#Can you improve a weak chin?

[secretaccountlol]

Loud!Reader x Mark.

This is inspired by this loud!reader by the wonderful and lovely : Nympheagaina

This is SMUT, 18+ only.

Synopsis: you’re quiet during sex, not because your boyfriend isn’t good, just wasn’t in your nature until now.

Words : 2,710!

Warning? : Soft!dom Mark x Sub! reader, sex toys, Mark does pin the readers hands, Reader has female body parts.

Uhmm proofread by my dyslexia ass plz don’t yell at me for typos! I always love readin’ yall comments and reposts!

Author note feel free to skippp :

Oh my god bro, I’m so rusty on writing and I was having such a hard time trying write mark “dom” - like because I just think he would show more thru actions then words .. also don’t think he’d ever be a “hard” Dom, always a soft Dom at that, coaching you thru it, or talking you thru it but also getting choked up as well? Yeah.. I love man whose crying while topping lol. Anyways enjoy.

Supple skin collided with his ears, your thighs flinched as his slippery tongue glided over your clit, one of your hands bury into his head, soft hair tickling between your fingers. 

Strings of salvia still connect you and Mark as he pulls away from your cunt. 

“H—hey?” Mark’s voice calls to you soft hums slip through your lips.

“H-hm?” your eyelashes are heavy as you stare at him, hazy.

“Am I good-?” He thumbs your clit, hiccuping a gasp from you, his brows tense as he watches your reaction.

“I-hm? Mark.. What do you mean?” Your spine crunches as you prop yourself up, head tilts to hold his gaze.

“Well- uh, you never y‘know moan when I go down on O-or even when I’m— fuckin’ you..” His fingers scratch his non-existent beard, his pouty pink lips make your fingers flex instinctively.

Your pupils shine in regret as you slide your hand under his chin, your thumb strokes his cheek. 

“Aw Mark, baby no you—you’re wonderful, I’m just — quiet..” your lips chap as teeth bite into your flesh. 

“Quiet?” 

“Yeah— I just…” heat builds up in your cheeks, as your voice squeaks.

“We’ve been together for a year now— you can tell me if I’m not good! I can improve, I promise!“ Mark’s pleads reel in your heart.

“ Aw, Mark, no honey. ‘m sorry I’m so used to being quiet after years of living with roommates and stuff, and I was like— using a dildo or vibrator so.” your body shifts as you bite your lips once more. 

“I— you’re the first person I’ve been with so, I’m still learning too. ‘m sorry again.” 

“Nononoo— I’m glad you told me, I’m just happy to know my stroke game isn’t weak.” A grin peeked through his mouth as you giggled at his stupidity, you planted a soft kiss on his toothy grin. Mark’s grin turns inquisitive as he hovers at you. 

“Hey, can— we try something?” 

“Depends? What do you wanna try?” Your brows furrow.

“Where’s the toy chest?”   

“I— Mark..?”

“Come on, Just— indulge me, hm?” 

Your hands pat his arms before motioning your head down, “U—Under the bed.” 

“Thank you” his body slinks off you, tentative hands slide the box from its hiding place. Eyes scanning your choice of toys, your body trembling as you watch him judge.

“Hey, why are you so nervous?” His hand caresses yours, snapping you out of your trace.

“It's just me, your lovable boyfriend.” He flashes another smile, disarming you, just a tad.

“Well, my lovable boyfriend won’t tell me what he's about to do plus- I— god. It’s embarrassing watching you fondle my toys!” Your butt wiggles against the bed as he giggles. 

“Oh, you mean like this?”

 Your hands slap over your eyes as his eyebrows wiggle, picking up a soft pink dildo, fingers sliding up and down its shaft.

“Yes! Like that!” Your back flew down to the bed, curling on your side away from your boyfriend. 

“I’ve never seen you this shy before, this is new.” He straddles you, turning your hips flat. 

Your hands pry off your pretty face as his breath ghosts against your ear, “I— I kinda like it.” 

“Maaarkkk! Plea—hn” A soft lick placed upon the shell of your ear ruptures a shiver down your spine.

“That was a pretty noise.“ Mark plants a kiss on your cheek, nuzzling your nose as he plants another on your lips.

“Yeah. A small one.” Your arms cross and an unimpressive frown adorns your face. 

“See, that’s what we’re gonna work on today, using your words— or uh, noises” 

You giggle at his shifts of confidence, “Hm, okay Mister. Make me scream then.” Your grin sent a surge down Mark's nervous system. 

 “Oh, you just fucked up biiig time.” His hands find your waist.

“Really? Did I noOW-!” You yelp as his hand yanks your ankle as he pulls your legs up, cold air hits your pussy as he watches your legs crack wide open, hands grip the back of your thigh. 

“Mark!” 

His saliva glistens against your pussy as languishing licks start assaulting your clit.

 “Mar-nnhn” your fingers grip your arms as your head tilts back. A whimper escapes as Mark plants more kisses upon your clit. 

“Mark- please your—“A sharp moan threatens to bubble your mouth, and a pleased hum escapes Mark. Nimble fingers circle your hole before one eases into your aching hole.

“Maa-holy shit.”

“Think you can handle another one?” It wasn't really a question, just an attempt to get you to speak.

“Yesyesyeyyes please-“ 

Torture wasn’t a good enough word to describe what was happening to you, your mind clouded your skin was running hot, too much, and not enough stimulation. A delicate huff falls from your mouth as his second finger stretches your cunt out. 

“Feel nice? Wan’ another?”

A high-pitched whine leaves your mouth as you nod rapidly. 

“You have to tell me what you want, I won’t know

If you don’t tell me..” He whispers your name at the end, earning another whine. 

“mor—!”

“Good..good you’re doing good! Keep talkin’ just like that.” 

“Pleaase!”

Your back arches off the bed as his third finger enters you, and your head throws back as your lips press into a thin line suppressing another moan.

“Oh go-“ you hiccup cut off with another whine. 

“You’re so wet, baby..”

The heat and pressure bubbles from the depths of the soul as Mark’s fingers pump in and out, “m— hnm, Mark! I—I can’t!”

“Can’t what?” His thumb rubs harsher circles on your clit as you buck up.

“ ‘m cu— oh—! “ your hands leave a bruising grip, as the world fades white and your hearing turns fuzzy.

Mark’s fingers slowly pump as you come down from your high.

“You.. okay?” His digits pull from your body slowly as you whine from the loss. 

“ ‘m great..that was— that was good.” 

“Really?”  

A happy sigh vacates you, as you lean to scratch his soft hair. 

“Yes, really good baby, thank you.” 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Your hands slide to his cheek, as your brow furrows. “Mm, round two already?” 

“Mm, yeah haven’t made you scream yet.” 

Soft kisses elicit humming noises as hands roam against silky skin.

Mark’s velvety voice calls your name, “ Can I put it in?” 

You giggle as you nod, “It fuckin’ kills me with how sweet you are.” you press more kisses on his nose as he trails kisses down your tummy. 

His tip brushes against your clit, covering his cock with your arousal.

“Stoppp teasin’”

“Impatient.” 

Frustration peaks from you, “Shut u—!”

 Mark’s cock stretches your cunt as you watch your face twist in pleasure, mouth in a silent ‘o’.

“Cute..” His fingers rub circles on your hips, gripping them, pulling you flush against himself. 

Your knitted eyebrows relax as he draws back before slamming back into your hole, your hands fly to your mouth muffling your sounds.

“You moaned.”

You heaved before letting your fingers tighten then release from your mouth. 

“Uh- yeah, I’ve been moaning this entire time, Mark!” 

Mark smirks, like a full-blown grin, “no no no noo! You full-blooded moan— no little whimpers or whines. You moaned.”

“Wha— yeah! That’s what happens when you feel good!”

“Mmm—, I wann’ hear more please?” he captures your lips before slamming back into you, your breath hitches as you try to move your hands back to your mouth. 

Mark’s hands catch yours, his fingers intertwining before pinning them to the bed, his eyes hang low as he pulls back to look at his work. 

“Nuh-uh..Not this time!” A touching kiss was placed on your tender skin as your body wiggled under his body.

“Mar—!” your eyes flutter as the sound starts to rise from your pit.

“Pleas—“Another slam of his hips into yours makes you choke out a sob. 

“Co-come on, fuck—..hhn..” 

“I- I can’t— “ Heavy pants fill the room as Mark pounds into you harder.

“You— fuck… you can do it, baby? Plea-please for me? Please? Hhn—“ his hands release yours, both softly gripping your face. His hands steady your face as his eyes burrow into yours. 

Soft pink lips seeping soft breath against your breath as you stare back. 

“Please— I—I’m gonna lose my min— ah!” 

You see stars as your hands slide over his as your head tilts back. 

A beautiful cry of intoxicating velvet silky sound caresses Mark’s ears, a falter into a stutter, his eyes widen before they turn low in a sultry stare, his hands slip from your face to your hips as he leans back on his knees to take in your body. 

“Holy fuck..”

“Hu-? Mark why'd yo— HHN!” Your wrist shoved together held in place by one of Mark’s hands as his hips piston into you. 

“Oh- fuckfuck—! You so-sound so so good..fuck please I wann’ — wann’ hear m— hhn” Mark’s teeth graze your neck as his pink lips latch on, your body shudders as he sucks a purple bruise onto your neck. 

“Ma— ahhn! Plea— “ Your words seep in and our broken streams as you stir against the hold your boyfriend has on your wrist.

“You look, ah-  so fucking beautiful right now, oh god.” Mark whimpers as his hips snap into you, causing another burst of moans. 

“Yesyesyes— please..gimm’ mor—“ Mark’s whines cloud your ears as your eyes flicker as your mouth hangs open another moan rips through your throat. 

“M— I’m —“ 

“Yes, yes—  giveittome, please please—“ Mark’s buzz through your body as your head tilts back as your walls clench, “ohfuck—“

Your hands tighten into a fist as his seed spills into you. 

He milks himself through your high as your moans die down to soft whimpers again.

“Another round?” 

“M..Mark, god! I—.. Jesus just caught my breath!” Exasperated sighs hummed from your throat. 

“Please?“ Mark's brows furrowed, his face was more akin to a puppy than a human, his hands clasped together in a prayer hand. 

“Marrrkk…”

“Y-you just sounded so good, please, pretty please? I jus-just wann’ hear it again. Just one more round.” 

“One more round.” 

“One more r—“ your breath hitches as his dick swells in you again. 

“Damn your stupid vil—“

Vision grows spotty as his cock thrusts into your g-spot, his fingers dig delicate delight bruises into your hips as your sobs echo throughout your apartment. 

A loud knock freezes both of your movements. Mark’s eyes glance to yours, fingers pressed into an “Shh” as he pulled out of you, throwing on your pink robe that was hung on the door. 

You gather all the covers to your chest as you try to peek through the door, hearing persons mutter then Mark’s trademark embarrassed laughter, then your door groaning shut. 

His face comes back into your view, his face flustered as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What was that about?” 

“Uhh— haha, your neighbor.. was worried about you— I explained we were ..uhm in an.. intense— ‘workout’ asked for us to be.. lil quieter with our ‘workout’. Also, she asked for the workout plan, so you’ll have to send that to her.” his shoulders shrug off your robe, putting it back on your door rack before shuffling onto the bed again. 

“Oh my god” your face buried into your covers, “I’ll never ever be able to look her in the eye.” 

Marks lips grace the top of your head before, tackling you back down to the bed.

“I mean, she was worried! I think that’s sweet.” His nose bury into your neck, inhaling your scent, then soft kisses peppering your skin.

“Just means we’ll have to be a tiny bit quieter.” 

“Wha- Mark!”  A wonderful hum slips through your lips as his finger rubs circles against your pearl. 

“You’re still soaked..”

“Mark, ahh-..” a whimper eggs him on as he watches your face twitch.

“Mark—“ your back arches as a sudden buzz assaults your clit, your hand searches for Mark’s wrist as he pressed the vibrator harder against your sensitive parts. 

“Oh— ! Markkk- ho-how’d Wher—?” Your hands slap his arm feebly. 

“Mm, when I put your robe back, I saw your toy chest in the corner,  I totally forgot I had wanted to use a toy on you. “ 

Another groan of frustration and desire slams out of you, “Please, show me more. I love hearing you like this.”

Your ears flicker between the buzzing between your thighs and his words as your body convulses in pleasure another shaking orgasm,

“Thatsss’ it, fall apart for me, please for me. baby?” Your hands clung to him like air, your sobs hiccuped through your throat as his vibrator still attacked your sweet spot.

A hazy waft over you as your body hums, breath swallows as you feel a familiar sensation of his cock.

“Ma..Ah!” Nothing prepares Mark for the blistering  harmonious moans that danced from your mouth as his cock buries into you.

“Good baby..Fuuckkkk, you’re perfect.” His thumb finds your clit as your back lifts. 

“I— can’t-!” 

“You can— fuck.. you can take me—“ 

His thumb applies delicious pressure to your knob, tears brim at your eyes as another yelp releases. “God, baby— I’ll have— mm!” Mark’s breath halts, “You don’t want your neighbor to—mm— come back right?”

Your head shakes as you whimper, “Noo..nonono— fee— good” 

“I know, I know. Can’t be — ahh.. Too loud, an-anymore” 

“I.. I- can’t! S’its too much-“ Your legs wrap around his waist as you sob his name more and more. 

“Mm, t—too much but you're wrappin’ your legs around me?” Mark’s chuckle sends another high-pitched wail from your mouth. 

“If y-fuck..! If you keep bein’ so deliciously l—loud I’ll have to gag you,” baby.” 

 “Can’t— s’quiet- Ma—“ your legs shake as another plays on the horizon. 

“S’loud- I’m—“ 

Mark’s fingers stuff themselves into your mouth, your tongue sluggishly engulfing his digits.  

Mark’s eyes burn with ferocious appetite, his hips stammer to a stop as he ogles your lewd display. 

“You really want to fuck the shit out of you, that’s the way to do it.” 

“Pleas-uh— ‘arder” Your head lifts to take his fingers deeper into your mouth, gagging on them before pulling away, “Mo—mooruh—pleas—“

“God” a stroke of his cock makes your head throw back Again, tears fall against the creaking bed, “W-who am I  to den— deny you that pleasure, hm?” 

More choked sobs are muffled through fingers as Mark’s punishing pace ruins you further, his breath ghosts the shell of your ear, nipping it with his teeth,

 “I hope you aren’t doin’ anything to—mmm—orrow, because I don’ think I’ll be able to s—stop tonight.” 

Another plea of mercy from you ignites to Mark’s dick. 

The sounds of your sloppy cunt drenches the room as your arousal pools on the bed sheets, your legs and Mark’s member sticky with endless sexual fluid. 

“Just one mor— gimmie one mor—“

It’s filthy, only whines and pants as you come again. Your mind is gone, filled with Mark and his cock, how it feels as release inside you finally, your tears have run dry. You can’t remember how many times he came in you, or how many times you’ve come either. 

“Maru—fuh” 

Mark's fingers leave your mouth with a pop, “Shh, I got you.” 

Open-mouth kisses decorate your face as you faintly as your chest rises and falls. 

“I’m gonna run a bath, okay?“

You hum in response.

“ ‘m sleepy..”

“I know, I’m sorry”

“You… owe me a massage tomorrow— imm’ be so soooree”

“I promise one massage coming up” 

——

A few weeks later. 

“Hey, You!” Your neighbor bumps your shoulder gently as you head up the stairs. 

“Oh! Hi Julie, long time no see!” 

“I know! Listen, I need your workout plan! You’ve been lookin’ sooo good lately, like glowing’ and I, sooo need that in my life right now. Oh and do you need a partner for it? I know you and your boyfriend usually do it together. I always know when he comes over now since the walls are sooo thin haha!” 

“I—“ your mind blanks, “Uh— I’ll send you the workout video!” 

You scurry to your door as you give a quick wave goodbye. 

Now, that was mortifying.

[luverine]

⊹ Sinister Mark x Fem!Reader ⊹ ⁀➴

blood // cannibalism // mdni // sfw // possessive and obsessive // violence? //

“You taste even better than before.”

The man before you hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out to lap up the streak of blood trailing down your temple- the result of a crash he caused.

The resemblance is uncanny. He looks just like Invincible, but something is off. The yellow and black costume, the unkempt scruff, the way his eyes seem darker, hungrier. Maybe you never noticed on TV, or maybe he wasn’t meant to be seen like this. Up close, he’s terrifying.

He tilts his head, studying the tremble in your gaze. “Why do you look so confused? It’s me, sweet.” His grip tightens. His voice is softer now, but not in a way that soothes. “Still sweet,” he murmurs, as if he’s reminding himself. Then, quieter, a murmur, “A little more savory than her, though.”

Your stomach turns.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You thrash, desperate to break free, but his fingers only sink deeper into your skin.

He just smiles.

“Very different, too. She was a quiet, weak little thing, cowering at every move I made.” His grip tightens as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “And here you are, fighting me.” He chuckles, low and amused. “Cute.”

Your teeth grind together as you suck in a sharp breath, ready to spit venom, to scream, to do something-

But he silences you with a bloodstained finger pressed against your lips.

“Shhh.” His voice is almost tender. Almost.

His gaze drags over your face, hungry, starved. “It’s been so long since I saw you. I couldn’t help myself, you know?” He exhales like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s remembering something intoxicating. “You were the best dessert I ever had.” His lips curve, eyes dark with something twisted.

“I couldn’t stop.” His thumb brushes your chin, smearing warmth across your skin. “Just thinking about you makes me feel starved.”

“That won’t happen again, though.” His smirk deepens, eyes glinting with something dark. “It was too quiet without you. And I have needs, y’know.”

“What the f-” Your voice shakes, but the fury in your chest burns hotter. “Let me go! You’re insane!” You shove at him with everything you have, but he barely moves, only letting out an amused huff.

Annoyed, he shifts, pressing closer, caging your body against his. The air around you thickens, suffocating.

“Wow,” he murmurs, his head tilting like he’s listening to something. “Your heart’s beating so fast.” A slow grin creeps across his face.

His fingers curl tight around your wrist, feeling the pulse hammering beneath your skin.

“What is it?” He leans in, voices a whisper against your ear.

“Are you scared of me too?”

He leans in, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhales deeply.

“You smell just like her.” His voice is almost a groan, laced with something sickeningly pleased.

Your mind rings in panic.

“I’m taking you with me,” he murmurs, his grip unrelenting. “You’ll learn to like it.” A careless shrug, like this is all so simple. So inevitable.

Then his eyes flick down, raking over the torn fabric of your shirt, lingering too long.

“Look at you… new and improved.” His lips curl, dark amusement dancing in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice thick with certainty.

“I like you more already.”

Doom fills you, heavy and suffocating, sinking into your bones like a death sentence.

Your breath shudders, shallow and uneven. Every nerve in your body screams for you to run, to fight, but his grip is iron, his presence is overwhelming.

He watches you, his smirk widening as if he feels the fear rolling off you.

“There it is,” he murmurs, pleased. “That feeling. I missed this.”

A shiver crawls down your spine.

You try to move, anything, but he only presses closer, his warmth suffocating, his strength inescapable.

“You can feel it too, can’t you?” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin. “That sinking, twisting, crushing feeling.”

His fingers trail up your arm, slow, deliberate, pressing just enough to feel the pulse beneath your skin. The heat of your blood, the fragile rhythm, it fascinates him.

“You’re mine, and I’m not letting go this time.”

He leans down again, his tongue dragging slowly along the side of your face, lapping up the fresh blood seeping from the gash. Another satisfied hum rumbles in his chest.

“You taste so good.”

His scruff scrapes against your skin, a cruel irritation that only adds to the violation.

“God damn it, stop-”

Before you can finish, his hand snaps around your throat, cutting off the rest of your words. Your eyes go wide as his grip tightens, his gaze sharpening into something cold and dangerous.

“Maybe I won’t appreciate that loud mouth after all,” he sighs, almost disappointed.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, drinking in the way you struggle beneath him. Then his gaze flickers lower, settling on your bloodstained lips. A smirk tugs at his mouth. He tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful- before crashing down, stealing the air from your lungs in a brutal, controlling kiss.

It hurts.

His teeth sink into your lips, claiming, devouring, you swear you can feel his jaw pressing into yours, an unrelenting force that demands everything. The taste of blood, coppery and warm, spreads between you.

When he finally pulls back, he lingers, his breath still ghosting over your skin. And then he sees it-

A beautiful sight.

Your lips, swollen and trembling, your chin slick with fresh blood. His work. His.

A slow and sharp shiver runs up his spine, like the edge of a blade dragging against bare flesh. Want. Hunger. Lust. It coils inside him, tightening, suffocating, consuming.

His thumb reaches out, smearing the crimson across your lips, his touch almost loving.

“You wear it so well,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and insatiable. He brings his finger to his mouth for a taste.

You tremble, your body instinctively curling in on itself, trying to shrink away, to disappear.

But he doesn’t let you.

“Uh uh uh,” he tuts, shaking his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t hide from me.”

His grin stretches wider, wicked and hungry.

“I’m going to savor you.”

His thumb drags along your bloody lips, his touch almost gentle, mockingly so. Then, he presses it into your mouth, testing, teasing.

“Every. Last. Piece”

A/N: Felt like writing for one of my favorite cannibals! I really wanted to lean into the whole “people eater Mark” thing •𐃷•

Likes, comments, reblogs appreciated જ⁀➴ ♡

[hitomisuzuya]

YAYYY requests are open!! i love ur writing and have wanted to req for forever 🥹🥹

Fatui scara who likes to bring his pregnant wife to the office as stress relief

fatui!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. frustrated office sex. ego stroking. creampie. god complex!scara. breeding kink.

thank you very much for you kind words and support🥺

scaramouche has had it up to here, so far up to here that he thought his head would explode. there is only one thing that can satisfy him: fuck his frustrations out on his darling, pregnant wife's pussy.

you, his wife, with whom he is sure everyone thought he would fuck the relationship up with. you who is now about two and a half months pregnant with his child. you whom he knew he was going to marry when you started slinging his shit right back at him.

his frustration is very evident in his grunts and groans as he pumps his cock into your stretched and drooling cunt. "ignorance breeds such fucking incompetency," he moans in between harsh, open mouthed kisses, "at least i knocked this pretty pussy up."

the jarring rate with which he is fucking his cock head into your sweet spot has you reeling. hormones from pregnancy have made twice as sensitive as you normally are, twice as intoxicatingly responsive. you can only manage out breathless whimpers and moans at first, dizzy perched sitting in his desk with your legs spread.

in the intense pleasure of your pussy spasming so tight on his cock, he chuckles drunkly at a certain thought. a thought that makes his cock pulse almost unbearably between your snug walls. "hey, wifey," his teeth nip at your lips as he pulls out halfway just to bottom out again, "think i could knock you up again while you are still pregnant?"

he swore the mere thought alone could make him cum so hard. he knows the odds are very, very, extremely slim, but then again, he wasn't human. the normal standards didn't exactly apply to him. obviously.

"i..i.. don't..kn--.."you moan, seeing stars as he picks up his pace. gasping in pleasure, you struggle to rock your hips into his cock. pleasure is overwhelming your senses, reducing you to a dumb and drooling mess on his desk.

scaramouche chuckles again, gripping your chin and making you look at him. fuck, you look so beautiful, all dumb and twitching on his cock. "so fucked out you can't even think straight. that's an improvement from my squad," he grits his teeth as his cock throbs. with every thrust he feels his frustration falling away, the squeezing of your pussy easing his tension.

"if they thought any slower, they would be moving backwards," his elegant fingers hastily find your swollen clit, keening whimpers from you as he wags and rubs his fingers.

your clit throbs under his fingers, sending your thighs to quake as he continues to assault your sweet spot. his lips hover over yours again. you smile softly at him, putting a hand on his cheek. "you certainly can try, my dear husband," you can only catch up to things one step at a time, he is fucking you that good. as always. "you are practically a god, after all."

scaramouche's cheeks flush hearing your worship. "you are so fucking good for my ego," he moans, pinching your clit. he turns his cheek into your hand, darkening the blush on his cheeks as he nuzzles into it. "keep talking, wife," he would never tire of calling you his wife while he fucking your poor little brains out.

"nobody holds a candle to you, my love," you deliver a few submissive kitten licks to his mouth. scaramouche shivers and moans at the action, "you are the strongest," a louder moan from him, "the most powerful of all the harbingers."

"fucking praise your god," he groans, weak in knees from how delicately your body is trembling on the verge of cumming.

the legs of his desk creak and scrap on the floor, barely heard above your shameless moans. you loop your arms around his neck, clinging to him in the way that always makes him weaker for you. "even more powerful than the electro archon," you whimper, your fingernails digging into the back of his shoulders.

your words plunge scaramouche over the edge. "yeah, that's fucking right," he lets out a long moan of relief as his pulses thick ribbons of cum inside of you. "i'll knock you up again, i swear. fill that pretty pussy so full there is no room for error."

his child wasn't even born yet and already he wants another one.

your fingers tangle in his soft hair as you kiss him again. a long, slow, passionate kiss that makes him melt. "please, give me the honor, scara," you moan hazily, stroking his hair and gently grazing your fingernails along his scalp.

his thumb rubs circles on your clit, his other hand holding your hips still on his desk, fucking you onto his cock. the extra assault is just too much for you, being as overly sensitive as you are.

your eyes practically roll into the back of your head as your pussy suddenly gushes on his cock. "oh, scara! scara!" you whimper, twitching and shaking while you cum.

scaramouche doesn't stop thrusting until you stop shaking.

[animeshotsh]

When I lost you | Young!Silco x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death - Reader is sick - Silco is still not a gang lord - Silco does not want Reader to try any drug - Italics = memories - ANGST - grammar mistakes -

When Silco was alone in his office, when he knew not even Jinx was around his mind liked to go back in time to see memories of a different time, so different that it almost seemed like these were dreams.

He remembers you well. Your face, your body, your eyes, they never once lied to him. You always showed him your true colors and motivations. You wanted a better place, a future, a good place for the next generation. Stop the undercity of being know as a place of crime.

You wanted so much.

"What's on your mind Sil?" You asked one hand under your chin as you studied him.

Once again Silco was thinking on how...how to improve lives, how could he and Vander make the undercity different?

"Nothing important" He had said "Just thinking on how you look today" He added smirking when you blushed at his words.

"Charming, I hope this does not mean you or Vande did something...because your sweet talking wont work on me"

"Doesnt always?" He asked pulling you on his lap making you laught. He smelled your hair and let out a content sound. He liked this, this moment. He wanted to stop time and be here forever.

The silence was broken by a heavy cought from you, one that made you have to stand up to breath the little air you could.

"Are you alright Love?" Silco asked getting closer making circles on your back as he saw how you nodded still breathing hard.

"Yeah, i may get a flu soon" You had dissmissed with a smile

Silco blamed himself. For how he have acted, faster or different, for not getting you out of the mines.

"(Y/N)..." Silco started seeing how you were having a hard time just walking the stairs, he had noticed how you also seemed to be slower, a side comment Vander had said on how you almost got caught on a recent work.

"Im fine" You responded back, trying to ignore the pain on your chest.

Once you two made it to the top you took a big long breath.

"You are not fine. I can see it, Vander can see it, everybody can see it" Silco said getting more frustrated by you

"Then all of them are wrong" You declared, letting yourself fall on your couch. Your eyes starting to close.

"You cant even stay awake"

"I have done much work in the mines. Im just tired"

"Then stop, I can help you, i can provide for you!!" Silco almost screamed

"You know I cant leave, what if i need the dam job later? No one will take me in. Every job out there is managed by them, i cant just leave"

"You are killing yourself"

Silco groaned at that, he wanted to go back and beat up his younger self. It was like his words had set off a curse.

Because less than a week from that talk you ended leaving the mines after collapsing and almost causing a fatal mistake.

Silco entered your home. He went to your room were he saw you reading a old book, pages yellow.

"I got you some medicine" Silco started getting it out from a bag well hided.

"Silco stop, these are too expensive!!" You said again even since he had started to get you different ones but no one seemed to work.

"Shut up, just try it" Silco said passing it to you who took it making a face.

"Its terrible"

"Well its not supposed to teast good, its supposed to cure you" Silco responded going to your kitchen to heat up some soup.

When he returned you were deep sleep. He hoped that medicine was doing the trick.

Saddly it did not.

Weeks passed and Silco saw how you became more and more weak. Pale like a ghost, eyes no longer shining but almost out of life.

"Im dying" you said to him one afternoon "Im dying and you cant do anything about it so stop beating yourself"

Even now Silco felt like your words reached him.

"No, i cant let you die" Silco said hands rubbing his hair

"Uh, i can try that thing they are selling now..."

"No" Silco had say "Next thing we need is you getting addicted"

You rolled your eyes but did agree.

The soft rain from outside was like odd music, for a couple that was seeing its end.

"I love you" You said taking his hand "Im happy i got to live my life with you"

If Silco had know these were going to be your last words he would have given you a better response. More than "I love you" and more than false promises.

He had become what you asked him not to, and while he was making on his own way a better life for the city a part of him hated himself. Hated that he had somehow betrayed you.

"Im sorry" He whispered to no one. "Im so sorry (Y/N).

[specialgradefckr]

New and Improved

tw: implied sexual content, unbalanced dynamics, satoru is a clone, the original gojo did not give his permission for this, you are in a relationship with the clone you created, it's weird but you do both enthusiastically consent

Satoru had to admit - he was surprised when he found out he was a clone.

It's not something he'd ever suspected. Who would? He'd put together that what was happening between you and him wasn't normal, but it never crossed his mind there was another version of him running around somewhere.

The information doesn't really change anything, either. Satoru doubts that you realize this, but he's already put most of it together. The training, the conditioning.

You need him to feel scared when you're away, to be ecstatic whenever you return. You need him to feel incomplete without you. You need him to need you.

It's your form of love; control. Molding him to perfection, to fit into you in all the right places, support you wherever you're weak, supply you with all the love you crave.

If that's what you need, it's nothing. He'll do it all happily. Be it all, just for you, the perfect partner that you're teaching him to be. He's nothing if not a quick study.

This makes him think of this one moment you'd shared, not too long ago.

You'd been cooking for him, making breakfast - you still didn't allow him to handle certain utensils, which he found very cute.

(Satoru doesn't need a weapon to hurt you, or himself. But he wouldn't do that, because it would make you sad.)

Pancakes - with chocolate chips, of course - had been on the menu, and he'd watched from behind you, chin on your shoulder, trying to sneak his arms around your waist while you cooked.

You shook him off, complaining about the heat, the danger of the tools, but not before he won a fond smile and soft kiss on the cheek.

(He knows exactly what to do to make you feel good, and he's proud of it.)

The first pancake smelled amazing - but it was a bit misshapen, the color uneven. He'd thought it looked great, of course; it was the first he'd ever seen. And you made it for him. What could be better?

"No, Satoru," You'd laughed, swatting his hand away. "You'll see. The first one always comes out wrong. The next one will be just right."

And it was. He hadn't known how ugly and unseemly that first one had been, until he'd set eyes on the perfect, second attempt.

Looking at the screen, a frown on his face, Satoru Gojo (the superior edition) can tell that this is the case here.

He's - what even is that outfit? All black, some kind of tracksuit? Why does he wear the blindfold? Are their eyes the same?

Satoru had long since realized that he could see the world in ways that you couldn't, but it had never bothered him.

Apparently, this older version was not of the same opinion. His style was nonexistent. He slouched and yawned and slunk around like some kind of lazy teenager. Spent all his time exorcizing curses - with sloppy form, too.

Sometimes he forms Hollow Purple by combining Red and Blue separately instead of manifesting both at once; sooooo inefficient. It's obvious he's showing off, even with no one watching.

Plus, he sucks as a teacher. Satoru cringes every time he sees his "original" interact with his students.

Like, seriously? He makes the kid watch movies? Sends them directly into combat with no supervision? Regularly runs off to other countries to do dumb exorcism missions instead of taking care of his own kids?

His love life is predictably non-existent, but it's hard to tell if it's because of his obnoxious personality or if he's just intentionally turning everyone off.

What a loser. Satoru concludes after a few healthy days of intensive stalking; the original Satoru Gojo was a bust.

Or maybe just "Gojo". It's not like anyone calls him by his first name, anyways. He's just a curse-killing machine to them.

Even you don't refer to him as Satoru in your notes. He is "Satoru", and the man in the black uniform is "Gojo".

Personally, he doesn't think he should be called Gojo at all. Satoru doesn't want the pretentious clan legacy or the fake prestige - what a bore. He should have your name, your family name.

You made him, you love him. This Satoru should belong to you, and that Gojo can belong to the world.

In a way, he almost feels sorry for the guy. Satoru was born with the same magnificent talent, beauty, skill.

But while Gojo was born to be a sorcerer, Satoru was born to be loved. The man in the surveillance footage wasn't meant to be kept and cherished. He probably didn't even know what love was. Satoru bets this fool couldn't make you feel good if he tried.

That's why you had to make him. The better version. New and improved.

Created and nurtured by your devoted hands. All the love in your eyes, the singular obsession that you seem to think he hasn't noticed.

It's okay. He's obsessed with you, too.

He's starting to get impatient, though. Anyone would.

Even the tamest dog would snap it left alone too long. It's not his fault. You fed him and abandoned him over and over, and now he can't help when he drools, or gets hard, or has adrenaline spiking through his veins so fierce he has to stop himself from stretching the space between you and the door into a vast, yawning chasm of infinity so you never ever leave -

But it's okay. He can fix that. It shouldn't even be too hard. After all, you've shown him how to love this way...

[yanderelionwrites]

In Sickness and In Health - Yandere!Ruggie x Reader

I like the concept of a yandere making their darling take care of them, so I tried it out with Ruggifer. Cuz as much as he loves to take care of his partner, I think he'd be extremely desperate for them to take care of him too.

Content Warning: yandere, captivity, force feeding, Ruggie weaponizing his illness, he’s also clingy af, slightest hint of Stockholm Syndrome

Word Count: 1.4k

Reader is implied to be Yuu/the Prefect

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That damn hyena.

If he didn’t work himself to the bone every day, he wouldn’t have gotten sick.

And now you’re stuck taking care of him, nursing him back to health, while he acts like a clingy, helpless cub.

“(Name)... I don’t think I have the strength to pick up my spoon…” Ruggie whines, giving you sad puppy eyes that disgust you to your core. 

You stand next to his bed, having just set a tray over his lap so he could eat the soup you prepared. Your fists clench as he stares at you expectantly while poking his spoon in your direction. This guy… 

“You could walk yourself to the bathroom just fine earlier. You don’t need me to feed you,” you grit out, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his ridiculousness.

“How am I ever going to get better if my cruel mate won’t even take care of me?” Ruggie complains. “And after I provide you with so much…”

You wouldn’t have to if you didn’t keep me here against my will, you thought. Still though, Ruggie is the only provider of the house, considering he refuses to let you out. Without him, there’s no income.

You could try to leave while he’s weak like this, though you wouldn’t get far. It’s not just Ruggie you have to worry about; the whole hyena beastman community would be out hunting for you too. They’d do anything to help the beloved boy they’ve watched grow up, who has helped them in the past numerous times. They would only be returning the favor to him.

You hate to admit it, but you have to rely on Ruggie to survive in this world. At least until you have a solid escape plan.

A sigh escapes your lips and you reluctantly sit down on the bed. You grab the spoon and scoop up some soup, boredly lifting it up to his mouth.

Ruggie gives you that mischievous grin of his before gladly opening his maw. He clamps down around the spoon, slurping up the soup and humming.

“Mm, tastes good. Your cooking has definitely improved since last time,” he remarks while you grab another spoonful.

“...Thanks. I was just following a recipe your grandma gave me, though.”

“Ah, I thought it tasted familiar. Granny would always make this soup when I was feelin’ under the weather.” Ruggie smiles at that, and eagerly consumes more of the soup when you feed it to him.

He gets about halfway into his meal before he stops your hand. You’re confused until he takes the spoon from you and lifts it to your lips instead. Before it can touch you, however, you jerk away.

“No way, Sicky! You’ve already eaten from it, it’s got all your germs on it!” you exclaim.

Ruggie frowns and leans forward anyway to bring the spoon closer to you. “You should have some! I know you haven’t eaten anything today.”

While that was true, you weren’t about to eat the same food a sick person has touched. “I don’t want any. Finish it so you can get some rest afterwards.”

The hyena huffs, and you think you were able to convince him. Yet before you can react, he swiftly grabs hold of your chin. Squishing your cheeks under his fingers, he tugs your face closer to him. You try to squirm out of his grip, but he doesn't let up. Liar. He does have the strength.

“Say ‘ahhh.’” Ruggie pokes your closed mouth with the spoon, some of the soup spilling off and onto your lap. Good thing it’s only lukewarm now.

You press your lips together and shake your head, determined to avoid even a single drop from entering your mouth. Ruggie’s determined too, though, as he only continues to force the tip of the spoon in between the seam of your lips. A low growl emits from the back of his throat at your defiance yet his expression remains one of sickeningly sweet affection.

“Don’t be stubborn, babe. One taste won’t hurt.”

“Ruggie, stop-”

You just barely part your lips to mumble out a plea, but it’s enough for him to shove the spoon in while you’re speaking. You have no choice but to swallow the little amount that is left on there. He continues to feed more soup to you, grinning all the while. You can’t tell if the red on his cheeks is from him being ill or not, but you could hear the sound of his tail thumping against the mattress. He’s enjoying this.

Watching you eat is addicting to Ruggie. He’s the one that’s directly making sure you’re well-fed and full. He’s the one who’s doing such a good job taking care of you. Using the same spoon is just an added bonus to the whole process. It’s like he’s giving you an indirect kiss with each spoonful you take in. It’s so very intimate, wouldn’t you agree? It’s not like he’s trying to get you sick on purpose or anything.

You are forced to finish the rest of the soup, and you heave a sigh of relief when Ruggie finally lets go of your face. Wiping the excess liquid from the side of your mouth, you glare at the hyena, who is now giving you an innocent look.

“What? I have to make sure my mate is taken care of too.” He shrugs off the whole interaction. “Even when I’m sick.”

“Well, now I’m probably gonna get sick cuz you made me eat that!” you rebuke, but Ruggie only replies with an uncaring yawn.

He sets the tray off to the side and crawls underneath the covers, pulling the blanket up to his chin. You stand up from the bed to clean up the soup mess, but Ruggie grabs your wrist before you can leave. His bluish-grey eyes look desperate again, and you would say he almost looks cute with the way his ears twitch slightly. Almost.

“Wait, don’t go just yet.” His hand drops from your wrist and intertwines with your fingers, pulling your hand up to his cheek. It’s warm.

The way he’s looking at you reminds you of how he used to be when you both attended Night Raven. He’d give you that soft expression that made you cave in to his whims every time. He wasn’t as possessive when you first started to date, and he wasn’t obsessed with keeping you glued to his side.

You guess he was just really good at hiding those parts of himself.

“What else is it, Ruggie?” you ask quietly, tired of his requests.

He pats the empty side of his bed, saying, “Rest with me, yeah? I don’t think I can get better if you’re away.”

You want to leave and have time to yourself for once, but with the way he’s squeezing your hand, you know Ruggie isn’t going to take no for an answer. You hesitantly make your way over to the other side of the bed, pulling back the blanket to get in. Once you’re laying down, Ruggie scooches his body over so that his back is pressed against your chest. He tugs your arms to wrap around him, effectively forcing you to spoon him. He releases a content sigh once he’s comfortable, and you can faintly hear a low purring sound emitting from him.

A small smile quirks up on your lips, despite it all, but you immediately will it back down. Even if you think it’s endearing, you cannot forget your priorities.

* * *

Ruggie’s recovery is quick; he’s right as rain just a few days later. He still insists he stay at home for just a bit longer, though, to make sure he’s fully well-rested.

You, on the other hand, have been feeling off all day, ignoring the minor symptoms thinking it was nothing. Turns out it is something because now you’re dizzy and leaning against the wall for support.

Your body feels hot and your skin is clammy from sweat. The task you were doing beforehand is forgotten as you try to regain your balance. No… You can’t be-

“Whoa, you alright?” Ruggie comes up behind you and shifts your weight so that you’re leaning against him instead. He feels your forehead with his hand. It’s hot to the touch.

He almost seems excited when he realizes what’s wrong, eagerly hauling you towards the bedroom. “You’re burnin’ up, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed.”

You try to fight him on it, but Ruggie all too easily picks you up and places you on his bed. He makes sure you’re as comfortable as you can be before sitting down beside you.“I’ll getcha feelin’ better in no time, (Name),” he assures while petting your hair. “It’s my turn to play nurse now~”

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Yokai Harem Character Guide

Introducing some of the characters Reader will encounter throughout the story. Get to know your monsters in this handy reference booklet!

Fun fact: The names of the characters are quite literally chapters from ‘The Tale of Genji’, one of the earliest existing novels written in the Heian period by noblewoman Murasaki Shibiku. Kiritsubo and Murasaki are your closest companions and bear the names of the main female characters of the story. (They’re men. A little irony.)

The list will be updated as more characters are revealed:

Abe no Nakamaro 阿倍 仲麻呂

Descendant of famous onmyōji Abe no Seimei, Nakamaro rapidly built his own reputation using the powers of yokai he'd captured across the country. His binding powers have yet to be deciphered. It is believed only his own blood can break the contract forged with the legendary beasts.

Known for his ruthlessness, Nakamaro was feared by humans and demons alike. His commissioned portraits often depict him surrounded by dark clouds - a signature detail - emphasizing his evil nature.

As you progress through your journey, you will be plagued by many flashbacks of his cruel deeds. It's almost as if your own hands are tainted by the blood of the yokai standing before you. You vow to free the beasts and prove you are nothing like the vile creature dwelling within your soul.

Kiritsubo 桐壺

The first yokai you encounter. Despite his intimidating appearance, he is the kindest of the group. He is tall and very muscular, with short, straight horns, long silver hair and glowing amber eyes. When he smiles you can spot his sharp, prominent fangs. He has multiple scars on his back, reminiscent of old punishments.

He is a dragon spirit, although his true powers remain unknown. Nakamaro always kept him close and was particularly strict with him, hoping to unlock his dormant potential, to no avail. He begins to show improvement once he embarks on his journey with you. It seems that his desire to protect his new owner was the secret all along.

Kiritsubo is extremely clingy once he gets to know you better. You're kind and patient and nothing like the famous onmyōji before you. He almost can't believe you're part of his reincarnation. He will follow you around everywhere, like a loyal dog, and might be overly touchy sometimes. He can't help it.

Murasaki 紫

Murasaki is the second yokai you meet. He is tall and slender, with long black hair and imposing horns. His deep crimson eyes hold a lot of resentment towards you, or rather whoever lies within you. Despite this, he always holds a disciplined posture and acts very well-mannered.

He used to be Nakamaro's right hand. He is considered to be the most skilled among the legendary yokai. A master of the sword and possessing unmatched intelligence, he served both as an advisor and bodyguard. Always cold and calculated, he rarely shows any hint of emotion. He seems to be quite sarcastic and arrogant.

He doesn't interact much with you in the beginning. In fact, he's most annoyed by the idea of partnering up with a weak human like you. He offers to train you with the sword and teaches you spells and prayers. Despite his complaints, he always protects you from any danger. As you spend more time together, he slowly opens up and might even show signs of attachment.

Suma 須磨

Suma is the biggest of the legendary yokai, towering over everyone with his gargantuan frame. He has bright red hair and large bull horns, with robust features and fierce eyes. He has many tattoos covering his body, going all the way up to his chin.

Suma is a worshipped guardian of war. He lives for battle and is said to reward bravery and courage. Despite this, he has a very approachable personality. He is loud and easygoing, rarely showing signs of distress. He uses a spear when fighting, although he prefers his bare hands. Brute strength is his specialty.

He finds it hilarious that the feared Abe no Nakamaro has been reincarnated into a small girl. He will often joke around with you and challenge you to playfights. When borrowing his powers, you are able to display impressive feats of physical strength. He likes watching you fight and encourages you to train.

Yuugiri 夕霧

Yuugiri is a mysterious yokai. He is pale with rather feminine features, appearing androgynous. He is very elegant and well spoken, although both Kiritsubo and Murasaki have warned you to be wary of him.

He is a serpent spirit, sly and manipulative. He is known for tricking humans and devouring their souls, yet very few can tell his true nature. He is incredibly charismatic and many people fall in love with him, meeting their early demise.

You cannot read him and therefore keep your distance. His twisted smile never leaves his face. He is very interested in you and while his reasoning might be superficial in the beginning, he does become rather attached and tries to prove his honest feelings to you.

Warning: Spoilers ahead!

Sekiya 関屋

One of the yokai that has remained by Abe no Nakamaro's side, in his resting tomb. He is the one that kept his presence concealed, casting a barrier around the temple for the entirety of his master's slumber.

His main power is casting barriers. Sekiya is the one that guards the entrance and guides you towards the onmyōji for your battle. Once you defeat Nakamaro, he joins your group.

He is very reserved, shy and insecure. He cannot fight properly and often bemoans his lack of purpose. Like Kiritsubo, he falls in love with your kind nature and clings to you, hoping to be of use.

Sakaki 榊

The other yokai to guard Nakamaro's tomb, Sakaki has been tasked to keep his master alive.

He has the ability to heal and even revive under certain circumstances. After your fight against Abe no Nakamaro, he offers to heal your fatal wounds and joins your group.

Sakaki is rather gloomy and depressed by nature. He has an unhealthy obsession with death and often makes grim or unusual remarks. He considers you his muse and will sometimes write unsettling poetry dedicated to you.

[hazbinshusk]

huskerdust x gn!reader. after a particularly rough day recruiting for the hotel, you limp back to your room to find your two favourite boys waiting for you. anon request. 1.7k

featuring: some blood, physical hurt/comfort, cuddles. really, it's just pure fluff.

Hell can seriously suck a dick sometimes.

You shove the door to the Hotel open with tired arms, for once actually finding yourself wishing that the wall had once again been blown up, if it meant less effort getting home. Charlie had had you pounding pavement all day, trying and failing to enlist new guests to the hotel. Even after the failed extermination, most of the sinners in Pride were less than welcoming to the idea of improving themselves. You spent half the day being told to fuck off and having doors slammed in your face, and the other half actively avoiding being the victim of some asshole’s wrath or lust.

You wipe sweat and ash from your brow with the brow with a sleeve, pausing by the bar to take the weight of your knee. You’d managed to trip while trying to escape a sudden firefight in the Doomsday District, and every step back to the hotel had sent pain shooting up your leg. Your pants were torn and blood has dried in itchy streaks down your calf.

The bartender is nowhere in sight, and you fish your phone out of your pocket to text Angel, sighing when you notice the screen now has a crack spiderwebbing up from the corner of it. Still, a small smile twitches at your lips briefly when you notice he texted you an hour earlier. It’s short and sweet, and your smile widens tiredly.

It was a habit the two of you had picked up since you’d fallen into this relationship with him and Husk; when two of you had turned in for the night, one of you would text to let their other partner know which room they had ended up in. Usually, it was you texting Angel when a shoot ran long, but it had been a rare day off for the porn star and apparently the lack of clientele had meant Husk had been able to clock off early, too.

The lack of a cat emoji said they were spending quality time with Fat Nuggets in Angel’s room, and you thanked Lucifer silently that he’d installed an elevator during the remodel.

You sigh at the idea of having to keep moving rather than just collapsing onto the nearest horizontal surface, limping around the bar to wrap a handful of ice in a towel before making your way to the elevator.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Hey, gorgeous, ‘bout time you got—” Angel sits up from where he was lounging across his bed, concern creasing his brow as he takes in your dishevelled appearance. The sudden movement unsettles the two curled up on top of him – while Fat Nuggets snuffles in a mix of both protest and greeting as he waddles across the comforter, Husk looks up with a quiet ‘mrrp?’. He had been stretched out alongside Angel, his arms wrapped around the spider’s midsection and his chin resting against his chest. Angel’s hand still lingers where it had been stroking through the fur between the bartender’s ears, and you feel a small pang of regret for interrupting the tableau. “What in the fuck happened to you?”

“Hell happened,” you reply dryly, wincing as you put a little too much pressure on your knee. Husk blinks sleep out of his eyes and his expression immediately becomes marred with worry. He pushes himself up of Angel just as you move to collapse onto the stool in front of Angel’s vanity, ignoring the ache that protests in the small of his back as he comes to your side. You grimace as you stretch out your leg in front of you, and Angel rolls over to fish the first aid kit out from under his bed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Husk points out gruffly, kneeling beside you. He carefully hooks a claw in the tear in your pants and tears it wider, his brow furrowing further as he reveals the dried blood staining your calf.

“Am I?” you say, sarcasm weak. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Husk fixes you with a dry, exasperated look from under his feather brows as Angel joins the two of you. “Who did it?”

“No one.” You hiss as Angel begins to clean you up, the saline stinging at the abrasion on your knee.

A low growl rumbles warningly through Husk. “Doll…”

You reach out, cupping his face in your hand. You stroke your thumb through the fur of his cheek soothingly. His frown doesn’t ease, but his eyes close for a moment at the touch. “I’m serious. I fell, that’s all.”

“Jesus, toots.” Angel says through an exhale, carefully scrubbing away the blood streaked over your calf. His other hands rummage through the kit for disinfectant and a bandage. “Was it down a flight of stairs by any chance?”

You shake your head, smirking lightly. “Doomsday District; the ground there is like, ninety percent broken glass. Pretty sure I got it all out.”

“The Princess shouldn’t be sendin’ you out there alone,” Husk grumbles, using a piece of saline-soaked gauze to wipe away the remaining ash on your face. You wrinkle your nose as the material tickles at your nose. “It ain’t your job to—”

“Husk, I’m fine.” you assure him. You lean forward to press a kiss to his nose, and Husk’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “I’m home.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Better?”

You smile, running your fingers rhythmically through Angel’s hair. “Much.”

The three of you are curled up on Angel’s bed, ice melting against your knee and all three of you cradled amongst his many, many pillows and blankets. Husk is propped up against the pillows by the headboard, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. You’re tucked up against him, your shoulder against his chest, and your face tilted up to tuck up against his jaw. His purring vibrates through his back, but some of his earlier frustration still lingers in the twitching of his tail. His lips brush against your forehead gently.

Angel is curled up against your side, his head on your chest and two arms wrapped around you. Another reaches up to stroke through the fur of Husk’s side, the fourth resting on the back of the little hell-piglet curled in a ball on Husk’s thigh beside your hip. His legs are bent to tuck up under yours, hooking your knees over his thighs to keep your injury elevated. Every part of you seems to be pressed against soft, soft fur, and you arch your neck further to press your lips to the underside of Husk’s jaw. His purring grows louder.

“Plus side?” Angel comments, looking up at the two of you without raising his cheek from your chest. “Charlie is gonna feel so bad ‘bout sendin’ ya out there—”

“She fuckin’ should,” Husk interjects in a grumble. You sooth him by reaching down to card fingers through his fur, and when your fingers find Angel’s hand, the spider entangles them with his and squeezes. He might be talking more lightly about your current state than Husk, but you knew he was worried, too. You squeeze it back.

“—that there is no way ya gonna be on recruitment duty for, like, a month.” Angel continues. “Ya can jus’ live the high life here. Ya milk that knee jus’ right an’ she probably won’t even make ya go to group. Lucky bitch.”

You hum a laugh, shivering at the way Husk’s claws skim pleasantly against the bare skin of your arm. “And does this ‘high life’ by any chance involve some serious naked time?”

Angel giggles, reaching releasing your waist to reach down and run teasing fingers over the front of Husk’s pants. “Depends. Think the old man here can keep up?”

Husk swats his hand away, and you catch the amused smile that touches his lips for a moment before he remembers to scowl. “Never heard you complain.”

“Maybe you should turn your hearing aid up,” Angel suggests tauntingly, and you choke on a laugh when Husk reaches over you and shoves him off the bed. “Hey! Ow!”

Husk grins, winking at you as Angel stands, all four hands on his hips and a pout on his face. Careful not to jostle you, Husk leans over and grabs a hold of the front of the spider’s shirt, pulling him down into a kiss. Angel wraps two arms around his neck, the other two smoothing over the bartender’s chest. He finds a nipple and pinches, hard, and Husk breaks away with a surprised growl.

“Fuck!”

“Hey!” you object as the movement jostles you further. You rescue Nuggets from the fray, setting him down on the end of the bed. “Watch the invalid, would you? Some of us are injured here!”

Husk immediately stops, his expression apologetic. He catches your cheek, dusting kisses over your face before he presses his lips to yours. You hum happily, feel Angel climb into the bed beside you. He curls up behind you, pressing himself up against your back. Husk kisses you for a few moments more before he pulls away, touching his lips to the skin between your brows. “Sorry, doll.”

“He’s a goddamn brute,” Angel says, tucking his head over your shoulder. “You should totally kick his ass.”

You giggle, and Husk silences him by kissing him again. When they break apart, Husk pulls you into his chest, wrapping an arm around you. His wing curves to cover the three of you, and you bury your face contentedly in the soft fur of his chest.

[lyrenminth]

The best example

Fluff. Comforting Joe.

What you most feared was a reality, and you didn't know what to feel precisely.

You were numb, but something in the back of your mind was bothering you and if you closed your eyes, you could tell.

You weren't good enough.

You tried your best and failed in the process and now you couldn't stop overthinking every single thing you did in the past six months. What went wrong? Why it wasn't enough? Did you spent more time doing other things? Or you didn't have the same capacities as before?

You opened the chat with Joe, and read again the message he sent you in the morning.

"You're gonna get it, don't worry baby. I'm super proud"

You eyes started to fill with tears, and you couldn't read the message anymore. You let out a sob and sat on the couch, with your head between your hands, feeling the waves of pain and disappointment for yourself.

Why you weren't enough? What were going to do now? You thought about all the sleepless night that you spent studying, the games you missed and the events you skipped, and for what? The letter you received in the morning was simple and professional. Since you read the first words your stomach churned.

"We are sorry to inform you that..."

You weren't good enough. You weren't good enough and it hurt like hell.

You didn't want to call Joe or anyone. Instead you turn off your phone and stared at the wall until you eyelids were heavy.

"Love" you felt something brushing your cheeks. "Wake up"

You stirred awake, gentle blue eyes keep staring at you with curiosity and worry. The face of your husband was close to you, and for a moment you didn't thought about anything.

"Did you turn off your phone?" he asked, softly.

He knew. Oh, God he knew. Then, the rejection came back in full force, your chin quivered and you tried to hold back the tears.

"Joe" you whispered "I didn't..." you shook your head, insecure about what to say.

"Ssh, baby it's okay" he said, sitting down and pulling you across his lap, as if you were a child. His strong arms held your back, hugging you. "It's okay" he kissed your forehead and it was unusual for him to be this soft, but you needed it.

You cried, ugly crying. Nose dripping and sobbing uncontrollably type of crying. It made you feel ridiculous, but you couldn't stop.

"I really really want it, Joe" you spoke, "I try so hard and f-fell sh-short" you sobbed, hiding your face of the curve of his neck.

"I know, baby" his lips brushing your forehead once again. "It fucking sucks" you explained, the hiccup starting.

"I'm here, it's okay" he reassures once again. You soothe under his touch, suddenly aware where his hands were, over your thigh, gently rubbing, the other on your back making circles. Slowly, you breathing even out and you could feel the tension leaving your body. Joe's warm chest help you with that too. "You're the most intelligent woman I know, don't let a bad moment erase all you have done" he said.

"How do you do it?" you asked, your voice raspy and weak.

"What?"

"You're are a professional athlete, you try hard and sometimes you lose, I know you and I know that you dislike losing and makes you angry, but what do you think?" Joe fell silent for a few minutes, considering his answer. His voice more personal when he spoke again.

"You have the right to feel like shit" he replied his lips brushing your skin as he spoke. "But shouldn't be forever. Your life shouldn't be defined for a mistake or a fail, not if you didn't hurt anyone" he clarified. "I think that I will have the chances to make it right even if the first time didn't work as I wanted. I think about the things I can improve so next time it's less hard. My mistakes don't define every outcome of my life but sure help me to change the results"

You thought about it. Joe was always under pressure because of his profession, and he handled everything beautifully most of the times. You have seen his lows and highs, so you had a great example to follow.

"Thank you, Joe" you said, and gave him a peck.

"You're going to be fine, not now but soon" he told you, and you nodded. You believed it too.

There, in is his arms everything seemed easier.

[un-lawliet]

Can I PLEASE request more soft gojo fics pleaseee. Maybe in jujitsu tech where he barges in the class we're teaching just to give us a goodbye kiss because he's going on a mission and he just can't go without a kiss! 🥺

“Teacher, Teacher”

-in which Gojo visits you before he leaves for his mission.

“And so Maki!” You say, staring down at the faces of your students, your arms opening in a hug like motion towards them.

“When using any of your cursed tools, make sure you protect your weak points, it’s essential!”

It was late in the afternoon, and you were currently going over your students last performance in training, your eyes lit up with passionate praise as you evaluated their improvements.

Maki nods, her face resting on her palm, her glasses slipping down her nose slightly.

“Now..Panda.” You turn, looking at him a grin on your face.

Panda straightens, cocking his fluffy head in acknowledgement to your engagement.

You giggle, “Well, you did great! However, maybe try to rely a little less on your size and more on the technical aspect of your attacks.”

“Tuna.” You hear Inumaki sigh, rubbing his shin in which Panda had sat on mid battle.

“If I have the weight shouldn’t I use it?” Panda questions gently, ignoring Inumaki entirely.

You nod, “Of course! Just not to the point where your entire strength hinges on it…If that makes sense..”

“Try throw a punch she means.” Maki interrupts, leaning back in her chair yawning.

“Salmon.”

“Listen, I can’t help it if my battle tactics are different from you’s two” Panda huffs.

“So what? You gonna sit on a curse?”

“Maybe I will.” Panda replies, sticking out his chest, “See if they can handle me!”

Inumaki’s shoulder slumps as he writes something on the book in front of him before holding it up.

“You’ll get destroyed.”

“The hell? No I won’t.”

Maki leans over to read Inumaki’s writing before laughing to herself, “He has a point y’know”

“Stupid point.”

“Bonito flakes.”

“Ooh someone’s mad I beat him.”

“OoOoh some Panda’s mad that he gets annihilated by a grade 4 curse.” Maki cheekily replies, her eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Hey!” You interupt, “Nobodys getting annihilated when I’m the teacher.”

Your students sigh and turn back to you, Inumaki sticking out his tounge to Panda in his movements.

And you giggle to yourself fondly.

You love being a teacher.

After training at Jujutsu Tech it seemed the only natural course for you, you had strength of course, but your real talent stemmed from your ability to create battle plans that exploited sorcerers strengths and disguised their weaknesses.

Yaga had welcomed you as a co-worker just a couple days after your graduation, his grin wide as he explained your duties before frowning at someone behind you.

“And what are you doing here Satoru.”

“What? I’m here to teach.”

“Huh?” You had said turning to look at him.

Even Shoko, who you would tease for her stoicism, raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna teach?” She said, “You.”

Gojo placed a hand on his heart, a dramatic showing of offence present in the way he opened his mouth and gasped, “Is it that weird?”

“Yes.” You all deadpanned.

Yaga scratched the back of his head, “Never in all my years of teaching you, have you ever shown an interest in teaching.”

“Well, it’s different now.” Gojo replied simply, grinning at his previous teacher, gloating. “Someone has to look after this one.” He nodded towards you, winking.

“Look after me??” You exclaim, turning to face him fully, your arms crossed, “I’m more than capable of-”

“Is this about Geto?” Shoko had asked plainly, resting her chin on her palm, staring Gojo out.

All of you went silent.

“No, not at all.”

Gojos’ expression had turned cold, as if the very mention of his best friend could freeze any conversation, any fleeting moment. You felt uneasy, your body closing in on itself to fight off the chill.

“Are you sure-”

“Yes.”

It was awkward.

Gojo and Shoko staring at eachother, as if commuting in a silent battle in which you and Yaga could not understand.

Quiet. Until Yaga interupted with a sigh, shaking his head.

“You’ll have to do an interview.”

“HUH?” Gojo replied, his head swinging back to Yaga, breaking his battle with Shoko instantaneously.

“Y/N didn’t need an interview?”

“Y/N is not a reckless.”

“Neither am I!!”

And you remember laughing into your palm, the pain of the past dissipating for a split second, as Gojo pouted, and followed Yaga into his office, as Shoko congratulated you on your new job.

Your new job that you had kept for the last 10 years.

…With Satoru Gojo.

Who had somehow, along the way, stole your heart.

Your phone buzzes from your desk, and you glance at it to see a message for Satoru, asking you if you wanted anything back from his mission later.

You deflate a little at the reminder.

You weren’t going to see Gojo before his mission due to your scheduled classes with the second years.

It had been a while since you had properly spent time with him, you missed seeing his silly face.

You sigh, you’ll reply later.

“So Maki, were you with Nobara yesterday?” You hear Panda start as you tune back into your students conversation.

“Huh? Yea? We were training.”

“Oh oh oh…Private training sessions…” Panda smirks, and you swear Maki’s glare could kill.

“Salmonnn~.”

“Shut up Inumaki.”

“Look Inumaki she’s totally blushing!” Panda laughs, you think it sounds more like a roar.

“That’s it! I swear to God, next training session I will fuc-”

The sliding door behind you opens, and you turn to see your boyfriend waltz into the room, bending to pass through the threshold.

“There she is!” Gojo says, opening his arms in your direction.

“Oh here we go.” Maki mutters.

Gojo was beaming, his mouth carrying the weight of his expression, teeth bared in a wide grin, eyes hidden behind his blindfold.

He raised his arms and walked towards you, ignoring your students exasperation, only focusing on you.

“Hello!” You say, as he pulls you into his chest, giving you a big; dramatic kiss on your head, swaying gently.

“Thought you were leaving?” You question, leaning towards him.

“I was, but someone didn’t reply to my text.” Gojo huffs back, pulling away to watch your face.

“How can I face this world’s dangers if I’m being ignored!?”

“You just sent it Toru.”

“Aha! So you did see it!”

“I was gonna reply later.”

Gojo shakes his head, pouting, “Not good enough.”

You watch amused as he taps his cheek twice, challenging you.

You giggle rising up on your feet to kiss his cheek, before you push him away by the chest.

“Go!” You say, your voice light, “You got your goodbyes, don’t let me hold you back.”

And he just looks at you, a soft smile on his face and you miss the cheeky look he gives you before leaning down and quickly kissing you.

It was small and gentle, and you barely register the disgusted groans of your students, your cheeks warning.

“I’ll be home by 10.” Gojo says, patting your head, “Don’t wait up for me if you’re tired yea?”

And you nod, although you both know that you’ll stay up to see him regardless.

“Be safe!” You call after him, as he walks away, a spring in his step.

“Always am baby!”

And then he’s gone, and you’re left speechless and smiling.

“God, can we leave?” Maki groans, “I feel sick.”

“You just wish that was you and Nobara Maki.” Panda teases, and you hear Inumaki laugh, slapping the desk.

Maki’s face turns bright red and she stands up from her desk, pointing a finger at Panda.

“You and me outside now, we can see if Pandas can survive being buried alive!”

“Oh it’s on!”

You lift an eyebrow and all three of them rise, not bothering to stop them.

“Please try not to kill each other.” You call after them, laughing as Inumaki salutes you before he exits.

…You love being a teacher.

masterlist <3

FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A REQUEST

A/N THANK U FOR THE REQUEST !!! i decided just to write it silly, just bc i’m not too good at the characterisation of the second year students EEK so i hope this is ok !!!!! i love gojo <3 also i wrote this instead of getting ready for work so AHHHHHH i have to panic get ready now so that’s fun

i love you all have a lovely LOVELY day thank u for reading :)

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

The assistant p.3

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this one shot of Lewis x assistant, I wasn't going to do a third part but here we are, I hope you like it and if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The boardroom was filled with the usual tension of post-race debriefs, engineers and executives discussing strategies, improvements, and missed opportunities. Lewis sat at the head of the table, listening with mild interest, but his mind was elsewhere—underneath the table, where his sweet little assistant was currently on her knees, testing just how well she could keep quiet.

He gripped the edge of the table, keeping his expression neutral as he nodded along to a technical analysis. The others were oblivious, focused on their own presentations, while beneath the table, her warm mouth was driving him to the edge of insanity.

One of the engineers chuckled suddenly. “By the way, Lewis, where’s your hot little assistant? She’s always following you around.”

Lewis’ entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His jaw tensed, his gaze snapping to the man. The room went silent.

“What did you just say?” His voice was dangerously low.

The engineer, clearly oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere, laughed again. “Oh, come on, it was a joke. We all see how she looks at you like you hung the damn moon.”

Lewis’ grip on the table tightened. “Get out.”

The man blinked, confused. “What?”

“You heard me,” Lewis said, his tone sharp as a blade. “You’re fired.”

“You can’t be serious! It was just a joke—”

“In fact, I can,” Lewis cut him off coldly, leaning forward. “Because I’m the boss here. Now get out.”

The man stammered, looking around for help, but no one spoke. They knew better. He scrambled to gather his things and left in a hurry.

Once the door shut behind him, Lewis exhaled through his nose, his gaze still sharp. “Meeting’s over. Everyone, out.”

The rest of the team didn’t need to be told twice. Chairs scraped against the floor, files were hastily gathered, and within moments, the room was empty.

Silence.

Then—

“Come out, sweetheart.”

There was a pause before you emerged from under the table, your lips slightly swollen, eyes wide and bright with mischief and satisfaction. Lewis reached out, pulling you onto his lap in one smooth motion, his hands gripping her thighs possessively.

“You didn’t have to fire him,” you teased, running your fingers along his jaw.

Lewis cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “No one disrespects you.” He brushed his lips over yours, a slow, lingering kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. “No one but me.”

You rolled your eyes. “And yet I keep coming back.”

He smirked, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you even closer. “Because you like it, baby. You like the way I ruin you.”

A blush crept up your neck. You hated how easily he could do that to you—make your body respond with just a few words, a single look.

Since that night in the elevator, everything had changed. Their relationship had shifted from strictly professional to something far more intense. Work still happened—but only in between stolen moments, whispered desires, and nights that left her legs weak by morning.

Lewis had introduced her to a world of pleasure she hadn’t even known was possible. He was dominant but careful, rough yet tender, a perfect balance of control and passion. He took his time with her, savoring every reaction, every gasp and moan he could pull from her lips. But it wasn’t just about sex—it was something more. Something deeper. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her when no one was watching, like she was something fragile and precious… it was dangerous.

Just as you were about to say something else, a sudden wave of nausea rolled over you. Your stomach twisted violently, and you barely had time to shove herself off Lewis’ lap before you lurched forward, vomiting into the waste bin beside his desk.

“Shit—” Lewis was immediately at your side, pulling your hair back and rubbing slow circles into your back. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

You groaned, wiping your mouth. “Ugh… sorry.”

“This isn’t the first time you haven’t been feeling well,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “You need to see a doctor.”

You shook your head, dismissing it. “It’s probably just stress. Or something I ate.”

Lewis didn’t look convinced. He tilted your chin up, making you meet his gaze. “Go see a doctor.”

There was something about the way he said it—firm, unyielding, but still gentle—that made you sigh in defeat. “Fine.”

A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips before he kissed you, slow and deep, as if rewarding you.

Everything had changed since that night in the elevator.

And there was no going back.

@rageshots, @krltkselsl, @mmm777mmm777, @doncockstah

[outofrealms]

Isekai’d as the Demon King’s Therapist

Synopsis: I accidentally became the Demon King’s therapist, and now I’m stuck in his castle, coaching a fire-breathing tyrant on emotional regulation. His go-to coping method is vaporizing things, but I’m trying to sell him on deep breathing instead.

Chapter 2: “Explain This… Therapy of Yours Before I Smite You.”

Sitting across from the Demon King on his ridiculously large obsidian couch which was about as comfortable as sitting on a slab of polished rock. I plastered on my best smile. Not a genuine one. More like the “please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-just-trying-my-best” kind of smile.

Zarvath leaned forward, his fiery crown flickering ominously, eyes glowing with mild suspicion. “Before we begin, mortal… I must know. What exactly is this… therapy?”

He said the word “therapy” like it was something foul he’d found floating in his soup.

“Oh! Therapy is simple!” I said with a little too much forced enthusiasm. “It’s a conversation where you talk about your feelings, and I help you manage stress and improve your well-being!”

He stared at me like I’d just suggested we dance naked under a blood moon.

“Feelings,” he repeated, his voice flat.

“Yes! Feelings. Emotions. You know… happiness, sadness, anger—”

“Anger I understand,” he interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “But happiness and sadness are for the weak.”

Oh boy. This was going to be harder than I thought. “Well, emotions aren’t exactly about weakness or strength. They’re just part of being… alive?” I offered weakly.

Zarvath raised an eyebrow. “Why would a king such as I waste time discussing trivialities like ‘feelings’?”

I took a deep breath, trying to channel every ounce of patience I had left. If I messed this up, I’d probably end up as a tiny pile of ashes on this very couch. “Because when you bottled up emotions like anger, it can lead to impulsive decisions you might regret later. Like, say… burning down a village just because someone insulted your crown.”

His eyes narrowed. “It was a very serious insult. He called my crown ‘gaudy.’”

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing. “Okay, sure, but wouldn’t it be better to calmly address the situation instead of… levelling an entire town?”

“Calmly?” Zarvath repeated, as if the word was a personal offense. He made air quotes with his claws, which was way more unsettling than it had any right to be. “You expect me to ‘calmly’ deal with such disrespect? What nonsense is this?”

I swallowed hard. Stay cool, stay cool. “Not nonsense! Emotional regulation is a real thing. It helps prevent those, uh… heat-of-the-moment choices.”

“Heat-of-the-moment?” His lips curled into a dangerous smile. “A fitting phrase, given the context.”

Okay, bad word choice. Moving on. “Right! What I mean is, imagine how powerful you’d be if you mastered your emotions. Nobody could manipulate or control you because you’d always be one step ahead.”

For a moment, Zarvath paused. His eyes gleamed with sudden interest. “So, you’re saying this… therapy… could make me even more powerful?”

I nodded quickly. “Exactly! Therapy is like… strength training for your mind. Emotional weightlifting.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his claws glinting in the dim light. “Hmm. Strength training for the mind. Fascinating.”

Then he pointed at me, his claw uncomfortably close to my face. “Continue. But be warned if this turns out to be a trick, I shall feed you to the lava serpents.”

“Got it,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up while trying not to visibly sweat. “Let’s start with something simple. How has your week been? Any recent… stressors?”

Zarvath leaned back, his massive shoulders tensing slightly. “Yesterday, my court sorcerer accidentally summoned a flaming chicken demon. It set fire to my drapes and screamed insults at me in Infernal for six hours.”

I blinked. “… Right. That sounds… challenging.” I made a note in the notebook I’d conjured out of pure panic. “And how did you respond?”

“I vaporized it,” Zarvath said, looking very pleased with himself.

I froze for a second. “Okaaaay. Um, next time, maybe we can explore a… less destructive solution?”

His eyes glowed brighter. “Less destructive? You would have me negotiate with a flaming chicken?”

“Not exactly,” I said, holding up my hands. “More like… deep breathing exercises to manage your frustration. Then you can decide the best way to handle it without instantly vaporizing things.”

“Deep… breathing?” Zarvath repeated suspiciously.

I nodded. “It’s a technique to calm your mind. Watch: inhale for four counts… hold… and exhale for four counts. Like this!” I demonstrated, breathing deeply.

Zarvath watched, unimpressed at first. Then, very reluctantly, he took a breath. The room instantly smelled like brimstone and burning wood.

He exhaled slowly. “Hmm. That wasn’t… terrible.”

I grinned. “See? Do that next time you’re about to vaporize something, and you’ll make more rational decisions.”

He nodded, clearly deep in thought. “Very well. But if deep breathing fails me, I shall return to vaporizing.”

“Deal,” I said, wiping my forehead. “Baby steps.”

As the session wrapped up, Zarvath leaned back on his throne, looking surprisingly relaxed. He still radiated doom and destruction, but it felt more like calm menace instead of raging inferno.

“You have given me much to consider,” Zarvath mused. “I feel… slightly less inclined to vaporize my enemies. Slightly.”

“That’s progress!” I said, forcing a smile. “Same time next week?”

I was halfway to the door, ready to bolt for my safety, when Zarvath raised a clawed hand. “Wait.”

I froze. “… Yes?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve decided you shall remain here. Permanently.”

“… Permanently?”

“Yes. You are now my official Mind Healer. You will reside within my castle and ensure that I do not succumb to reckless rage. If you succeed, you will be treated as a guest. Fail, and… well, let’s just say the lava serpents haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

I swallowed hard. “Ah. Good to know. Love a job with clear expectations.”

The demons escorted me to my “room” after my session with Zarvath. I use the term room loosely because it looked more like a medieval dungeon redesigned by someone who listened to too much death metal. The walls were made of black stone, the bed was an ominous slab that could double as a sacrificial altar, and the only source of light came from a chandelier made of… bones. Actual bones.

“Enjoy your stay!” the demon guard said with a toothy grin before slamming the door shut behind me.

I stood there for a solid minute, staring at my new accommodations, my brain short-circuiting like a Wi-Fi router trying to reconnect. Then, it hit me all at once:

I AM A HUMAN. IN A DEMON REALM.

How am I supposed to survive here?! What do demons even eat? What if they eat me?! How do I pay for stuff? Do they have a demon Venmo? I’m just a therapist, not Frodo Baggins—no one trained me for this!

I started pacing. “Okay, think. You’re resourceful. You’ve binged three apocalypse survival shows. You’ve talked at least four people out of having public breakdowns at Trader Joe’s. You can do this.”

Then I noticed the giant spider on the ceiling, watching me like it was considering charging rent. I sprinted to the farthest corner of the room, hyperventilating.

“This is fine. Everything’s fine,” I whispered, trying to convince myself. But my brain was having none of it. Instead, it spiralled into worst-case scenarios:

I starve because there’s no DoorDash in the underworld.

I accidentally offend the Demon King and get sacrificed.

I survive but end up in some demonic multi-level marketing scheme.

Finally, I remembered something important: I have a degree in psychology. If I could help a client work through their fear of pigeons, I could talk myself through this. I dropped onto the suspiciously hard bed-slab and started using every coping mechanism I could think of.

Step One: Grounding Technique.

“Five things I can see,” I muttered, scanning the room. “Bones, skulls, creepy spider, weird glowing rune… and oh my god, is that a cursed doll?! Okay. Let’s skip that one.”

Step Two: Breathing Exercises.

“Inhale for four… hold for four… exhale for four,” I whispered, trying to ignore the fact that the glowing rune seemed to pulse in time with my breath. Is it breathing with me?! Weird but comforting.

Step Three: Positive Self-Talk.

“You’ve got this. You are smart, capable, and only slightly emotionally unstable. Demons respect confidence. Fake it till you make it.”

A knock on the door made me jump. A small, scaly demon poked his head in. “Your dinner, human,” he said, sliding a tray toward me. It contained a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like purple mashed potatoes and a side of… glowing green mystery meat.

“Thanks!” I said, my voice cracking slightly. After he left, I stared at the food. “Okay, new goal: survive, find coffee, and absolutely do not die.”

I took a deep breath and picked up a fork.

“This is fine,” I said again. “Totally fine.”

And for the first time all day, I almost believed it.

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IX

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) ->chapter map

IX.

-While you’re waiting in the empty classroom you're staring at the drawings pinned up on the wall. Each student was asked to display their first drawing in class, and their last one. The improvement between Matt’s two is staggering. Composition, form, shape, line, contrast, fucking everything–he’s come so far, and you cannot fathom what John could find to dislike about the latest one. The longer you look at it, the more you boil inside, to the point when Professor Wick returns to his desk you are ready to explode.

“Y/n,” he greets stiffly, setting his briefcase down. He looks tired, a little haggard even, his raven black beard grown bushy like it hasn't seen a razor in quite a few days. You wonder what makes John Wick lose sleep. For a moment you can't help but feel sorry for him, which in turn only frustrates you more. 

You don’t say anything, just glower, before turning back to the wall. 

“Is something wrong?” You nearly jump out of your skin, his voice coming from right behind you, and you did not hear him move.

“Yeah. What the hell is your problem with Matt?”

You sound brave, but you don’t actually have the courage to turn to look at him. 

“I don’t have a problem with Matt.” You scoff, biting down on your first three rude replies, grinding them between your teeth. “Are you upset that I picked on your boyfriend?” 

There’s an edge of taunting to his words, and finally you do whirl. You regret it instantly–Wick is very tall, and very looming, and you have to swallow your heart back down your throat. 

“He is not my boyfriend, and you are being an ass.”  

He frowns at this, not angry yet, but you have definitely crossed a line. 

You’re getting fired today. 

You’re so certain of it that you decide you may as well say what’s exactly on your mind. “Look at the difference between these! Would it kill you to give him some encouragement?”

You know you have a misplaced savior complex, but Matt doesn't have a mother who will stick up for him. Someone should. You ignore the chuckling Palpatine voice in your head. Yesss, the ‘I can fix him!’ is strong in this one…

“He won’t learn that way, y/n. He has improved. But this study is still trash. Even with the extra time he spent on it.” He fixes you with a gimlet stare, and suddenly you know he must know all about your extra session. He must have excellent hearing from across the classroom. “How is that fair? I didn’t hear you offering anyone else extra time. Why not Josh? He could use the extra help.” 

Josh is very sweet. He also strongly resembles Mr. Toad, and you know Wick is calling you out for playing favorites– with your vagina. 

“That’s not the point,” you grumble.

“No? You just think you’re qualified to tell me how to run my class?”  

You know you’re on thin ice–but you lift your chin anyway. “Just calling it like I see it.” 

“Yeah? Let’s play that game.” Suddenly he is turning you brusquely by your shoulders, his long fingers gripping you firmly. 

Outside of that first handshake, he’s never touched you before–you should be scared, but the strength you feel in his hands just makes you weak. He speaks low by your ear, the resonance of his deep voice raising every hair on your body. “How many vertebrae are in your neck?” 

“I…don’t know.” 

“Oh. So you didn’t read your textbook either?” He sweeps your hair aside, running one finger lightly over the knobs of your spine. The back of your neck is your Kryptonite, and you cannot stop the shudder that runs through your frame.“The answer is seven. Though to judge from his shading, you’d think the answer was nine.”

“I…” He withdraws, though you still feel the blistering line of his body heat from him standing so close behind you. 

“The bottoms of your scapulae are here.” He touches your back lightly with just two fingers, but it sends a delicious thrill down your spine. There is only the thin fabric of your robe between his hands and your skin; It feels so good, and in that moment you wish you could die.  “They are not, as our young friend suggests, here.” 

His fingers move two inches down, feather light, and as you look at the drawing again…maybe he has a point. You’re not sure, because it is impossible to focus while his hands are on your body, even if barely. How is it possible to put so much aggression in a featherlight touch? You don’t know, but you fancy you can feel that he is seething through his very fingertips.  

“Unless she’s starving, individual ribs are not typically visible on a woman’s body in this position, merely the suggestion of the ribcage cased in flesh. He’s given you…” His fingertips press lightly into your sides, and it takes every iota of self control the gods ever gave you not to squirm as he spiderwalks down your ribcage, counting, “One, two, three, four…”

For a handful of seconds you cannot breathe.

“John…” 

He ignores your plaintive entreaty; you don’t even know what you’re asking for. You’re not sure you even want him to stop, yet you don’t think you can survive if he continues. 

“They’re tangible, but not visible.” 

All you can take are shallow breaths; you start to feel light headed, and you wonder if you’re about to pass out–or cum, just from him touching your back. The ache between your thighs is pure agony. 

Next a single finger traces down the inward curve of your spine, and damn you if you don’t stand up straighter. “These are your lumbar vertebrae,” he says low in your ear. “There are five of them. Who the fuck knows what’s going on there.” Hearing him curse feels like he’s plucked a string directly tied to your center. Your breasts have tightened to unbearably sharp peaks, sliding against the silky fabric of your robe with every treacherous breath you take. The flood of moisture between your thighs is mortifying. You’re going to need a shower before you model today. An ice cold one. 

He’s barely touched you, and yet somehow you can’t decide if this is wonderful, or obscene. 

“And finally…” Somehow you know he only uses one hand to span your lower back, pressing at two points with his thumb and pinky just above your buttocks. You hold your breath, helpless under his touch, entranced by his low voice as he leans in to lecture, “The Dimples of Venus, arguably the loveliest feature of the female backside. I know you have them, yet he has left them out completely. What a crime. What do you say to that, Miss y/n?” 

You let your breath out with a shuddering exhale, so filled with desire and adrenaline that you fear you might pop a brain vessel. “I might…see your point,” you finally manage to get out in a whisper. 

“Good girl.” He practically growls it in your ear, and fuck you if your pussy doesn’t pulse and flutter for those two words alone. 

You have lost your goddamn mind. Or, he has.  

Suddenly he steps away; without thinking you hug yourself, cold without his furnace of a body at your back. Perhaps you’re in shock; with wide eyes you turn to face him again, mouth hanging, all words turned to ash on your tongue. 

He returns your gaze with a challenge of his own, those dark orbs black as a coal fire.

You feel as though he can see into your very soul–yet you cannot read him.

If he is angry, or smug, or vindicated, or even horny…nothing shows upon that handsome visage. He is like a statue carved of alabaster and onyx, unmoving all but for his stare burning through you. 

Before either of you can dig this hole any deeper, the students start pouring in, and you have to excuse yourself to the bathroom.  

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: I had this pistachio cake and it was so good. I didn't know what else to put here but yum.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re shaking, barely able to keep your legs from collapsing beneath you. Even with Bucky’s arm around you, you’re weak. His confidence makes you feel even smaller; reminds you of who and what you really are. You’re not this. You’re not arm candy. You’re not some gorgeous supermodel. You’re just you. 

As you get to the end of the hall, you face the elevator and wait. His large hand squeezes your hip and he draws you even closer. He surprises you with a peck on your head. A thrill flows through you. 

“I’m the luckiest guy in this casino, baby,” he purrs and urges you through the doors as they open. 

You gulp and lean back into his arm as you step on, the transparent walls peering down on the drop. You try not to look and put your hand over his. You cling to his fingers and close your eyes, dizzy from the descent. 

“Ah, I forgot, doll,” he holds you even snugger, “Don’t worry, I got you. You stay close to me, alright?” 

“Okay,” you wisp out as the motion of the elevator adds to your displacement. 

When at last you reach the bottom, you nearly wriggle right out of his hold. He keeps you firmly against him and struts off with you at his side. He releases you only to hook his arm through yours. You cling to him if only to keep from tripping in the heels. 

You look down at yourself, recalling your attire as you pass a mirrored wall. You barely recognise the woman and yet it’s you. The make-up isn’t too heavy, your hair is perfectly done, and despite your frightened expression, you look good. Better than ever. Well, anything is an improvement over your typical aesthetic. 

You pass through the hotel lobby into the main room of the casino. The ringing of machines and flashing lights stun you. He stops with you and raises his chin proudly. To him, it’s just another night. For you, it’s a night you won’t ever forget; one you’ll never know again. 

“All of this is ours, doll,” he says. You wince at that word; ‘ours’. It’s a fantasy, he knows it. It must be what he tells all his women. 

You can only let a jitter shake you. He continues on and you follow. The chaos of the casino has you senseless. You drift through like his shadow as he pulls you along.  

Yet, you notice that you are not unseen. You feel the eyes all around you, you see them. Necks crane, bodies twists, and lips whisper. You’re overly aware that they’re watching you. No, they’re watching him. 

You feel ice form a shell over you. You numb yourself to it all as best you can. If you let yourself feel the storm brewing inside you, it will surely blow you over.  

Bucky stops you and winks at you. He reaches to rub your hand on his forearm and gives a squeeze, “relax. I got you. You trust me, don’t you?” 

You exhale and nod, “yes.” 

“Alright, then, doll,” he pulls his arm back and puts his hand on the small of your back, “let’s go.” 

He walks you along, a casual pace. The looks continue. People acknowledge him as he passes, the bartender calls him sir and several other staff. He approaches a table and you steel yourself nervously. Men in suits chuckle loudly as dice are thrown against the trim. 

“Stark,” Barnes stops beside a man with grey patches at his temple, “you didn’t bring your own dice again, did you?” 

“They searched me on the way in. What’s that about?” The man snickers, “but I see you get to bring your own toys.” 

The man makes a show of looking around Bucky, leering at you. Bucky pushes him straight by the chest, “never had any problem finding something to play with.” 

“Ah, don’t be so sensitive. Your girls are always so much fun,” the man, Stark, taunts. 

“Keep your hands to yourself, that goes for the staff too,” Bucky warns. 

“Wow, have you demoted yourself to bouncer now?” 

“These are my people, Tony,” he claps the man’s shoulder, “consider it a friendly reminder. I know you tend to forget.” 

The man scoffs and rolls his eyes. He takes the dice as they’re held out to him and tosses them onto the felt. Bucky tickles your lower back with his finger and you squirm, elbowing an unexpected figure behind you. You let out a squeak and turn as Bucky does the same. 

“Hey,” a skinny man, not much taller than yourself greets, “been looking for you.” 

“Steve,” Bucky says, “what’re you doing here?” 

“Ah, you know,” he scratches his floppy golden hair, “you haven’t picked up your phone so--” 

“Shoot, what’s the date?” 

“Buck, it’s tomorrow,” the blond, Steve, grins, “I’m just making sure you show up. Ma would be real disappointed.” 

“I wouldn’t miss Sarah Rogers’ birthday for anything,” Bucky avows, the genuine tone in his voice wrenching at your chest. “You gonna stay and enjoy the tables? You still got your complimentary chips waiting on you.” 

“Told ya, I don’t like to gamble,” Steve chuckles, “but thanks.” 

“I’m sorry, buddy. I should’ve picked up. I’ve been so busy...” Bucky pauses as Steve smiles at you sheepishly as if he’s only just noticed you.  

“I get it,” Steve’s lashes flick, “she’s... miss, you’re real pretty.” 

He sounds as nervous as you feel. His cheeks tinge pink and he tucks his thumbs into his pockets. His brown slacks definitely don’t fit into the sparkling casino. Bucky laughs too. 

“Chill, have a drink at the bar before you go.” 

“Thanks, pal,” Steve smooths back his hair, “but I should probably head out--” 

“She don’t bite, Rogers,” Bucky chides, “well, I’ll tell her to keep her teeth to herself,” he rubs your back and slips his fingers around your side, pulling you close once more. “Have a drink for me, alright?” 

“Alright,” the smaller man exhales, “don’t forget.” 

“I won’t,” Bucky promises. 

As the blond strides away, slightly off kilter as he looks around, seeming lost as he tries to see around the people around, Bucky draws you away from the dice table. The small man reminds you a lot of yourself in some ways. He’s braver than you, he came all alone. 

“That... who?” You wonder. 

“My best friend. Since we were kids,” he answers, “good guy, just a bit... uppity. His ma’s got her birthday tomorrow. You should come.” 

“Oh, uh, that’s... I don’t know--” 

“She’ll be happy to meet ya. She’s been telling me to settle down for years,” he scoffs. “Her son too and he does try...” 

“Well, this isn’t.... it’s early--” you stammer. 

“You still don’t believe me,” he challenges you as he angles you to face him. He brings his hands to your arms, stroking the bare skin with his roughened fingertips, “you don’t think I’m gonna keep ya, doll?” 

“No, I didn’t-- I don’t know. It’s all so new and—I'm sorry, Bucky, I want to—I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know--” 

“Shhh, doll, I’m not mad. I got work to do. That’s fine,” he trails his fingers up the strap of your dress and tickles your throat, “I’ll keep it up, don’t you worry. Let’s get ya a drink.” 

He walks you to the bar, laying his hand on the top as the bartender crosses to him attentively. Bucky pauses before he orders and looks at you, “ladies first. What do you want, doll?” 

You look between Bucky and the bartender. You have no idea. You weren’t planning on drinking, you’re already a mess as it is but you don’t want to be rude. 

“You like cranberry, doll? How about a cosmopolitan?” Bucky suggests. 

You nod and face the bar again, “sure, uh, please, a cos...” 

“Cosmopolitan, coming up,” the bar tender agrees, “usual, sir?” 

“Single,” Bucky holds up a finger, “I wanna keep my wits about me.” 

The bartender sets to work and you fidget. You crane around to see the rest of the casino, a furor rising from the blackjack table. Bucky rubs your arm and draws your attention back to him. You give a nervous smile as you try not to think about those watching you in turn. 

“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” his voice is low and gravelly as he brings a finger up under your chin, “the only thing that matters is us, doll.” 

Before you can react, he leans in to kiss you. You’re caught entirely off guard, trapped in his snare as his tongue glides along your lips. He hums and pulls back, dropping his hand with a sigh. 

“I gotta get a hold on myself,” he laughs as he shows his palm, “you make it hard, doll. You really do.” 

You rock and smile bigger. Your cheeks are fiery and your temples are pounding. The bartender announces your cocktail and puts it up. Bucky takes it and hands it to you. You thank him as he turns to retrieve the short tumbler of flat whiskey. 

“Go on, have a taste, doll,” he encourages as he gives a gentle tap to the base of the stemmed glass. 

You look down at the coned glass of vibrant red liquor and juice, a twist of lemon against the brim. You raise it cautiously and give a sniff before you press your lips around the glass. Your eyes flick up as Bucky lets out a rumble. He fixates on your mouth as you sip, his teeth graze over his lower lip. 

Your cheeks pinch as you taste the mixed drink and you pull it away from your mouth. You dab your lips with your knuckles, terrified of smearing the gloss. You flutter your lashes at him and force another tight smile, “mm, it’s... sweet.” 

“Dangerous,” he smirks, “I don’t do cocktails. They go down to easy.” 

“Oh,” you give a guilty pout. “I don’t...” 

“It’s fine, it’s not that much,” he waves off your excuse, “really, doll, you could use it. It’ll help you relax.” 

“Right, er, thanks,” you slowly turn the stem between your fingers and look down at the glass. “I’m sorry I don’t...” 

“Hm,” he shifts closer as your voice drifts off, “sorry for what, doll?” 

He nudges you smoothly away from the bar, putting you back into step as he casually traverses the floor, his hand right on your back. He guides you subtly with the constant warmth between your hips. It is both comforting and disjointing. He’s there with you, propping you up, and yet you do not belong. 

“I don’t really fit, er, or... know what to do,” you murmur. 

He leans in to hear your small voice. He scoffs. 

“Let me tell you something, doll. You fit just nice on my arm. You don’t need to worry about anyone else but me, you got it? All these people in this room, they’re nothing. All these lights, all this noise, and I can only see you,” he purrs. 

You giggle nervously. He’s so flattering. He always knows just what to say.  

“Thanks, I...” you look away, embarrassed at your little confession. You’re supposed to be trying to blend in and yet you can’t help but put yourself on the sideline. He’s not the type. He is the main attraction. 

“You feel better, doll?” He asks as he rubs the dip of your back. “If it’s too much, we can go somewhere else.” 

“I’m... I’m good. I don’t wanna ruin the night,” you say, “really.” You raise the glass and sip again, “it’s really good, thank you, Bucky.” 

“Mph, I love it when you say my name,” he snarls, “come on.” 

He continues along, guiding you between tables and behind distracted bodies. The tables are packed with gamblers and figures pass from one to one, a line forming around the counter dolling out chips for cash. You take it all in, as if it’s a scene in a movie, observing all the background characters... still, you don’t feel like the star. 

A sharp pain strikes your arm suddenly and you stumble into Bucky. He keeps you from teetering onto your ass as he hugs his arm around you. Your cocktail slips out of your grasp and the glass cracks on the floor, splashing the remnants across the carpet.  

You’re pressed into Bucky as the unstable man latches onto the tall stool he just slid off of. The impact of his elbow thrums in your arm and you rub the tender spot and wince. Bucky shifts you behind him and moves as fast as a shadow. The back of his dark jacket strains across his shoulder blades as he grabs the man by his collar. 

“Hey, what the hell are ya doing? Watch yourself! You nearly knocked my woman over,” he sneers as he as good as shakes the man, “you made a mess of my carpet, you scumbag.” 

“Bucky,” you squeak in horror, the hot eruption of rage surprises you. He is a different man; he looks more like a wolf as he snarls at the offender. “It was an accident--” 

“Nah, it was a mistake,” Bucky brings the man even closer, “get the hell outta my casino before I break you like that glass.” Bucky shoves him away and kicks the broken glass on the floor, “now.” 

He puffs his chest out as the other man rambles drunkenly, apologising and staggering, skittering off in an uneven gait. He glances back several times as if fearing he’ll be followed. Bucky signals across the room and you see a man in a suit nod; he must be security. 

“Bucky,” you touch his elbow and gently graze his sleeve down to his hand, “are you okay?” 

He opens his fist and lets you tuck your hand into his. You’re quaking again. You cling to him out of need. You’re adrenaline rings in your ears. You don’t like anger. 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t be sorry, doll,” he squeezes your hand as he exhales the tension from his shoulders. He looks down at your hand and lifts it, turning to you as he kisses the back of it. He leaves a tingle on your skin, “I like that.” He tightens his grip as he keeps a hold of you, “you need a fresh drink, doll.” 

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

part ii

[writer-freak]

H hello could I request Chamber fluff with agent reader if you write that where the reader is recovering from an injury from a previous mission (idk where I'm going with this I swear I was cooking this in my mind anyways thank thank you)

A/n: Thank you so much for the request, I made the beginning a bit more dramatic and I just blacked out while writing this so I hope it's enjoyable <3

The world was a blur of light and shouting.

You barely registered the sound of gunfire anymore, or the cries of agents echoing through comms. The pain in your side was sharp, burning like fire, but distant, like it belonged to someone else. You tried to breathe, but it hurt, and everything felt heavy. Too heavy.

"Agent down! We need evac, now!"

Chamber’s voice.

You turned your head sluggishly. His silhouette was the first thing you made out, his gun discarded on the ground as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he pressed down on your wound.

"Mon dieu" he breathed, his voice breaking as he pulled you into his arms. "Stay with me, mon cœur. Please."

You reached up, your fingers brushing weakly against his chest, and tried to speak. Nothing came out. The pain was too loud now.

"I've got you," he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours as he held you close. "You're going to be alright. I promise."

The days that followed blurred together.

You drifted in and out of consciousness at first, dimly aware of being moved, the beeping of machines, the low murmur of Chamber's voice reading something softly to you. French poetry, maybe. Or a story. Sometimes you caught words like chérie or rest, please. And always, always his hand in yours.

When you finally opened your eyes properly, it was to warm lighting, silk sheets, and the familiar scent of his cologne.

You were in his apartment.

"You’re awake."

His voice came from the doorway. You turned your head slowly, and there he was. Uncharacteristically dressed down in a soft black turtleneck, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair tousled.

"Where—?" you started, your voice hoarse.

"Shhh," he said, crossing the room quickly. "You are safe. You’ve been healing here, with me. The medbay stabilized you, but I—" He sat on the edge of the bed, taking your hand gently. "I needed you close."

You blinked, your throat thick with something more than pain. "How long?"

"Four days" he said softly, brushing his fingers over your cheek. "You were unconscious most of it. The doctors say you're improving, but slowly. Movement is limited. Pain is... expected." His jaw clenched. "I hate that you're in pain."

You tried to smile. "I’m... tough."

"I know you are" he said, and leaned down to kiss your temple. "But you don’t have to be. Not now. Let me take care of you."

And take care of you he did.

Chamber was at your side constantly, patient and gentle with you almost as if you were made of glass. He helped you sit up, always with one arm securely behind your back. When you could barely lift a fork, he fed you himself, murmuring soft encouragements between bites.

"Just one more spoon, mon ange. Then you can rest again."

He never made you feel embarrassed. Never made you feel weak.

On the third morning, you tried to get out of bed on your own.

A bad idea.

Your knees buckled almost instantly, pain shooting through your side. But strong arms caught you before you hit the floor, and then Chamber was lifting you with a stern, almost wounded expression on his face.

"Absolutely not," he said, his voice obviously displeased behind his worry. "You do not move without me, understood?"

"I just wanted to—"

"I know what you wanted," he said, carrying you effortlessly back to bed. "But if you had hit your head? If I was not here?"

You looked away, ashamed, but he tilted your chin gently back to meet his gaze.

"No more of this, ma belle. You hold on to me. Always. I will be your legs for now."

Over the next week, your strength returned slowly, but Chamber never left your side. If you needed water, he was already holding the glass. If your blanket slipped, he was there adjusting it without a word. When you needed to move, he was always waiting, arms open, steady, as if you were something precious he could never risk dropping.

"Lean on me" he’d say softly, offering his arm. "You do not need to prove anything to me."

And each night, he sat with you on the couch, reading or watching something that you enjoyed. His hand in yours, your head resting on his shoulder, his fingers absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles or your hair.

There was no rush. No pressure. Just him by your side.

One evening, you managed to stand on your own for the first time. Just for a few seconds.

When you looked at Chamber, expecting him to scold you, you saw only awe.

"You amaze me" he said, voice thick. "But let me hold you still. Just a little longer."

You nodded, and he stepped forward, wrapping you in his arms like you were the most fragile thing he’d ever touched. His chin rested on your shoulder, and for a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved.

"I was so scared," he whispered. "The moment I saw you fall... I thought I might lose you."

You leaned into him, your hand curling into the fabric of his shirt. "You didn’t. I’m still here."

"And I will keep you here" he said, kissing the top of your head. "As long as you’ll let me."

You were healing now, slower than you liked, but not alone. With every gentle touch, every whispered word of encouragement, every time he held you like you were the center of his world.

This wasn’t just care.

This was love.

And you would let him show it to you. Every day, in every moment you shared.

Because even in your weakest state, Chamber always made you feel like the strongest person alive.

Divider by: @thecutestgrotto