Was meant to draw Christmas nightmare but I needed to finish Firefist first, rendering him took forever, but I love him to bits. So, worth it.
Sharded for Heishou Greg in the end, needed him for rupture anyways. (Was hoping I'd pull him in the guaranteed 3 star season 5 ticket but I got Sancho and barber instead, still a win, but prist would've been better than barber haha, not that I'm complaining.)
So the District 12 being referenced here is the old L Corp right
Do you think their singularity just produced, like, normal oil? They just had a bunch of dinosaurs in their Infinite Dino Squisher 3000™ singularity making normal-ass oil
And the reason everyone hated them was bc they were a real-world oil refinery producing real-world pollution in the middle of the City
Notes: Got inspired from THIS SCRUMPTIOUS! tiktok edit. Ngl sounds like something he'd say, and now I have this idea— hurray. anything to procrastinate from my fanfic am I right?
my works are always subjective to change, and will at random moments. Thank you!
Warnings!: NSFW, Angst slop, Facesitting, Gnab reader, dubious / nonconsent, Reader has a terminal illness that's made them bedridden, not proofread we die like Charlie Kirk-
It had been a month since that mission, twenty nine days since he was left alone again. La Manchaland had stolen everything from him, his office, his coworkers, his sister... Leaving him alone to pick up the pieces of his broken world and not even bother to try to mend it. It was as if asking a baker to weld metal, or a writer to sing.
it just wasn't working.
it never worked out in his favor anyways.
This world really did like him as it's favorite clown to poke and laugh at, didn't it? Insurmountable and unachievable, is what he always thought of when he looked at his gear- his home- those damn death certificates he can barely pick up without being sent into full body spasms.
It wasn't fear that scared him, it was the rage.
The kind of cold anger that surprised you. Popped up from the deepest shadows of despair to bite and claw its way out of you like a ravenous hungry beast. The want to destroy everything, tear it apart in your hands until it's a bleeding— incomprehensible mess of memories and regrets.
The kind that gets your blood pumping, fists clenching as to not punch a hole into everything in his sight. It gives him migraines, it makes him hate himself even more especially since.. especially since someone still depended on him...
The only someone he has left...
you.
oh you...
How lively you were, how you made the hellish reality worth living in his cramped apartment, shitty pay and imputent dreams amount to even a crumb of worth.
How you always made him the best meals with what little you had to work with. How his heart jerked each time you helped him wash away the grime, healed the burns. Slowly, but filled with the love and care he knows he doesn't deserve.
So why... why does he feel such resentment for the one he supposedly is supposed to love?
Was it, that each day since he returned from that living hell. That day when you sat him down and told him. Devastation following each word that fell from your lips— those perfect lips yours. That downcast gaze unable to meet his. His probably wasn't any better was it? Staring into the space behind you as you passed the medical papers to his side of your two person table.
After severe symptoms at your job, you'd collapsed and had no choice but to be rushed to the hospital. Your life was saved— however costing a large price.
Those pricks, heartless bastards. He thought as he looked back into your glassy, distant eyes as you apologized profoundly. As if this revelation was your fault.
And then, he read the diagnosis.
Oh dear god.
He had probably passed out, scratch that. He did pass out after reading those perfectly printed words. No smudges in the ink, no shaking hand he would've had if he wrote those heartless, cruel words waving in his face. Trembling in his newly bandaged hands.
Terminal, lethal—
He woke up screaming, he barely even left the dingey apartment as he reread that letter so many times his eyes became dry and his throat tightened so much he couldn't breathe.
He knew you were sick. He'd seen the way you'd vomit in the middle of the night. How you sometimes had fainting spells at the worst possible moments. He had asked to go get whatever was causing it checked out— in which you vehemently refused. The two of you were already consumed in mountains of debt already...
He should've insisted, he should've dragged you to that clinic himself, he should've—
that's just the thing though, he should've? Everything in his life is coming up to be more and more regrets. Thinking of what he should've done, what should've happened instead of...
Bills were already backed up. Stacked with that hefty medical debt and the haunting decisions to start crippling treatment, it was a lot. Especially for you.
With each day following your accident. You only got worse. Barely even able to stand without falling over or needing support. Vomiting everything he fed you, even as he was forcing it down your throat. He knows, deep in his bones. There's not much time left. Not many weak apologies left that would flowed from your innocent teeth as he held and sobbed into your shoulder each night.
He contemplated giving into the treatment— a billion Ahn for the highest doses, the highest possible care. But he didn't have the money, he was already on thin ice and no one would dare think of loaning him any amount of money. From a failed office no less— damn it. Damn it all to hell!
Something inside him would break and shatter one night. The night was chilly, seeping in from the cracked window of your shared bedroom. He'd been asleep, passed out from stress. He was still wearing his glasses, despite the many times you'd chide him about leaving them neatly on the nightstand.
His dreams were oddly filled with happiness, of the life the two of you were— or more accurately could've had. A nice home in a Nest, one.. maybe two kids? He'd always wanted to be a father, maybe adopt if you couldn't have any?..
But alas those good dreams could never be made into reality.
He'd jolt awake as you moved erratically, shooting up next to you as hard, nasty hacks were forcing your chest to push out built up mucus and blood from your lungs. Spattered onto the dirty pillow beneath your head as he swiftly held it up for you.
Blood...
It reminds him, springing flashes of those fiends into his mind. Of everything he'd failed to keep safe, everything he'd let rot to the very core.
He despised seeing you in so much pain. He loathed that he couldn't do shit about it. Your pretty face twisted into an unsettling grimace as blood and other fluids stained the side of your mouth. Tears slipping out of your puffy eyes as he rubbed your back gently, his metal arm replacement keeping him propped upright behind you.
"Shh... shh-" He'd coo gently into your ear, his human hand gently guiding you to lay on your back. Shuffling his pillow underneath your head to keep it at an angle. "Relax, you're going to be alright..."
He knew that was a lie. You were dying. Dying in his arms at this very moment, every day and night. And he couldn't do anything about it... He was a laughing stock of a man- of a partner, of... he was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
That's maybe why he didn't just lay down next to you, no? Maybe that's why he shifted his leg. Instead of cuddling up to your side and rubbing the valley of your chest until those nasty symptoms faded. He straddles you.
Im pathetic, I can even protect the one I loved most.. His mind would swirl and cloud with such hateful thoughts. That he missed the weak vocalization of confusion that came from you. A broken whisper, an airy, illness infested copy of your once sweet calming voice.
"Gregor..?"
The name, a single whisper behind those red eyes. Even if it was croaked out. Sounded like you were dying. Only inflamed whatever dark spark of desire that caught ablaze inside him.
He grunted in response, he wished to say more. How much he loved you, how much he wanted to whisk away the pain with pleasure only he can provide you. His throat wasn't complying however. But that didn't stop him from suddenly rolling onto his back. Using his strong arms to instead place you atop him. Legs spread around his messy head. His scarred hand already tugging and pulling at your pajamas.
You'd brace against the head board. Looking down at him with such wide- surprised eyes. Yet say nothing. Nothing. No, 'stop' or 'no'.
Probably was the shock, but he was barely paying attention as he finally tugged those damn pants down enough to get an eye of what he's been dying to taste for three years now.
"Sit on me—" Gregor's robotic prosthesis gripped your ass, tugging your sex closer to his awaiting mouth. God damn, he was salivating. The stress of this fucked life coming to a head, and knotting deep in his navel and rebirthing as a raging lust. A hunger for something that wasn't violence. You.
"Sit. on. me." Gregor would roughly shove your exposed lower half closer to his face. Each word came out like a harsh, desperate growl. Glaring up at you, you were harshly trembling from sickness already. Your body was unsure, yes. But he could smell the arousal beginning to form between your plush thighs.
He moaned when you gave into his demand. Oh so scantly pressing your sex onto his stubbled face. His eyes rolled behind his glasses as he inhaled that sweet sweet scent. He was finally doing something right, keeping the pain he saw in your eyes away. Even temporarily.
He lived for how you jolted and gasped as his tongue poked out and licked a stripe up your now fully aroused sex. Feeling his dick jump and weep into the front of his own sleepwear was secondary to the ecstasy of tasting you after so long. Both of Gregor's arms shift to act like bars around your thighs. Locking them around his head, misaligning his glasses. The plastic hooks digging into his skin. But he cared less.
He didn't waste another second, having wasted enough time already. He fully dove into the act. Falling further and further down into his own lusts as he ate at your sex with an almost religious fever. He lived for those whines, groans or whatever slipped from your swollen lips. He didn't even look away from your eyes as he happily ate from you like a man starved.
He wasn't really listening to what you were saying, you could be crying for him to go deeper, lick harder. Or begging him to stop. He wasn't listening past the point he tasted that tangy ambrosia on his taste buds.
His hands kept an iron grip on you. Keeping you subjected to his frantic pleasuring. Gregor didn't even want to stop, even for a second, even if it was to breathe, he'd die happily buried in your sweet sweet heat.
But, he also knew that you weren't listening to him either.
Popping off your sex with an obscene slurp and pop of separating skin. His whole bottom half of his face was covered in your juices, Gregor subconsciously licking it off his own skin like a dirty cat in the rain.
"What did I say?" He didn't recognize his own vice. Gregor's tone was deeper, twinged with long repressed lust and love for the being refusing to smother him. But it's what he wanted, he wanted you to sit on him. Make him choke and die on you. It'd be a death he was alright with- what he craved more than anything else.
If he could still breathe, you weren't putting enough weight into it.
As you froze, Gregor's patience would snap all together. Yanking your thighs further apart before gripping them and pushing your bottom half to rest on his face with full force. Moaning like a bitch as he felt his throat constricting, mouth being forced to be open as heated flesh fell against his cooling skin. Stubble scratching at the sensitive places that made all resistance fade away in seconds.
He felt like he was in heaven. High off of a lack of oxygen and the musky arousal begging to be consumed from his partner. He couldn't resist much longer anyways. Not that he ever dreamed to. Even if you get sick again, even if you vomit on him, hell even if you die. He doesn't think he'd be able to stop since hes finally gotten a taste of paradise.
He doubled down on his efforts. Licking and sucking like a madman. Being as loud and obscene as he could muster. As if wanting to taste not only your essence but your very soul on his tongue to remember for the rest of his miserable life. Determined to make you fall over the edge and cum all over his face. He dreamed of this, tasting it almost made him orgasm in his pants already. But no.. no he had more for you, more for you. Always for you...
—
Gregor was far form done as he swallowed your first orgasm greedily. Staring up at you through fogged glasses as if you'd solved all his problems. Where you got weaker as the pleasure cruelly mounted. He, well, he only got hungrier. Gregor had gained an insatiable appetite for your whimpering, pleasure drunk face.
Now you were on your back. He held your legs down as he pounded hard into you. Sweat dripping off your now fully naked forms as he rutted like a beast. He sounded like one too. By far drowning out any whimper or whine that would even dare escape you. The sound of yielding flesh and his loud desperate whines and begs filled the dingy apartment. And most definitely kept some neighbors awake. But Gregor didn't care about anything but the feeling of your flesh sliding so deliciously together.
Teeth grinding together as he fought to not become the animal he was. It didn't matter how he made love to you, as long as he saw pleasure in those eyes and not the constant pain. He wouldn't stop. Even if it became too much. Even if he bled, Even if it lasted all night. He wouldn't stop. Just for you. Only for you...
