed through the room, breaking the spell of our heated encounter. Price's irritation was known, but he never faltered in his ministrations, his fingers working me with a relentless determination that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me.

"Damn interruptions," he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with frustration. "Can't a man get a moment's peace around here?"

Price's irritation deepened, but his fingers quickened their pace, playing me like a finely tuned instrument. He leaned towards me, his lips brushing against my ear. "You need to be quiet, sweetheart," he murmured, the command sending a thrill through me.

I bit my lip to stifle a moan as Price's fingers delved deeper, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. His dominant presence loomed over me, a silent command to remain quiet despite the overwhelming sensations he elicited.

With a resigned sigh, Price crossed the room to answer the door, his irritation evident in every line of his body. "What do you want, Graves?" he snapped, his tone brusque and dismissive.

Graves stood in the doorway, a smug smirk playing at his lips. "Looking for someone, Price," he replied, his gaze flickering between us with a knowing glint.

As Price opened the door, Graves greeted him with a smug smile. "Price, didn't mean to disturb. I'm looking for Y/N."

Price's irritation flared, but he remained composed as he shot back a rude response. "Well, you won't find her here," he retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Graves's smirk widened, and I could sense the underlying tension between them, a rivalry that extended far beyond the confines of our current situation. But despite the tension, Price's fingers never ceased their relentless assault, driving me closer to the edge with each passing second.

"Is that so?" Graves replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps I'll just have to look a little harder."

Before Price could offer a more of a response, Graves pushed past him, stepping into the room. Price's fingers never relented, maintaining their steady rhythm as if the interruption had not occurred.

Graves' eyes flickered to me, a mischievous glint in his gaze. "Ah, there she is. Busy, I see."

Price's jaw clenched, his irritation reaching its peak. "Get to the point, Graves."

Graves chuckled, unfazed by Price's irritation. "Just wanted to discuss something with Y/N but I can see the little slut is all out of breath."

A dangerous dance in the shadowy realm of covert desires and forbidden fantasies.

I couldn't contain the breathy moan that escaped my lips as pleasure consumed me, the intensity of Price's touch pushing me closer to the edge. In that moment, with Graves's presence lingering in the air like a shadow, I surrendered completely to the intoxicating pleasure that Captain Price offered, lost in a whirlwind of desire and submission.

As Graves closed the door behind him with a smug flourish, I felt a surge of frustration and arousal course through me. Price's fingers continued their relentless assault, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The air crackled with tension, a potent mix of desire and frustration that left me breathless and wanting more.

Graves's taunting reply echoed in the room, his condescending tone grating against my senses. I bit back a moan, the intensity of the moment threatening to overwhelm me.

Price's voice, low and commanding, cut through the haze of desire. "You noticed that, didn't you, Graves?" he growled, his eyes blazing with sadistic intent. "She tightened up the moment you walked in."

Graves's smirk widened, a flicker of sadism dancing in his gaze as he exchanged a knowing look with Price. "Seems like she's enjoying herself," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Price's grip on my hips tightened, his touch possessive and commanding. "She needs to learn her place," he murmured, his words sending a thrill through me despite the underlying threat.

I struggled to maintain control, the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume me. The exchange between Price and Graves heightened the intensity of the moment, the precarious balance between pleasure and pain pushing me closer to the brink.

As Price's fingers quickened their pace, I bit my lip to stifle a moan, the raw intensity of the moment threatening to unravel me completely. The air was heavy with anticipation, a heady mix of desire and dominance that left me trembling with need.

In that moment, as Price and Graves exchanged looks of sadism, a primal instinct took hold of me. I surrendered completely to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain, lost in the fiery embrace of their dominance.

This was going to be a long night.

I'M GOING TO MAKE A PART TWO.

[tackyink]

This was supposed to be for @asususasa but in the middle of writing I thought this could be useful for someone else, so here's Tacky's general list of otome recs. It took me over an hour to write so I'm not proofreading it.

DS

Not much to say here because back in those days otome games didn't get localized. The stand outs are Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side 1st Love Plus and Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side 2nd Season, who have English fan translations. Slice of life games where you play as the protagonist through her three years of high school. And if you feel like a student-teacher romance that would make Sakura Kinomoto's mom proud, these are your games.

PSP

Still well into the no localizations era with one exception: Hakuouki Demon of the Fleeting Blossom. Not recommending it on PSP because there are better versions. Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side 3rd Story Premium also has a fan translation and should be played over its DS counterpart because it has added functionalities. Sadly this time around the teacher is a secret character and a shota.

3DS

There's Hakuoki Memories of the Shinsengumi. Still not recommended because we can do better.

PS3

Hakuouki Stories of the Shinsengumi includes the original game and the fandisk with some neat animations added. This is the version to play if you want the original experience. If you want even more routes, go for another version.

Vita

Hakuoki Kyoto Winds and Edo Blossoms, Collar x Malice and Amnesia are the best games you can get for the Vita imo. Some people dig a lot the Psychedelica of the Ashen Hawk and Psychedelica of the Black Butterfly (I've only played BB, it was good but wasn't the best; wouldn't rate it as high as the others). There's Code Realize and its two fandisks (Future Blessings and Wintertide Miracles) and many people swear by them, but while I liked the common route in the first game, the rest didn't do it for me. You can find all of these except CxM and the CRs on Steam, and the Hakuoki games get dirst cheap on sale. Best bang for your buck of the saga. The CR games have PS4 ports and CxM has a Switch one, which you already know.

Switch

*rolls up sleeves* LET'S GO.

To get it out of the way: Hakuouki KW and EB are getting a Switch rerelease and a new translation and will be released as a single game, Hakuoki Chonicles of Wind and Blossom, on August 1st.

Collar x Malice fucking nails the mystery and lowkey horror vibes with and excellent plot that's interconnected in every route. CxM Unlimited is its fandisk and only recommended if you really have the CxM itch, because it's mostly fluff and the little plot there is is at most functional. It has a route where Ichika joins Adonis and you get to see its inner workings though. That was very interesting.

Bustafellows is 100% found family vibes with a very assertive protagonist. It's a mystery/action story and the team dynamics are sort of Ocean's 11-ish. Hilarious, heartbreaking at times, I've never felt more dread in a game than heading towards the basement in a certain's guy's route. There are two unlockable stories after you finish the routes of the guys, one of which I thought was glorious, another which sets up a sequel and is a big downer but I also really liked. It gets heavy at times with murder, suicide, sexual assault, human trafficking, among other kinds of violence, but despite it, it's generally a very funny and upbeat game. We're getting the sequel next year. Also available on PC.

Café Enchanté baits you with the premise of being a girl who manages a coffee shop patronized by handsome supernatural beings, so it's a real surprise when the cannibalism shows up. Anyway. Great game, but I'm afraid saying more would kind of defeat the point. Reminds me of Megami Tensei games, so if coffee shop AUs with supernatural world-ending threats are your thing, go for it. Just be warned that the fandom has kind of collectively agreed that poster boy's route never happened.

Birushana is a hidden gem that goes on sale super cheap and is also probably a hit or miss thing. You play as the legendary Yoshitsune, who in this game is a girl disguising her gender, but she's an amazing warrior as in history. It has the best otome couple I've ever seen, bar none, with Yoshitsune and Noritsune. The game is worth the price just to see them fall in love on the battlefield and watch Noritsune chug down Respect Women Juice all the way through it. The thing is... the rest of routes aren't great. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed how utterly unhinged they got at times, but the plot got worse as it deepened. Still. Noritsune. And I loved that most of the guys respected her as a warrior and were aware she was as capable or a better warrior than them and she didn't need a man to protect her. Very refreshing. One of my faves got done dirty by the translation because they started pulling lines out of thin air to make him creepier. Just him. Why. It's not like he needed the help.

Virche Evermore Error Salvation is also a good one if you can handle continuous drama and see egregiously bad science and say, "You know what? It's magic. Humans in this world are just built different." The worldbuilding is really interesting and the characters very enjoyable, though they don't feature a lot in each other's routes or aren't that friendly with each other. The continuous tragedy may tire you out, or maybe it'll work and emotionally destroy you. It didn't get any emotional reaction out of me until a certain point near the end, but I enjoyed the game a lot, nevertheless. We're getting the sequel this November and I'm really looking forward to it.

Variable Barricade: a fun romp where a young heiress has to chose a fiancé among the four disaster bachelors her grandpa has selected. It's not really similar to Ouran, but it reminded me a little of it at times. It's a pretty light game. The BFF is a gothic lolita otaku who has the time of her life shipping you with the guys, and the butler... oh boy the butler.

Amnesia, as I mentioned earlier, has a PC port as well as the Vita version, as well as two localized fandisks for the Switch (Amnesia x Crowd) that I can't speak of because I haven't played them yet. The protagonist has supernatural amnesia and must piece together her life while avoiding that other people realize she's lost her memory. It's a super intriguing game the first time you play, really nailed the being completely and utterly lost in the protagonist's shoes. A required play to get in on the cage jokes. It's sort of a rite of passage for otome gamers.

Jack Jeanne has probably the best group dynamics of any otome I've seen. I think some people have issues with the protagonist because they find her passive, but to me she felt the complete opposite. Everybody is adorable. A sentimental story of hard work, being young and and fighting for your dreams, 10/10, no notes. I lied, there's a note: Tanakamigi deserved a route! Where is our Tanakamigi route! щ(゜ロ゜щ)

Last but not least at all, the two Piofiores. Mafia games where all trigger warnings you can think of apply. Well, maybe not the cannibalism, that's still Café Enchanté's crowning glory. Fated Memories, the first one, has its ups and downs, but has very enjoyable characters, rock-solid worldbuilding, an amazing atmosphere set in 1920s Italy with a jazzy soundtrack that ends up living rent free in your brain. The last routes of the first game, Gil's and Finale, are worth the full price of the game alone. Piofiore Episodio 1926 is a masterpiece of the otome genre. It doesn't have a single boring route, and the final stretch (Advent Calendar-Alternativa-Secret Character route) has the best writing I've seen in an otome. Lots of points of view and situations interconnecting, an excellent final couple, top notch interactions between the main characters. Just the best.