Crossed
Title: Crossed
Chapter: Oneshot
Author: socialriotbitch
Pairing: Mad Sister (Uruha)/Psycho Slugger (Reita)
Genre: uhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: gore, non-con, skull fucking, decapitation, minor character death, major character death, torture, blasphemy, transgender Uruha, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Summary: Two fated lovers, Mad Sister and Psycho Slugger, trapped in an eternal conflict that tends to bring death and destruction all around them. Who will come out on top this time?
Disclaimer: I don't own the GazettE
Word count: ~1,900
Comment: Happy Halloween! READ THE WARNINGS. Transfem Uruha (she/her pronouns throughout)
Side note: I'm not religious. Every single bible quote in this was found through google. This might be offensive to christians, I don't know.
When the screaming started, she knew it was only a matter of time before they would come to her. The abbess would resist, would suggest every other possibility, but deep inside, she'd know she was their best chance at survival. Sure enough, it didn't take long before she heard frantic steps outside, followed by the jingling of keys in the lock. “Mad Sister?”
She rose from her kneeling position, hanging her rosary around her neck and turning to face the sisters. “Come to ask for my assistance, have you?”
“Do you not hear the screaming?”
She turned to the window overlooking the rest of the monastery, where sisters were pouring out of every exit like ants. “I take it he has returned?”
One of the sisters cried out in frustration. “Would you stop stalling and just help us!”
“You were the ones who locked me up,” Mad Sister reminded them, though she crossed the stone floor in short strides, sighing when they backed away from her. “You called me a witch.”
“Please, now is not the time,” said the other sister, holding out a bundle wrapped in cloth. “Save the convent, and maybe the reverend mother will reconsider.”
“No, she won't.” She accepted the bundle, unwrapping her machete and running her fingers along it. Her lips formed a fond smile as she watched the moonlight bounce off the blade. “Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods, do not demand them back. And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.”
She gripped the hilt tightly, leaving without another glance at the sisters, sprinting down the hall. She could still follow the screams, though they were growing faint by now. She supposed anyone who was still able to had escaped, leaving only the dead and the incapacitated. And, of course, him.
She ran as swiftly as she could, her blood pumping in her veins. She spent most of her days in prayer, and locked in the tower with limited space to use, she never got any exercise, but the adrenaline kept her going. Down the stairs she ran, past the dormitories, until at last, she found him.
She had to step over the mangled body of one of her sisters, crossing herself and glancing around the room, frowning at the blood staining the walls. Just a little further in from where she was standing lay another corpse, her face barely recognisable with how beaten it was. Her tunic was in tatters, her stomach split open, and a man was hunched over her, pulling her intestines out.
Barbed wire surrounded his body, even his face, partly covered by a black mask, and when he looked up to meet her eyes, she could see the blood dripping from his mouth. “MAD SISTER.”
“Psycho Slugger.” She watched him rip out the poor sister's liver and sink his teeth into it, seemingly unbothered by her presence. “You're not supposed to be here.”
“SO HUNGRY.” He took another bite, humming at the taste. “THEIR FEAR IS DELICIOUS.”
Another sister, probably the one who had been screaming, was lying to her left. Her legs were crushed, and it looked like she had tried to claw her way to the door, but she must have lost too much blood struggling. As sad as her death was, it provided an opportunity, and Mad Sister crouched next to her body, wrapping her rosary around her left hand and dipping it in blood. “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image.”
Psycho Slugger's laughter bounced off the walls, and he gripped his bat, straightening up and tipping his head back. “YOU ARE NO MAN.”
“I was the one who led you into temptation, and for that, I'm truly sorry.” She frowned sadly, but he let out a guttural roar and charged forward, and there was no more time to mourn. She raised her hand, dripping with blood, and held it out towards him, concentrating her will.
He froze in his tracks, both hands on the bat, having raised it to strike at her, but he wasn't fast enough. Mad Sister turned her hand, and the blood coating it started dripping up, as though gravity had been inverted. Her fingers curled into a fist, and strange tendons shot from the walls, gripping Psycho Slugger's limbs.
His arms were pulled straight out, and he was forced to drop the bat, growling furiously, to no avail. He hovered a few centimetres above the floor, crimson tendrils coiled around his wrists and ankles, more rising from the floor to strip away his clothes. “NO!”
Her hand dropped to her side, and the corners of her lips curled up in a grin. “Hush, my sweet.” Her eyes, previously monochrome, were now bloodshot, and the rosary in her hand was floating up to the ceiling, the crucifix upside down. “They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him.” While she spoke, she ran her machete across his chest, slicing into his skin and drawing blood. It seeped down his skin, trickling in thick rivulets, and he gritted his teeth and hissed in pain.
The low hiss turned to a scream when her blade stabbed into his thigh, slicing through muscle like it was nothing, and his mouth fell open in shock and horror. She left the machete buried in his leg and bent down to pick up his bat, unwrapping the barbed wire, ignoring his pained cries. “They twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head.”
She gripped his dick, and his eyes went wide. He cursed and spat at her, trying to pull away, but his limbs were stretched so tightly, he couldn't escape. All he could do was watch as she curled the wire around the base of his dick, so tight the barbs dug painfully into his skin, meticulously wrapping it around him. It didn't take long before he started bleeding, the arousal from the earlier hunt betraying him, red lines streaking down his balls, his thighs.
Screaming turned to weeping, and she shushed him again, bloodstained hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “Don't cry. We will be together again.”
“FUCK YOU.” He barely got the words out before her lips pressed against his, silencing him. He tasted of blood, but she wasn't deterred, just kissed him sweetly and wiped his tears with her thumbs. When she pulled away again, he sneered, making his tone taunting despite the pain seeping through. “AREN'T YOU PROMISED TO YOUR PROPHET?”
Her eye twitched, and with a swift move, she pulled her blade out of his thigh, jabbing it into his gut instead, wrenching another cry from him. “Silence.” She twisted the blade, and again he tried to free himself, but the blood loss was making him dizzy. The gaping wound in his thigh was gushing, and when she pulled the blade out of his stomach, more poured out of him.
She seemed to realise, tilting her head and looking him up and down. “You'll be gone soon. The sisters will be satisfied that I kept you from harming anyone else.” She waited, gave him the chance to speak, but he was panting harshly, eyes unfocused. Even when she gripped his dick, squeezing hard and making his entire body convulse, blood oozing out between her fingers, he barely whimpered. She'd gotten carried away.
With one last press of lips to his, she gripped the hilt of her machete, raising it over her head. For a moment, she almost looked sad, but the wild look in her eyes returned before she had time to hesitate. “Throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
The blade swung through the air and sliced through his neck with unnatural force, cleaving flesh and bone despite the lack of momentum. His head hit the floor with a thud, and she placed her foot on it to keep it from rolling anywhere while she wiped her blade on his arm, getting the worst of the blood off it.
She hadn't heard anything yet, so she figured the rest of the convent was still outside, probably waiting for her to come out and tell them it was safe. She bent down, carefully placing her machete on a spot of the floor that somehow wasn't drenched in blood, and picked Psycho Slugger's severed head up. After all, he wasn't the only one who found this thrilling.
It took a bit of fumbling to get her skirt out of the way, but soon she had it tucked away, and she bit her lip against a moan as she gripped her dick. She had to resist the urge to move her hand, but masturbation was a sin, and besides, she had a much better alternative. With her dick in one hand and his head in the other, she lined herself up with what she hoped was his oesophagus, slowly pulling him over her.
His throat felt amazingly tight, especially when her lust grew, and along with it, her cock. She gripped his head with both hands, watching, mesmerized, as she slipped into him again and again. She started out with shallow thrusts, savouring the moment, soft gasps slipping past her parted lips as she struggled to hold back. His eyes were wide open, but his gaze was empty, like he was looking at the ceiling while she fucked his tight hole.
Morbid curiosity gripped her, and she pulled him down, all the way to the base, moaning shakily when the head of her cock nearly hit his teeth. Deft fingers pried his mouth open even more, taking in the sight, unsurprised when precum oozed from her tip. She ground her hips slowly, rocking her dick back and forth, watching her head disappear and reappear between his bloody lips.
Her fingers dug into his cold skin, and she tipped her head back, needing to clear her mind. His head moved over her like a sleeve, and soon she was thrusting her hips, excitement nearing a peak. Every push forward was met with a downward pull of his head, aided by gravity, and she cursed softly, no longer caring who heard her. His tight throat gripped her cock, his blood slicking the way, and her moans rose until she was deafeningly loud compared to the morbid silence that hung over the monastery.
The rhythmical wet squelches were lost in her desperate cries, and her thighs tensed as she worked towards her orgasm, leaning ever so slightly forwards. She fucked him hard, watching with glossy eyes until she couldn't take it anymore, cumming with a deep groan. Her hips stuttered, and she settled for grinding, chuckling when spurts of cum spilled past his lips. It was grotesque, wrong, and so, so hot, and she didn't slow down until she was certain she had nothing left to give.
She pulled him off her dick, lifting him and pressing her lips to his forehead in a sweet kiss. Whatever had been keeping his body up dissipated into thin air, and he dropped to the floor, landing in a pool of blood. She wasn't much better off, desperately in need of a bath, but it could wait just a little.
Chapter: Oneshot
Author: socialriotbitch
Pairing: Mad Sister (Uruha)/Psycho Slugger (Reita)
Genre: uhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: gore, non-con, skull fucking, decapitation, minor character death, major character death, torture, blasphemy, transgender Uruha, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Summary: Two fated lovers, Mad Sister and Psycho Slugger, trapped in an eternal conflict that tends to bring death and destruction all around them. Who will come out on top this time?
Disclaimer: I don't own the GazettE
Word count: ~1,900
Comment: Happy Halloween! READ THE WARNINGS. Transfem Uruha (she/her pronouns throughout)
Side note: I'm not religious. Every single bible quote in this was found through google. This might be offensive to christians, I don't know.
When the screaming started, she knew it was only a matter of time before they would come to her. The abbess would resist, would suggest every other possibility, but deep inside, she'd know she was their best chance at survival. Sure enough, it didn't take long before she heard frantic steps outside, followed by the jingling of keys in the lock. “Mad Sister?”
She rose from her kneeling position, hanging her rosary around her neck and turning to face the sisters. “Come to ask for my assistance, have you?”
“Do you not hear the screaming?”
She turned to the window overlooking the rest of the monastery, where sisters were pouring out of every exit like ants. “I take it he has returned?”
One of the sisters cried out in frustration. “Would you stop stalling and just help us!”
“You were the ones who locked me up,” Mad Sister reminded them, though she crossed the stone floor in short strides, sighing when they backed away from her. “You called me a witch.”
“Please, now is not the time,” said the other sister, holding out a bundle wrapped in cloth. “Save the convent, and maybe the reverend mother will reconsider.”
“No, she won't.” She accepted the bundle, unwrapping her machete and running her fingers along it. Her lips formed a fond smile as she watched the moonlight bounce off the blade. “Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods, do not demand them back. And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.”
She gripped the hilt tightly, leaving without another glance at the sisters, sprinting down the hall. She could still follow the screams, though they were growing faint by now. She supposed anyone who was still able to had escaped, leaving only the dead and the incapacitated. And, of course, him.
She ran as swiftly as she could, her blood pumping in her veins. She spent most of her days in prayer, and locked in the tower with limited space to use, she never got any exercise, but the adrenaline kept her going. Down the stairs she ran, past the dormitories, until at last, she found him.
She had to step over the mangled body of one of her sisters, crossing herself and glancing around the room, frowning at the blood staining the walls. Just a little further in from where she was standing lay another corpse, her face barely recognisable with how beaten it was. Her tunic was in tatters, her stomach split open, and a man was hunched over her, pulling her intestines out.
Barbed wire surrounded his body, even his face, partly covered by a black mask, and when he looked up to meet her eyes, she could see the blood dripping from his mouth. “MAD SISTER.”
“Psycho Slugger.” She watched him rip out the poor sister's liver and sink his teeth into it, seemingly unbothered by her presence. “You're not supposed to be here.”
“SO HUNGRY.” He took another bite, humming at the taste. “THEIR FEAR IS DELICIOUS.”
Another sister, probably the one who had been screaming, was lying to her left. Her legs were crushed, and it looked like she had tried to claw her way to the door, but she must have lost too much blood struggling. As sad as her death was, it provided an opportunity, and Mad Sister crouched next to her body, wrapping her rosary around her left hand and dipping it in blood. “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image.”
Psycho Slugger's laughter bounced off the walls, and he gripped his bat, straightening up and tipping his head back. “YOU ARE NO MAN.”
“I was the one who led you into temptation, and for that, I'm truly sorry.” She frowned sadly, but he let out a guttural roar and charged forward, and there was no more time to mourn. She raised her hand, dripping with blood, and held it out towards him, concentrating her will.
He froze in his tracks, both hands on the bat, having raised it to strike at her, but he wasn't fast enough. Mad Sister turned her hand, and the blood coating it started dripping up, as though gravity had been inverted. Her fingers curled into a fist, and strange tendons shot from the walls, gripping Psycho Slugger's limbs.
His arms were pulled straight out, and he was forced to drop the bat, growling furiously, to no avail. He hovered a few centimetres above the floor, crimson tendrils coiled around his wrists and ankles, more rising from the floor to strip away his clothes. “NO!”
Her hand dropped to her side, and the corners of her lips curled up in a grin. “Hush, my sweet.” Her eyes, previously monochrome, were now bloodshot, and the rosary in her hand was floating up to the ceiling, the crucifix upside down. “They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him.” While she spoke, she ran her machete across his chest, slicing into his skin and drawing blood. It seeped down his skin, trickling in thick rivulets, and he gritted his teeth and hissed in pain.
The low hiss turned to a scream when her blade stabbed into his thigh, slicing through muscle like it was nothing, and his mouth fell open in shock and horror. She left the machete buried in his leg and bent down to pick up his bat, unwrapping the barbed wire, ignoring his pained cries. “They twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head.”
She gripped his dick, and his eyes went wide. He cursed and spat at her, trying to pull away, but his limbs were stretched so tightly, he couldn't escape. All he could do was watch as she curled the wire around the base of his dick, so tight the barbs dug painfully into his skin, meticulously wrapping it around him. It didn't take long before he started bleeding, the arousal from the earlier hunt betraying him, red lines streaking down his balls, his thighs.
Screaming turned to weeping, and she shushed him again, bloodstained hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “Don't cry. We will be together again.”
“FUCK YOU.” He barely got the words out before her lips pressed against his, silencing him. He tasted of blood, but she wasn't deterred, just kissed him sweetly and wiped his tears with her thumbs. When she pulled away again, he sneered, making his tone taunting despite the pain seeping through. “AREN'T YOU PROMISED TO YOUR PROPHET?”
Her eye twitched, and with a swift move, she pulled her blade out of his thigh, jabbing it into his gut instead, wrenching another cry from him. “Silence.” She twisted the blade, and again he tried to free himself, but the blood loss was making him dizzy. The gaping wound in his thigh was gushing, and when she pulled the blade out of his stomach, more poured out of him.
She seemed to realise, tilting her head and looking him up and down. “You'll be gone soon. The sisters will be satisfied that I kept you from harming anyone else.” She waited, gave him the chance to speak, but he was panting harshly, eyes unfocused. Even when she gripped his dick, squeezing hard and making his entire body convulse, blood oozing out between her fingers, he barely whimpered. She'd gotten carried away.
With one last press of lips to his, she gripped the hilt of her machete, raising it over her head. For a moment, she almost looked sad, but the wild look in her eyes returned before she had time to hesitate. “Throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
The blade swung through the air and sliced through his neck with unnatural force, cleaving flesh and bone despite the lack of momentum. His head hit the floor with a thud, and she placed her foot on it to keep it from rolling anywhere while she wiped her blade on his arm, getting the worst of the blood off it.
She hadn't heard anything yet, so she figured the rest of the convent was still outside, probably waiting for her to come out and tell them it was safe. She bent down, carefully placing her machete on a spot of the floor that somehow wasn't drenched in blood, and picked Psycho Slugger's severed head up. After all, he wasn't the only one who found this thrilling.
It took a bit of fumbling to get her skirt out of the way, but soon she had it tucked away, and she bit her lip against a moan as she gripped her dick. She had to resist the urge to move her hand, but masturbation was a sin, and besides, she had a much better alternative. With her dick in one hand and his head in the other, she lined herself up with what she hoped was his oesophagus, slowly pulling him over her.
His throat felt amazingly tight, especially when her lust grew, and along with it, her cock. She gripped his head with both hands, watching, mesmerized, as she slipped into him again and again. She started out with shallow thrusts, savouring the moment, soft gasps slipping past her parted lips as she struggled to hold back. His eyes were wide open, but his gaze was empty, like he was looking at the ceiling while she fucked his tight hole.
Morbid curiosity gripped her, and she pulled him down, all the way to the base, moaning shakily when the head of her cock nearly hit his teeth. Deft fingers pried his mouth open even more, taking in the sight, unsurprised when precum oozed from her tip. She ground her hips slowly, rocking her dick back and forth, watching her head disappear and reappear between his bloody lips.
Her fingers dug into his cold skin, and she tipped her head back, needing to clear her mind. His head moved over her like a sleeve, and soon she was thrusting her hips, excitement nearing a peak. Every push forward was met with a downward pull of his head, aided by gravity, and she cursed softly, no longer caring who heard her. His tight throat gripped her cock, his blood slicking the way, and her moans rose until she was deafeningly loud compared to the morbid silence that hung over the monastery.
The rhythmical wet squelches were lost in her desperate cries, and her thighs tensed as she worked towards her orgasm, leaning ever so slightly forwards. She fucked him hard, watching with glossy eyes until she couldn't take it anymore, cumming with a deep groan. Her hips stuttered, and she settled for grinding, chuckling when spurts of cum spilled past his lips. It was grotesque, wrong, and so, so hot, and she didn't slow down until she was certain she had nothing left to give.
She pulled him off her dick, lifting him and pressing her lips to his forehead in a sweet kiss. Whatever had been keeping his body up dissipated into thin air, and he dropped to the floor, landing in a pool of blood. She wasn't much better off, desperately in need of a bath, but it could wait just a little.