Hi everyone!
So you know how I said this story was dark? Well, here it is - the darkest chapter so far. Trigger warning, although if you've read this far already you should know better than to read a story full of the trigger warnings listed in the first chapter. Still.
Trigger Warning: Drugging, Explicit Rape
If you choose to read and don't like it, it's all on you, not me. People who flame because they have a bad experience, well, you're going to suffer more than I will, no matter how harsh your words. So please, respect and take care of yourself if you know this isn't a good topic for you to read about. If necessary, leave a review or PM me and if people need it, I will give a summary of what happens in this chapter in the next chapter. Seriously, though - this isn't the only instance of it. This is a darkfic in every definition. If this is going to bother you, seriously, I'm so serious, DO NOT READ THIS.
Okay. I have beaten this horse to death and done my tagging duty. Now it's on you. I hope those who do read this enjoy it in all its twistedness!
P.S. This chapter is dedicated to moor and her story "Doe". If you haven't read it, check it out. It inspired me SO HARD.
9.
Sakura fumed as she walked up the stairs to her boss's admittedly beautiful home at the center of the Uchiha clan compound in Tokyo. It was hard to tell too much in the dark, but even without being able to take in much of Madara's home, it was very apparent that it was a building that had had no expense spared.
How typical of her boss—well, he was an Uchiha, so perhaps that it explained it. It did not, however, explain why said man was such a bastard.
The Uchiha clan compound was really just a somewhat segregated neighborhood where only the Uchiha were allowed to live. The segregation was by choice, of course—no one would dare discriminate against one of the most famous clans existing since the Meiji era. They were practically royalty to conservatives, and liberals also held them in high regard. It was one of the reasons Sasuke was so popular at Konoha College, even though from an objective standpoint, he was kind of a…no, he was a huge asshole. Sakura hadn't been willing to see it until the day she had met her boss, but even now when she saw Sasuke, she would sometimes feel her cheeks heat. It was the just the kind of effect Uchiha males had on the female population.
She stomped up the front steps and glowered at the door in front of her. Apparently, Madara was the only Uchiha she knew who didn't have that effect on her. Sasuke's older brother, Itachi, had made her a blushing, stammering idiot when he had visited her high school, and even Sasuke's father was very handsome. His mother, Mikoto, was possibly the most beautiful woman Sakura had ever seen. The Uchiha were just beautiful, and that was that. It was a fact of life.
Similar to how having naturally pink hair would get you teased mercilessly, Sakura thought uncharitably as she reluctantly knocked on Madara's front door.
It didn't even take him a moment to answer the door. Sakura frowned upon seeing the bane of her existence, clutching the file folder with the documents her boss needed even more tightly to her chest.
"Hello, Sakura-san," he greeted, his tone neutral and unassuming. Sakura wasn't sure whether it would have pissed her off more if he had been cheerful, but she knew that this casual address angered her just as well. "Come in. I've put the tea on."
Sakura hesitated for a moment, her brain suddenly overloaded with emotion and too full to process rational, logical though. How could he-? Why-? When did-? What the-?
"What the hell is wrong with you!" Sakura screeched, nearly throwing the file folder into the air and scattering the papers everywhere when she gesticulated wildly. "Do you even know what I had to go through just to get these stupid, god damned files to you?"
Madara continued to watch her with that infuriatingly neutral expression. Sakura's chest heaved, her anger seething and preparing for another go as soon as she caught her breath, when he spoke. "Come in if you are going to make a scene. Decline the tea if you wish, but don't get the police called because of your temper tantrum."
Sakura felt herself go a shade of what she thought might have been plum purple, her rage was flying so high. But, acknowledging that pissing him off would only make life worse for her in the long run, she stepped into the house, already planning out her next verbal assault. It would cut deep, deep enough that if it had been a weapon, perhaps a kunai or some other knife, it would have drawn copious amounts of blood.
But she didn't get a chance to go off at him, because the tea pot reached a boil and there was a high-pitched scream from the kettle, startling her from her furious thoughts. He walked away, and while she regained her balance and prepared to get going again, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want that tea?"
"No, I don't want the fucking tea!" she screeched, matching the tea pot's pitch.
"Very well," Madara replied, not affected by her fit at all. "But I do have a very rare Darjeeling that was just came in yesterday. It's truly-"
"No. Fucking. TEA!" she yelled, and then, overwhelmed by sheer emotion, she began to cry, clutching the file folder to her vest like a lifeline as she sank to the ground.
There was no response to her quiet sobs other than that the kettle stopped its terrible noise and the smell of a truly delicious tea wafted to her nose, which was runny from crying. She heard Madara take a seat and the fragrant scent grew stronger as the tea seeped.
A long silence passed and Sakura gathered herself, wiping her tears away from what she considered a most shameful performance. Of course, her anger had certainly been warranted, and she still probably could have yelled at her boss for a week straight for all the injustices he'd imposed on her, but crying hadn't been in the game plan.
She settled the files on the table, taking a deep breath. The tears had released something in her, because she was no longer angry now, just defeated, and perhaps it was better this way, because Madara would certainly lash out at her later proportional to how much she disrespected him now. She still could have said some scathing words, but now she could see that it wouldn't benefit her in any way.
Madara was apparently insistent for her to drink the tea. "Are you sure you don't want any?"
Finding no more energy or wherewithal to argue with him, she sighed in resignation and said, "Yes, I'd like some tea." She figured that since she was here, she could accept the tea that probably cost more than a week's wages and took a seat.
Madara went to prepare it for her. She watched him for a moment, but then her eyes were torn to her surroundings.
The interior of the house was not nearly as traditional as she might have imagined. There were doors just like any other house instead of shoji, and there was carpet and tile instead of tatami mats. She wasn't sure why she had expected him to be living in a house out of the Meiji era, but she had. Instead, to her left was a comfortable sitting room with expensive brown leather couches that she assumed were made of actual leather, a large modern television set, and an ornate ottoman as well as a mahogany coffee table.
It was also a much smaller house than she had envisioned. There was obviously much more to it—she was pretty sure that this whole area was something of a place for greeting unimportant or untrusted guests and not at all half of the house like it appeared. The kitchen had no refrigerator, microwave, or dishwasher—in fact, now that she saw it, it looked like it was only there specifically to brew tea. How unnecessarily lavish.
Sakura wondered if Madara had servants and if he did, why they weren't doing this for him. Eight was late to her, but she imagined that a man of Madara's stature wouldn't have a problem have servants around the house 24/7 if he so wished it. There were kinds of people whose dream job would be to serve royalty, or as good as, like Madara.
She came back to the present when he set down a cup of tea in front of her. It was already fully steeped, and Sakura thought that she must have been staring off for a while. She picked up the delicate china with care and took a slow sip.
It quickly became her opinion that this tea was to die for.
They sat in silence, though, because other than whatever Madara wanted her for, they really didn't have much in common besides that. As she continued to sip the tea and take in her surroundings, she felt herself growing sleepy. The tea was just that good, apparently.
"I sh-shhh-"
Sakura stopped speaking abruptly when she heard how badly her words were slurring. Her eyes should have felt wide with alarm, but instead her eyelids drooped dangerously and she was having a hard time piecing together thoughts.
She started swaying just as Madara stood up, and he caught her as she fell sideways.
"Whhhhaaaaaa djou-" What did you do? she wanted to ask, but then her eyes closed without her permission and all she felt was Madara's strong grip on her, and vaguely the feeling of him breathing in her scent. She knew then exactly what he had done, why he had wanted her to drink the tea so badly.
She had been drugged, and that was her last thought as she fell limp in his arms.
Waiting was the worst part, Madara decided as he leaned against the wall opposite his bed in his bedroom. There was, after all, not quite enough room on his bed to lie down, what with his Sakura occupying it so fully. He could have sat next to her in one of the spaces where she wasn't splayed out, but then he wouldn't get to watch her the way he wanted to.
She was deeply unconscious. When he had considered how to get Sakura's submission, he had taken many factors into account, not in the least her stubbornness. He easily could have overpowered her, of course, and while violence was largely a part of his fantasies concerning her, he rather hoped to not make any mistakes that could ruin his plan. There was always that small chance that she would get away, and while it wouldn't affect him with the courtrooms in his pocket—they wondered how he had such a perfect record and that was exactly the reason, although he didn't always need bribery to get his way—he wasn't willing to risk that chance. Once Sakura realized that he would do whatever it took to claim her and keep her, she would know to stay away, and he knew that she was stubborn enough to ruin her own future if it meant avoiding him.
Hence, he had come up with the safe idea to drug her, just for a short while, before taking her.
He'd wait until it had fully worn off, of course, as he had no intention of letting her forget anything that took place between them. From now on, she was his, and he planned to occupy every facet of her life.
Regardless of whether she wanted him.
Just as he was about to become annoyed, Sakura stirred. Her arms twitched as though to come to her sides, and they resisted because of the leather tying her arms to the bedposts. Her legs, free because he wanted her available for any position he might choose, curled up towards her chest, and then her eyelids fluttered.
He saw the confusion on her face as her eyes opened wildly, taking in her surroundings with fear. He saw her become terrified when her arms refused to budge from where they were tied, saw her frantically looking around until she focused on him.
"What the hell?" she spat, but there was terror lacing her tone behind the bravado. "Are you seriously going to rape me?" Her voice was full of much more than the jeering mockery of her words. He knew she had been expecting something like this since he had manipulated her into becoming his employee, but he rather thought that she had also been expecting to be allowed to turn him down.
But Madara was just as stubborn as she was, except with much more power to take what he wanted.
"If that is what you choose for it to be, then that is what it will be," he said, not taunting or sarcastic—it was as he said. If she decided to consent, then it would not be rape, but he was willing to overlook little snares in his line such as lack of willingness or the word 'no' in order to get what he wanted: Sakura, body, mind, and soul.
"How can you-What-I don't-" she spluttered, obviously not find the right words she wanted to use in her disbelief. Then her voice grew small. "You wouldn't really…"
"I would," he confirmed, starting to approach her slowly, deliberately.
Sakura didn't seem to think so highly of taunting him anymore. "Please, Madara…" He was pleased that she had removed the honorific—he knew she was doing it because she felt no respect for him, but he liked to think it portrayed just how close they would soon become. "Please, don't do this…You're making a mistake…"
"I'm not," he told her as he finally reached the bed and stroked her long, smooth leg. She flinched away from him and screeched.
"No! Stop! I won't let you!"
"You have no choice," he replied calmly.
He saw the panic on her face, the tears in her eyes as she tried to free her arms and couldn't. He watched her struggle into a sitting position so as to better defend herself, but it only allowed him to get onto the bed and sit across from her, taking in her naked body.
He had avoided looking at it while she was unconscious, focusing on only her face so as to not grow overeager while he waited. But now, he could take in at least some of it, and the teasing aspect of this hardened him much more quickly than he would have liked, but no more than he had expected.
Her knees were pulled to her chest, so the peaks of her small breasts were hidden by them, but he could see their upper curve and the fullness that awaited him. He took in her slender but strong arms; her lithe, toned legs; her pale, unblemished skin. But through the crack of her legs, he could see paradise waiting for him, nestled beneath a small thatch of pink curls, just like her hair. His mouth salivated.
He couldn't wait, couldn't draw it out like he had planned, not when she was so supple and beautiful, staring at him with those large, fearful green eyes. Standing, he began to undress himself.
"No, please, no!" she begged, and the sound was music to his ears. However, he didn't deign to reply as she fought as hard as she could to released herself. But when she maneuvered herself to start gnawing at the leather, Madara knew he had to put a stop to her rebelliousness.
He could have threatened her, but he much preferred to do it physically.
Shedding the last of his clothing, he walked up to her and grabbed a fistful of hair. She shrieked as he yanked her head away from the leather ties, and she began to cry in earnest.
"Please, Madara, please don't do this! Please, you're a better man than this!"
He smirked at that, and waited until she made eye contact with him before saying, "No. I'm not."
But he released her hair and instead got back on the bed. He could feel a fire raging inside him, begging to be quenched by Sakura…his Sakura.
Without fanfare he pulled her legs away from her body and then leaned over her. All the while she screamed and begged, but her pleading fell on deaf ears.
Tonight, and forevermore, Haruno Sakura was his, and he sealed it with a kiss.
Sakura reared back when she felt Madara's lips on hers, but she couldn't go far back enough to evade. She twisted and turned, but he took her face in his hands and forced her to be still while his tongue probed her lips. She gritted her teeth, and thought that in his moment of distraction, she'd be able to kick him where it would really hurt, and then maybe he'd think twice about attempting to violate her.
But all her shifting did was distract her, and he forced himself into her mouth while simultaneously pinning her with his body and stifling any offensive moves she could have made.
She choked in disgust when he moaned and moved his hands to grasp her breasts. She wanted to buck him off, but thought better of it; she could feel his arousal against her belly and she didn't want to egg him on any more than she had to in order to get free.
Because no, Haruno Sakura did not give up, even in the face of someone like Uchiha Madara.
Then his fingers were plucking at her nipples, pulling and twisting and forcing them to attention. To Sakura's disgust, she felt the slightest stirring of arousal, but it was easily squashed when she remembered who was doing this to her.
He pulled away, panting. "You're delicious," he said, and she was sure it was meant to be praise, but all she could feel was loathing so deep and overwhelming that it made her want to vomit.
Her hatred must have shown on her face because he chuckled, and then one hand left her breasts, toyed with her lower lips, and then pushed inside her with unrelenting force.
It unclogged the gates of her fear, to have his finger inside her. "Please, no, please!" she begged, tears filling her eyes at the realness of all this, and where she had once decided not to try to buck him off, she couldn't help twisting her hips to try and get him out of her, thrashing her body to and fro. Hot tears dripped down her face, but all he did was begin to pump inexorably in and out of her, the friction making her skin crawl.
"Please, please," she begged, but she didn't only beg him; she begged her arms to overcome the leather and fight free, she begged herself to grow strong enough to get him off her, she begged the gods to save her from this fate, because surely something this terrible couldn't be happening to her. Not her.
"You're tight," was all he said in response, removing his finger and licking her scant juices from it. Then he positioned himself above her and said, "This will hurt."
She screamed, crying and bucking and thrashing, as he aligned himself with her opening. She did everything in her power to prevent him from making connection, but all he had to do was grip her hips with his strong hands and pin her in place before positioning himself.
"Grit your teeth," he ordered, as if somehow trying to make this better for her. She didn't listen, still fighting futilely.
But when he pushed inside her, too big to fit, especially without her lubricating juices, she found herself doing exactly as he ordered while whimpering and seething her pain.
Madara made several smaller thrusts as he sought to push as much of himself as he could inside her. The tears leaked hotter and faster now, and her jaw hurt from clenching. A low whine came from the back of her throat when he fully seated himself, and when he paused, the ragged sobs of defeat came.
"Please, why are you doing this?" she asked weakly as he stayed still, possibly to let her adjust. "Please…why…why…"
"Shh."
And then he pulled out and pushed in again.
It hurt, hurt like nothing ever had in her entire lifetime. It was worse than breaking a bone; it felt like her very soul had been stabbed and gutted like a pig, a huge gaping wound where she had once been whole.
He set a steady pace, thrusting in and out until she was lubricated, and she thought it was probably blood from her loss of virginity, as she wasn't aroused in the slightest.
Once he had set his rhythm, he began to pepper her neck and face with kisses, gentle and affectionate and oh so sick. He licked away her tears until she jerked to get him off her, and then he settled for pulling a peak, taut with fear and pain, into his mouth and lavishing it with attention.
Despite her skin crawling, a jolt of arousal filled her abdomen, and she gritted her teeth as his path inside her slickened that much more.
Eventually, it was too much. She faded out, conscious but not there, and when he grew rough, probably to bring her back, she only retreated further.
"Sakura, look at me."
She heard him, but didn't.
"Sakura."
He was growing more insistent.
"Sakura."
The slap to the face brought her back at last, and she cried out, terrified and angry and why hadn't he let her escape? Why do this but not allow her any reprieve?
She had no words to describe his treatment of her, none at all. She didn't have any words for him at all, in fact.
"Good girl," he said, and then he was thrusting so hard and fast that the bed moved with him—while Sakura didn't, and was forced to accept the pain he was pushing into her with every movement.
She began to cry again, but silently, her tears leaking down her face and onto the bed, and then he came inside her, thick, hot liquid invading her and then leaking out, just like her tears. He grunted with the pleasure, and once he was done, without pulling out of her, he collapsed onto her artfully; he wasn't suffocating her physically, but he was so close she could smell his personal scent, and it made her want to vomit yet again.
It was a parody of cuddling. She was tied up and limp and he was curled around her like the lover that he wasn't. He kissed her gently, and she pulled away in only a token effort, because what else was there to do? He didn't care whether she wanted it, or him, or anything—he just took, took everything from her.
He sighed and then pulled out at last. "Mine," he murmured into her ear, and she shivered in disgust. In response, he kissed her on the tip of her nose and then deftly untied her left arm.
Gasping with relief and realizing this was over, she moved so as to better allow him to release her other arm. But all he did was pull her naked body into his and hold her to him.
"I'm-I'm not going home?" she asked in a tearful whisper. But she already knew the answer.
"This is your home."
She had not, in fact, known the answer, and of course when she was wrong it would be that much worse for her.
Crying quietly, she let him hold her as he fell asleep, and the only thought her traumatized mind could come up with was, My arm's going to be numb in the morning.