₵.Ɽ.Ɏ

₵.Ɽ.Ɏ

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing1h 0m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Aug 18, 2019
Orphaned at the tender age of five, Cici spent her childhood years in American foster care. She never kept anyone close enough to get attached to, yet, when she was sixteen, she was officially adopted by the grieving Rogers family and taken in by a mourning mother- - who had recently lost her daughter in a devastating car accident. Spending two whole years with the family of three, excusably happy for what she felt was the first time in her budding life- - excelling in school, getting a part-time job, making close friends, and, even, falling in love- - she assumed she had a shot at normalcy. Until she was kidnapped. Operated on, mutilated, tortured, and raped for three long years- - hidden beneath everyone's noses as her file was surely tucked away, and her case went cold- - Cici ultimately gained her vengeance on the two men who abducted and defiled her by slaughtering them. Earning her freedom through the mortal sin of murder, the young woman opened herself up to an evil that had been unknowingly watching her all along. And, with nowhere to go, and no one- -nothing- -to turn to, the powerful Devil- known as "The Operator"- revealed itself and its intentions to her- - ensuring to grant Cici a new life; to give her a purpose. Desperate, and lost- - feeling utterly empty- - she accepted the contract, and pledged herself to its rule, promptly allowing the mental reconstruction necessary to become a Proxy - one who can hold the malignant spirits of The Operator's legion without fail. Now, with her old life behind her, accompanied in memory by only her name and age, Cici dives into a world of obscurity and gloom, feeling deep within her that, perhaps, she was better off dead. ||*Content and/or trigger warning: This story contains scenes of violent and nonviolent sexual activity, abuse, self-harm, and suicide that may be triggering for some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.*|| ||**On going**||
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"Don't look at me like that..." Vanessa Hart has always been the good girl-quiet, studious, achingly innocent. At eighteen, her world is small and safe, defined by library books and the gentle, fading memory of her father. She's a untouched flower, never been plucked, never been kissed. But when her fragile, grieving mother brings home Carter Anderson, that small, safe world shatters. Carter is everything Vanessa shouldn't want. Older. Forbidden. Powerful. Soon to be her stepfather. A wealthy titan of industry with a gaze that feels like a physical touch, he moves through their modest home like a panther in a cage of glass. He is twice her age, all sharp suits, cold authority, and a dominance that makes the air crackle. And the way he watches her-dark, hungry, utterly possessive-sends shivers of something terrifying and thrilling down her spine. He is a man who takes what he wants, and he wants *her*. One sweltering night, trapped together in the oppressive silence of the study, he corners her. The scent of his expensive cologne and aged whiskey is an intoxicating fog. His finger, calloused and warm, tilts her chin up, forcing her to meet his burning gaze. "You have no idea," he whispers, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates deep within her, "how hard it is not to touch you. Not to claim what has been mine from the moment I saw you." His mouth crashes down on hers, not asking, but *taking*. It's not a gentle first kiss; it's a conquest. It's a devouring of her innocence, a branding of his ownership. A weak protest dies in her throat, morphing into a gasp that he swallows whole. His hands are everywhere, mapping the territory of her body she's never shown to anyone, burning through the thin cotton of her dress. "This is wrong," she breathes against his lips, even as her body arches into his. "Wrong has never felt so right, little one," he growls, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the leather sofa.

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