#and in turn makes themselves coil and feel a little more disgusted with themselves. but they're also so Good to each other that they can | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thethousandyearwitch · 2 years

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Another Heart to Pound for You

! Loveparasite AU PariGing !

“If you’re going to smell, don’t drag it into my bed, and sleep on the couch.” “I’ll just go to your bed when you leave.” “You’re disgusting.” The man pressed a lazy kiss to Ging’s neck, before pulling back. “And you’ve got a bug bite right there. You’re taking a flea bath later.” ---- Ging gets bitten by a weird bug while on an expedition, and once he makes it back to Swardani City, things feel... different. Not bad, necessarily, just different. Intimate. Passionate. And then it gets bad.

Rated M: short saucy scene, descriptions of medical interventions

AO3 Link which also features scientific notes and a sick drawing of the bug by my girlfriend

“…Can we go back already?” A member of the research team sighed with exhaustion. “It’s hot, it’s stuffy, we’ve collected the rock samples.”

Ging Freecss rolled his brown eyes dismissively. He had planned this expedition as a one-man team, but the hunter association decided to trouble him last minute with a handful of one- and two-star hunters with less than stellar field experience, ‘for educational purposes’. There was a feeling that he knew exactly who he had to blame for that decision.

“Go back to camp without me, I’ll catch up.”

His team exchanged glances and started to head back to their camp site with varying degrees of reluctance.

Peace and Quiet. The way he preferred to work.

While his team was right that the weather conditions had been uncomfortably warm ever since they had arrived in the more secluded parts of the jungle, the discomfort had paid off with the findings of a well-preserved temple structure; Not the first ever found of this kind, but most likely the one that’s in the best condition. Ging carefully placed a gloved hand on a pillar etched with intricate designs of a long dead civilization, traced the outline of humanoid figures standing next to each other, holding each other. It's a common design for prayer temples in this area: each pillar that held up the structure would be engraved with love stories that had been told for generations, though barely any have been recorded in modern times, even less translated and made accessible.

As he circled around the pillar to investigate the rest of the ‘story’, Ging came to a sudden halt.

A small stream of Nen, barely noticeable, slowly wrapped around the pillar.

Alarm bells went off in the man’s mind. There shouldn’t be access to this research site from anyone else that isn’t collaborating closely with the hunter association; He also would have noticed anyone coming close enough with hostile intent.

Tiptaptiptaptiptap

The Nen ‘user’ suddenly revealed themselves, by scuttling up the pillar. A bug, similar in makeup to a centipede, had coiled itself around the pillar, Nen seeping from its body in an uncontrolled line.

“Hello there- “Ging leaned closer to the bug to inspect it, unsure if he had ever seen this type of critter. It looked to be around nine inches long, the largest segment of its body, most likely its head, had no visible eyes, but instead a long proboscis that twitched in uneven intervals. Each of its body segments had a pair of short, two-jointed legs. He silently cursed that he didn’t have a research container to take it with him.

Suddenly the bug charged forward, scurrying over Ging’s hand, along his arm, up to his shoulder and neck, followed by- “AH!”- a sharp pain. Subconscious response, his hands slap the back of his neck in an attempt to get the little intruder off. The bug in turn fell to the ground and ran to disappear between the cracks of the temple.

The man rubbed the sore spot on his neck, though when he looked at his hands, at least he didn’t seem to be bleeding. He ran one hand through his wild hair with a sigh. Maybe it was a sign to turn back to camp.

--------------------------

Two days later. 4:30 am. Ging arrived in Swardani City:

1) Sweaty

2) Exhausted. The flight back had been turbulent, his teammates had been uncooperative, some of the rock samples had proven too fragile to actually be of use, and the first message he got on his phone as soon as he had some network again was a notification for a zodiac meeting. Nope, no way.

Fatigue pounding through his limbs, the man dragged himself pretty much on autopilot through the city. The concierge of the high-rise apartment building gave him a familiar nod as he waited for the elevator, punched in the desired floor, and waited.

The finger-print-activated lock at the door clicked open for him, evidence of another unfulfilled threat spoken weeks ago.

The apartments interior design always looked like it came straight from a catalogue; White- and natural-wood furniture on a dark laminate floor, an open kitchen with a marble island holding a fruit bowl that looked more decorative than for actual consumption. He shuffled off his shoes and grabbed an apple anyway.

“Early breakfast or late dinner?” Ging didn’t flinch when someone spoke up from the silence and eventually rested their head on his shoulder.

“Neither- Both- Not sure yet. Just landed. Get off of me.”

“If you can wait 2 more hours, we can grab breakfast before the meeting”, the blond man’s voice was still raspy with sleep and Ging was about to interrupt him- “Though I doubt you want to bother.”

“Need sleep.”

“And a shower.”

“Secondary.”

The blond, Pariston Hill, scrunched his nose, though there was still a smile on his lips. He and Ging had known each other for a long time, rotating endlessly through labels for their relationships (Acquaintances, Colleagues, Friends, Rivals, Lovers, Husbands, Exes, Rebounds-) until there was no point in trying and they fell into a rhythmic play of their own making. Afterall, they probably were the only ones who could understand each other to intimate degrees. Afterall, they were the biggest mystery in each other’s life.

“If you’re going to smell, don’t drag it into my bed, and sleep on the couch.”

“I’ll just go to your bed when you leave.”

“You’re disgusting.” The man pressed a lazy kiss to Ging’s neck, before pulling back. “And you’ve got a bug bite right there. You’re taking a flea bath later.”

Before Ging could retort, an alarm clock went off. “I’ll turn it off on my way to bed- have fun torturing the others.” He tossed the apple core on the kitchen island and disappeared into a darkened bedroom, flopping on the king-sized bed, slapping the noisy alarm off. Immediately he could feel the exhaustion that had settled in him seeping out, comfortable warmth wrapping around him. He barely registered the sound of a trashcan opening and closing; Closet doors shutting; A shower running; Dress shoes on laminate; And finally, the front door falling shut.

Occasionally the buzz of his phone would wake him up for a moment (“If you’re in town, please show up to scheduled meetings, Ging.”), but he’d fall back asleep after a few seconds.

He woke up properly at 6 pm.

He woke up sick.

----------------------------------------

The first thing Pariston had heard when he unlocked the door was violent coughing, followed by agonized groaning. The view in his bedroom confirmed his suspicions: Ging laid there, curled up in on himself, nose running, coughing, and if he touched him, he could probably confirm that he was running a fever as well.

“Not only bugs, but spreading germs in my home as well?” He made an obvious display of covering his mouth and nose when he leaned on the doorframe.

Ging glared from under the blankets he had covered himself with. “Be…quiet.”

“Aw, do you have a headache, Ging?” Pariston replied, not lowering his voice at all.

“Asshole. I’m leaving.” Ging made no attempt to move.

“Where to?”

“The woods. I’ll die there and wild animals can eat my corpse. Circle of life.” His body shook with another cough.

Pariston smiled as if satisfied with the response and turned, leaving Ging still shaking in his nest of blankets.

The shorter man thought about getting up, though every muscle felt sore and shot dull pain through his entire body with the tiniest movement. Even keeping his eyes open felt like an effort. But staying in this bed, this apartment, suddenly felt wrong-

A sweet smell somehow came through his stuffed nose. Ging opened his eyes again to see a cup of tea, two small blue capsules, and Pariston looked extremely satisfied with himself.

“If you’re actually going to die of a cold, of all things, I want to be there to witness it. Just don’t touch me.”

He wrapped his shaking fingers around the warm mug, the heat pleasantly seeping into his skin. It smelled of berries and honey. Despite the water coming just down from a boil, he risked a small sip, relished in the way it soothes the torn inside of his throat.

-Unlike the invading presence whose smile seems to grow more sinister by the second. Pariston was still holding out some medicine, which Ging mustered with scepticism. “These are from a kit that Cheadle gave me. If it’s poison, that’s on her.”

Out of energy to argue, the shorter man decides to take the medicine, swallows it down with a bit more tea and an exhausted sigh.

“Ging…” He closed his eyes, in hopes to drown the other man out, blankets wrapped tightly around him. “You look like an elderly cat.”

Damn it.

-------------------------------

There were good news in Ging’s life: His cold seemed to pass with ease, after a week he was symptom free.

Unfortunately, that also meant bad news: No more excuses not to attend zodiac meetings.

So, there he was, slouching back in his chair, amidst more miserable people forced to listen to Paristons list of ‘top priority discussions’.

“Which number are we on?”

“Seventeen, I believe.” Gel replied, posture upright and neat, though she had been tapping her nails on the table for quite some time now.

“Are you the ‘homeless guy’ Pariston has been giving ‘charity and care’ to?” Piyon leaned over too, though her gaze was fixed on her phone, tapping lightning speed messages.

“…Pay attention to the meeting, Brat.” He gave the blond at the front of the room a glare, which was either not seen or just skilfully ignored, seeing as he continued to wave his hands in grandeur gestures with his signature plastic smile.

They had left the apartment at separate times (Of course Ging continued to stay there), so only now did he have to chance to muster the other man from top to bottom. A well fitted amethyst suit, black dress shoes, shining gold cuff links. His undershirt was a pale, almost white, pink, the collar pressed tight against his skin. Blond hair was carefully combed yet stuck out here in there in unruly strands. One strand briefly falls in front of his eyes, but Pariston brushes it away in another lax hand movement.

Their eyes meet.

Paristons smile widens for just a moment and-

He winks.

Ging realizes he had been staring.

Damn it.

Pariston didn’t need this ego boost. He wasn’t going to let this happen again.

----------------------------------------------

He let it happen again.

Multiple times, actually.

As the days passed, Ging found himself staring an awful lot at Pariston, to a point that not just the other man noticed, but the people around them as well.

Ging doesn’t mean to stare. He’d prefer to look away and keep things as they are. But there is just something so different suddenly about Pariston, that it’s hard to look away and pretend not to notice.

Even though no one else seems to get what he means.

“He looks different than usual! I just can’t put my finger on it.” Ging mumbles into a stack of paperwork that had accumulated over the weeks he had been gone.

“What do you mean? Like, a haircut maybe? ->Ging” Cheadle replies from her own much smaller and neater stacks of papers.

“No, no, he would have said something if I didn’t comment on it. There’s something about his presence lately that’s much more…” Don’t phrase it like a compliment Don’t phrase it like a compliment Don’t phrase it like a compliment- “tolerable.” Good enough.

Cheadle stares at him for a few seconds in silence.

“You’re kidding? ->Ging”

“He’s been worse.”

“He made us stay two hours overtime because he decided it was the perfect time to discuss decade old security protocols. àGing” Ging remembers that meeting all too well; Pariston had undone the topmost button of his collar halfway through, which seemed way too tame to distract Ging the way it did. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Irrelevant. I’m going home.”

“Home? ->Ging” The woman raised a curios eyebrow.

He tossed his bag over his shoulder and turned before he had to justify himself in front of her. The apartment technically was his legal residence, at least on association papers. It was simply more convenient compared to booking or renting out a hotel room or get an entire apartment for himself when he’s barely in one place for more than a few weeks in a row. Convenience and habit.

The same convenience and habit that makes him walk through the city, greet the concierge, get on the elevator, and press his thumb against the door lock.

The smell of fresh coffee hit his nose as he shuffled his shoes off.

“You’re back early, don’t tell me you finished all of your paperwork already?” Pariston sat on the couch, legs neatly crossed, hands cradling a still steaming cup.

“I thought I’d come by to kick your ass for making me sign so many papers that will end up in the trash anyway.”

“How sweet. let me finish my espresso first. Did you have dinner?”

“Are you afraid I’m gonna starve myself to get away from you?”

“No, but you know I’m obviously just after you for your dashing figure.” Pariston leisurely got off the couch and snaked an arm around Ging’s waist.

The blond placed a kiss on the other man’s neck- And involuntarily, Ging let out a deep sigh and slumped against Paristons chest. About three seconds of suffocating silence passed before Ging got a hold of himself, let out a fake cough, and removed himself. Pariston gave him a devilish grin in response. “Oho, what was that just now? Let’s do that again~”

“Do not touch me. I’m tired because I had to do your paperwork- I’m going to bed.”

“My bed? Which we are sharing?”

“Sleep on the couch.”

“This is my apartment!” Pariston feigned an insulted gasp, though his smile grew even wider.

They did end up sharing the bed as usual, though Ging was protective of his Neck (and personal space in general) for the rest of the night. Even though he didn’t want to. What he really wanted was for Pariston to come closer, wrap himself around him- Which he also really did not want, why would he want Pariston of all people even closer than he usually lets him. Yet something inside him, probably the same thing responsible for making him stare at the man, tries to stretch out his muscles and wants to reach out.

Well, it’ll have to try harder.

----------------------------------------It’s definitely trying harder, whatever it is.

Looking at Pariston has become almost as unbearable as not looking at Pariston. If Ging isn’t near him, he starts to feel anxious, twitchy, and generally at unease. If Pariston is near however, he feels like he is going to embarrass himself like a horny teenager, unconsciously seeking out contact with the other man, relaxing in his presence more than he probably should.

“Maybe it’s like a second honeymoon phase- wait, did you ever have a first honeymoon phase?” Piyon kicked her legs under the table, obviously having disregarded any interest for whatever Pariston was passionately ranting about at the front of the room. Her phone lit up with new messages.

“Didn’t I tell you to pay attention at meetings, Brat?”

“You’re not paying attention either!” She was right, but she didn’t have to point it out.

Ging leaned over to Cheadle who at first looked seemed to be taking actual meeting notes- but open closer inspection, it was a grocery list and a to-do list. “I think I’m possessed.”

“Please don’t make your relationship problems my problems. ->Ging”

At the front of the room, Pariston stopped mid hair flip. “Relationship problems? My, Cheadle, I don’t suppose you could be jealous of seeing a fiery office romance blossom!”

Ging let his head fall on the desk, sighing “I hate it here.”

“As an observer it can be pretty fun, must suck to be a participant though.” Piyon casually replied. “Like, what is there to see in Pariston?”

There were many casual replies that Ging usually had prepared, like ‘Absolutely nothing’ ‘He’s almost as insane as me’ ‘If I don’t watch him closely, he’s going to commit atrocities.’ But for some reason, none of these came to him. Instead, a slow, unclear anger bubbled in him. What is there not to see? You’re not supposed to look at him anyway. You’re jealous of never achieving what he has. You’re noth-

He took a controlled breath. In. And out. “It’s better not to know.”

------------------------------

“I may not be the first to say it, but you’re acting a little…strange.” Pariston said with a smile as they passed through the city together. After the meeting, Ging had waited for the other man to gather his things. So that they could ‘walk home together’, an idea that sounded incredibly foreign to both of them, but Ging had an uncomfortable feeling, that if they didn’t, something terrifying may happen. This growing anxiety of not being around Pariston did make him feel like a stranger in his own body.

“I thought it would be nicer if you weren’t the only one acting like a weirdo at all times.”

“Being kind to me? Even stranger than I had feared.”

“Maybe whatever is wrong with you is contagious- It was only a matter of time till I caught it.”

“How romantic~”

They entered the building, passed the concierge (who politely nodded but looked as surprised at the situation as Ging felt), and entered the elevator.

Which suddenly felt incredibly cramped, despite it only being the two of them. Ging cleared his throat. Pulled uncomfortably at his collar. Did anything, just to keep his hands occupied.

Because if he didn’t, he was sure he’d jump at Paristons throat in a second.

To kill him. To kiss him. To kill him. To kiss him. To kill him. To kiss him.

“Ging?” Paristons smile had grown into something smugger as he leaned down towards the shorter man, a few bangs falling down to frame his face. He felt incredibly close. “What are you thinking so intensely about?”

Lie. “…You.” Fuck.

“What about me?” The elevator ticks the numbers up.

For the love of anything, lie. “You look nice, like this.” Fuck.

Paristons face comes even closer, dark eyes sparkling with something scheming, but before he can open his mouth to reply, the elevator comes to a halt with a ding. Wordlessly, both of them step out and towards the door, the blond unlocking it and stepping in. Ging wants to kick his own ass, feels less in control of his body than ever before. Yes, Pariston does look nice, but why would he tell him that? He was letting himself get too comfortable-

The blond presses a kiss to Ging’s neck, just in passing as he closes the door behind them, light and casual, and all thoughts in his head halted. Goosebumps chase up his skin, as he feels his face heat up and his heart flutter. Since when exactly was he so sensitive there, anyway? Without much thought, he grabs Paristons wrist, stops him in his tracks. He can tell that his own hand is sweaty.

“Yes?” The taller man tilts his head to the side, feigning obliviousness. Pariston doesn’t move, lays in waiting.

Ging steps closer, guides Paristons hand to the nape of his neck, never breaking eye contact. Time suddenly seemed to pass agonizingly slow as he grabs at the lapels of the others suit, invades personal space even more.

Pariston doesn’t remove his hand, instead he starts to gently tease his fingers over the skin, sending even more shivers through Gings body with an unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation. For a while, they stand there in silence, Pariston gently caressing Ging’s neck, occasionally letting his fingers run through his thick, dark hair, before coming back down again; Ging eventually letting his head rest on the others shoulder, hiding a flushed face with occasional sighs leaving his lips.

“Feeling nostalgic?” Ging could feel the rumbling of Paristons voice through his chest, barely above a whisper, as if he didn’t want to break the fragile atmosphere.

“A little, I guess…” he shifted his head a bit to the side, mouthed the words against the exposed skin of the others throat. His hands wandered to the others waist and grabbed at the fabric there, which earned him a small chuckle.

“You seem so relaxed and off-guard, it’s tempting.” The hand that had been cradling Ging’s neck shifts to hold his chin instead, forcing him to look up. Their eyes meet, so close that they can feel each other’s breaths on their skin, and Pariston licks his lips just for a second-

And Ging decides to throw caution to the wind, to give in to whatever animalistic urge had possessed him. He closes the distance between them and presses their lips together, his hands steadying Pariston as he pins him against the door. The blond lets out a surprised gasp, before letting his hands settle on Ging’s neck again, thumbs caressing the outline of his jaw over rough stubble, which only prompts the man to open his mouth and press his tongue against the others.

Every muscle in Ging’s body suddenly seemed full of energy again, as if this is what he had been secretly waiting for, and he relishes in the way they both seem to fall easily back into this old dance; Pariston letting himself be propped up, positioned, and handled in any which way, and Ging being able to lead, dominate, coax more and more out of the other.

“Bed, right now.”

----------------------------

Pariston likes to consider himself in decent shape for his age, mentally and physically. He would never dare to call himself old or out of shape.

But right now, he could feel his age. Painfully aware that he was no longer young and full of endless passion.

Covered in sweat, panting heavy, he tries to separate himself from the limbs wrapped around him. “You’re…going to kill both of us at this rate, ha-ha…” He was trying to play it as a joke, but it had been three hours now. Ging was no younger than him, there was no way-

Ging wrapped his arms around Paristons waist again, started to gently press the skin there, pulls him closer. His hands were shaking. He presses kisses to the blonds’ jawline, “Just once more, okay?” He looks exhausted himself, face flushed, hair a mess, yet he still presses his hardness against the others thigh.

Pariston lets out something between a sigh and a moan, still half-heartedly trying to pry off the others hands, which started to migrate towards his ass to knead at the muscle there. “Please…” He kissed down Paristons throat, down to his collar bones, only stopping to let out rough, laboured breaths. “Please, Paris, fuck…”

Oh, how Ging knew how to push his buttons just right.

-------------

“You’re a demon. A monster. A menace.”

“Am I supposed to apologize? You seemed to have fun.” Ging sipped on some coffee in the morning, hiding a smug smile behind the mug, fingers twitching and flexing occasionally.

“Muscles that I didn’t even know I’ve had are hurting. What’s gotten into you?”

“I purposefully made sure you didn’t get to leave at 6 am and will be late for the meeting with the chairman, obviously.”

Pariston checked the clock- 9:34 am. The first time in years that Ging has been awake before him. “Oh, I am going to kill you later.” He jumped out of bed.

“Mhm, can’t wait.” Ging made an attempt to get up to follow the other man, though a sudden sharp headache forced him back down. Maybe he did exhaust himself a bit too much.

Meanwhile the other man had gotten changed scarily fast, sporting a vermillion suit, and carding his hands through his hair to get it into vague shape. Ging feels an urge to pull him back into bed and keep him there, a thought extremely foreign and yet strangely familiar once again.

“You look like a mess.”

“You should see yourself.”

“I’m not gonna get up today.”

“What, today is not the day to disappear for weeks on end again?”

“I’d never- “Ging stopped. He would. He has. Why did the idea of leaving seem ridiculous now, when it was all he knew- something he took comfort in. “It would be too predictable today.”

“Oh, you’re full of surprises~ I’ll be off then, don’t decompose in my bed.”

“Right, right. See you tonight.” Ging mindlessly readjusted Paristons tie for him, the movement a bit too uncoordinated most likely to some leftover sleep in his eyes, before pressing a brief kiss to his cheek.

This time they both stopped. Equally shocked by the oddly domestic gesture. The silence felt like it dragged on forever.

“…full of surprises, like I said.” Pariston was the first to break it, smiling, though his eyes shifted as if trying to read between the lines of Gings brain. Ging hoped he’d find some answers there because he certainly didn’t have any, dumbfounded as well by his own actions. He resumed sipping his coffee, hoping the now even worse headache would kill him on the spot, warm blood flushing into his cheeks.

--------

Pariston did his best to mask the pounding ache that plagued his entire lower body throughout his meetings. He had been caught off guard the day before, now he had to focus on how he could turn the chessboard in his favour again in his little game with Ging. Ging had been keeping him on his toes with a couple of… uncharacteristic changes, it would only be a matter of time till he’d come back to his senses, before then Pariston would have to surprise him just as much. No, even more.

“You’re eerily quiet today. ->Pariston.” Cheadle gathered the stacks of paper from their joint meeting with the chairman.

“I’m contemplating the meaning of the rekindling of old flames. I’ll caution a guess that you have no expertise in such matters.” He stood up to gather his own things, a dull ache hugging his legs just a little closer.

“I pride myself in the fact that you know next to nothing about my private life. I’d prefer to keep it that way. ->Pariston.”

The door to the conference room swung open to reveal Ging, who walked- no, stumbled more into the room, almost tipping over.

“My, what a surprise, I thought you wanted to lie in bed all day- “Pariston stepped closer, only to have Ging collapse into his arms. He was burning up, worse than he had been weeks before.

“Missed you… my head’s fucking exploding...” Shaking hands held onto Paristons suit jacket. Pariston held onto the shorter man while looking helplessly over to Cheadle, who approached cautiously.

“Has he been like this all morning? ->Pariston”

“No, he looked alright! He’s been acting a little, strange, the last week or two, but he wasn’t sick like this.”

Cheadle picked up one of Gings shaking hands, then shone a small flashlight she had kept in one of her pockets into his eyes. Brows furrowed, she walked over to a telephone mounted on the wall.

“I need a stretcher and emergency personal to conference room A3. ->Clinic staff. I’ll have to run a few tests to know what exactly is going on, you’ll have to tell me exactly about for how long what symptoms have been showing. ->Pariston.”

A handful of Cheadles assistants stormed into the room at record time, barked orders at each other, and tore Ging from Pariston, though the smaller mans shaking grip was still strong enough to tear the fabric. “Hey- Let me go- what the- Paris! Tell them to stop!” He started to slap away the invading hands, though his discoordination made it look like he was swatting at non-existent insects. “Paris, please!”

But Pariston simply watched as they carted him down to the clinic, complicated feelings in his chest twisting uncomfortably.

“They’ll be running some blood tests and head CT, judging by the discoordination and behavioural changes we are most likely dealing with something neurological. Did he have any significant infects or impacts to his head in the last weeks? ->Pariston” Cheadle followed the path of the stretcher down to the clinic in a moderate pace, writing notes in a small notebook.

“He had a mild cold about 3 weeks ago, but he seemed to get over it fine, if not a bit whiny.” Pariston caught up with her and carded a hand through his hair, before letting it rest to rub awkwardly at his neck.

His neck.

“Wait- no- He had a gross bug bite at the nape of his neck, which seemed to hurt. Could that be something?”

“Definitely something to look out for.” She came to a halt in front of the clinic doors. “I’ll have to ask you to wait outside while we run tests, but I’ll keep you updated when we know more. ->Pariston” And without waiting, she disappeared behind the milk frosted doors.

So Pariston waited, patiently, crossed legs in an uncomfortable plastic chair outside the clinic.

And he waited.

And waited. Waited while trying not to think about how he may have interpreted signs of a serious medical ailment as part of a psychosexual game.

Until finally the doors opened again to reveal Cheadle with furrowed brows holding a folder. “Come in. ->Pariston.”

They went into a small, almost claustrophobic imaging room. “The blood tests revealed a hormone imbalance and a leukocyte count of 22,000/mm³, which is seriously high. And the CT revealed the cause-“She attached an image to the light up white board. “There’s a giant parasite attached to his central nervous system. ->Pariston”

She wasn’t wrong. On the CT image there was a white mass that stretched from the first vertebrae down to somewhere between the shoulder blades, hugging the fragile bones tight. “A bug?”

“It’s actually a remarkably interesting one- Trypanosoma ideolipsía, a parasite mainly found in warmer climates, a subspecies of single cell parasite that has evolved due to its nature to absorb small amounts of nen. We still don’t know much about it, it’s only been recently discovered and hard to catch. ->Pariston”

“So of course, he just had to bring one home inside his body?”

Cheadle attached a few more images to show the position of the bug clearly. “More likely that a mother animal bit Ging- that’s the bite mark you saw- and implanted an egg that hatched and attached itself to the central nervous system to feed off of bone marrow and nen. There it is also in the perfect position to manipulate hormone secretion to uh-“ she coughed into her fist, “-induce a state of infatuation targeted at a potential future host it has selected. ->Pariston”

He rubbed at his neck again. Ouch. That could have been him. “I’m not here for a science lesson. What’s the plan now?”

She readjusted her glasses. “Right, well. As you can see, the parasite stretches from C1 to around T3, it has most likely attached to each vertebra individually. I don’t think any intravenous treatments are going to put a dent in that creature at this point, but…” She shifted uncomfortably. “An operation is extremely risky. Nen assistance would have to be kept to a minimum since that will just be extra food for it, potentially even once it dies, in case it carries eggs. And the central nervous system is so fragile… ->Pariston”

“Get to the point, Cheadle.”

“He could die. Or be seriously impaired for the rest of his life. There could be a nen blockage. ->Pariston”

“And if you don’t operate?”

“…The few cases where this has been observed have developed into chronic meningoencephalitis, followed by coma, and eventually death. ->Pariston”

Pariston leaned against the backwall, gaze trailing somewhere up to the ceiling. Anywhere but at her. “So, either he dies slowly in agony, or he dies on the butchers table.”

“He’s clearly not in the neurological condition to make a choice himself anymore, legally that choice falls on you. I’m sorry, I understand if you need some time to make your decision. ->Pariston”

Breath in. Breath out.

“Do the operation.”

“This doesn’t have to be decided now, you can-“

“Do it. Preferably today still, your schedule can’t be that tight, can it? Payment won’t be an issue, so get to it.” He smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and left.

He left and went straight to the glaringly bright, sterile space where Ging had been restrained into a bed, panting, sweating, eyes shut as tight as possible.

Pariston wiped some of the hairs that stuck to Gings sweat-covered forehead away. “This is what you get for all of those expeditions.”

The other mans eyes fluttered open. “Paris…”

“The only time you come to me for affection is when you are being eaten alive by an insect, I am a little hurt.”

“…You’re pretty…”

“Enough. If you die because of this, I’ll taxidermy you and finally dress you up in acceptable clothes. So, good luck.” He placed a kiss on his forehead, gave his hand a gentle press, and waited for the anaesthesiologist to arrive.

---------

“You insist on this? ->Pariston” Cheadle fitted her surgical gloves, glaring up to the galleria where Pariston had taken a seat.

“If he dies, I want to be there to see it. Do you have what I asked you to bring?” Cheadle glanced at the instrument table and nodded. “Good! Then happy chopping.”

Ging had been laid face down on a special neuro-surgical table, to give access to his spine. A team of surgeons, anaesthesiologists, and nurses gathered around the table, started to prep their individual work.

Pariston watched as Cheadle placed the first incision, at the nape of the neck, right where that first offending bug bite had been. A heart monitor beeped in gentle, even rhythms. More incisions joined the first one, stretching it, extending it. Slowly a writhing, white and bloodied mass underneath revealed. The parasite itself seemed oblivious to the fact that it was being exposed to the world. It took a while before Cheadle had made enough cuts to reach the tail end of the bug, even from this far away could Pariston hear her laboured breathing.

“Easy part first-“Cheadle placed a scalpel right between the head segment of the bug and the first body segment, then pressed down with precision, severing the head completely while it stayed attached to it’s hosts bones. “Now that the parasite is dead, my assistant will work on removing the legs from T1 through T3, I will remove the head segment. There can not be a single piece of it left in the body, or it will cause further infection with the risk of meningitis. ->Audience” She spoke less for Pariston, and more for the recording device attached to the operation room.

Everyone seemed to work delicately and effectively. Pariston was almost envious, since all he could do was to sit, wait, and watch the heart monitor continue its rhythmic beeps.

As the first segments started to be extracted, they allowed insight to what had been hidden. The different skin layers, muscle, fat, sinew, bones. He got to watch as Ging’s insides were revealed to him, fragile tissue and structures not meant to be seen. The envy was not that the people around the operation table could take action to help, but that they got to be this close and get to touch this forbidden and hidden layer of him.

A hiccup in the heart monitor pulled him out of his fascination. It was short. But it was there.

Cheadle had stopped for a moment, before resuming her work, scalpel steady in her hand. It had been 3 hours already.

But their eyes met for a moment, and Pariston knew that he could trust her, at least for this.

----

12 hours. They had all been in that room for 12 hours, no breaks, no interruptions, barely any words said.

But then it was finally done. Pariston had waited by Gings bedside in the tiny ICU after the Operation, watching his chest slowly rise and lower, occasionally touching his hand or hair.

But the blond had to wait – again- outside the clinic doors, as if he hadn’t waited enough already, but Cheadle had insisted that the first post operative visitation should be done without him once Ging had stirred awake wordlessly.

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow.

Minutes in which Cheadle would find out how excessive potential damage would be.

Minutes in which Pariston had to look at milk frosted doors in silence, by himself.

Until she finally stepped out, eyebags pronounced after the strenuous 12 hours behind her, but smiling. “You owe me so much for this excellent work. ->Pariston”

He pushed past her immediately, rushed towards the room, didn’t bother to knock or collect himself.

Inside, Ging sat up in bed, entire neck and chest bandaged up- but breathing and awake.

“Don’t ever threaten to taxidermy me ever again.” And smiling, smiling the way which he always smiled when he didn’t want to voice affection but still felt it.

“Don’t ever bring parasites or illnesses into my home ever again.” Pariston had to smile too, of course. “I’ve got a gift for you, for doing such a good job at not dying.” He stepped out only for a moment, to return with a jar.

Filled with formaldehyde.

And a dead parasite.

Gings eyes lid up. “Is that it?”

“Congratulations, Mr. Freecss, it’s an abomination.” He handed the jar over, and the smaller man grabbed it as if it were the most wonderous Christmas present. Then he corrected his expression, knowing in whose presence he still was.

“That’s the grossest present I’ve ever gotten, thanks, Paris.”

“Trypanosoma ideolipsía, and though it is still considered a rarity, scientific circles apparently call it the ‘love bug’. “Pariston moved a bit closer, scheming smile on his lips. “It used to be believed that is secretes hormones to induce a state of infatuation, but that’s not quite right. It actually just drastically exaggerates already present hormone secretion, sort of like an aphrodisiac-“

Ging prepared to launch the entire jar directly towards Paristons face to get him to stop talking.

If he actually would is a different matter.

#pariging #ging freecs #pariston hill #hxh #hunter x hunter fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #hxh fanfic #pariging fanfiction #YEAH ITS FINALLY HERE TIME FOR ME TO DISAPPEAR AGAIN WOOOHOOO

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megumisbimbo · 3 years

Text

Please No More

gojo satoru x fem!reader

pushy gojo senpai

this contains DARK CONTENT minors do not interact please !

warnings: noncon, coercion, senpai kink, corruption, unprotected sex

taglist: @txzierbaby @mitsuluv @izukine @rintarouss @tobios-housewife @innrsoul @fiaficsxo @xenihime @kirsteiiins

Class was over, and you were finally able to pack up all your things and head home. The leftovers from last night’s dinner sitting in the fridge waiting for you to come home and indulge in it. Your thoughts, consumed by the homework you had to do tonight and the daily chores that needed to get done was rudely interrupted by the shrill voice of your senpai.

“Y/n-chan! You look absolutely breathtaking today.” Gojo said, a smile laced with ulterior motive decorating his blindfolded face.

“Thank you Gojo-senpai, I can’t talk right now so I’m just gonna get goin-“

“Not so fast pretty girl. What’s the rush? I know for a fact you don’t have practice, or after school club today.”

You give him a puzzled look. How on earth would he know when your practices and club meetings were? And why on earth was he holding your arm so tightly?

“Um..Gojo-senpai..could you um..please let go of my arm?”

“And why would I want to do that?” He responds, the grip on your arm tightening to an almost painful point. His blindfold was lifted by a single nimble finger, his piercing blue eyes exposed to the golden sun. They were gorgeous, absolutely enthralling, but you knew better, you knew what he was trying to do and you’d be damned if you were to be known as Gojo’s latest conquest.

“I really should be going I have-“

“Y/n-chan, come here.” He says, his voice quiet yet demanding.

You obey, the fear of what he would do if you were to ignore him taking over the part of your brain that was earnestly telling you to run away.

“Pretty girl, you know I like you right? I’ve made it pretty damn obvious.” He whispers, his chest pressed up against your back, his lips lightly grazing over the shell of your ear.

“You like me back don’t you? With the amount of eye contact and sexual tension we’ve built up, I wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t have feelings for me. You’re just too damn obvious baby.”

Obvious? The glares and eye rolls were an obvious show of affection? In what fucking universe?

“Gojo-senpai, I don’t know what gave you the idea that I had feelings for you, and honestly, I don’t care if you believe me or not. But would you please just leave me alone?”

“Leave you alone? No can do baby...you’re just too fucking sexy in your tiny little skirts and v-neck shirts. What I would give to be able to stuff my fat cock in the tight little cunt of yours. As a matter of fact..I think I will.”

Before you could even process what he said or what was happening, you were dragged down the hall and pressed against the door of the storage closet. His lips attach to your neck at a lighting speed, his hands roaming your waist and lightly fondling the plush of your breast.

“God baby...you feel so good pressed against me.”

You were frozen. Half in shock and half in disgust. How dare he place his hands on you, and how dare he make you feel so damn good.

Your hands search for the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in his white locks. You didn’t like the way he made you feel, you didn’t like the way he claimed your body as if it was his to begin with. And you definitely didn’t like how much you enjoyed it.

“Gojo-senpai...please...please stop.” You plead.

“Shhh baby it’s ok just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.”

All that leaves your mouth is a pathetic whimper, as Gojo’s hand leaves your waist and turns the handle of the supply closet you were leaning against. He pushes you in, your hands clinging to his bicep in hopes of not falling flat on your ass. His bittersweet lips press to yours. He nips and sucks at your lips, moans spilling from his mouth and echoing through the tiny room. His hand slowly trails down your waist to your thigh squeezing the flesh, eliciting a moan from your fear filled body. First your mind betrays you, now your body? How much more of Gojo’s ministrations could you take? The hand that was once on your thigh was now pushing up the thin fabric of your skirt. His thumb moving in slow circles as he teases you. Your hips involuntary press against him, craving more friction.

“You like that pretty girl? You want this fat cock to split you open?”

“No-no I don’t want it Gojo-senpai please.”

“Your mouth is saying one thing but your body baby...you wanna fuck me so bad don’t you?”

“Please-”

“Thought so.”

His belt falls to the floor with a muffled crash, his button and zipper undone in a matter of seconds. The fabric of your panties was now sitting around your ankles. Gojo’s fingers pumping in and out at a painfully slow pace.

“Gojo-senpai please...I need it bad.”

“Yeah baby I know, but I gotta prep you first. I’ll give it to you right now as long as you behave for me ok. You gonna be a good girl for me?”

“...yes senpai...”

His hardened cock is released from the painful restraint of his black boxers. He lines himself up with your entrance, running his tip up and down your slit gathering your juices. He pushes himself into you, his large cock practically splitting you open.

“Ahhh Gojo-senpai...it hurts...you’re so big-fuck.”

“Yeah baby take my cock like a good girl. Who’s my good girl? Hm?”

“Please Senpai...it hurts-.”

“Are you a virgin my pretty baby?”

Your voice catches in the back of your throat. You want to scream, to cry. You beg the universe to send to someone, someone who would save you from this nightmare.

“I asked you a question pretty.” He says grabbing your jaw, forcing you to stare into his six eyes.

“Answer me.”

“....yes...senpai-ahhh.”

“That’s my good baby. So fucking tight. Gonna claim this pussy as my own-fuck you’re milking my cock so well baby girl.”

You had given up, and given in. His powerful countenance and demanding grip persuading you to fall deep under his spell. His hands slide up and down your body, one clutching onto your tit as the other trails down to massage your neglected clit. You fall apart in his arms your moans getting louder and louder by the minute.

“Shhhh baby girl, don’t want anyone to hear us do we?”

“No...senpai-ahhh...’m coming please nghhh.”

“Come for me pretty girl, come all over my cock.”

Shivers run through your body as your coil snaps for the first time. Your knees give out, your hands gripping tightly onto Gojo’s forearms. Your heart races as Gojo holds you up placing sugar coated kisses across your face.

“That’s my good girl. Can you finish me off baby?”

He guides your hand to his cock as he slowly helps you pump back and forth, your release lubricating your palm.

“Yeah just like that baby-fuck.”

A few more strokes and Gojo’s release paints your hand and stomach. He swipes two of his long fingers across your stomach, gathering his cum and presses them against your lips. Reluctantly you open your mouth, his slick covered fingers pressing down on your tongue. Your tongue surrounds his digits as your hand clasps around his wrist. Gojo’s eyes are shaded with lust as he stares down at you.

“Such a pretty baby...and she’s all mine.”

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 3 years

Text

Dinner Is Ready II Dean Winchester x Reader Smut (18+)

Summary: You bring dinner for the two hunters but all Dean can imagine is fucking you senseless on that table. (18+)

A/N: My hand slipped.

Words: 1.8k

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (pls don’t try that home lol), dirty talk (a little)

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Dean doesn’t know what happened.

You joined the Winchesters on a specifically difficult hunt three weeks ago and even though Dean has obviously noticed how drop dead gorgeous you are, his body has never reacted quite like … this.

You walk into the Motel after getting some burgers for all of you, and shoot him a smile and it knocks the breath out of Dean’s lungs.

He can’t focus on his dinner, doesn’t follow the conversation between you and Sammy. He can only try his best not to stare too much at you.

He has had dinner with you countless times before. Yet, now the sight of you across from him, in your dark shirt that reveals a tad too much every time you lean forward, forces him to suppress a groan. When you take a sip of your drink, his eyes travel to the bare skin on your neck and he wonders how it would feel to suck on it, as you writhe underneath him. When you lick over your fingers at the end of your meal, Dean’s cock twitches.

“Not hungry tonight?”, your voice catapults him back into reality. You look at him, one eyebrow raised, and nod towards his burger which remains nearly untouched on his plate.

“That’d be a first,” Sam chuckles and leans back in his chair.

Dean clears his throat. You’re still looking at him and in his mind, he sees your eyes rolling back as you moan his name. He shifts in his seat. He was hungry. Very hungry.

Sam watches him with a confused expression before he shakes his head and gets up. “Anyways, if I go now, I might still get to the library in time before it closes.” He stands up. “Thank you for dinner, Y/N.”

You break eye-contact with Dean and smile at his brother. Dean can breathe again. “See you later then,” you say goodbye to him. The door closes behind Sam and the two of you are alone.

Dean doesn’t know if he likes that.

“Did I buy the wrong one?”, you ask then.

He shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.”

You tilt your head and lean back against the chair. Dean tries his hardest not to let his eyes wander down to your chest. “Then what is it?”

No reply. He can’t reply. Everything he’d say right now would be highly inappropriate and ruin whatever kind of friendship you have.

You watch him. His gaze is intense and you shift ever so slightly. You let out a quick laugh. “Are you gonna kiss me?”

His eyes widen for a second at your question until he realizes you were joking. Yet, he desires just that. If you only knew ...

“Dean …” The smile on your face grows more and more nervous. You reach for the bottle.

“I want nothing more right now.”

You almost choke on your drink.

Dean’s eyes darken with lust and he licks over his lips. “I want nothing more than to come over to you, bend you over the table, and fuck you until everyone in this whole damn building hears you screaming my name.”

Just as he thought. Highly inappropriate.

You stare at him, eyes wide. Dean sees how your breathing has sped up, your breasts heaving against the tight shirt. He wants to tore it off right now yet he needs to know you want this too and he didn’t just overstep every existing boundary on this earth.

“What are you waiting for then?”

It’s all he needs to hear.

He jumps up from his chair and closes the distance between the two of you with two long strides. Grabbing your chin roughly, he forces you to look at him before his lips crush against yours. He hears you gasp but is already drowning in the feeling of your soft body against his. When you moan, his tongue slips into your mouth, and he feels your arms around his neck.

He pulls you up from the chair and raises you up to sit on the table. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him close.

“Fuck, you’re so hard already,” you whisper as he presses himself against your body, and he groans.

“All your fault …” He pulls you into another kiss, rough and desperate, and exactly what both of you need. His lips travel down your neck, sucking on it just like he imagined a few minutes earlier, and each whimper that leaves your mouth causes him to grow even harder. By now, his jeans are uncomfortably tight around him.

As if you read his mind, he feels your fingers fumbling with his belt. When you finally open it, pull down his boxers, and he springs free - you gasp. It’s impressive. You carefully reach for his cock, your fingers enclosing it, and Dean moans softly. Your mouth waters as you feel him in your hand; heavy and hard, and you the thought of him inside of you, filling you up completely, dampens your panties even more now. Your fingers flick over the reddened tip, smearing the pre-cum down his shaft before you start to stroke him. Slowly at first, the sounds of Dean’s moans making your hips buckle forward ever so slightly. After a while you speed up - long, hard strokes accompanied by your occasional hum and whimper - and Dean buries his fingers into your hips, until he suddenly grabs your wrist, forcing you to stop.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he hisses.

You chuckle lowly and the sound resonates with him. He needs you. Now.

In a matter of seconds, your clothes come off. You barely have time to process it when simultaneously he lowers his mouth over your breast and slips his finger inside of you. You cry out.

“Damn, you’re so wet,” he mumbles and then his tongue flicks over your nipple. You grab onto his arm, scared you might pass out from the overwhelming pleasure. His hand moves quickly, pumping in and out of you, circling over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge with each damn moment.

Moans followed by incoherent curses and words leave you. Your head is thrown back, eyes closed, mouth slightly opened - in Dean’s eyes you look like the epitome of lust. A goddess in her purest form.

Your legs start to tremble and with a smirk he realizes that you are close. Each pump and thrust pushes you closer to the edge. Your breathing speeds up, chest heaving up and down, and your moans become more and more high-pitched until …

Until Dean stops.

Your eyes fly open, and whatever sentence you start to protest - it gets cut short and turns into a groan when you feel Dean’s cock at your entrance. He enters you in one swift movement and you cry out.

Both of you could have come right then and there.

He’s big, almost too big for you, and stretches you in the most delicious way possible. A mixture of pain and pleasure rushes through your body and you try desperately to hold on to his shoulders as he completely fills you up. Dean bites his lower lip. You are so fucking wet for him.

Dean fucks you hard. He can’t stop himself from doing so. He grabs onto your legs so tightly as he pounds into you that you are convinced, it will leave bruises later on. His lips search for yours and you drown in another hungry kiss. You hiss as he sucks on your lower lips, your fingers scratching over his back.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans and shifts slightly. Spots appear in front of your eyes as he starts hitting your g-spot. “So fucking tight for me …”

“Dean,” you whimper, not capable of saying anything else but his name over and over again. The small motel room is filled with heavy breathing and the sound of naked bodies slapping against each other - Dean is convinced that it can probably be heard outside even but he couldn’t care less.

All he craves right now is that sweet release only you can offer him.

His movements soon begin to turn sloppy, he is close, so damn close. One of his hands slips from your leg to your wet pussy, and you arch your back when you feel his fingers on your clit. The moans he draws from you are torture for him - all he wants is to spill himself inside of you, but he can’t. Not yet.

“Do you like that?”, he purrs into your ear and the way you twitch is answer enough. “Do you like getting fucked on this table?” His finger flicks over your nub. Your legs start to tremble again. “Oh, baby, you should see yourself … all wet and desperate … writhing underneath my touch like a dirty little-”

You come so suddenly, it takes both of you by surprise. Like a coil that snaps inside your stomach, he pushes you over the edge. You let out a loud curse and your eyes roll back. Your fingers bury themselves in his back and Dean knows it will leave marks later on.

Dean feels your muscles clench around his dick and he can’t hold back any longer. He thrusts into you ruthlessly until he follows shortly behind. He reaches around your back, trying to support the both of you, and not to crush you under his weight. His head falls forward against your shoulder as he comes with a shuddering breath, and releases himself inside of you.

You need a while to collect yourself. Stars dance in front of your eyes and you lazily stroke over Dean’s back. Both of you are still panting heavily as you rest against one another.

“Fuck,” you finally mumble and chuckle again. Dean smirks against your skin. “You should’ve told me that you were hungry for something else before I went out and paid for those damn burgers.”

A soft laugh escapes him and he lifts his head. Dark green, satisfied eyes look at you. “Fucking hell, Y/N …”

“Have I stilled your hunger?”, you ask him and give him a short kiss on the lips.

“Mhh,” he makes and slowly pulls out of you. The emptiness feels overwhelming. “Give me a few minutes,” Dean says, “and then I’m ready for dessert.”

He means to add something but just in that moment the door to the room opens.

Sammy.

“The library was already …”, he stops dead in his tracks and stares at the two of you, shock and confusion written all over his face, “ … closed.”

You shriek and turn your face away. Dean grabs your shirt and throws it on you, to cover at least something.

“I was gone for fifteen minutes, what the fuck!”, Sam exclaims. “And on the table?! You guys are disgusting!”

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you-did-well-moon · 3 years

Text

Werewolf!Yunho meeting his mate

Type: Werewolf au, angst, fluff

Pairing: Werewolf!Yunho x HumanFemale!reader

Word count: 2,994

A/n: I know this took a long time, trust me, it felt like a long time for me too. With how I view Yunho, I expected this to be happier than it is. I was having a hard time while writing this, and it reflected on the story. Anyways please enjoy and stay safe!

TW: toxic relationship, financial struggle, deadlines, stressed reader, emotional and verbal pain, toxic masculinity, if I missed anything please tell me.

You sat at the foot of your bed, still not made, staring at the mirror resting against your dull colored wall with lifeless blank eyes. Your posture slouched as you finished tying the laces of your running shoes huffing and letting your arms flop to the ground. Looking at the mirror, you tried smiling, but it was meak and disappeared as soon as it appeared.

You hadn’t smiled a real smile in so long, you forgot what it felt like. To smile. To be happy. The forgotten emotion was one you took for granted when it was easy to to bask in the warmth of it. Now it's just cold. Cold and empty.

You looked away from the mirror with a tight feeling coiling in the base of your chest not being able to bear looking at the stranger staring back at you any longer. Your gaze fell to the laptop, abandoned, due to frustration on your desk in the forgotten corner of the room. The thought of unfinished drafts and incomplete sentences shook violently in your mind. Disappointment in yourself pooling in your gut remembering your editor’s words.

“If you can’t give us at least a first draft by the end of the month, we’ll have to unfortunately let you and your novel go.”

How pathetic was it that you couldn’t even come up with a simple sentence. A description, dialogue, a metaphor. Nothing. Anytime you sat yourself in front of the desk, your mind went blank. The cursor blinking at the top of the page mocked you with the possibility of millions of words. Not one ever made its way onto the page.

The end of the month was in two weeks.

You felt tears of hopelessness stinging the corner of your eyes, and you abruptly stood up grabbing your wireless earbuds, phone, and bag. Making your way into the kitchen you grabbed the water in the fridge and placed it inside your back, nothing but a numb feeling alienating you from reality and its broken expectations. You heard the front door of your little apartment open and slam close shaking the thin walls of the building.

Your heart lurched as you winced immediately feeling like you were walking on eggshells. You were usually quick enough to leave before he got home from work, but you had been a tad bit late this one time. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly hoping for it to ground you through whatever vile words came from the one person you should have been able to trust with your ugliest feelings.

Trying to walk past your boyfriend, eyes trained on the chipped wood of the front door did no good when he kissed his teeth and huffed as soon as he caught sight of you.

“You’re never home when I get home from work, and the one time you are here, you run away not even saying hi to me? Not even a “hey honey how was work today” or maybe a “hi love what would you like for dinner?” and never a “you’ve worked hard would you like a massage?” It's the same shit every day. You treat me like nothing when I'm the reason you even have a roof over your head woman.”

You kept your mouth the whole time he rambled on trying to ignore the clear stench of beer being able to reach you even with all the distance separating you, and the feeling of disgust mixed with desperation pooling at the bottom of your gut at yourself for not speaking up for yourself. Opening your mouth instead of letting your voice be taken from you. A long time ago, you would always say you would rather die than be without your voice. In a sense, you had died a long time ago.

Around three months after you had started dating. That had been two years ago.

Your English degree really did you no good. Not having enough time to be an intern in college really screwed you over when no job would take a bright eyed girl with the same passion in her heart for writing as a Karen’s passion for business that wasn’t hers, but with no experience. Even if the apartment was under your name, you’d probably be kicked out in weeks time.

You hated all of it. Everything that made up both the small and big parts of your life, you hated it. You hated his greasy hair and beady eyes, the nasty rough stubble covering the lower part of his face as a result of his laziness. You hated the hesitation in leaving him because of the fear of the stack of bills piling up next to the fridge. You hated the editors who couldn’t find it in some part of their greedy selves to extend your deadline. You hated the empty drafts sitting in your laptop collecting what could only be dead dreams and despair. You hated the cold emptiness that was always present in the confines of your chest.

You recoiled at the way he said “woman” the same way someone would talk about a bug. Small and insignificant. Patronizing and confident in the worst way. You set your mouth in a tight line not even being able to look at him. Shifting your feet, you crossed your arms and looked up to the sky as if calling out to some unknown being to get you out of this pathetic corner you were trapped in. You cursed under your breath looking at the dying flowers on the coffee table with distaste as they wilted towards you mocking you.

“What was that?” His voice got rougher with the menacing edge of fanned masculinity and control. Something that could put you in a dangerous place in a very fast amount of time. You looked at him with dull eyes poking your cheek with your tongue as a cold feeling settled in your gut.

Your hands fell limply to your side and you chuckled humorlessly.

“Fuck you”.

Those two words were enough to set him off as you slowly blinked and looked at the ground feeling your heart falter when he abruptly got up. You tried to stand your ground, but the surge of confidence was quickly withering away with fear taking its place.

Ethan was bigger than you. Even if he wasn’t that much taller than you, there was a noticeable difference in his frame and yours. Weirdly enough, you didn’t regret your curse at him. The words still burned brilliantly on the tip of your tongue.

It was bittersweet of course. His nose flared, and his eyes bulged as he took large strides over to you knocking the coffee table over on his path to you.

“What did you say to me you-” his words were said through gritted teeth, brash and loud in the silent apartment.

Maybe he was bigger and stronger than you, but you were faster.

You inhaled sharply reacting fast as your hand reached behind you, turning the knob and slipping around it slamming the door close. Your bag bumped against your back while you bolted to the door with the word “stairs” painted in big bold letters across it. You were already at the door when you heard your apartment door open and Ethan angrily called your name. Threatening to break your laptop if you didn’t go back right this instant.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the weak attempt. It’s not like there were much but empty pages anyways.

A heavy feeling soon settled on your chest as you went down the stairs. Your apartment was on the 4th floor, and the stairs weren’t the most taken care of, but it’s not like you had much of a choice anyways. It seemed these days you were always wanting to run away from something.

Your heart felt a little lighter when the warm rays of sun met your skin and the fresh air outside flooded your senses. Your walk to the park went as usual. Cars racing to get where they needed to, people chattered about everything and nothing, and your thoughts wandered to a world far away from this one.

A world that wasn’t as dark as this one. At the same time your mind became your executioner, it became your safe place. The sick contrast making a nasty feeling flood your chest.

You arrived at the park with a small smile. The normalcy of the day bringing a little comfort to your still racing heart. Kids ran around, laughter ringing in the air around them as their parents watched on benches gossiping among themselves. People raced fast either by foot, bicycle, or skateboard, a visible sheen on their necks. You looked for the kind old man who always looked after your bag while you ran.

He owned a music store a few blocks away, and he always sat on the bench closest to the pond with his cute corgi and habitually feeding the ducks peas and lettuce leaves when finished with a certain chapter of his book. You walked up to him with a small smile as he looked up and took the sight of you in with fatherly worry.

“You look a little pale kid, everything alright?”

You did your best to liven up and gave your best customer service smile which the older man immediately saw through.

“Of course Mr.Jung. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m just a little tired from the editors. They’re on my back more than usual”, you laughed nervously as he hummed in understanding.

“I hope that boy of yours isn’t giving you any problems. Hey kid, have you ever heard of the term “break up?” he looked so serious you had to compose your shocked face.

You waved your hands rapidly “I promise Mr.Jung everything is fine there is...I...oh my” you took a shaky breath as he simply shrugged his shoulders and pet his smaller companion who was having a very serious stare down with a duck.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your yoga pants while you looked around at the tacky named paths trying to decide which one to run today.

“The Pupper Runner path looks particularly nice today,” he suggested. You looked at the path pursing your lips in thought. The path wasn’t one you ran frequently. Since it was one of the wider and flatter paths, there were more people such as families or people walking their dogs. You also didn’t like having run-ins with the cyclists who were grouchier around this time of day for some odd reason.

After contemplating it, you shrugged and decided why not. Getting run over by a ticking time bomb on wheels wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen today. With a small smile sent in Mr.Jungs way, you checked your shoe laces before starting out with a light jog making your way down the specific path.

There was nothing really different about today’s run than others. Just having to dodge the wheel demons and kids happily running ahead of their worried mothers. You were grateful for the distraction. It kept you from straying too far into your head. It was just you running. Running like you always did these days, your shoes slapping on the concrete path and Got7 blaring in your ears.

The heat of the sun shone on your skin, but oddly you still felt cold. It was always cold these days. A light breeze fresh to your burning skin as desperate eyes caught yours, and you were once again bought out of your stupor.

A small boy was kneeled down fingers clutching his untied shoelaces not far from his dad who was trying to calm a crying baby. You didn’t really have a strong adoration for kids, but his panicked pinched face compelled you to come to a slow stop in front of him. Your chest heaved as you bent down to his level sitting on your heels and wrapped your arms around your legs.

“Hey bud, you need some help there?”

The kid made a distraught sound as he nodded his face shaking his hair out of his eyes. He looked dumb founded as he stared at his shoe laces in search of answers they would never give.

“Mama said to make a bunny, but this looks more like my aunt Carol’s dog” he sadly told you.

You snorted reaching out gently to tie his laces with a double knot.

With a grin you looked up at him ruffling his hair and giving him a thumbs up which he happily returned with a toothy smile.

“It’s alright kid, you’ll eventually get it. Just keep trying yeah? Don’t settle or you might catch yourself tripping next time you go on a walk. You’ll get hurt. Wouldn’t want that would we”, you said, lips still stretched kindly upwards, but something in your words struck stingingly deep in your chest.

As the kid nodded happily with a carefree laugh you were about to get up when you heard the air being split and a strained voice yelling “watch out!!”.

You looked up, panicked, only to see a frisbee racing right in your direction with alarming speed. With the goal of protecting the small child, you quickly turned your body. Your shoes making a rough sound against the concrete as a startled light cry left the younger boy’s mouth.

With your hands ready, you easily caught the frisbee gasping at the shock of the situation. You quickly shook it off as you gripped the frisbee turning back to the child who profusely thanked you, his small hands shaking as they clutched onto the hem of your shirt.

You simply smiled reassuringly tapping his shoe and ushering him back to his father who has begun to successfully calm the fussing baby down.

With shaking knees you tried to get up only to wince and slightly waver at the sharp sting that hit your ankle area. You clenched your jaw feeling more than annoyed at the current situation in hand.

You stood up grumbling under your breath as a tall figure jogged over to you. While he made his way toward you, your narrowed eyes met his wide, apologetic ones.

You felt the world shift around you as a calming warmth shot through your body melding with the confusion and panic pooling in your gut, and his eyes widened impossibly as he stumbled managing to stabilize himself right in time in front of you. His figure standing just inches away from you as his hands trembled, and his lips slightly parted.

You got a slight whiff of cologne and mint, but more than anything, the weird feeling in your gut was making a way for the dreadful panic clouding around your heart.

You felt warm.

After feelings of feeling nothing but the hollow cold licking at your veins, there was a nice warmth settling in your chest.

You were scared of it.

With a heavy chest you slightly inched back left somewhat immobile due to the aching pain in your ankle. “What the hell?”, you immediately set off on questioning him leading him to shake his head frantically at you.

“I’m so sorry, i really am.” He put his hand on his chest as if trying to prove his sincerity to you, but you breathlessly took a step back stunned by the intense feelings taking over your heart and mind.

You tried shaking it off, but the warmth lingered.

You weren’t sure you wanted it to go away.

“There’s kids here”, you were so distracted by all the emotions circling your mind you couldn’t possibly put any effort into arguing with the young man. His lips parted to make way for his lips as he nodded his head in understanding. “I know, I'll be more careful next time. I promise.”

Somehow, you knew he was being truthful. You went to say something, possibly something dangerous, but you shook your head and waved your hand.

You tried taking a step but lightly hissed at the sharp pain that shot from your ankle up your leg. The man instantly dove forward steadying you with a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, and the other hovering in worry near your collarbone.

With wide eyes you looked at him as he realized his un-asked for touch and immediately went to back away.

He couldn’t.

Your hand was clutching the cloth of his shirt near his shoulder blades. Hands slowly uncurling, you smiled awkwardly, but he kept his hand where it was. At his touch, the warmth licking the insides of your body became all the more distracting.

“Um, I don’t think you can go all the way back home like this”, he cleared his throat looking at you shily under his bangs. Flustered, you smiled at the ground before looking back up and timidly asking “I can't. Mind helping me out?”.

At your question he let out a beaming grin nodding eagerly. He went to stand in front of you, and he crouched down looking at you over his shoulder with soft brown eyes. You did a small jump, and were caught by his hands slightly gripping under your thighs.

He gave a low chuckle that somehow was felt from where your chest was pressed up against his shoulder blades. “So...what’s your name?”. You let a light giggle escape, “Y/n, yours?”. You saw his jaw move with the syllables of your name whispering it to himself.

“Yunho”, you smiled also sounding out the name on your own mouth. You gave a shuddering exhale, and you laid your head on his shoulder letting yourself really rest for what seemed like the first time in forever.

That night you walked right past Ethan who was quick to begin yelling at you, and you tucked yourself under the safety of your blankets feeling the warmth still encasing your heart, so comforting and alive.

287 notes · View notes

xxdragonwriterxx · 3 years

Text

🔥You Are Human, And Damn It, You Are An Important One!🔥

A/N: Hey everyone! I’m back! It looks like my tags finally decided to sort themselves out so I wanted to (finally) post a new story! I’m still working on requests though, so don’t worry, those are coming soon! I just wanted to post this in the mean time while I edit those and test if my tags are really fixed on one of my originals so that any requested fics will actually be seen later should an error occur. Thank you so much for your continued support and patience, you guys are so amazing! I hope this makes up for my temporary hiatus! This one actually has a bit of a heavier tone to it but I think I’m finally happy with it! Thanks again for the support, and don’t be afraid to talk to me! Shoot me a message or just spew random bullshit and I’ll still respond 😂. Enjoy!

(Warning: themes of non-con & abuse. This is set in a brothel, but there’s nothing explicit, it’s just mentioned or implied. Just wanted to put it out there! Viewer discretion advised!)

🐉Song Recommendation: “The Gardener” By: Sarah Sparks 🐉

Word Count: ~7k

~~~

It was that time of year. The time of year that Levi hated the most. The Underground Market Festival. It was the time of year in which merchants from all around would come down to the Underground City, away from the prying eyes of the Military Police, and sell anything and everything to the nobles who weren’t exactly looking for orthodox materials. The normally filthy, mostly empty streets would be filled with members of the wealthy, dripping in jewelry, cash, and lavish clothing as they paraded around the sorry excuse for a city, boasting of their wealth and privilege as they bought enough food and luxurious goods to feed three times the number of people in the Underground while sharing none of it.

The days were starting to blur together. Levi honestly couldn’t tell if it had been a day, a week, or a month as the drugs in his system continued to work just like the brothel owners wanted them to, rendering him practically inoperative and perfect for use. His head pounded, swimming with confused thoughts. His gaze was unfocused, warped, and his whole body felt suffocatingly hot despite his lack of cover, his legs shifting as his body instinctively searched for a relief he didn’t even want. But that was exactly how they wanted him.

The sound of his door being unlocked made him look up slowly, his eyes taking a few seconds to fully focus on the man standing in the entrance of his room, a wide, malicious grin on his face. Levi couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. The man smelled of sweat and stale alcohol, and his unkempt appearance made Levi itch, even when drugged out of his mind.

“Oh, Levi…” the man cooed, making Levi shudder. “I have another customer for you.”

Even though Levi had been through this time and time again, even though he had been trapped in his filthy room since he was caught stealing from a merchant friend of the brothel owner at age twenty, even though the drugs in his system were making his body scream for what this new customer could give him, he still couldn’t help the wave of dread that washed through him, the fear. Levi didn’t fear much, having grown up on the streets of the Underground alone since he was abandoned by Kenny at the age of ten, but this? This he was scared of.

He thought back to the wretched old man that had abandoned him as a small child and wondered what he would think of him now. Would he be disgusted? Unsurprised? Angry? Not that it mattered. Levi knew he would never see him again. But even so, his brain couldn’t help itself from going down those roads, asking questions of “what if?” no matter how many times he reminded himself that it didn’t matter. He was just some bastard thug turned whore in the Underground. Nobody was going to even remember him, let alone care about who he was or who he may be in the future.

Levi was once again brought out of his daze when the pig in the doorway moved to the side, letting a noble woman saunter into the room. She had a wicked grin on her face as she approached him, ignoring the brothel owner as he slammed the door shut behind her, giving them some privacy. She was covered in glittering jewelry, and although the dress she wore was extravagant, it was very tight fitting and low cut, barely considered decent, her large breasts one breath away from spilling out over the top. Her hair was pinned up in a lavish braided style, twisting and coiling tightly, and held together with real gold pins that Levi knew must’ve cost a fortune.

“~Well, hello sexy,” the woman purred as she approached the raven-haired man.

Levi had to force himself not to grimace, even with the effect of the drugs, when she slithered her way over his thighs, her hands reaching up to cup his face. The smell of whatever custard perfume she had on was overwhelming, making his eyes water and his throat close up. Her hands felt clammy from all of the lotions and creams she had slathered over her skin to make it look shinier, making them feel like dead fish rubbing against his cheeks.

“Well? Aren’t you going to ask my name?” The woman demanded in a sickly sweet voice, making Levi close his eyes in barely suppressed agony.

“What is your name?” Levi asked in a low voice. He felt the woman preen above him at the sound of his voice, knowing she thought his deep tone was for setting the mood rather than the effect of his despair.

“My name is Lady Clarissa! What’s your name, hmmm?”

“Levi,” He said quietly.

“Oooh, Leevviiii, I like that,” Lady Clarissa practically moaned. “Say, Levi, you were quite expensive. That must mean you're really good at what you do. I can already tell that you fulfill my personal tastes in terms of appearance, so why don’t you convince me of the rest and give me a good time. Don’t make me regret spending my good money on you. Don’t make me punish you.”

Levi gritted his teeth when she ground her hips into him, trying his hardest not to fight back. He knew it would be difficult, the drugs making his movements and mental processes much slower, but at that moment, all he wanted to do was shove her off of him. Swallowing the bile in his throat, Levi reached for her as she leaned down to force her tongue into his mouth.

It was that time of year. The time of year that (Y/N) hated the most. The Underground Market Festival. It took everything in her to avoid groaning in annoyance as the people she was expected to call her friends dragged her down into the filthy Underground City for a day of “fun”. (Y/N) would much rather be back at home, reading a book in the library, or relaxing with the horses in the barn, or secretly practicing her sword fighting skills with the guards of their estate. But her father had forced her to go when her friends had shown up at the house, begging for her to come with them. He claimed she needed to get her priorities straight and actually present herself, show the honor and pride that came with being part of the (L/N) family. (Y/N) thought there was very little honor and pride in parading their wealth around like they owned the world, especially in front of people who constantly struggled to survive on a daily basis.

(Y/N) walked slowly down the worn cobblestone streets, suppressing the urge to gag at the sight of other nobles walking around, looking and acting as if they were rulers of the walls. She barely looked at anything, only stopping to occasionally buy food when she noticed the hungry children hanging around, looking for a scrap to steal. She could tell they were wary of her, but she never stopped trying, always offering them the food in some way, even if it meant leaving it in a secluded space for them to find later.

Her friends constantly tried to get her to engage, running up to her with crystal jewelry, silk clothing, and delectable foods, attempting to entice her, only to get pushed away. (Y/N) wanted no part in any of it. Even her attire spoke volumes about how little she wanted to be there. She knew that to the people of the Underground, the dress she wore would be considered something of utmost value, but when compared to the nobles around her, she looked underdressed and plain. She wore nothing more than a subtle red dress covered with a black leather jacket, paired with black combat boots and matching gloves, no jewelry to be found except for the simple white earrings she wore in her lobes.

Her father had been less than pleased with her appearance, but stopped arguing when she announced she was leaving, the lord just happy she had at least agreed to go to the festival. She knew he was disappointed in her, annoyed that she wasn’t like the other noble ladies who loved to flaunt their luxurious lifestyles and bend to the every whim of the lords around them, looking to marry early for money and power. (Y/N) wouldn’t be surprised if the entire reason her father wanted her here was so she could possibly win over the affections of a single lord milling about, one that was rich and influential. It was for that possibility alone that (Y/N) had originally thought to wear something that made her look underdressed, having to swallow the bile that rose in her throat at the prospect of catching some snobby noble’s attention.

“Yeah, her name is (Y/N)! She’s the one right over there, I think she could use a good time.”

(Y/N)’s head snapped up when she heard her name, her eyes shooting over to where her friends were standing in a group in front of a large building. All of them were looking at her, covering their faces with their hands to hide their giggles. Dread filled her to the brim when she saw the sign in front of the building, her face paling in horror.

“That one, eh? I think we can arrange something like that,” the brothel owner said, a smug smile on his lips as he stared at her, his grin only widening as her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. “Don’t worry, I’ve got one in particular that could give you a good ride. He’s expensive since he’s my most popular, but he’s worth it.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to argue, her cheeks on fire as her brain fought to think of something, anything to get her out of this situation. She didn’t want to fuck some random stranger for no reason, but she especially didn’t want to have sex in a brothel. She found them vulgar, repulsive, and horrible. The way they treated their “workers” was appalling. Just as the words finally reached the tip of her tongue, one of the girls she had come to the festival with cut off her impending argument.

“Damn, I’m jealous! If he’s that good I’m almost tempted to take him myself. But she needs this. She hasn’t loosened up the entire time we’ve been here and I think this might help. She’ll take him.”

The greasy man smiled and wrote her name down, happily accepting the roll of cash her friend handed him before getting up, supposedly to let the man know that he had another customer on the way. (Y/N) tried to escape when she could, but her friends rushed up and caught her before she could slip into the shadows, dragging her over to the brothel and shoving her towards an open door where the brothel owner stood, a creepy smile still plastered on his face.

“Guys! I don’t want this!” (Y/N) whispered frantically as she was dragged towards her doom.

“It doesn’t matter if you want it or not, you need it!” One of her friends said with a laugh. “Besides, you’re going to have a fun time. Don’t make us regret spending that money for you!”

(Y/N) was practically thrown into the room, stumbling as she fought to catch her balance, before the door was slammed shut behind her, the loud sound of the lock being latched reverberating around the room with the finality of a death toll. Huffing in anger, (Y/N) stood and brushed herself off, smoothing out her dress and straightening back up to her full height, fighting off the panic slithering up her spine.

A low groan of pain coming from behind her made her whirl around in surprise, her eyes landing on a shorter, pale skinned man with stunning silver eyes and raven black hair. Gods he looked pathetic. She could definitely tell he was attractive, it made sense now as to why he was a popular choice, but he looked sickly, his cheeks hollowed out, dark circles under his eyes, and a muscled yet neglected body starting to wear thin from years of hunger and constant overuse. The sight made her want to be sick. How could anybody be cruel enough to force themselves onto this obviously abused man? How could anyone willingly pay money to fuck him rather than help him?

“Um, hello,” (Y/N) said quietly. “W-What’s your name?”

The man raised an eyebrow, not used to the soft, kind, almost shy way she asked for his name. The women and occasional men he dealt with most of the time were demanding, controlling, and sadistic, knowing they paid for a man they could use, and their voices usually projected that. Yet, this woman looked as if she had been forced to do this, further supported by the way she had been nearly thrown into the room by whom he assumed was her friends.

“Levi,” he said quietly, waiting for the usual routine to start, no matter how much his gut twisted in disgust at the thought.

“Hi, Levi, I’m (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)...” Levi murmured softly, training himself to memorize it despite his swimming brain, knowing she would want him to scream it out later. Whether in pain or in pleasure, he wasn’t sure yet.

“Um…” (Y/N) was about to speak, her mind scrambling for something to say when her eye caught sight of a large bruise on his neck. Her eyes widened and suddenly started scanning his entire body, her stomach roiling more and more the longer she stared. Now that she was really paying attention, (Y/N) could see painful bites, hickeys, and splotchy bruises littering his neck, jaw, chest, and thighs. Her eyes narrowed on the long, bloody scratches running down the length of his chest and back, and she noticed blooming red patches of skin all over him that were raw and aching from being slapped hard and rough over and over again.

He was wearing a loose pair of worn boxers as his only cover, and (Y/N) could only imagine what other horrors the thin cloth was hiding. Glancing down, she saw him shift uncomfortably, his boxers tented by his arousal. The sight made her growl in anger, knowing that to keep him going after he had already had so many customers for the day, a drug was being used to make him insatiable, forcing him past the point of pain and probably clouding his judgement and mental process as well. It made her want to go cut up the brothel owner and serve him to a pig.

Without thinking, (Y/N) rushed to him, reaching out to him, only to freeze when he flinched. She heard him curse at the involuntary movement, knowing it was his job to appear as unaffected and sexually appealing as possible, and it made her heart clench even harder, her hatred for this place and the people who ran it increasing tenfold.

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) immediately slowed her movements, trying to appear as calm and unhurried as possible. Her gaze softened and glazed with unshed tears when he closed his eyes, his arms reaching out as he prepared for her to sit on his lap and have her way with him like she knew every other man and woman who used him did. Gritting her teeth against the fury she felt, she carefully slid her way across his thighs. She felt him force himself to relax under her as he leaned forward to let her kiss him.

When he felt nothing, and heard something click, Levi cracked open his eyes in curiosity, only to have them fly open all the way when he felt something cool and wet against his neck. Looking down at the woman in his arms, his lips parted in shock, watching in confused awe as she leaned back and soaked a small cloth in some water from a bottle, rinsing the fresh blood from the fabric. Looking to the side, he saw a small first aid kit by her feet, the container open to reveal a variety of medical tools inside.

(Y/N) leaned forward again, raising the towel to his neck to dab at his abrasions, washing them carefully, reverently, almost... lovingly. Levi opened and closed his mouth but no words came out as she continued to work on him, delicately cleaning his jaw and neck before carefully moving on to his chest. Was this some kind of strange ritual she always performed during sex? Did she just find him dirty and want to clean him up before putting her lips or her pussy on his skin? His mind was running a million miles a minute as she worked on him in silence, only pausing when he hissed quietly at the feeling of his gashes being washed.

(Y/N) frowned as she gently swiped the cloth along the red gouges in his skin. They were deep, most likely caused by the long, sharp nail extensions some ladies liked to wear, or the dull blade of a man with violent tendencies. It didn’t surprise her, a lot of the men and women who used people like this did have sadistic qualities, but it didn’t help to quell the now roaring fire in her blood, wanting nothing more than to fight against the injustice of this man.

“W-What are you doing?” Levi finally managed to ask.

“Cleaning your wounds.”

“Why? Is this some kind of-”

“Preparation? No. We aren’t going to do anything. I just want to help your injuries heal.”

Levi felt like his brain was full of static, like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. He wasn’t complaining, far from it, but he couldn’t get a reading on this woman. Why would she, a noble from the surface, want to help him, a hopeless whore from the Underground?

“Wha-”

“Before you ask what my intentions are, I’m just going to tell you that I didn’t even want to do this. I was forced to come to this festival because my father wants me to become more of a proper noble woman. But since I wasn’t too thrilled about having to be here, the people I came with thought I could use an opportunity to loosen up, and paid for me to do this with you in the hopes that I’d start having fun with them afterwards. But I have no intention of doing any of that. I hate how everyone in the Underground is treated like shit, and the last thing I want to do is take advantage of someone who obviously isn’t in control of his situation. I just want to help.”

Levi closed his mouth, all of his protests dying on his tongue. He still had questions, a lot of them, but he decided those could wait, her explanation making him feel surprisingly relaxed for someone who had trained himself to never take the word of a noble at face value. He had never met anyone like her. Even before he was forced to whore himself out, all he had ever known of nobles was their complete lack of humility and egotistical sense of self-importance.

It was silent for a moment, but this time, the silence was more comfortable, both of them starting to relax a little as (Y/N) continued to patch him up. Levi felt himself loosen up a bit, his muscles unwinding as his hands settled on her waist, keeping her securely balanced on his lap as she worked. Pride swirled in (Y/N)’s chest as she felt his tense muscles soften, her eyes sparkling as she started to work her way towards earning his trust.

“What’s your happiest memory?” (Y/N) asked suddenly.

Levi quirked an eyebrow in suspicion, “Why should I tell you, brat?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” (Y/N) said, shaking her head and stifling a giggle at the nickname. “I only asked because I figured we may as well talk while we do this. Not only that, I feel like you could use some happiness right now. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so if you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to.”

Levi was silent for a minute, the cogs in his mind turning as he tried to make what he believed to be the right decision despite the fog clouding his judgement. Just as she had promised, (Y/N) waited patiently, not pressuring him to answer, or even bringing up another question. She merely sat in silence, her clear (e/c) eyes narrowed on his injuries as she worked to make him feel better.

“There was a time when I was with my friend Farlan, a few years back. We were doing a job, trying to get rid of a troublesome merchant for a client of ours when we found out the merchant had a cat. We were hiding around the corner, waiting to strike when that damn cat jumped up onto Farlan’s lap. I’m fine with cats, but that was the day we found out Farlan had some kind of allergy to them. He was trying to hold back his sneezes but finally lost control right when the merchant came around the corner, and Farlan ended up sneezing really violently in his face. That merchant got so scared he must’ve jumped at least three feet in the air, and even managed to piss himself before he took off. We still had to finish him off later, but in that moment, when Farlan was mortified and our target was running for the hills because of a cat induced sneeze, I couldn’t help but laugh a little.”

(Y/N) had paused in her work to listen to him, and couldn’t help but smile when he finished his story. Going back to work, (Y/N) didn’t ask what happened to Farlan, not wanting to drag him back down after she had finally gotten him to talk to her, about something so personal no less.

“What about you?” Levi asked.

“Hmm, I think I’d have to say when I got my horse for my birthday,” (Y/N) said. “I was never around the horses, wasn’t allowed to be in the barn because it wasn’t “proper for a lady”. But I loved them, loved seeing them on the streets when other nobles would come visit my father or when the soldiers from the Survey Corps would come back from a mission. I couldn’t stay away, so no matter how much my father tried to squash my love of them, it just wouldn’t happen. My mother eventually convinced him to let it go, and surprised me with a little chestnut filly that I named Sashay when I was about sixteen years old. Now, she’s my best friend. We’ve been through everything together, and she’s the only one who doesn’t try to force me to be something I’m not. Aside from the royal guards, I guess. They learned a long time ago to stop trying to get me to sit still and look pretty when I beat all of them in the sword fighting ring.”

Levi’s brows shot up into his hair at that, his lips parting in surprise. “You know how to sword fight?”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Yeah, not what you were expecting, huh?”

“No,” Levi said. “I’ve never heard of a noble woman who could fight, let alone with a blade. Are you any good?”

“I tend to think so, but that all depends on who I’m up against,” (Y/N) said with a cheeky smile.

For some reason, Levi couldn’t help but smile back for the first time in years. His lips felt chapped and strained from disuse, but it felt good, a light feeling flooding his chest with warmth. “You said earlier that your horse’s name is Sashay,” Levi said, suddenly changing the topic.

“Mm hm.”

“That’s weird.”

(Y/N) giggled at his bluntness, making another fluttering feeling swirl in his chest. He had never met anyone other than Farlan who saw his language as something other than rude.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” (Y/N) said. “But I named her that because she is a sassy chestnut mare. I like to imagine that if she were human, she’d be someone you wouldn’t want to mess with, someone who wouldn’t take shit from anyone, but would do so with a spicy attitude. So I named her accordingly.”

Levi huffed a laugh at her response but almost immediately regretted it when the movement of his chest caused the rough gauze at her fingertips to brush against his injuries a little harder than before, the stinging sensation making him hiss in pain.

“Sorry!” (Y/N) said, quickly retracting her hands and holding them up, waiting for him to give her the signal to continue.

“Not your fault,” Levi mumbled, motioning that it was alright for her to get back to work. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I said that before.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me. I want to do this.”

Levi wanted to ask her why but remembered what she had told him at the start of this and decided to trust her word, swallowing the question and instead changing topics. “Why do you even have this? Do you always just carry a first aid kit around?”

“Only when I come to the Underground. I want to have it available for those who really need it.”

“You do know that at least half of the people down here would kill you without a second thought to get to that medicine. Or they’d kill you if they thought you were pitying them.”

“I know, but I’d like to think I can handle myself a bit more than the average person. Even so, I usually keep it hidden unless I really want or need to use it on someone, and it’s only for quick patch-ups anyway. I can’t really fix anything major.”

(Y/N) finally finished with his front and carefully slid off of his thighs, moving slowly to begin working on his back. She made sure he was okay with everything she was doing before settling herself down onto the edge of the bed behind him, her hands reaching up to start her work once more.

Levi wanted to know more about her. He felt as if he could talk to her for hours, as if he had known her for years. He wanted to know what made her laugh, what made her cry, what her vision was for the future. It was insane, so much so that Levi idly wondered if he’d fallen off the deep end. But he couldn’t deny it. She was just too intriguing, so surprisingly kind, so genuine.

What was your childhood like? What are your favorite things to do? Do you come down here often? When will I see you again?

The questions continued to rattle around in Levi’s head as they once again lapsed into a comfortable silence but he forced all of them back, not wanting to seem either too desperate to get to know her, or be seen as coming on too strong.

After debating with himself for a while, Levi finally settled on, “You’ve mentioned your father a lot, and how he doesn’t want you to be yourself.”

(Y/N) tensed a little, her face twisted in a grimace behind Levi’s back. “Yeah… he used to be better about it, but ever since my mother died, he’s been like a tyrant. He’s upset he didn’t get a son in the first place, but now that he’s stuck with me for a daughter, he’s even more disappointed that I’m not someone he can easily make profits off of by marrying me off to someone. Not only have I been adamant about not allowing it, but no nobleman wants a woman who can think for herself. A woman who can ride a horse, go toe to toe with her soldiers, has an opinion, and is knowledgeable about current conflicts. They want someone who will dress up all pretty for them and be in bed, ready to satisfy them when they get home from gambling and drinking all day while sitting on their parents’ money.”

Levi scoffed and (Y/N) huffed in agreement. “I’m just not that kind of person. Every suitor that has ever met me has run away from my casual attire and sailor’s mouth.”

“Your father wasn’t like this when your mother was alive?” Levi asked.

“He was, but he wasn’t as bad. My parents were in an arranged marriage, but they got along alright. At least my father loved my mother enough to listen to her most of the time when she told him to lay off of me. I honestly think she’s the reason why I have such a strong fighting spirit.”

“I’m sorry she’s gone,” Levi said awkwardly, not used to providing words of comfort.

“Thanks,” (Y/N) said genuinely, a warm smile gracing her beautiful features.

“I didn’t know my mother that well,” Levi said haltingly, still unsure why he felt comfortable telling her about things he hadn’t even talked to Farlan about. “She died of a disease when I was four years old. She was a prostitute, like me, so I never knew my father. When she died, I was picked up by a man named Kenny, who I thought might’ve been my father for a short while, but as I grew older, I realized he wasn’t. I don’t have any proof, I just know. When he abandoned me at ten, I was alone for a few years before I met Farlan.”

“So… you didn’t get stuck doing this because of your mother?” (Y/N) asked carefully, almost afraid to ask in case it made him shy away from her.

“No,” Levi said slowly. “I was twenty years old when I was caught stealing from a rich friend of this brothel owner. I had made a mistake and there was no way out. He figured out who I was, a thug who was known at the time for carrying out favors for people, whether that meant stealing or killing depended on how much they were willing to pay. Unfortunately, this led them to Farlan, and he gave me a choice. Me, or my best and only friend.”

“And you chose to save your friend at the expense of yourself,” (Y/N) finished for him in a hoarse whisper, filled with horror and unbridled fury at what this man had been through. She figured she should’ve been alarmed, he had just admitted that he had blood on his hands. He was a thief, a thug, a criminal, a murderer. But (Y/N) knew those things were nearly requirements for living in the Underground and no matter how she thought about it, she couldn’t think of anything that would make this man deserve what he was going through.

(Y/N) opened her mouth to say something just as she put the last bandage in place when a loud pounding on the door startled them both. “Time’s up, you two!” The brothel owner shouted through the door.

(Y/N) shot up from the bed and rushed around to where the water and first aid kit sat, quickly packing up the little box of supplies and splashing her face with water, trying to make herself look sweaty enough to look convincing. Once everything had been packed away, (Y/N) stood and shrugged off her leather jacket, throwing it to him.

“Here, take this, it’ll keep your boss from seeing the bandages and trying to get rid of them. It’ll also give your injuries a little more protection from the bacteria in this room.”

Levi wanted to refuse, tell her he couldn’t accept a gift like this, even if it was temporary, but no words would come out as he watched the beautiful woman in front of him mess up her hair and swipe her fingers across her lips, trying to make herself look as wrecked as possible. When she finally looked the part enough to seem convincing, (Y/N) made her way to the door, turning one last time before she opened it to throw him a wink and a sweet smile.

“~Goodbye Levi, I hope we can see each other again soon.”

The lilt in her voice was fake, an act for anyone who may be listening on the other side of the door, meant to be taken as a sickly promise of more sexual endeavors to come, but he could feel the genuine emotion in her statement.

“I hope so too,” Levi said quietly after she had already left, the once comforting quiet of his room now making him feel lonely and empty.

The sound of pounding on his door woke Levi abruptly, making the raven-haired man growl in anger and annoyance. It was rare that the poor man got to sleep, not only because customers could come in at almost any time, day or night, but also because of the horrible insomnia that often plagued him. It made him even more irritable to be woken up, his body sore and his mind groggy as another round of pounding roused him further and prompted him to swing his legs over the side of the small cot he was provided when not busy fucking, and make his way to the door.

“What?” Levi snapped when he swung open the door, genuinely surprised that the pig who owned him hadn’t just burst into his room like he always did, raving about yet another customer for Levi.

“Get your shit, you’re going to the surface.”

Levi blinked. This had to be some kind of joke. The brothel owner never let anyone under his foot leave the brothel, let alone the Underground. Even the highest class noble women couldn’t request for him to come to them, the old man not trusting his prostitutes to be sent back. Especially Levi.

“Oi, your ears gone to shit now? Grab your pathetic bullshit and get out of my sight,” the man snarled, his small, watery eyes narrowed on Levi like he was the scum of the world.

Shaking himself out of it, Levi didn’t hesitate for another moment, rushing back into his room to grab the pitifully few things he had with him, including the leather jacket he had gotten from (Y/N), draping it over his shoulders to hide his healing injuries just in case it was a trick. The festival was still going on afterall, this could just be some ruse the old man set up to make the experience more interesting for the men and women who paid for him.

When Levi returned, the man pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and jerked his head, signaling Levi to follow him. Levi knew better than to risk running. In his full health he could’ve easily escaped from the man’s clutches, but with little more than a half hour of rest, his injured body, weak muscles, and the remnants of the drugs still working through his system, Levi didn’t trust himself to outrun a bullet, and knew the pig wouldn’t hesitate to fire, no matter how valuable Levi was to him.

Even though Levi kept expecting the brothel owner to turn down a secluded street and lead him right into an ambush or trick of some sort, he never did, leading Levi right to the stairs exiting the Underground. When they reached the guards at the base of the stairs, the man took two slips of paper from the inner pocket of his worn brown coat and showed it to the guard. When he was cleared to continue on, the brothel owner turned and motioned for Levi to stay close as he stomped his way up the stairs, grumbling incoherently to himself all the while.

Breaching the surface, Levi brought an arm to his face, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the sun as it attacked his face with warm, bright light. He eventually got used to it, slowly lowering his arm and rushing to catch up with his boss, who was impatiently grunting for him to hurry up.

Passing through what appeared to be a busy market square, Levi followed the brothel owner along the lively cobblestone streets until they reached a quieter part of the town, stopping along the edge of a beautiful flower field, the grassy meadow filled with colorful blossoms that secretly took Levi’s breath away.

The sound of horse hooves caught his attention, and Levi looked up only to have the air fly from his lungs when (Y/N)’s bright face came into view, the stunning woman seated astride whom he assumed to be Sashay and flanked by two armed men.

“Right on time,” the brothel owner grumbled, his little pig eyes narrowing when he saw her passive aggressive smile.

“Of course I’m on time, this is my deal, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man growled. “Are you sure you want this one? He’s my most popular, I’d hate to lose him.”

“Yes, he’s the one I want. Besides, I believe the money I’ve paid you has far exceeded the profit you have earned from having him around. I’m sure you will be able to manage.”

The man sneered at her but didn’t respond, using the muzzle of the gun to push Levi forward and digging in his pocket to fish out the same pieces of paper he had shown the guards on the stairs, handing them to (Y/N).

“Thank you, sir. I believe we are done here.”

The brothel owner slunk off, casting dark looks at her but refusing to argue as he hunkered off to head back down to the Underground, where he would continue to rot like the rat he was. Levi watched him go before turning to (Y/N), surprised by the bright smile she flashed him when he met her gaze.

“(Y/N)? What’s going on?”

(Y/N) smiled even wider and held up the pieces of paper she had been handed. One of them was the file labeling him as a slave to the brothel owner, keeping him from escaping, and the other was a bill of sale. His eyes widened when he saw her signature on the bottom of both pages, officially registering her as his new owner. He opened his mouth, about to speak when she took both pages in her hands and ripped them in half, letting the torn pages float onto the street below, forgotten, useless.

“There, you’re free now.”

Levi was at a loss for words, his mouth gaping open. “(Y/N)? What-”

“Before you ask me what my intentions are, I’m just going to tell you that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about your life, your sacrifice, your pain, and I decided I could do something about it. You are human, and damn it, you are an important one! I couldn’t just leave you there. Now, you won’t have to work for anyone but yourself. You won’t have to cater to anyone else’s needs and you can fulfill whatever dreams you have.”

“But, that must’ve cost you a fortune, to cover more than the amount of money he’s made off of using me? What about-”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Levi. I want to use my funds for good, put them towards the people who need it the most. That includes you. Especially you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you having to stay in that shit hole for even a second longer than necessary.”

“What do I do now, then?” Levi asked, trying to focus on keeping his voice steady.

“Well, you can do whatever you want now. You’re a free man, you can find a house and settle down somewhere, or you can go back to the Underground and pick up your life where you left off. You can join the military, or you can start a small business here in the square. It’s anything you want. You get to choose your life now.”

“And what if I don’t want to do any of those things?”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that flashed across her face then, her heart filling with warmth. “Like I said, it’s your choice, you can do whatever you want, carve your own path, but if you want to come with me, you’re always welcome to.”

Levi’s lip twitched and he took a step forward, reaching up to pat Sashay’s muzzle as he got closer. “Alright, I’ll follow you.”

(Y/N) beamed before turning around to nod at each one of her guards, dismissing them. When they had left, presumably returning to (Y/N)’s family estate, she reached down for him, her hand extended for him to take. Placing his rough palm into her warm hand, he allowed her to help him up into the saddle behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist to keep himself secure as (Y/N) kicked Sashay into an easy canter. Sighing blissfully, Levi let himself relax, his chin coming down to rest on (Y/N)’s shoulder as they made their way home, together.

Levi had never expected to see the day when he would willingly go with a noble, but then again, he never thought he’d ever meet a noble like (Y/N). Now, as he felt her warmth soak into his chest, he knew he’d made the right decision.

Levi finally felt the remnant effects of the drugs in his system fade away as the sun beams broke through the fluffy clouds in the sky, leaving his mind clear. He was making this decision all on his own, nothing left to impair his judgement, and no matter what, he knew he would never regret the path he chose to take just so long as (Y/N) stayed by his side.

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seijorhi · 3 years

Note

If you have the time and feel like it, I'd love to read anything from you about Shigaraki/Reader. (Or maybe Shinsou??)The first thing that came to my mind was something involving chikan but anything that you can come up with is totally good with me as well!!!! Love your writing!!!

This is like months late I am so sorry, bby!! But I hope it’s okay? 🥺

Shigaraki Tomura x Female Reader

TW chikan, non-con, nsfw

Dirty

Staring isn’t a crime.

It’s the mantra you kept repeating to yourself as more and more passengers slowly filed in. There is nothing wrong. You’re being paranoid.

Staring isn’t a crime, but you’d feel a whole hell of a lot more comfortable if the pair of red eyes boring into you from across the train carriage weren’t accompanied by a creepy, wide grin.

You tell yourself that you’re imagining things, that you’ve read one too many shoujo mangas, because the silvery haired stranger in his ratty oversized hoodie just happens to be facing your general direction, so of course it feels like he’s staring. It doesn’t stop you from trying to tug down the hem of your skirt.

Except when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you decide to bite the bullet and scamper across to the other side of the carriage under the guise of getting off, the stranger follows.

He’s only staring. You’ve heard about men who like to scare girls on public transport, how they… get off on it. But the stranger seems content just to watch. There’s a Nintendo switch sticking out of his hoodie pocket, but in the fifteen minutes you’ve been riding together, he hasn’t made a move to touch it - while everybody else on the carriage is either sleeping, reading or absorbed in their phones, the stranger’s attention is fixed entirely on you.

He’s enjoying it, you think - your discomfort. The way you shift and try to subtly curl in on yourself, hiding behind other passengers, how your eyes keep darting up to see if he’s still watching (he is) before shifting your attention back to the phone in your hands. Should you text somebody? Your best friend, maybe? And say what exactly, ‘help, there’s a creepy looking guy staring at me on the train, please come get me?’

There were at least twenty other people on the carriage with you, and not one of them has noticed the silver haired man staring at you - or if they have, they’ve promptly dismissed it as nothing to concern themselves with. You’re working yourself up over nothing - he’s only doing it trying to get a reaction out of you.

You don’t want to cause a fuss over nothing.

Breathing deeply, you decide to simply not give him the satisfaction, turning your back on him to face out the window by the doors instead. You still have another twenty minutes left of the ride until you reach your stop, with any luck he’ll lose interest soon enough.

At the next station, the doors slide open and a swarm of commuters flood into the carriage. You’re bumped and brushed past, jostled about as more and more passengers try to fit onboard - it’s uncomfortable, but for once you find yourself grateful for the teeming crowds. With enough people squished between you and the pale, hoodie-clad stranger, you comfort yourself with the knowledge that he’s probably lost sight of you (or at least the parts of you he’s interested in leering at) and allow yourself to breathe and just relax-

Until a sudden jolt of the carriage sends you reeling into the chest of the commuter behind you.

On instinct you turn your head to glance over your shoulder, apologies ready on the tip of your tongue, only for them to turn to ash in your mouth as you meet bloodshot vermillion eyes and a wide, unsettling grin.

“Whoops,” he chuckles, the sound dry and rasping, like nails raking down a chalkboard. “Better be careful, now. Don’t wanna hurt yourself.”

Your breath catches and you still, but there’s no room for you to move as pale, spindly fingers creep across your waist, sliding down the pleated fabric of your skirt. A tiny whimper, lost almost immediately to the droning hum of the carriage as it jolts along the tracks, escapes as rough fingertips graze the top of your thigh, dragging your skirt upwards in search of another prize. You feel the chest pressed against your back rumble with another laugh, dry, chapped, lips dragging possessively against the curve of your neck, and a deep, shuddering inhale.

(Is he sniffing your hair?!)

“You might wanna hold onto something, princess,” the stranger jeers. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, a deep, unsettling pit growing in your stomach. This isn’t staring - this isn’t harmless anymore.

He’s got you caged between his body and the doors, one arm shot out over your shoulder to brace himself, the other creeping up towards your panties with agonising slowness. There’s nowhere to go, but for the life of you, you don’t know why you can’t seem to make a sound. Your legs are quaking, heart thumping unsteadily as long digits probe at your panty covered sex, dragging teasingly against the outline of your slit. All it would take is a shout, a yell, and somebody would intervene - packed train or not - but despite the icy fear seeping into your veins, the rising panic as your pretty lace panties are yanked to the side, your cries are caught in your throat.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation as long digits roughly slither between your plush pussy lips. You’re not wet - how could you be? - but that doesn’t seem to bother the man violating you, not as those same fingers greedily tease at your hole for a split second before they plunge inside of you, his thumb rubbing at your crude circles around your clit like it’s a joystick. You wonder if anyone has noticed the hitch in your breath, the soft, whimpering whine that you can’t quite hold back as he fucks you on his fingers, stretching you out. Facing out the window, there’s nobody to see the tears that spill down your cheeks, the way your features contorts in pain - and something else - as his fingertips press and drag along your warm, tight cunny walls.

There’s no rhythm or technique as he roughly mashes his palm against your sex, but suddenly it’s not so much an effort to speak out as it is to smother your own noises - the thought of somebody catching you like this, seeing him finger fuck you in on a crowded, public train in the middle of the day making you want to curl up and disappear entirely.

His fingers are stuffed deep inside of your pussy, fucking you in earnest, it doesn’t matter if you were willing or not, you let him get this far without so much as a peep. Who’s going to believe that you didn’t want this, weren’t silently begging for it - that with every flick of his wrist this stranger is raping you in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded train?

You bite down on your bottom lip, hands clenching into pathetic fists at your side as the man behind you moans and grunts in your ear. There’s something hard and warm pressed against your ass - it takes you a moment to realise that it’s his cock, and his hips are rutting eagerly against your backside.

His panting breath tickles at your neck, “Gettin’ all nice ‘n wet, such a good little slut. You -hah- you enjoying this, princess?”

Revulsion rises like a wave, crashing through you, but you can’t deny the building slick you feel easing his passage - your cunt is all but drooling around his fingers. You can’t bear to look around to see if any of the other passengers have noticed, if they can hear the lewd sounds of him fingering you like a man possessed.

Your forehead falls against the cool, glass window, your eyes squeezing shut as more tears fall. It doesn’t make a difference, you can’t disappear into your mind and pretend that this isn’t happening, he’s making sure of it. His hips are grinding faster against the swell of your ass, his fingers picking up their pace in response. It’s like he wants you to cum with him, and when a third finger slips inside of you, crooks and slams against that sweet spot that has you gasping, you know that it’s not far off.

“Tomura,” he pants desperately into your ear as he ruts up against you like a beast in heat, “Fuck! My n-name is Tomura.”

You don’t know why he’s telling you. Does he think you’ll cry it out as his thumb swipes messily at your clit and your tight cunny walls unwittingly squeeze down on his fingers? Or does he just want you to know the name of the stranger about to make you cum in a train full of strangers.

You don’t have time to ponder the question, not as his teeth sink into the tender skin of your neck to muffle his growls and his fingers speed up, that tight coil of heat in your core pulling taut and snapping as unwanted pleasure explodes like fireworks, overwhelming your system as you convulse and shudder around him.

Your vision goes white, a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a moan leaves your lips.

Tomura snarls, riding out his own orgasm, warm cum spurting into his jeans as he all but collapses against you. For a moment, you two stay like that, his sweaty, larger frame draped over yours, his chest heaving, hand still caught up beneath your skirt.

In the wake of your climax, shame and humiliation rear their ugly heads. You came, you enjoyed it, your own violation. No amount of reassurance that it’s just your body's natural reaction to stimuli can stop the rising disgust that surges through you so violently it threatens to choke you. You feel dirty - filthy and used - especially with Tomura’s face nuzzled in your neck, his tongue laving at your flushed skin, the blood welling from his overzealous bite.

His hand slides out of your underwear, using your skirt to wipe off the syrupy wetness that clings to his digits. You stomach churns in response as the train pulls up alongside the station platform, passengers once again jostling as they prepare to disembark. Even now you can’t force yourself to move, can’t shove him away like you so desperately want to.

You’re pathetic.

He sighs contentedly, chapped lips curling into a smirk as the voice over the p.a announces the incoming stop. If Tomura notices the tears that wet your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, he doesn't pass comment, choosing instead to press a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple as the train slows down to a halt.

“That was real fun, Y/N,” he coos gleefully. “We should do it again some time.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of exiting passengers, and your trembling legs finally give out.

#yandere bnha #yandere Shigaraki #yandere Shigaraki x reader #yandere Shigaraki Tomura #yandere Shigaraki Tomura x reader #yandere my hero academia #tw public sex #tw non con #tw chikan

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datsrightbby · 3 years

Text

Poly!Lost Boys x s/o!Reader

All is Fair in Love and War

Warnings: NSFW/Smut, jealous!Boys, honestly this is just filth, pure filth, you’ve been warned. Oh, also the reader is gender neutral. Oral, penetration, e.g e.g (:

Hey guys, sorry I haven’t posted much these past few days I’ve been a little ummm ✨depressed✨ but hopefully I’m back on track now, thankyou for your patience w me, I send kisses mwah ❤️

It didn't matter what you told them, they were never going to be okay with it. Recently someone new had moved next door to you, which was fine, or at least would have been if he wasn't a flirty blonde surfer with tattoos and abs. You had your boys, you didn't even notice him, but they did. They noticed every little stare he sent your way, how he had the nerve to greet you on the boardwalk as you were making out with one of them, how he found excuses to come over to yours when the boys were conveniently not there. And to be quite frank, they hated his guts. For many reasons, but the fact that he was extremely fond of you (to say the least) was probably top of the list. Sure, they trusted you it was the muscled, sunkissed surfer who had wondering eyes and a cocky attitude that they didn't trust, it was only a matter of time before they lost their shit.

Which happened to be tonight...when they pulled up he was exiting your house, a toolbox in hand and you on the other. Though your attention was brought to them the minute their roaring bikes subsided and, to their amusement, you abandoned the man beside you in hopes of greeting your boys with kisses and hugs, which they happily accepted with smirks and passionate touches. Maybe they could let that go, he was obviously helping you fix the leaky sink in your kitchen, maybe, just maybe they could have let that go. But, the minute they walked in your place it reeked of his scent, he was everywhere, and he was on you.

Vampire instincts took over, you were their mate, the love of their lives, and another mans scent enveloped you like a blanket, all they could see was red and all they could feel was jealousy, and a deep rooted possessiveness over you that had been toyed with.

***

"He's just a friend!"

"Friends don't look at you like that (y/n)!"

"Well, what do you want me to do David? He's my neighbor."

"Maybe we've just gotta remind you of your place."

He sent you a dark look and you peered over to the other guys who had opted to stay out of the argument but deemed that they were on Davids's side regardless. David's hands went to grab you, pulling you against him, a gloved hand coming up to rest on your cheek -

"If he's not gonna get the message, then maybe we've gotta give him a little extra reminder that you're ours only."

The minute the words left his lips your body tensed, immediate dirty thoughts contaminating your mind and body -

"I've got an idea."

Marko looked at you expectantly, a thumb in his mouth and a smirk quirking at the corner of his lips, mischievousness was written in his eyes and you took a deep breath as you waited on his next words -

"I say we mark you up."

Admittedly you'd thought he meant hickies, though the look he shared with David told you otherwise, they shared a knowing, sinister stare, eyes clouded with wickedness as they turned their attention back on you. At once it seemed the boys surrounded you, Dwayne was behind you caressing your sides, while Marko and Paul made it a team effort to undress you, and David watched with a smirk, taking a seat on the end of the bed. Once the boys had their fun pinching and teasing you David made his way over, standing in front of you, eyes raking over your bare form, unconsciously you attempted to cover yourself just the slightest, the gazes of four men on you having an effect over you that you didn't want to admit out loud. Hands came around your body to stop the actions though, Dwayne's lips on your shoulder and neck as he attempted to stop any insecurity seep in -

"You're beautiful, don't worry."

His sweet praises were met with a hard look from David, who had other plans in mind apparently. Gesturing to the bed, both Dwayne and yourself headed over, laying comfortable with your back to his chest, while David leaned over you, a thumb and finger holding your jaw in place as your eyes met his -

"Yeah don't worry about it sweetheart, You'll soon know your place is with us and us only...hmm?"

There were many ways you could have defended yourself, though words appeared to leave your vernacular entirely as you processed the situation, Marko walking over to you and sinking to his knees with ease. You leaned back against Dwayne's chest, his lips whispering praises and sins as Marko's tongue worked along you, using his spit as lube and digging his nails into your thighs, enough to hurt, but not break the skin. Paul was impatient, hands shifting from his lap to your body in seconds, pinching and teasing your nipples and any exposed skin he could get to. His leg moves up and down excitedly, the state of you displayed out on Dwayne as Marko was between your legs having him yearning for his own pleasure. David watched, dark eyes luring over your vulnerable state. Your peak was approaching quickly, having the four of them desire you so badly, Marko's mouth working against you in every which way he knew you loved, Paul's hands all over you, and Dwayne's deep, sultry voice low in your ear -

"I'm gonna cum, please don't stop I'm gonna -"

"You can only cum if you're loud for us."

You whined and moved your hips against Marko's mouth, adding that bit more of extra friction that had your head falling back onto Dwayne's shoulder and your legs twitching with anticipation -

"He'll pull away if you're not loud for us (y/n). Let us hear, let...him hear you. "

You did as told, letting out a string of moans, whines, and whimpers as Marko helped you through it, holding your hips and legs still as you convulsed and shook underneath him. Dwayne kissed your neck, teeth grazing the area, and Paul went about letting himself free and stroking himself as he watched you come undone, Marko eating up every little bit of you he could get until you had to physically pry him away with your hands. As you came back to your senses you looked over to David, who yanked Marko from in between you harshly, lips in a dirty smirk as he leaned down to whisper in your ear -

"I'm gonna fuck you. And when I fuck you I want you to be so loud the neighbors hear you, I'm gonna have you feeling so full you'll feel me inside you for weeks after, can you do that for me? Can you be loud for me?"

The nod you gave him came eagerly, more so than you'd care to admit, and your heart hammered in your chest as he freed his cock from its restraints and stroked himself a few times, the action having you moaning out loud purely because of how hot he looked doing it, he teased your entrance, dipping in slightly only to pull away, teasing you and loving your reactions as he did so, you could hear Marko and Paul's snicker from beside you, how needy and desperate you were amusing them -

"What do you want (Y/n)?"

His tone mocked you, your needs painfully obvious and the smell of sex heavy in the air -

"I need you -"

"Need me to what?"

You threw your head against Dwayne's shoulder, once again, in frustration, his lips moving to kiss the side of your head and murmur to you how you weren't gonna get anything until you said it out loud -

"I need you to fuck me David...please."

Your eyes pleaded with him and he took pity on you, your body slick in sweat and aching for him, he could never resist you. Without breaking eye contact he situated himself deep inside you, the stretch eliciting a moan, and your hands reaching to hold Dwayne's in support. David set a rough pace, hips meeting yours in a bruising hold, his hands went to your thighs, holding them over his shoulders and the angle had your back arching and eyes rolling to the back of your head if it weren't for Dwayne holding you still you're sure you'd be thoroughly fucked into the mattress of your bed.

“Do I feel good kitten? Can anyone else fuck you like this?”

Humming, you used your feet to bring David deeper into you, the thickness of his cock inside you must be what ecstasy feels like. He didn’t need, or even want an answer from you, the pure look of rapture on your face told him everything.

You were conscious enough to move your hand behind you to play with Dwayne who grunted in your ear and moved his hips up enough to give you access to the bulge in his jeans, Paul and Marko were either side of you, touching themselves to a similar pace David was fucking you at, it was hard to concentrate, your eyes switched from Dwayne's side profile to David above you, to Paul and Marko stroking themselves, their pre-cum dripping onto your stomach.

Paul was the first to finish himself off, having been worked up enough from watching you get pleasured, his cum dripping out deliciously from his cock, painting your stomach, he used a finger to scoop some up and bring it to your lips, an action that would seem disgusting and unappealing otherwise, but at the moment was erotic and sexy. Marko was soon after, his cum coming out in spurts and once again falling onto your stomach with Pauls, decorating it with his own seed and scent. David's hips sped up, his high approaching and using you to get him there, his hands let go of your thighs, letting them fall to the side of him as he leaned above you with a hand supporting his weight and set a brutal pace, you couldn't focus your attention on Dwayne anymore, his cock now set free by himself and him taking over your previous actions of jerking him off. Your second orgasm hit you suddenly, the coil in your stomach had been so tightly wound for ages you forgot about the snap of it, and once it did you shook uncontrollably, lips screaming out a mantra and curses and moans and a mix of all the boys names, you couldn't think straight or feel anything over than the warm shock waves of pleasure raking through your body.

David pulled out of your spent body, finishing himself off on your skin and staining it with his cum, in a moment Dwayne had you underneath him, his cock inches above your face and you salivated, opening your mouth unconsciously, but he didn’t give you the pleasure of sucking him off, instead he came all over your face and neck, the final touch to their marking of you.

Their scent was embedded in you, their touches still lingered on your skin, and their cum lay thickly on your body, the most possessive part of all of this was having you smothered in them, not only that, but you’re sure, with how loud you were, that your neighbour and the rest of Santa Carla was all too aware of what exactly went down, though it wasn’t in you at the moment to care. Your legs were numb in spent stimulation, your eyes drooped with exhaustion, your mind couldn’t focus on anything, David had fucked you out -

“we love you babe, you know that right?”

All you could manage was a soft smile and a nod, Paul went to hold you and cuddle into your side, actively avoiding the mess all over you, Marko went to the other side of you, while Dwayne went into the bathroom and started you a bath, David just peered down at you, lighting a cigarette -

“Good. And I hope he knows it too.”

“Did Dwayne give you hickies?”

Paul’s finger poked around at your neck and you watched his face break out in a grin -

“He didn’t I -”

You felt the spot Paul was touching suddenly hurt as he put a little pressure to it, a gasp escaping your lips -

“DWAYNE!”

#the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys x reader #dwayne the lost boys x reader #paul the lost boys x reader #marko the lost boys x reader #Shakira Writes

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

The Vessel [Pt. 7]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: Geralt is in a fix when he is forced to choose between honor and love. What would he do?

Warnings: Attempted non con inappropriate behavior? Also, this chapter is mostly going to be Yennefer and Geralt, and less of the reader, my apologies but this was important from a transition point of view. :)

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

The celebration was over, except for a few who were to stay as guests at Yennefer's mansion, had decided to stay and linger in the hall for a bit longer. You were about to retire for the night, as exhaustion was beginning to claw on you; exhaustion from having done practically nothing all night but to find ways you could escape being in that hall, and attract unwanted attention.

However, it turned out that you did still end up attracting someone's attention, even without doing anything. And no, it wasn't the Witcher.

It was almost midnight, and you were about to make your way back to the chambers you were staying in tonight, having decided to carry your fruit plate to the chambers itself so you could enjoy the night to yourself, when Jaskier startled you, appearing out of the blue, and plomping down on an empty bench in front of you.

"Lords, Jaskier. You scared me."

"Did I? I thought it will take a lot more than that to get you to scare," he chuckled, leaning forward so that his elbows now rested against the table.

"I thought you had company. Why would you want to spend time with a lonely woman like me?" You smiled, giving him a raised eyebrow, in a playful way.

"I do, but it turns out, there's someone that would like to get to know you," Jaskier gave you a goofy, wide toothed smile and you frowned in confusion, leaning closer as you raised an eyebrow.

"Well, do you see that woman over there?" You turned your head in the direction that Jaskier was pointing out, only to see a woman dressed in princely red, beautiful golden locks falling down her back, laughing at something Yennefer said. You then turned back to Jaskier, who sat more comfortably, and looked at you, "that's Queen Bagan of Lyria. Yennefer knew her when she wasn't a queen. Back from when she used to work for Queen Kalis—"

"Get to the point, Jas', I'm tired and I would like to retire to the chambers now," you stood up, blocking Jaskier's view of this Queen as you stepped to the side but Jaskier stood up after you, grabbing your wrist to stop you from abandoning him, "Would you hear me out? I really think Geralt's rubbing off on you. You're changing, [Y/N]."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the sudden overly dramatic outburst of your friend, before your eyes softened and you sighed. You supposed you could listen to what he had to say, although you were sure you would most probably regret it later.

"Fine, Jaskier. What is it? Now that you've compared me to that brooding Witcher, I'm forced to listen to you, just to prove it to you that I'm nothing like him." Jaskier couldn't help but chuckle at your words, but it didn't take him long to donn a look of fake seriousness.

"Now that—" you groaned as Jaskier pointed towards someone again, and you were forced to crane your neck subtly so you could follow who Jaskier was talking about. He was pointing at a young man, sitting in a group of men, drinking ale, "that's her bastard son, Henrik."

"What do I do with all that?" You mumbled, your fingers hooking onto a grape as you aimlessly tossed it into your mouth.

"Well, I've been noticing him and I can see that he cannot keep his eyes off you."

You scoffed, more in frustration than in any other emotion, "Well, Jaskier, if you have been noticing him, I think you should keep him, I'm really not in the mood."

"God, woman, would you listen? Typical Geralt."

You rolled your eyes but chose to stay quiet.

"He is rich, and he is interested—"

"I'm an unwed pregnant woman, Jaskier."

"Well, he doesn't seem to mind—"

"Gods, Jaskier. I'm leaving. Good night." You huffed for one final time, this time in warning and turned away, striding away from where Jaskier sighed and shook his head, bringing his pitcher of ale to his lips as you began climbing up the stairs that led to the chambers for the guests.

You sat down, the dress given to you by the sorceress lay discarded on the floor, but you felt relieved to be out of it. Just dressed in your chemise, you pried off the silk covers off the bed, and slid inside, feeling the richness of the fabric over your skin.

You laid down, on your back, your hand resting on your stomach and your other hand under the back of your head as you closed your eyes, exhaustion taking over your body as you felt sleep slowly take over you.

You didn't know how much time had passed, or how long had you slept for, when you woke up at the middle of the night, your sleep having been disturbed by a knock on your door. You frowned, wiping the base of your eyes as you slid out of bed, and slowly crept to the door.

"Who is it?" You whispered, your voice barely leaving your throat.

There was no response, so you thought that whoever it was had probably left. You cursed under your breath, and began turning away from the door when there was the same knock again.

"Jaskier, I swear to the Gods, why won't you let me sleep?" You pulled open the door, snarling at whoever it was on the other side of the door when your eyes widened and colour drained off your face.

"Henrik?"

The blond haired man smiled, the corner of his lips almost reaching his eyelids when he realized you already knew his name.

"Well, commoners mostly call me Prince Henrik, but I think I can make an exception for you."

"I'm sorry, but I think you are in the wrong chambers, Prince Henrik," you began, but he cut you off once more, rather unceremoniously and began speaking again.

"My apologies, I never properly introduced myself at the celebration tonight, I'm Henrik, Prince of Lyria."

Bastard Prince.

"I—" You swallowed the lump forming inside your throat, as a sudden realization hit you. You were dressed rather inappropriately. You immediately turned away, so you were now turned away from him, "Prince, I would request you to leave."

"You what?" His voice grew louder; almost like a bark.

You began closing the wooden door, when his hand latched to it, stopping you from shutting it any further, the suddenness of his actions causing you to flinch and jump backwards. Instead of leaving, he casually stepped inside.

"I came all the way from Lyria to see if the rumours were true." He smirked, in a disgusting way that almost made your insides churn.

"W-What rumours?"

"Well, the Sorceress and that mutant son of a bitch bought themselves a whore, which they refuse to share," he spat, looking at you with sudden hate filled eyes.

You looked from him to the door, but it was hopeless. You took a step away from him, but he closed that one step distance by taking a step in your direction, until you were trapped, the stone wall behind you and the monster of the Prince in front of you. Geralt's words suddenly rang through your mind; Not all monsters are dangerous, some people are too.

"You're used to the roadside filth, aren't ya? Never experienced anything royal before? Now's your chance."

Henrik's ruby studded hands moved to the base of his robe as he slowly began taking it off, and this gave you a quick second to think, and think you did. Suddenly, your feet darted towards the door, your side brushing roughly against Henrik on your way out, the impact of it causing the man to almost topple off, but he was fast too. By the time you reached the door, and began pulling the door open, he grabbed you by your hair, a loud scream escaping your lips as he tugged on your hair and made you drop down to your knees.

"Ungrateful little bitch! Which Prince in his sane mind would even look at you? You are fucking lucky I was interested," He knelt down next to you, his face threateningly close to yours.

Suddenly, the door splintered into two, the splinters of wood flying across the room, the kick so powerful. Bright, menacing eyes regarded you huddled on the ground like that before the hold on your hair relaxed and you could breathe again. Before that, everything had been a blur, but now you could see clearly. Geralt had somehow kicked open the chamber doors, and now he stood, towering over you, holding Henrik by his throat, his fingers coiled around his neck, his eyes almost dark, venomous and his posture tense.

"I think no one has ever said no to you before, Henrik."

"Let go off me, mutant," Henrik began coughing, as he tried to pry off the Witcher's hand, but of course, he failed.

Just then, Yennefer walked into your chambers, her steps still exuding elegance and poise, although she had just been woken up from a deep slumber. Her eyes fell on you, huddled in a corner, your eyes shrunken back in horror, and then she regarded Geralt, walking up to him and fixing her palm on his shoulder.

"Geralt, what exactly are you doing? Let him go."

Geralt's eyes widened, his head turning towards her in a violent motion.

"Let him go? Are you fucking kidding me?"

She smiled, the smile being a fake one as her fingers began stroking his arm, over the fabric of his shirt. She leaned closer to him, and whispered, in a low voice, "Geralt, my love. Can I talk to you for a second?"

His lips pursed together as he struggled to sustain the rage building up inside him, bit by bit. Instead of loosening the grip on the man's throat, he just squeezed his fingers tighter, for two seconds before throwing him off so he landed right outside your room, his back cracking against the stone flooring. The three of you watched, as he stepped up and cursed under his breath, muttering something on the lines of— you messed with the wrong person and you will pay for it — and scampered off.

Geralt shot Yennefer a glare but he didn't stay where Yennefer was. Instead, he walked up to where you were huddled on the floor, and knelt down in front of you.

"Are you alright?" He whispered in a low, husky voice, without a trace of anger or malice in it, just gentleness.

You nodded, and looked away, fresh tears running down your cheeks as Geralt helped you up to your feet, Yennefer's stone cold stare fixed on the two of you.

"I dont— I was asleep and he just came into my chambers, I didnt—" Your lips trembling, you choking out on the words that ran out of your mouth, Geralt sat you by the edge of your bed.

"It isn't your fault. I should have known —"

Yennefer rolled her eyes, but the two of you paid her no heed, as Geralt moved on to tuck you into the covers again, his hand unknowingly brushing against your tiny bump. You felt his breathing hitch, almost the very instant, and he looked down at you, his eyes seeking your permission, and you nodded. Geralt's massive palm came to rest on your belly, almost covering it entirely, as his fingers brushed against the fabric of your chemise his touch gentle and soothing.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you whispered, as you pulled the covers over your body and Geralt pulled his hand away slowly walking up to a fuming Yennefer, and the two of them walked out and the sorceress chanted some spells to create a barrier over your broken door that wouldn't permit anyone to enter your chamber, especially Geralt.

"Geralt didn't mean it, Queen Bagan," Yennefer arched forward, her elbows grazing against the table the next morning, as she found herself sitting with the Queen of Lyria, and the Prince. She looked from Bagan to Henrik, who was obviously hiding his neck from public view, a scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Yennefer, I didn't come all the way from Lyria, to Redania to have my son be offended by your lover."

Geralt, who had been sitting next to Yennefer, seemingly quiet, let out a low pitched grunt and the bastard Prince lifted his eyes, fixing it on the Witcher and muttered a curse under his breath. Geralt straightened, and almost immediately, the tension was thick on the dinner table once again.

Yennefer's hand latched itself to Geralt's thigh underneath the table as she squeezed it lightly, signalling her lover to let her handle it.

"Queen, Geralt didn't mean to do what he did, the circumstances were not so good when he found your son, in our vessel's bed chambers."

"She is a woman, Yen, not a fucking piece of commodity," Geralt growled.

"She's a whore," Henrik muttered, only to elicit a growl from the Witcher's end once more.

"Well, Yennefer. Lyria has been supportive of you. You are one of the most powerful mages there is, and we have been supportive of you, sheltering you and being allies. Now, you do know what this means. It means that this makes us enemies with Tissaia de Vries, even though we do not like it."

Yennefer sighed, her fingers clasping around the goblet of wine as she pulled it to her lips and took a sip of the sweet liquid, swishing it around inside her mouth before swallowing it. She nodded.

"But now, how do you suppose we continue to support you when my son has been humiliated like this, and for what? A Redanian whore?" The Queen spat, through pursed lips and Geralt's eyes shone, with unrelenting rage.

"Queen, [Y/N] is not just a whore, she is carrying our baby. I am not trying to cover up the actions of my lover—" she turned towards Geralt with a look of disapproval, but before Geralt could retaliate, she had already turned away, "I am just trying to show you that this baby means everything to us."

"I suppose," the Queen nodded feigning a look of understanding as she reached out for her own goblet of wine. She then turned towards Henrik, who leaned closer to his mother as he began whispering something into her ears and she smiled.

"Yennefer. I think we can come up with a truce," Bagan smiled, her glance moving from Yennefer to Geralt, and then back to the sorceress, "Sell her to us. It seems my son has taken a fancy to her. And would like to keep her in his bed." She said, not even trying to mask her shameless forwardness, "Once that mutant child is born, of course. Until then, Henrik would be behaved, I assure you."

Yennefer smiled, the corner of her lips reaching her eyes. She was about to open her mouth, when Geralt intervened, his fist slamming against the table— the impact causing the queen's goblet of wine to spill over.

"She isn't a commodity for sale. And we reject your truce."

"Geralt, we talked about this," Colour drained out of Yennefer's face and she looked from Geralt to the queen, who now sat with her lips pursed together.

"Bagan, I —"

"Yennefer, I've heard enough already."

The Queen stood up, and so did the bastard Prince. She looked down at Yennefer with her malice ridden eyes.

"I would like Tissaia de Vries to align someone to take over your responsibilities in our Kingdom. She could in fact, do it herself."

"Queen—" Yennefer began, but she cut her off again.

"Henrik, get the horses ready. We're leaving. This discussion is over."

Geralt and Yennefer didn't step up as they walked off, sitting together in an uncomfortable silence until the hall was empty. Yennefer then turned towards Geralt, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Why Geralt? Why would you do this to me?"

Geralt frowned, his perfectly aligned eyebrows creasing together as he let out an annoyed groan and stood up, not bothering to even look at her.

"I wouldn't give up someone's honor, just to please you, Yen."

"What about my fucking honor?" She yelled, hot tears rolling down her cheeks, as her lip trembled.

"That—" Geralt mumbled, loud enough for her to hear it, "isn't honor, my love. That is your hunger for ultimate control. But remember one thing, it will help you, Yen. Power gets into your head and once it does, there is no turning back. It destroys you and those around you. And if that is where you are headed, my love, then you won't find me around to catch you when you fall."

He then walked off, and Yennefer just kept staring at him, her eyes almost turned to stone.

The Vessel Taglist:

@kawennote09 @viking-raider @raspberrydreamclouds @pterodactylterrace @singeramg @historianwithaheart @miss-emilia-cavill @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @xxxkatxo @coffeebreathy @fanaticnae @kmuir1 @little-jana @pineapplemama @auds24 @sassy-pelican @bitchynicole @cavillsim @ragamuffin285 @hista-girl @oliviali0930 @introvertedmouse @madbaddic7ed @libbymouse @nerra75 @maxineswritingcenter @superawesomegeek @waifu4lifeu @funalpaca @petitefirecracker10 @marantha

Want to be added to the list? Plz let me know via my ask box, inbox or comments. ✨

#geralt of rivia works #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher x y/n #the witcher #the witcher x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill

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whumpinggrounds · 3 years

Text

All Caught Up

woohoo here for day 1 of @whumptober2021 with some superhero/sidekick content :) as i’m sure you’ll figure out, this is for the barbed wire part of the prompt

tagging @whumpy-writings, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed :)

CW: barbed wire, (duh), blood, field medicine, cuts, pain, crying, sidekick whump, environmental whump (kinda??)

The mission is going well, as far as August can tell. He’s been relegated to recon, which is a nice way of saying that he’s spending the night running circles around the action. Beck, ever the diplomatic leader, makes sure to talk up the importance of it, emphasize how August is keeping them safe by watching everyone’s back. August, young and green though he might be, is smart enough to know that it’s a little less dramatic than all that. At least he’s contributing, August tells himself. Mercer, his fellow trainee, is back at the compound with the medic girl, Valerie. Perhaps it’s only because August’s power is more useful, but he’d like to pretend it’s a little deeper than that.

By his fifteenth lap around their perimeter, August has to call his wishful thinking what it is. He’s not any more capable than Mercer, and certainly he’s less useful than Valerie. He’s just convenient for the current mission, which, by the way, he doesn’t even get to know about. After just a few minutes of the task, he has to admit what he’s really doing, which is running pointless circles around a warehouse in the dark, keeping his eyes open for anyone suspicious.

“What kind of suspicious person should I be looking for?” August had asked, overloaded on adrenaline as Beck and Donovan briefed him on the mission. Beck had nodded at the question, but Donovan had looked nothing short of disgusted.

“We’ll be at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city in the middle of the night. Anyone shows up, they’re suspicious. Is that simple enough for you?”

After weeks of training with him, August was well used to Donovan’s digs, but hearing it in front of Beck made him flush like it was the first time. He ducked his head, cringing from the friendly pat Beck tried to land on his shoulder.

“Don’s just stressed,” Beck had explained with an apologetic smile. August had forced a smile. If that was true, Donovan’s spent the past several weeks stressed, every minute of every day.

The memory of the conversation cheers August, just a little. It reminds him that he’s out here, jogging easy laps around the warehouse, instead of inside, within range of Donovan’s caustic comments. At a steady, sustainable lope, August cuts through the clear, slightly cool night air like a knife. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, including a mask pulled down over his face that hides his spiky, strawberry blonde hair. When he first dressed out like this, August had been tempted to ask what would happen if someone thought he looked suspicious, skipping around dressed completely in black. Before he got the words out, though, he imagined Donovan’s withering response, and Beck’s awkward pity. August decided it was better just to keep his mouth shut. Now he focuses on watching the world around him, scanning alleyways and empty roads in widening circles. It’s easy, meditative, the most familiar motion August knows.

Around him, the night is thick and silent. His footsteps echo down quiet streets, only the sound of buzzing streetlights and distant sirens there to keep him company. Of all the sketchy parts of the city, August wouldn’t have picked the warehouse district for a criminal hotspot – most of these places are legitimate shipping contract, complete with a rent-a-cops posted outside their chain link fencing. This building is on the edge, though. August examines it on his closer loops, trying to glean from the outside what must be going on within. He has a lot to learn, and it’ll take him twice as long if Donovan and Beck won’t explain things to him outright.

They’ve been in the area almost an hour when a new noise makes August’s ears prick up. Something rattles in one of the side streets, a way that’s been empty the last three times August checked it. Tightening his circle, August trots toward the sound, not sure whether he should hope for a stray dog, or something a little more exciting.

As he draws closer, August tries to note the ways the alleyway might’ve changed, but he just hasn’t been paying enough attention in all this quiet. There’s a bottle, gleaming empty, in the center of the alley, which may not have been there before. Slowing to a walk, August scans both sides of the way carefully, making sure to check the window sconces above him. He gets to the street on the other side, ready to give up, when he sees him. Across the way, there’s a man watching him – dark clothes, shifty eyes. Their eyes lock, and August feels his heart rate pick up.

Before he can say anything or start to move, the other man is turning and running. Despite himself, a smile spreads across August’s face. Perfect.

Springing into action, August throws himself into the chase. After all the casual jogging, it feels so good to run – muscles firing at top speed, peak efficiency. The world blurs past his face as August’s legs pump beneath him, fine and strong. Fully confident in his abilities, August charges forward, fighting the urge to grin.

Up ahead, the stranger doesn’t look back. Presumably, he can hear August’s footsteps, catching up to him in leaps and bounds. The guy darts into a nearby building, dodging through dilapidated rooms, no doubt as a last-ditch attempt at evasion. Smirking, August tears after him.

The only thing that keeps the man out of August’s reach are the doorways and minor obstacles that block August’s path. He has to slow down to dodge, and the stranger pulls ahead again, fleeing out the back door a few precious yards before August. Growling, August hurls himself forward again, springing off the bottom steps of the house. He takes two massive strides and then –

And then August is on the ground, for seemingly no reason. Heart pumping hard, adrenaline surging through his veins, August tries to bounce back to his feet without even checking what might be wrong. That’s when the pain hits.

It’s stinging, at first, in his legs, and then a strange, metallic rattling sound. August lies still, brain still trying to catch up to what exactly is going on. Slowly, tentatively, he tries to separate one leg from the other, and then sucks in a breath as the tearing pain sharpens. Peering down, he whimpers as the source of his agony is revealed.

A bunch of old, rusty strands of barbed wire are wrapped around his legs. He must’ve run into them, almost full speed. If they were stapled to something before, his momentum must’ve carried him straight through, but it’s just as likely that the coils were just sitting there. Either way, the wire is now wrapped tight around his legs, digging in with every little motion he tries to use to escape.

Okay. Okay. August tries to keep his breathing level, but it’s hard. It’s getting shaky. Okay, he tells himself, just, just sit up-

But sitting up moves the wires, makes them tear at his skin in new and agonizing ways. Hissing through his teeth, August gives up for a second, lies panting on the ground like a landed fish. The weight on his legs makes the barbs dig in all the deeper. Whining, August pushes himself up on his elbows and, fighting pain, reaches back to try to pull the damn thing off. Every single motion makes the barbs dig deeper, rip and tear at August’s skin like they have teeth and independent, vicious will.

Despite his gritted teeth, his clenched fists, his desperate attempts to control himself, tears leak from August’s eyes. Angrily he swipes them away, panting through the waves of stinging pain, trying to think. He needs to…he needs to…he needs to get upright, so he can untangle himself.

The thought of standing, of all the maneuvering he’ll need to do, puts a sob in August’s throat. He just wants it to stop hurting. Adrenaline is draining from his system, leaving him with helpless, useless pain. August wants someone to come help him – but even if Donovan and Beck are out looking for him, he has no way of knowing when they’ll find him. Besides, he’s a full-on adult. He’s supposed to be a superhero. He’s supposed to help on this mission, not hinder. August needs to fix this himself.

Drawing in a long, unsteady breath, August steels himself, eyes closed. He can’t fix anything from his current position, facing the ground and unable to see just how bad the knotting is. Trying to stand is going to dig the barbs even deeper into his thighs and calves. Flipping over on his back will tangle him further in the loose strands of wire. There’s no good option, but he can’t just lie here on his face and let the barbs bury themselves in his skin, hoping someone finds him soon.

Gritting his teeth, August makes his move fast, giving himself no time to chicken out. Throwing his body to the side, he flips himself onto his back, dragging the strands of wire with him.

The pain is blinding. Either the wire is still attached to something, or its own weight resisted August’s move – whatever it is, the wire wrapped around his legs drags hard against August’s flesh. Caught off guard, August screams, a harsh, ragged sound that echoes loud into the night. He screams just once, and then bites down savagely on his cheek, pressing a fist to his mouth to muffle his sobs. Below the waist, his pants grow wet with blood.

Fuck. Fuck. It hurts so bad his body shakes with his tears. It hurts. Inside his head, August is wailing, but on the outside, all he can do is lie on the ground shaking, pressing his fist so hard against his teeth that his knuckles split and bleed.

Fuck. Fuck. Just breathe. He has to breathe. He has to breathe, and then he has to get it together, and then he has to fix this.

After a few minutes of regaining his composure, August sits up gingerly. In the dim glow of flickering streetlights, he looks at the mess wound tight around his legs. Just seeing it makes his stomach drop. He has no tools with him, nothing that could be used to cut spiky steel wire. August will have to sit here and peel each piece away from his skin by hand, even as tugging at one strand pulls another strand tighter.

It's going to be agony. But August doesn’t have another choice. Already, his pants are damp, and it won’t be long before a puddle starts to form. He can’t just sit here and weep until his mentors come to save him.

With one shaking finger, August tries to trace the wire, to figure out where and how to start. Eventually, he abandons that idea – he’s held by at least two, maybe three separate pieces of wire, and they’re all twisted together, a chaotic tangle that engulfs his legs in too many different places. Locking his jaw together and vowing that he won’t scream, August sets out to free himself.

It feels like it takes forever. A few times, August wishes dizzily to pass out from blood loss, or pain, but though the barbs cut deep, he’s not losing a dangerous amount of blood. The pain, rather than knocking him out, seems determined to keep him inescapably, unbearably present, aware of every little agony that razor wire can cause. Every shift, every tug, every careful little motion sends searing pain reverberating through his body.

Driven to distraction by the pain, by gritting his teeth and reducing his screams to grunts, August casts around him, finally landing on an old cardboard box collapsing in on itself nearby. With greedy fingers he hauls it to himself, folds it into a packet as thick as a wallet, and stuffs it in his mouth. Cringing from the taste of earth and mold and damp, August draws in a difficult breath around the mouthful and then attempts a particularly hard yank.

Head falling back, August yowls into his makeshift gag, biting down so hard he chokes on his trapped tongue. Coughing, crying, keening into the cardboard like a wounded animal, August works an especially tight strand away from his calves, not letting himself stop, no matter how painful or loud the going is.

When the loop is finally loose, August lets his teeth creak apart. His jaw aches from the clenching, and his teeth have worn deep, blurred impressions in the old cardboard. His hands are trembling, stained with blood from his legs and from where he’s cut his palms heaving at the wire entrapping him. Swiping a bloody hand across his mouth, August tries to get his breath back, all the while moaning, letting out little repetitive whimpering cries, like an animal caught in a trap and begging for aid. Distantly, he’s surprised at himself – he’s never heard these little pleading whines before and wouldn’t have thought it was something he would do. He’d always thought of himself as a yeller, before, someone who outright bellowed their pain. Tonight, he’s timid and pathetic as a child.

By the time Beck and Donovan find him, August is working on the last round of wire, surrounded by the bloody remnants of his prior successes. He’s too exhausted and pain-sick to focus on anything but freeing himself, so he isn’t alerted to the presence of the other supers until he hears Beck’s murmur. “Oh, fuck.” The leader sounds horrified, sick. “Oh, fuck, August, what happened?”

Too weary to have dignity, August just opens his mouth and lets the cardboard fall out, hands dropping to his sides and away from the barbed wire still stuck in his legs. “Saw som’n watchin’ the warehouse.” It’s been so long since he tried to talk that August isn’t sure why he’s slurring – maybe exhaustion, maybe the pain. Maybe because he’s been biting down so hard on cardboard his jaw feels like it won’t work right ever again. “Trieda chase ‘em. Didn’ see…didn’ see the wire.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Don’ know. Feels like…a long time.”

August looks up at Beck with total, hopeless, bottomless despair. Swallowing hard, Beck drops to his knees beside August, hand slipping down to his toolbelt. In seconds, he has a pair of wire cutters out and ready, and August feels hysterical laughter well within him at the thought of how easy this all would’ve been if only Beck had been around.

From another street floats a familiar, four note whistle. Beck replies in kind through his teeth as he brings the clippers to rest against the wire. August grits his teeth, steeling himself for the snap, the sudden retraction of the coils. Hesitating, Beck peers at him. “This…this could hurt.”

“’ve peeled…plen’y of it off m’self,” August grits out. “Jus’…hurry.” He drags in a shaky breath and wills himself to be brave. “…please.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, August remembers the cardboard too late. Without it, he lets an agonized grunt escape his lips as the wire cutters sever the last loop. Even the minute relaxation of his newly released legs is enough to jerk cruelly on the barbs embedded in his thighs. Fresh tears spring to his eyes beneath his mask, and August wonders wretchedly if Beck can see them.

If Beck does see his youngest trainee crying, he’s good enough not to say anything about it. When August peeks through slitted eyes, he sees his leader bent over the wire, focusing hard, drawing each barb out carefully and trying not to jostle as he does.

It hurts only a little less than August’s work on himself, but it’s over blessedly quick. When Beck finally sits back on his heels, August is left panting and bloody, but finally free. For a long moment he just sits there, leaning back on his elbows, trying to catch his breath. Opening his eyes, he discovers that sometime in the last few minutes, Donovan arrived, and is now staring at him, green eyes unreadable under his mask.

“August was trying to chase down a possible spy and ran into some razor wire.” Beck’s voice is low, distracted. “Maybe night vision goggles next time? Or-”

“Or the trainee learns not to run into shit like fences, walls, and goddamned barbed wire.”

“Don-”

“Can’t teach common fucking sense, Beck.” Donovan snorts. “Or maybe you can, but you shouldn’t waste your time.”

Letting his head drop, August bites his lip hard to avoid dissolving into tears. He’s tried so hard to be brave. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a wavery, exhausted whisper. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence from his two mentors. “Come on, Donovan.” Beck sounds tired. “He’s lost a fair amount of blood.”

Donovan just grunts, and crosses the courtyard, and scoops August up in an effortless bridal carry. He isn’t especially gentle, but he isn’t especially rough either, and he carries August, bloody and teary and exhausted, all the way home.

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yandere-wishes · 3 years

Text

𝕊𝕖𝕝𝕗-𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 🐚Yandere! leviathan X Reader🐚

I’m trying out a new writing style, so please let me know what you think! This story is rather abstract and switches a bit between reader POV and Leviathan’s POV.

WARNINGS: VERY DARK, suicidal themes, self harm, mild gore, verbal abuse, self-hatred, objectification and cursing.

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ, ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ: "ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ ʀᴇᴘᴇʟꜱ". ʙᴜᴛ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɢɪᴄ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʀᴇꜱᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟᴅᴏᴍ?

The two of you were the same, cut from the exact same depressing, aversion cloth.

The two of you were mangled disjointed creatures with lanky brittle bones made up of self-loathing and mismatched hatred. Broken from displaced frustration and indecent, vulgar tendencies, that no one could snuff out of either of you.

Instead of guts and intestines both you, the lowly human, and him, the feared sea serpent, had long strings of pity that coiled inside your stomachs.

Eyes as green as the ripest emerald blinded by endless, unchecked envy towards all things that so much as breathed.

Rotting pink brains filled with nothing but depressive thoughts and screeching banshee-like voices that never seem to cease.

Yes, you and Leviathan were the exact same thing...

There's a certain aroma that floats and flocks around a person with such low regard for themselves. Where ever you walked a thick suffocating cloud of despair followed like a lost limping mutt. Pure unaltered self-disgust rolls off you like waves in the middle of a storm.

This is one of the things Leviathan loves about you, the intoxicating saddening aura that you wear like the finest perfumes. Although if caught like a deer in headlights, the sea serpent would just lie through his shark-like teeth and make some remarks about your pretty smile or shiny eyes.

Truth is, he HATES when you smile. Hated when hope and joy and all things bright and good twinkle in your eyes like the flicker of a newborn star.

Oh no, you're all so much prettier when you frown, when you look like your lust for life is all died out. When your eyes twinkle with that sort of sweet despair like all your hope has gotten engulfed by a black hole.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

There's something wrong with you. You don't know what, but it's there, you can feel it everywhere you go.

Maybe it's the repulsive way your skin is stretched so suffocatingly thin across your bones. Or maybe it's the way you pick at your open scars, digging deeper and deeper past blazing red tissue until it starts to bleed again.

Whatever it is you aren't sure, but something is most definitely wrong with you.

maybe that's why, on a particularly bad, paranoid day, you finally decide to just end it.

Although it's never that simple is it?

There's something no one ever tells you about the cessation of life. A mysterious negative hour that happens just as the last atom of oxygen is departing from your lungs. A negative one, a negative two, and if you get expressly unlucky than also a negative three. This is usually when you start to wonder if you did it right, if the rope is too loose or hung too low. The dam of reality breaks and all uncertainty pours through with no real regard for what it's destroying. Are you're really still alive? Or is this some post-mortem induced dream? Everything makes about as much sense as when you were alive, only now it's foggy and ambiguous and all so distant like a far off dream...

It's also the time when every good memory comes rushing back, spilling carelessly akin to the blood gushing from the vain you slashed a month ago. You're dying far too slowly and all too semi-lucidly.

This is far from how you thought your escape plan would go.

The plan shatters even more when you actually open your eyes again and realize that you're no longer dangling from the ceiling. Instead, you're wrapped in some sort of lukewarm blanket, trapped between glacial white walls that bite at your fingers why you try to push them away.

And staring down at you with a sort of raw envy that your human mind couldn't fabricate, was non other than the third born himself.

Up to this day you still don't know who saved you, the seven brothers treat the whole ordeal like Pandora's box, tucking it under volts of diamond and throwing the key into the abyss. As long as it stays out of sight, out of tongue's reach and ears range then it'll surely be out of mind. Everything will be just fine so long as lord Diavolo doesn't hear what happened to the precious little human. Everything is just fine if everyone ignores it.

Personally, you don't mind the outcome. You're restrained to Levi's room, being under his watch and alleged "care" for all hours of the day. It's to keep you safe Lucifer assures, although your own guilt likes to twist the words into something more like, "It's to get rid of a nuisance".

Either which way life starts to escalate just a tiny bit.

Funny how even self-loathing and inner hatred seem to fade away when there's someone to share the pain with.

Soon it's no longer "I wish I could die" or "why can't I just be God damn good enough!"

but rather "We seriously should split a suicide built" and "Wouldn't it be fun if we both dive off a cliff head first into lava?"

With someone just as aggravated and self-destructive as yourself, things start to look up...that is until you do the unforgivable, at least so it's written in Levi's demented book.

You step too far, you start to ask things, start to pry into things that shouldn't matter to you.

And then you do it, the worst of the worst, you smile...

Straight after asking him such a revolting sincere question

"What do you think about life?"

It's meant to be rhetorical, you TRY to make it sound rhetorical. But any social norms or form of sarcasm goes over Levi's head like the basketballs he's never able to catch. His attention snaps to you, like a snake being alerted that a predator is a near...or prey, again it's really impossible to tell.

His neck cranes at an odd angle as his tail curls inwards. For a split millisecond, you can swear on your almost grave that you see his tongue dart out before zipping back into his toothy mouth. Predator, he definitely sees you as a predator.

"Baby, not much...I-i want to die"

Time doesn't stop, not even when all understanding and logic have tipped their hats at the door and disappeared into the great beyond. Leviathan's slit eyes stare at you, behind all the pain and broken anger, for just an instant you think you see the fragments of understanding shine, brighter than the never setting moon.

He's just like you,

You're just like him,

That's when the trouble creeps over. The corners of your mouth take a turn upwards and push your cheeks back, making way for a grin. It's faint and ghostly at best...up it's there.

It just has to be there....

That godforsaken satisfied smile.

When you're attention flicker's to Levi again you notice his arm pulling back, throwing the controller across the room with anger worst than anything Satan could summon upon his worst day.

"Don't fucking do that!"

You're stoned in place, eyes too scared to move from the sea snake, what went wrong? Why does something always go wrong?

"D-do what..?"

It's not your fault that you're voice shakes and breaks, not your fault that the room starts to spiral out of control. It's his fault, all his fault...but is anything ever really his fault?

"Don't look happy! Or hopeful! You look so freaking ugly when you smile!"

His voice is shockingly low, like a mother trying to get her child to settle down after a tantrum. He's borderline cooing at you to "act" properly again. Never the less the venom and disgust are steel audible, glittering like a silver lining.

For once though it's not worth it to stop smiling, all the screams and yells and depravities of the world can't erase this smile from your face.

"Six thousand-year-old demon and you actually dream of death rather than eternal hell on earth or torturing the damned? You really are a broken one Leviathan."

The blue-haired sea monster just shrugs in reply before slithering closer, wrapping his slender bony arms around your waist, they feel like Thamnophis coiling around your midsection, sinking into your flesh. His heavy head falls onto your lap, you can practically hear all the outcries of jealousy and cries of purified agony.

"What can I say...we're both two disgusting broken things that have no right to live or any claim to happiness...but well, fuck happiness who needs it...right?

Yeah, who needs a thing that only creeps into the heart under perfect circumstances and that floats away at the drop of a feather, who needs happiness and joy, when the two of you can forevermore rot in your own envy and depression....together.

Always together

Rotting forever.

"Right...screw happiness and all it's stupid worth."

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

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fandomfic-galore · 3 years

Text

Seriously?

Summary: Sihtric comes home later than he said.

A/n: because I’m a bad friend hahaha. This is for @geekandbooknerd booknerd challenge. Yes I know I’m late. My prompt was seriously, you’re doing the bedroom-eyes thing again. Not Beta-d so deal with it hahahaha

Warnings: smut, p in v, angst, longingly, lonely, angst (like a tiny bit)

Divider: @firefly-graphics

Three days. Three days he’s been gone, when he said it would only take one. Sihtric followed a Uhtred like a lost puppy and sometimes it drove you insane. He followed the fellow Dane everywhere he went, Uhtred would say jump and Sihtric would ask how high.

You walked to the Inn that was no less than 500 yards away from your house. You needed Ale and a lot of it. Maybe you should have listened to your father.

Stay away from that boy Y/N he’s nothing but trouble.

You rarely listened to your father so his warning didn’t matter to you. Maybe you should marry the baker down the road. His life was boring, he had a routine. His life was simple. But Sihtric was...exciting. He was different, he wasn’t like every boring man around your village. He was a Dane. He was dangerous. He was also incredible at fucking you senseless.

Thinking back to the last time you had humped each other, you squeezed your legs together to try and gain some friction in between your legs.

Sitting down at a table with a goblet of Ale you took a long sip and sighed. No matter how much you were frustrated at Sihtric, you lived for the thrill that being with Sihtric brought into your life.

You were in your own little world when you didn’t notice a man sit next to you. Grabbing your glass you took another sip of Ale. The cold bitterness of the amber liquid sent a shiver down your spine. You heard a cough to your right hand side. You rolled your eyes. You didn’t want to talk to the man or even acknowledge his existence.

“Aren’t you...with ...that ...bastard” the wrinkled grey man asked you.

Rolling your eyes again, you took one final sip of your drink. Downing the rest of the contents into your mouth. Setting down the goblet you turned your head to the man. Taking a deep breath in, you bit your lip slightly.

“What if I am?” You questioned, tilting your head slightly.

“You need to...be with a real...man...not a ...bastard” he started to slur his words. His drunken state was getting on your nerves.

Lifting the empty goblet, you inspected the glass closely. Looking at the engravings, the detail that someone took time and energy to create. It was such a shame. You took the goblet and smashed it over the drunken man's head.

“Don’t you dare call him a bastard!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. “You have no right, you son of a whore”

Stepping back, you looked at the man who was slumped on the floor. Eyes closed and head bleeding. Looking around the Inn, everyone was staring at you. Even the owner, the look on his face was shocked and disgusted.

“I’ll show myself out” you uttered under your breath.

Another three days had passed and there was still no sigh of your Dane. Your heart dropped to your stomach, what if something terrible had happened. What if he needed you and you weren’t there for him. You wanted to curl up in your furs and cry. You needed to know he was doing fine. You knew Sihtric was a brilliant fighter, but people never fought fair when it came to life or death.

You should have asked more questions when he left. You rarely did because he was normally so excited that he couldn’t get any coherent words into a sentence.

You decided on a walk through the woods for a while. Just to clear your head. Try and stop worrying about the one you loved.

The crunching of the dead leaves under your shoes gave you a warmth comfort to your soul. It settled the thoughts in your mind, that we’re running at five horses running through a bare field. The wind was blowing against your skin, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

You approached a stream and decided to take your shoes off. Lifting your tunic, you stepped slowly into the cold water. You gasped as you watched the clear liquid wash over feet. It was calming in a way. The water was washing away your insecurities about the dark haired Dane.

Closing your eyes, you just stood there. In your own little world, taking deep breaths in and out. Waiting for your world to return to normal.

A cough interrupted your thoughts. Opening your eyes, you turned around and came face to face with the Dark haired Dane. Gathering your thoughts you marched over to him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you jumped up and wrapped your legs around his middle. He stumbled back and little and chuckled to himself.

“Have you missed me, my English rose?” Sihtic questioned you. You hummed in agreement. Looking at him, you bite your bottom lip. “Seriously, you’re doing the bedroom-eyes thing” you giggled at Sihtirc words.

Jumping down, you stood tall in front of him. Then...you slapped him across the face.

“That’s for taking longer than you said” when the final words left your tongue you stormed off.

Two Danes and an Irish man walked into your house. You looked up from the stew you were cooking and greeted them with a smile. They all shared a look between themselves. Curiousity was taking over you as you needed to know what the look meant.

Uhtred and Finan left you be without even saying a word to you. This was odd you thought, they normally would say hi. But nothing, not even a murmur from either of them.

In a blink of an eye Sihtric was in front of you. His tunic was thrown over the table and his boots off. He was standing in front of you as naked as the day the Gods brought him on earth. All expect his sword holster and sword. It was kinda of an arousing sight but all you wanted to do was burst out laughing.

You locked eyes with the man towering over you. He has a smirk from ear to ear. You stood up and he took your hands. Bringing you closer to him. He then pushed you against the nearest wall. Gathering up your tunic and under garmets. Sihtric lowered himself and brought your leg over his shoulder.

His tounge traced your folds. Your heat became hotter as he sucked your clit into his mouth. A moan escaped your mouth. Sihtric was flicking his tounge over you clit, it was sending you over the edge already. The time you spent apart must have made you want him even more.

Before the coil in your stomach snapper Sihtric stopped his actions. Dropped your leg and came face to face with you. He kissed you, hard. The kiss was full of passion and heat. You had never kissed each other with this kind passion before. It was intense.

Placing a hand on your shoulder Sihtric Turner you around. Ripping your tunic end under garments away from your body. He placed his hands on your hips bringing you back into him.

You could feel the tip of his thick, hard dick against your entrance. You needed him so badly. He pushed inside of you. Stilling himself he waited for you to adjust.

You moaned and started to buck against him.

“Sihtric, please” you gasped.

Sihtric set a steady rhythm. It wasn’t enough though. You needed more.

A loud sound came from your door and Uhtred was stood there.

“Sihtric I need you. NOW!”

Taglist

The last kingdom @winterseoul @naaladareia

Everything @xoxabs88xox

#sihtric #the lastkingdom smut #Sihtric x reader #Sihtric x you #Sihtric x y/n #the last kingdom #smutty drabble #sihtric is daddy #sihtric x you #the last kingdom smut #angst #feeling lonely

201 notes · View notes

hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Just A Litle Bit of Your Heart (5)

Summary: y/n must make a decision

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 3211 words

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

A/N: apologies for taking over a year to finish this series! thanks for being patient. as usual, let me know what you thought.

The inspiration behind this part is credited to Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. More specifically, Naoko’s first letter. Some lines were used as is and others were paraphrased. The description of when Watanabe and Naoko had sex are also collaborated along this piece.

I’m really nervous about this.

____

Harry’s words echoed in Y/N’s head; she has never felt such conflicting emotions coursing through her body. Her heart twinged with the need to press her body closer to him because she loves him so dearly. A surge of logical capacities told her to extract herself from the situation--the toxic relationship that they built up to, on the other hand. Did she want to stay with him? Or did she want to leave? Harry was giving her the chance to call it quits right at this moment, to run away from him and start a blossoming relationship with someone else, instead of sticking around and be strung along as he picked up various women on the way to nowhere.

Nowhere.

This would lead to nowhere if she continued to act the way she did. It would be quite tragic to let their relationship strain, only to crash and burn because they didn’t know when to stop. Either she had to change to be more understanding and indifferent or he had to abandon his bachelor ways and return home to her. She didn’t know if both of them could cocoon themselves in a box that they’ve left long before.

That version of Y/N was long gone and she did not know what to make of it; if it was Harry to be condemned for taking advantage of the kindness of her heart, or was it her own fear of being left alone that lead her to being alone?

Y/N blinked sluggishly at him, lashes casting a shadow on her cheeks as she shifted her gaze away from his curious ones. She was hurting but she didn’t want to hurt him. Somewhere inside her heart knew that that love she held for Harry was too much--and too much love can kill you.

She didn’t know what to expect from it and Y/N thinks she might be experiencing it now. The subtleness of losing herself to the void, pieces of her that can never be brought back, that will never make another appearance because those were only brought up when he was still the Harry she fell in love with and they were still them. Withering away like a dried flower that hit its peak, the grace and standards Y/N held for herself, the things that made her the woman Harry fell for washed away in the midst of the chaos.

“I-I don’t know,”

Harry took a breath through his nose, nipping at his bottom lip, not knowing whether to release a breath of relief because she didn’t break it off or tense tenfold because the option of leaving him was still on the table.

“We can work it out. We can go to couples therapy, we can do something!” He insisted, frantically spewing out words he thought would alleviate his situation.

She stared at him, scrutinizing his loveable face, wondering if he knew the extent of what he was asking for. Admittedly, Y/N had her faults throughout. However, she wouldn’t say she was the biggest problem of what had occurred. Sure, it was her idea that got them in this mess in the first place, but it’s not like she wanted it to be this way.

Harry spoke words to her but it never reached her ears. Frankly, it gave her a headache.

“Am I the problem here?”

He paused his monologue, hand sifting through his curls. His body was burning in agony, wanting this conversation to be over so he could prove to her that his words were merely a representation of his actions.

“I can change,”

Harry’s confession fluttered Y/N’s heart-- to hear that he was willing to make this work so as far as to quit his usual habits shafted a glimmer of hope in her heart. He could charge forward right now, even as his heart writhed, slowly sinking in a swamp of near loneliness. Harry made a courageous gesture to hold her dainty hands in his own, looking deep in her eyes to see a reflection of him pleading for another chance. For a moment, his heart faltered, realizing that all this time she longed for him, and only him.

She shook her head quickly. There were multiple times when she would reach out with her fingertips to try and touch the light slithering towards her; a symbol of wishes, desires, and expectations.

She always came back empty-handed.

“My hands weren’t the ones that you wanted to hold. You weren’t searching for my warmth late at night when you were cold. You rather be in bed with someone else,” Y/N stated, strongly at first, then quickly wavering as her emotions led her to think to a place she rarely went to voluntarily.

His mind flashed back to the countless events where he witnessed her sleeping body draped over the couch living room, waiting for him in the late hours of the night in hopes of sharing a civil conversation with him. Harry could recall himself huffing in annoyance, having to grab a blanket from the storage closet to cloak on her. At that point, he didn’t know if it was decency that made him act that way or if there were lurking feelings hidden in his hard exterior.

“I feel like such a fool. I feel so guilty of being me because you would distance yourself rather than talking to me about it!”

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” His palms grasped the retaining warmth her hands left, having long since slipped from his hold to fist at her thighs in exaggerated murmurs. They sat on the sofa a few feet apart, an invisible string connecting them to each other.

“Waiting for you to call me because you needed me, because you missed me, because you wanted to hear my voice is one of the most painful things I have ever had to go through. At least let me know if you still wanted me around.”

“But I do want you around!” He retorted, almost offended that she said those words to him. Her head looked down at the carpet beneath her feet, silently mulling over the words she was to say next. “I still love you,”

Their cries turned into whispers as Y/N smiled sadly, peeking at him with silky eyes as tears threatened to escape her waterline. She shuffled closer, seeing his Adam’s apple bob in his throat in a difficult swallow. Her soft hands brushed the stray curls falling near his face, her thumb caressing his quivering cheekbones as Harry tensed and untensed his jaw nervously. Y/N tilted her head to the side, admiring his features with the most longing and loving eyes he had ever seen. His eyes burned through, she could tell that the curiosity was killing him.

The moment she made direct eye contact with him-- he felt a surge of warmth overtake his body, butterflies flying all over his tummy and his heart thumped a little faster. She felt like home to him.

“There was a time when I looked into your eyes and felt so happy,” Her breath hit the tip of his nose, the closeness intimidating him but it didn’t seem to affect her any longer.

His brows furrowed, “What do you feel now?”��

She gave him a gentle smile, coldness slowly crawling up his spine.

“Sadness. Disappointment.”

A lone tear slipped down his cheek, the pad of her thumb flushing it away, making his skin glisten with the salty liquid. His eyes searched for a sense of reassurance aside from the deteriorating words she used to describe what it felt like to be with him. The desperation he held deepened, his eyes fluttering close in a stuttered breath. His eyelashes dampened with more tears, making it wet and uncomfortable.

“I thought we were gonna make it,”

Harry's throat tightened up, his esophagus constricting with a certain tightness that reverberated to his stomach which was swirling in coils of springing uncertainty and doubt. Truth is, the action of sleeping with other women never really satisfied him. There was still a hole in his heart aching to be filled, to feel complete was something never came easy to anyone, really.

“We can still make it,”

“Can we?” Y/N’s voice wavered as she blinked her eyes closed, a tear gently sloping down the curve of her cheek. Her lip was sore from being bitten by her teeth, a gnawing action that occurred from the inside to the outside. Harry’s chin quivered, a sob preparing to rip through the confines of his mouth. A strained cry, raw from the base of his throat and embedded deep within his chest.

------

Harry remembers the mornings after he willingly gave his body to someone else aside from Y/N: the sunlight stabbing straight through his closed eyelids, the dream-like haze bottling his thoughts and feelings in an enchantment that chanted ‘everything was going to be fine’, everything was going to be the same when he came home. Y/N would always be there with her arms wide open in a gesture for a much-needed hug. His head would pound as if it belonged to someone else because his thinking was muzzled to bits and pieces, barely knowing who he was anymore.

There was absolutely nothing to be gained from sleeping with one woman after another. Aside, from quelling the spurt of arousal taking over his body, the longevity of the action did nothing in the long run. It tired Harry out and made him disgusted with himself more times than he can count. Those women questioned his every touch, instructing him to touch them this way, to kiss them softer, to stop thinking and start feeling the caressing touches of skin-on-skin contact. The excitement of a stranger exploring his body while he retaliated the same conduct was once an idea that had Harry ready to bolt out of Y/N’s arms in a second.

He wished he could turn back time. Y/N never made demands; all she wanted was his attention, his affection, hugs and kisses and her body swarmed with endless grazes, tracing the stretches of skin that gleamed in the early hours of the morning. His fingertips pressured the imperfections of her body, hair tickling the calves of her legs as the sheets whispered a barrier between their bodies. His chest attached to her back, his lips pressing pecks along the valley of her shoulder, the base of her neck, nuzzling his nose at the nape where her scent was the strongest.

Harry missed when they explored each others’ bodies in the darkness. There was nothing to be said, no words needed to be spoken between the two of them when their mouths attached to each other in a dazed spell, alluring both of them to give everything they had to the person that meant everything to them. Harry was ashamed to admit that at one point, Y/N ceased to be the one that meant everything to him. For a moment, she was a silver trophy, forgotten and left collecting dust on the shelf. The second best. The back-up.

Her cry was the saddest sound of orgasm that he had ever heard and it slit his heart with thin slices knowing that although he was the reason for the pleasure coursing through her body, the pain was still floating like a soapy bubble encompassing her entire being, leaving her trapped to subdue herself with artificial happiness until Harry returned home to her. And it went on, the desperation fuming the atmosphere, Y/N’s hesitant hands trembling against the expanse of his stomach as if she didn’t know his body anymore. Her lips working against his as if inexperience littered the skin of her mouth because he changed too much and she didn’t know how he moved anymore. He was an unfamiliar person but her body reached out to him continuously. It went on until Y/N couldn't physically bring herself closer to his without recoiling a few steps back to avoid the stench of the sweet perfume wafting from his clothes, without her stomach gurgling with disgust at the thought of where his hands had been; Couldn’t help but wonder where his heart is now.

And Harry went on with the robotic schedule to routinely fuck her because he had to. Not because he craved the way she tasted or missed the way she folded herself for him, but because that was what couples did, right? They made time for each other, became intimate and made love while reassuring whispers were exchanged between them. That was the case until he stopped listening. Her wails punctured the hollow in his chest and he couldn’t bear it anymore. He stopped trying, he paused his efforts. He was only doing the bare minimum and without that-- they had nothing.

Harry didn’t want to but it was all he could do. His body was hungering for other people to fill the void, the lost love that vanished in a moment. Still, Harry thought about Y/N. Her silhouette against the blinding rays of sun catapulting past the curtain in the early morning, her naked body outlined by the moon in the darkness. The soft curve of her lashes tickling the patch of hair on his chin when Y/N looked up at him with so much love and adoration. The sound of the rain pattering on the rooftop, racing past the window and forming a puddle at the ground.

His heart melted with the knowledge of receiving a type of love that rarely ever occurred. A love that sheathed itself with blue cotton candy, clouds of sugary sweetness drifting up to his tilted nose. The softness of the treat skimming his skin like light footsteps, doing everything in its power to leave his heart beating calmly. Until water appeared and saturated their love, disappearing into nothing in a blink of an eye.

___

There was a lot that Y/N didn’t understand, a lot that she didn’t know. There were so many things that drifted in her mind, incoherent thoughts and incomplete ideas scattered along with her brain. It would take time to organize a million things in an orderly manner. And by then, she didn’t know if it would be too late. Harry hurt her but Y/N was not innocent. They hurt each other in order to fix something that wasn’t profoundly broken; just dented and needing a little tender loving care.

She wanted to dismantle his heart. Tear it. Crush it to bits until it sprinkled heartbreak over their shared bed. Until then, Y/N could finally breathe again. But she couldn’t get herself to do it; she loved him too much to hurt Harry intentionally.

What hell am I doing?

Y/N repeated the question over and over until it became a part of her. Previously, she wouldn’t have thought of doubting her actions. The confidence she carried herself with glazed the mountains of doubts blocking her path. Not once did she regret a decision she made because Y/N knew that she would learn from it one way or another.

The time she spent being with Harry was one of the most joyous moments of her life. Images of grandeur slipping past her lids to remember the laughter echoing between the two of them, the smiles being larger than life like two twin sunflowers dancing against the gentle breeze of the field.

With Harry, Y/N experienced heartbreaking pain and suffocating sadness. Tall, ocean waves submerging her in the twilight zone leaving her with no choice but to kick her feet up and try to escape but salty liquid drowned her all around. It felt like there was no escape until she accepted the reality and simply just floated. The buoyancy of her body guided her to a ray of golden light and she tried hard to ignore it because the pain and sorrow were something that she had gotten used to.

Without vulnerability, they had nothing. It was the base for connection. The part where fear and shame dissolved into thin air because acceptance was what everybody craved for.

With Harry, she let herself be seen. She was vulnerable and honest and skinned to the bone with secrets that she shared with him. Her heart was whole with the amount of love she gave and the abundance she received. She loved him until the end even when there were no more signs of reassurance that the feelings were mutual. She believed that she was enough until he decided that she wasn’t anymore and found someone else, taking her heart with him and crushing it in a fist.

With Harry, she practiced gratitude and leaned into joy, never having a dull moment in fear of good things ending because they do. Everything has an end; even the bad things.

With Harry, she learned to scream and voice out her thoughts, never leaving a stone unturned so that honesty was always in transparency.

With Harry, she stopped screaming and started listening. To him and his obvious need for distance. To him and his silent pleads to leave him alone. To him and his evaporating love, reeking into the air with bittersweet goodbyes.

Furthermore, she started listening to herself.

What did she want?

What did she deserve?

___

Her query was answered only a week later when she spoke to him again. Harry’s eyes were filled with the same unbearable sadness that she used to feel whenever Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirror

“Will I ever see you again?”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders in a loose answer, smiling the slightest bit as the air started engulfing her lungs a little easier. “Maybe”

Harry shook his head in denial, curls sticking to his temples and damp cheeks while some strands followed suit with the direction of his head shaking, muttering soft ‘no’s’ in repeated action as if it would help him contain her from slipping past the opened door. But his hands were buttery and his fingertips were burned raw.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you. I’m just not ready,” Y/N answered in a rehearsed manner, having spent the previous days deciphering what she truly wanted to say. If there was anything that she would take from Harry, it would be the value of honesty. “The moment I do, I’ll reach out to you. Give you an update,”

Harry stood unmoving, feet planted on the entryway. He could do nothing but listen to her silky voice comforting the turmoil boiling in his belly and the missiles launching in his head. “P-please,”

“Maybe we can get to know each other better,”

Was that where their love failed? Was it because they didn’t truly know each other so well that their unknown differences slowly crept up on their seemingly perfect relationship?

As perfect as it gets, Y/N savoured the times when it was just them against the world; she never would have thought that her closest ally would betray her. She never would have thought that her own self would walk away when she promised him that she would stick it through.

‘Make it through the end’, whenever that is.

_____

whew.

_____

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