Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12701445.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Tokyo_Ghoul
  Relationship:
      Jason/Kaneki, Kaneki_Ken_|_Sasaki_Haise/Oomori_"Yamori"_Yakumo, Jason_and
      Kaneki
  Character:
      Kaneki_Ken_|_Sasaki_Haise, Jason, Oomori_"Yamori"_Yakumo
  Additional Tags:
      Torture, Imprisonment, Stockholm_Syndrome, Lima_Syndrome
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-13 Words: 2064
****** So Kind ******
by shaniceisfalling
Summary
     "I’ll forgive myself for it later. The things he makes me do again
     and again."
     This is my interpretation of the sexual assault that Kaneki may have
     had to endure during his captivity. Not necessarily romanticizing the
     abuse or the situation. Just exploring the relationship dynamics and
     the possible Stockholm and Lima syndromes. And the disturbing horror
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
I watch the wrench, gasping, panting.
Waiting.
There’s a kind of pain that’s intolerable. You think you can’t stand it a
second longer, and then you go on and do it. You do just that, stand it,
because you have no other choice.
You lose your mind in the process though.
I don’t know when I lost my mind. Was it in the middle of his hands grinding
off bits of me from parts of me, or was it in the time between that? The time I
had to just sit there and wait for him to walk back through those doors and
start it all over again?
His shoulders move over me. His hand reaches down. I flinch. I tell myself not
to, but I flinch anyway. I’ll forgive myself for it later. I forgive myself for
the things I can’t control. The things he makes me do, again and again.
I forgive myself for how my voice sounds. How I beg, breathlessly. Silently. I
do it as automatically as breathing. “Please. Don’t.”
The wrench moves closer to my member. My hips, confined to the small space of
the chair can’t get away. I close my eyes, lips trembling. Not from fear, maybe
a little from that actually, but it’s more from anticipation. Just do it
already… Please. My teeth chatter, and I resist the urge to cry out. To beg him
to just get it over with if he’s gonna.
The metal brushes the fabric of my pants, or what’s left of it. His free hand
reaches up to my face, my lips, and he runs his thumb across the cracking,
bleeding skin. “Why do you act like I only ever hurt you?”
I shiver.
“I’ve done more for you, haven’t I?” He looks up at me and I don’t have an
answer. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s ripped my penis off, in one yank,
slowly twisting and grinding it and pulling every nerve and bit of it out of me
in a bloody mess. So I have a valid reason to be afraid.
But no… he’s right, that’s not all he’s done to my penis. His fingers brush the
front fabric and I can’t stop moving under his touch.
“What kind of day do you want to have today Kaneki?” he asks me.
I just let that word slip from my lips again, automatically. “Please.”
“Please what?”
There are times when I hate him more than usual. Now is not one of those times.
Now is one of the times when I hate myself. I let myself turn to nothing before
him. I beg this man like it’s all I can do, because it is. “Please fuck me
today… I want you.”
He doesn’t waste any time. I knew he wouldn’t. He only offers when he will, and
he would whether I’d asked for it or not. By cooperating, I just minimized the
pain involved in it, in regard to that wrench.
He puts the wrench away and then comes back with his hands on my hips. “Up,” he
commands.
I do as told, lifting my ass from the chair, sorely.
He pulls my pants down and grabs ahold of me. I flinch. He’s rough, he yanks at
it, teasing it between his fingers. I try to follow his motion to minimize the
blows.
“Stay.” He shoves me back where he wants me and runs a finger up and down my
length again and again. He watches my foreskin move around curiously. I watch
him watch me get harder and harder, somehow despite the pain.
He stands up abruptly and pulls his own pants down. It’s already hard, his
dick. He reaches down and strokes it a few times. “Are you watching?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
I lick my dry lips. I can barely speak. “Yes, I’m watching.”
“Hmm,” he moves closer and I open my mouth. I show him that I’m opening my
mouth so he doesn’t get mad.
He shoves my head down to meet his dick. Right before it touches my lips, he
looks at me pointedly and makes me look at him. It’s a warning. Don’t try
anything. I won’t. He should know that by now.
I wrap my lips around him and bob my head as best as I can. I’m getting so weak
these days. I remember being able to do this faster, but then again, those days
I didn’t want to do it at all.
Things change. Things become bearable that you wouldn’t think could. He sticks
one of his fingers into my mouth as I suck his member. He likes to feel where
my mouth and his cock connect. Don’t ask why, I don’t. I just accommodate him
and accommodate him and do whatever he wants, and I feel dirty and needy in a
way I’d never imagined I would before. I never imagined a man could do this
kind of thing to another man before. But I’m not even a man, am I? I’m just a
boy.
Hide crosses my mind, but I push the thought of a guy I’ll never see again
away.
Jason pulls himself out of my mouth and a saliva trail follows, falling down my
chin. I’d wipe it if I could. He doesn’t even seem to notice or care. He tries
to position me to enter me, but the angle isn’t right. It just hurts and it
isn’t working. We could make it work like this, but it doesn’t have to.
I gesture towards my restraints. I’m too afraid to ask aloud, but I have to
ask. He says yes sometimes. Sometimes being the operative word.
He stares at my bindings for a while, tight jawed. He runs his hands up and
down my exposed thighs. Then he frees my legs.
I smile, gratefully. I move them for the first time since the last time, and
the last time was a while ago. I wiggle my sore ankles. He gives me a look. I
stay still and let him lift my bum to where he wants it. I clear my throat and
look at my arms.
His gaze hardens.
I look down submissively. I try to keep my fingers still. My arms ache to be
released. It hurts to not be able to do something as simple as scratch your
nose, or as complex as hold yourself after someone’s ripped away pieces of you.
I just want to be “free” for a moment, not even.
But it doesn’t matter how I feel about it. I keep my eyes down. I won’t push it
anymore. It’s his choice.
“If only he’d been so kind to me,” Jason mutters under his breath. I feel the
restraints pop open and my chest floods with comfort. I rub my wrists and
stretch my arms. I hear my back crack and I sigh with relief.
He tilts my chin up, head back, forcefully. He gives me a hard look, a warning.
No funny business. I nod. It reminds me of the first time we did it.
               _________________________________________________
One time, a long time ago. Not quite at the beginning but not quite now, I
asked him why he did this sort of thing to me, the torture. Why he wanted to
hurt me.
He seemed disturbed by the question somehow. He hurt me for a while longer than
usual that day, but before he left, he lingered over me. He cracked his fingers
and watched me. He just watched me. He just stared at me without saying a
thing, and then he did say something.
He said it as a whisper, a dirty secret, a second guessed thought almost in
passing. “I have to do this to you,” he said firmly. Not loudly. He did it just
the way one would recite a fact. “It makes it stop in my head.” He could barely
get the words out. “The counting doesn’t make sense without it, and my fingers
ache, and...” the words died on his lips slowly. He shook his head, almost
tiredly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
I shook my head. I told him, “I think I do.”
He raised an eyebrow and stared at me.
I said nothing else, for fear of having said the wrong thing.
He chuckled. “Of course you do… you look at me the way I looked at him.”
I frowned, for some reason beyond my understanding. It made me sick to think of
him with someone else. I tried to change the topic. “How do you look at me?”
He looked surprised. I loved surprising him. It was the only way to fight him
in this. To resist. To show any semblance of power or control over myself. It
was the only way to remember I was Kaneki and who that was.
He narrowed his eyes and grinned in a way that had stopped scaring me by then.
“I look at you like he looked at me.” He yanked my hair back and bit into my
exposed flesh. I cried out, just the way he wanted me to, for hours. I fought
against him, though. I cried, and pissed and moaned, and begged him not to
then.
Now? I prefer him to use me in that way. Rape (can it even be called that
anymore?) is bearable in comparison to the other things he could do to my body.
               _________________________________________________
I feel myself rip apart again and again with every thrust of his hips. I dig
into his shoulders and cry out against his neck. He grunts as yet another
warning, don’t try anything so close to his neck. I don’t know how to prove to
him that I wouldn’t in a way he’ll believe me. Because I really wouldn’t. Not
on a day like this when he’s being merciful.
On days like this I almost forget he’s the person who’s hurt me, the person
who’s keeping me here. I haven’t felt the warmth of another person in so long.
I hold him close to me and think, no one’s been this kind to me in a while.
He breaks me apart and I thank him... I thank him? I like it, don’t I? Do I? I
shouldn’t but I think I do even though I think I shouldn’t be thinking this way
at all. I should be afraid. A man, this man, has taken me and will not let me
go. This man won’t stop hurting me to the point that lesser pains have turned
to signs of compassion in my head. He’s fucking me up.
I think I’ll die here. I wonder if did, would he miss me?
I want to cry when I think he wouldn’t. That this has only affected my life
monumentally and really amounts to nothing to him. I hold him closer, meet each
one of his thrusts with my own hips. It’s sick, and I don’t understand why I do
it, why I need this, but I’ll forgive myself for it later. I have no other
choice.
“There you go,” he whispers against my flesh. “Dance for me, boy.”
Those words overwhelm me. I cling to him. I can’t let go. I want him so bad. I
need him to take me all the way, like he always does in everything he subjects
me to.
“You’re mine, you know that? My Kaneki. My whore. Look what I’ve turned you
into.” He cums inside me and I follow close behind. Release is the only
pleasure he allows me in this world, and our small space in it. He doesn’t pull
out of me right away, another pleasure allotted. He lingers inside me, not
quite letting me go yet. “You’re not that nice boy from the coffee shop
anymore, are you?” he asks.
I know it’s not the kind of question he wants an answer for, so I stay silent.
I listen to the silence of the room, and I trail my fingers across the expanse
of his back. His shoulders. His face. He allows me that in this.
I don’t know if I’m afraid or excited anymore. I don’t know who I am, or the
person I’ve become. There’s just this, and him, and nothing else. Not even me
anymore.
“I wish every day was like this,” I whisper against his heated flesh.
“Hmm.”
End Notes
     Yikes :/ Killing Stalking vibes anyone? :X This isn't inspired by
     that work, but I can't help but think of it in hindsight
     Any who~ If anyone's a HidexKaneki shipper, tell me! I'd love to
     write a fic about them (one that's not depressing and horrifying like
     this lol xD I swear I can write normal stuff. Believe in me~)
     Or, if you actually are a JasonxKaneki shipper, I could consider a
     real world AU where they're in an abusive relationship. I won't
     romanticize it like it's healthy, but I could explore it in a way
     similar to this work in which I show a degree of sympathy for both
     parties
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