#l: cest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iwaasfairy · 5 months ago

Text

┌─ “ ! „ SORRY FOR THE WAIT

tw. yandere, blood/violence implied domestic violence, dubcon, amnesia, obsession, character death, pseudo-cest, overprotective Levi, praise kink, slight authority kink, creampie, marking, non-linear timeline

wordcount. 6.2k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by @amonsterinspring ♡ thank you A MILLION for commissioning mE !! I’ve never written Levi so I was a tiny bit apprehensive but I actually very much enjoyed him and I’m glad you wanted no regrets Levi because he’s so inch resting to meeeee !! So happy to be writing gross shit again <33 i hope you enjoy it !!! And Ofc so many big thanks to rhi and mel for beta-ing <33

levi ackerman x fem!reader

Headquarters’ up in too much outrage for it to be five in the morning, but evidently, things rarely are as they should be here. He barely manages to tie his shirt closed before Hange and Moblit show up behind him, walking down the stairs with a pace slightly too vigorous for an early morning. Damn long legs. Levi’s impatience boils over when neither says anything, or anything of use in four-eyes’ case, and he makes his way toward the courtyard with a tight grunt. “Yer awfully tight-lipped considering.”

Hange nods. “I’m not sure what to say, is all. I could explain…” Her normally talkative hands are set on her hips as she pauses, and once again Levi feels his irritation spiking.

“But? Get to the point, Hange.”

She’s got a look on her face that gives absolutely nothing away.

“It’ll be easier for you to see for yourself, squad commander.” Moblit dutifully finishes, pointing the way through the dusty open area to the long hall. It’s mostly higher ups that walk around the place, some ducking their gaze to avoid his. His glare is instinctive. The lack of swords at his hips leaves his hands settling slightly uncomfortably at his belt instead as he walks, following behind the longer steps of his companions until they finally land at the door.

Expecting, Hange turns to look at him. “Questioning hasn’t lead far, you see. But don’t worry, we handled the situation gently! We all just figured- it might make things easier to bring you here instead of trying to force a break though when… well- you know.”

His eyebrows pull together without any further effort, and his already thin patience this early in the day glides onto it’s last legs. “What the hell are you talking about?” Rambling nonsense as always. He finds his hands moving before he’s able to call upon his patience.

He pushes the door open to the small office, takes in the bookshelves, the desk, pristine— before his stormy gaze falls onto the broad-shouldered blond hunched over. Or more, the figure he’s squatted overhead while Levi walks in. “Erwin? What the fuck are you playing- at.”

A soft, wheezed breath catches him off guard, only spying flashes of the mud-crusted feet, bruised, knobbly knees. He takes a breath, watches Erwin move aside to reveal the scene. Levi suddenly stops halfway when his stomach rolls, and there’s a dull moment where his heart starts to beat between his ears. Loud, hammering his eardrums, it almost has him tumbling over his own feet.

The face lets out a slight smile when watery eyes trail his way- and immediately spill over into thick beads that drip down the long stretch of exposed neck. A faint voice meets his lips like he’s tasting it, and the air in the room goes electric. “L- Levi nii!”

It’s you. Bruised eye and a bit older, but there’s no mistaking that face. The crybaby, wobbly lip, those long, wet lashes. His own breath escapes him for just a moment, only to see you crawl hands and knees towards him as much as the cuffs will allow you.

Hange nods out of the corners of his eyes. “That’s all she’s been able to repeat since we found her. A face you recognise?”

His hands manage to unclench from his belt only to drop aimlessly by his thighs. His eyes can’t move from your shape, a heavy, familiar feeling settling in his chest. You’re actually here. He’s looking you in the face, that same open, accepting gaze that got him the first time.

You found him.

You are asking for him.

Your eyes are blurry from the cold, breaths coming out in puffs in front of your face. You’re stumbling more than walking, as your feet scrape, as they cut open on the thorns that litter the grounds along with the wet leaves— snow touching your face as it falls, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

It’s so cold, you’re so cold and your limbs feel stoned and useless, as you drag yourself on towards the sound of water. Your throat aches, so does your stomach.

You try to remember the place you came from and walk on and on, if only to get a little further away from the threat of violence by strangers. The world’s so barren. Your breaths cloud before you, blurring your vision more. Puff, puff, puff— and you stumble. By landing onto your hands and knees, you scrape both hard in the process, only barely saving yourself from connecting your face with the dirt, and the lack of sleep, of a safe place to curl up and hide away all have your bottom lip wobbling like crazy.

Almost childishly, you just wish a prince on a white horse would come to sweep you away from here. It hurts. The soles of your feet, your face, the swollen area around your eye and brow and your stomach too, going empty for about a day now. You think. Your hands have landed on snow that doesn’t stick long, but it makes it almost impossible to get up and continue. You don’t even remember where you came from, let alone where you were going.

There’s a nice, cloudy gap in your memory where anything of purpose is supposed to sit. You don’t remember your name. Matted hair sticks to your face, and your clothes no longer serve as anything other than another layer to keep the cold, and wet slicked nicely to your body until you freeze to death. The river sounds close, but also still so far away.

Snow falls, and you cast your eyes up through the trees, frozen lashes, cold lips. “Help me,” you croak out, to no one. To yourself. It doesn’t make sense why you push on, but your body moves robotically up from the floor as if controlled by strings, only to stumble over your own feet every few steps. You might not remember anything else, but for some reason— against all logic, you do remember one thing. A name.

It’s the tiny, flickering flame that pushes you on and on as your vision blurs, as energy seeps out of you with each step, with each breath straining against the weight of your own ribs. A flame that becomes more and more faint as you reach pebbles, a slight opening in the trees where snow does stick.

You’re tired, and you want to go home. You want to curl up into a ball and die. Your eyelids flutter shut as you fall still, trying everything to keep upright.

A rhythmic sound approaching. Horses. “Help me,” you squeak. You think you do, if your voice even makes it out of you.

Some noise comes closer, but before you can see it through, your body gives out and you land onto the snowy ground with a thump— knocking you out cold.

“She’s obviously not dangerous, Erwin,” Levi presses fingers to his temple. The crowded room is doing absolutely nothing to relieve the migraine that’s been steadily building since this morning. The meeting room’s filled with people buzzing around like a bunch of insects.

Erwin stands from his desk. “As soon as we’re finished, I can have Miche escort her to a nice room-”

“No. I don’t want anyone else,” Levi bites out, “bringing her anywhere without me around.” His head aches, teeth gritting. His bitching and moaning won’t sway the commander, but still. Miche’s still perched against the windowsill, heavy eyes scanning him.

It’s been years— the guilt of that fact sits heavy on his lungs.

Despite the order otherwise, he marches past and out the door. “I’m taking her to my room. Discussion, over.”

“Captain Levi!” Nifa calls after him, but a sturdy arm stops her in her path with only a tired sigh. The tall form squares his shoulders as Hange takes a seat in one of the chairs across him. He looks tenser than normal.

“And?”

Her glasses are pushed higher on her nose. “She’s no titan, if that’s what you’re worried about. My best guess is amnesia of some kind. I couldn’t say how she got it, though.” After a few seconds, she glances at Moblit. “Say, it isn’t just me, right? Her and Levi totally had something going on, right?”

“Sit down. Right there.”

“Yes, Sir.”

His hand sits low on your back as he guides you into the slightly damp room. Small windows are fogged up high on the wall. Your arms are wrapped uncomfortably around yourself along with the dry jacket over your wet shoulders, and you trepidatiously walk into the tiled room, barefoot. Levi sighs behind you, voice clearing. “Go on.” It feels like it’s a familiar sound, and you follow the order. It’s been a few weeks, but you have still yet to connect the name to the face.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t exactly the short, head-strong noiret before you. Or rather, you hoped it would’ve sparked something.

You sit at the edge of the baths with a pout and the steam of the filled tub sticks to your lashes. You only manage to strip yourself of Levi’s jacket with his prompting. His hands aren’t soft, but the motion is gentle when sliding the fabric off of you, watching your clammy form unfold as he strips you of the drenched shirt, starts helping you out of the pants. You whisper a slight ‘thank you’ under your breath, because any more right now would take more energy than you have left to expel.

He looks up from where he’s kneeled beside you almost too close, thin brows furrowing as he looks up. “I told you, you’re not supposed to leave unless I’m right on your heel. In any situation. Not only that, but you just about chose the worst weather to make your little break, too.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.’ It makes him frown, nose scrunching, when he has to pull hard to get the pants over your ankles and scratches up feet, dirty and ice cold.

“You’ll be sick by tomorrow.” He’s probably not wrong. The ashy grey eyes flick up at you with -what you guess must be concern- as they shimmer almost brilliantly. It looks a bit strange on his hard, angular face.

You wouldn’t know if it is out of place. He looks cold on the outside. Harsh features, calloused hands, scars wherever you look. You don’t remember what brought you here, or what type of relationship you had. Levi’s care for you so far tells you you two were close, and they’ve told you that you kept saying him name over and over again. You feel like you should trust him. It sucks that you can’t. For some reason, something takes on your breath when you sit still too long.

“I got scared,” you slowly admit, picking at your nails. Like you had to run, run far away. The room they gave you a suffocatingly tight hug.

That’s how you ended up stumbling out of the courtyard towards the woods.

If he’s surprised by your confession, it doesn’t show on his face. He only continues to drop the wet clothes in a pile, then nods his face at the water. “Get in.” His hand takes yours to help you inside the bath, before slowly lacing his fingers with yours. It’s not so much the nakedness you have a problem with, as the lack of his own. Not the quiet you hate, as much as the fact that anyone could come into the communal bathroom when they want. But you don’t want to disappoint Levi by disobeying him twice in a night, so you sit.

Watch him chew on his words for a long time, before speaking. “Are you starting to remember anything yet?”

You suck your lips. “Not really. Not yet.” You remember flashes of Levi’s sharp eyes. Of friends, maybe family? A blond head of hair, a redhead. Sitting in the dark, sleeplessness taking you over. You remember your achy wrists, and you feel it even now, without the cuffs they slapped on you at first. You’re told Levi asked them away— and you’re thankful for that.

”Captain…”

Levi’s other hand wraps around your intertwined ones, and he closes his eyes. “I can’t believe any of this shit. You got taken away from me before— And now, all this…” His expression turns darker as he stares past you, almost as if looking at someone else. “They must’ve really done a number on you, if you don’t remember.” Frost washes over those steely eyes, and his mouth pulls into a thin line. “You promised to stay by my side. I know you never would’ve wanted to break your promise.”

But then he puts his hand on the back of your neck.

The hot steam travels up around you, as he sits beside the tub close enough he could wrap you up in a hug, looking at you like you’re an abandoned toy in need of fixing up. You blink wet lashes at him until he leans in, slots his warm mouth against yours, and his hair tickles your face. His lashes brush your cheeks, and his free hand comes to pet your cheek every so softly. “I’m here now,” his voice is low but as soft as you’ve ever heard him, as he rests his forehead against yours. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger again, okay?”

Your body’s still wound tight from earlier, but it’s only natural that you mellow out in the warmth. “Even if you never get your memories back, I’ll be here for you.” Against the cold of the coming winter, the way he brushes your hair feels so nice. It allows you to let Levi run his lips along your cheek to your jaw, short, puffed breaths against your skin as he pulls you close.

His plush lips linger over your heartbeat, and you swallow against the prey-like urge to scamper out of reach, to instead wrap your arms back around him. Droplets bleed into his shirt, but he doesn’t care one bit. His eyes flutter open and closed a few times as he pulls you into him more, leaning over the edge of the tub to kiss needy kisses all along your neck, to where your shoulder meets your throat.

You instinctively let out a gasp when he bites down, before laving the spot with his lips and tongue. “D’you like this? Does that feel good, baby?” His voice is almost soft, when those dark, blown out irises find you, and you’re letting out tense breaths against him. “Feel good?”

“Mhm.” It’s not hard to figure out what you two were before you got back here. His hand slips down your spine into the water to lift you up against him, pushing his hot lips against you again and again. You taste his tongue, taste his spit when you run your hands through his hair and pull slightly. Not too long ago, this must’ve tasted like love.

You pull back to bite your lip, feel a guilt come over you as you watch him. So hungry for you, it clearly bothers him to be even a few inches away from you.

“I’m sorry for not remembering,” you whisper. Your voice wants to fail you, but you refuse to let tears take over. That wouldn’t be fair to him. A brief pause, then you swallow, eyes fixing on him with a genuine curiosity. “Do you remember everything, Captain Levi?”

The dark itches his skin, takes on his breath. There’s a stench of ammonia, thick, pungent, it almost knocks him over. But that doesn’t matter much when his eyes slide over the dusty, trash-filled room for what he’s looking for. He kicks the bloodied face to the side, pulling his knife out from the pierced temple to wipe it on a handkerchief and pull up his nose. “Fuckin’ pig sty.”

It’s Jan who bothers to search through the dresser, pocketing a few stacks of money. “That’s about 300, Levi.” Not enough. He somehow doubts that anything they find will be enough to pay back the debt. One of the other men closes in on the safe, kneeling before it. Levi’s tight frown only digs deeper.

It wouldn’t take too much to break that open, so with the two of them, they start sliding it out of the spot under the makeshift register. “The rest’s probably in here.”

“Yeah.” He brushes his hair out of his face, ready to leave the brothel behind. It’s only an afterthought to slide open the door of the liquor pantry; kicking through the lock with impatience set on his face. The old wood gives way with a sad creak, and Levi pushes inside. There’s nothing of value, figures.

Only a small cage shoved in the corner, and his hands drop to his side.

“Levi?” Someone calls at his back.

A ghostly figure sits unmoving, crumpled into itself, metal dog collar around the neck— big, desperate eyes avoiding the light streaming into the indentation. Big, obvious blotches litter your skin top to bottom, lips swollen and cracked, your skin almost mannequin-like by the unwashed sheen. His stomach turns at the sight… but more than disgust, he’s taken aback by something else.

His breath stops in his throat for a few beats, as he stares at the pathetic rise and fall of your chest in that skimpy little outfit, pure white lace against the darkness. The pity of your situation is by far outweighed by the beauty of you, and the way his heart pounds in his chest.

He should feel worse. He should probably hate the feeling. The way you stare up at him like a kicked puppy. His mouth cracks open a sliver, slow breath in, slower breath out. If you had a tail, it would wag at the sight of him.

The way you’re looking up at your saviour makes him feel important.

The door thumps before bouncing back into the lock, and a breeze tingles your neck as you snuggle deeper into the blankets. It’s not much, but it’s more than you’ve gotten used to with your last owner. It’s more than enough to sleep comfortably, only hindered by the heavy metal chain that sits around your ankle. You’re not sure why he believes you’d go anywhere. A heavy body drops into the mattress meant for one. For a brief moment, your shoulders rise up to protect your face, spine tensing.

A brief moment that melts away in an instant when you’re confronted by ocean blue eyes in the dark, a soft smile sitting on his cheeks. “Sleepy?” the young man asks, not expecting much of a response before landing his palm on your head in a comforting sort of motion. It’s a drag more than a pat, and his thumb brushes almost patiently over your forehead from between your brows to your crown. A warmth you’ve never really experienced before. If you were sleepy, you no longer are.

Farlan’s a comforting presence that’s only gotten more important with each passing day. The windows to your room are usually leaned open, enough to stick a few fingers through, not your whole hand. It’s enough during the day to catch his eyes peeking up at you from the courtyard, and smiling back when you wave. A sad, guilty sort of smile.

Farlan smells like wood and musk and soap, and to you, it’s the closest you can get to being out there with them with the chain on your ankle.

You swallow, bite your lip. “Levi nii doesn’t like me, does he?”

His blond hair bounces as he rolls onto his side in the silence, and watches you with a strange sort of calculation in his eyes. His hand falls still on your crown, but you lean into the touch before he pulls back. The heat is just so nice. It builds in your cheeks, makes your eyes feel a little hazy, your face softer. Farlan chews on his tongue before speaking. “Why do you think that?”

It’s not so hard to tell. Everyone else is allowed outside. There’s people who come around every day, they carry boxes, work in the street, talk to each other whenever they want. It’s only you that’s kept inside this room— staring at them through the windows; and more than that, Levi always locks the door when they come around. You don’t blame him. You’re sure that if you were better, he wouldn’t have to. You can’t blame the person who saved your life for dealing with you in the way he knows how.

Instead of explaining all that you simply shake your foot, and the loud changing of the metal links fill the room.

Farlan’s eyebrows narrow, and not for the first time, a look of helplessness swipes over his features. “I’m pretty sure Levi aniiki… doesn’t dislike you. He doesn’t even let me in here, normally.”

He pulls the blankets back a bit, uncovering your shoulders from the plush, trails his eyes over the skin in the dark. A fingertip presses into a spot under your jaw that’s achy and bruised that’s only stopped hurting so bad this morning. Then he slides the touch down to the crook of your neck, taps onto another mark. “That Levi aniiki’s doing?”

They’re littered all over.

You don’t have to nod. His expression dims. “Do you even know what’s happening to you here? You don’t, do you.” The words come faster, lingering in the stuffy room. His face shifts, from knowledge, to worry. “Do you even like Levi like that?” Your face goes pouty, and you feel yourself wanting to tilt your head. Confused. A wordless question. Like what, your brain supplies, but maybe because you feel a bit stupid, you don’t speak it.

Maybe because of the closeness and the heat in your face and the warmth of his touch, his care, his attention— you can’t do anything but suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Farlan’s face is closer than it was, you’ve pushed yourself closer. The darkness of night no longer feels so dark when he’s here with you and your heart’s beating fast, really fast. It’s slamming rhythmically in the silence. He pulls his hand away as he smiles, but you reach out to grab it. “Do you like him?” He asks again.

Do you like Levi nii? Of course you do. If not for him you might’ve been left behind forever, stashed behind the walls like a dirty secret. It’s a given that you like him. You like that he sits with you and tells you you’re pretty and when he comes home for the night he lets you snuggle up on his chest and feel every bit of touch that you were missing during the day. When he’s nice he’s really nice, though he doesn’t like to say it in words. You’re similar in that way.

When he’s happy with you, you get spoiled. You like Levi. Farlan’s finger brushes over the tip of your nose when you bring it close to your face, soft, searching touch. It isn’t the same as Levi’s closeness though. When Farlan’s close, you feel entirely floaty, drifting on the breeze of the breaths you two share. Levi’s kind of like is grounded. The blond’s staring like he’s seeing every cell of you at once, and you find yourself saying something before you can think about it fully. “I like you.”

He smiles genuinely at that, taken aback. You two share the space in the bed that’s yours alone. You take up the space nudged into the crook of his neck, feel the breaths dust over your crown. You’re sure when your throat runs dry, and your lashes flutter against his skin.

After a few minutes of quiet, Farlan finally seems to breathe a full breath again. “Tell me. Do you want me to take you out of here?”

Your eyes flutter. A tense, slight frown comes to sit between your brows, and your lips jut into a pout.

“Here, be a good girl.” Your big eyes shift from the door back to him, when he kneads his hands that are settled on your tits, rubbing your pebbled nipples until you shift. A little from the touch, a little from your discomfort as you’re gyrating onto his body. You try to nod, he thinks, because your interrupted by a shiver when his mouth takes one of them inside to suck, and have you whimpering above him. Cute. Moldable.

Your hands move to his head to practically curl yourself around his head and trail your hands through his hair like you’re a kneading cat, and your motion shoves his face between your tits even more. It’s so fucking cute, perfect, as you squirm like you’re not sure what to do with yourself. He’s pretty sure that’s actually quite accurate. As you’re moaning and squeaking though, and he shifts to the other nipple to rub his tongue over it, you let out a soft whine. “Levi nii- it’s… I-embarrassing.”

He grunts into your embrace, one hand slipping around to get under your ass and reposition you onto him better, so that the heat of your pussy grinds against him through the thin scraps of fabric you’re dressed in. “It’s not embarrassing. You’re doing good.” His cock’s rock hard against you. Shouldn’t that be enough to tell you that? If you had any experience with any of this, it would.

“It is!” You pant, and your hips stop moving around like you’re halfway to crawling away, to unclamp yourself from his head, to lean back onto both arms and watch him through teary, drowsy eyes. “I keep making noises even though I don’t mean to, and everything feels weird- and- and I’m sticky, aniiki.” A brilliant blush sits on your face, from your nose to your ears, and it’s as hot as it is adorable, the way you’re writhing around a bit like an animal in heat. He doesn’t need to ask if it feels good, because it’s written on your face.

He goes back to playing with your tits a bit longer, because you’re so soft and warm and wrapped in his blankets, he just wants to eat you up. You sometimes ask him why he keeps you around. A ridiculous notion, as if he would even have the thought of not keeping you. You’re his woman. His, and his alone - it’s not up for debate. You just don’t know it yet, because of your lack of experience. Rough hands pinch at your nipples until you’re shoving at his shoulders and squirming away, underwear sticking to your wet pussy.

Your kicked-dog sort of expression is replaced with furrowed brows when you pant the next thing, glancing back at the door with a pout. “Aniiki~~ it’s embarrassing! Farlan nii’s gonna know.” His jaw clenches, and within a single blink he has you turned around. Pressed back into his bed under his pinning weight, his thin eyebrows furrowing despite himself. Your eyes go wide, suddenly apologetic.

He doesn’t hear you out. “It’s not. If I tell you it’s okay, then it’s okay.” The heat between your two bodies streams down, as he yanks one leg over his thigh to get in between your legs and starts drawing his long fingers along the edge of the seat of your panties. Soaked through, sticky. He brings his fingers to his mouth to suck them clean, and taste the pure, unchanged taste of you. “Stop bringing other people up. I’ve already told you that when we’re in here, you should only think about me. When you’re in my bed-”

“Levi nii is the boss. I know, I’m sorry.” You rap out quicker than he can continue, apologetically smoothing your hands over his chest. “I just… My body always feels weird when we do this.”

He holds the urge to let his face break out into a bit of a grin. How fucking cute can you be… instead he starts peeling off your panties and watch how you obediently move your legs together and up to make it easy, runs his hands up, up, up along your thighs, calves, over your feet. He licks his lips at the sight of you, can’t help it. You let him rock his hips against you, placing his hands both sides of your face, and lean in. “Give me a kiss, come on. If you give me a kiss, I won’t chain you up tomorrow.”

You used to be unable to. Too shy, too cautious, the marks left on you had taken a toll. But look at you now. Almost as if by instinct, you dutifully press your lips to his awaiting mouth, let him lean into your space and take you. It took some time, and you used to cry - but doesn’t this feel so good now. Aren’t you happy he treats you so well? You kiss him slow and deep, letting him open your lips and slip his tongue into your mouth, while his hands rub over your wet pussy.

You’re whining into it though at his touch, mumbling like a pathetic, little thing. “‘M sore, Levi nii~” You must be. Your pussy still slicks though, welcoming him, letting his fingers rub the overstimulated bud again. He wasn’t so nice this morning, or last night.

Your thick lashes flutter when you pull back with a pout, and watch him toy with your body.

“You’re glaring like you don’t want this.” He comments. You shake your head half-heartedly. In truth, it used to be like that. You used to kick and scream before you toned down. But you got there eventually, and now - you’re soft enough to let him do however he likes. You trust him enough to fill you up to the brim and let him spill hot cum inside you, without crying. You still move your body half into, half away from his touch— like you can’t decide if you want him to keep going, so he makes the choice for you. “Open up.”

You shiver under him but move your legs open further, as his fingers trail into the wetness to your clit. “So good, baby.” Soft circles make you scrunch your face up, and harder circles make your back lift from the mattress into a perfect arch that makes his cock twitch in his boxers. Boxers that get pushed down to reveal his weeping, flushed head, and pushing it along your lips with a hiss. “You know what I like to hear, come on. Say it.”

You flush, heat blooming on your cheeks again. Your legs wrap around his hips, and you look away in mock-decency. Drives him crazy. Makes him want to ruin you. “Th- thank you for r-rescuing me. I love… -I love when you play with me like this.”

”Yeah?” He lines his cock up with your slick lips and pushes inside, ignoring the resistance as he dives into your heat. “I know you do. I know you like doing- t-this. You’re a good, little pet for me. We’re close, aren’t we. There’s no one closer to you than I am.” He bottoms out into that perfect warmth only to pull back, wet, glistening, and dive back into you. Your eyes bulge a little, and your hands find his shoulders as your head falls back.

”Ah, ah- Aniiki. I- I’m still sore. It hurts.” You yelp softly when his body connects to yours, and your tits bounce because of the impact.

“Shhh, shh, I’ll make it feel good. Just a little more.” His rhythm moving the bed along with you, as you clamp your eyes shut and wrap your arms around him to hang on. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, of course. But you just feel so good. So inviting, diving into that clenching, warm embrace as his cock slides in and out of you, and slick gushes out along it. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. So good for Levi nii, aren’t you? You’re a good little hole for me.”

“Agh, Levi nii. Aniiki!” His declarations of love fall on deaf ears, because you’re hanging on like you’re on a cliff, whining and the pressure building inside you. Even after hundreds of times, you still look so woefully underprepared whenever he rubs just right against your pussy. Coarse hair and friction all make you look like you can explode any second now, and he thrives when looking at it. Could you not look so fucking pathetic all the time? It’s not his fault that you look so fucking hot like this, squirming on his cock, moaning, begging. “I’m full— I’m so full. Agh, Levi!”

He lets you have more, take more of his cock, harder, deeper. Your poor pussy squelches every time he bottoms out, and your body moves around on the mattress just enough to rub yourself against the thumb he’s pressing to your clit. “You’re so pretty like this, so fucking— good. Tell me you want it.”

Your back lifting from the bed, he can tell when your stomach starts clenching, and your legs wrap tighter around him. “Yes, yes, yes! Wan’it- agh, ah, ah! Levi.” His balls hit your ass every time he goes in and you feel so good, so soft— hotter than anyone should be.

“Tell me you love me. You don’t want anyone else.” You’re whining like you’re mindless, and pull him, scratch along his shoulder blades with a desperation for purchase. You can’t say it in words, but he knows it means ‘keep going, I’m close, I’m so close’. He knows it means ‘I love you.’ That’s why he pushes his mouth to yours again, that’s why he rocks his cock right into that spot that makes you go a bit cross eyed.

He’s doing this all for you. You mewl and suck his tongue and push your tits against him, let him fucking into you so deep you feel conjoined, and then even past that. It’s the heat and the pressure and the touch of you on him that’s making him grunt, his balls pull to his body. He fucks into you until he can’t possibly keep the rhythm anymore, and his shoulders pulls up into a squared position above you.

He pants, sweat rolling down his chest from the effort and the warmth. “You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.” Kissing you doesn’t possibly feel deep enough, but god, you feel good. Heavenly. He’ll stay here with you if that’s what it takes. Nothing’s going to change that. “You’re not going anywhere. Ever.” His cock settles so deep inside you he can see it on your face, twisting between pain and pleasure, and you fall into your orgasm with a rough, desperate cry. Your walls constrict around him, and it’s enough to make him reach his high too.

Sliding in and out, in and out, as hot cum shoots into you and he presses his forehead to yours. “Fuck, fuck- I need you here.”

It’s too dark to make out much of anything, except the frantic energy in the whispers.

“Hurry, come on.”

Your cuffs jingle loud into the night, dragging your chain behind you. It wasn’t possible on your own, but another set of hands got it undone relatively easily, and now, it’s just the sound of your breaths into the night as you look behind you. The house gets smaller before it disappears from your view, and you pant out breaths into the cold night. “Farlan,“ you breathe out, not stopping, “what’s happening?”

Your arm is held steadily in his soft fingers, at a pace as quick as your weakened body will allow. He doesn’t speak until you’ve made it far, far beyond the line of houses that you could see from your window. More than you can remember seeing, ever. “Don’t worry, everything’s okay.”

The night is dark, but when you two finally stop moving, the path forward is even darker. A deep hole in the walls that seems to go up into infinity. You pull your arm away, and look at him, stomach turning. “Farlan…”

There’s no one around, lights are dimmed, and the whole place seems abandoned. All that’s left to notice is the air blowing past your neck, a draft that ruffles your hair. Farlan’s eyes are full of compassion. “I want to do the right thing.” For some reason, wetness wells up in your eyes as you watch him take you in wholly, and gently pull you into a hug. “If we go up here, we’ll get to the surface.”

He pushes a kiss to your temple, smiles bright like he always does. “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” The breeze carries the fresh air into your lungs, and your toes are cold.

Farlan’s breaths go quiet as Hell unfolds itself. Instinctively, his hand is still wrapped around the gurgling wound pulsing blood, but his limbs have gone numb. And Levi’s blind anger has him wailing punch after punch, panting heavily before pulling the knife out. His hands drip blood, as the sun rises at the end of the staircase. It’s barely a white dot in an inky canvas, but the doubt does seep in. You wouldn’t have left him. You wouldn’t, you couldn’t.

He loves you, and you him. His only light in this fucking place. You’d never go on your own. You’ll be waiting for him to get you back.

#aot smut #levi smut #levi ackerman #attack on titan smut #levi dc #tw.yandere #tw.pseudocest #tw.dubcon #tw.dark content #tw.blood #levi ackerman smut #snk levi #snk smut #levi x reader #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.levi

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florestalio · 29 days ago

Text

JEALOUSY [L.HS] — drabble

warnings — (1.2k words) noncon/dubcon, step-cest, jealousy, shower sex, clit pinching, semi public (?) sex, brief mention of filming but no actual filming, brief cum eating, allusions to/brief oral (f!rec) let me know if i missed any!

it was wrong. it was terribly, terribly wrong. but heeseung couldn't stop himself. he couldn't stop himself before, how could he possibly have even a tiny semblance of self control now?

it wasn't even completely his fault. you were at fault too. why were you always wearing such skimpy clothes around him?

it didn't even stop there. you went ahead and had the audacity to go out on a date with one of the lame guys from your uni, coming back home to brag about it, to him of all people. of course you had it coming for you.

there was no way you didn't expect him to come and find you later, right? especially not when you were taking a bath, when both of your parents were home?

why were you even trying to scream? weren't you aware that he was going to slap his hand over your mouth immediately if you tried? that he would slam the bathroom door shut, locking it? so what if he took his hand off your mouth? didn't you know that your own bathroom was soundproof? were you that much of an oblivious baby?

why were you even trying to resist him? trying to stop him from turning you around, your hands on the glass partition, that was separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom? why were you trying to beg him to stop? did you seriously think he was going to listen to you?

“h-heeseung, please—don’t do this, please—i’m your sister, ple–”

“shut the fuck up. you're not my fucking sister, we are not fucking related. stop trying to deter me from claiming what is rightfully mine, because if you haven't already realised, i am not going to stop until your voice is hoarse from screaming my name.”

if that wasn't clear enough, then he had no idea what else would make you finally understand that you were his, and that he was doing nothing wrong. he was simply laying his claim on his property.

at least that's what he thought, as he ignored your cries to stop, and how this was apparently ‘morally inappropriate’ or whatever the fuck kind of bullshit you were spewing. he could barely hear you anyways, not over the running shower, and the sound of his zipper, as he pulled it down.

he barely even cared about any kind of foreplay—you lost that privilege the moment you went out with another guy—grabbing your ass tightly, pushing his throbbing cock into you. the loud cry from you fell on deaf ears, as he marveled at the way your pussy sucked him in like a glove. it was like it was made to take his cock, and just his alone.

pushing down on your back, he forced you to arch yourself further, pushing your ass up. gripping your ass cheeks tightly, he spread them, giving him a view of both of your holes. he pulled out almost completely, before pushing right back in, burying himself to the hilt. your breath caught in your throat, the muscle almost closing up. this—this was your brother—step-brother, yes, but brother nonetheless. this wasn't supposed to feel good. especially since he was taking you without consent. but… there was no denying that the way his cock throbbed inside you made flames of heat lick your lower stomach, your walls clamping around his length, squeezing him.

heeseung wasn't stupid. he could tell your initial resistance was melting away, and he wasn't going to make you change your mind. not anytime soon. not that you could change your mind, given how he was starting to pound into you, every moan you let out and every slurping noise from your cunt too loud, too real to ignore.

“hng—fuck, heeseung! s-slow down, fuck fuck fuck–!” it was hard for you to keep up with his almost animalistic pace, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust, your sinful activities fogging up the glass partition.

he ignored you, of course. did you actually expect him to listen to you? it's not like you actually wanted him to listen to you. it was just the dumb part of your brain babbling utter nonsense. isn't that so?

at least that's what heeseung thought, as his hand sneaked down to your clit, pinching it, before rubbing it furiously. your moans gradually increased in volume sounding like pure sin to his ears. god, he wished he had recorded all of it, your moans embedded in his brain forever. but that's fine, this wasn't going to be the last time he fucks you. no, absolutely not. not after he finally got to experience the exquisite feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock, clenching down on him so fucking hard.

lifting your hips slightly, heeseung angled his thrusts to hit your sweet spot, driving into it with every thrust. as he battered that spongy spot in your walls with his cock, making sure you could see stars, he gave one last flick to your hardened bundle of nerves, making the spring in your stomach finally uncoil. you came—hard—all over his cock, pulsing around it, drenching his length in your juices.

heeseung kept pounding into you through your orgasm, groaning at the sight of the white ring forming at his base. he pinched your clit again, harder this time, drawing your orgasm. with a cry of pleasure bordering that of pain, you clamped down harder on his length, your legs shaking. the way your cunt squeezed him tightly was enough for him to bury himself to the hilt inside your pussy. with a groan, he flooded your inner walls with his cum, painting your insides white. warm ropes of cum kept bursting out of his tip, as he kept shallowly thrusting in and out of you, riding out his orgasm.

after what felt like ages, he finally stopped cumming, pulling his softening cock out of you. your legs were shaking uncontrollably, the glass partition completely fogged up. but he didn't care. not when he had such a wonderfully sinful sight in front of him.

he grabbed your ass cheeks, spreading them slowly, watching his cum drip down your hole, onto the wet floor below, mixing with the water. this was his girl, dripping with his cum down her legs. the sight was enough for his flaccid cock to twitch back to life. but first, he needed to clean up his pretty girl.

which was why—to your absolute horror—he sank down to his knees, already licking a stripe up your slit, collecting the mixture of his and your cum on his tongue. he mixed it with his spit, rolling the mixture around in his mouth, before spitting right back on your hole. you flinched at the feeling, but barely had time to react in any other way, before his entire mouth was on your dripping pussy, sucking the cum out of you like his life depended on it.

well—who knew pretending to not be utterly bitchless would finally encourage your step brother to stop acting like he’s holier-than-thou, and make a move on you?

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #enha smut #lee heeseung smut

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inkykeiji · 2 months ago

Text

you and me to infinity

character: shigaraki tomura (+ the slightest hint of keigo)

genre: smut, modern!au

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudo-cest (adoptive siblings), noncon/dubcon, dacryphilia, rough sex, semi-public sex, blood, no prep, painful sex, one use of the word bitch, tomura is kinda mean, tomura carries reader, mention of drugs (he’s a lil high), size difference

notes: set within my lil icky big brother tomura universe! | title credit: ecstasy by suicidal-idol

words: 4.8k

synopsis:

“I really hate it when you look at him at all, and I really hate the way he looks at you.” His tone morphs from mocking condescension to a deep growl, jagged and dripping with jealousy, words ground out through his teeth. Whimpering, you stare up at him. “Y-You do?” And it’s impossible to hide the genuine surprise, tinged with absurd delight, colouring your voice, a direct response to the authenticity ringing in his own—sincere anger and envy and a hint of hurt. “Of course I do,” he huffs, admission cool against your damp cheeks. “I don’t like it when people look at what’s mine. I don’t like it when people stupidly believe that they can play with my things.”

The sun is strong today, shining down with that summer brutality it always seems to acquire in the late days of July and painting the backyard in harsh gold, bouncing off the shimmering water of the pool and limestone of the patio.

Sticky sweet chemicals and coconut cling to your flesh in a fine film, scents lingering in the air around you. It’s so potent Tomura swears he can smell it from the pool, swears he can taste it on his tongue, bitter sunscreen mixed with the salt of your sweat.

It makes his mouth water, saliva collecting in the crevices near his molars and beneath his tongue in thick little puddles, and he pulls himself from the water, swim shorts sticking to his slim thighs as he perches on the edge of the pool, calves still submerged, fingers curling around the edge of the stone.

You’re sitting across the water from him, sprawled out on one of the plush lounge chairs with a pair of sunglasses on your head and a book in your palms, index finger idly playing with one of the curled, fraying corners of the cover.

You both hear him before you see him, a distinct slap of rubber against stone, a sound that has come to indicate Keigo’s arrival.

Already twisting in your chair at his footsteps, your face splits into a brilliant smile the moment he rounds the corner, procuring an equally impressive smile of his own, features softening when he meets your gaze, professionalism melting in your presence.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, smooth and warm, grin never dimming. “Whatcha reading?”

It takes you a moment to gather your bearings, dog-earred book completely forgotten in Keigo’s light, and a soft little noise sounds at the back of your throat as you remember it, picking it up and glancing at the cover.

“It’s, um, Crime and Punishment,” your voice is shy and soft, but your eyes are bright, wide, eager to soak up any specks of attention Keigo will toss your way.

It’s pathetic, as far as Tomura’s concerned. You act like some lovesick little schoolgirl around him, hanging on his every word with sparkles in your eyes and teeth sunk into your lip.

“Dostoyevsky,” Keigo hums with an appreciative nod. “You’re one smart little cookie, aren’t you?”

His thumb and forefinger clasp your chin, tilting your face higher, as if he’s inspecting it for something. The silence is thick as his eyes sweep across your face, slow and thorough, admiring.

You let him, putty in his fucking hands—as always—leaning into his touch a little, allowing him to tug you closer.

“Brains and a face like that?” Keigo blows air out his mouth in a low whistle. “That’s a lethal combination.”

Girlish giggles bubble in your throat and Keigo’s smile stretches, a slight chuckle of his own on the back of his tongue.

“Where’s your Daddy, princess?”

“In the office, I think.”

“Thanks,” his grasp on your chin loosens, thumb skimming across your bottom lip before his hand drops completely.

Your stare follows him as he strides towards the glass doors, desperate and ravenous for as much of him as your eyes can swallow down, soak up, devour.

“Maybe, if you’re still out here later, we can talk about Russian authors some more,” he says just before he reaches the Manor, pivoting on his heel and walking backward.

Yes, your head is nodding enthusiastically. Yes, definitely.

The sliding door slams shut with a dull thud, silence enveloping the space again, only broken by the erratic chattering of Tomura’s teeth, molars grinding together as MDMA clouds his brain, rushes through his veins, capillaries tingling.

You’ve since returned to your book, a small, satisfied smile on your lips as your eyes stare listlessly at the page, gaze unmoving.

Fuck. As much as Tomura hates that golden-haired honeyed-voice fucker, he can’t blame him for being enraptured by your beauty.

Because, truly, you are fucking stunning—skin perpetually dewy as if it’s routinely kissed by the morning sun itself, eyes glittering like magnificent jewels even in the dimmest light (even in the dark—Tomura knows, Tomura has seen it) always so expressive, alight with excitement or curiosity or terror—but that isn’t all.

It’s your very presence itself, your nature of being, your bunny-like shyness and your kitten-eqsue playfulness, and how you’re oblivious to it all, rendering it all so natural, so genuine.

If Daddy had allowed you to go to school, you would’ve been the most popular girl in your year, every year, Pre-K all the way to your university undergrad, and then beyond that, had you chosen to pursue that path.

The thought makes Tomura’s blood boil.

Just the mere idea of all those boys, those scoundrels and mongrels, leering at you and salivating like his baby sister is the freshest, leanest, tastiest piece of meat they’ve ever had the privilege of laying their eyes on has his vision bleeding a furious red. He knows Keigo would’ve been one of those boys. He knows Keigo would’ve probably won, too.

Well, it’s a good thing Daddy never sent you to school, then. Because that means there’s little to no competition for Tomura, and that means Tomura is the winner.

That means Tomura is the only boy you see often, the only boy you really know, not counting Daddy’s employees that swing by every often, that never pass the threshold of acquaintance, that you’re too shy and sweet and precious to talk to—the ones Tomura pushes you behind his back and away from any time they’re in your immediate vicinity, safe and sound, guarded by your big brother; the ones that never manage to say more than a few words to you, a polite greeting or a handful of small talk, before someone, Daddy or nii-san, is redirecting their attention.

And that means Tomura will stay the winner, forever.

Besides, little sisters should belong to their big brothers first and foremost anyway, right? Who better to take care of them, to teach them, to lead and protect and reprimand them, than their big brother? Who could possibly know them better than their big brother does?

No one.

But Keigo’s attention leaves you glowing, the effects lingering long after he’s disappeared—Tomura can practically see the dreaminess in your eyes, the swooning and the yearning, the spectacular fantasies floating around in that pretty little head of yours.

It makes him sick.

It makes him sad.

“You never look at me like that.”

“Hm?” your big brother’s voice breaks you from your daze, blinking to clear the haziness. “Like what?”

“Like the way you look at Keigo, all starry-eyed and tongue-tied.”

“You’re my brother.”

“So? What difference does it make, if we don’t even share the same blood?” he questions. “If anything, being your big brother should qualify me more.”

Frowning, you look over the edge of your book, forehead crumpled in confusion.

“H-How do you figure?”

And, Christ, you’re so fucking shy, so fucking sweet Tomura can barely stand it. Maybe you don’t look at him with specks of sun in your eyes, but you do look at him like this, irises deep with devotion, with admiration, with trust.

You look at him like he carved the moon in the sky, like he created the laws of the universe, like he knows best. You look at him like you’re desperate for his approval, like you’re aching for him to let you in on the secrets of the cosmos, like his word is fucking gospel.

He shakes his head, hand dismissing the idea with a wave—there’s no way you could ever possibly understand, no way he could ever possibly explain it to you in easily digestible terms, idea cut up into cute bite-sized pieces.

“C’mere,” he says instead, wading in the water. “Your big brother is lonely in the pool all by himself.”

“But I’m reading my book.”

“Bring it,” he shrugs.

“I—Won’t it—”

“You don’t have to get in the water,” he rolls his eyes. “Just come lay on a floaty or whatever.”

And, ever the good girl that you are, you do as your big brother says, allowing him to hold the inflatable pink lounger, warmed by the constant sun, still as you teeter onto it, a short squeal catching in your throat as the raft wobbles.

Unsurprisingly, having you closer does little to dispel the bitterness simmering in his chest, the hinges of his jaw beginning to ache from the incessant, uncontrollable gnashing of his teeth.

Because you’ve gone right back to your stupid book, not paying him a scrap of attention, not even bothering to look over as he glides past you, back and forth, back and forth, skinny body graceful in the water.

And that just won’t do.

It hurts, probably more than it should, more than it has any moral right to, a sharp stinging burrowing deeper and deeper into his chest with every passing moment you stay entirely oblivious to him.

It’s incredible, how what he feels for you manages to seep through the thick fog of manufactured euphoria, tainting it. Even when he’s high on a cocktail of narcotics, he still can’t fucking escape you.

It’s what has him flicking water at you as he wades next to you, little droplets smattering across your bare torso, missing the pages of your book by a hair.

They’re pretty, though, tiny drops of crystal adorning your skin, rising and falling with your gentle breaths and glittering as they catch in the sunbeams.

“Nii-san!” you gasp, eyes flying over to him in surprise as your body instinctively jerks, rocking your raft a little.

“What?” he asks as he flicks another fistful at you, crimson eyes shimmering. “Can’t handle a little water?”

“You’re going to ruin my book,” you whine, flinching again as the next batch of droplets scatters over your body, procuring heavy taps against the plastic.

“Oh? The book Keigo likes?”

And just like that his hands are curling around pink plastic, jagged nails digging into puffy inflation before yanking hard and fast, snatching the floaty from beneath your body in an instant.

Your short scream is gargled by the water, your body creating a small crater of mini white caps as it hits the surface, fanning out in ripples around you.

You resurface a moment later, choking on your own breath, lashes fluttering wildly as you reestablish your bearings.

They look pretty, too, all spiked together with dewdrops of water collecting at the points; they look the way they do after Tomura makes you cry—one of his favourite sights.

It makes him want to ruin you even more, to stain you with him, to make a mess of your body and remind you who you fucking belong to, who you were made for. Your discomfort sparks some sick, innate craving lurking deep within his ribcage—something acrid and addictive, something starving yet insatiable.

“Tomu-nii!” you wail as you flounder, his name tattered by a gasp.

“Oh, shut up,” he’s saying even as he takes you into refuge of his arms, letting you cling to his shoulders and helping you find your footing. “It’s just water, crybaby.”

“My novel!”

“Daddy will buy you another,” Tomura rolls his eyes. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“You don’t understand,” you slump against your big brother’s chest, sulky. “That one had all of my annotations in it.”

“Oh? You mean the annotations you were going to talk to Keigo about?” his face screws up, the name acid on his tongue, corroded with resentment.

“I worked really hard on those,” you continue, ignoring his question, cheek pressed to his protruding collarbone. “And now I’ll have to start all over again; they’re ruined!”

It doesn’t matter, he’s telling you with a dismissive roll of his eyes, hands flexing around your shoulders.

“Not to you, maybe,” you mumble through a petulant pout, brows knitted.

“You know, I really hate it when you talk to Keigo,” he begins, voice dropped an octave as it rubbles behind his bony chest, protruding ribs shuddering with dark vibrations.

His chest puffs out a little, large hands cuffing your biceps as he pushes forward with his weight, guiding you backwards. A gasp jumps in your throat as your spine bumps against the pool’s wall, sharp edge of the patio digging into your skin.

“I really hate it when you look at him at all, and I really hate the way he looks at you.”

His tone morphs from mocking condescension to a deep growl, jagged and dripping with jealousy, words ground out through his teeth. Whimpering, you stare up at him.

“Y-You do?”

And it’s impossible to hide the genuine surprise, tinged with absurd delight, colouring your voice, a direct response to the authenticity ringing in his own—sincere anger and envy and a hint of hurt.

“Of course I do,” he huffs, admission cool against your damp cheeks. “I don’t like it when people look at what’s mine. I don’t like it when people stupidly believe that they can play with my things.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” he snorts a little. “My little sister.”

Confusion furrows your brow, your head tilting a little as your eyes search his face.

“But that—That doesn’t make me yours—”

And although it’s supposed to be a statement, firm and sure, it comes out as a question, quivering and hesitant.

“Yes it does,” he scoffs, as if you’re stupid, and it’s so cute, it’s so laughable. “Daddy adopted you for me.”

“N-No, he didn’t—”

“Yes, yes, actually, he did. He adopted you because I told him to, because I asked for you—you, specially. You’ve always been meant for me; you’ve always been mine.”

Large hands skim down your sides, clumsy fingers creeping beneath the waistband of your bikini bottoms, toying with the thin, flimsy strings.

“Ever since we brought you through that door, you’ve belonged to me.”

A shameful giddiness bubbles up in your chest at the thought, something hot and sinful unfurling in your stomach. Swallowing against the feeling, you try to extinguish it, try to stomp it out with sentiments of how wrong it is, but it only flares higher, burns brighter, your eyes wide and unblinking as they stay glued to your big brother’s face, clinging desperately to every word that falls from his lips.

“And,” he continues conversationally, “since you’re mine, don’t you think you should make your big brother feel better after making him so sad?”

“Sad?” you question, all giddiness eradicated from your features in an instant as you blink up at him, looking so fucking sincere—forehead warped with concern, eyes glossy and scanning his.

“Yeah, stupid,” he says, filtered through an exaggerated pout. “I really can’t stand seeing you with him, you know? It hurts.”

And although he’s playing it up, there’s a twinge of truth to his voice, a tremor of honesty worming through his words.

“I—I’m sorry, nii-san, I didn’t realize—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, already bored of this routine. “Because you’re going to make it up to me, aren’t you?”

The implicit expectation hangs heavy in the air, the belief that you’re supposed to be good for your big brother, obey your big brother, do everything he says exactly when he says it, exactly how he says it, weighing on your chest.

And now, he’s got you trapped.

“S-Sure, but…” you trail off, floundering, a delicious desperation shimmering in your irises—a harsh push-and-pull, a tug-of-war between should and want. “I don’t think—I mean, this isn’t—”

With a growl, Tomura uses his body to shove you against the edge of the pool again, stone skinning your elbows, a short cry pushed from your chest, sharp and high.

“Enough of this,” he spits, eager hands tugging on the cute little bows tied at each of your hips, bikini bottoms coming undone with a few harsh yanks.

“No, Tomura! We really shouldn’t—!”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” he’s panting out as two clumsy fingers plunge into your unprepared hole, a gasp slicing your throat.

“Because! Because it’s—it’s not right!”

“Never stopped us before.”

Well, never stopped him before. You’re just as complicit, too, though. He knows you want it just as badly as he does, knows that this whole act is merely a facade, masquerading as a good little girl when you’re just as depraved as he is.

You wouldn’t let him do this to you if you weren’t—wouldn’t get this wet this quickly for him, wouldn’t go this pliant beneath your big brother’s touch, wouldn’t welcome him beneath your frilly peppermint pink covers in the dead of night and wouldn’t beg for him so pathetically only a few minutes into his perversion, wouldn’t cum so quickly when he gives you exactly what you’re asking for.

You might fool everyone else—Daddy and Kurogiri and Keigo—but you could never fool your big brother.

He knows you inside out.

“No!” you’re struggling against him, but your thighs are already trembling, your hips already bucking. “I’m serious, we gotta st-stop!”

“Uh-huh?” he hums out, indifferent. “And what if I don’t want to stop?”

Because you sure as hell don’t—not with the way your legs are squeezing his hand, pelvis gyrating in messy little circles as you try to catch your clit on the heel of his palm; not with the sweet wispy whines that keep prying past your lips, fracturing your sentences.

“Just—Come on! Not here!”

“Why not? Don’t want your new boyfriend Keigo to see how much you love getting fucked by your big brother?”

“What? No! Daddy—Kurogiri—”

He laughs, mirth wrapped in malice. “Give me a break. Kurogiri doesn’t give a fuck what we do. I own him, too.”

And, you suppose, on some level that’s true. Kurogiri bends over backwards, twists his spine and snaps it to fulfil Tomura’s every wish and whim.

Kurogiri would rather risk his own livelihood than ever put Tomura in any sort of danger.

“You should know by now that I get what I want,” he grunts as he spins you around, the heel of his palm shoving at the waistband of his swim shorts, “when I want,” a strong palm flattens against the small of your back then pushes, hard, forcing you to bend at the waist, your face smacking off the ground, “and how I want.”

Leaning over your folded body, his chest presses to your heaving back, flat and flush, his cock bluntly nudging your fluttering hole, his chapped lips brushing against your ear.

“And what I want,” he begins, hot breath curling around cartilage, shivers skittering across your skin. “Is my little sister’s cunt.”

And so he takes it—takes what he’s rightfully owed, takes what he rightfully owns, thrusting his cock into you in one hard, quick motion, burying himself in your body, tip pressed tightly to your cervix and balls nudging your clit.

The abrupt gesture yanks a yelp from your throat, eyes shutting against the reflexive burn of tears. It fucking stings, little hole quivering around his girth as it struggles to adjust, core desperate to split itself open for him.

A moan falls from his lips as it trembles around him, and God, he wishes he could see it. Your sweet cunt always looks so cute as it strains to take his thick cock, to swallow it whole, spasming around hot, hard flesh and evoking a gruff groan from deep within his chest.

“Hurts, Tomu-nii,” you whimper, words half-muffled by the stone, lips dragging across it lazily.

“Yeah?” he breathes, leaning back a little as his hands stay firmly wrapped around your hips and giving an experimental thrust, basking in the pained mewl that spills from your throat as he grinds his cockhead against sensitive tissue. “How much?”

“S-So much,” you hiccup out, eyes squeezing shut. “So much, swear I can feel you in my—in my tummy, nii-san.”

“That so?” Tomura’s asking as his hips draw back, slow and purposeful, until only the tip of his cock is dipping into you. “Good.”

His pelvis slams forward, so powerful it procures a little tsunami of waves around your bodies, water sloshing over the edge of the pool and onto the pavement lining it.

It’s downright ruthless, the snaps of his hips hard and fast and so, so rough, your body jostling with each pound of his cock into your cunt. Saw-toothed fingernails sink into your waist, latching onto the supple flesh like anchoring little leeches, keeping your body in place during his merciless assault.

Tears are leaking from your sealed eyes, seeping past the tight seam in fat droplets to clump your lashes into little spikes, water teetering precariously on the points.

Limestone grates against your cheek with his harsh pistons, leaving the delicate skin rubbed raw. Copper stings your nose, your blood smeared across the stone, salty and bitter as it mixes with your tears and flows into your mouth.

“Nii-san!” you wail into the coarse ground, the honorific a garbled mess on your tongue, soaked with spit.

His pace doesn’t slow, though, doesn’t falter at all, instead accelerating in speed, the plunging of his cock turned voracious in it’s endeavour to fuck you. A smudge of your blood glimmers up at him in the late afternoon sun, glazed with sticky snot and tears, and a moan rips up his throat, eyes zeroing in on the stain, fingers pressing bruises into your flesh as he yanks your hips backwards.

“Nii—Nii-san!” the honorific judders in your throat, stammered by his vicious movements. “Nii-san, it hurts!”

“Y’already said that.”

But oh, how he loves it when it hurts.

Because you look so pretty in pain, facial features screwed up in a perpetual wince that only gets tighter the harder he fucks you until finally, it snaps, shatters, melts beneath the pleasure. Everything goes lax then, dopey and dreamy with ecstasy as that sordid bliss bathes your body

Because you sound so gorgeous when you’re in pain, cracked whines and sharp gasps and rib-shattering sobs all slicing up your throat, leaving your voice raw for days afterward—so cute, so precious, so unbelievably obvious; a lasting effect of his sins, something you can’t hide with make-up or sweaters or bandages and one of his favourite sounds in the whole world to hear.

Because your blood looks so artful, smeared across stone tiles or painted in diluted saliva streaked along your skin or pooling in the indents he leaves, the etches of his mouth and the carvings of his nails.

It all has him cumming embarrassingly fast, his cock throbbing almost violently as he stuffs your cunt full of his seed, your name splintering on his tongue. Clumsy fingers hastily snake between your thighs to rub hard, fast circles into your clit, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Come on, come on, c-come on,” he’s nearly whimpering in your ear, his breath scalding as his hips twitch, minuscule movements he couldn’t control even if he wanted to, desperate to fuck you more despite the ripples of overstimulation cascading over his flesh. “Cum for your big brother, cum all over your big brother’s cock.”

It’s more of a plead than it is a demand, panted out in pathetic whines while he ruts into you, pelvis moving in irregular little gyrations, matching the pattern of his fingers.

It’s the begging that does it, that has your stomach tensing and your slick walls convulsing on his cock, an intense gush of heat flooding your thighs; because the idea of him being so desperate for your cream, so needy to feel your cunt pulse around his shaft, is so unbearably hot.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s gasping, hips still fucking, cockhead grinding into your sensitive cervix. “Fuckin’—ah—fuckin’ milk me dry, bitch.”

His cock gives another weak spurt of cum, a reward for all of your hard effort, and a shudder rips through his body, entire form trembling beneath the force of it.

Then he’s collapsing on top of you, drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth to stain your cheek, cock finally beginning to soften.

Sticky with sweat, his chest heaves against your back, his body gone lax draped over yours.

But you’re still shivering with sobs, weeping uncontrollably into the stone as they claw at your chest, your attempts to swallow them down only making you cough more.

The weight on your back lifts, and your crying worsens, your big brother a pleasant, grounding heaviness.

“Okay, okay, c’mere,” he’s saying as he gracelessly collects you in his arms, tugging you to his chest. “Hush, nii-san’s got you, nii-san’s here.”

“Tomu,” you wail, face instinctually burying into his neck as your arms wrap around his shoulders, clutching him tightly.

“I know, I know,” he’s saying as he shifts your weight to one side, his free hand reaching to snatch your bikini bottoms, floating aimlessly a few feet away. “Nii-san’s gonna take care of it, alright? Nii-san is going to make it all better.”

His words soothe your sobs to sniffles, voice void of it’s usual bite, his hands gentle but sloppy as they re-tie your bottoms around your hips.

You’re too fucked out to walk on your own, legs trembly and unsteady, and it’s clear that you have no intention of doing so anyway, not with the way you’re clinging to Tomura like he’s a fucking lifeline, nails piercing the flesh of his shoulder.

Not that Tomura minds.

No, Tomura likes feeling needed, Tomura likes fulfilling needs—that’s what a big brother is for, right?

And, as fate would have it, Tomura runs into the very person who started this whole mess, just as he’s carrying your pliant body into the house.

Really, Tomura supposes he should be thanking him.

But Keigo looks concerned, forehead wrinkling with worry as his eyes scan your limp body, brows pushing together.

“What’s going on? Is she—”

“Heat exhaustion,” Tomura says as an explanation, shrugging a shoulder in practiced nonchalance, a sharp glint in his eyes.

“Shouldn’t she—”

“Don’t worry yourself, Keigo,” Tomura brushes him off airily, already pushing past him. “Her big brother has it covered.”

If Keigo had bothered to look a little closer, he would’ve noticed the haphazard way the strings of your bikini bottoms had been tied, the work of clumsy big brother hands, too large and lanky and uncoordinated.

If Keigo had bothered to look a little harder, he would’ve noticed the strokes of bright crimson smeared across Tomura’s protruding collarbone, a casualty from your steadily oozing cheek, painted over his skin as you nuzzle into him.

If Keigo had bothered to look a little longer, he would’ve noticed Tomura’s half-hard cock, straining against the sticky material of his swim shorts, water dripping off the hems and running down his legs, garment plastered to his thighs.

But Keigo doesn’t bother—or, more accurately, Tomura doesn’t allow him to—so he doesn’t notice any of it.

Keigo does, however, notice the waterlogged copy of Crime and Punishment, sunk and abandoned on the pool floor—but Tomura doesn’t care about that.

All Tomura cares about is getting you cocooned in your fluffy pink comforter.

“M’sleepy, nii-san,” you mumble against him, lips dragging over the knobs of his collarbones in a slur, punctuated by a sniffle.

“I know,” Tomura says softly, readjusting his grip on your body and cradling you closer to his chest. “I know, baby. Nii-san’s gonna put you to bed now.”

He’s awkward with it all, hands too large, too rough, to do it as gracefully as Kurogiri does, but it’s still endearing all the same, moment infused with his distinct charm.

It’s as he’s pulling away after tucking you in that you manage to worm a hand out from beneath the tightly tucked comforter, hooking an elbow around his neck and pulling him back down, begging for him to stay in a small, fragile, desperate voice.

“Stay the night this time, nii-san?”

And Tomura doesn’t have the heart to tell you that it’s only four PM as he nods and climbs into your bed, snug beneath your covers; doesn’t have the heart to tell you that you’ll both be waking up at one in the morning, groggy and starved from sleeping at an odd time and missing dinner, forced to rummage around in the kitchen for some late night snacks.

Nor does he have the heart to tell you that if Daddy finds the two of you like this again there’s going to be some type of retribution, probably in the form of tightening your restraints, taking them from smothering to near strangling—not that Tomura necessarily cares.

Daddy spoils you both rotten, but you’re his precious little princess, his prized little possession, and he’ll do what he must to keep you pure and untarnished, untainted, all without knowing that Tomura’s already had his dirty, grubby hands all over you, inside of you—your cunt and your mouth and your heart—and he’s left streaks of sordid stains on your body, on your soul; disgusting and permanent.

But no matter what Daddy does, it won’t matter. Tomura will find a way to weasel past rules and regulations—he always does.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #shigaraki tomura smut #shigaraki tomura x y/n #tw pseudocest #tw noncon #tw drugs #u guys i started this piece TWO YEARS AGO LMAO #inky.tomura

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