Tw: Implied Abuse - Tumblr Posts

Safer

Summary: After the fall of the prison and a brutal assault, Daryl cares for you.

NOTE (please read): A mutual requested this a while ago. Took a long while to write, and tbh I considered turning the req down given the premise and my firm stance on writing graphic SA which you can find here. However, they explained to me that they are a victim of a violent s*xual assault, and they expressed it would be healing in a way to have a story where they were cared for by their comfort character. After some consideration, I decided to go for it. I'm sure a lot of us have been victimized by people who couldn't control their urges, or those who lacked respect for our boundaries, bodies, and consent. Myself included. So, this story is for us, to those of us that can stomach it. 

DISCLAIMER: There are no scenes of graphic SA, only the aftermath. While I will not be telling any descriptive scenarios of being assaulted, I do want to clearly express that this is a generally heavy story and it may not be suitable for all audiences. Please consume responsibly.

**I will not be tagging anyone on the taglist due to the content of this story**

18+MDNI ||  WARNINGS: non-graphic allusions to SA, violence, mild nudity descriptions, generally heavy content so I can't say it enough: TW!!!

Banner from: cafekitsune

IF YOU READ BEYOND THIS POINT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I have made great effort not to trigger anyone, and to give all readers an opportunity to turn away if this story is not suitable for you.

        Daryl's vision was blurred as he blinked himself to consciousness. It took him some time to gather his thoughts and recognize his surroundings. His wrists and ankles were bound together, his mouth gagged with a cloth that tasted of sweat and filth. He stared up at the treetops towering over him. It was dark outside, save for the dim light of a dying campfire a few feet away. He lifted his head from the forest floor and looked down past his feet. Lumps of sleeping bodies under raggedy blankets and torn sleeping bags rested around him. His heart raced as his memories crept back in; of you, screaming his name, of him fighting off the group of men who caught him off guard, of twigs snapping and a searing pain over the side of his head. Was that why his face felt so sticky? Was it dried blood?

        His eyes strained in the fading light of ember and ash. Where were you? He noticed a crumpled form at the foot of a tree. Her breathing was shallow and her clothes were torn, pants not even pulled up over her bare behind. That much, he could see. His throat tightened. His eyes watered. What the hell had he let them do to you? How could he have let this happen? He had to get you out of there, and fast. If they hadn't killed him yet, that was surely on their agenda.

        He began to squirm and writhe against his restraints. Whoever tied him up had experience. Just as hopelessness began to set in and cloud his judgement with fear -- real, genuine fear -- he noticed a reflection in the leaves. Just a few feet past his boots, a man was curled up on his side, snoring lightly in the calm breeze. His back was turned to Daryl, and behind him set a grungy backpack with a blade sticking out of the smallest pocket in the front. He glanced back  to you, shivering on the ground, unsure if you were awake or unconscious or simply passed out from the exhaustion of prior events. 

        The sight of you in your disheveled mess was all her needed to kick him into gear. Carefully and hastily, he scooted himself down toward his only chance at redeeming his status as a loyal protector of the weak and vulnerable. Ideally, he'd be able to accomplish this in silence, but he was not in an ideal situation. His circumstances were heavy, laced in sweat and angst. The leaves beneath him rustled as his back slid across the ground, twigs snapping or moving to the side as he made his way closer to the large hunting knife. He'd pause between each scoot, studying the sleeping men around him for any sign of movement or wakefulness. When he'd decide the coast was clear enough, he'd resume. It felt like an eternity, but he made it there. 

        His core muscles strained as he sat himself up. He realized how sore he was. He must have taken a good beating. Seemed fitting, though. He was never one to go down without a fight. He left that sort of weakness in his past.

        He guided his shaky, bound hands over to the bag. He slowly slid the knife out of the front pocket. His heart raged against his ribs. He didn't dare take a single breath until it was secured. 

        Slow. Slowness. Slowly. He repeated every variation of the word in his mind as he positioned the knife between his palms and dragged it back and forth until the rope finally severed. A silent breath of relief escaped him as he ripped the gag from his lips and worked on the rope tied around his ankles. When he was free, he stood and counted the sleeping bodies beneath him. Excluding you, there were four. 

        He considered waking you up and running for the hills, but he couldn't leave any loose ends. No, he thought of it like when your t-shirt has a loose thread. You could leave it to keep unraveling, or you could burn it at  the base and extend the lifetime of your clothes. He decided he needed to burn this string before it could unravel any further.

        Starting with the man closest to him -- the one who so graciously left his knife in plain sight for the archer -- he krept over and crouched down, plunching the blade into the base of his skull. Then, he moved on to the next, and the next one, and the one after that, until they were all a problem of the past. Until that pesky little thread could do no further damage to the rest of the shirt.       

        When the dirty work was behind him, he dropped the knife and rushed over to you. Your wrists were tied like his, but you were tied to the tree so you couldn't run. He eyed you over and gulped. With your pants not fully covering you and your shirt all ripped up, he could see the finger-shaped bruises littering your skin. There was blood on your inner thighs. Your lips were swollen and cut. His blood heated until it hit a boiling point. His hands trembled as they hovered over you. Touching you  felt like a crime, but he had to wake you. He had to get you out of there.

        "(Y/N)." He whispered as he laid a hand on your shoulder. You were shivering in the cool air, but a thin layer of sweat blanketed your exposed flesh. He gave you a gentle shake. "((Y/N), c'mon. We gotta go." He pleaded softly.        

        Your body jerked and you jolted awake. You gave him no chance to explain as you scrambled to your knees and cowered away against the tree. 

        "(Y/N) it's me. It's Daryl." He attempted his most soothing tone of voice. "C'mon, let me get ya cleaned up."        

        He outstretched his arm, offering you his  hand. Without making eye contact you made a move to take it, but you were stopped by the restricting force of the rope that kept you anchored to the tree trunk. He moved quickly for the knife he tossed to the side earlier and returned with it. Without the pressure of remaining silent, he had your hands free in seconds.

        He wasted no time helping you to your feet and averting his gaze as he slid your pants up where they belonged. He found he had a hard time keeping his mind straight and focused as your weeping filled the quiet campsite. 

        "Shh.." He cooed, keeping one hand on your upper back as he ushered you along with him to gather his things and yours. A smart man would have rummaged through the belongings of the ones he killed, too, but he wasn't concerned with making a smart call at that point. He was only worried about you.

        "It's alright. C'mon. Let's get ya somewhere you can rest. It's alright. C'mon." He felt useless as ever, repeating the same generic words of comfort as you limped along beside him. He never urged you to up the pace, he didn't drag you along or have you carry your own bag. He felt like the least he could do was shoulder the weight of survival on behalf of you both. He couldn't get the image out of his mind of ou laying there,caked in blood, sweat, and bruises. A girl like you should have been caked in perfume and makeup. You hair should have been done up nice for a Sunday brunch, not matted with leaves and dirt. Your clothes should have been pristine and well fitting, unlike the filthy torn clothes that were beginning to hang off your frame like tender meat falling from the bone. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve any of it.

        Eventually he found an acceptable spot that looked like it could have been a den for a hibernating bear. It was a big shrub by a little stream, perfectly indented to give you both enough room to crouch under its foliage. He gently set you down, dropping his bow and your bags beside him. He crouched down in front of you and scanned you, worry written articulately over his features. 

        Your eyes remained glued to the ground. Your nose was upturned in disgust but your eyes told a different story; one of pain and despair and mourning for the person you were before that night. Your frown was deep enough to leave a scar. 

        "(Y/N)..." He breathed. Your eyes slowly found their way to his and welled with tears all over again. Of all things you had -- meaning, being alive and away from those men -- there was nothing you were more grateful for than his blue eyes staring back at you. You hated the way he looked at you with defeat and pity, though. You hated that he had one more thing to worry about. Still, he was there, and he was welcome. "Let's get ya cleaned up, okay?"

        You nodded once, if absentmindedly. Your thoughts were elsewhere. You couldn't pinpoint their location, though. They were scrambled, swarming all around you, like gnats you couldn't swat away.

        He pulled an old shirt from his bag and leaned over to the stream, getting it nice and wet before wringing it out. He turned back to you and brought it up to your cheek, gently dabbing and swiping away at the dirt, grime, sweat, and blood. He moved on to your neck and hands, then he paused. You both looked down at your jeans. You knew it needed to be taken care of, and he did too, but the question was really about which one of you would be brave enough to work on the gruesome scene between your legs.

        One look at your expression and he knew it couldn't be you. But, how could it be him? He couldn't put you in such a vulnerable position. No, not him.

        That's when the lightbulb went off over his head. The stream, of course.

        "Here." He offered you a hand. You took it slowly and he led you to your feet. "Wanna get in the water?" He asked. You stared down at the serene flowing water, trickling just before your feet. He cleared his throat. "I don't gotta look."

        You almost could have laughed. After everything that had happened, Daryl seeing you bathe wasn't really a concern. Still, you had to maintain some shred of dignity, and washing those men off of you was a much needed stride toward leaving that horrid night in your past. So, you nodded, and he turned away to start a fire where you could warm up after rinsing off.

        The button was busted off of your jeans. You guessed they couldn't waste their time with something as simple as undoing a button. You let out a shaky sigh and gritted your teeth. You moved to bend over and slide your jeans down, but a searing pain shot through your insides. You whimpered. "I can't." You barely managed.

        "Huh?" He asked over his shoulder.

        "I can't." You spoke up with a tremble. "I can't get them off. It hurts."

        His throat tightened up. Had they really been so cruel to you?

        "Ya want me to..." He trailed off.

        "Please." You whispered and shut your eyes. He stood beside you and pulled your pants down to your ankles, kneeling down as he did so.

        "Grab my shoulder." He instructed softly. You did. "Left leg." He said. You pulled it out. "Now the right." 

        With your jeans off, he stood up and looked down at your face, which you his from him, avoiding his gaze. 

        "Your -- Uh.." He glanced down at your underwear. You nodded, not needing to see what he meant. He followed the same process with those and turned away as soon as he was done. You cleared your throat. 

        "Can you help me sit?" You whispered. He sucked in a breath. It wasn't that you were annoying him. Anything but that, actually. He was glad to help you in any way you needed. It was the simple fact that you needed the help that was eating him alive. The thought that those guys could hurt you in this way, to this extent, was infuriating and heartbreaking. 

        He turned back to you and hovered behind you, placing a hand under each arm to support you while you lowered yourself down into the water. Once you were sitting on the creek bed, you adjusted yourself and sighed.

        "Just, uh, watch for snakes, okay?" Was all he could say before turning his attention back to the fire finally.

        Your frown deepened as you stared down at your bloodied thighs. A plop beside you startled you before realizing it was just the old shirt he was using to clean you up.

        "Figured ya might need it." He mumbled.

        You gripped the cloth in your hand and stared at it. Blood and filth stained it. Your lip quivered as you ran it over your inner thighs, scrubbing your own dried blood away and watching it disappear in the gentle current. You hissed and winced as you cleaned yourself where you were really injured. 

        When you were done, you peered over your shoulder, where Daryl stared at the small flame. He felt your eyes on him and he looked up at you. 

        "Need some clothes?" He asked.

        "Please." You replied. He nodded once and rummaged through your bag. He could only find a semi-clean shirt, but no more pants. He pulled his own bag forward and searched for the new two-pack of boxers he'd scavenged awhile back. 

        "I, uh, didn't see no more pants, but... You can have those." He said, holding your shirt and the fresh boxers out to you.

        "Thanks." You pressed your lips into a thin attempt at a friendly smile. 

        He turned away again so you could change your shirt, but you needed his help with the boxers, which he did without you needing to ask, and without a single peek at you.

        He helped you back over to the den where you could warm up by the fire. You kept the blanket in your bag, so he made sure to wrap it around your shoulders while you sat.

        "Ain't got no food." He broke the silence after a little while. You nodded.

        "Not hungry anyways." 

        "Mm." He hummed. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

----

        By midday, you were on the move again, trailing right behind him as he stomped slowly over the underbrush so you could keep his pace. He'd stop every now and then, and though he didn't say it, you knew it was because he didn't want to overwork you. 

        By late afternoon, the sun was on the far end of the sky, casting an orange glow over the woods. 

        Daryl had barely been able to look at you, and you couldn't exactly claim any different. You two had taken a break again, sipping water and scanning around for any game or edible plants.

        "I want ya to know.." He cleared his throat, shattering the thick silence that glazed over you both all day. "I want ya to know I didn't see it. None of it."

        "I know you weren't looking." You deadpanned.

        "Nah, not at the stream. I meant -- I didn't see none of it." He clarified. He had a sneaking suspicion the reason you couldn't bare to look at him might have been the possibility of him seeing what had happened to you. He, however, just hated seeing you look so broken, knowing had he been more vigilant yesterday, none of those guys would have been able to sneak up on him. You looked at him finally.

        "I know. They hit you over the head 'cause you were fighting them."

        "Mm." He nodded. "I just... I need to tell ya I'm sorry." His voice cracked as he looked down at his hands and back up to you. His leg was bouncing anxiously and his gums must have bled from how hard he chewed at them.

        "Why?" You pushed your eyebrows together.

        "I shoulda been lookin' out. Shoulda protected ya. Shoulda--"

        "You were. You have been." You cut him off. "You've looked out for me every day since the prison. You've been protecting me since the quarry. You protect everyone. That wasn't your fault." You insisted. He just looked back down at his hands and sniffled, blinking back tears. He scolded himself for being the one to cry, when you were the one who got hurt. "Hey." You pressed on. "Listen to me. You got us out of there. You took care of them. You saved me. Then, you still took care of me. If we were still back there, they would have killed you and robbed you by now. And, if they hadn't killed me yet, I'd be wishing I was dead. I wouldn't be here without you. I would have never survived even before last night without you, and I wouldn't be sitting here telling you that today if it weren't for you."

        He looked you in the eyes as you spoke every word. It was a great relief to him that you weren't angry with him -- that you didn't blame him. Still, he felt so uneasy.

        "Can we camp here?" You asked suddenly. He shrugged.

        "Yeah. We can." He agreed. His voice was still broken.

        "Can I sit with you?" You asked. He looked confused but he still nodded, even if he was unsure what you meant.

        Ignoring the aches all over your body, you crawled over to him and sat in front of him, between his legs, leaning your back against his torso. He was stiff, unused to being so close to someone, but he didn't resist. As you settled in and got comfortable, he rested his arms by your sides.

        "You didn't fail me, Daryl. Nobody makes me feel safer."

Join the taglist || Masterlist

FINALLY FINISHED THIS! Ryll backstory stuff :)

Malachi (left, he/him), Ryldrin (right, he/him)

A trust that was broken.

Screencaps taken from Netflix’s Donaldson v Duncan and Donaldson v Zweig. The documentaries aired earlier this year following the scandals surrounding Art Donaldson, Tashi Duncan and Patrick Zweig. They have since been taken down at the request of Art Donaldson. ( one )

I was in a mood once again but for good reason.

There was no clear time to be told. No exact date, exact time, exact moment that would be able to tell people. It was this...

Poison.

This slow killing poison that settles in the gaps of your jonts, the spaces in your muscles. It flows with your blood, following the set trail set by the veins. Until it reaches your brain.

If you asked, you would not be given a clear answer as to when everything cleared up and the thought came.

It was something that was planted long before the time came. It slowly blossomed, the poison as its water that tarnishes the soil it growing on.

It seeps into your being, poisonous, inky black blob of venom that crawled into the crevices of your body, your orfices and settled into you. Blending in with the crowd in your system until it leaked into your soul, painted your heart, manipulated your mind.

It was the blueish, the purplish, the disgusting array of colors that appeared on your skin as the bruised formed from another hit from an unloving and unlovable and disgusting and cruel and demonic hand. It was the bright and angry red that shaped itself as a hand that cupped the entirety of one half of your face.

It was the leakage of dark red blood that tasted like iron and smelled like it from your nose or your split lip or a cut from a bottle shard. Or the torn walls from where it slipped outside and slipped back once more.

This poison.

It takes several forms. It could be that droplet of blood that fell on your desk with a "plink". It could be the next person you talk to. The next hand that slots itself in your hand and it feels so so so wrong. It could be that stripe of saliva somewhere on your skin. It could be that look of a parent so unlike a parent's.

It could be the glinting of a silver blade that blinds you and cuts you with it's sharpness, and that blood that drips from your hand to the matress. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another.

Until.

Until it forms that big wet puddle of red. Like wet paint leaking across the surface of the canvas and spreading. Or blood on a tissue that spreads and leaks onto the bottom.

It could be that void in your chest as you stare at the opened and lifeless eyes of an abuser. Eyes that opened a minute before the final breath was taken. Fear etched onto them. That same fear you saw in your reflection. That same fear you saw reflected into those cruel, cruel orbs.

It could be the steps you took as you walked out.

Or it could be the tiny splash of water from when you dropped the bloody knife.

Or it could be that feeling in your chest you can't identify as you watch the crime, your crime, your sin, reported in the news and printed in the papers and talked around.

Or it could be that sickeningly sweet feeling you felt as you moved forward. Or the faint regret as you looked back.

Or that happy, giddy feeling as you left and started new.

Or that ghostly, cool touch of a hand that explores your every part with a burning, seering, hot pain.

Or that feeling of fear and relief when you woke up and your heartbeat's loud beating of thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thumo, thump...

story of a red-rose tyrant

mother, where art thou?

where did I go wrong?

tell me mother, what should I do

to make this pain go away?

please fly your hand towards

the smiling edge of my face

on the slightest bit of tart

please cover my ears, eyes

on what should have been and should not

perhaps that way, I would not be in wrath

and within your grasp shall I become 

inside you again, amidst the sanctuary

where you let me suffer grew and prosper 

petite servings and books 

scheduled down to seconds

living on bits and pieces, I live on another day

thinking it was all for the best, 

after all, that’s what you said 

as you sculpted me to your heart’s desire 

mother, oh mother

tell me, where did I go wrong?

why does the world turned against me?

I was always enduring, patient, obedient

following all your rules and whims

so tell me, dear mother

why wouldn’t they do the same?

why do they raise their voice, their thoughts, their hands

against me?

mother, mother, mother

please do enlighten 

am I in the wrong?

was I at fault for following your every orders?

for abiding, for not rebelling, for staying dutiful?

or is it perhaps 

were you the ones in the wrong?

sorry im in my crane wives era and currently obsessed with dona dona so um errrrr

(yeah this is a reference to the song 'The Hand That Feeds' by the Crane Wives)

Bad Batchers reacting to you flinching

Basically head cannons but like, with dialogue

Note: I'm sorry if you've requested something and I haven't written it, I have a lot in my inbox and so few things written. It's summer and I have a lot of free time so let's pray I am able to write them. Anywho, this is the only thing I've been able to write in a long time, so I posted it.

Warnings: Implied abuse/domestic violence but no real talk of it. Tech researches it, comfort, cuddles, the boys being absolute sweethearts, nothing else it's just fluff.

I couldn't figure out if I should write this platonic or not so you can see my internal battle when writing this. Most of them could be read either way. (Except Crosshair because he's a man-whore)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hunter

Initially, Hunter thought you were just sensitive to your surroundings (Which was mostly true). It's something that he could understand easily, something mutual that he could bond with you over.

For example: If there's a sudden loud noise and you both wince, he kind of makes eye contact with you and you exchange sheepish smiles. He didn't truly know the underlying cause of it, until he noticed the other things you flinched at. It wasn't at bright lights or things like he twitched at, it was people. He noticed that you tense at the sound of someone's footsteps, or if somebody would walk up behind you unannounced.

He didn't question you, respecting that you would tell him when you were comfortable. But you never did.

One day, you were both left alone by your barracks, just for a short amount of time. When there was a distinct sound of Wrecker dropping something loud, and a gruff "Sorry!" following not long after. You shared a look when you both scrunched up a bit at the loud noise. You smiled softly at him and were confused when you opened your eyes and were met with a pretty serious looking face. (Hunter can't truly hide emotions off of his face too well)

"I- uhm." He paused for a moment, contemplating weather to bring this up or not. "I'm not sure why you flinch?" Wow, great way to start this conversation. Hunter is very awkward, I'm here for it ig.

Your palms started to sweat a bit and it felt like you just met the drop part on a rollercoaster. You gave him an even more questioning look.

"I know I flinch from my uhm, you know, but... I'm not sure why you do?" This is not subtle, but yes, make it worse Hunter.

"Well- Well, what do you want to know?" You asked, somewhat surprised.

"What do you want to tell me?" He asked softly.

"My flinching, I guess, is caused from bad past experiences, just home life." You shrugged, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of your neck. You look up at him again to be met with a concerned and soft expression.

"I know it feels awkward right now, but I'm here for you, always, Cyar'ika. I would never hurt you, we would never hurt you, no matter what. You can feel safe with us, you are safe with us." You nod at this, and take a few steps toward him, closing the space. He was somewhat puzzled about what you were doing, until you began to reach out to him.

Your eyes turn a bit glassy as he wraps his arms around you in a deep, comforting hug. One that you haven't had in a long time. Your silent tears soak his shoulder, and he just stands there, rubbing your back, showing he's there.

Wrecker

The first time it happened, he was raising his hand into the air to grab something over your head. When he was reaching past your face, he noticed the slight twitch in your expression. He didn't think much of it, maybe you didn't expect him to reach for it, maybe you were just surprised.

The second time it happened, it was a less subtle flinch, and it hurt him a little bit more inside. He had been walking in from just accomplishing the latest mission, you could barely see him in your prereferral vision. He reached out to give you a high five as you turned your head, closed your eyes, scrunched your shoulders, and faced away from him as an immediate instinctual response.

Wrecker knows he is a big boy, he knows how intimidating he can be, and it's his worst fear for you to be afraid of him. He would never hurt you and he thought you knew that.

"Mesh'la?" He spoke softly, a drastic change from his usual booming voice. He knew something was obviously wrong and that a soft approach would work best. (Wrecker is an empath ngl)

At the sound of his voice your shoulders relaxed a bit and you started slowly turning your head back to him. "I-uhm, I'm sorry, this is kind of embarrassing." You try to laugh it off and move on, not wanting to keep this going any longer than it has to. But Wrecker wants to make sure you're okay, he thinks you might be afraid of him, did he do something wrong?

"Are you okay? You know I won't hurt you right?" He paused a bit nervously, whilst your heart dropped. "I know I'm tall an'-an' I have all these scars but-"

"Wrecker I'm not afraid of you." You sigh sadly, facing him fully and putting your hands on his cheeks.

"Then what is it?" He has those big, beautiful puppy dog eyes, pleading with you to tell him.

"That's something I don't know if I'm ready to talk about yet, but when I am, I will tell you. But don't ever think it's you, I feel safe when I'm with you, okay?"

"Alright, jus' tell me if anything's wrong alright? I'm here for ya"

That night you cuddled, and you told him, he was supportive and listened the entire time. He wiped your tears if you cried and made sure to validate all of your feelings. He made sure you knew he was always right here when you need him.

Tech

Tech liked to observe you quite a lot, not in a creepy way though. Like, sometimes he may notice when you look at something a little too long, now he knows what to get for your birthday. He also notices your behaviors, your nostrils fairing when you are about to cry, the smile you give when you're shy, the... random flinching you have when somebody gets too close?

Tech was very intrigued when he noticed the reoccurring twitches you would have when somebody's hand would fly by your face, or something would slam a little too loudly. He decided to do some research on it (duh)

He found a lot about Tourette Syndrome, tic disorders, and one-sided friendships. None of those things seemed to be the cause of this. So, he dug a bit deeper, coming across an article on the effects of being yelled at. This eventually lead him down a spiral of articles about domestic violence. When he found he finally had enough information, he waited for an opportunity to approach you about the situation.

One evening, you were sitting in the co-pilots seat, having a light conversation with Tech about Banthas. He lifted his arm to hit a button or two on your side. Of course, he could have asked you to do it, but he didn't want to bother you whilst you were talking. That's when he again notices your flinch.

" Cyar'ika, why do you flinch?" He asks bluntly.

"What do you mean?" You had at least thought you did okay at hiding them, apparently not.

"You flinch when things get close to your face, or at quick loud noises. Why does that happen to you?" He says, looking at you as he slightly leans toward you and adjusts his goggles.

"Well, it's just a habit I guess." You try to shrug it off. Tech almost, almost, rolls his eyes, but refrains. He sits quietly, implying that you continue.

You start to sweat a bit and your breathing quickens slightly; he senses this immediately and realizes this might not have been the best wat to go about it. His eyes soften and he sits up a bit.

"Don't worry darling, you do not have to tell me if you wouldn't like to. It was just my curiosity getting to me." He offers a small smile, trying to make sure you're comfortable.

You nod and calm down, "I would like to tell you Tech... I just don't truly know what to say." You frown and watch as his eyebrows form a crease. It made you want to shrink into the chair.

"I could help you find the words if you would like." He offered, confusing you. He sensed this and began to explain further, "I have gathered intel, I could share and see if there are experiences you resonate with." He says matter of fact, yet his eyes expressed how much he cared for you in this situation.

You gave a nod, and he began asking you, respectfully, if you could relate to situations. When he understood what you had gone through, he slowly put his hand on your shoulder (to not cause a flinch) and told you that you are safe, and that he cared for you.

Echo

You and Echo were lying in bed with your leg thrown around his hip facing each other. You weren't really saying anything, just enjoying each other's company while the others slept.

A few of your hairs had fallen into your face without you noticing it, Echo did. He gave a subtle smile and reached up to tuck it behind your ear. Before he could get to it, your eyes had shut, and you moved your head back. It took you a second to open your eyes, but when you did, they opened to a puzzled look on Echo's face.

"What's that about?" He asked.

"Just wasn't expecting it." You tried to play it off, but he could see right through you.

"Are you alright? What going on?" He questioned softly, moving his hand to rub your shoulder.

"It's just something that happens to me I guess, a result of my home life. Sorry, you shouldn't worry, I've been working on it." The furrow in his brow deepens.

"You don't have to apologize, Cyare, there's nothing to apologize for." He reassured you, and puts his hand back up, halfway to your face. "Is this alright?" You take a deep breath and nod, he puts the stray hair behind your ear and gives you a sweet smile. "You don't ever have to be afraid of me, Angel, I would never ever lay a hand on you like that." He looked at you earnestly.

An unknown tension in you released, "I love you, Echo."

"I love you too, Sweetheart, you're safe here."

Crosshair

Crosshair wouldn't know what to do about it at first, he's noticed you flinching around him on multiple occasions, but hasn't said anything.

He tells himself he doesn't take it to heart, but he does. He doesn't know why your doing that, he has no reason to believe it's him. Is what he trying to think. But in actuality, he's thinking the exact opposite.

As your relationship was building, he began to see how stupid he was being. But it happened again as he went in to kiss you for the first time. He was leaning on his arm placed against the wall for support as he trapped you between it and him. Your faces were so close to each other, yet every bit he leaned in further he could see the small twitches in your face and neck. Your mouth had just tilted up towards his as he pulled away, leaving his one hand where it was rested on your hip. You could see the heartbroken look on his face, and you felt extremely guilty.

"Do I scare you?" He asked solemnly, looking away from you.

You put your hands on his cheeks and pulled him back, so his eyes could meet yours again. "No." You replied breathily.

"Then why-" He was sharply cut off by you.

"You haven't met-" You stopped yourself, taking a deep breath. "It's not because of you, and it never will be." You replied, somewhat bluntly. Crosshairs eyes widened a bit, he felt guilty and selfish for thinking the way he had.

"Darling- I'm sorry- I didn't-"

"You don't have to apologize." You sighed, putting your hand on top of the one resting on your hip. "I should have told you sooner, and I will explain more when I'm ready." He nodded and took his place closer to you again. You grabbed the nape of his neck and pulled him to your lips.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Yes, I did cry while writing this. This was completely self-indulgent, based on my experiences. I also stayed up all night writing this so you should like re-blog it or something like that *Hint Hint*

If you need help here is the number for the domestic abuse hotline: 737-225-3150 Trust me, reaching out is better than saying nothing, no matter what, you deserve to feel safe. My asks are always open.

Master List

Bruh that hit

bitch about to get BEAT by seokjin & i am ready ma'am

he wouldn't actually harm her physically.

let me rephrase.

he wouldn't actually harm her physically.

sorry i meant.

he wouldn't actually harm her physically.

Can I request cheater! Bonten Mikey (angst) but then regretted/ try to win her back? Thank you in advance!

TW- Cheating, implied abuse You didn't know how stressful running a gang could be- much less the biggest criminal organization in the whole of Japan. So you thought it might be best too give Mikey some space, give him time too himself and let him relax. You fully trusted Mikey, he's never betrayed your trust, never lied to you and never gave you a reason too doubt him. He was sweet to you, buys you the prettiest things and treats you like a princess. But, when you got back to his office, after being out for a couple hours, you could hear the sounds of skin-slapping and the creak of his desk. You didn't have too open his office door too know what was happening and you didn't, you doubted you could handle seeing Mikey like that, especially with another person, you knew he wasn't... as attentive as usual but, it wasn't too weird for you. Mikey just needs some alone time, you didn't think it would be anything like.. this. You didn't know how fast you ran out of the building, your head was so foggy, everything felt.. fake.

You knew you couldn't stay, that was it. You loved Mikey, promised too stay- he made you promise him over and over again until your throat was raw as he stared at you blankly. But, you couldn't take knowing that he was so intimate with someone else, so... physically connected to someone that wasn't you. You truly believed with everything that Mikey would never do something like that- like this to you. But then again.. you truly didn't know anything about Mikey, he never opened up, never gave you any unnecessary or personal details from his childhood or his life in general. You packed everything you could fit in your bag as soon as you got to the penthouse you shared with Mikey- well, not really shared.. he payed for everything, it truly was a beautiful penthouse but you couldn't stay. How long and how many you wondered, did he ever fuck women in the bed you shared together? Did he ever caress your cheek with the same fingers that were.. inside someone else...? Ever kiss you after kissing someone else? Ever.. ever spread your legs open and make love to you after he was done with someone else? Did he ever think of someone else as he fucked into you and told you he loved you? You knew he kept a stash of cash in the closet in case of emergencies, he told you if anything ever happened it would be there, should you need it, knowing he couldn't be with you all the time. It felt like a good reason so you took it, took a good couple thousand dollars, at least enough too last while you figured everything out and got far away from him. You couldn't.. go back after this, this was just too much. You knew realistically this could never be fixed and there was no going back for the both of you, you just hoped that Mikey would leave you be after he found you gone, would accept the note you left in place of your presence. It had been a couple hours after you left when he came home, exhausted and yearning too relax with you. He didn't like that you never came back to his office, but that was probably for the best, considering the session he had with that woman took a lot longer then he thought, but it's no big deal, her pussy wasn't nearly as tight as yours anyway. He quickly became irritated when he kept calling your name, you know he hates repeating himself, you've had bruises before, physically showing you how much he hated repeating himself. But, he'd just have to teach you anothe rlesson, be a little firmer with you this time. He froze when he saw the room you shared together a mess, clothes thrown about and the closet door open, the room was a mess the bedsheets were tossed and the gun he kept hidden away behind the clothes in the closet were gone. He had immediately grabbed his phone, planning too have all of his executives out looking for you, assuming it was a kidnapping at first. Until he saw the note, the white paper crinkled and under messy, crinkled blankets. Assuming it was a ransom note, he snatcjed it, eyes looking for a sum of money, when he didn't find one, he read over the paper carefully, making sure he didn't miss a word.

"Mikey, I truly don't know how too start this note... something like this has never happened before- never thought it would happen to be honest with you. I never thought you would do something so... unforgiving, after all the moments we shared together. The way you'd hold me when I cried, the way you'd kiss my tears away. I never knew a man like you could be so gentle, but you were. You held me, treated me like fragile glass, sometimes I thought, that you thought I would break if you were too rough. The way you would hold me while you made love to me, made me promise too stay and I did, but.. I can't anymore after hearing you in your office with someone else. The thought of you being so intimate with someone breaks me.. it'll break me for a while. I don't think I could ever look into those beautiful onyx eyes that I love- use too love. Knowing you've looked into others eyes as you did mine. I can't bare the thought of you holding someone as they called out your name, kissed you as they yearned for your touch. I promised too stay... but this is the only promise I'll ever break to you. I love you, more then anything, I'll always love you even when I'm gone. I just wished you'd feel the same. Goodbye Manjiro Sano, hopefully forever." There were wet spots on the note, bleeding through the paper as he got to the end. Reaching up to his burning eyes, they were wet, vision clouding and becoming blurry as his wet lashes stuck together. The salty tears ran down his cheeks as his hand started too shake and his breathing became heavier. He was struggling too breathe, too understand the note, his head was foggy and blank.. but also over-whelming with different scenarios of you, he doesn't even recognize his own voice when it comes out hoarse and rugged. You're walking out of his life, and as you wanted, possibly forever. "I can't... that can't happen angel. You can't leave- can't leave me. You promised and I won't let you break that promise. You'll understand how much I love you when I get you back" He pulled his phone out, calling Sanzu too immediately track you down, you belonged with him- with home. You were- are everything to him, the only thing left that he holds close. He's selfish, he knows that, he knows why you left but he didn't actually think you would... his chest hurts, feels like it's caving in on itself. He needs you, more then he thought, he can't and he won't let you leave- let you just walk away from him like this. Over his dead body.

plus, it had "trans x character" and "forced feminization", it is a no-no

"🍇/non-con" tag + "fucking machine" tag on a single work made me wanna drink chlorine even when i haven't read it

Finally reposted (and published to ao3). Might throw it on Wattpad. I don't know.

Sun at Night (夜に太陽)

@ayaisokay / Yoru Ni Taiyō / M.H

Short story for 1K word prompt challenge

Ishi awoke violently, escaping subconscious terrors, and grounding himself within vivid sensations of reality.

With arms involuntarily outstretched, Ishi breached the cold air. Incidentally, they moved with ample pace, enough to induce pain. His left arm had jerked out and hit the wall at the side of his bed.

The pain preceded the sound. "Yume!" He winced. His stutter was like an echo of the thud that reverberated throughout the small shelter.

"Sis?" He called out once more, finally sitting up and looking towards Yume’s rocking chair. It was empty.

With a shudder and a shiver, Ishi got to his feet and analysed the shelter. He took care to avoid long glances at the mirror. But he did notice a new crack, and a droplet of blood obscuring his image.

That of a pale, meek boy, with short bed-worn hair, puffy cheeks, and brown eyes that hastily avoided the sight of their face’s softness— a contrast to other boys his age. The subtlety of his chin was a sore spot, his visible bindings too.

With a forced smile, he concealed his body with rags.

Between the warning signs of mould setting in, and the cracks on the cold floorboards, Ishi was certain, the mess he called home hadn't notably changed.

Safe for additional discardings of hair, clumsily brushed to the corners of the room.

Ishi wished he could help Yume as much as she helped him. She cut his hair nice and short and helped him bind his chest with lace and leather. She'd been working to buy fabric so Ishi could enjoy some comfort. But, she wouldn't let him join her for any of her work— not even the jobs that hurt her.

She was bad at hiding new bruises and sore spots, or the redness in her eyes. Ishi didn't get why she didn't ask for help. Yume always told him he was strong.

But the thought vanished.

He spotted blood by the door that was left slightly ajar. It was softly illuminated by a mix of distant village lamps and the moonlight. It evoked great concern.

"I’ll help this time." ishi promised, hoping to finally be of use to his big sister.

His decision was in spite of Yume warning him against staying up. She’d told him a journey awaited them tomorrow.

Yet, Ishi quickly set about the door and got onto the stone path anyway.

He was used to walking barefoot. He outgrew his last pair of shoes. Unfortunately, nightly walks were new, and Ishi struggled to avoid sharp pebbles that prompted his small feet to rise with haste.

The dancing luminosity of fire light was not as reliable as it was beautiful.

Though Ishi couldn’t help but ponder the fire that guided him as walked the arching path, seeking the village’s closed off river. One encased by trees.

The fire was pleasant and warm with a gentle hum. There was safety. It reminded him of Yume. But, to get too close, well, even such beautiful things could cause harm. Maybe that’s why Yume never let him help, he assumed.

“You wouldn't hurt me.” Ishi thought aloud as he reached his destination, only to be halted at the foot of the river’s opening. A light thud, followed by hushed whispers, took him from his thoughts. For what they lacked in mutual tone they made up for in synchronised intensity. A lover’s spat? A fight? Ishi wasn't sure.

Slowly he drew nearer the river’s opening, sticking to the side opposite the whispers, about 10 metres away. He oriented himself around the tree slowly, using it to shield himself while I leaned out and peeked.

The tree was less comfortable than grass or smoothed stone on his bare feet. His hands were reddened from his hard grip on the tree. There was no salvation in its holes either— but Ishi was thankful for that. Disturbing a bird nest wouldn't have helped him right about now. Though he wasn't sure what could help. When the first figure came into view, Ishi’s breath grew short and his throat tight.

A bearded man, noble by the looks of his cloak and the silk of his shirt. He was leaning over someone, a hand placed towards them, and another stretched towards the river, holding Yume’s knife.

At that moment, Ishi couldn't help but wonder if Yume had been helping hurt people. He feared that's why they had to leave tomorrow. But, he couldn't accept that thought— “she wouldn't,” he decided silently. Finally turning enough to bring more of the scene into view.

A slender girl, flat at her chest with bruised skin that was otherwise pale. She stood adorned in rags, now freshly cut at the waist where a dampness had begun to form. Her face was obscured by a hand that forced her head against the tree opposite Ishi’s.

The man kept her turned away— leaving only slightly torn hair in view. “You help me enjoy the night, and I give you money to fill your rotten gob.” The man hissed, before lurching her towards him. Kneeing her gut, and twirling to toss her closer. She landed in the middle, by the edge of the river bank.

“Trying to use a toy like this? Well, you can forget about the deal… Boy.” The man snarled.

As he turned to look upon the girl, Ishi’s heart ceased its rapid rhythm. He became a candle, extinguished by grief.

The girl’s brown eyes met Ishi’s in mutual recognition. Her pain heightened by the man’s last words, and her defeat spelled by the presence of kin.

An innocent brother, and his defiled sister. But Yume wasn't the only one to spot her beloved brother.

“You shouldn't have come here; you have ruined us both.” She whispered, trying to get to her feet and position herself between Ishi and the man. But her steps were unsteady, and she was quickly knocked down. Wetness and blood trailing her legs.

“Well, perhaps you can keep the welp’s deal.”

Tearfully, Ishi remained in place, struggling for air, to compose himself, or command his limbs. He knew this man.

“D-dad?”

A Different Kind of Deal

((Aka: What if Husk made a few more bad gambles and ended up under contract as the eternal lapcat to a less merciful Overlord?))

Gay stalker story part 4 I wake up half asleep and notice how he's grabbing on to me so tight that he's accidentally punctured holes through my shirt with his fingertips touching my chest. His frail body that's usually shaking and trembling looks somewhat at peace for the first time I've seen. He noticeably has a boner which is a little uncomfortable, so I move him to the side, but his grip strengthens even though he's asleep. So I decided to drift back off to sleep. When I wake up, I see him standing up wearing my clothes.”i- I am so sorry, your scent was just so good I needed to wear it.” It's okay, I say, but we have to get you out of here before my mom sees you. I open up the window. “but- but we'll walk to school together, right?” Okay, just wait outside my house. “No, but I wanted to make you breakfast!” I'm sorry, but no, my mom will see you and wonder what you're doing in the house. she doesn't even know you. “oh ok…” he climbs out my window and plops down into the backyard. I go downstairs, grab some breakfast for me and him, and run outside. here. “Oh my God, thank you! You didn't have to. I'm so sorry.” Don't apologize, it's okay. eat, I don't want you to starve. “you don't? Sorry, it's just people who said I looked better like this than before I was starving. my parents barely ever get food, but even when they do, I don't want to eat, to be honest. I don't want to ruin those people's perception of me if they like me this way instead.” Oh god, no. Of course, I don't want you to starve. I'm so sorry people have said that to you. He hugs me tighter. “I'm so happy my brain chose someone that's kind-hearted. Unlike last time, when my brain chose someone who didn't treat me nearly as nice as you do.” All I did was give you breakfast. “But I don't deserve anything. In fact, I deserve to be punished. Like severely.” his shirt sags down, revealing marks on his back. How mean was your past obsession? “Oh I wouldn't call them mean. They were just doing what's right, what I deserve. I would never blame them.” his eyes start to get watery. Well, I don't know. If they weren't treating you right, they don't sound very nice to me. “Thank you for being so wonderful.” Hey, it's okay, you don't need to thank me. I'm just doing what I feel is right.

Nice

The boys that prime lol

Do not like without reblogging please.