You woke up to the sound of chatters and whispers. What baffled you was the pitch-black sight. As if you're in the basement with no source of lights as your guides. Another thing you noticed was that your hands were behind your small back, tied together with ropes.

Ropes? are you abducted?

"Hello, everyone. Today we welcome the arrival of this young girl."

Your eyes, behind the cloth of the blindfolds, were wide open as the realization hit you. That voice- you know whom it belongs to;

It was Suguru Getou's. Your older brother. Your long-lost, older brother.

Your lips are trembling at the sound of his voice. It's been ten years. Ten fucking years since you last saw him. You were just eight years old when he left you. You're just a little kid growing up in the neighborhood of Tokyo. Just a girl with ordinary life, loved by her parents and brother. Brother,

You cackled softly. Does the man really love you? Considering how he was the one who made you suffer, the one who destroyed your life. The one who made you an orphan?

You never thought listening to the sound of his voice could make you feel this way. After all that was said and done, you still couldn't hate him. You and your all kindness couldn't say ''I hate you'' to him. And all because you cherished the memories you had of him.

It made you wonder, what about him? does he hate you? The last time he saw you, he said he does;

The sudden yanking of the blindfold made you gasp. And there, you were faced with so many people in front of you. All of them vary from men to women bowing down at you as if you're their God. You're still in your outfit- you were supposed to be heading to college. Jesus, how many days has it been?

You look around. You're surrounded by these people, and you can't run to the door; without a doubt, all of these people will catch you and bring you back to him.

Your chin was softly tapped, and he brought your face to him, making you face him.

Your eyes were wide. You couldn't help but blush when you were face to face with Suguru again.

He changed. His eyes were a heavy glint of despair and evil, and his hair was longer. Even though your brother still ties his locks, the strands of his growing hair were behind his back. You almost smiled when you saw his piercings- it surprised you, to say the least. How he doesn't get rid of them.

"Nii-chan, you'd look so handsome with piercings!"

"Really? well, since my little sister says I'll look handsome with them, I'll get it done."

You thought about how happy you were when he was your brother.

"Hello, again." He greeted you, smiling so wickedly it made your stomach churn.

The Suguru that resides in your memory wasn't the Suguru you're facing now. He wore a Buddhist-style kimono, the silk faintly brushing against your skin. It was nice. It must be expensive, you thought to yourself the more he stared at you. The Suguru you used to know had a loving aura whenever you were with him. The Suguru you remembered wouldn't abduct you and tie your hands together like this. Your innocence made you blind- you failed to realize that he's no longer your brother.

"O-oniichan...''

"Ah, ah, ah, it's Geto- sama for you, lovely."

You blinked, seemingly confused.

He finds it amusing as he mockingly laughs at you. "Honestly, (y/n) who is oniichan? I'm Suguru Geto. Do you know that?"

You didn't realize that you have tears on your cheeks. Suguru's words to an onlooker may be just words. But to you, his blood sister, it is a declaration of your bonds being severed. The memory of 10 years ago, the night he murdered his parents came to mind. The day he left you all alone with nightmares and sorrows as your company failed to bore a hatred fruit.

How can you hate him? He's your brother. The blood pumping in your veins is the same as his. The memory of eating ice creams together and cuddling with each other was too precious, too evergreen for you to throw it away.

"Say it for me. Say, "yes, Geto- sama," he whispered, smirking at you.

You were hesitant, your eyes looking at him and then peeking at the many people bowing in front of you and him. "Yes,, Geto- sama..." you replied meekly.

"Good! very good. You're still as obedient as I remember, little sister," he smiled as you felt the palm of his hands cupping your cheeks together like he used to do when you were sulking.

Why are you here? You find yourself asking. What was the reason for your abduction to this place? You looked at him again, pleading with your eyes for answers.

"Ah, you must be wondering why you're here, right sister?" he pauses, clicking his tongue at your obviousness.

"Why don't I show you?" he sweetly smiled, later tearing open your dress and prompting you to scream. Your eyes were wide open as you screamed for him to get away from you. God knows how much you struggled, backing away from his as much as your body allows you to with tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Please," you plead, disgusted with his hands on the strap of your bra as he removed it from you, "please, let go! please, oniichan-"

Your skin stung from the brute force of Geto's slap. Your head was turning to the right when he slapped you.

It managed to keep your mouth shut. But you're still crying. And it's not just from the slap, but because all your life, Suguru never laid his hands on you. He was always so gentle and loving, smiles adorning his handsome features, and he would press kisses whenever you cried.

But this Suguru Geto has abducted and assaulted you, far from the brother you used to know.

"Didn't I fucking tell you? It's Geto- sama. Not oniichan."

He glared at you, and later his lips were moving into the shape of a smirk.

"A monkey like you doesn't deserve to be my sister.''

By the time you were sobbing, he was in between your trembling legs, and in front of this many people, he tore away your skirt and later grabbed the hem of your panties and,

As pathetic as your miserable life could be, he slides them away, not even bothering to pull them down and toss them aside. Like a common whore, he only did that much.

"Please,, don't..."

"Now, now, you know I only want this,'' you screamed when he cupped your pussy, "right here, don't you baby?" he asked, his tone was sickeningly sweet.

No, no, please...Geto- sama... I don't want to, don't want this..."

Was he really doing this to you? Was he really going to rape you in front of this many people? Was he really going to commit incest with...you? His little sister?

"Didn't he care about you? love you?" His voice was low, whispering into your ears so closely, "Was what you're asking yourself, right, (y/n)?" He beamed at you- a smile that doesn't resemble him from the past. The ones you engraved in your brain were different from what he showed you now.

Dumbly, you nodded at his question, afraid he'd get mad at you for not answering.

Laughing, he cooed, "Times have changed. The old me that you once knew is not the present me. I've already told you that night after I killed your parents, remember?"

You shut your eyes tightly from the painful memories. Splashes of blood, two lifeless bodies lying on the ground before your eyes, and eight-year-old you crying for oniichan to save you. Even though it was obvious, that he was the one who executed them.

That night continues to haunt your every waking and sleep hour. Because of Suguru, you have nightmares. Because of him, you're getting therapy sessions every once a week. Because of that night, you're afraid of blood.

"Please,,,'' begging like an idiot, you try to search for his sympathy.

He laughed in your face, reaching out behind you and easily tugging the ropes that bound you. It falls on the tatami floor underneath you.

You realize that you're half-naked, with your panties slid to the side of your thighs. Embarrassed at the eyes prying on your naked figure, you try covering yourself with your now freed hands.

But he's quick to catch them and gripped your bones so tightly you squealed from the new pain.

"Don't you fucking dare try covering yourself, pathetic slave."

You're trembling from the fear that you never thought you'd feel again.

"Your body and soul are all mine. They're worshipping me, and you will, too. This is why you are here for."

Suguru thought about how pathetic you are when you're shaking your head from side to side. Your face says you don't want this, along with your tears. They speak for themselves.

It's not bad of him to think that he doesn't give a shit about what you want, right?

His cock was already hard from the minute he slid your dress away, and his eyes were met with your beautiful breasts. What's even more precious is when he slid your panties away and was met with your flushing folds, the clit hidden away slightly.

He bit his lips, and your crying face heightened his arousal even more.

"Come on, worship me, Your God!" he caught your legs and spread them apart, which caused you to cry out even more from fear and disgust.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, he's going to!

"No, please!" You screamed, your cries ringing in the cramped room. Everyone is looking at you and him. You look away, shutting your eyes with those beautiful blushing cheeks Suguru loved.

"Please, Geto- sama... please..." You tried pleading again, but he ignored you and spread your legs wider (if possible), making your cunt visible for everyone in this room to see. You felt your cheeks reddening even more. He was behind you, pressed so closely you froze when your butt felt the hardness of his cock.

He slid his hands down your shoulders, causing you to flinch, and later, it found its way to your pretty flower folds.

You're shaking your head with tears yet again.

"Look at them!" he hissed at you, gripping your chin to face straight ahead, in front of his worshippers. Your tears were gathering in the palm of his hand, wetting them more. Your lips were trembling more and more, as he spoke to his audience.

"Today, all of you will get to see me breed this girl, and create a world of sorcerers. Soon, she will birth my future kins, and I will rebuild my world."

What the fuck is he saying? is he... is he serious?

"Listen, (y/n), nii-san may not be there on time when you need me, but I want you to know, nii-san loves you, ok?"

"nii-san! why are you telling me this?"

"nii-san just want you to know, nii-san will never hurt you. And nii-san will always love you, no matter what he does, ok?"

It's ok, it's ok. It's nii-san. He will always love me, always, always...

You heard the shuffling of clothes, and you saw him undoing his obi, the nagajuban part of his kimono was already away from his shoulders, revealing his torso.

Bile rose in your throat, and tears won't stop painting your skin.

Nii-san will never hate me. He lied, he lied... he will always love me, right?

You thought to yourself, even when Suguru was sliding away the rest of his robes from his body, his fingers spreading apart your folds and teasing you in front of his followers.

"You will give yourself to me like a good slave. You will let me squeeze myself inside you and pump my cum into your womb until you're fat with my babies. You hear me?" He grabbed your chin, making you face him slightly.

You're crying, yet again with your pathetic blubbers.

"Look at the inside of her pussy. It's all pink and untouched, don't you think so?" he says, and you hid your face into his chest, crying even more when he spreads your folds even farther, making you uncomfortable and slightly in pain from the stretch.

"Please, don't..."

Your face is buried on his chest, shutting your eyes when he continues to spread your folds and tease you with two of his fingers. You tried moving away. The plan is to crawl from his body. You didn't care anymore if his followers caught you. You would rather die trying.

"Please, no. Please,," God was apparently a sadist because He only allows you a few seconds to be freed from Suguru's hold before you're in his arms again. This time, you're underneath him.

When he dragged you and trapped you with his body, he slammed your head roughly against the tatami floor, and you let out a pained cry. You swore your vision went black for a second from the impact. You lay there, with tears continuously flowing from your eyes.

"How dare you try to run away from me, you low-life monkey." He speaks enough for the people in the room to hear him. As if he wanted everyone to listen to what he says, even though it's clear that the one he's humiliating is you.

He smirked, his hands suddenly grabbing your throat and clenching hard, almost breaking your windpipe. You coughed, little hands desperately grabbing his much bigger arms.

"How dare you, trying to escape from me like that," he grabbed his cock, aligning the muscle to probe directly against your hole. His laughter resonated yet again when he realized...

"You're not even wet? How rude of you to come unprepared before your God. I guess I'll have to improvise," he spits into his palm before smearing the liquid all over his length. You don't even want to look at it, too afraid and disgusted.

For someone who swore they won't hurt you, this fucking hurts.

"No, please... I don't want this..." You whispered in tears when you felt the head of his cock probing your hole, trying to get inside you.

"Shut up, you're annoying me." He barked, pushing the head finally inside you, passing the tight rim first.

"Ah!" You screamed, the foreign feeling of having something (even if it's just the head) inside you too overwhelming for you. Your hands move on their own- you clutched his arms so tightly he swore it'll leave a mark with your nails.

He pushed into you, tearing open your hymen. His chest was pushed against yours. Your screams resonated in the room when Suguru kept pushing into your bleeding pussy. You could see his head was thrown back and his eyes closed from the pleasure of having a virgin.

"Well, at least you're a good girl,'' he chuckled, ramming his cock inside you to test the water with your hands still gripping his.

"Please, don't...move!" You cried out, tears pooling in your eyes when he stopped for a while, observing you.

His eye caught sight of the crystal blue hairpin that you wore. He gifted them to you when you were 3 years old. He has asked for Shoko's advice on what to get for your birthday, and hairpin it was. His heart sank a little, a frown on his face.

You still wear them? Even after all these times?

He ignored you, pushing away that sympathy he felt for you, and fucked you despite your cries of pain.

"No... no, oniichan, it hurts!"

The moment you screamed, his hands were gripping your throat once again, tightening as hard as he could in an attempt to kill you. Your eyes were staring at him from pain- and he loved how you panicked. The soft hands that were on the floor are now gripping his arms.

"How.many.fucking.times," he squeezed harder, listening to your choked moans.

"Do I have to fucking tell you, bitch? It's Geto- sama, for you."

He found pleasure when you choked, crying, and the way your insides clenched with every hard thrust he gave you. The only thing his mind yearned for was to breed your pussy full of potent cum and see you get pregnant before his eyes. And have as many children as he wants with you and,

Finally killing you, just like he killed his parents 10 years ago.

''P-p- please..." your choked whispers were heard amidst the sound of his worshippers and his thrusts, and he thought briefly, that he loves you all flushed and humiliated in front of his followers. Your eyes were staring at his, crying out for him to stop.

"Please, what?" he taunted you, fucking you even harder and you let out a squeak from the new pain.

"Plea- please, stop... it hurts, Geto- sa- sama..."

He ignored you, and you didn't know which hurts more- the fact that your brother raped you, or it's because he treated you like a stranger?

"You can take it. Women's hole is to be used for this and for giving birth. If you can't handle a cock, how can you give birth to healthy babies?"

A tear trickles on your skin at his words, hurt by the lack of empathy he provided for you.

You shake your head, sobbing. "I can't... it really... really hurts..."

He lets go of your throat, pounding you harder now that he held your waist in place. But you're still fucking crying, much to his dismay.

"It hurts, please...!" You glanced down to see where he plunged himself into you, raping you. Your widened eyes were entertaining his sadistic tendencies.

"Geto-sama, I'm bleeding..." you almost passed out when you saw the trickle of blood in between your thighs- you hate it, you hate it, it reminded you of that night.

Your whimpers are music to his ears. He knows you must've been afraid of blood after the night he slaughtered his parents. You're shaking even more when you saw the crimson liquid, sobbing like a fucking kid.

He loves it, hurting you.

His hands gripped your chin, turning your face to the right so you could look at all these people, the men hard. You were fucked by their God, and he loves the way you clenched harder at the humiliation, a reminder, that you belonged to him. That he's your Geto-sama.

"You stupid bitch, you think I care about you?"

"(y/n), careful! or else you'll trip!"

''I don't care if you're my blood sister. I don't even care when I killed my parents."

"(y/n), -chan, you need to wait for oniichan before you could cross the road on your own. I don't want you to get hurt, baby."

"You're only a pussy to fuck, to birth my children."

"Here, hold my hand so you won't get lost, ok?"

"You know what I'm gonna do to you once you've done your role?"

"(y/n), do you hate me for leaving you every week?"

"I'm gonna kill you, and send you to hell."

"niisan will come back, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"Make sure you take all of my cum, you stupid monkey. Take all, or else you're going to get a beating from me, alright?"

He fucked you so hard, that when he shoot his seeds into your womb, it felt so painful and you screamed so hard from the pain.

.

.

.

.

.

It's been a month since that day. The day you were taken away and raped in front of many people. You gently sobbed when you saw the pregnancy test that Suguru and his secretary forced you to take said positive.

"Great! you're pregnant!'' This was the first time Suguru felt so happy, the first time in 10 years. And it was sadly not because he met you again, but there's a baby inside you, one that he's been crazy about for the past month. So crazy that he raped you every day, every hour, not even bothering to tend to your wounds and left you alone the minute he pumped his seeds into you.

He cupped your flat stomach, happy that his seeds created a fetus that would later be born as his child. And before long, he'd put another one into you.

"You're so perfect, my love. A perfect bitch to use for fucking babies." His voice hung in the air, sank into every fiber in your being. He didn't even have the decency to not degrade you like that in front of his secretary, his family.

"Listen, now that you're pregnant with my child, I want to remind you." He grabbed your chin, squeezed your cheeks together, and cursed you.

"You mean nothing to me. You're not my family member, and never will be. This baby is the only family I regard from you. You're just a host for my children."

He lets you go, pushing you away so hard, that you let out a sob.

"And if the baby is useless monkey just like you are, I'll kill it, until you give birth to the ones I want," he grinned at you, so eerily.

You're afraid. Afraid of this monster. You slowly cup your stomach, and the thought of Suguru killing your baby frightens you.

Not only does he has and will ruin your life, but also this baby will be crushed too if it doesn't turn out the way he desires.

warnings: explicit/dark content, 18+ MINORS DNI. heavy themes of SA/noncon (only mentions, none during the duration of the story), PTSD, and hyper-sexuality as a trauma response. chapters will contain smut, fluff, and angst, and all warnings will be appropriately tagged per chapter. reader discretion is extremely advised!

notes: after nearly 8 months of sitting in my drafts, i finally think i’m ready to publish this long-fic. this story is extremely personal to me (in fact, it closely mirrors my own experiences), and so while it may not be the most immersive nor relatable, it’ll give you the most insight into who i am as a person and what i care about. hajime in this story is an homage to my loved ones who were there for me post-assault— a mixture of their amazing traits and caring actions that helped me through dark times. all in all, this fic is a love letter to those around me, to the area i grew up in, and to myself for overcoming something that i thought i never would.

special thanks to: @christeningsakusa for beta-reading and @bxnten for helping me with the masterpost!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

the crooks that try to steal your heart

us in a king-size, keep it a secret

put your hands on my body (and see the real me)

lock it up and put me in your pocket, love

why aren’t you smiling? (W.A.Y.S.)

epilogue | a final word from the author

If earlier it was dark, now you could see clearly.   

Your fear was overwhelming your system. Your hiccups were filling the small basement, and your eyes looking back and forth at Satoru and towards your brother.   

Your lips were trembling with your soft pleas for help. You wanted help. You need them. You begged Suguru, your brother, for help, but he ignored you. As if you’re not even there, he ignored you.   

In front of you, Satoru and Nanami were kneeling on each side of your body. The sound of your shattering heart could be heard from the distance, as you wondered what did you deserved to be treated like this? What did you ever do to any one of them?   

The reunion you had in mind was far away from what you imagined, when Satoru and Nanami said they’d take you to see Suguru, Your brother who ran away after murdering your parents, leaving you behind.  

“y/n, do you want to see Suguru?”  

“We found his location. We just want you to see him again after all these years.”   

“But I’m not sure, Satoru. He… he hates me…”  

“Everything will be alright, y/n. you got me and Nanami, after all!”  

They did bring you here. And you could feel the want to hug niisan after 5 years. But then, his eyes were showing you how much he hates you, and Satoru as well as Nanami suddenly pushed you on the tile, surprising you.  

Before you knew it, the two of them held you down on the ground with your screams resonating throughout the room.   

“You can scream all you want, y/n. No one can hear you. I’ve put up a veil to hide us all,” Satoru chuckled earlier, grinning at you while his hands were holding you down.   

“I don’t normally like overtime, but I’ll let this one slide. It’s a fun, after all.” Nanami’s face was stoic. You couldn’t read him at all. You never could understand the man.  

Why… why are they doing this to you?   

You glanced once in a while to see your brother’s expression, but all he did was stare at the three of you, pretending as if he was not here watching you. As if you’re not here, he ignored you.   

“And you called me to come here, only to bring her here?” ah, finally your brother speaks, eyeing you with a look of pure disgust. “What’s the meaning of this, Satoru, Nanami?”  

Yeah. What is the meaning of this? And why are you being held down by the people who brought you here? What is going on?  

You let out a sob when Satoru laid his hands on your cheeks, gripping your skin with that sickening grin he had on. Something inside your grin is telling you that they don’t mean well. They’re going to hurt you. They-  

“You always said how non sorcerers are evil, right, Suguru? so I- we, thought about proving you wrong.”  

What?   

“Oh? How so?” the cockiness in your brother’s voice got the best of you, as you stared into his eyes for comfort. Wanting him to hold you and save you like he used to.   

“We’re going to rape your precious little girl in front of you. Us sorcerers are not that nice you know, Suguru?”   

His words sank into your stomach, leaving a dreaded feeling. Your eyes widen, staring at all three of them in disbelief at what they just said.   

Rape. Rape. They’re going to fucking rape you-  

“No! no, oniichan, don’t let them- please don’t let them… no!”   

You’re sobbing by now, struggling to get away from them with your smaller limbs trying to push both men away. But they just simply chuckle at your feeble attempts and hold you down further.  

You let out a shriek when Nanami tears open your buttons to reveal your bra softly cupping your breasts. You’re half-naked now.   

“We knew this was going to happen, but don’t worry, Suguru! I know how much my best buddy hates it when they don’t shut up, so for your entertainment purposes, we’ll make sure to shut her up well!” Satoru turned to his best friend and gave him finger guns as if everything that was going on right now was a game. A game. They’re playing a game of who’s nicer? Sorcerers or non- sorcerers?   

A bile rose in your throat when they chuckled, looking at you with the desire of a man, wanting to ruin a girl.   

“Now, now, y/n, don’t be scared, we’re just going to show your precious niisan who’s the real menace in society. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs or it’ll hurt more if I do it for you~” he tee-heed, that stupid grin he had plastered on his cheeks with his eyes staring at you, under his blindfold.   

“No… no! oniichan!” you screamed, looking at your older brother for help but finding him enjoying the sight, “Oniicha, help me!” you screamed, struggling again to get their hands off you.   

“Don’t let them, please…” You sobbed, closing your eyes now when you felt Nanami’s hands sliding on your thigh. He spreads your legs, and slowly inched his hands on the hem of your panties. Despite your protest, he yanked the cloth down to reveal your precious cunt for all of them.   

You buried your face into your hands, sobbing even more.   

“Shh… don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with you,” Nanami whispered, but Satoru howled at the younger man’s words.   

“Gentle? Are you fucking a virgin or something?”   

Everyone was silent, staring at you. You weren’t exactly sure what they were thinking, until…  

“She must be a virgin. I bet she never kissed anyone yet.”   

Suguru… your brother said that…  

“Fuck, I just want her even more. Nanami, move over I wanna see her pussy.”   

You cried out, shaking your head in protest. “No! don’t touch me! Please, no!”  

“Oniichan, don’t let them…” You sobbed from defeat, crying on the cold floor that pushed you on.  

Until Nanami reached for the panties you were wearing and shoved them down your throat.  

It caught you by surprise.   

You let out a sob with tears running down your cheeks when Satoru’s fingers are spreading your folds, his grin is on his face.   

It made your stomach churn. The feeling of his two fingers spreading your most intimate part. You hate this. You recalled the times when Suguru used to tell you that you shouldn’t let a boy see you there- for any reason, you’re not supposed to, unless you’re over 18 and you’re willing. But now that you’re older, you’re not willing in this situation and it hurts knowing there he is, your brother, who told you to keep yourself sacred and away from boys, watching your pussy getting spread by his own best friend. 

You hate it. The burning feeling of betrayal from Satoru and… Nanami…   

You expect better from Nanami.   

He was chuckling, his blue eyes keep staring at your flushed hole and clit. His fingers spread your folds and he just… stared, like he wanted to remember how it looked like with your doe eyes and mouth shoved with panties. Like he wants to remember this moment forever. He just stared at your spread pussy with a cynical grin.   

You realize that you have tears in your eyes as of now. The anxiety you felt when both are staring at you- Nanami is looking at your bare breast with his hands holding yours, and Satoru is staring at your pussy. Your brother… is looking from afar with no expression on his face.   

You screamed through the piece of cloth, closing your eyes and screaming at the top of your lungs, as hard as you could even though it was useless.   

“I love it when you scream. It’s expected, isn’t it?” you saw the man looking at Nanami, now with a smirk plastered on his face.   

“Just hurry up. There’s a line, Gojo.”   

A line. A line for the three of them.   

A chuckle was Satoru’s answer, and he turned to look at Suguru behind him with a smile. “You see this, Suguru?” He shifted a little, so your brother could see your bare pussy a little clearer. You jumped and whined when he was massaging your folds with his two fingers, still spreading you apart. “This is her precious pussy and it’s going to get ruined by me, the strongest sorcerer in this world.”  

You screamed through the thin cloth. Scream until your throat felt like it was burning and when Gojo was unbuckling his pants and later revealing his cock, you continued to scream through your panties and shut your eyes. No, no, this is not happening to you, right? None of this is happening to you, right? Gojo wouldn’t rape you, and Nanami wouldn’t comply with this- and your brother wouldn’t just sit there and watch you like this, right?   

“Now, now, sweetheart. Stop screaming or your throat will get hurt; and none of us are using it yet!” he pouted, spitting into his palm, and smearing the liquid along his length. Well, he can’t bruise your insides too much, right?   

He was happy to finally have you under him. He wasn’t even thinking of hurting you like his, but it’s a clever idea; besides, he can finally take revenge for what Suguru did to him. Leaving him behind without saying a proper goodbye? No one would ever escape Gojo Satoru’s wrath.  

He didn’t bother with extra prep; nor does he ever care about rubbing the head of his dick onto your opening. None of that shit. He wants to fuck you open in front of your brother immediately.   

The brute force was cruel. Immediately, the head of Satoru’s dick entered her pussy, passing the tight ring of muscle, and through the scream, the men could figure it all out; Suguru was right. She’s a virgin. From the way she shrieked it was enough answer. And without a doubt, as Satoru worked himself deeper, drilling, there’s blood dripping from where both of you were connected to show instead of saying that she’s no longer a little girl.   

A woman was born. In the most cruel, inhumane way.   

A strangled cry was heard. In agony she was. Nanami and Suguru watched as she wiggled around, closing her eyes and crying when Satoru stilled and stared right into her pained expression.   

“Aw, lil sis is not a virgin anymore, nii chan, look!” mockingly, satiru stared into his best friend’s face, staring back at him with a sly smirk. A knowing look that he knows.   

Some things never change.   

You prayed for it to stop. Your eyes glanced at your brother and you silently pleaded for his help, but he didn’t listen to your shameless silent cry. There’s no way.   

You gripped whosoever hand was holding yours when the older man started Moving his hips cruelly, not caring about her obvious discomfort.  

It was inhuman, cruel. Something not a sorcerer would do. With every thrust, her walls could feel it. Every painful slicking sound filled the veiled room. And every time her breast jiggled, Satoru made misogynistic remarks.   

Throughout the young teacher’s movements, your hands were gripping Nanami’s arm so hard; your pussy fluttered every time his friend went a little harder, and you hiccupped, begging.   

“Help, Nanamin...” you sobbed.   

And what did Dear gentleman Nanamin do? Ignoring you was their agenda. No sympathy and it was all a trap to get you to follow them.   

It’s like you were in a trance, getting fucked by Satoru Gojo in this Godforsaken place, away from other’s eyes, except for two men whom you knew all your life. Your body was moving forward and backward, the sound of your pussy getting pounded was so sickly, you wished it was a fucking dream- this is all a nightmare that never happened. Soon enough, you’ll wake up and realize all of this is just a nightmare.  

“Oh, God... how long am I going to go through this...?” babbling nonsense, you found yourself saying that out loud in front of the three men. And all that came was a soft cackle.   

Leaning down to your ear level, he whispered, “As long as we please, princess.”   

His thrust was getting sloppy, and before long, white liquids were poured into your untainted womb, until now. It was Satoru’s for the taking. He was indeed, the unwanted first.   

You were left lying on the tile, still hopelessly crying with your small hands on your cheeks and his cum spilling out a little.   

Silly of you to think Satoru would feel an ounce of sympathy.   

“Your turn, Nanami.” He stood up, backing away with his hands adjusting his belt, eyes still on you- his smirks say everything, that he loved what he did to you even though you said no.   

Crying your heart out from the traumatic experience, you felt Nanami standing up, and through hazy eyes, it was clear as day- he was taking off his coat, loosening his ties until it dropped somewhere on the cold tile, completely ignoring your distressed cries.   

“No, Nanamin...” With one last cry, you plead, but he had none of that; instead, he flipped you on your back, and with your leaking pussy in the display, ass in the air...  

He grinned evilly, listening to your pathetic sobs. He stroked his raging hard-on while staring at your torn pussy, and, with a little nudging, the head of his dick was inside you.   

Your mouth was hanging in a silent scream, eyes bugging out and hands on the tile, nails clawing at nothing painfully as the sweet, big brother Nanami grunted at how tight you are and fucking your doggy style, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.  

No matter how many times you beg any one of them to stop, they just wouldn’t.   

So, it lasted for a few minutes. You weren’t counting and none of them are- it felt like it was an eternity as you listen to what Nanami said, about how tight you were, how good you feel, how his dick was molding your pussy, and how much he loved you. You want to laugh.   

Love?   

“You know, y/n, I’m glad I’m here, listening to Gojo instead of cramped in my office.” He leaned down to bite your ear as he whispered.   

Your wails? It meant nothing to him.   

“So glad I took this pussy. Although, I kinda wished I was the first.”   

“Quit it, Nanami. Just accept that it was me who fucked her first!” Satoru butt in, huffing at his friend.   

Suddenly, your chin was gripped, making you face Suguru, your older brother.   

You’re fucking ashamed. He’s watching you, a crazy grin on his face.   

“Now, Imoutou, watch your brother as Nanami cums into your pussy, ok?” Satoru says, laughing when you let out another pathetic cry.   

“Please, stop it!” you try to break free, hating the way the three men watch you. Loathing the way Satoru’s hands were on your chin, gripping tightly so you would watch Suguru’s stoic gaze.  

He didn’t flinch, not even once.   

Satoru was right when he said this would last for as long as they wanted because it felt like hours of them manhandling you, moving your body out of your will, and making you cry until you couldn’t cry anymore. What was left was that emptiness in your chest, as your body moved back and forth and the two men fucking you again and again.  

So many of their cums were stuffed inside your poor, torn, pussy, running down your legs and pooling under the ground you were lying on. So much was pumped inside your womb, that without a doubt, you would be pregnant by the two sorcerers. Whether you like it or not, there are already successful sperms entering your eggs.   

“Damn, I’m beaten,” Satoru spoke, letting go of your legs that were previously on his shoulders. You were sobbing so much, traumatized by their actions and your brother’s betrayal that you lost your voice.   

“Hey, y/n, say, you want me to take you to your favorite ice cream place tomorrow?”   

You couldn’t answer his useless questions, even if you wanted to.  

“You idiot. After all this, you think she would want ice creams?” At least Nanami was right about this.   

“Ah, on second thought, you’re right. Maybe she would prefer our creams inside her again?” A laugh came from the young teacher and your beloved brother...  

“Oi, oi, why are you not answering, you whimp?” His hands on your shoulder made you flinch, sobbing once again from the memory of what they just did.   

Your answers were only sobs, crying uncontrollably, feeling their mean nudges and curses at you; slut, bitch, stupid, dumbass, whore. You want them to stop. You’re not those things.  

Until Suguru finally stands in front of you, staring at you without any expression. You were pleading from your eyes for him to help you. To comfort you, to make it all ok again.   

But his next actions were not what you expected as he started opening his robes, showing you his raging hard-on.   

“Satoru, she went dumb and mute after you and Nanami raped her. Do you guys do not notice?”  

You were too tired to cry by the time Suguru starts pushing you on the floor again, and his cock starts entering your soaked pussy.   

It was warm. Before you know it, the burning feeling of the sun washes your skin. And what’s even more ridiculous is the sound of something moving here and there.  

You slowly opened your eyes and blinked. Once. Twice. Your eyes moved around, trying to recognize your surroundings. Deep down, you prayed that everything that happened was a lie- a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare- just a bad dream.  

Your ears registered the sound- a voice. No, it was multiple voices mixing, tangled with arguments and discussions, drowning in each other’s different opinions and how things should be handled; What are they arguing about? You wondered. Why are they arguing in front of you? 

Please, let you sleep in peace.  

You don’t wanna hear it.  

“…she’s awake…”  

Yeah, thanks to you. Thanks to you, I’m awake when I could’ve stayed sleeping.  

You could feel their hands on you. You try to fight and try to move away but your legs give out. There’s no way to run; you’re glued to the hard floor and your legs are jelly. Instead of fighting, you let them land their hands on you, around you, and carry you in their arms. Your head was pressed against someone’s chest.  

You try to control it. To be aloof as much as you can. But it didn’t work. 

When your eyes landed on the floor that you were lying on, a single tear fell from your eyes.  

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

“I heard you. I said what?”  

Yaga palmed his face. A look of disappointment, a face of despair was painted on both him and his student.  

He didn’t understand what was going on. The whole situation is a mess. He tried to comprehend this situation and tried to remain calm, collecting his mind from the shattering pieces. But when Yaga remembered the young girl he found at that house, the more he was slapped with the reality- the fact that his favorite student caused the damage. It was the truth that he refused to face.  

But it was so, oh, true.  

“I don’t know why this is happening. I, this is all so-“  

“Sensei, I said what?”  

“Satoru, I don’t get why this is happening either… why did he…?”  

“That boy, he did something even worse than this.”  

A sarcastic laugh erupted in the corridor, and Yaga looked at the boy in front of him. Confused. Is this a laughing matter? Or is Satoru too sarcastic? He hoped the latter.  

“I don’t know how you can laugh.”  

“it’s just fucking ridiculous he wouldn’t do such a thing!”  

Now that he’s shouting, Yaga knows this is bad. Tense. His pupil couldn’t grasp the fact that his best friend could turn their backs on their community. Perhaps, Satoru couldn’t accept that Suguru had turned his back on him. Either way, his heart aches.  

This is out of his fucking expectations.  

He swallowed saliva, rubbing his temples from the headache. “I know you’re confused but please stop and listen to me.”  

“Suguru is now a criminal. He killed his parents, Satoru. And not only that,” pausing, Yaga looked into the six-eye user’s blue iris.  

There’s a deep pause. Until he spoke.  

and his words made the 18-year-old boy gasp, he took a step back from Yaga and shook his head, in denial.  

Satoru. He did what he did. And there’s no denying that.  

It’s heartbreaking for me, too as his teacher. But for now, we have to be there for the girl.  

She needs us.

.

.

.

.

Utahime couldn’t disentangle how the girl in front of her must’ve felt.

Her eyes wandered, lingering on the young woman’s face. The corner of her bottom left lip was busted, and dried blood still surfaced on her cuts, even after Shoko had sodden the wound earlier in the day. Her eyes were closed, her chest heaving up and down as a sign that she was slowly breathing. Approximately four hours after they arrived, she was rushed to the Jujutsu School's infirmary room for treatment. Shoko has gotten better in her medical studies (well, she’s the only one who pursued Jujutsu’s medical field), so she’s the one whom Yaga seeks to tend to Geto’s younger sister. Her soft snores were a clear sign that she was resting her body after God knows what happened. Utahime could only have imagined that.  

“You’re a monster. A monster!” A strangled, angry cry ripples from her lips. It’s not fair! This is a betrayal, an abuse of a human towards another human being. A protector to a civilian, a brother to a sister. He was a brother before he became a sorcerer. Then why?

What did she do that was so terrible that it drove Suguru to torture her? Among those other people?    

The wall outside of the school hallway became her punching bag. If it were not for Nanami, she would have broken her fist, and Shoko would have someone else to cater to. The situation they are handling right now is already firm. They don’t need Y/n’s best friend to throw a rampage. The principal told her and Mei to aid the Tokyo district, not add more burden. But she couldn’t fight it- there was no way she could just take the news with a poker face.    

She strode closer toward her best friend, her bandaged fist beside her torsos. Staring at the young woman, the student swore she would fight for her rights and her dignity. She stared at her, and Utahime promised herself that she would do everything in her artistry to fight for her friend whom she’d loved for 4 years already.    

“I’m gonna kill you,” Utahime muttered, enough for only herself to hear.   

.  

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

.   

The smell was awful. The copper scent, the same, as blood filled the room. The lines she took starting from the main door and further towards the living room were calculated, her eyes darting side to side. Her body is in a tense mode as she prepares herself for the worst.   

There is something wrong with her parents’ house.   

Thank God her house’s slipper doesn’t produce any sound. She’s grateful enough for that because whatever is out there has terrorized this home. 

She understood that it was past midnight. Being middle-aged couples, her parents wouldn’t stay up late, as contrasted to working adults and millennials. So, when she walked into this house from her late-night stay back at Utahime’s house and was greeted with droplets of blood on the carpet, she became psychotic.  

She was so caught up, and she knew she should call the police, the emergency hotline, or even Sugu-nii. Whoever it was, she knows she should’ve acted quickly and smartly. She was mocking herself as she slid her hands into the ripped mom jeans she was wearing, looking for her smartphone.   

Low battery. Shutting in 3, 2, 1. 

“Fuck!” she hissed, fingers tapping the blackout screen out of frustration. Frantically looking right and left of this dark room, she let out a few curses. Should’ve charged her phone when she was in the library!  

As she wandered around unconsciously, moving from one space to another and tapping her smartphone, she was startled when she bumped into hard flesh. A body. A warm, existing body.   

It was nii-san. Suguru.   

His tall and broad frame had the young girl looking up to see his face, no smile plastered contrasted to the many times he greeted her in the past. Suguru’s cheeks were painted with crimson liquid. Her brain went haywire; she refused to acknowledge that it was that familiar copper scent from earlier since her arrival. Blood. It was blood. But whose?   

Where are her parents? And shouldn't Suguru be in his boarding school?  

“Nii-san?”   

A hand clasped around her lips in an instant, and her other hand was behind her back as Suguru held her hostage. She tried screaming, only now realizing that he was the predator.  

“I'm gonna kill you." 

The words sank into her mind and down to her stomach.  

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

Utahime’s attention was fully on her friend, the moment she started mumbling in her sleep. Brows furrowed, shaking her head in denial, Utahime knows this girl is having a nightmare.

“No, don’t...”   

“Y/n...” she tried waking her friend, but it was an exercise of futility. She kept on begging someone to let her go.   

“Y/n...”  

“No! Don't!”   

“Y/n! Hey, y/n, it’s me, Utahime!”  

It was a struggle to wake her up until she finally did and here Utahime is holding the crying girl. And now Shoko, Nanami, Yaga, and Mei are in the room upon Y/n’s scream.  

“Utahime... help me! Help me, Utahime, I’m scared!”   

She stared the woman into her eyes.   

With an almost hushed tone, she repeated those words.   

“I’m scared. I'm scared, Utahime. I’m scared.”  

Later, the pleas turned into a sobbing mess as she pressed her face into her friend’s chest, wetting her kimono.   

“I’m scared, Utahime, I'm scared. I don’t wanna live anymore, please...”  

“I hate him, Utahime, I hate him!”  

Her hands were soothing the girl’s back, trying to lull her to calm down as she repeated what she said again and again, Utahime was aware of the stares, and concern was written all over their face. But she’s the closest to the young girl, hence she’s the only one who can handle this outburst and is allowed to touch her.  

“I hate him... I, I hate... nii-san...”  

“It hurts, Utahime. It hurts...”   

She looked at the rest of them, their gaze speaking without verbal communication. “I know. I know, y/n. You’re safe now.”   

But is she? After what Suguru did to her?   

“I hate him...” For the last time, Utahime heard you mumbled, eyes still closing as if you were trying to forget what he did to you, erasing the ugly memory from your head. And as a woman, Utahime understood. She turned to Shoko with a stare that only both of them knew.  

The steps that Shoko took were slow, careful not to startle Suguru’s sister. The girl is still weeping against her best friend, her small arms wrapped tightly around Utahime’s limbs. She was hiccupping, sobs wrecking her frail body to convey her hurt- her pain.  

Laying a supportive hand on your shoulder, Shoko made sure that her gesture was gentle, careful not to make you scream. As far as she was studying jujutsu and medicine, she knew better how to navigate this hazard; sure, she never dealt with this crisis and this was her first time, but those cheat sheets didn’t go to waste.  

“It’s ok, y/n.”  

Moments later you were put to sleep. At desperate times like this, there’s no other choice but to put you into a temporary sleep, so Shoko can handle this situation better. It wasn’t easy, convincing you to relax but eventually you calmed down with the help of your best friend. She was the only one who could replace your guardian. Guardian... 

And now here they are, face to face with each other, with Nanami beside them.  

Lying to Utahime would be a crime, Shoko knows that. And the curious gaze from Nanami wouldn’t miraculously make the situation less stressful.  

That look in Utahime’s eyes tells Shoko everything that she needs to know. They want to know. They wanna hear it from her lips, as a doctor who examined Suguru’s little sister. It wasn’t enough, coming from Yaga. It had to be her.  

No point in beating around the bush.  

One could argue that it was a hideous miracle that she had survived. It wasn’t like they wished she didn’t, but to survive Suguru’s wrath? It was uncalled for.  

They know that if they were her, they would say that they’d be better off dead. No one in their right mind could ordinarily see themselves living through such an uncultivated betrayal. No woman could ever fathom what she had gone through.

Staring at the young lady, Shoko let out a sigh. She was contending that because of the examination a day ago (although she did cheat on the darn exam) and had gotten little sleep because of it. Afterward, at 3 a.m., Yaga called her in for an emergency; that’s when she knew. That Suguru betrayed them and y/n...

The only procedure Shoko had done for her was to clear the blood off her busted lip, and nothing more. Yaga and the others questioned her actions as to why she wouldn't further examine y/n, but she must follow procedure; to study her body further, Shoko needs consent. She doesn't want to violate a rape victim’s privacy- that’s how she was trained.

The silence from Utahime, Nanami, Mei, and her teacher was not what she expected; she thought at least one of them would dash out the door and start looking for her ex-classmate, ready to behead the man (Utahime fits the role)- but it seems they’re in shock. Who wouldn’t? Suguru was one of the world's greatest sorcerers and a genius prodigy. His actions were completely out of the box.  

But regardless, it was done. And she was the only survivor.  

Either way, you can hear a fucking pin drop— how unsettling this situation really is.

“I know things are tense, but we shouldn’t show any aggression in front of the patient. This time, she needs rest among other things.” Yaga was right; having to stop another’s wrath is not the ideal thing to do at this moment. Besides, Shoko is on her own in this as the only reversed curse user.

But what’s coming after his suggestion is not what any of them expect; and like everybody knows Shoko, she doesn’t like fights— she rather walks away and minds her business. Although today doesn’t seem like fate is not on her side. 

“Bullshit! Are you just gonna sit here while that... that monster is out there, getting away from the things he did?!”  

“I know you’re only thinking of y/n-”  

“Yes! Yes, I’m only thinking of y/n, and clearly, you and everyone in this room are not!” Utahime spat, staring into Yaga’s eyes with a lot of hatred. No, hatred wasn’t the word for Shoko’s teacher- Utahime didn’t loath Yaga, she only hated Suguru. 

This is where Nanami starts to butt in, “I know you’re angry, but we need to remain calm Utahime,”  

“That’s easy for you to say! You're not her best friend so of course this doesn’t affect you!”  

“What? Who said this doesn’t affect me?”  

“You, Nanami! You did from the way you’re acting!”  

“Can you all please remain calm? She’s right over there.”  

Y/n is right over there, sleeping peacefully, hadn’t it been for Shoko.  

“I know we all love y/n, but this is not the right thing to do right now. Let’s all just give her rest, and you guys can sit outside and plan what’s the next step. I need to prepare some things and monitor her. When she wakes up, I need to ask her a few questions for further examination.” She was tired, truthfully speaking, but she knew y/n needed her.  

“But Yaga sensei, before you leave, can I ask something?”  

Her teacher was silent when he looked at the aspiring doctor.  

“Where did that maggot run off to?”  

A groan escaped from Yaga.  

“Leave him be. He’s off, running away from reality.”  

. 

. 

. 

. 

Everyone thought it was easy once a doctor or a nurse got to their patient—they arrived, registered, and told the receptionist about how people or nature hurts them; either way, people can only judge because they don’t know the behind-the-scenes of their line of work. During these times, Shoko could only wish that they were right – that she could just get things done right now and go about her day.  

2 hours have passed, and there’s no sign of y/n waking up anytime soon. It was normal, considering she injected the poor kid with midazolam, the kind of drugs health care professionals would utilize if the situation calls for it- there were a few choices, but this one is ideal for patients such as herself; the ones who are, upon waking up and after trying to verbally calm her down didn’t work. The drugs would wear off for a few hours more if her calculation was right. For now, Shoko has been diligently monitoring her one and only patient.  

Man, there’ll be tons of paperwork after this, she muttered to herself, taking notes in her notepad.  

Taking a few steps to y/n’s bed, it’s time to check her breathing. Thank God she had set up a digital timer earlier to make things easier and washed her hands after that argument with the rest of the gang. Closely sitting by y/n’s bed, she sharply monitors the young girl’s chest movement.  

Shallow breathing. Although, Shoko had expected that from the young lady’s condition.  

Flipping the paper to the next page, she starts writing.

Patient’s history – none for the last 18 years until two days ago; the patient has a black and purple bruise on her neck.  

Cause – A possible reason could be that the patient was strangled during her assault. 

Shoot, for further physical examination Shoko needs her verbal consent. For now, she needs to wait for her to wake up.  

But still, these records are heartbreaking to read. How sorrowful, she quietly leaves the room.  

“So, see you again next week?”

While sliding your underwear over your thighs, you turn around to face the man you had just hooked up with. His dirty blonde hair is matted to his forehead and a thin sheen of sweat glistens on his skin; his chest rises and falls slightly as he tries to steady his breath. The purple LED lights in his room illuminate his face, and he stares at you with cocked eyebrows and a smug grin plastered on his face.

You shrug and nonchalantly reply, “Depends on my schedule.” As you hastily throw on your shirt and jeans, he hops out of bed and tugs his boxers back on. You make your way over to the door and kneel down to put on your shoes. While you tie them, his figure looms over you, waiting for you to finish.

“So, uh-- bye!” you say as you rise off the carpeted floor, forcing a smile and a gentle wave.

“Bye!” he starts, and he extends both of his arms to initiate a hug.

Not this fucking shit again, you sigh to yourself.

Reluctantly, you let him wrap his arms around you as yours limp awkwardly at his sides. While still holding you, he whispers in your ear.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.”

Oh, shut up.

You pull away and exit his apartment before you could catch a glimpse of his face again. You take hurried steps down his complex’s stairwell, and once you pass through the front doors of his building, your face is blasted with the hot California September air. You look up at the night sky, and where there should be stars, your eyes are met with a vast expanse of empty darkness.

Light pollution is no joke, huh? You chuckle to yourself.

And thus your ritual of regretting every decision you’ve made so far begins during your “walk of shame” back to your apartment.

I knew it was gonna be a waste of time, you sigh. ‘I had a lot of fun tonight’ headass. Of course you did! I did all the work and you just sat back and did absolutely nothing.

A group of skateboarders zoom towards you, and you move to the side to let them pass. As they whir by, their joyous laughter fills your ears.

It’s always fucking like this though— it’s almost formulaiac. I come over, we make small talk for like two minutes until he puts his hand on my inner thigh, and then we fuck. He cums in five to seven minutes TOPS, and then I quickly get changed before he kicks me out.

You open the doors of your apartment building and hear loud chattering in the lobby. There’s a group of drunk girls who most likely just got back from a frat party. Behind them are their male counterparts, and you can barely make out the Greek letters on their shirts before they all hop into the elevator. You turn to your left to head up the stairs.

Or maybe I leave before my shame can settle in.

Your steps echo through the empty stairwell, the clicking of your shoes ringing up and down the barren walls.

I know this isn’t good for me, and I know this isn’t the best way to cope, but I can’t stop.

You arrive at your floor and navigate through your building’s twisty hallways, coming to a stop in front of your door. You quickly pull your keys out of your pocket and shove them into the keyhole, rattling them a few times.

This damn key always gets stuck at the most inconvenient of times. Just let me get inside.

Suddenly, you hear a familiar voice in the distance, and your stomach drops. You fiddle with your keys even faster, heart rate increasing as the voice draws closer and closer. Finally, your doorknob turns and you swing your door open and immediately shut it, right before the person turns around the corner of your hallway.

Your hand flies to cover your mouth to silence your panting as you check through your peephole. Shutting one eye and aligning the other with the little window, you stealthily watch a couple pass by— a man with shaggy, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair has his arm wrapped around a girl who’s slurring her words and stumbling, clearly more than a few shots in. Your breath hitches when they stop right outside of your door.

Tears start to brim your eyes as he pulls out his phone. You watch as he turns to the girl— his supposed ‘conquest’ for the night— and whispers something to her. You press your ear against the thick wood of your door to hear them more clearly.

“My roommate said we can have the room all to ourselves! We’re good to go,” he says to her in a honeyed tone. She laughs as he presses a soft kiss to her temple and they continue walking past your door.

When their voices fade out, you turn around and hold your back flush against the door. Sliding down it, your skin drags along the cool wood. Once your bottom hits the ground, you pull your thighs to your chest and bury your face in between your knees. Hot tears trickle down your legs as you sob, and your dark apartment is filled with sounds of your hics and uneven breathing. A panic starts to swell in your stomach, and you grab at the nearest thing to try to steady yourself. Tangling your fingers into your hair, you tug slightly to try to relieve some of the tension that you feel in your gut, but nothing’s working. That’s when you pull out your phone and decide to phone a friend.

The call rings a few times before your ears are graced with a comforting voice. It’s your friend’s— her voice is raspy and soft as if she had just woken up, but it immediately becomes more alert when she hears you sniffling on the other end of the line.

“What’s wrong, dear? Did something happen?” she asks you, her voice dripping with concern. You hear shuffling in the background as she pulls away her covers to sit upright.

“I saw him right now. He lives in my building,” you manage to croak out. You’re trying your best to stabilize your voice, but your vocal chords are working against you; it feels like the pit in your stomach has slowly made its way up to your throat and is now choking you, depriving you of precious air.

You hear your friend gasp and immediately collect herself. “Is this your first time seeing him since… y’know?”

A weak “mhmm” is all you manage to get out, and now the pit is sitting on your tongue like a crushing weight, making it hard for you to speak. Your anxiety manifests as nausea, and you slowly start crawling your way over to the trash can in the corner of your kitchen. You collect your hair with one hand while the other presses your phone against your ear.

“Do you want me to come over and spend the night?” your friend asks softly. Even though she’s always so busy— classes, work, personal life, etcetera— she never fails to make time for you whenever you need help. She’s been there for you since your first year at UCI, and she was one of the few people to help you through the aftermath of the incident.

“No, I’m okay,” you murmur. You don’t know how you’ll ever repay her for her kindness, or if you even deserve her kindness, but you’re more than grateful that she’s there.

“Are you sure?” she replies, her voice ladled with even more concern than before. You know she doesn’t believe you, so you do your best to muster up all the strength you could gather to give a more confident response.

“Yes, I’m positive,” you say back, and even you are impressed by the reassuring tone that rolls off of your tongue. You hear your friend sigh on the other end, before bidding you farewell.

“Okay, I believe you. And don’t forget your counseling session tomorrow morning at the student health center. Make sure you don’t miss it and set several alarms so you wake up on time, okay?”

You thank her for the reminder and for calming you down before you hang up. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you pick yourself up from your floor and trudge over to your bathroom. When you turn your light on, you’re greeted with a horrific sight— your disheveled face post-anxiety attack.

Your nose is runny and mascara is smeared under your eyes and across your cheek. Drool pools out of the corners of your lips, and your whole face feels hot from the rush of blood to your head. You turn on your sink and let the water run for a few seconds, waiting for it to get warm.

Your fingers test the rushing water, and once it hits the ideal temperature, you lower your face to the sink and splash water all over your face. With closed eyes, you feel all around your counter for your bottle of face cleanser and press onto the pump, letting a few spurts of the soap spray onto your open palm. Your other hand turns off your sink and you wash your face, making sure to scrub underneath your eyes to remove the mascara stains before rinsing off the soapy bubbles and drying your face

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you drink in the new image before you. Now, your reflection is back to normal— well almost. The only evidence of your previous crying fit are your puffy and bloodshot eyes, but you figure that a good night’s rest will be enough to get rid of that.

You’re okay, you try to reassure yourself. You’ll be okay.

You let out a long sigh as you shut off your bathroom light and enter your bedroom; the twinkling lights draping down one of the walls of the room casts a soft light on everywhere it can reach. You grab a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt from your drawers and change out of your dirty clothes, tossing them into the hamper underneath your bed.

Once you crawl onto your mattress and pull your covers over you, you stare at the ceiling. Despite how many times you try, you can’t get the image of the man outside of your door out of your head— it’s branded on the frontal lobe of your brain. No matter how many times you try to forget, no matter how many bottles of cheap beer you guzzle to forget the acrid taste of his lips, no matter how many men you lie under to forget his shit-eating grin— you just can’t seem to do it.

A tear spills out of your eye and rolls down your temple, wetting your pillow underneath your head. More tears flow out and soon a pool forms on the dampened cloth. You raise your head and flip your pillow to the dry side, rolling over to press your cheek into the plush material. Shutting your eyes tightly to prevent more tears from pouring out, you drift off to sleep.

…

Whoever said that there’s no better rest than after crying yourself to sleep is a fucking liar.

The next morning, you wake up more exhausted than the night before. Light peeks through your blinds and illuminates your room, waking you up a few minutes before your alarm is scheduled to go off.

You roll out of bed and stand in front of your full length mirror. Your hair is tangled, your lips are chapped, and your throat is painfully dry— probably because you forgot to drink water after sobbing out half of your body’s water content. You reach over to your desk to grab your reusable bottle, taking a few big gulps of the cold liquid to help relieve the pain. Bringing your face closer to the reflective glass, you can’t help but notice how your eyes are still bloodshot and puffy. You groan and walk over to the mini-fridge on the other side of your bedroom, crouching down as you open the small door.

You reach inside and pull out a silver spoon from your freezer, the cold metal stinging your fingertips. You return to your mirror and watch as you bring the spoon up to your face, gently placing the rounded part of the utensil to your eye socket. You hold it there for a few seconds before removing it, checking to see if there was any improvement. There was, and now the swelling around your eyes is greatly reduced, but the red tint on your sclera is still noticeably visible.

I look like I’m high, you joke to yourself. I’ll have to put on some eye drops later.

You repeat the process with your other eye, and once you finish you toss the spoon back into your freezer. Running a hot shower in your bathroom, the warm water soothes your tired muscles. You thoroughly scrub your body with soap— your neck, your arms, your torso, your legs— but you spend extra time washing the expanse of flesh between your thighs. Your hand collects the warm water in your palm and harshly rubs the spot back and forth, meticulously cleansing the area to the best of your abilities. You know that it won’t undo or change anything, but you find yourself doing it subconsciously, almost as if it’s a reflex now.

Hopping out of the shower, you quickly pat yourself dry before throwing on some clothes. You throw your hair up into a towel to let it dry while you sip your morning coffee.

And thus your morning ritual begins. You sit at your windowsill and stare out of your window, watching people pass by underneath you. There’s a wide array of sights before you— energized people in athletic wear and headphones going on a morning jog; hungover people still wearing their beer-stained clothes from the night before, most likely starting their walk of shame home; and half-awake people still in their pajamas lazily trudging along the sidewalk, heading over to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts to grab their morning fix of caffeine.

You swallow your last sip of coffee, throw on some shoes, and head out your door. While walking through your building’s hallways, you check your watch for the time.

It’s barely 8 AM, you think to yourself, exhaling a sigh of relief. It’s too early, there’s no way he’s awake yet. I probably won’t run into him right now.

Once you exit your building without running into the man from the night before, your hurried pace starts to slow down. You make the ten minute trek across campus from your apartment to the student health center, kindly waving and greeting the people that you recognize from your classes.

Arriving at your destination, the cool air from the medical center blasts your face. Despite your school’s vain attempt to liven up the lobby with teal-colored walls, the clinic itself still feels sterile and void of life. You know that most people don’t come here on their own volition— whether they’re receiving treatment for a worsening cold, getting tested for STDs or STIs, or seeking mental health counseling— everyone waiting in the cushioned seats of the lobby doesn’t actually want to be here.

You check in with the receptionist and sit down on one of the benches and wait for your appointment. You pull out your phone and idly scroll through social media. The first story is of your friends from high school clinking shot glasses together and throwing their heads back, swallowing the hard liquor in one gulp. The second story is posted by your classmate from last semester, and it’s a graphic advertising their club’s fundraiser later this week. The final story shows someone who lived in your freshman year dorm building at a party, flashing lights shining across their carefree face.

Hearing your name being called from above you, you shove your phone back into your pocket before standing up. You follow the nurse through the hallways and into the room, fluorescent light bouncing off the white walls. You plop onto the leather couch that sits directly across from a chair made out of the same material.

The nurse turns to you before leaving and starts speaking. “A counselor will be with you shortly,” she says and then exits the room, leaving you alone.

You wait for a few minutes in tense silence. To pass time, your eyes scan around the room, reading every single infographic and painting that hangs from the walls. They land on an image of a “pain scale,” a series of happy and sad faces resting on top of a 0 to 10 scale.

Your face scrunches up as you ponder the picture before you. You’re struggling to decipher where you fit onto the scale, when the door swings open and interrupts your train of thought. You straighten up in your seat when a pretty woman in her mid-30s steps into the clinic room.

“Hi,” she says sweetly, taking a seat in the chair in front of you. She continues introducing herself, “I’ll be your counselor for today.”

You greet her and tell her your name, and she replies with a warm smile. Her fingers sift through the files on her clipboard before she speaks again. “I see this is your first time visiting the mental health department. What brings you here today?” She looks up from the page and stares at you intently, waiting for a response.

“Well,” you start. “My friends recommended that I come here for a counseling session.”

“Hmm, I see,” she looks back down at the sheet of paper, and your palms grow clammy in anticipation. Without lifting her eyes, she asks you a question in a softer tone. “It says here in your files that six months ago you went to the student health center to get tested for STDs and STIs and to ask for a birth control referral.” She lifts her face again, and her concerned expression pangs your heart. “Was that a routine check-up or something else?”

You feel the pit in your stomach reappear, and your heartbeat booms violently in your chest. Blood rushes to your head and the room grows hot; the lights feel so fucking bright as they shine into your eyes, nearly blinding you. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, and after an elongated sigh, you confess, trying to mask your fear with a seemingly indifferent tone.

“No, it wasn’t,” you reply coolly, but you can’t seem to hide the slight quivering in your voice. “I was taken advantage of six months ago, but I’m fine now. I promise.”

The counselor eyes you up and down, scanning your face for any signs of hesitancy or uncertainty. They run down your body and finally settle on your lap, where your fingers twiddle and fidget with each other.

Shit, you think to yourself. She caught my bluff.

“You know,” she whispers to you gently, almost as if she were approaching a cornered animal. “Anything you tell me here stays between you and me. I know you don’t know me and it’s hard to open up sometimes, but you have my undivided attention.” She flashes you a compassionate smile, and it causes your eyes to swell up with tears.

You take a deep inhale before starting. “I saw him last night,” your voice is shaky as you scour your brain for the right words to say. “The guy who hurt me. He was outside my door, and he was with another girl. She was clearly drunk, and I didn’t do anything to stop him.”

You’re sobbing now, and your nose is becoming stuffy. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, but you continue on. “If he did anything to her,” you croak, throat growing tight as you ramble on, “it’s my fault. It’s my fault because I didn’t intervene. It’s my fault because I didn’t report him so he could never hurt another girl again. I wanted to stop him, I really did. I wanted to open my door and yell at him to get a fucking life and stop being such a dick, but I couldn’t. I was so scared— I froze in fear behind my door.”

You look up at her, and through tear-stained eyelashes you could see that her cheery expression morphed into one of pain.

“I’m just as much to blame, and I’m no better than him. I’m weak.”

You drop your face into your palms, your hands muffling your sobs. You feel a gentle hand rub your shoulder, and you look back up at the counselor. She has the warm expression plastered onto her face again, but her eyes are solemn as she gives you advice.

“It’s not your fault. It’s entirely his.” She reaches over and grabs a box of tissues from the counter and places them onto your lap. “You’re not to blame for the harm that he does unto others.”

You nod your head as you pull out a tissue and wipe your wet face. You blow your nose to try to clear your nasal passages, but it doesn’t work. She continues with the session, maintaining her sympathetic tone.

“If you’re comfortable with sharing, why didn’t you report him? Not saying that you need to— it’s completely your decision whether you do or don’t. Your experiences are valid regardless.”

You let out a hollow chuckle before you answer. “I can’t report him,” you say dryly, your voice starting to grow louder as your frustration builds. “He’s a student athlete on a popular team here. Who would the university believe— him, a star athlete on a team that brings the university so much money, or me, a common whore who this school couldn’t give less of a shit about?”

“If I do report him, what if his team comes after me? A few of them live in my building; it’d be easy for them to pound on my door and threaten me or do even worse things. If not that, his family has money. His parents could sue me for defamation, and I don’t have that kinda money. There’s also the issue of my parents finding out, and I’d rather die than have them discover what happened to their daughter. I don’t know how they’d react— would they be heartbroken? Would they blame me? Would they ask me what I was drinking or wearing? Either way, I don’t want to find out.”

You shake your head before carrying on. “Even if I did report him and the university believed me, what punishment would he get? A slap on the wrist? Get kicked off of his team? Nothing will ever be enough.”

Tears brim your eyes once again. “Nothing will return the months of my life that I wasted, desperately trying to move on from the situation. Nothing will make me unafraid of men. I can’t pass by a group of student athletes without having panic burn through my body. They all look like him— they all have his cruel smile and it haunts me wherever I go.”

Your emotions start to spiral out of control as your inner turmoil and anger bubble in your stomach. Hot tears spill from your eyes and stream silently to the floor. Realizing that your blood is growing hot, you stand up and frantically pace around the room, trying to calm yourself down. You place your hands on top of your head and take a few deep breaths to steady your heart rate.

After a minute of pacing, you sit back down in your seat. A pained sigh slips past your lips, and you forge on. “I just don’t think there’s anything that this school or this government could do that would correct his sins against me. He didn’t just take advantage of me— he destroyed my soul. He robbed me of my bodily autonomy, my self-worth, my sense of control. How do you fix that?”

The two of you stare at each other in silence before she opens her mouth. “You can’t,” is all she replies.

You nod your head somberly. “Exactly,” you conclude gravely. “You can’t.”

The counselor takes a few seconds to collect her thoughts before continuing on. “You know, it’s really unfair how our justice system treats survivors. More often than not, people feel re-victimized and re-traumatized rather than helped by these systems. So, everything you said is completely valid, and you know what’s best for you more than anyone else.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and she adds on, “There are ways to receive closure that don’t involve the justice system at all. How do you cope with the pain that you feel? What are some things that you do?”

You take a deep breath before responding. “Honestly, I just pretend like it isn’t there. I just want things to return to normal, and I believe that if I don’t think about it, it’ll eventually go away or I’ll forget.”

Looking up at the ceiling, you let out an exasperated groan. “But, if you want specifics, I’ve been taking up a bunch of various hobbies to try to regain some semblance of normalcy. I’ve been going to the gym everyday for the past few months; I joined a few interest clubs; and I even took up some journaling. You know, anything I can do to give me some sense of control…” Your voice trails off as your gaze meets the counselor’s again.

The corners of her lips curl upward to form an enthusiastic smile. “That’s great! Those are all really healthy coping mechanisms for trying to move on from the situation, and there are other things you could do, too! Like…” Her voice fizzles out into the background as you zone out from the conversation.

Of course I only told her a half-truth, you think to yourself. I know if I told her everything I did, I would get scolded.

Little did your counselor know that for the past month since you’ve returned to campus, every weekend you would go out to a party, find some random guy, and let him take you home to have less than subpar sex. If there were no parties going on that night, you’d check your dating apps, picking one man from the vast sea of horny and disrespectful messages in your inbox. You’d head over to his place and do all the work while he sits back in utter bliss.

You know it’s not the best coping mechanism, but somehow, you can’t stop. It’s the only way that you feel in control again. “They can’t use me or take advantage of me if I let them,” was your reasoning, a bastardized reclamation of power.

They can’t rob me of my sexual autonomy if I consent first.

But deep in your heart you know it’s not true. After every disappointing session, after every failed orgasm, after every prideful expression is plastered on your “partner’s” face, you feel worse than before. You know that they treat you like a masturbatory aid— that they view you as nothing more than a cocksleeve— yet you still return to these shitty men. You still return to these men who wouldn’t give a fuck if your picture appeared on an obituary one day, because in your mind it was your twisted way of coping with the grief.

The counselor’s voice rings through your ears and brings you back to reality. “So,” she says, clapping her hands together. “That’s all the time we have today. I hope this session helped you, and if you ever want to talk again, just schedule an appointment through the student portal.”

The two of you rise to your feet and shake hands before exiting the room. You make your way over to the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror in front of you, the puffiness in your eyes has returned, and somehow your eyes are even more bloodshot than they were this morning.

You sigh to yourself. It’s a good thing I didn’t wear makeup, but I wish I brought my frozen spoon.

You turn on the faucet and cup the cold water in your palms. Oh well, this’ll have to do.

You splash the cold water in your face and dry it with a paper towel. Checking your eyes again, the swelling has gone down slightly, but you know that your metal spoon would’ve done a better job at masking the inflamation.

You exit the restroom and make your way out of the clinic, your eyes adjusting from the harsh, sterile lights in the building to the bright and sunny California daylight. You check your watch again and see that it’s almost 9:30 AM, still too early for him to be awake.

Phew, you think. I can head back now, get ready for the gym, and leave before he wakes up. By the time I’m done with my workout, he’ll be at practice so I can return home without running into him.

Admittedly, it’s embarrassing that you know his entire schedule, but it’s a measure that you have to take in order to protect yourself.

You make the journey home in ten minutes. You fill up your water bottle and change into workout appropriate attire, before heading out once again.

The campus gym is a lot closer to your apartment, about half of the distance to the student health center. In five minutes, you walk through the sliding doors of the recreation center, the filtered cold air blasting your face and giving you goosebumps. Your eyes scan the room to make sure that none of his friends are here, and relief flushes your body when you realize that you’re safe.

You plug in your earphones and hit play on a random workout playlist you curated. Energetic music blasts in your ears as you start a light jog on the treadmill.

Let’s just forget what happened earlier and try to have a good workout, alright?

Your workout runs smoothly— after your warm-up run of one mile and lifting sets, your legs start to ache and burn. Finally, it’s time for the barbell squat, your least favorite leg exercise.

You make your way over to the squat rack section of the gym, and your eyes land on a familiar face. His features are strong, typically formed into a scowl as he lifts a ridiculously heavy amount of weight. His green eyes always look so determined, and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. His arms look toned even when he’s not flexing, but when he does, you can’t help but wonder if he could crush a melon with his bare hands. But his most noticeable feature has to be his spiky dark brown hair that comically rests on the top of his head— it reminds you of a porcupine.

He’s very handsome, and it’s not just you that notices his looks. Everytime you see him there, there’s always a crowd of people gawking at him, asking him to help fix their form or help spot them. Usually, most guys would take this as an opportunity to hit on the person who asked for assistance, sometimes even getting unnecessarily handsy with them. But never this guy. He just helps them with whatever they’re doing, offers useful tips and tricks, then returns to his workout.

He’s so good looking, and because of this, you have no doubt that he has a significant other or that his phone is overflowing with random numbers that people gave to him. He doesn’t seem like the type to be a sleaze, but with a face and body like that he definitely doesn’t have trouble finding love— or a casual hookup, at least.

The first few times you went to the gym, you noticed him staring at you. Initially, you thought that there was something on your face or wrong with your form, but that suspicion subsided after it happened several more times. Now, whenever you go to the gym, you inadvertently have a stare-off with the attractive stranger, waiting to see who will crack first.

Today is no different. As you walk to the empty squat rack next to him, his eyes follow your figure while he takes a drink of water. You wrap your fingers around the cold metal bar when a wild thought flies through your mind.

Giggling to yourself over the idea, you decide to try your luck, and you turn to the hot stranger to your left and ask him a question.

“Hey,” you sweetly call out, drawing his attention away from his water bottle. “I’m gonna try adding weight today, do you mind spotting me?” You flash him a bright smile, hoping that he’ll take the bait.

He quickly nods and sets down his bottle, walking over to you. You place the appropriate plates on both sides of the barbell and wait for him to stand behind you. Once you sense his presence, he asks you a question, and you can feel his hot breath against the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine and forcing the little hairs on your skin to rise.

“Are you ready?”

To which you reply with an enthusiastic nod. “Yep!”

You duck your head under the bar and rest it on your shoulders. You lift the metal pole off of the rack and take a few steps forward, the stranger’s hands hovering around you just in case you need help. You bend your knees and drop your ass into a seated position, making sure that your back is straight. You rise up and straighten your posture, and repeat this process eight more times.

On your tenth and final squat for this set, your thighs ache from the weight. Sweat beads at your temples as you drop down, and while you slowly rise back up, you hear a deep voice from behind you.

“C’mon!” The stranger encourages you. “This is your last one for this set, then you can take a break! You’re almost there.”

Using your last bit of strength, you stand back up, and he helps you place the barbell back onto the rack. Your fingers brush against each other, and your breath hitches at the sudden contact.

“Phew!” You chant as you wipe the sweat off of your forehead with your shirt sleeve. “Thanks for that encouragement at the end, I really needed that!”

The man smiles at you, and for the first time you see his hardened expression actually soften. “No problem! Your form is really good; I’m thoroughly impressed.”

You smile back at him and point over to his rack. “It seems like you do a damn good job yourself,” you reply, referring to the multiple large plates on his barbell.

He rubs the back of his palm as his face tints pink. “Oh, it’s no biggie at all. I’ve been regularly working out since high school, and I’m a sports science major, so physical fitness is a huge part of my life.”

You nod your head in interest, before continuing on. “Anyways, I’m sorry for pulling you away from your workout. If you want, you can go back to your sets; I think I’ll be okay with mine!”

He raises a hand and shakes his head. “No, I’ll be fine. I’d rather help you and make sure that you’re safe.”

Your face grows hot at his words. You eagerly nod your head and turn back around to face the barbell. But before you can start your second set, he murmurs something in a low voice.

“But what’s a guy gotta do to get dinner and a movie with a pretty girl like you?”

You feel butterflies flutter in your stomach. Was that friendly demeanor earlier all just a façade? You ask yourself. Collecting your thoughts, you turn your head slightly to face him, your faces merely inches apart.

“Well,” you start, scrunching your nose as you stare up at the ceiling, pretending to look for an answer. “You could spot me for my next two sets. I’m free tonight after 7, if that works for you?” You innocently bat your eyelashes at him, waiting for his response.

For a split second, you swear that there’s a crack in his confidence, and his features gaze at you in a stupor, almost as if he were in shock that you actually agreed to go on a date with him. He regains his cool though and nods his head before helping you remove the bar from the rack.

At the end of your set, the two of you exchange numbers. You introduce yourself and tell him your name, and he wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts before extending it out to you.

You grab it and shake hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hajime Iwaizumi, but you can just call me Hajime.” He flashes you that killer smile one more time before you part ways.

Once you make it back to your apartment, you run a hot shower. While massaging your hair with shampoo, you think about your handsome date for tonight.

You grin when you think about his dazzling smile, but your mood soon turns sour when a realization hits you.

He’s still a guy at the end of the day, you think to yourself disappointedly. And an attractive one at that. He’s probably like every other man— they all just want one thing. Sex. And once you give it, they’ll toss you to the side.

That whole ‘dinner and a movie’ thing was probably just a ploy to get me to agree to go on a ‘date’ with him, if I can even call it that. But I know better. I know that he has no interest in getting to know me, and tonight will probably end the same way that it always does— with me walking home unsatisfied and feeling ashamed of myself.

There’s no point in getting my hopes up.

A tear rolls down your face, but you quickly wipe it away.

There’s no reason for me to be sad; that’s just how it is. We both use each other for one thing, and it’s consensual, so there’s no harm nor foul, right?

You try your best to reassure yourself, but know that it’s to no avail when another tear streams down your face.