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fanaticsnail · 10 hours

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That Thing I Like

Masterlist Here

Word count: 2,100+

Synopsis: You are ships counselor to the Polar Tang. For the past four days, you had been called into Law’s office over the Den-Den transponder speakers. The crew assumes you two had began a relationship, but what actually occurs is far more intimate than any romantic encounter.

Themes: Law x gn!reader, platonic yearning for more, crying, angst, swearing, hurt with comfort, processing grief, professionalism and duty getting in the way.

Notes: @feral-artistry said she wanted some comforting Law. Man needs a hug. Go comfort your captain, he needs you. I hope you enjoy your gift!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity

Written with two songs in mind: Lora Lai Lo - Patty Gurdy, Baby Mine - Sharon Rooney

Fingertips brushing with the tanned pages of your novel, focussing on the cleverly articulated poetry depicted on the pages. You began blindly reaching in front of you, your index finger meeting with the ceramic edge of your rapidly cooling teacup.

Your eyes continued to mull the same sentence over and over again, the masterful penmanship scorching into your memory as you rose your cup to your lips. Halting, you narrowed your eyes on the final two words of the sentence: “My boy.” You spoke aloud those words in a hushed whisper, brow knit and focussed.

Finally raising the teacup to your lips, you choked on the fluid within. Where you expected to taste the bitter tang and subtle sweetness of liquorice tea, your palate was assaulted immediately by the overwhelming flavor of seawater.

“Damn it, Shachi!” you immediately yelled, placing down the cup loudly on your saucer. A loud gaggle of laughter had your eyes burning with a violent rage over the spine of your novel. The redhead smirked at you, his brother in arms, Penguin, clutching his own chest alongside grasping Shachi’s bicep.

“I couldn't not!” he confessed between cackles, “It was right there!” You shook your head at him, rising to your feet and readied yourself to berate your fellow Heart-Pirate crewman, only for the drone of your Captain to spark over the Den-Den speakers.

“Ships’ Counselor, to my office,” your anger immediately cooled, huffing away your exasperation with a puff of breath.

“Saved by the captain, as per usual, Orka,” you snarled at him. His smirk only widened as you shook off the flavor of seasoned water with a shrug of your shoulders and a rotation of your neck.

“Ooooh, Counselor to the Captain’s office,” Penguin taunted you with a higher pitch to his regular drone, “How many times does that make this week, hm Shach?”

“That makes the fourth day in a row, Pen,” Shachi taunted back. You placed your marker within the pages of your novel and tucked it within your satchel. Shaking your head at the both of them, you eyed them off cautiously.

“Four days of not so secret, secret meetings,” Penguin continued in his teasing tone, “What do you get up to in there? Want to share with your two bestest friends?”

“After that little stunt?” you quipped at him, gesturing to the ceramic teacup, “Absolutely not."

“It was just a little switch-e-roo,” Shachi chuckled, “A little switch up to make things interesting.”

“I will get you back for that little switch up, boys,” you threaten them with narrowed eyes and a wide smirk, “When you least expect it, I'll enact my revenge.” The seriousness in your tone had both men on edge beneath your icy tone.

“Jokes on you,” Penguin snarled your name in a hushed whisper, “I'm always on edge.”

“A terrible coping strategy, Pen,” you remark with a soft chuckle, “When you're ready to work through that, make an appointment with me, okay?” He hummed a soft acknowledgement at your comment, both men watching as you turned to make your way through the Polar Tang.

As you left the common area and wove your body down the hall, Shachi turned to Penguin and bumped his shoulder against his.

“You reckon Cap and Sel are a little friendly?” he asked his dark-haired crewmate.

“More than that, I think,” Penguin smirked in return, scrunching his nose up, “Why else would he call ‘em into the office so much?”

Both men looked at one another with a small shrug before returning to their own recreational activities in the mess hall, leaving thoughts of romantic dalliance between you and Law alone while their hobbies occupy them.

As soon as you knock, your practiced routine for the last few days has your momentum carrying you to the desk Law remained sat behind.

“Counselor,” Law addressed you with a soft nod.

“Captain,” you mirrored his expression with a nod of your own. Your soft, melancholy smile rose up to your lips.

“I need you to do that thing I like,” he confessed with an even tone. You shook your head, your brows furrowed to a low frown.

“Captain,” you begin, shaking your head, “This is the fourth day in a row that you've-.”

“-I need it,” he spoke over you, a small growl in his tone, “I need you to do it again.” You sighed in response, weaving your way over to his position behind the desk.

He swivelled his chair, his knees parted and hands gripping the denim over his thighs. His teeth clenched behind his tightly clamped lips, his brow deepening in a frown of his own.

“Are you certain?” you asked him, reaching out and smoothing your hands over his shoulders before cupping his chin beneath your fingertips.

“I know it's a request not common in your training,” he confessed, his inked fingertips tentatively and soothingly brushing over your own, “And it's well out of your job description and comfort zone. But I need you to do this for me.”

You smile softly at him, his eyelids falling into a cresent shape with his small smile. His hat lay askew on his desk, his documents all neatly compiled in a catalogued heap beside him.

“Alright, Captain,” you smiled at your captain, turning your hands and capturing his within your digits, “Let's go do that thing you like.”

You led Law by the hands, tugging at his wrists and slowly moved yourself to a seated position over the suade sofa in his office, patting the empty space beside you to indicate for Law to sit.

Immediately, he fell in a heaped mess beside you. His head hit your thighs, his face hidden against your stomach as your hands gently began caressing his hair. He lay himself down, tucking his lanky legs against his chest as you began the routine you had been practicing for the past four days.

“My boy, dry your eyes,” you sung melodically to him, your voice not professional by any means, but well enough to carry the simple melody. He immediately became transported back into a memory.

“Tomorrow will soar, as the dove flies,” you massaged his scalp, hands soothing over the unruly strands. He tucked his head further against your stomach, using your body as a shield to muffle any uncharacteristic whimpers from falling from his lips.

“You are loved from your head to your toes,” you continued, your own emotions almost betraying you as you felt his shoulders shuddering, “May my words spread light over woes.”

“For you are my best boy,” you repeated your lilted chorus, “My only boy.”

As your words hung thick in the air, you attempted to ignore the dampened streaks of fresh, hot tears soaking through your shirt. You knew Law needed to linger in this space, process this state of grief and use you as a lightning rod to draw in his thundering strike of raw emotion.

For the past four days, he needed a space to linger in his grief. When you noticed him making simple mistakes navigating the Polar Tang through still waters, you immediately set an appointment up with him to talk through it. It took you the first month to get him to open up, the following two to reassure him that nothing ever said here would leave.

It only took two months after that one to have him process his childhood with you there as an ear, a council and a guide to usher him through. You had become friends through this, sometimes using the opportunity to discuss hobbies and jokes. But lately, he would use your time together to remember all those lost to him.

For the past four days, that focus was on his mother.

After clutching against you within this state of vulnerability for several, you chose not to make a sound. Disguising your breath by taking lengthy inhales and exhales, your heart soared, and relief washed over you when you felt your captain match your intentional breaths.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your naval, withdrawing his face from your body and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You've done well,” you acknowledged him, withdrawing your hands from his hair as he moved to sit upright, “Less time than the last few sessions we've done this together.”

He hummed, his heart feeling lighter and less overcome beneath the strangling waves of oppressed sorrow. His eyes were red and glossy, the streaks of tears now drying on his cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about it this time, or do you want to leave it?” you offered him, feeling his bare grief still lingering, “We've spoken so much about Dressrosa, Corazon and Doflamingo. Do you want to tell me why this melody means so much to you?”

He sighed, his tattooed fingers drawing over his eyes as he scraped them over his cheeks and down to his whiskered chin.

“My mother sang that song to me every night,” he confessed in a voice just above a whisper, “She would change the lyrics for my sister when it was her turn. I would often catch her humming it when she thought nobody was around.”

You nodded along, ushering him to continue with your eyes supporting his release of pent up emotion.

“I was a child when my whole country perished with the poisoning, or the extermination,” he continued, a wave in his voice causing him to gulp back a dry lump forming, “I don't think I had the opportunity to process this before, and now that her birthday is coming up-...”

“...You miss them,” your hands subconsciously sought out his knee, giving the cap a gentle squeeze in acknowledging his emotions, “And there is nothing wrong with experiencing the gravity of such a loss well after experiencing it. You've been through so much, Captain.”

His hand reached down to cup yours over his knee, his head shaking a soft denial to your words.

“You likely think me weak,” he confessed with a dark smile, “You have the ability to dismiss me from duty and take command, should you no longer see me fit to lead.”

“For experiencing human emotions?” you quirk your brow up, a soft smile elevating to your lips, “Hardly a valid reason for mutiny, sir.”

He chuckled at your answer, his rare smile once again drawing over his face. The moment of the memory had left him once more, his mind now fully present beside you. Your smile was one he had seen a thousand times before, but this particular one penetrated his cold heart and swelled it with an engulfing warmth.

“I appreciate you so much, Counselor,” he admitted, his body moving against its will in a hypnotic trance as his forehead met with your own, “I will be forever grateful that Bepo convinced me that our crew needed one.”

“For what it's worth,” you whisper, closing your eyes and lingering against him, “I think you are an excellent captain,” you used your thumb to brush against his knuckles, “Your parents, your sister, your country, and Rosinante would be proud of the man you've become.”

Lingering against each other, Law fought back the urge flooding his chest to release more of his stress physically. He wanted to lunge forward and press himself against you, cry into you and show his appreciation with embracing you.

But he remembered who he was, where he was, who you were, and who you were to him. You were an equal, a colleague, a friend, and someone who acts as both therapist and deepest confidant to him as your superior.

He could never betray that to seek out a physical dalliance, no matter how much his body screamed at him to clutch against you.

You were plagued with a similar plight, desperately wanting to join your lips with Law’s and demonstrate how safe, secure, and loved he is with you. To become a person far greater than a mere colleague to him.

These past few months had drawn you both close - but these past few days had propelled you even closer. You could never betray your station and your standing as his confidante and counselor.

As the night lingered on, you both opted to remain like this for several moments: enjoying the soft, emotional touch and the world you had carved out behind the safety of the office door. Both yearning and craving the touch to deepen between you, like a swelling rush of water behind a rapidly caving dam wall.

You just needed one more, simple push before that wall would shatter for you to give into this craving. But stubourness, duty and your minds often stood in the way of you both giving in to he desires your heart screamed for.

#one piece #x reader #trafalgar law #Trafalgar Law x reader #op law #law x reader #law x you #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #op law x reader

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oreolemur · 1 day

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Regret- Sukuna Fanfic

Sitting in the front of the classroom, Yuji Itadori never went a day in his High School life without falling victim to your torture. He never said a word to you, nor anyone in fact. He stuck to himself, avoiding any type of conflict that happened. You didn’t have a good reason to bully him, but his coward-like aura attracted you. Everyday, he put up with your assaults. He was good at keeping his emotions stable. He was sweet, but it was all an act. There was something inside of him that wanted you to pay, to hurt, and to suffer. It was a never ending bickering between Itadori and his curse. No one knew about Sukuna, and he wanted to keep it that way. No matter how many times you hurt him, Yuji wanted to protect you, but lately, his tolerance began to fade. He wasn’t capable of hurting anyone, let alone a girl. Your bullying tactics became too much for him, causing him to cough up blood, and even pass out occasionally.

Angered, he planned to get his revenge. Nothing too harmful, but just enough to convince you to leave him alone. Yuji followed you into the locker room after your soccer practice. His curse, Sukuna, supported his idea. “About time you have some fun. Show that bitch who’s boss”.

He watched and waited until you were vulnerable enough to attack. He carried a knife with him, in case things didn’t go well. “Hopefully, I won’t have to use this”, he glared at it in his hand. Days prior to this, he was so sure that he was ready. Ready to hurt you, to mess with you as you did him. Yuji felt as if he reached his limit. He saw you undress, knowing you were alone and that you were at his mercy. However, he was beginning to chicken out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? She has her back turned. Go in, now”, Sukuna said. Walking away, you headed towards the shower room. “Stop being a pussy and go!”. The boy’s heart pounded, making him turn around to run away. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it”, he cried. Before he stepped foot out the exit, Sukuna took the opportunity to switch. “If you won’t do it, I will”. He tightened his grip around the knife, grinning at the thought of him hurting you.

Turning off the water, you reached over to grab your towel. “You won’t be needing that”, a voice said. Looking over your shoulder, you saw who you thought was Yuji. “What the fuck? Get out!”, you shouted. Sukuna stood behind the shower’s divider, “Why? Can’t a guy enjoy some nudity”. You were caught off guard by the deepness of his tone. The black markings on his face and arms also caught your attention. “What happened to your face? And why are you here? Is this some lame attempt to make me afraid of you?”, you scoffed.

Wrapping up, you grabbed your things, proceeding to walk out. “Next time think of a better plan”, you stared at him as you went by. Before making it pass, Sukuna took hold of your arm, “That mouth of yours, fix it, or I’ll fix it for you”. The two of you side-eyed each other. You dropped your toiletry bag, swinging your arm to hit his face,“Who the fuck-”. Using his speed, Sukuna stopped you. “I’m warning you right now, act stupid and I will break you”. Irritated, you ignored his words, lifting your leg to kick him.

“Women”, he sucked his teeth, grabbing your leg, making you fall. Your back hit the floor hard, gasping as you attempt to sit up. Sukuna pushed you back down with his foot, placing it on your neck. He watched you struggle, adding pressure to your throat. “Apologize”, he demanded. Clawing at his calf, you refused. “Eat shit, bitch”. He raised an eyebrow, enjoying how much you were begging for him to hurt you more. “Get off me now, or I’ll make you regret it”, you threatened. Sukuna smiled, moving his foot. He stood back, allowing you to get up.

“Apologize”, he repeated. Flicking him off, he angrily punched you in the stomach. “See, usually I would’ve cut your finger off, but I’m feeling a little nice today”. He kicked you over and over again. The white floor tiles began to stain with your blood. Sukuna stopped for a brief moment, observing your nude figure. “Change of plans, Yuji”, he thought.

Unbuckling his belt, he bent down, taking a fist full of your hair. Your mouth was bloody, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. “Since you want to open your mouth so much, why not put it to good use”. He slid his boxers down, letting his cock spring up. Surprised, you tried to pull away. “Stop fighting. As a woman it’s your job to please me”. He pushed your head down towards his shaft, but you kept your mouth shut. “The one time I want you to open up and you keep it closed”, he pinched your nose. Fighting back, you tried your hardest not to give in. “Stop being so stubborn”, he gritted.

Your body began to jerk, forcing you to open your mouth. Before you could take a breath, Sukuna shoved himself inside. “Think of it as a lollipop. Only this time, you have to suck the whole thing”. His thrusts were hard, making your nose hit his pelvis. “It’s not fun being a victim is it?”, the curse laughed. He felt you gagging on his cock, pleasuring him even more. He fucked your throat more instensely, working to get his orgasm. “As a thank you, I’ll give you a little gift”. He held your head in place, releasing his cum. “Swallow every last drop”. You struggled to keep the warm liquid in. Your cheeks swell as you try to hold it. Letting go, Sukuna pulled out, fixing his pants. You took the chance to spit out his cum, attempting to escape.

“What a waste”, he sighed, throwing Yuji’s knife at your back. “Fuck!”, you yelled. Desperately reaching to get the weapon, Sukuna grabbed your arms, pulling them behind you. He stomped on your back, resting his foot on you. Pissing him off, he yanked both of your limbs, dislocating them. Your painful cries filled the room. He bent down to get the knife, throwing it aside. “All you had to do was swallow. You’re more hard headed than I thought”. He dropped your arms, grabbing your waist to flip you over.

Looking into your eyes, Sukuna became aroused by your tearful face. He wanted to hurt you more, to hear you scream, and make you beg. He right hooked your face, laughing at the blood you spat out. He continued, watching your eyes slowly close. Sukuna stopped, “I’m not done with you”. Using his healing ability, he reversed some of the damage, only to give you more suffering.

Once you were awake and able to move, it was too late for you to run. Sukuna used Yuji’s belt as a restraint around your wrist. Your back was arched and your knees sore. “Doggy style suits a bitch like you”, the King of curses sent a hard slap to your damp ass. He slid two of his fingers in you, thrusting it gently for good measure. You heard him chuckle, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance. With one push, he penetrated your walls, enjoying how tight you were. He used your waist for support, fucking you roughly. Your pussy couldn’t adjust to his size, “P-please”, you uttered. Sukuna ignored you. “Y-Yuji. I-I’m sorry”. You wailed against the cold floor, feeling weak. The harder Sukuna went, the more your cervix began to break.

You begged and apologized repeatedly, catching the curse’s attention. Stopping, he turned you over on your back. “Repeat that”, he demanded. He spread your legs, putting them both over his shoulders. “I’m sorry”, you cried. He grinned at your pathetic apology, “You're sorry?”. You shook your head,”Y-yes”. He leaned into you, making himself go deeper. You whimpered, placing your hands on his chest.

“For what exactly?”, he grunted. You felt his breath hit the side of your neck. “B-bullying you”. Sukuna still wasn’t satisfied,”Tell me more”. He took hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him. “What did you do? Why are you apologizing?”. Staring deep into each other’s eyes, you finally noticed that it wasn’t Yuji you were talking to. “I-I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for calling you names and beating you. I’m-”. Sukuna’s slow hard thrust, cut you off. “Don’t stop”, he ordered. “I’m sorry for making you bleed and pass out. I promise I’ll leave you alone”. Believing you, he climaxed, allowing every drop of him to spill inside of your womb.

He undid the restraints, walking away to dress himself. He left you on the floor, sore and in pain. “Did you have to be that rough with her?”, Yuji asked. Sukuna looked back at you and smirked. “At least she won’t mess with you again”.

#jjk smut #jjk sukuna #jujustsu kaisen smut #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna smut #yuji itadori #tw noncon

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mxtxfanatic · 10 days

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Interesting commentary about how most people will identify with victims/victimhood while feeling discomfort when others identify with perpetrators, especially given the fact we live in societies (at least the one I’m in and the one that book was written in) that habitually materially revile victims on every level while championing and supporting perpetrators of certain violence.

#human reads time limited hunt #this convo comes up cause jiang lian is explaining to shi shanyan #how he wishes yan junxun would get at least one case wrong #because his ability to empathize with serial killers to this degree #unsettles ‘normal folks’#but at the same time #is anyone *really* indentifying with the victims?#because the only reason why the crimes in this book happened #are because neither people nor institutions helped ANY actual victims #in fact they were using actual victims’ stories for prestige and ego boosts #even the victim-turned-serial-killer is using revenge killing *other* people’s assaulters #to make herself feel better #and because of that she ends up fucking up #and murdering an innocent man!#anyways reminds me of that study on kids #that said that showing bullying in kids shows #actually doesn’t prevent bullying #because bullies identify with the victims in shows #while adopting the fictional bullies’ tactics irl #so no lessons were learned #because nobody identified themselves as having the capacity to harm #or at least to harm the ‘undeserving’#weaponization of victimhood and the aesthetics of innocence and docileness #or something like that #time limited hunt

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see-arcane · 7 months

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Kiss Him No More

“Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear.”

In which the connection between a sea-bound vampire, his new wine-press, and her husband is put to intriguing use.

Ao3 link here

He was on the water when it happened.

His hold on the woman was already in place, but hardly of use in that hellish period between Piccadilly and the ship. Too much to think of while preparing his final box, hardly a word worth eavesdropping on, and a general miasma of dull irritation blotting out his attention in-between. The only respite came when he allowed himself a dip into the day’s torpor to keep himself from turning ragged enough to lash out at the chattel. One of his sweeter dreams involved a future at the far end of this improvised game of limp-and-lure in which he made his return to fair England and treated himself to twisting off a few heads he’d so graciously allowed to stay on their owners’ shoulders despite their rudeness.

The charming fellow at the port for one. Perhaps the man tending the wolves for another. The latter was, if nothing else, a proper admirer of his beloved creatures. He might die quicker. Then the wolves could head to his seaside friend’s abode and eat the man down to the bone. Starting with his tongue. It was one cozy thought of many he nursed as he tried to smooth down his own hackles over this most insulting snag to an otherwise pristine entry to the country. Yes, he would return. Yes, he would untangle the snarls made of his precious tapestry. He knew, he knew.

Still, mortification burned in his chest like a coal.

Years of planning smashed like glass by idiot children. It enraged and embarrassed in the same blow. Would he have been so blindsided a century ago? Two? Three? He would swear he felt the ghosts of every foe jeering at him from the grave.

How low he has fallen! How lax he is! He would not notice the laurels he squats on have been swapped for wild rose until there was a holy rash on his backside!

Such would surely be his reception once he made it back to the castle. Oh, but his harpy loves would laugh until their crystal cackling turned hoarse. They would all have their penance to pay once he got home.

It was their fault, damn them. He had grown idle? He had let his guard down? He, who had spent an ordinary man’s lifetime arranging everything to exactness for England’s sake, was the lazy one when the most they could be bothered with was grudgingly consenting to learn the tongue? No. No, no, no. If anyone was to receive a lion’s share, pardon, a lioness’ share of guilt for this mess, it had to be the three pampered cats who had whined and paced and kicked up such a maddening fuss about having to be patient for two whole months to get their promised toy, only to let him vanish right out from under their claws.

No doubt they would have some excuse. They would huff and sniff and laugh. We searched so diligently for a whole half a night! Honest! He was just too fast for us!

He would hear it all patiently just prior to wringing them out like yowling dishrags.

“He was fast,” he murmured to himself in the box. The torpor was thinning now as sunset passed over the ship. Still a corpse, but one who might move. Just as he had once upon a time, turning his head for a parting smile at his good young friend with the spade in hand, complete with a little tickle of paralysis through the eyes. A gesture that had earned him his own farewell in the form of the scar still resting on his brow. A heavy strike for one with such depleted veins. It had been easy to laugh off then; blood for blood. His new playmates would surely have cheered the boy had they caught him.

Instead, Jonathan Harker had fled the castle and cut through the Carpathians like a knife to make it back to his England. To his woman. To a blade that would have seemed absurd to picture in his hand only a season ago, but had proven to fit him like another limb. Fast. So fast. So…

The memory flashed in him again, raw as the burn on the woman’s head.

The stalwart shepherd dogs’ hands weighty with the Cross. Jonathan’s strangling the kukri knife. How a single night had changed him! The dark locks gone silver-white, the eyes bright as melting coins. He had flown with his steel, a rush of speed and strength that would have unsewn a mortal man into a bleeding pile with one strike. Indeed, he had almost been that fool. Surprise and, yes, fine, he admitted it, laxness had him standing still and stupid as a doe not recognizing a hunter’s rifle. But he had moved at the last, losing a great cascade of wealth from his purse. Better that than his entrails.

Even when he was out the window and shouting his bile up at their whole lot, there had been no pause for the blazing Thing that was now Jonathan Harker. That Thing having taken advantage of the diatribe to slither out the broken pane and creep down the house’s side, a spider coming to share a helping of venom from its eager fang. Realization had struck in a cold and nearly dizzying blow as he watched the descent.

Where the solicitor’s fellows might mean to corral or corner, Jonathan Harker fully intended to kill him in broad daylight. Witnesses or no. This, when he could have no clue as to how his corpse would disintegrate to its rightful state. Jonathan could only think that he would look like a madman slaughtering a nobleman in a crowded street. And he did not care.

All this just for the woman.

The epiphany had struck like a strange boiling poison in his bowels. It did not cool even as he shot away, locked the gate at his back, and vanished into the crowd. Nor did it settle with the night, with the day after, or any of the hours to follow. The feeling was only ignored as he worked toward shipping himself back to his territory, dangling himself and the woman’s fate just enough so that she and the clever little cogs in her brain could turn and come to the obvious conclusion as if the daft old Count could surely never have thought to have his connection turned against him! He would leave the door open for her a good while before shutting her out. Let them scramble about on the Continent awhile until they thought they had a chance in the chase again. Follow the lame wolf, everyone, never mind his teeth.

He thought of Jonathan Harker’s teeth. Blunt and white and bared in a livid rictus of hate, hunt-maddened as those finest breeds born to cull the pests of farmers and rend the throats of bears. He tried to picture them as they should have been by now. Sharp as darning needles, the lips bloodstained, curled up by choice or command at the sight of him. A grin that should be waiting in the castle for him.

There was the boiling poison again. Its heat thawed the cold of him so wretchedly it might have liquefied him from the bones out. A poison that seared hotter with every thought of Jonathan Harker.

Jonathan Harker, who escaped.

Jonathan Harker, who hid away a full account of that summer stay and all the information worth gleaning out of his cordial host.

Jonathan Harker, who gave the vermin his name. His properties. The architecture of his entire endeavor, served on a silver plate, parsed out for swift consumption and destruction by the woman.

Jonathan Harker, whose company had, with bitterest irony, turned out to be the most pleasurable stretch of time he could recall out of the past six months. The Demeter had ended sloppily with the captain’s obstinate trick of the rosary, the ghost ship forced to crash. His first conquest on English soil, his supple Lucy, had annoyed almost more than it satisfied with those damned pet lovers circling her, all ended with she and her tomb now lost. Even the woman, his canny wine-press, had turned sour on his tongue.

He had at least seeded the expected despair. A crash of woe and a blow struck as first payment for the fools’ intrusion on his affairs. Plus a fine incentive to bring things to the necessary head in Transylvania. The bitch and her fellow dogs were duly kicked, now spurred to hunt him even as it enticed them back to his land of power. A game of keep-away put to the extreme. Come get me or I get her!

Supposing they did not put her down outright as they had his poor Lucy. But they would hold off, he knew, soft things that they were.

Even if they were otherwise, she still has him to make them reconsider. Or else deliver them into their own pits in the earth before they can think to scratch her with a stake.

He betrayed himself by grinning.

A man willing to skin a gentleman in the street for defiling his woman was also the same man to slaughter a friend who dared to raise a killing hand to her. Another happy hypothetical to mull over, though it too boiled. His grin faltered back to a sneer in the earthen dark.

Jonathan Harker, Jonathan Harker. What wouldn’t he do for his woman? More pressingly, what wouldn’t he do for his Master once she was reduced to his cudgel and collar? The notion brought a different warmth to him. A juvenile one that might have made him chuckle in better circumstances. Here he was again, an old man made abruptly young as Mr. Harker started strumming old desires awake.

But thoughts of those summer nights chafed as much as soothed now. All the delight was tainted with the haranguing of his future self: Now! Do it now! Don’t dally, don’t savor! Drink him as you take him! Let the women have their taste if you must, but finish it before he can slip into the wind!

All too late.

It was all he could do not to ram his fist against the dense wood of the lid. He was free to move now and it took true effort. Sunset had been and gone, the woman’s prying gone with it. She heard water. She felt his stillness. Through her eyes he could see them all: the shepherd dogs.

The old man he pictured with his skull bashed open, his scholarly acumen spilled like gruel upon a brick wall. The doctor he could see drunk dry and sent toddling back to the asylum, feasting through his patients like a plague. The little lordling would be ordered to wring the necks of all his dogs prior to opening a few dozen polished doors to his good friend Count De Ville. The American he would shoot full of holes before and after his turning, followed by sending him off to make arrangements on that further colonial shore.

And Jonathan Harker?

His dearest and most daring friend?

He would have a positive wonderland of activities to endure. His vocabulary would be whittled down to precisely three words in the years to come.

Mina! Master! Mercy!

The ship lurched to one side and shouldered him against the left of the box. He chewed on a curse and sent up a demand to the sky to settle its breeze down. Then, scenting that there were no crewmen among the cargo, he let himself leak out. Man to mist, mist to man. He stalked where there was space to stalk and climbed where there wasn’t, simply needing to move. This came with the needling memory of the zoo and its wildcats sulking and skulking behind their bars. Another curse was caught in his teeth. A third, a fourth. He almost struck out at a random crate when something struck him first:

A sudden flare of sensation from the woman.

Curiosity made him reach out before he’d even registered what the sensory shock came from. Surprise slapped into him when he found himself wearing the woman’s face as Jonathan’s fastened on it, lips sealed into each other as tears rolled. A familiar sight, a familiar taste. Nor was it so from borrowing her senses on previous occasions. He had known this and so much more of the young man back when his hair was dark as a chestnut.

The shock came from the feeling of a deft hand grazing the woman’s thigh. Fingertips skimmed inquisitively along the skin where the femoral artery pulsed and blood rushed in expectation toward—

“Jonathan.” Her head shook. “We can’t. We shouldn’t…shouldn’t…” The hand came away from her thigh and joined its brother in cupping her face. Jonathan’s gaze rested solely on her eyes, refusing the Wafer’s scar so much as a glance. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“How much of anything in this past week has been right for us? For you?” Here the choking throat bobbed. Brown eyes gone wet as glass. “I just—I want to do something for you. To give you all that can be given as we are.”

“As I am. You are not the one marked, unclean—,”

“No. You do not call yourself that. Please, never insult the woman I love with such a word again. Marked, yes, but never, ever unclean. Nor unworthy. Nor anything less than sublime.”

“That isn’t true, Jonathan.”

“Wilhelmina, it is. Whether you believe it or not.” Jonathan bowed forward until, gentle as a feather, his brow rested against the burn. “If you cannot, I shall simply know it twice as hard for us both.”

“Such is sweet to hear. But there’s more to consider. You know it.”

“So there is. And I care more for you than any other consideration or hypothetical element. You are here and real and whatever else may come into it is inconsequential as vapor. If you tell me you truly do not wish me to touch you, to give you what comforts I can beyond a held hand and our shared bed, then I will drop the matter. We shall be chaste until,” again the leap of the throat, “all is settled. But before we swear to abstinence, I want you to tell me, from your heart, that you wish it because you deem it a true desire and not merely another act of deprivation for—for its own sake.”

In the dark, a tongue clicked and tutted. A close call, Mr. Harker. Can’t let it slip whose eyes you pretend not to see on the other side of hers.

“Would you wish to engage in such intimacies were you in my position?” was Madam Wine-Press’ counter. “I have read it all. Everything you bore—,”

Here an outright cackle was stifled in a dirt-powdered sleeve.

Ha.

‘All.’ As if he had not thumbed through the diary entries himself before tossing the papers on the fire. Such wide gaps between so many dates, dear Jonathan. Whatever for?

“—everything you were prepared to risk rather than stay eternally in the presence of those Weird Sisters. How can I, being what I am, becoming worse, make you pantomime your way through any such act with something that may soon cease to be your wife?”

Ah, the melodrama of the martyr. A fine save, wine-press. No other cause to pause in the coital fumbling. None at all.

In answer, Jonathan pulled away an inch, still staring straight ahead. Love softened most of the look, but an edge of whetted steel hovered in it too. Seeing her and seeing past her. It was almost like watching a magic trick as the expressions of the gallant lover, the loyal knight, and the hunting dog all overlapped together with a radiation of purpose in every angle. All the while, the hand that had risen from her thigh began to descend.

It did not fall immediately, but walked. A steady trek down the cheek to the lips. From lip to throat, swiping past the tell-tale bite. Smoothing around the hill of the breast and its pointed cap. Along the bend of the waist, across the shelf of the hip. Home again on a thigh that was still hot under the nimble fingers. Perhaps warmer.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to stop. But only if it’s for your sake. Not mine. Not God’s. Not any hesitation born of what some intangible other might think.” The hand began to roam again. “I love you, Mina. Always.” The fingers crept. Slipped. Traced. “There is no force, no change, no decree on Earth or beyond it that will make me feel otherwise.” The entire hand was at work. Tirelessly. “If my words are not enough to prove it, if action is not enough, if my own nightmare left on paper has skewed the matter, I ask that you let me verify it in the flesh. If you will let me.”

Faster. Faster. Faster. A speeding cradle of muscle and bone rocking up, up, up, in, in, in—

“Will you let me?”

The answer was a single breathless vowel chased by a burst of damp heat, hands locked tight on Jonathan’s shoulders.

Out on the sea, in the dark, a second body shuddered and locked his teeth against a gasp. Later he would try to mock himself for the reaction. He wasn’t a stranger to the ‘Weird Sisters,’ as his Harkers called them, and their own play. They would all borrow each other’s climaxes given the opportunity. And yet this one had struck deeper.

In the present he tried to shake off the tremors still thrumming up and down his legs. Instead, he locked himself more fully into the woman’s senses. The heat of her, the breath, the tingling across her lap. Then, whispered back, woven with equal resignation, determination, and want:

“Will you let me?”

“Yes.”

And so the woman’s hand—his hand—made its own route along Jonathan. She was as deft as her husband. Though he flattered himself that his own experienced digits had worked the young man far more expertly. It had been necessary to wring it out of him in his less than enthused condition. Regardless, it was a pleasant return to better memories and a charming prelude to their trio’s unique and sprawling future together.

There was a satisfaction in seeing the young man come undone as the body usurped the mind, pleasure blasting out all the sentiment of love for one heady moment. Yet it returned within a blink. As did his lips upon hers. A sweeter heat flooded the woman this time. No tears, only the taste of each other, the feel of hands held or hands grasping, the heart twisting with such mingled agony and rapture that it might have popped.

Her teeth grazed Jonathan’s lip.

Sharp.

Do it, he found himself suddenly thinking at her. Urgent. A bootheel pressed to a phantom throat. Do it. Do it now. He wants it. We both know it. We know he will not live without you. If you are undead, he shall be too. If you are ended, he will fall on his blade. Save time. Save him. Keep him. Just a taste. Go on.

She pulled away. Doing so, she saw that delicious, that delirious, that most divine truth in her husband’s face.

Yes. He would let her. Be it now or tomorrow or at the far end of her change. He would let her.

And if not you? Do you think he would deny my offer a second time if it meant joining you? Or should it come from your Sisters? They were so looking forward to a new pet of their own. Do it now and he can be ours alone. Do it and save everyone the pain of waiting. To stall the inevitable only makes the hurt worse. I know from experience. Take him. Now.

Her voice tried to crawl up her throat. He collared it.

Now, Wine-Press!

Silent, she looked at Jonathan. Jonathan read what couldn’t be heard. The next kiss went to her knuckles. Her palm. Then he laid the latter flat against his heart as it beat steadily on.

“It’s yours. Always.”

Yes, my friend. I know.

And that was the sum of it for that evening. Damn them.

Night came, night went. He slipped back into his box as the sun crept up. They would want another trance, perhaps, and it was best he be an idle carcass when the time came. As he settled in, he treated himself to a parting glimpse through the woman’s eyes. Here was Jonathan again, standing before the mirror and seeing to the mechanics of shearing his stubble away. The woman caught herself staring at his throat a moment too long and snapped her gaze back up to the concentrating face in the glass. Perhaps wondering when she would lose her own reflection. Just as well. There would be more noteworthy views to come.

He pondered them as hard as he could, illustrating them in his mindscape for express delivery to her dreaming mind once sleep took her. It wouldn’t do to have all her rest come so peacefully. Not when there was so much excitement to come.

As a start, he would show her how he had taken Jonathan for the first time. Followed by all the ways he had taken him after. On back or belly, folded over or splayed wide, gasping or pleading. Always quick to please his Master, but always so teasingly shy about letting himself be pleased. Always thinking of a future that should not have existed: the one where he lived and left as a human being, crawling home to the daydream of his waiting lady.

This would be followed by merrily running him through that gauntlet again, albeit with Madam Wine-Press held at bay as neatly as any of his beasts. Jonathan would be no less obedient as the caveat would be that any disobedience would result in his wife tragically coming in contact with one of the Dutchman’s convenient Crosses. Ideally slotted as deeply in her as Jonathan’s Master was in him.

He could have her do it. If he was doubted, he would gladly demonstrate. For solidarity’s sake, perhaps he would also blunt and oil up one of the hunting party’s stakes. It would be interesting to see how far Jonathan might take it in as she watched.

So it would go for the opening act. Next, the dining hall. Her Sisters would be long since parched and deserving of some gesture of reconciliation after their own punishment. Madam Wine-Press could observe as Jonathan was shucked bare as a roast, drained at the neck and the loins until he was all but dry. Ah, still no taste for her yet! Come, to the marriage bed.

Not hers, of course.

Theirs.

The climax of Lenore and Wilhelm, consummated in the crypt where he had left the ebon coffin waiting in its proper place. There Jonathan would be laid, half-alive, feeble as a kitten. His Master would climb over the waiting bridegroom and order the woman to shut the lid for them. And she would.

All this and more danced just out of reach, a brilliant horizon far more precious than any mere silver lining. The visions were enough to scour away the last of the clouds in his mind. This detour would have a happy ending after all.

A pain reached him.

Small, but there. Incessant.

The woman was making two fists. Her nails cut hard into her palms as if she meant to gift herself stigmata. She was standing before the mirror as she did so. Jonathan had gone to the wardrobe and could be seen over her shoulder. Half-dressed, the landscape of his back and the lines of his throat stood out in mesmerizing relief. The woman regarded this, then herself. For the first time since it was bestowed on her, she did not spare a look for the burn. Just the eyes.

Not her own.

Pretense of ignorance or no, she saw her Master as much as he could ever be witnessed in a looking glass. Her voice came in a low crisp note, almost crystalline. A whisper glazed in poison:

“This man belongs to me.”

He smiled back at her and hoped she felt it. At the same time, a delightful thought occurred to him. He allowed his hands to travel. Under his shirt, below his belt, circle, tweak, tickle, stroke, pump. He imagined still being busy with this bit of maneuvering when it came time for the woman to have her sunrise trance. Would she speak honestly about her borrowed experience under the hypnosis? Better yet, would her own hands be forced to travel along the corresponding routes before her gawking audience? Could he manage opening the buttons of a blouse and the flipping of a skirt? Oh, to see dear Jonathan’s face during it all! To see it after she came awake!

It would be good for a laugh…but it would give him away too soon. He was to be no more than an ignorant drowsing lump in his dirt, after all. So he settled for finishing himself off as she stood before the mirror, glowering away as if it mattered. Jonathan came up to her a moment later. Hands were held and eyes were met with stinging tenderness.

In the dirt and the dark there was a last sigh before he settled himself into stillness like a good corpse.

Yes, Wine-Press, he belongs to you for the moment. Until he is returned to his rightful owner, be sure to kiss him for us both.

And she did.

#it's been ages since I did anything with a splash of smut in it #but then I started thinking about how Dracula might abuse his end of the psychic link with Mina #especially if/when the Harkers were trying to have some private time #first he takes her husband then her girlfriend then her blood #now the thieving bastard is even piggybacking off her senses while Jonathan [REDACTED]#content warning for some depictions of a coital nature #and references to past and implied future assault #give or take a few grislier revenge fantasies from the Count #anyway #jonathan harker #mina harker #dracula #my writing #re: dracula #dracula daily

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highpri3stess · 1 year

Text

You're No Fun - H. Rindou x afab Reader

pairing: fwb!rindou haitani x afab reader

summary: it's no fun to mess with you when you finally give in to his idea of fun

warning: written in rindou's pov, nsfw, DARK CONTENT, angst with no comfort, afab reader (no pronuons used) toxic fwb relationship, public sex, dubcon themes, consensual sex, implied sexual assault

word count: 1.4k words

monica's notes: been in my drafts since september, so since i'm in my flop era, i'm fine posting this experimental piece. reblog and comment if you like this ♡

rated 18+ minors and ageless/blank blogs dni

masterlist//taglist form

YOU and Rindou didn't start up your relationship on good terms.

You were scared of the Haitani brothers that terrorized the streets of Roppongi and they, especially Rindou, loved to pick on you whenever you're returning home. They would rob you of everything you had and he'll only let you have your things back if you showed him something interesting.

It got more demanding with time, he would force you to come home with him and tell you to touch yourself while laying face up on his bed as he watched like a depraved man. Or to spread your legs while his fingers toy with your pussy and his lips are latched onto your clit.

Or to shut up and take all his cock inside that hole of yours.

His lips curved into a smile whenever you sputtered excuses to him every time. You weren't that smart to know that you begging him to keep your decency only spurred him on to just rip it away from you and tear it to shreds with his bare hands. Bold of you to assume he cares about what you wanted when his own needs aren't met yet and how naive of you to give such stupid excuses, as if he didn't know what he was doing.

You hadn't done this before? "Well there's a first time for everything."

You hadn't shaved? "Okay and? Why should I care?"

But his brother is here. "To observe."

You're a …. virgin? "Oh baby, I know."

It's like a game of cat and mouse between you and Rindou, always stating the obvious as if you didn't know the motives of him wanting you all alone when you clearly did. At first, he could excuse you being easy to manipulate because of fear; It was fear that fuelled you to kiss him on the lips that first time and it was fear that made you touch yourself for him.

But soon, that fear gave way into something more messed up in that head of yours, that something making you do risky things like come pantiless to his parties, walking up to him and sit on his disc jockey table with your legs open slightly so that he could see how glistening wet you are down there, waiting for him to be done so that he could just find new ways of humiliating you.

Rindou had a lot fun absolutely tainting you.

Your hands dig into the edge of the sink as Rindou pounds into your cunt from behind with deep, rough thrusts that make your tongue hang out, drool pooling from it. He's only this rough whenever you misbehave, and from the obscene sounds of his balls slapping your ass and the squelching noises your pussy makes with each thrust, you have been a very bad girl.

"You fucking… ah… whore." He breathes out, slamming his hips into yours at a faster pace. Your cunt squeezes against his cock at the nickname and your hips attempt to move to the rhythm his thrusts had made. You yelp when his larger hand slaps your asscheek hard, before holding it in place. "No… you don't get to fuck yourself on my cock you whore. Not after that stunt you pulled."

" 'm sorry rin rin- ah, ah oh oh"

His hand hooks one of your legs up and Rindou angles his cock deeper into your cunt. You can feel his cockhead hit your cervix and the pain filled pleasure has your eyes rolling in their sockets, loud moans escaping your plump lips.

"Sorry for yourself." He spits out, stifling a moan that almost escaped his lips. Your pussy felt so good when he was fucking the brattiness out of you; getting wetter with every thrust and cruel words uttered to you. "Sorry for your pathetic whorish self-"

His fingers reach down to your puffy lips, spreading them a bit to play around with your clit. A smile makes its way to his face at the sight of your back arching and your eyes flying wide open at the sensation. His hips continue to slam into yours, greedy eyes watching how your pussy swallowed his dick so easy. The scene feels dirty, your ass looks so good bouncing with every movement, fingers clenching hard on the sink, gripping on it for dear life.

"I'm gonna cum- gonna cum-"

Your body trembles with every thrust and only Rindou's firm grip keeps you in place as you squirm. The coil in your belly tightens, threatening to snap and Rindou can only try to keep up the same pace as his own orgasm approaches, the amount of self-control he exudes to not cum inside you with how good your pussy flutters around him is immense.

He can't afford accidentally knocking you up after all.

He rubs your clit faster, his cock hitting the right spot that has you seeing white. Your orgasm is intense, washing over your body and making you tremble violently, your pussy fluttering around his moving cock. Rindou holds you in place as you shake, latching his lips onto your neck, trailing messy kisses up and down your nape until you've come down your high.

"Gonna cum soon" Rindou whispers soon after with a shaky voice, pulling out of your cunt immediately and jerking himself off at the sight of your fucked out state in the mirror in front of him. His balls tightening and a feeling of euphoria washes over his tense muscles, spurts of cum following after, shooting onto your ass and running down onto your thighs.

Only heavy breathing can be heard throughout the bathroom. You don't move from your position, leaving post bliss Rindou to enjoy the view of your ass covered in his cum, admiring how beautiful you look just like this as he tucks his cock back into his pants. You watch with eager eyes through the mirror as he reaches over the sink to get his glasses, slipping them on before going ahead to adjust his tousled hair.

Rindou notices your gaze fixated on his face and he raises a brow at you, clearly confused as to why you're staring at him like that. "Aren't you going to get yourself cleaned? Why're you staring?"

Your lips morph into a frown as you take in a sharp breath. It looked like there was something you wanted to say, with the way your face seemed so serious. Rindou stands behind you, now looking at your face through the mirror as you open your mouth to speak.

"I…" you hesitated for a bit, looking down at the sink whilst mustering up courage to tell him how you feel. "I love you Rindou."

There's an awkwardness that comes after that confession. Rindou is quiet, still trying to process the words that just came out of your mouth until it hits him at full force. He thinks that you are just playing with him at first, after all, who the hell confesses they're in love with someone that only ever uses their body for pleasure with cum on their ass?

It's not registering in his brain until his eyes catch the look on your face through the mirror; it's full of longing and genuinity. Hell, he can see the hope glimmering in your hues, expectantly waiting for his reply.

Rindou takes a step back, running his hand through his blond locks as he tries to make sense of the situation. "Are you crazy?" It comes out as a whisper, but you can hear the disgust in his voice as he berates you. "Are you fucking crazy?"

"You're the only person that ever paid attention to me and-"

"-and what?" Rindou cuts you short, already irritated with how pathetic you sound right now. What kind of person likes someone that treats them the way Rindou does? "And what? You think you love me because I fuck you good?" You flinch at how harsh his voice is as he goes off on you. "You think you're special because you're one of the whores I stick my dick into?"

You don't reply to his question, instead you hang your head low and hide the tears in your eyes as he glares at you. Your heart hammers in your chest, regretting your decision to even say anything about how you felt for him. You should have known better than to think you were more than just a booty call for him.

"I'm sor-"

Rindou doesn't wait for you to say anything else, walking out on you and slamming the door behind himself, leaving you alone. He doesn't bother to check up on you like he usually does when you two hookup or ensure that you had at least gotten out the door safely. Instead he begins to walk out of the club, impatiently pushing past the sea of sweaty bodies on the dance floor to reach the exit, wanting to get away from this place so that he doesn't have to think about what you had just said to him.

There's no way he can condone such madness from you. It's no fun to mess with you anymore when your inhibitions are all gone when with him.

Rindou never sees the group of guys that had been waiting around the bathroom door for him to leave, entering the toilet with you still in there.

taglist: @obitohno , @happygoluckyalexis , @mastermindenoshimaalicia , @haitaniwhor3 , @iheartamajiki , @pinksilk , @lostsomewhereinthegarden , @bontensbabygirl , @linn-a-a , @leilalago , @ranscutedoll , @crackheadwithtoes , @mercyboluthecrazychicken

network: @tokyometronetwork

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chatsurie · 10 months

Text

Big scary biker

It was a scary feeling. So now, twenty years after her mother had first given her the advice she did what she had once told her.

The young woman had first acknowledged that she actually was being followed after she had taken the third nonsensical turn and was now to add on to everything happening lost as well. The only thing helping her even the smallest amount that she knew what district she was in.

Kabukicho.

And even that didn't really help her predicament knowing exactly what went bump in the night here. Now it being ten at night this last thing really just added on to her already horrendous day. And even worse, her follower was slowly getting more and more cosy. Starting to holler at her and progressively reducing the distance between the two.

So yes. In Kabukicho at night without a damn way to defend herself because she had figured she could do the way to and from her university without her pepper spray, she remembered the advice her mother had given her as a five year old.

'Go and find the meanest looking biker around.'

Shouldn't be that difficult here, right? Sure she wasn't a child anymore so the strict ' we don't harm children' policy didn't apply to her anymore, but you couldn't fault a girl for trying. If worst came to worst maybe they would end up fighting over who would get to have her and she could make a quick get away then.

Nearly in a jog now, she quickened her steps. Maybe she would even find a street that wasn't seemingly abandoned and she would be able to just loose him in the bustle of the night?

Please?

This couldn't happen to her.

So deep in her thoughts and still most concerned with the man behind her still gaining on her, she nearly missed the opening door of a bar just a few meters ahead of her.

A man had stepped out. There was something about his posture leaning against the railing while taking a drag from his cigarette that was frighteningly familiar.

That couldn't be, right? But then again, she didn't think she would ever forget the way he held himself.

“Wakasa?” she whispered. Wakasa Imaushi had once been one of her greatest fear having lived in the same neighbourhood as him and therefore in the same neighbourhood he had ran his Gang in. Her twin brother had lost some money to him from time to time. Sometimes coming home late and beaten up by some of Wakasa's cronies. Whenever she had seen him outside she had crossed the street and kept her head down. The thought of avenging her brother for all the pain he had had to tolerate never even crossing her mind after the first time she had looked into his frighteningly bored eyes.

Now, that same Wakasa seemed like a saving grace.

If it were any other situation she might have considered that the way life liked to play her at the moment could be considered funny. Now however, she simply sped up again.

However before she could completely reach him, she felt a hand clamp around her wrist.

“I think you've played hard to get for enough time now. Come on Babe, come home with me. I can show you a good time.”

The grip he had on her itched on her skin.

“I don't want to,” She told the man clearly, “just leave me the fuck alone!”

The stranger rolled his eyes starting to pull her into him, while she struggled. “Come on. I know you want it too.”

“No, I fucking don't fucking creep! I'll scream if you don't let go of me right now!” The young woman spat at him as sharp as her terrified state let her.

“And what? Think that guy over there would save you? Baby. He's what five foot something? I'd body him in a second. Don't tell me you wanna be responsible for someone ending up in the hospital?”

God he was fucking gross. And hurting Wakasa? She had never seen anyone come even close. Trying to kick him in his balls to get just the tiniest bit closer to the white Leopard failed horrendously as he simply blocked her. She hadn't been fast enough.

She really needed some fucking training. What if she ended up in a similar situation again?

“That was a dirty move, Darling.” The man snapped, starting to twist her wrist.

That was enough.

“Wakasa!” The scream was accompanied with an excruciating crack of her wrist.

She wasn't able to turn around to see if the man had heard her. She was much too occupied trying to get out of the man's grip that hurt even more now. Tears slowly building in her eyes.

Please. Please he had to have heard her!

She didn't have to wander much longer as a well known drawl was heard behind her.

“What 'cha doing with the lady, man?” He had always sounded uninterested in everything but when you knew him you were able to detect a certain coldness. One she had had to hear often enough during her childhood, while hiding behind her brother terrified.

Now that she thought about it, at least he had never broken a fucking bone.

“None of your business, pal. Move along and just forget what you saw. Nothings going on here. My girlfriends just drunk.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” The experienced fighter whispered nearly to himself, “is that what they call this shit these days? Man I'm getting old. Ya know,” he went on a bit louder, while putting a hand on the strangers wrist in turn, “I know this one quite well. And I know for a fact woman's smart enough to not be with someone like you. So I'll be real nice here and give you one last chance to let go of someone who's under my fucking protection.”

The man who was still holding her wrist in a hurtful way spat on the ground next to Wakasa's feet. “What you got a crush on her? We can share ya know?”

That seemed to be the last straw the man had needed. She had only heard a whooshing sound as Wakasa's foot made contact with the man's stomach, finally freeing her hand as he stumbled backwards.

“Get into the fucking bar,” Wakasa told her an angry glimmer in his eyes, “Shin and Benkei are there too.” She had never seen him that angry.

Nodding at him she whispered a small thanks before basically sprinting to the bar still a little distance away.

She remembered Shinichiro clearly. Wakasa had mellowed down just the tiniest bit, after he had joined the charismatic man. Shin had always been nice to her brother and her.

And now, looking at him, seemingly unsuccessfully trying to chat up the waitress, it seemed like he had never changed.

Cradling her wrist against her chest she slowly made her way up to the two men as Benkei laughed at Shinichiro's despair after the waitress had left.

“He-” clearing her throat she tried again just the tiniest bit louder, “Hey guys.”

Both men turned around, a surprised look in their eyes.

“Who are-” Benkei started a pensive look in his eyes probably trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar, before Shin made the connection.

“Yo (Name), how are ya. I haven't seen you in some time. How's your brother? What are you even doing here. Isn't it a bit late? Kabukicho is dangerous ya know?”

Pulling out a chair with her unhurt wrist she plopped down on a chair.

“Whoa, whoa whoa. Pull back a lil'. That's (Name)? Damn you grew up fast. Still remember you as a little runt.”

A blush slowly creeping up, she rubbed her neck. “Well, I obviously grew up,” she told him defensively.

“Wait, you came in here, despite seeing Wakasa? He did go out to smoke. I thought you were still terrified of him? I told him he should apologise to you and your brother.” Shin chimed in as well.

Scratching the skin of her arm in discomfort she nodded, “yeah, I actually uh, spoke to him. He uh, told me you guys were in here.”

“You alright?” Benkei asked her, after throwing an inquisitive look down her, “what the fuck happened with your wrist?”

Gulping she took a sip out of Shinichiro's glass of water that stood next to her. Her hands still shaking.

“There uh, there was this guy that followed me? I kinda accidentaly ended up in Kabukicho trying to shake him and um, well, we kind of got into this ruffle just a short distance away from the bar and anyways, Waka- Wakasa is currently dealing with him.”

“The fuck?!” Shinichiro called.

“I'm taking her to the hospital now,” a bored voice came from right behind her chair, nearly sending her into a heart attack. God did he always have to be this fucking silent? “Maybe deal with the piece of shit lying outside though? I don't exactly want a murder charge on me. Annoying as hell.

Benkei and Shinichiro nodded as she got up with the two of them, following the three men outside, after they had paid.

Avoiding to even throw a glance towards the direction everything happened, the woman busied herself with trying to get to terms with the fact that she would need to get on a bike. God, she hated bikes. Her brother sometimes took her and he drove like a fucking lunatic. It was a wonder he was still alive.

“Come on. We need to get this looked at.” Wakasa called out to her, holding out a helmet, before realising she would have trouble putting it on.

As he stepped closer and put the helmet on her surprisingly gentle she felt her heart speeding up again. This time out of a different reason. Why did he have to smell so good?

A shiver went down her spine as his bruised knuckles came into contact with the skin on her neck, as he fastened the helmet with a click.

“Now. Lets get you to the hospital. You sure you can do the ride without panicking? You've been weirdly calm the whole time. If you need anything just pull my shirt.”

I think the adrenaline is still doing a good job. My wrist doesn't even hurt yet.”

Wakasa looked away. For a short second she could have sworn to see something like guilt swarm in his eyes.

“Sorry. I didn't realize until you screamed.”

She shook her head as she got on behind him. “No, it's fine. It's not something you expect to happen I guess.”

Throwing her one last glance, he carefully pulled her arms from the bike around his small, warm but most importantly solid waist. It was weird. She always knew he was strong. But now feeling his muscles under his shirt just made everything more real.

This had really happened.

She had nearly been raped.

Wakasa had saved her.

“Thank you.” She whispered against his back, as the bike came to life and just before he started driving she simply felt him tapping her hand in a calming manner.

At the hospital she had gotten a pain killer and something to calm her down, after the first panic attack had washed over her.

This was real.

And she had just been really really fucking lucky. If she hadn't taken the turns she had taken, if he hadn't went out for a smoke? If she hadn't called out to him, if he hadn't-.

Her thoughts were interrupted, by Wakasa stretching next to her, before slightly flicking her forehead. “I can nearly hear you thinking yourself into another panic attack. Your save. Everything's fine. I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise. And he sure as hell will never fucking touch you again. So no need to panic. I'm here okay? You're safe now.”

#wakasa x reader #tokyo revengers #sano shinichiro #benkei #assault #Wakasa for the save #anime and manga #just a little something I came up with to escape the crushing dread of exam season

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