#HURRIEDLY RETREATS BACK INTO THE SHADOWS

[stevens-pastrami-sandwich]

HAPPY 17TH ANNIVERSARY TO THE SHOW THAT CHANGED MY LIFE!! 🎉🥳🎂

So maybe I'm a bit late to the party.. but that's not important 🤫🫶

[tender-rosiey]

I have a ✨request✨

So I would like to ask (if you want to do this) if you can make husband!Sukuna and wife!Reader but the reader gets scared easily and she’s terrified of thunderstorms.

Thank you! Btw, love how you write everything 😌❤️

thunder — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: glad you do, love! hope you like this as well! <3

the skies turn an ominous gray, heavy clouds swirling as the first low rumble of thunder rolls across the horizon. you feel your stomach twist in response, a familiar unease creeping up your spine. the storm is approaching, fast.

you swallow hard, trying to distract yourself with the mundane tasks of the day, hoping the sound of the thunder will fade into the background.

but with each passing moment, the storm grows louder, the skies darker. a flash of lightning lights up the room briefly, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that shakes the walls.

you flinch, heart pounding in your chest, and hurriedly step away from the window, as if being near it somehow makes the storm more dangerous.

your fingers tremble slightly as you clasp them together, trying to keep your breathing steady.

it’s ridiculous, you think. you are the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses. by all accounts, you have no reason to fear anything. and yet… thunderstorms always find a way to unravel you.

another bolt of lightning splits the sky, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable roar of thunder that follows.

the sound reverberates through the room, louder than before, and despite your efforts to stay calm, you can’t stop the small gasp that escapes your lips.

you hate feeling this way—small, vulnerable. you have faced so much worse and come out unscathed, but the irrational fear of storms clings to you, reminding you of your humanness.

a faint sound behind you makes you jump, your pulse quickening before you realize it’s just the door opening. you exhale in relief but freeze when you sense his presence in the room.

sukuna’s aura is unmistakable—heavy, oppressive, and dark. yet there is something familiar and comforting in it, like the weight of his power grounds you in reality.

he stands in the doorway, watching you in silence for a moment, his four eyes taking in your tense frame, the way your shoulders are slightly hunched, and your knuckles are white from gripping your hands too tightly.

“you’re scared,” he says, his voice low.

it isn’t a question. he senses it, of course. there’s no hiding anything from him, least of all your fears. you try to shrug it off, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“it’s just a storm,” you mutter, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, though your fingers still tremble. “nothing to worry about.”

sukuna steps further into the room, his towering figure casting a shadow over you.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your attempt to downplay the situation. another crash of thunder booms overhead, and despite yourself, you flinch again.

his gaze sharpens. “don’t lie to me,” he warns, his tone cold.

you bite your lip, feeling foolish. of course he sees through you. he always does. there’s no use pretending.

“I’m… not good with thunderstorms,” you finally admit, your voice quieter now. “I know it’s stupid.”

sukuna remains silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes you. he is never one for unnecessary softness, and certainly not the comforting type.

but there is something in the way he looks at you—calculating, thoughtful, as if he is deciding what to do with this newfound knowledge.

another streak of lightning illuminates the room, casting sharp shadows across his face. you instinctively take a small step back, but before you can fully retreat, sukuna moves faster, closing the distance between you in an instant.

his large hand wraps around your wrist, firm but not harsh.

“are you serious?” he asks, incredulity lacing his tone. the idea seems laughable to him.

“I can’t help it,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. the thunder crashes once more, and your body tenses involuntarily.

sukuna exhales, a low, rumbling sound that seems to match the storm outside. his grip tightens slightly, pulling you closer to him until you’re inches away from his chest.

he looms over you, his eyes dark and piercing, yet there is something oddly reassuring in his presence—something that makes the storm outside seem less terrifying in comparison.

“you fear something as insignificant as this when i stand before you?” his voice is a mixture of disbelief and amusement, but beneath that, there is a thread of something else—something almost protective.

you can’t meet his gaze, embarrassed by how small and fragile you must seem to him. sukuna, of all beings, thrives on chaos and destruction. the very elements of the storm that terrify you are likely nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him, if that.

“look at me,” he commands, his fingers tipping your chin upward to force you to meet his eyes. his red irises burn into yours, fierce and unyielding.

“do you think something as trivial as this storm could harm you while you’re mine?” his words are sharp, almost cutting, but the underlying meaning isn’t lost on you. sukuna would never allow anything to touch what was his.

he would never allow the world—let alone a storm—to hurt you.

you swallow, your voice shaky but trying to sound braver than you feel. “I… I know. It’s just—”

“you know nothing,” he cuts you off, leaning down until his face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “if you truly understood, you wouldn’t be trembling.”

you open your mouth to respond, but the thunder booms again, and instinctively, you press closer to him, your hands clutching the fabric of his robes as if he were the only anchor in the storm.

sukuna’s expression shifts subtly, his eyes softening—just barely—as he feels your grip tighten on him. he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t mock you for your fear, but instead, he allows you to cling to him, his body solid and unwavering.

“pathetic,” he mutters, though there’s no venom in his voice. he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you firmly against him. “but if you’re going to be scared, at least hide here.”

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[irisposts]

Embers of Us

summary | you plot to kill your uncle aemond and avenge your fallen brother.

paring: aemond x neice!reader

warning: kissing, p n v, very smutty oh and some angst, spoilers for s1e10

note: i haven't written smut in like a year. bare with me cus it's pretty ass.

word count: 2.8k

not edited

Gold coins fall into the rat catcher’s palm, his fingers quiver as you release the last two. The cold steel of your gaze pierces through him.

“Now leave,” you command, your voice sharp and hushed.

He nods hurriedly, retreating into the shadows from which he came. Your eyes lift to the second floor—the royal floor.

You ascend the stairs silently, each step filled with the weight of your purpose. The air feels thick, almost suffocating, as memories flood your mind—of Luke, of the war, of what was taken from your mother. The dagger beneath your cloak feels heavier with each breath.

When you reach Aemond’s door, your fingers shake as they graze the frame. Taking a sharp breath, you push it open just enough to peek inside. And there he is—Aemond Targaryen, your estranged uncle. The man that would meet his fate by the end of your dagger.

The room is bathed in the warm glow of scattered candles, their flames flickering against the stone walls. Aemond sits at a table, his back to you, his silver hair catching the light. He doesn’t turn when you slowly close the door behind you and seal the space between you.

Each step you take is measured, deliberate, as you approach. As you reach him, your hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of his silver hair. You yank his head back sharply and raise your dagger to his throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin. He hisses a breath through his teeth, unfazed.

“Niece,” Aemond murmurs, a low, cruel chuckle rumbling from his throat.

You tighten your grip on his hair, your voice taut with fury. “Uncle.”

Aemond raises his hands, a gesture of surrender. “Easy.”

Your wrist moves to swipe across his neck and then, with a swift move, he disarms you effortlessly–your blade goes clattering to the floor.

Before you can react, he’s on his feet, facing you with your own weapon pointed at your chest. You unsheathe another dagger, stepping back, trying to create distance.

His gaze locks onto yours, a faint smirk curling his lips. “Did Rhaenyra send you to do this, or are you foolish enough to act on your own?”

“My mother—your rightful queen—” you spit, your eyes burning with rage. Aemond scoffs at the words, but you press on. “—has nothing to do with this. I came for Luke.”

Something flickers in Aemond’s expression, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. His face hardens, cold and controlled. He steps slowly around the chair, voice lowering but steady.

“Luke was... a casualty of war,” he says, his tone almost detached. “War does not care for innocence. I am a soldier, and soldiers do what must be done. Blood is spilled, and it claims whoever stands in its path.”

“Casualty of war?” you seethe, your voice a mix of anguish and fury. “He was just a messenger! He wasn’t a threat to you, and yet you—” Your voice cracks, your chest tightening. 

Aemond’s face hardens further, his hand drifting toward his eyepatch as if by reflex. “The war,” he snaps, “began the day I lost my eye to your brother’s blade. A debt was owed.”

Your heart pounds in your ears, your hands shaking as anger courses through you. “But his life?” you choke, your voice faltering as tears well in your eyes. “He was just a boy!” You place a hand on your chest and spit through gritted teeth. “…We had nothing to burn.”

Aemond’s gaze softens for a brief moment, the flicker of guilt in his eye is buried beneath layers of pride, but it’s there.

You steady yourself, swallowing the sob threatening to escape. With trembling hands, you tilt your chin high and raise the dagger once more, whispering, "Se iā daor." (And now, you must die.)

You plant your feet firmly and charge towards him. Aemond catches your wrist midair, but you’re ready. With your free hand, you unsheathe another hidden dagger and swipe it across his side, the blade cutting through the fabric of his clothes and into his skin. A grunt escapes his lips as he staggers back, and the two of you tumble to the ground in a fierce struggle. The cold stone presses against your bodies as you grapple, breaths heavy and ragged, hands clawing and striking.

Aemond throws a punch, but you block it just in time, your arm bracing against the blow. In the chaos of tangled limbs, your fingernails catch his face, tearing away the eyepatch.

Everything stills.

Aemond freezes, his breath hitching as your gaze falls to the scarred, hollow space where his eye once was. But instead of a void, a sapphire gleams in its place, glowing faintly in the candlelight.

For the first time in years, you see the familiar tremor that runs through him. Fractured memories of child Aemond floods your mind, the Aemond you had once comforted when no one else dared to look at him.

Your heart slows as you reach your hand out to trace the scar and the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. But just as your fingers near him, Aemond’s hand shoots out, grasping your wrist.

His grip is firm, but not harsh. He holds your hand there, inches from his face, and the tension in the air thickens, the crackling candles the only sound between you.

The memory returns again—the quiet moments after Aemond had lost his eye. When you had been the only one to ask if he was in pain. The only one to sneak past your mother and Alicent to see to him—to offer him kindness when others turned away. That boy still exists, somewhere beneath the man who hovers before you now.

Aemond’s remaining eye flickers with something unreadable. Guilt, sorrow—perhaps, buried beneath his pride. “I’m letting you live,” he murmurs. “I won’t give you or your mother the satisfaction of my death. Nor will I give my brother the pleasure of yours.”

He loosens his grip, gently releasing your wrist. The violence that once filled the room moments ago now dissipates like smoke.

You continue to lay on the cold stone floor as grief overwhelms you, your body withers as bitter tears stream down your face. Damn him. Damn him for not giving you the chance to avenge Luke.

“No,” you sob, weakly striking his chest, the blows are soft and ineffective. Aemond doesn’t stop you. “No!” you cry again, your words spilling out in a broken mantra. “No.”

Aemond watches you, his expression unreadable. But something shifts in his gaze, something softer, more fragile than before. For a fleeting moment, you think you see unshed tears glistening in his eye, but the moment passes quickly.

In an unexpected gesture, Aemond reaches down and brushes a silver strand of hair from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. His thumb then swipes at the wetness beneath your eyes, lingering a moment too long. His fingers ghost against your skin.

His eye lowers, tracing the curve of your lips. His thumb brushes softly across your bottom lip. You taste the faint salt from your tears. He pauses, his eye searching yours, waiting—asking without words.

More tears threaten to spill, your heart torn between bitter betrayal and the love you had buried deep within.

But agaisnt your better judgement, you allow yourself to relax.

And then his lips meet yours, soft and careful, as if there’s a possibility you’d reject him. But you won't. You exhale a quiet sigh, melting into the warmth of his touch.

The kiss holds a thousand unspoken truths. It’s not just born of passion, but of release—of grief, regret, and love. For all the war, all the bloodshed and losses, the love between you had always lingered, hidden beneath layers of denial. Now, at this moment, it rises to the surface, undeniable.

Your fingers slip into his hair, pulling gently at the roots. Aemond’s hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss with quiet desperation.

For this fleeting moment, the storm outside the walls, the weight of the crown, and the shattered bonds of family fade into nothing. It is just the two of you, suspended in this moment where the war; your mother’s throne, and the blood between you are now distant echoes.

Aemond breaks away from the kiss and leans back. You watch carefully as he strips his top half bare. Your eyes roam over every inch of his chiseled form, taking in the smooth curve of his waist and the firm lines that make up his frame. Your gaze lingers on the wound of your doing. It sits right above his pelvis, off to the side.  It's not a deep cut, but it left specks of blood on his pale skin. 

Your fingers tremble as they reach for the strings of your top. Taking a shallow breath, you begin to remove your outer clothing. Aemond senses your anticipation and helps you out of your trousers. His touch sends shivers down your bare skin, as your naked form is fully revealed for his eyes to bare. 

Aemond slots himself between your legs and peppers kisses across your face, neck, chest, and abdomen. His silver hair tickling your skin as he continues downward. He slides his face in between your thighs, leaving soft kisses on either side.

He glances up at you for approval once more. Your cheeks flush and you give a quick nod before laying back down completely.

Aemond delicately parts your legs, his rough calloused hands gently brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. A low moan escapes your lips as his skilled fingers spread you apart. He begins to massage and tease at your bud. Your back arches in pleasure as Aemond flattens his tongue and slowly licks you up in a long, sensual strip. 

"Gods," you mutter breathlessly.

Both of your hands are in his hair now, tight and pushing him deeper into your heat.

Aemond is undoubtedly skilled. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy as you wonder if some woman from his past, maybe someone from his court, had taught him these tricks. He moans against you and a rush heat of heat glides up your body. Your eyes roll back, as he continues to devou you like you’re the last meal on earth.

You move a peice of silver out of his face—you want to see everything.

Your fingers tangle in Aemond's hair once more as waves of pleasure course through your body.

His tongue moves with expert precision, alternating between teasing flicks and long, languid strokes. Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing yourself closer to his eager mouth.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he increases his pace. The room fills with the sound of your ragged breathing and muffled moans. You feel the familiar tension building deep within your belly, threatening to overflow at any moment.

Aemond reaches towards your breast, his hand massaging the mound. His fingers pinching and twisting at your hardened nipple. His tongue swirls and darts in and out of your wet heat, in perfect unison with his fingers. “Aemond.”

Just as you approach the precipice, Aemond pulls away, leaving you gasping and desperate for release. His mismatched eyes, one sapphire gem and one his familiar ocean blue, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

His lips glisten in the light with your slit.

You watch as he stands tall and wrangles himself out of his trouser. Now, completely baring himself to you as you do him. Aemond's manhood is long and thick, standing with attention and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. You note the thick veins along his shaft. Your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him.

You chew on your lips in anticipation as Aemond brings himself back down to your level and hovers above your face. You both don’t pay any mind to your centers brushing against one another as he situates himself between your legs.  Both of you are too caught in each other’s gaze.

Instinctively, your fingers reach up again to trace the scar across his eye—the one that defines so much of who he is now. 

This time, he allows it. His face melts into your outstretched palm, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb brushes the sensitive area near the socket of his lost eye.

His hair falls like a sheer veil, cloaking the two of you. “iksā gevie” You say the words so softly it’s a mere whisper. (You’re beautiful.) 

Aemond's eye soften and he gently removes your hand from his face. 

But instead of letting go, he lifts your wrist to his lips and kisses the thin skin there. His lips linger for a moment before he lowers your hand back down to rest at your side. Aemond grabs himself between you both and positions himself at your entrance. 

You mentally and physically prepare yourself for what is about to happen, knowing it is an act of betrayal. Not only to your family, but to yourself.

Slowly, he enters you with the tip of his cock, causing a simultaneous moan from the both of you. Him from feeling the warmth of your walls and you from the pleasurable intrusion. You watch as his hips move, his skin glistening with sweat as he sinks deeper into you. You watch the intensity in his gaze as he looks down at where you both meet, his face contorted with raw desire.

Your legs spread wider when your body’s are fully flushed. The sensation of being so full and heavy of Aemond is heavenly.

You cry out in bliss as he begins to move inside you. His hips rolling out and snapping into your cunt.

The rhythm of Aemond's thrusts are deliberate and powerful, each one rolling and snapping with increasing force. You feel the tension building within you, a fire that is threatening to consume you both. Your chest bounces as he growls into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Your legs and hands cling around him, trying to hold on as his pace quickens. Your fingers claw into his back, leaving red marks in their wake. Aemond sucks at the salty flesh on the curve of your neck, biting down hard before meekly replacing his tongue and lips to ease the pain.

"sīr vok," he whispers into the shell of your ear in between thrusts, his voice low and rough. “se mirre syt nyke.” (So perfect, all mines)

You moan in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure overtakes your senses. The world around you fades away as Aemond continues to assault your inside, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Aemond reaches a certain depth inside you–hitting that one spot of nerves. A wave of pleasure washes over you and you cry out his name. Your back arches off the floor as you shake in ecstasy and gasp for air.

But Aemond doesn't slow down. He continues to fuck into you, through your orgasm, his grunts becoming more guttural and primal. He leans down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue dancing with yours . Your hands roam over his body, feeling every ripple and muscle as he brings both of you closer to the brink.

You wrap your legs tighter around him, urging him on as he pounds into you with an urgency that matches your own. Aemond buries himself between the curve of your neck, his moans loud and desperate. The familiar coil in your stomach begins to tighten once more as Aemond relentlessly drives into you.

“ivestragī ñuha—ah” You gasp at the sensitivity between your thighs. “laesi jurnegon jemome.” (let me see you). You beckon him to remove himself from your shoulder blade. 

Aemond obliges and turns his face towards yours. You stare as his features twist with pleasure. How his body tenses as he reaches his own peak, his hips stuttering against yours as he spills himself inside you. You feel the warmth of his seed filling you to the brim. You let out a sigh of satisfaction. He nearly collapses on top of you, but manages to gather the strength to withdraw from your body. You both watch as your essence coats him and his own drips between your thighs.

He falls down beside you in exhaustion.

You miss the warmth of him inside you, the feeling of him being close to you. 

The silence stretches, only your breathing echoing in the vast emptiness of the room, both of you lost in your own thoughts. 

After what feels like an eternity, you glance over at Aemond. He lies still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

Without shifting your gaze from him, you say the words slowly, each syllable deliberate. “I’m going to kill you one day.”

It was a promise.

You expect a reaction—a sudden turn of his head, a flash of anger, perhaps even the feeling of his hand reaching for the dagger beside him, and driving it into your throat. But none of that comes.

Instead, Aemond remains as he is, his face serene, his eyes still locked on the ceiling as if it held all the answers. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.

“I know.” His words are soft and matter a fact. 

You slowly turn your head, your eyes tracing the same path his do and stare at the ceiling above. The silence settles again, heavy and suffocating, but beneath it lies a quiet understanding– one neither of you are yet ready to confront.

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 29 - "That's all? Easy."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

A/N: I sometimes like to headcannon that Danny is actually a rich kid that doesn't live the rich kid style cause his parents use their money for their research and like to live a simple life. He goes to galas Vlad or Sam drag him to as his parents representative.

Damian had been prepared for another boring Gala to go through. His elder siblings as well as Pennyworth had made sure to take away any sharp blade he had on him beforehand. With the blades gone Damian refused to socialize with high society. What was the point in enduring the torture of pinched cheeks and repeating comments with double meanings and hidden insults as well as the 'boot' lickers, as one of his brothers liked to put it, when he wasn't allowed to return the favor these people were giving him with a quick blade swipe.

So Damian was hanging back, retreating to the corners and shadows of the room where people aside from his family wouldn't notice him. But being there gave him the chance to notice something else. At first Damian didn't think much of it but with the minutes passing he noticed it more and more.

Small colorful page markers.

He started tracking them. Eyes going from person to person as he scanned them for these markers. Always in spots and placements oneself wouldn't notice them on their own as well as by others around them. Sometimes they were even Color matched with the person's outfit.

Damian scanned the hall and his eyes landed on a teenager, younger than Drake but older than him. The other boy was gliding through the people seemingly effortlessly and unnoticed towards the snack table. Once there the teen appeared to be interested in what sort of food the gala was offering.

His eyes narrowed as he eyed the people the teen had passed.

A blue marker by the belt loop of an older gentleman.

Red marker on the purse of the lady dressed in purple.

Green marker on another man's vest.

He was sure these markers weren't on them before. Interesting, he missed before moving towards the teenager by the snack table. The boy by now had piled up one of the small plates high with some of the overhead foods and Damian first felt reminded of everting Todd went to a gala and immediately would go for the foods.

"You are quite sneaky." He spoke up after waiting somewhat politely for the other to acknowledge his presence. Which never happened even after five minutes and Damian having clearly seen the other looking at him from his corner of the eye.

"Oh, what do you mean?" The teen then said after swallowing a bite of food.

"I presume the page markers are what you're doing?"

"Damit, not even an hour in and I am already busted." The teenager muttered and Damian arched an eyebrow. "Look, I don't know whose rich kid you are but will stop as long as you don't tell the fruitloop. I am here to represent my parents and if this fruitloop hears I am playing the game Sam invented for these galas he will-"

"I believe you misunderstood my intention." Damian smirked as he held out a hand. "My family found it adequate to take my blades. So I want in on this 'game' you are playing."

The teenager blinked at Damian before a grin spread across his face. He hurriedly placed his plate on the table before rummaging around in one of his pockets."Well that is a nice change! Your not a stuck up like the other kids here."

A block of green, red and blue page markers were then placed in Damians held out hand. "I am Danny Fenton by the way, representative of Fentonworks."

"Damian Wayne." He answered out of reflex as he inspected the page markers given to him, uncaring if the teen would now start fawning over his last name like he had seen others do before.

"Cool. So want to make it more interesting? This is more fun in a two player setting then one player." Damian inclined his head, not letting the surprise of the other teens lack of reaction towards his name show. Well it looked like Daniel, because what else got the name Danny stand for, would be nice company for this gala.

"Let's make specific targets for each other, maybe even placements. Sam always dares me to do specific things. If one of us gets caught is an automatic loss, the one with the highest successful placements at the end of this gala is the winner."

He smirked. Daniel had no chance, a game like this was easy for him. This was going to be an easy win. His league training as well as the training his father had made him go through was going to give him a clear advantage. He was playing with the thought of giving Daniel a chance by not using certain skills but after the first three targets, Damian decided that that would be unnecessary.

The gala went by faster, the two pointing out specific people or placements of the marketers to each other. They both had surprisingly their fair share of failures as well as success. In the end they both had a draw and were on their last page marker to place.

"This is going to be the final decision between, win, loss or draw." Daniel hyped up the game and Damian shook his head lightly at the others foolishness that reminded him of Jon.

"Well then, it would be only right to select the most difficult targets for each other."

"Well if that's the case, see the guy over there, the one with gray hair and a ponytail? That's the fruitloop. Place your last marker right to the left on his lower back, where his jacket covers over his belt."

Damian arched an eyebrow but the teen only grinned. He smirked if the other wanted to make it apparently difficult then Damian could provide him with a real challenge. "For you target, my father is currently talking to this 'fruitloop' as you call him. Place the marker on his back on his left shoulder blade."

Daniel would not be able to so, his father was vigilant and despite his act, very aware of his surroundings. His newly made gala acquaintance would fail and Damian would be the winner of this game.

"That's all? Easy."

The two boy's started to move towards the two adults. They shared one last glance before splitting up slightly in two different directions to approach their targets. Damian was close, his steps silent as he neared his target the 'fruitloop'. The page marker was tagged to the tip of one of his fingers. Once he was close enough he would be able to place it without even having to get too close.

His father noticed him and Damian gave him a polite smile as he moved like he was going to pass the man in his way towards his father. He did however not anticipate for his target to place his hand on the hip obscuring his target placement. Damian's hand instantly hid his hand behind his back transferring the page tag to his other hand and unconsciously clicked his tongue. He would have to try again.

"Fruitloop! Who are you talking to?!" He heard Daniel shout out of nowhere suddenly, his head wiping around to see the other clapping his hand on his fathers shoulder. The shoulder where he had told the other to place the marker. Damian ground his teeth. He was not going to accept a loss here.

"Daniel! Where are your manners?! This is Bruce Wayne. CEO of Wayne Enterprise. I am so sorry Mr.Wayne."

"No worries Mr.Masters. He is just like how my sons were at his age. It is good for teens to be so full of energy."

Damian narrowed his eyes as the other teen gave him a peace sign and mouthed the words 'I won.' As the adults returned to their discussion Damian glared at Daniel, his last page tag crumpled in his hand, he switched to stand on his fathers other side so that he was next to the teen now.

"I demand a rematch." He hissed agitated, to which Daniel only grinned wider. "Sure. The next time we see each other at a gala again. I will have two packs ready for our rematch."

Later that night when Damian had returned home from the Gala, he took off his jacket only to notice something green peaking through the folds of it. As he lifted it to inspect where the Color on it game from his eyes narrowed and his grip on the jacket tightened. On his jacked he found several green page markers tagged on it one of them even had a little ghost drawn on it. "Well played Fenton, well played."

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Crush

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Boss!Miguel x lab tech!reader

summary: You've got a crush on your boss. But it's harmless - doesn't mean anything. Until it does.

warnings: no warnings. just fluff :D

a/n: just a little something I wrote to take a break from the college au fic I'm writing. sweet and fluffy and happy bc I've put this poor guy through so much 😭

not proofread at all, my bad y'all

wc: 1.6k

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

thinking about being Miguel's respite. His soft spot, a place to lay his head away from all the bullshit. you're not apart of the spider society, not strictly, just a technician that puts their head down and gets on with it. and sure, you've got a little crush on your boss, but who wouldn't? Miguel is smart, mostly calm, and surprisingly funny. whilst everyone cracks a smile at all the mile-a-minute jokes of the other spiderpeople; you find yourself laughing at all of your boss' little moments. dry, deadpan, humor - and he looks so, so good when he says it. 

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

"You swoop in with the-" Peter B makes a swoosh sound, hand swiping across the air like a kid playing with toy planes. "And then I'll do a-" 

Thud. He brings his hand down to the table solidly, with some force. It makes the table shudder and your head pops up slightly from under a workstation, hiding a smile. With their backs turned, they don't notice you're there.

You've got a pair of pliers in one hand, and a mess of wires with the other. You don't see the both of them that often, preferring to squirrel yourself away in the labs, but you've been stuck here with system updates. Whilst you've drawn the short end of the straw, yet again, it doesn't feel like it; basking in the warmth of the two even from the opposite end of the room. 

Miguel gives him a look, eyebrow raised. Peter waits, expectantly. A beat passes. 

" Oh. Are you… is that the whole plan?" Poking ever so slightly out of the tangle of wires, you catch his facial expression and it makes you giggle. Fuck. You clamp your hand over your mouth and retreat back into the depths. 

Busying yourself with the work, you pretend not to hear them pad towards you. It doesn't last long, and you're met with Peter B's face: 5 o'clock shadow and a blinding smile. 

"Oh shit! You're the…. uhuhh… that technician that I…" He clicks his fingers towards you, calling out to Miguel. Embarrassed, you stand up, expecting a scolding. 

It doesn't come. Miguel says your name, and it surprises you. 

"They're not usually on this floor, though. Lab A118, right?" He turns to you, and you nod slowly. How… how does he know that? You can count the amount of times you've spoken to Miguel one-on-one on a single hand, and yet he can remember which lab you work in? There were dozens of labs, triple the amount of technicians, and even if he did-

" Great . You can tell Miguel it's a brilliant plan," Peter beams. 

"Uhhh…." Not knowing what to say, you fiddle with the pliers in hand. 

"You don't... You don't have to answer that."

"...she does if she thinks it's good, Miguel." He deadpans, and turns to you. "He'll fire you if you don't answer."

"¿ Qué carajo, Peter ? " He practically hisses. Hurriedly, he reassures you with a hand on your arm. His tone is warm, softer. " Seriously, you don't have to answer that."

Peter huffs, leading you to take a seat on the counter. And you do, as he pleads his case. 

The older man is animated, and the scene makes you laugh: Peter B in a robe and fuzzy slippers, telling a humble technician the intimate details of their mission. Miguel takes a seat next to you, thigh creeping closer to yours. You pretend not to notice, and focus on the man in front of you. 

"Our target is this freaky little guy-" 

"The Green Goblin." Miguel corrects

"Whatever. This freaky little guy from a medieval dimension. All hear ye, hear ye , and shit…. a freak with a bell on his hat and purple cape. Sounds simple enough, right?" 

"...right." Miguel answers, exasperated already. 

Peter makes the sound of a buzzer. " Wrong! His dimension is paper-based, meaning he's a slippery little shit otherwise. Doesn't adhere to our kind of physics," The man besides you prepares to interject, but is shut down by the wave of a hand. 

"More or less, Miguel, I don't care for the science - this guy is literally two-dimensional. So you ," Woosh. He makes the gesture from earlier on. "And I'll," Smack. He brings his hands together with distinct flair.

Your boss still has his brows drawn up in confusion, but something clicks for you. 

"Miguel….takes him from his blind spot," You copy the gesture, as they both watch. Miguel can see the cogs turning in your head, the little twitch of your lips and press of eyebrows. "...and you pin him down from above."

“Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I said!" He pumps his fist upwards, pulling you off the counter and into a bear hug. You're laughing, and you hear him from over your shoulder. "We stick him with a doohickey, and then he's jingling all the way back home. I'm a goddamn genius, aren't I?" 

Miguel scoffs, amused. It's a somewhat good plan, but he's even more surprised at you: half-strangled in the other man's arms, and smiling wide. 

When Peter finally releases you, with a sly middle finger to Miguel for good measure, he rushes off. He's…babbling on about how Jess is gonna love this , or something like that. 

You're left with Miguel, still on the counter, head cocked. He's looking towards the door, you think, until you meet his eyes and jump. They are a deep scarlet, framed by wispy lashes. Your boss is pretty; so, so pretty . Perhaps not the most appropriate thought, but it's all you can think about as he talks. 

"You speak Parker?" He says, and you laugh. It makes heat prickle in his chest. 

" No way, sir. I… I think that's a first for me." You put your hands up, shaking your head; the remnants of a giggle bubbling up. 

"Maybe you should be on strategy? I could… we could do with that kind of talent on the team." His face is steady, and unreadable. You swear you can see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it's hard to tell. He's rubbing at his neck, carding through the hair at his nape. 

He seems… shy, for some reason. 

"I'm flattered, sir, really. But I'm happy with what I do in research."

He hums, a strange expression on his face. He's on his feet now, getting a little closer to you. The pliers are in your hand, and he picks it up in his wide palms. Your hands are soft, he thinks. 

The action makes you hold your breath, and all of a sudden you're looking at his lips. 

" This," He's perceptive, and ignores the way your gaze makes him feel; the heat of your body so close to his. "Is a bit too big for what you're trying to do. It's a bit of a struggle, right?" 

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. 

He flashes a little smile and leads you back to the workstation. "The number 4, please."

You hand him the smaller attachment, shaking yourself out of a daze. Your fingers brush, but you force yourself to concentrate on what he does under the hood , so to speak. 

"A little pressure, right…" You put your hand on the spot, and he moves it with his own, ever so slightly. "... here. Pull, please."

You give a solid tug, and he pushes the tool into a junction at the wires. It comes apart much easier than before. 

"You felt it?" He says it lowly; and it makes you blink twice. " That's when you pull. When you feel that tension."

He nods, and you stutter a timid thank you. "T-Thanks, sir. You didn't have to, though."

"I wanted to. I basically built all of this, I know it like the back of my hand. So it's no trouble." From anybody else, it would sound like a brag, but from Miguel it's nothing but the truth. You're in awe of him. sometimes: everything he's built, everything he's achieved. 

"So it's your fault none of these wires are colour-coded properly?" You say with a  burst of confidence. "Why are the wires for electrics brown? And the hydro-pumps are… purple? Not blue, or–" 

It peters off when you see his expression, gaunt and serious. 

" Shit. Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to cross a line, or anything."

"Sure, I built it," He erupts into a smile, and it makes him laugh. God, you've made Miguel laugh . "But I never said I was good at it." 

It puts you at ease, and you're brave enough to give him a little smile in return. And he likes it: your eyes light up, and worry lines relax. 

"And you don't need to call me sir. It's Miguel." As if introducing himself for the first time, he stretches out a hand. You take it, and say your name. 

"I know." He says it gently, and your heart skips a beat. "You need some help with the rest?" 

Realistically, it's a one-person job; something you can do even quicker now he's shown you the right technique. But he's already so close, and you're hung up on the way he speaks to you: steady, patient, with the prettiest, plump lips you've had the pleasure of looking at. It's not helping you get over your inappropriate crush; and will absolutely feed into your delusion; but he offered , ever so sweet. 

"Yeah, Miguel." You take the tool from him and crane your head to the worktop's belly. "I think I do."

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[anaskinned]

Petyr Baelish X Reader

Professor Baelish Au

TW: Smut, degradation, age gap, fingering, teacher x student, bullying, stalking, slapping, spanking, choking.

This is my first smut! Get cozy :)

——————-——————————————————

Y/N has been avoiding going to class for a week straight now.

Professor Baelish never used to take attendance, but the girl who always sat in the front, the girl whose eyes followed him like a shadow, had not been showing up to class. He had grown strangely amused by her eager nature. She was undeniably stunning, possessing a truly gorgeous physique. She diligently took notes without pause, arrived a steadfast ten minutes early for every class, and consistently scored above average on every test. His curiosity only grew with each day she didn’t show.

The first day he noticed almost immediately. He glanced at his watch as her usual arrival time passed, his gaze flicking back to the classroom door expectantly. Five minutes later, a sense of unease crept in, prompting him to reach for his laptop bag placed neatly beside the desk. He unzipped the bag and withdrew his sleek laptop, his fingers tapping the power button to awaken the screen. The soft hum of the device filled the quiet classroom as he waited for it to boot up. His eyes scanned the inbox, but there were no new emails to distract him from the growing mystery of her absence. She never arrived so he let it go. A one off.

The next day, he arrived early, positioning himself in the hallway a full fifteen minutes before the lecture was scheduled to begin. Leaning against the corridor wall with an almost obsessive determination, he crossed his arms tightly, his posture rigid yet filled with an undeniable intensity. Every passing student received a nod from him, but his gaze remained fixed on the door through which she should have walked. The minutes stretched on, and despite his early vigilance and the magnetic pull of his expectation, she never appeared. His curiosity now tinged with a hint of obsession as he couldn't shake the thought of her absence. The third day, consumed by an escalating obsession, he delved into the school's database, meticulously searching for her schedule.

On the fourth day, his patience with her reached an all new low. Anticipation coiled tightly within him as he positioned himself discreetly outside her class before his own. He watched intently as she emerged hurriedly from the classroom, her steps quickened by some unseen urgency. With a swift and calculated move, he intercepted her path, his hands reaching out to grasp her wrist firmly but gently, halting her in her tracks. Her surprise was palpable, mirrored by the intensity in his eyes as he faced her.

“Y/N.” He grabbed her wrist firmly, stopping her in her tracks.

She stood frozen, her mouth gaping.

“Professor Baelish.”

“Why are you avoiding my class?”

“I’m not - I wasn’t.” She stammered.

He studied her face intently, scanning for any hint of deception or evasion. "Pretty girls shouldn't lie. Explain to me how you've managed to attend every class for the last four days and yet remain conspicuously absent from mine." His tone was measured, yet beneath it simmered a blend of curiosity and a hint of something more personal.

“Professor.” She squeaked, gesturing her eyes to the crowd forming around the two in the hallway.

Baelish sighed, releasing his grip on Y/N’s wrist.

“You, my dear, are coming to my office. Go.” He hissed in her ear and held her gaze. His piercing blue eyes bore into hers with a mix of scrutiny and calculation before he turned abruptly, striding away in the opposite direction.

She hurried to his office, her heart racing with each door she passed along the way. As she approached his department door, she stole a cautious glance through the glass pane, only to find his office empty and devoid of any sign of him. Pausing uncertainly for a moment, she wrestled with indecision before abruptly turning on her heel and retreating in the opposite direction.

Thump

Professor Baelish stood silently behind her. He observed her every move with a penetrating gaze, his expression unreadable yet filled with an unsettling intensity.

“Wrong way.” He huffed impatiently.

He held his arm out, and with his other, he opened and waited for her to enter the office.

She pushed passed him and sat in the chair opposite to the desk.

He took his place across from her, effortlessly shedding his suit jacket to reveal a physique that bespoke strength and refinement. With a graceful movement, he crossed one leg over the other, his demeanor exuding a captivating blend of confidence and intrigue.

“You know why I have brought you here. Now tell me the truth.”

"I was sick," she stammered, her voice wavering slightly as she met his unwavering gaze.

"Darling, we all lie. You happen to be the worst one I've ever encountered," he remarked coolly, his words carrying a mix of admonishment and fascination.

“Sir, I really can't do this.”

“Such proper obedience for a disobedient girl.” He sucked his teeth while watching her thoughtfully. “Why do you sit in the front for my lectures but sit in the back for every one of your other classes?” he inquired, his tone a blend of curiosity and a hint of playful challenge.

“Sir - I”

“I watched you cry after checking your phone multiple times.”

Her face bursted into an embarrassed flush.

"I want to know who has you so captivated," he pressed, his voice carrying a mix of intrigue and a subtle edge of possessiveness.

"I… I love your class, and I find you so… charming," she confessed softly, her words hesitant yet tinged with genuine admiration.

“Go on.”

“And some people have been starting rumours about me.”

“Saying?”

“That I - I fuck you… to get good grades.” Her voice trailed off and her eyes faltered to the floor.

"What a story that would be," he mused absent-mindedly. "No kidding," she replied, a hint of nervousness in her voice. The pair made heated eye contact and when neither of them laughed, they settled into an uncomfortable silence.

“Give me names.”

“Seriously Professor, I don't want to make myself a bigger target. Can we just drop this?”

“Y/N, I'm not going to let them sully your academic achievements. You're too smart to be labelled a whore.” He watched her for a long moment before dropping his voice and bending over the table. “Are you a whore Y/N?”

She was embarrassed by the question because she had to stop and think. Is she a whore? No, not overtly, but she was undeniably enthralled by the man, captivated by his presence alone. Thoughts of him consumed her mind constantly, and she eagerly anticipated each class they shared. The thought of him following her all day made her thighs clench in ways that were wrong.

"Lost in thought. For such a simple question," he remarked, his eyes fixed on her with a hungry intensity. He circled the desk slowly, the sound of his tsking accompanying each deliberate step.

“Sir, please let me go.”

“Well now I'm not sure Ms. L/N.” He now stood behind her chair. “How can I condemn this behaviour when I can't place you? Either you're a good girl, or you're a whore.”

“I am not a whore!” She bit out.

“Very good girl, Y/N.”

“Sir… I - don't know what you want from me?”

"Names," he demanded, his voice tinged with anger and authority, cutting through the tense atmosphere in the room.

“I can't. I really don't mind.”

“Should I force them out of you?”

“You can't.”

He laughed callously. "Bend over the desk," he instructed, his tone firm and commanding, his demeanor unyielding.

She sat there, looking up at him in pure shock, her expression a mix of disbelief and uncertainty.

“Now. Whore.”

He allowed the fear to shake her to the core. Retrieving a large wooden ruler from behind his desk, he held it firmly, the weight of his intention palpable in the air.

“Let’s start simple, Y/N. How many students are involved in the rumour?”

She didn't speak.

He wound his arm back, striking her round ass with a hard smack.

“Fuck!” She cried out.

“Good girls wouldn't use such colourful language. Now, how many students are involved?”

“Five!” she hissed.

“Why would they start such a nasty little rumour?”

She shook her head.

Thwack!

“Ah.” She threw her head back, finally making eye contact with her superior.

“Why Y/N?”

No answer.

Thwack.

"Where there's smoke," he murmured, bending down to gently rub the sore spot on her rump, "there’s usually fire." His voice held a mixture of warning and curiosity, probing for more information beneath the surface.

Oh, there was definitely a fire; she could feel it between her legs, her back arching slightly as she leaned into his tender touch.

He let his hand fall to his side before spanking her again.

“God, I started them, Sir.”

He paused, absorbing the information slowly, his expression unreadable as he processed the revelation.

“Now why is that?”

“I left my fucking note book unattended and they read it.”

“Where is the notebook now?”

Her eyes dropped in a mix of sadness and shame. Without a word, Baelish had a sneaking suspicion that the notebook resided in her backpack. Straightening his posture, he proceeded to search through her bag until he found the notebook she carried into every class.

Y/N bowed her head, holding her bent position on the desk. She looked like she could burst into tears at any moment.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the girls former seat.

He flipped through the pages of notes, maintaining deliberate eye contact with her before turning each page. He couldn't help but be impressed by how diligently she recorded every word he uttered in class. However, as he reached the back of the notebook, he discovered something more provocative stored there.

He looked up at Y/N, his eyebrows raising with each smut-filled page he read. Some of its topics included hair pulling, choking, fucking raw, and degradation. A smile couldn't help but cross his face, and he couldn't help but notice his pants growing tighter. These were all categories he not only enjoyed, but excelled at.

“So this is a crush?”

“Yes sir.”

“How does crushing escalate to fucking?”

“Sir I don't know.”

“I can't help but imagine the way he would stand over me and call me nasty names.” He said in a dull tone, his voice tinged with exasperation and annoyance.

“Stop!” She cried, the tears running down her face. “Just report it to the dean and let me leave with dignity.”

“And why would I do that?” He perplexed. “So the school can investigate me? So you can evade punishment?”

“You know I have way more to lose than you.” She sobbed. “I would lose my scholarship and the school would have me expelled.”

“Thats not real punishment. You know why?”

Her eyes blazed with anger now, a fiery intensity that matched her frustration.

"Why, Professor Baelish?" she bit out, her voice infused with defiance and fake curiosity.

“Because if the rumour is, that I fuck my young students?” He said, now getting in her face. “I better get to fuck said younger student. Get on your knees.” He demanded.

“Sir-”

“Now.”

She felt the fire spreading from her cunt to her head. She knew this was wrong but her body couldn't help but submit.

He reached for the book and flipped through several pages before decisively tearing out a specific page and tossing it before her eyes.

“Read it out loud.” He barked.

“Today I came into class and watched Professor Baelish-”

He towered over her, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “You know what part.”

She cringed, absolutely tortured by the private words she had written, and took a shaky breath before continuing.

“Today I imagined him reprimanding me in front of the class, and sitting on his lap, everyone watching as he stroked me.”

“Good girl.” He cooed. “Keep going.”

“I - I would let him do anything he wanted to me to be honest.”

"That's it, finally some truthfulness," he remarked, his tone laced with a mix of satisfaction and intrigue.

He looked deeply into her eyes as he began to undo his belt buckle and pull down his pants.

Y/N watched in bewilderment as the moment she had fantasized about for half a year unfolded before her eyes.

“Keep reading, whore.”

Her eyes fluttered to and from the page, as if she didn't want to miss anything.

“I wish I could stroke his cock, licking and slipping my mouth around the head.”

“Do you now?” He said, letting his member free and bounce against his lower stomach.

Y/N’s eyes lit up like giant saucers, staring directly at his cock.

“You have my permission.”

She lurched forward eagerly, her warm breath huffed before taking in his head. She made eye contact, watching the way his mouth twitched and hissed with each slow movement of her tongue.

He became impatient with her slow pace, snatching her hair by the base of her neck and saying “open wide.”

Her eyes watered as he impaled her mouth and relentlessly fucked her mouth with need. She hummed against his member, taking another inch with each stroke. It wasn't long before she took him in completely.

“Fuck you are such a dirty fucking whore, Y/N.” He cooed, relishing the sensation.

After a couple minutes, he pulled her lips off his cock and brought her to her feet.

"Stand by the desk," he instructed firmly.

Y/N stood, but Baelish stopped her abruptly, yanking her back with a tight grip on her wrist.

“You forgot your smut.” He said impatiently.

Y/N couldn't help but feel embarrassed by the whole scenario. She reluctantly bent over to retrieve the piece of paper and reported behind his desk.

“Read.”

“I wish he would grab me by the neck and push me onto the desk.”

He fixated on her, pushing her chest onto the desk while the base of her neck was pinned to the mahogany.

“Like this?”

She didn't say anything but let out a pathetic whimper.

He tightened his grip on her neck and used his other hand to smack her tender bottom.

“Fuck - yes - like this!”

He laughed curtly, grinding his hard cock against her ass.

He used his full weight to immobilize her tiny body; letting his tongue lick the outside rim of her ear.

She moaned loudly, huffing a cloudy wet stain on the desk.

“Keep reading.”

“He would lick my pussy till I cried, while calling me horrible names and making me beg for it.” She felt so naked while being fully clothed.

He removed the weight of his torso before pulling Y/N’s jeans down, and inspecting the outline of her pussy lips through her panties.

“Your needy cunt is dripping, little whore.”

She rested her forehead against the table as she huffed, her thighs clenching in need.

He peeled her wet garment off her soaked pussy lips, pressing his digits to her sensitive clit.

She gasped, urgently bucking her hips to gain more friction.

Baelish didn't appreciate the gesture; he tsked disapprovingly and smacked her hard on the ass.

“Let me explain this to you right fucking now. Any pleasure you receive, will be because I wanted you to experience it. The same goes for pain.” He smacked her ass harder. “Apologize for being a greedy slut.”

“I’m sorry.”

Thwack.

"Apologize for being a greedy slut!" he demanded, his voice stern and uncompromising, echoing in the dimly lit room.

“I’m sorry for being a greedy slut!” She grated out.

“Good girl.” He hummed. His fingers splayed against her pussy, his middle and ring finger plunging into her cunt. His thumb rubbed in tight circles around her clit as she squirmed on the desk.

Her moans were getting louder and louder as she grew closer to her climax.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He leaned down, smashing his lips into hers.

His lips were heavenly, his tongue a lubed weapon, and his saliva was hot, like a warm shot down her throat. The kiss was pure electricity.

“I’m so close.” She wept.

“Are you?” his demeanour, sweet and inviting.

“I’m going to cum.” She wailed.

“No you're not.” and just like that, he removed his fingers, leaving her so empty and needy.

“But-but-”

“But - but..?” he mimicked her whiny voice. “Any pleasure you receive will be because I wanted you to experience it.” He smacked her bottom again, the stinging red mark branding her ass. “Greedy whore.”

Y/N huffed in frustration before Baelish thrusted his cock into her pussy.

“Fuck!” she cried.

“Fuck, that is a nice tight cunt.” He groaned, placing both hands on either side of her ass.

Y/N’s pussy swallowed his cock, the girth alone igniting a sweet pain; sweeter than she could ever imagine. He pumped in and out of her effortlessly, letting his hands roam her breasts from behind.

She turned her head to the side, watching his facial features contort in erotic ways that made her lower body flush with butterflies.

“Fuck you're so beautiful.” He drawled, savoring each syllable as though he had effortlessly plucked the words straight from her lips.

His hand reached around her neck as he yanked her hair towards his chest, asserting control and dominance. He was now in a better position to grind deeper into her wetlands.

“Is this what the little whore wanted?” He whispered in her ear, slightly out of breath.

“Yes sir.” She moaned.

"Are you going to leave your book and those lacy panties in my possession?" His voice held a strong dominant tone.

“Yes sir.” She wasn't sure what made her cunt clench. Was it the thought of him jacking off with her panties, or him delving into her every desire? Either way, she melted.

“Good fucking whore.” His thrusts were growing faster and more erratic. "You have detention with me for the rest of the semester," he murmured, his voice lowering. "I own you."

“Please sir, I promise to serve my punishment!” Y/N could barely take it anymore. Her climax was so close, but she knew he would deny her release if she dared to push too far. She clenched her teeth, desperate to hold on despite the overwhelming need pulsing through her.

"Beg me to cum," he whispered, his tone thick with lust and dominance, his eyes locked onto hers, commanding her submission.

“Fuck sir, I'm sorry I brought you shame. Please let me cum, I will obey you - please!”

His hand found her clit and began toe-curling circles on her sensitive nub.

“Please Sir!” she squealed frantically.

“Cum all over this cock little girl.” He groaned, pounding her cunt desperately.

The pair climaxed at the same time, their sweaty bodies collapsing into a hot heap on the desk. It wasn't till five minutes had passed had he shifted off of her back. He walked towards the cabinet on the wall and pulled out a fresh towel, his movements deliberate and controlled. A momentary distraction from the tension that lingered in the air between them.

He began to clean her up, wiping any fluids that didn't exist prior to this entanglement.

"I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you, but mistook it as naivety," he chuckled softly, a hollow amusement in his voice.

Y/N laid on the desk in thought, pondering why he had singled her out, questioning if it was intentional or mere coincidence.

"Why choose me?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension, as if probing into the depths of his fixation.

"You are special," he whispered softly, brushing a loving finger down the apple of her cheek. His touch was tender, his words sincere, as he gazed into her eyes with affection.

"Why?" she asked, searching for understanding in his words and touch. "I am a private man," he began, his tone firm yet tinged with a hint of regret. As he sat down on the chair, he gently pulled her down beside him. "The moment you left that book unattended was the moment you jeopardized my privacy. That is why you have been punished." His words hung in the air, conveying both his need for personal boundaries and a sense of consequence for her actions. He sighed, “If you break our agreement or miss a class again, I will show up to your dorm room and fuck you senseless. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she replied softly.

"Now, hand over your panties," he ordered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And the book."

Without hesitation, she heeded his command and stepped away from the lace panties. They were damp to the touch, embarrassingly so, but nonetheless, she handed them over, along with the book.

"Now get to class, you have ten minutes." He spoke sternly, pushing her off his lap and pulling her jeans back up. He got up from his seat and kissed her tenderly, his lips lingering softly against hers. "See you soon, Professor Baelish." She blushed. "Goodbye, pet."

[a-new-romantic]

paris ♡ (azriel x reader)

a/n: heavily, heavily inspired by paris by taylor swift. lyric for lyric, in fact. IF YOU HATE IT, DON'T READ IT! i love taylor swift, her music is my inspiration.

summary:

azriel lounged in the living room at the house of wind, shadows resting beside him as he flicked through a book the house had recommended to him. the sun shone softly on him as he hummed quietly as he drunk in the words, captured by the story.

his peace was suddenly ruined as cassian came bursting through the double doors, closing the book azriel was holding and placing it down on the table.

"AZ! did you hear?" he asked hurriedly, as if the news couldn't wait.

"what?" azriel replied back, calmly as if he already knew what cassian was on about.

"your ex friend's met someone at a club, and he kissed her!" cassian began.

azriel nodded, his mind already wandering off, away from the gossip that cassian was spewing and towards you. thoughts of you reading, sleeping, eating, anything really. he is utterly in love with you.

"turns out, it was that guy you hooked up with AGES ago! some inner circle wannabe," cassian continued, eyebrows shooting up to emphasize the absurdity of the situation.

azriel did nothing but stare blankly at cassian, a short "mhm," escaping him.

"nesta even said that their outfits were terrible, 100 years ago unbearable," cassian stated, no room to disagree.

azriel opened his mouth to respond, before he felt that familiar bond tug in his chest, and feelings of need flowed in from you. you were in your home and you wanted to be with him as you cooked dinner for that.

"did you see them? i'm sure rhysand can show you, let me get him-" cassian started, interrupted by azriel not shortly after.

"no i didn't, but thanks though." he stated, rushing out of the room to fly off on the balcony towards velaris.

cassian stared at the retreating form of his brother. "what the hell?" he said outloud before he too left the living room.

-----

"where have you been azriel? we've been worried sick about you. you've been taking more breaks from spy work than usual-" feyre asked, wanting to know the reasoning behind azriel's seeming detachment.

"yeah, have we been giving you too much to do? i can cut back, brother,"rhysand assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

feyre nodded before continuing, "you've been missing important meetings and now you're telling me you just didn't know some of the biggest news regarding our social relationship with the autumn court? this isn't like you azriel. we're all really worried."

the whole inner circle stared at the interaction with wide eyes, nodding along to what the high lord and lady were saying.

azriel knew in that moment that there wasn't much else he could do. he had to tell his family about you. with a gentle tug sent down the bond, he began.

"i found my mate," he stated simply. everyone gasped in either joy, awe, or wonder.

"that's great, but why is it distracting you this much from the court?" rhysand asked, high lord as ever.

"please rhys," azriel pleaded, "like you never felt this with feyre? i'm so in love that i might stop breathing." he said breathlessly, as if even the thought of you took his breath away.

he turned to feyre and continued, "no i didn't hear the news, i was busy being in love."

"why didn't you tell us?" cassian asked, seemingly butthurt at the witheld information.

privacy sign on the door, on my page, and on the whole world.

"i think i wanted to keep this one to myself for the time being," azriel admitted. "after all, romance is not dead if you keep it just yours," he muttered.

he knew that he had to field his family's questions, have them meet you, and go through the formalities. but feeling you tug back on the bond was all he needed in that moment.

a/n: this sucks, i'm sorry.

[b1tchyboyxd]

˚₊‧꒰ა Yan!poet x Male reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

This one will be really short because I'm lazy lol Tw: None, this one is very soft 👍

─────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

The faint scent of ink filled the air as you entered the quaint, cozy apartment. A single table near the window held an array of pens, papers, and open books, all surrounded by a sea of crumpled sheets.

Seated in a rickety chair, his back hunched as if carrying the weight of endless words, was the mesmerizing figure of the poet with a peculiar fixation. The poet's intense gaze fixated on you, their eyes locking for a moment before the poet hurriedly looked back to the paper in front of them.

"You're here," the poet mumbled, their fingers clenching around the pen. "Good. I need to run something by you."

He pushed back the chair with a loud scrape, standing up and striding towards you. The poet's hand reached out, hesitantly at first, then grasping your wrist with sudden force, their grip like a vise.

"Sit," the poet commanded, yanking you towards the chair he vacated. The table's edge bit into your back as you complied, your heart stuttering in your chest.

The poet loomed over you, their tall frame casting a shadow that engulfed you in an intimate darkness.

"I'm writing a poem," the poet explained, their voice a hushed whisper. "But I want it to be special, unique. I need your... cooperation for it."

He leaned closer, their eyes boring into yours, a manic gleam in their gaze. "Will you do that for me?"

You tried to swallow the trepidation lodged in your throat, but all you could manage was a jerky nod. The poet smiled, a chilling, almost feral smile, and retreated to the other side of the table. He began to rifle through the pile of crumbled sheets, searching for something specific.

After a few moments of searching, the poet triumphantly held up a tattered sheet of paper. He turned to you, his expression oddly vulnerable in the dim light.

"I want you to read this." The poet laid the page flat on the table and pushed it towards you, his fingers tracing invisible lines over the scribbled words.

The handwriting was cramped, the words scribbled and crossed out in equal measure. It was a love poem, raw and chaotic, filled with an obsessive adoration.

Each line clawed at your heart, the poet's desperation seeping through the ink, a tangible presence in the air.

When you looked up, the poet was watching you intently, waiting for your reaction. His eyes, wide and unblinking, seemed to devour every detail of your face.

"Well?" he prompted, his voice tinged with both impatience and anxiety.

"It's... intense," you managed to say, the words sticking in your throat. The poet's gaze darkened, and he stepped closer, a flicker of something wild and possessive dancing in his eyes.

"Intense..." he echoed, the word dripping from his lips like honeyed poison. He moved around the table, his steps quiet and measured, circling you as if you were his prey. "You don't know the half of it." The poet's hand shot out, his palm landing firm on the back of your chair, trapping you between his body and the table.

"You inspire me," he murmured, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. "Your very presence drives me to write."

The poet's free hand snaked up, his fingers tracing a path along your jawline, as if committing every contour to memory.

"I've tried to resist it—this pull, this craving..." His voice was a whisper now, ragged with suppressed emotion. His fingers trembled against your skin, a stark contrast to the possessive strength in his touch. "But you're in my every thought, on the tip of my tongue, in every damn poem I write."

The poet's hand on the back of your chair shifted, his grip tightening until the wood protested under his grip.

His other hand was now cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, as if trying to claim ownership of every inch of you.

"I'm addicted," he confessed, his voice hoarse with need. "I'm obsessed, consumed. You're my muse, my fixation, my only source of inspiration."

He leaned in even closer, his breath mingling with yours, the heat between you almost unbearable.

The poet's eyes, usually so intense, had gone dark, the pupils blown wide with the depth of his feelings.

"I've always been possessive." he continued, leaning down until his lips were almost touching your ear. "But you... you make me want to claim you, possess you, to hold you so close that we become one."

The words hung in the air like a promise, a dark vow echoing in the cramped room. The poet's hand on the back of your chair slid down to your shoulder, his grip bordering on painful. He seemed torn between wanting to pull you closer and wanting to cage you in, his conflicting desires creating a maelstrom of tension.

"I can't write without you," the poet ground out, his voice a ragged whisper.

"But it's not enough to simply write about you. I need you, physically, mentally, emotionally. I need you like I need the air to breathe, like I need words to write."

His hand, still cupping your jaw, slid down your neck, his fingers tracing the line of your collarbone. The poet was so close now that you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, mirroring your own racing heartbeat.

He was a contradiction of raw need and desperate control. The poet's eyes flicked over your face, searching, seeking, then landed on your lips. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip again, a silent plea for more.

"I love every line, every curve, every flaw." His words were little more than ragged breaths now, each one tinged with suppressed longing.

"Your laugh, your frown, the way you bite your lip when you're lost in thought." His fingers traced the path his words had taken, mapping out the terrain of your face like a blind man deciphering Braille.

"I want to memorize you, every inch, every expression, every sound you make." The poet's voice was hoarse now, his body pressing even closer, his chest almost touching yours.

His hand left your shoulder and moved up to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as if he was trying to draw you into his very essence.

"But I'm not content with just that. I need more." The poet's hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, exposing the line of your neck to him.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above your pulse point, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"I need all of you, like a drowning man needs air, like a starving man needs food." His lips brushed against your skin, a touch like a whisper, a promise and a warning all rolled into one.

"I need you, and I'll stop at nothing, do anything, to make you mine." His teeth grazed your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp.

The poet's hand in your hair kept you frozen in place, your body arched back, your neck exposed, vulnerable to his touch and his desires.

His lips, hot and demanding, traced a path up to your ear, where he whispered, "I'll write sonnets about your body, compose entire odes to the taste of your skin."

His teeth nipped at your earlobe, the slight pain sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. The poet's other hand, still on your jaw, turned your face towards him, giving him better access to the expanse of your throat.

"I'll write epics about your sighs, your gasps, your moans." The poet's lips moved to the underside of your jaw, trailing a line of burning kisses down to the base of your neck.

His body pressed impossibly closer, his chest flush against yours, his leg slipping between yours, a silent command to open for him.

"And I'll make you sing for me." he murmured against your skin, the words a promise, a prophecy. "I'll take what I want, claim what's mine, and you'll beg me for more."

The poet's hand in your hair tightened again, the sharp pain only serving to fuel the heat pooling in your belly.

His hand left you jaw and found the hem of your shirt, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to caress the bare skin of your side.

His touch was like fire, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The poet's lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"I want to mark you mine, in every possible way," he murmured, his hand sliding higher, his short nails scraping gently against your skin.

"So every time you look in the mirror, you'll remember that you're mine, body and soul." His lips traced the line of your collarbone, nipping and sucking, leaving faint marks in their path.

The poet's body was flush against yours now, the hard planes of his form molding to your softness. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against your chest like a drumbeat of desire.

He lifted his head from your neck just long enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with hunger.

The poet's eyes were like twin pools of darkness, reflecting the primal need that burned within him. He leaned in closer again, his voice a gruff whisper against your ear.

"I'll devour you, consume you, until you're writhing beneath me, begging me for more." His hand on your side shifted, sliding higher, his fingers tracing patterns of desire against the sensitive skin of your ribcage.

"And I'll give you more." His voice was a growl now, his words punctuated by the nip of his teeth against your skin. "I'll give you all of me, my body, my mind, my words, my obsession."

The poet pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, his gaze intense, possessive.

"And you'll give me all of you, won't you? You'll surrender to me, completely and utterly."

───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

Bye bye bitches

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 00:33 ⏤FOR NOW

SUM. : when you confess your feelings, remus has to reject you but there's a look in his eyes that makes you doubt his true feelings. when you suspect and unravel his secret, you settle for having just a small piece of him than all of him.

G. : remus lupin as spiderman ; reader as mary jane ; spiderman au ; modern au ; muggle au ; angst ; fluff ; rescuing reader twice ; attempted sexual assault ; nothing explicit ; iconic kiss

LENGTH : 2.1k

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Remus finally meets your eyes with a shaky exhale. You can see that he wants to say more but when he opens his mouth…nothing. 

For a moment, you look away and regain your composure, biting your lip absentmindedly as you do so. When you finally meet his soft brown eyes again and recognise a pain parallel to yours swimming in them,  the ache in your chest is, somewhat, soothed and the tightness in your throat gradually subsides. You anticipated this response from him beforehand but there’s always going to be that glimmer of lingering hope that still makes you feel the hurt, no matter how small.

Nodding, you force a small, timid smile, “It’s alright,” you step back and he steps forward, making you smile more easily to yourself; he still cares for your feelings despite himself. He’s so unbelievably kind. That’s the reason why you fell for him so hard. And why, maybe, it was for the best that you do let him go because he deserves someone better, someone who can be more than just a pretty face to stand beside him. Although, you’re sure that he would vehemently protest your self-deprecation if he ever heard you say it out loud, like he always does, “I’m sorry if I made things awkward for us but,” the next sentiment makes your stomach fall from the thought of it’s potential permanence, “I really value your friendship so I hope we can still be friends,” 

He nods. And you nod. Then walk away. 

Remus could only watch in his own heartbreak and anguish as you do so, your retreating back small and hunched over - not your usual self. People argue how you can so easily put up a front around others, unreadable and unapproachable despite your warm smile and sweet eyes, but Remus can read you so easily. It only takes a simple shift in your silhouette to express how sorrowful you were in that moment and Remus loathes himself for being the person to make you feel that way. 

But it’s for the best…

It happened when you were walking home, heartbreak still fresh and making a detour for a scoop of ice cream. You were just about to make a start on the waffle cone when the structure of the building beside you exploded, sending bricks and debris shooting out to passersby while you crash into the ground. Your ice cream cone is gone and your legs take the brunt of the damage. 

You stare down at the mess of broken bricks littering your legs and wince when you go to remove them, recognising the early signs of bruising on your exposed skin. The city was riddled with criminals that often go off the rails with their schemes. It’s like they’re all wanting to be recognised for a specific crime and the only way to do that was by being unique. Unfortunately for this criminal, you thought spitefully, making a building explode isn’t very noteworthy. Distracted with removing the detritus, you didn’t notice an approaching, imposing figure until their emerging shadow was cast over your, now, free legs. 

Frozen in place, you stare up at the smirking villain towering over you, mind racing with the scream to run away. But you couldn’t move, the fear paralyses your limbs and jumbles your thoughts, you can’t think straight. Before the villain could utter a word, however, there was a flash of red and blue that pulled you into a pair of arms as they quickly made work on temporarily curbing the criminal.

“I’ll be taking this hostage for myself, thank you,” the hero announced cheekily, “hold on tight,” he warns hurriedly before shooting into the air with you in his arms. Naturally, you’re screaming your head off and quickly move to push your face under his chin and your arms around his neck, “Lets get you somewhere saf-Ah!” he shouts painfully, losing concentration for a moment and sending the two of you to free-falling. A shrill scream rips from your throat and your eyes lock shut. Thankfully, he’s quick to pick you and himself back up and finally lands in a nearby park to set you down. 

“Oh my fu-” you couldn’t finish your curse as your lungs begged for air. 

“Looks like you can still stand, good! Get home safely, okay?” Spiderman waves a brief goodbye before moving to get back to dealing with the criminal. 

Panicking, you shout, “Wait!” he turns to you and you’re immediately flustered from the attention, “um…” the rapid movement of your eyes catch sight of his injury as you try to formulate your next sentence but are distracted by the treacle of blood leaving the wound on his upper arm, “oh no, you’re hurt,” guilt weighs down your heart as you observe his injury. That must be why he shouted in pain earlier, did he get shot at? It looks painful. 

“No worries, all in a day’s work but I should really get back to the guy, see ya’!” He was already up in the air when he finishes talking and you rush forward to shout your thanks. Hopefully he heard you.  

You make an interesting observation the next day. 

Yesterday night, you also couldn’t stop thinking about how familiar sounding Spiderman was, especially when, at one point, he was speaking right to you. 

Today, you connect the dots. 

Across the classroom, Remus sits in his uniform with gauze wrapping around his upper arm and peaking out from under his short sleeve. The realisation hits you like a ton of bricks, ironic especially after the events of yesterday, which a fair number of people have spoken to and pestered you about since video of you being in Spiderman’s arms was all over the news yesterday night. 

The constant badgering and prying of others was annoying but you could use it to your advantage. Angling yourself so that Remus was in your sight, you entertain the questions on your interaction with Spiderman as you subtly observe Remus’s reactions. 

If the main reason why he rejected you was because of his secret identity, you’ll understand but the fact will only make you love him even more, which can be troublesome. If he’s not, then…no- you were confident in your theory. 

“Come on! Stop being stingy with the details and tell us everything!” a blonde girl asks, her eagerness translating in her elevated volume. The others around her nodded and you sighed, acting shy and daydreamy. It wasn’t that much of an act, you still liked Remus very much and imagining him being the one that saved you made you swoon so much. 

“He was really sweet and made sure I was safe and away from the criminal before he went back to finish the job…” you confess, “he also had a really nice voice, it was soothing and really kind,” around you the girls swooned and you observed the pink hue tinting the tip of Remus’s ears. Interesting… 

“What else? What else?”

You allow some of your bashfulness to show, really selling the act even though all these feelings were genuine when you imagined Remus under the mask, “He also had really good muscles under his suit so it felt nice being in his arms,” this made the girls squeal loudly, made you giggle and made Remus run a veiny hand through his hair, biting back a clear smile as his cheeks blossomed an endearing shade of pink. You didn’t fail to notice how the movement of his arm exposed more of his neatly wrapped upper arm and smirked to yourself. 

So it is him, Remus is Spiderman. 

The revelation is bittersweet. Now you know why he rejected you despite the two of you clearly sharing a connection. It also explained the pained look in his eyes when he had to turn you away, maybe the feelings were reciprocated? 

However, he still isn’t yours and you don’t think he ever will be. 

Remus is as stubborn as they get but it all comes from a good place. He wants to protect his loved ones and do what’s best for them no matter the sacrifice. Unfortunately, that sacrifice is affecting the two of you and no matter how much you want to confront and reassure him, you know that the answer will remain the same. 

So, with a fond but bitter smile, you resolve to respect his decision and not initiate anything. 

If only you could reveal your confirmed suspicions to him, not for the selfish reason to have him for yourself but for consolidation. The rejection and distance hurt you but he was hurting too and you wouldn’t want to add any more to his suffering.

You realise too late that you should have taken your friends up on their offer of a taxi. It was late and the shortcut you confidently used to take looked far more dangerous under the moon than it did in the daylight. A curse pushes past your tinted lips and into the chilly night air before you pick up the pace but are stopped when your path is blocked by two tall men who manifested from the shadows of the alley. 

“Look here,” one chuckles, his words stinking of cigarettes and something nasty you can’t pinpoint, “what a beauty,” 

Despite the compliment, your expression becomes cold and hard like steel, “Get out of my way,”

“Oh! Feisty!” the other man laughs, reaching out to touch you but you slap his hand away, adding to his statement and shuddering when you see him lick his lips, “I like that in a woman…”

They weren’t going to let up until they had their way and you knew that so you ran. You couldn’t beat them with speed but tried to take as many twists to throw them off as much as you could. In the chase, you let out the occasional scream for help, wanting to alert others but not wanting to prolong a shout when you needed your breath to keep up your speed and endurance. You pray to god that someone calls the police as you turn the corner and feel your stomach drop to your feet. 

A dead end. 

“Looks like the little miss has ran out of luck,” the man with cigarettes on his breath utters, his amusement laced with anger at the wild chase you put up. His partner, however was more sickeningly satisfied by the pursue. 

“It makes the prize all the more worth it though,” he pants loudly, “give it up doll,” he slowly approaches as you back up into the brick wall blockading your escape. Tears surface and blur your vision as you shake your head vehemently, the bricks pressing into your back becoming a nauseous reminder of your harrowing circumstance. This can’t be happening…if only you had taken that stupid taxi! 

“I don’t think so,” came a typical line, cheesy but something you were incredibly grateful for because it meant one thing. Remus was here for you. 

“Shit!” the two men scatter but easily get apprehended and subdued by the hero, who immobilises them with his webbing and pins them to the brick wall that once was a symbol of your inescapable fate. The two men were black and blue with bruises, unconscious and looking like pinned up insects. Scum of the earth. They deserve to rot in hell and to be treated hatefully. 

Then suddenly, his voice calls out to you, warming your figure and making your knees weak, “Can I take the pretty lady home?” your heart stutters in your chest, the flattering remark meaning more to you knowing who it was really coming from. 

“Before that, can I please thank my hero for saving me twice, now?” you suggest with hopeful and suggestive eyes, slowly approach him as his lowers himself, hanging upside down with a string of strong webbing. If you can’t have him as Remus, you can have a small piece of him as Spiderman. 

He doesn’t say anything as you gesture to his mask and take his silence as approval to continue with your actions. Carefully, you pull his mask down past his lips and smile to yourself. You recognise his angular jaw and pretty lips anywhere. It’s really him, he’s Remus. You’re clear about your intentions and the fact that he isn’t pulling away must mean that he wants you too, that makes your heart race faster. Now with full confidence, you tenderly hold the sides of his face and you lean forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. You don’t know how long the two of you stay there, lip-locked, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss onto one another’s lips, neither one feeling satisfied even when the kiss escalates into a clashing but harmonious tango of tongues, moans getting swallowed up by one another. You never want to let go and Remus wants to savour the moment and your taste for as long as it takes. 

This will stop some of the ache in your heart for now. 

A/N : this is all because i've fallen in love with andrew garfield as remus lupin. also, this is the first time im including my taglist! ahhhh! i'm so happy!

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains

NAVI.

[whalesforhands]

uncles and… big brothers? (kaizen stroll!)

summary: in which you, yuuji’s preschool teacher, find out that he has more than one uncle. (plus a big brother!)

masterlist

“(name)-sensei! Look, I made you a sand mountain!”

It wasn’t unusual for Yuuji to be the last child to be picked up, for him to look up at you with begging eyes and a jutted out lower lip, pleading with you to let him play outside just a little longer whilst waiting.

But today… Something doesn’t feel right. Your fingers tingle as you’re dragged out by your hand, an energetic Yuuji just excited to be out and about to watch the setting sun from the open-air playground.

“Look, look! Megumin taught me how to make it super big!” He points towards his work of art, tugging you into the sandpit for you to get an even better look.

“Yuuji-kun, that’s impressive!” You clap your hands together, bending your knees to go down to his level as you watch his grin grow ever bigger.

“Hehe!” He’s proud, happy. His finger rubs his nose in prideful glee before he places his hands on his hips. “Then I’ll make it even bigger by the time Nanamin comes!”

‘Nanamin’ or Nanami Kento was usually the one you see come along, though on some occasions, it wasn’t rare to see a well-dressed, refined man to come instead.

“Higuruma Hiromi.” He keeps the steady smile on his tired, worn face, his hands gently shaking yours even as Yuuji pulls and tugs at his hair, tiny fists pounding into the adult’s gaunt cheek as he complains about not wanting to leave you just yet.

(The man Nanami-san had contacted you today that will be picking up Yuuji in place of him.)

“I’m his uncle.”

“Ah, Higuruma-san?” Your back turns away from Yuuji to pick up the phone call, not noticing the shadow near the fence that caught the young boy’s curious eyes. He sees a porcelain hand appear, beckoning him closer and closer as the lowering sunlight shines upon the stranger just right to reveal a masked face and baggy eyes.

Now that has his interest, Itadori Yuuji is already up on his little feet, dusting off his shorts as he paths towards the stranger.

“Yuuji, your uncle said—“ You turn only to see small footsteps imprinted onto the sand, your instincts flying into an overdrive that immediately makes you break into a run, following the direction as your eyes hurriedly dart about the area only to spot said child on his tiptoes, stretching out to take a piece of candy from an oddly dressed man.

(You knew you should’ve listened to the alarm bells going off in your gut.)

“Yuuji! Get back now!” You’re inwardly panicking, blood freezing as chills of fear spider across your nerves, your hand reaching down to grab at your shoe, winding your arm back and releasing; doing absolutely anything to keep the innocent Yuuji safe.

“(name)-sensei—!”

It was almost as if it was in slow motion, your shoe making a direct hit to the creeper’s face, his body losing its balance at the sheer strength and force behind your amateur throw.

The man staggers at the impact, your shoe flying into his face that beckons the him into a confused, bewildered state that was unable to react in time as his sunglasses fly off, the cloth around his head coming untied as he drops onto the concrete walkway with a thump.

“Y-Yuuji-kun! What did I tell you about strangers!” You’re immediately picking up the little boy, wrapping your arms protectively around him as you immediately retreat from the fence, squeezing him close as cold sweat begins to form on your forehead, eyes darting downwards to check the poor child over for injuries.

“I’ll call the police right now, don’t worry—“

“It’s Choso!” His small hands are splayed into the air in celebratory happiness, voice and excited cheer as he continues to watch the twitching man get up. “He’s gettin’ up!”

…huh?

“I’m sorry—“ The deep baritone startles you, the rustling of leaves as you turn around to face the man that was already recovering from the shock of being battered by a singular shoe. “For startling you…”

“It wasn’t my intention.” You finally fully turn to face the towering figure, his chin-length, black hair left down as his sharp eyes finally meet yours, a hand on the back of his head to nurse the pain as he puts his other free hand up in the air to show that he was harmless.

(He’s certainly very pretty, was the first thing you noticed.)

“I’m his big brother.”

(Blood began to spew from his nose the moment he finished his sentence off, Yuuji staring with widened eyes as you fight to hold back a shriek of shock.

You didn’t mean to assault him that badly!)

——

“I-I’m really sorry for the trouble, Choso-san…”

“Don’t be—“ You hear him suck in a breath through gritted teeth as the alcohol dips into the wound, stinging the shallow cuts. “I must admit that I acted a bit suspiciously.”

(‘A bit’ was definitely an understatement.)

He just wanted to come meet his adorable little brother, who was sat upon a nearby chair, kicking his feet and busy stuffing his face with the lollipop his oh so kind big brother was planning to bring to him.

“I just wanted to drop by to give him a treat since I couldn’t wait any longer for him.” A large hand reaches over to pat down the pink fluff of his sibling, a fond smile momentarily turning into a grimace as you poke the swab into a sensitive area.

(“Please call me next time you plan to do something of that sort, Choso-san.”

“…I see. I will take note of that.”

What stringent rules… It’s assuring the daycare his little brother goes to takes such cautions.)

It wasn’t long before Yuuji finishes off the treat, patting his tummy as he jumps off the seat. “Yuuji wants uppies!”

That was all it took for the astounding big brother to immediately clamber onto the floor, getting into position for his beloved sibling, spreading his arms open and ignoring the stinging, throbbing pain on his face.

(You can certainly tell how much he loves him… Well, all he needs is a few plasters, anyway. It’s fine.)

“Come here, Yuuji…” You can see how excited the once stoic man’s eyes grow. “Come to Choso-nii…!”

The pink-haired boy stares, suckling on his thumb momentarily to really think about this situation as his eyes are trained on his big brother’s open and ready arms, kneeled on the floor at the perfect height to receive the adoring hug of his adorable little brother.

So Itadori Yuuji makes a decision, running towards the idling you instead, big, dopey smile breaking onto his face.

“(name)-sensei, Yuuji wants cuddles!” He tugs at your apron, tiny hands fisting the fabric as he tugs and tugs, pleading for your attention with cute grins and utterly lovable expressions.

The grown man never felt so deflated, his shoulders visibly slumping forward as he practically falls to the floor in defeat, curling up into a ball as he tries to not feel the bitter taste of loss.

“I-I’m sure Yuuji wouldn’t mind getting them from you either, Choso-san! Don’t feel so down…!” You’re already picking up said child, his face cuddling itself against your chest as he snuggles into you.

“I-It’s okay sensei—“ The man chokes as he witnesses the sight of his lovely younger brother showing you more affection than he ever got. “You’re making it worse if you talk any more—“

“I’m sorry…!”

masterlist (this story is part of my kaizen daycare series!)

Notes:

When you first met Higuruma, you were met with an ID to the face, his particulars and all needed info given to you for you to confirm his identity.

“Yuuji.” He picks up the little boy from your arms, large fingers scooping him up by his underarms as he holds him up to the light, a blush of adoration on the dark-haired man’s cheeks as his lips stretch into a fond, unsteady smile.

“Call me big broth—“

“Choso!”

Higuruma let Yuuji hit Choso with his gavel when he came to pick both of them up.

“I’m terribly sorry for the trouble.”

[okminer07]

Slave to the Light Pt 3

A Baldur's Gate fanfiction

Now more than ever she had to get out of here, if she wanted to live. She hyperventilated as the warm air within her fleshy prison filled her lungs and disoriented her. The hands around her seemed to close around her more and more, until she could see nothing of the outside world, just long tan pillar like fingers.

She scrambled to get her bearings. Her feet and hands sunk into the warm ground beneath her making it all the harder to steady herself. Just as she had managed to barely stand, she yelped as she was thrown onto her back by a sudden, stomach-churning movement upwards.

Lorelai thought she might be sick, her stomach felt like it was floating its way up her throat as the being that imprisoned her stood with a soft grunt. As soon as it had come, the movement had stopped. Lorelai clutched at her chest, still trembling.

She had to get away, she just had to-

Her thoughts were interrupted when the flesh beneath her threw her forward as her captor began to move once again. Lorelai clawed at the skin around her, trying to get a decent amount of it to hold on to.

She whimpered as she could not only hear but feel the swaying and vibrations of the human's footsteps. Other pairs joined his as they continued to move.

Where were they taking her? what did they want with her? there had to be a reason they wanted her alive, but the only reason she could think of was-

Her heart nearly stopped. oh gods, he had sent them.

No, no,no,no,no,no,no,no, no, no! I'm not going back! they can't make me!

Lorelai frantically crawled over to the nearest fleshy wall and began to punch, claw and kick at it, trying to either push the fingers open or draw blood. She screamed as she did so, maybe out of fear, perhaps even anger, she didn't know. All she knew that she would rather die than go back.

"Wha-aaah" she tensed only for a moment at the human's voice, "Okay! okay! calm down now, there's no need for that."

Yes there most fucking is!

His comment only made her try to dig her nails deeper into his skin, "Let me go!" she screamed, "Let me go you bastard!"

The swaying and footfalls quickened and the hands around her tightened, "Would you please stop that, it tickles, and I don't want to drop you."

Tickles? Lorelai thought angrily, tickles?!

She threw herself at the fleshy wall, beating at it mercilessly, "Let me go!"

"Okay, can someone please clear a space for me to put her down, and quickly."

Outside, she could hear the many hasty footsteps of the others.

"Will this do?" shouted Shadowheart.

"Yes, bring it over so-"

"Hey put that down!" Lorelai stiffened as the icy voice of the vampire shouted in anger, "That is mine and I forbid you from letting that creature bleed all-"

"Oh, shut up!" she tensed, her hands flying up to her ears as the human that held her yelled back, "Shadowheart, bring that over here".

With little more than a few thuds and the sound of something being plopped on the ground as warning, the hands around her began to descend. Lorelai shuddered as her back fell onto a plush surface and the large hands that had previously obscured her view retreated.

She whipped her head around wildly, only to shrink back at the sight of the human man's face way to close for her liking. It unnerved her to no end how she could almost count each hair of his stubble, how she could feel his shallow breath rustle her hair, how she could see her own pale face in his eyes staring back at her. He gave her a puzzled look as she scrambled back, before to her relief rising away from her.

Run. Run now!

Lorelai, unable to stand, turned and began to hurriedly crawl away. The surface beneath her seemed to be doing everything in its power to slow her down, but she just kept clawing back at it to spur her forward.

Before she could get very far though, she heard a loud rustle from behind her and a shadow began to descend upon her. She halted to a stop just as the man's large hand slammed down in front of her.

No! No! keep going!

She spun around to go the other way only to be met with the man's other hand blocking the way.

"Shadowheart, a little help?" Lorelai froze, oh gods. What were they going to do with her now? question her? sedate her? punish her by breaking her legs for running away? all before dragging her back to him?!

Lorelai's mind was brought back to the present when the ground beneath her quivered as Shadowheart kneeled down next to the human.

"Ok, stay still, this will only take a second."

Her eyes widened in horror as her long slender fingers began to reach down for her.

"No!" she screamed, "No! stay back!"

The hand stopped, "It's alright, I'm just trying to-"

"Get away from me!"

"Just stay still!" before Lorelai could react, another hand shot past the other and in an instant was upon her. She tried to get away, to wrestle free, only to have her limbs pinned down one by one.

All she could move now was her head, which she thrashed around desperately, "Stop it!"

"Hang on." The human man came back into vision, reaching out making Lorelai struggle all the more viciously. She tried to move but she couldn't get away from one of his fingers which reached out and touched the top of her head.

"Impero tibi"

All at once, Lorelai's eyelids felt heavy, and her brain began to fill with fog.

No, no, I can't-

The big folk surrounding her began to disappear as darkness took over her vision. She felt as if she was sinking, but it was a nice feeling, a soothing feeling. She wanted to give into it, why shouldn't she? it felt so nice.

Wait, no she couldn't.

Oh, but it would be so much easier to

Shut up!

She strained her mind, returning it to the present and out of the fog. Her vision cleared and big folk over her came back into view. The human man had a look of shock and confusion as she glared back up at him, still very awake.

"What the-"

"Oh, for the love of Shar" The fingers pinning her down were joined by two more that pinched her head, holding it still, "Te curo".

Lorelai winced as a sharp tingling sensation came over her, wave after wave; and then it was gone.

The fingers pinning her down slowly lifted up. The moment they were far enough away she sat bolt right up, ready to try and make an escape once again. Then she realized, her shoulder, she felt no pain coming from it. She moved it, nothing.

Apologies for the short chapters/parts. Hoping in the future to make them longer.

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Whenever | Tagged by @adelaidedrubman @cassietrn and @direwombat

Stopping by this week with a little snippet from Jacob and Mercedes' winter drabble where she truly tests his patience. 🤍

"When, Isaac?", Jacob's question hung in the air, met by silence that made the cabin feel even smaller, especially with the storm raging outside. Dolos had refused to leave his side since he had walked into the house, appearing just as on edge as he was at the absence of his owner. "I think,", there was a pause, his Chosen selecting his words carefully at the dangerous edge his voice carried, "40 minutes ago, sir." The revelation caused his frown to deepen as the hand running over the canine's white fur froze completely, "Think? I need better than that, seeing how you didn't go with her." "She insisted she could handle the drive back, and I had to take care-" "Did I ask you for an excuse, soldier?", Jacob cut him off. "No." "What I thought." The radio receiver clathered uselessly against the table as he pushed his chair back and hurriedly shrugged on his coat. Reaching her directly had proven unsuccessful. Sitting around while he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the ride back would have taken Mercedes less than how much time had already passed was out of the question, not with his worry only increasing by the minute. Dolos was right on his heels, gaze meeting his when Jacob came to an abrupt stop in the small hallway, "Stay. I'm going to find her. Bring her home. She's okay." He couldn't decide if he was assuring the dog or himself of that. But his words must have sounded convincingly enough to her companion, making him retreat to the living room. "Goddamn it, woman, always so stubborn.", he muttered under his breath, a gust of wind trying to force him back inside the second he swung open the front door.

Cold bit at his face, but he ignored the feeling and pushed forward through the snow that seemed to have doubled in the last couple of minutes and was quickly covering the cabin's previously cleared driveway. His mood soared as he sped off in the direction of St. Francis, the truck's wipers struggling against the mad flurry of snowflakes that swirled around until he could barely see the road, let alone any animal that might decide to cross it. Months back, he probably wouldn't have thought twice about Mercedes getting into trouble let alone made it his problem, yet now no matter how much he tried to remain stoic and push down the raising emotions within him, he couldn't. The white scenery gave way to a smudge of red on the path ahead of him. A truck. Hers. The sight caused him to slam on his breaks and jump out of the vehicle, the empty interior of the abandoned ride threatening to extinguish any hope he had about easily finding her. Faint tracks led away from the passenger's side door, signaling she had headed off down a bent that ended nowhere safe, especially during a blizzard. He cursed at the snow that slowed his movement, at the fact more was falling and covering her footsteps, and she was most likely lost in the middle of the woods with dusk approaching steadfast. "Mercedes!", her name was drowned out by the whistling wind, a wolf howling somewhere far into the distance, his guard immediately rising up as he pulled a pistol out of the holster strapped to his thigh.

His eyes scanned ahead, clinging onto the remainders of her reckless detour that meandered around the looming pines. A small figure that almost appeared as a mirage through the gale beating at his form had him rushing through the dense snow that would have almost been knee-deep for someone as tall as Mercedes. His strides were determined as his sights set on the silhouette, and he called out her name again. Jacob had no idea if she had somehow heard him over the persisting storm or had stopped on her own accord, but it gave him a chance to catch up. His hands grasped her while he examined her from curls covered by a knitted beanie down to her coat that was failing miserably against the dropping temperatures and boots swallowed by the snow piles. Confusion swam in her dark eyes when they met his. "Jacob.", her voice was barely audible over the howling wind, and whatever she said next got completely muffled into his chest when he pulled her into his embrace. Her fingers clutched at his coat, body shivering against his. "Come on before the storm gets any worse.", he commanded with a frown, hand wrapping around her to keep her close and help in navigating the terrain faster. His thoughts were as chaotic as the weather around them, a blur of possibilities that only grew darker at the idea he could have been late. Found her- No. "Keep moving. Come on, sweetheart. We're almost there.", whatever anger he felt at her foolishness dissipated at how weak she appeared, and before he could think twice, he scooped her up, arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her the way he had come from. He moved with a new purpose, fueled by the promise of the warmth of his truck. "You're so warm. So warm."

Mercedes kept her face buried in the crook of his neck, and soon enough, he broke through the treeline and onto the road. Jacob pulled the door open, quickly depositing her in the passenger's seat before climbing in too and starting the truck. "Do you know how worried I was?", the confession slipped past his lips, eyes remaining on the treacherous road ahead when all he wanted was to glance towards her and check on her condition. "The truck died on me completely. I thought it would be faster to walk home before the storm gets any worse." The dismissiveness to her statement paired with the way her teeth chattered only made his hold on the wheel tighten before he uttered out, "You get into any kind of trouble, you radio for help. We talked about this." "Isaac... had his hands full already." "I didn't mean Isaac, Mercedes. You radio me." She crossed her hands over her chest, "I don't need you to come to my rescue." "Well, if it ain't too late for that, sweetheart. Would you rather I leave you to wander off into wolf territory next time so you become their dinner? Makin' sure my future Judges are well-fed." "You're such an ass sometimes." "I'd take that as a thank you for saving you." "Of course, you will." A huff broke free before her gaze focused out of her window, and she settled for ignoring him. Or so he thought until he snuck a quick look her way and caught her drifting off, head almost banging against the glass.

His arm shot out and landed on her shoulder to stir her up, "Hey, hey, stay with me. No sleeping." Her eyes fluttered open at his gruff tone, dark gaze filled with confusion once more meeting his, "Jacob?" "I need you awake, sweetheart." Her hand was ice cold to the touch when Jacob grasped it in his, despite the heat blowing in the truck. "Just wake me up when we-" "I know you're thinking you're tired, but you're not, you're freezing, and sleeping will not help keep you warm, okay? It's only going to make things worse." He expected Mercedes to argue again, instead, she gave him a curt nod before intertwining her fingers through his. Something about the simple touch stopped his frustration from rising up again. The snow that had gathered over the short ride back and forth and white flurry on the other side of the windshield almost made him miss the turn leading up to the cabin. "Stay in the truck.", he instructed as he parked as close to the house as he could and climbed out to get to her side. Jacob dreaded forcing her out in the cold once more, especially with how the wind cut through his clothes, but staying in the truck seemed counterproductive with how much the weather was worsening. "I can walk.", annoyance was written all over her face upon sensing his plan when he pulled her door open. "And I'm still going to carry you, so we can spare ourselves another useless argument."

Mercedes eased into his arms after giving him a dark look, and he set off towards the porch with a couple of long strides. He pushed his way into the house, forcing the door closed with his foot to stop the cold from following them in before lowering her to the ground and kicking off his shoes. Snowflakes had gathered into her blonde curls, and in another situation, he would have caught himself gawking if it wasn't for the visible shivers and her very flushed cheeks. "Come on.", his hand grasped hers, and he pulled her along as soon as her boots were off. Thankfully he had the forethought to light a fire before his call with Isaac so by then the cabin had warmed up, instead of greeting them with its own level of coldness. Dolos let out a happy bark the second the two came into his view, rushing at Mercedes to nudge her leg with his nose in a greeting. "Hey, baby. I didn't mean to worry you.", her voice dipped with sweetness as she addressed the canine, hand stroking his head for extra reassurance. A curt nod from Jacob was enough to settle him back down by the fireplace. At least one of you is listenin' to me… He led her to their bedroom, helping Mercedes shrug off her coat before moving onto her jeans that were no doubt soaked through from her improvised trek.

"Ah, now I see…", she quipped from above as he crouched down and pulled at the material, hands landing on his shoulders for balance while his touch trailed down her cold skin. Her eyes shone with a playful gleam when they found his, "It was all a big ploy just to get me naked. So sneaky of you, Mr. Seed." Jacob rose up, a frown still ruling over his features, "In bed, Mercedes." "Bossy.", her shaky fingers worked on the buttons of her shirt that was as dainty as all the dresses she wore, "Forgot something, though." Getting seduced by someone battling any level of hypothermia was certainly a first, but he had quickly learned to expect anything from Mercedes, even when she wasn't feeling at her best. "We're not going there.", he warned as the garment came undone, a sliver of her white lacy bra teasing him underneath. Goosebumps spread over her exposed flesh when the shirt hit the ground, but she didn't let that stop her, reaching for the piece of lingerie next, "Enough, Mercedes." "You're no fun." He shook his head at her pout and forced himself to lift up the covers instead of taking a step in her direction and helping her take off what little covered her body. His own thoughts had taken the same route she had, but he knew fucking her like she wanted wasn't going to be helpful no matter how much it promised to release the frustration he was dealing with thanks to her stunt. Head in the game, soldier.

"In bed.", he repeated when she remained standing up, clearly ignoring instructions to spite him. "You gonna make me?" Don't bite. Don't. A grunt ripped free, "Or freeze your ass off." Before he could fall right into the very obvious trap set up for him, he stormed out of the room, her soft laughter echoing behind him, "Yes, dad." It was another attempt to rile him up, the same way she would throw in 'brother' every once in a while when addressing him in front of Joseph, having figured out how much he hated the word. Jacob took a deep breath the moment he was on his own in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets until he located everything he needed while he waited for the water to boil. He quickly gathered a spare blanket Mercedes kept laying around in the living room for anytime she would fall asleep on the couch while waiting for him to come home. A look through one of the small windows revealed what he suspected already: the storm wasn't letting up and he was truly lucky to have found her when he did. "She's something else, isn't she?", he whispered to Dolos when he ambled into the kitchen, "But then again, she prefers to put me through those trials…" His name sounded from the bedroom, making him tense up all over again with how she sing-songed it. "Yes?", he hollered back and poured water into the mug she seemed to favor. Honey as sweet as her tone followed suit, same one he had been licking off her body days back. Don't go there.

He didn't want to read too much into the idea he had noticed what things she had made hers in the house that not that short ago had belonged to strangers. "Just making sure you didn't flee into the storm to escape me." With his quest essentially completed, he set off back to the bedroom, reminding himself he had to be strong. "I have no idea what you mean." "Mhm, sure you don't.", a smile was aimed his way when he entered, and a part of him was taken aback by the fact she had complied for once and actually crawled in bed as advised. Her hands snuck out to grab the cup he offered her and cradled it between her palms, a sigh in content leaving her lips at the warmth it provided. "Feelin' better yet?", he asked as he spread the knitted blanket over the sheets and took a seat at the edge of the mattress, watching her as she sipped the drink. "Yes. And don't worry, I won't tell Isaac and the rest about your soft side. It would be our little secret." His eyes narrowed at her loaded look, "No such thing." "You made me tea. Just as I like it, if I might add." A strange feeling appeared in his chest at the compliment. Pride, as perhaps John might categorize it. All he could do was stare while she drank her tea, then got up to leave when she placed the almost empty mug at the night stand, "I will be in the liv-" "No."

He tried his hardest to read the expression she wore, "No?" "I'm far from being warmed up completely, Jacob.", the way she bit her lip promised nothing good, same for her gaze traveling down his form, "And you were out there too… so, join me." "I'm not fucking you." The sharp reply won him an eyeroll, "I don't recall asking you to." Your eyes sure did. "I will be-" "-joining me in bed as soon as you undress? Yes, sounds great. Get on with it. Or are you enjoying sitting around in your damp jeans too much to?" Sitting around in jeans that he had trudged through knee-deep snow was inarguably far from the worst predicament he'd lived through, and he doubted she needed an actual reminder of it. He bit back the remark stating just that and headed for the door, her voice stopping him in his tracks and trampling over whatever self-control he had left within him. "Running away from little old me.", she tsk-tsked playfully, "And here I thought you were strong." "Mercedes." "What?", an innocent smile met him when he spun back around and erased the distance between them. "Remember what I said." "Which part?", she let out a laugh at his narrowed look, "I'm a bit out of it." He undid his jeans and pushed them down his legs with a sigh then shrugged off his shirt, "Very funny." "I was about to ask if you had grown shy all of a sudden and want me to look away with how much time you were taking to undress."

Now down to his boxers, he slid under the covers and wasted no time in pulling her close. "We're way past that, wouldn't you say?", Jacob muttered against her hair, placing a kiss on top of her head. Her body temperature seemed to have improved significantly as she sank into his embrace and his hand wrapped around her waist on instinct. His fingers spread over her abdomen, the realization they found no barrier of clothing registering in the next second. "You're completely naked." Mercedes hummed in response, "Skin on skin, isn't it how it works, Mr. Survival expert?" "I'm still in my underwear." Her hand covered his, "A problem with a very simple solution." "I'm not removing them." "We shall see about that.", the words were paired with her backing into him completely intentionally, which she played off as getting comfortable, "So… you were already home?" "Yeah." Her scent he had grown so attached to invaded his senses, and against his better judgment, he breathed it in like Angels did with their next fix of Bliss. "Why? Isaac said you were swamped with work." "Just because." She twisted in his arms to face him, giving him a solid confirmation she had gotten rid of her bra as well when she plastered her chest to his.

Her lips pursed at the excuse just as the lights in the room flickered, making him wonder how bad the blizzard was becoming, "Try again." "I was worried." "About me?" "About you setting the house ablaze while trying to start a fire." Fingers pinched his side, making him bite back an yelp at the surprise attack, "Asshole. You know I'm perfectly capable-" "I was worried about you and Dolos, and getting stuck in the dark if the cabin loses power. Happy?" Her dimples appeared at the confession, "So you came back." "And you're lucky I did because who knows what would have happened if I hadn't." "Natural selection taking its course, I believe, would be the term?" Jacob gave her a dark look before rolling on top of her and cupping her cheek, "Don't even joke about it." "Or I guess you prefer culling-"

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @strangefable @strafethesesinners @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @trench-rot @onehornedbeast @aceghosts @voidika @corvosattano @carlosoliveiraa @nightbloodbix @finding-comfort-in-rain @dumbassdep @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @unholymilf @purplehairsecretlair @thesingularityseries @jackiesarch @marivenah @macs-babies @shellibisshe @simplegenius042 @kyber-infinitygems @g0dspeeed @theelderhazelnut @wrathfulrook and anyone with something to share <3

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)  MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Rating: Explicit 

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con 

Content Warnings: Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Violence

Categories: F/M, Multi, F/F 

Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character(s), Nanami Kento/Original Female Character(s), Getou Suguru/Original Female Character(s), Ieiri Shoko & Iori Utahime 

Major Characters: Original Characters, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Okkotsu Yuuta, Toudou Aoi, Zenin Naobito, Zenin Jinichi, Zenin, Zenin Ougi, Fushiguro Megumi, Kamo Clan, Nitta Akari, Inumaki Toge, Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime, Kusakabe Atsuya, Muta Kokichi, Itadori Yuuji, Hakari Kinji

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Chapter 3 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The sun hung high in the sky, casting long, hard shadows down the narrow streets of Shinjuku. In the heart of the bustling district, a man moved with a purposeful stride, his presence commanding attention from all who crossed his path. Dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit, the lieutenant exuded an air of calculated menace, his every step echoing a silent declaration of his authority.

Satoru Gojo's reputation preceded him. Those who recognized him averted their eyes, and even the bravest souls thought twice before lingering too close. His white hair, slicked back with precision, framed his beautiful face and strikingly blue eyes.

As Gojo moved through the crowd, his keen eyes observed everything. The street vendors hawking their goods, the businessmen rushing to their next appointment, the schoolchildren laughing as they made their way home. To the untrained eye, it was a normal day in Tokyo, but to Gojo, every detail was a potential threat or opportunity.

He turned a corner, entering a quieter alley where the noise of the city faded into the background. It was then that a young man, engrossed in his phone, hurriedly rounded the same corner and collided with the infinity surrounding Gojo. The impact sent the young man stumbling back, his phone clattering to the ground.

"I'm so sorry!" the young man stammered, his face going pale as he looked up and recognized who he had bumped into. His eyes widened in fear, and he bowed repeatedly, desperate to convey his apologies.

Gojo remained silent for a moment, his bright eyes boring into the young man. The tension was palpable, and those nearby slowed their pace, watching with morbid curiosity. The lieutenant's expression was unreadable, a mask of controlled power that hinted at the violence lurking just beneath the surface.

"Watch where you're going," Gojo said finally, his voice low and dangerous. He bent down, picked up the phone, and handed it back to the trembling man. The young man's hands shook as he took it, bowing again in gratitude and fear.

"Th-thank you, sir," he managed to choke out, retreating a few steps before turning and nearly running away.

Gojo watched him go, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curling at the corners of his lips. He enjoyed these moments of fear and submission, the way people crumbled under the weight of his presence. It was a reminder of the respect he commanded, the power he wielded.

Continuing his walk, Gojo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it with a flick of his lighter, he took a deep drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifted lazily into the afternoon air. He walked on, his gaze shifting back to the busy streets ahead, where his business awaited. Each step he took was a reminder to the world that Satoru Gojo was not a man to be trifled with, and in Shinjuku, that meant everything.

Down the alley he met up with exactly the guy he wanted to see.

"Heeeyyy!" Gojo grinned, throwing his arm around the young man's shoulders, "There he is!"

Yuji Itadori, with his pink spikey hair and friendly looking eyes, grinned. The young man was pretty damn strong, built sturdy and stocky. Itadori was one of Gojo's favorites of the new guys. "Gojo, sir! How are ya?" The young man called, a big friendly smile on his face.

"Doing good, my man doing good." Gojo said, nodding, "You uhh did you happen to--"

"Sure thing," Itadori said, reaching into his hoodie pocket and producing a small plastic baggie full of white dust, "I wouldn't be late, you know."

Taking the baggie, Gojo slipped it in his pocket and slapped Itadori on the back. "Good! I knew you wouldn't let me down." He said with a grin.

"Oh, hey they also threw in this?" Itadori's brows furrowed, "Although I probably wouldn't mess with it."

Out of his pocket the young man pulled out a second plastic bag. This one was full to the brim of some kind of dark chunky substance. Almost like feta cheese but a dark hideous purple, the smell was already atrocious even wrapped up.

"What the hell is that!" Gojo laughed, taking the bag into his hand and holding it up to the light, "Holy shit!"

"Yeah, I'm not sure." Itadori said, his face twisted into a grimace, "But I really wouldn't. They said it was some new stuff, like acid or something. Hallucinogen I guess."

"Acid, huh?" Gojo said, slipping it into his pocket as well, "Might be fun, eh?"

"But the smell..." Itadori waved the air, "It's like something kind of dead."

"Well molly and ex taste bad," Gojo said with an uncaring shrug, "And those are fun as hell." 

"Yeah but--"

"You worry too much, kid!" Gojo laughed, "C'mon with me. I'm doing my rounds. You free?"

"Sure thing." Itadori nodded, "Need anyone else or just us?"

"Could be fun to get a gang together, yeah?" Gojo said with a smirk, "Call up Inumaki. Maybe Panda too. Fuck it, Hakari and Kirara too. Get all the kids together and you can all see how I get shit done."

Itadori nodded, "Okay, yeah sure."

Shortly after, the gang of five sauntered down the street as a unit. The streets seemed to empty out before them, as if they were a rowdy bunch of stray mutts causing everyone to scurry indoors. Leading the pack, Gojo strolled with his hands casually tucked in his pockets and his head slightly tilted upwards.

The team went on their monthly rounds to the businesses under their protection. Gojo, always ready to instruct, assigned each member to collect payments. With a mischievous grin, he positioned himself in the bustling street as the boys dispersed around him. Similar to a relentless tax collector, he casually checked his phone and observed the money flowing into the business account. 

"Damn." He muttered with a snicker, "Were fuckin' killin' it today."

They swept through, making their rounds to see each of their clients. Gojo couldn't help but pat himself on the back for his top-notch organizational skills, or so he liked to think, and as they wrapped up he glanced at the group chat with him and the other Lieutenants. The monthly visits were completed, marking the end of his duties for the week. Geto was busy looking into a case, while Nanami had just returned from assisting Sarah in tracking down those bastard scientists.

Gojo briefly pursed his lips as he pondered over that idea. He wasn't really up for dealing with her today. It would just irritate him. Every single thing she did managed to get on his nerves. 

"You good, boss?" Hakari asked, "Something buggin' ya?"

Gojo's smirk made a reappearance on his lips, "Nah, nothin' important." He quickly glanced over his square sunglasses as the rest of the group joined the two of them, "How about I treat you all to dinner tonight, yeah?"

The group cheered loudly as they made their way to indulge in food and drinks. After a quick flash of a black credit card, they found themselves in a posh steakhouse, seated in a secluded private area. The hushed whispers and silenced conversations around them only added to the excitement as they enjoyed their drinks and let loose. No one dared to speak up against them, even when it started getting sloppy. Not even when the singing started or when the arguing got too loud.

Inebriated and content, they clumsily made their way back onto the streets. Meandering aimlessly, they carelessly entered various bars like dust devils. The bustling arcade and a karaoke bar also fell victim to their drunken antics. But despite their disorderly conduct, the crowd kept a safe distance from them at all times. Their Oni masks were a clear warning like the rattle on a snake's tail. 

It was bound to happen, Gojo found himself struggling up the stairs towards Tenjiku. He vaguely noticed Hakari stumbling in behind him, and perhaps Itadori too? It was hard to tell, but it didn't really matter. There was only one person he was eager to see, and the hostess at the door didn't even have to ask.

"... Sir, but I do have to state that she--"

"Iss'fine." He slurred, "Jus' tell 'er I'm here."

"Boss, yer just gon' get pissed off." Hakari grunted, "You sure?"

Gojo nodded lazily, "Jus' wanna talk to 'er."

Gojo leaned forward, placing his head on the edge of the spacious reception desk. He glanced over the extensive guest list, peering at the names in search of familiar faces. He spotted a few Zen'in members of lower status and some mid-ranking Kamo boys, but nothing too exciting. Nothing that required his immediate attention for now anyway.

"Did you actually think she'd show up?"

Gojo loudly groaned, looking up at Boe. The purple haired woman had a wide cocky grin, her hand on her hip as she leaned forward to meet his gaze. Flicking his sunglasses up, she tapped the bridge of his nose with a chuckle.

"She's so mad she's holed herself up in the back." Boe laughed, "You dumb piece of shit. You shouldn't have announced yourself."

"Go fuck yourself." Gojo grumbled, standing up and slicking his hair back once again, "I ain't got time for your mouth."

"Bullshit." Boe said with a single bark of a laugh, "You know you wanna party. I'm the only bitch in this place that can keep up with you."

His brows furrowed for a moment before he sighed with a big dramatic shrug. With carefree grin, he put his arm around Boe's shoulders, "Well, fuck. When you're right, you're right."

"You're a fuckin' psycho." Boe cackled, "C'mon. Let's up upstairs. You got any snow on ya?"

"No one fucking calls it that you dumb bitch," Gojo scoffed, "But yeah."

"Cool." She said, letting him guide her through the atrium and up the marble steps. Past all the ladies, some of whom called his name lovingly, he walked confidently with that trademark cocky grin. 

Into the owner's shared office, Boe went digging in her drawers in the left side of the desk and pulled out a wad of cash. She flipped through it and licked her thumb before she counted out an amount and put it on the desk. Sitting down in the big wooden chair, Gojo scooped up the cash and counted it before he raised his eyebrows.

"Not enough." He muttered, jutting his chin towards the cash in Boe's hands, "C'mon."

"I'll pay the rest in pussy, yeah?" She said, running her hand up her thigh.

He clicked his tongue, snapping his hand forward to take a few more of the bills, "You're gonna let me hit no matter what, don't be cheap."

"When you're right, you're right." She echoed his earlier sentiment, then laughed as she dropped the rest of her cash back into her drawer. 

Gojo took out the tiny bag filled with white powder and glanced at the surface of the desk. His blue eyes shifted to Boe expectantly. Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and walked towards the closet. She grabbed a duster and a few bleach wipes, meticulously wiping the desk clean. Nonchalantly, she tossed the duster over her shoulder and disposed of the used wipes in the trash bin.

"For a damn coke head you really give way more of a shit about your health than anyone I know." She grumbled, watching him tap out a line of the powder onto the desk.

"Shut up." He muttered, his eyes glowing bright as he measured out the hits carefully.

After setting up the two lines, he pulled out a clear plastic card from his jacket pocket and smoothed out the lines evenly before returning the card to the pocket. Boe played with her lip ring, running her teeth along the smooth metal restlessly while Gojo got up and removed his jacket. She was practically trembling, her tongue flicking out over the ring.

Reaching over to her he lifted her head with his thumb on her chin and his fingers curled under, "Together then?" He purred.

Eagerly she nodded before the two of them leaned down together to inhale the lines deeply. Immediately after, Gojo's hand lunged forward and gripped Boe's ponytail hard and pulled her face to his in a bruising kiss. She laughed into his mouth, the sound melting into a low moan as his tongue drove past her lips to run against hers.

Gojo's heart pounded in his chest, each beat felt like it  reverberated through his entire body. His breath came in rapid, shallow gulps, as if he had just sprinted a mile. He felt a rush of heat, and sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down the sides of his face. His skin tingled, though his nose burned.

The cocaine surged through his veins, his eyes wide and pupils dilated, taking in every detail with startling clarity. The ticking of the clock, and the distant sound of traffic outside, and the taste of Boe's mouth all seemed magnified, creating a symphony of sensory overload. He could hear his own heartbeat, a relentless drum echoing in his ears. Her own heart was beating just as hard, he could feel it through her skin as his free hand reached down to her waist and the one on her hair gripped onto the back of her neck.

The euphoria dragged a groan from his chest out in a deep gasp as he pulled back, a shining arc of saliva dripping off his chin before he pushed her down on the desk and fumbled with his belt with one hand. She was already panting, pressing her ass up against his half-hard cock with a wicked grin as the cocaine drove her nearly mad. His belt jingled as he fumbled it apart, the gold buckle flashing in the light.

"Fuck." He grunted, "Shit. Get those shorts down now, slut."

She laughed breathlessly, "Fuck you." But down the shorts came and hung loose by her knees.

Gojo hissed through his teeth, palming his cock as he tore her black tights and pulled at the red thong in between her cheeks. With a snap, he pulled it up and let it hit her skin, laughing madly as she twitched and trembled. Pushing the string aside he let his slacks drop around his ankles before he bullied his cock into her pussy without warning.

"Impatient?" She winced, her back bowing at the sudden intrusion, "Fuuuck dude, chill."

"Shut the fuck up," he growled, leaning down to drag his tongue over the shell of her ear and nip at the earrings. Running his teeth over them and dragging his tongue through and in-between them he hissed out, "You talk to goddamn much."

Setting a brutal drug-fueled pace, he fucked her in earnest. He let his head fall back as he stood up again, driving his cock deep with reckless abandon. The sinful slap of skin on skin mixed with both of their sloppy moans and grunts echoed in the empty office. Boe arched her back, her black painted nails digging into the wood of the desk and Gojo's hips jolted.

"Yeah, that's it." He panted out, "Lift that ass up... haaah... on your toes for me."

"Yeah?" She mewled, "Like... like this?"

She popped up onto her toes and clenched down her pussy on his cock and he audibly whined.

"Ooohhh fuck yes." He let his head drop back, closing his eyes as he slowed his pace, driving deeper and more controlled. His jaw hung open loosely, his breaths still coming in hot bursts into the air.

Gojo wrapped her hair around his fist, jerking Boe's head back to kiss her again. Her tongue tasted like copper and her tongue ring clinked against his teeth sending a shudder down his spine. The kiss was rough and sloppy, the high making them both lost in the moment. There was no time to think. Only time to fuck.

"Again." He commanded, pulling back to sit up straight again, "Squeeze that cunt again."

"Say please." She cackled, only to receive a sharp slap on her ass.

"Fuck you." He growled, "Do it or I'll fu-fucking stop."

"Yes, Daddy." She moaned, squeezing down on him again.

"That's my good little whore," he panted, then his breath caught as he felt her hand reach back and grip at his hip. "Don't like that, huh? Don't like it when Daddy calls you a whore?" He chuckled darkly, "Too fucking bad, whore. Right now? I'll do whatever I want and you'll fuckin thank me."

Resuming that brutal pace his hips crashed into her ass hard enough to bruise, his hand on the back of her neck holding her down and the other hand gripped onto her thigh to keep her legs apart. She mewled as his cockhead hammered into her cervix, her tongue hanging out of her mouth.

"Look at that fucking face." He grunted, "You're a mess."

"More." She breathed, "You can-- Aah! You can do b-better!"

He lifted her up by her neck, the hand on her thigh wrapping around her throat, "The fuck did you say to me?" He growled, "You want harder, huh? Wanna leave this room bleeding?"

She smirked defiantly, gasping for breath, "Not like you haven't before, dick head."

His fingers squeezed on her windpipe and he shuddered as her pussy clenched on his cock again, "Goddamn freak."

He dropped his head to his chest, fucking her with wild abandon. All sense of pace was lost, just driving into her as hard as fast as he could. She couldn't even pant, his fingers on her throat and the force of his cock driving the air out of her. He felt that telltale flutter of his pussy and picked up his head, licking the sweat off his upper lip. 

"Cum. Right now, slut." He groaned, "Hurry up."

"Yes, baby." She whined and gasped as he squeezed her windpipe hard.

"Don't you fuckin' call me that." He rasped, "I'm not your fuckin' baby. I don't fuckin' belong to a slut like you."

"Yes Daddy." She keened, driving her hips back into his already wild pace. 

Her orgasm tore through her, the moan trapped in her throat as he tightened his grip. His eyes squeezed shut, his hips stuttering before he pulled out and came. Shooting hot ropes all over her ass and down her thighs he panted as he stroked it all out. He released her, letting her lay limply on the desk as he fell back into the chair behind him.

Gojo ran his hand through his sweaty hair then let his arm fall down at his side. He bit his lip, watching as Boe stretched her legs and admired the red handprints and dragging nail marks on her lower back. He didn't even remember doing that. Maybe he didn't? Maybe he did? Not like it mattered.

"Fuck." He breathed, unbuttoning the top two buttons on his silk shirt, "Wanna do another hit?"

Boe grinned at him over her shoulder before she pushed herself up on her hands and then straightened again, "Nah, can't tonight got shit to do. Can't be too high." 

"You just gonna fuck and run like usual, huh?" He clicked his tongue, "Slut."

"Loser." She mumbled, pulling up her shorts.

The office door rattled briefly before the sound of keys jingling hit Gojo's ears. Boe's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she glanced at Gojo, who in turn was closing his eyes tightly. He was prepared. It didn't matter which of the other two it was, they were going to give him a hard time either way. Hopefully it was Rin. If it was, at least it wouldn't affect him as badly.

"Christ," Sarah grimaced, as she threw the door open. Her green eyes bored right into Gojo's. "Can't you go be disgusting somewhere else?" She spat, slamming the office door behind her. 

He rushed to hike up his pants, shooting Boe a dirty look as she struggled to stifle her laughter. Sarah trudged loudly through the office towards the cabinets in the corner, yanking open the doors to hang keys on the designated hooks. Gojo approached her, resting against the cabinet, but she promptly slammed the doors shut and marched right past him. 

"C'mon, don't be like this Sarah." He groaned, "You can't be mad at me you wont--"

"I won't what?" She shouted, facing him and throwing her hands up in frustration, "What the fuck won't I do Gojo?"

"Can't we just talk or something?" He asked, his own rage held back by barely a thread, "Just like, I dunno fucking hear me out for once?"

"Hear you out?" She groaned, exasperated, "You're high and fucking Boe in our office! Again!"

He gritted his teeth, but she held up her hand and continued, "Shut your goddamn mouth. I don't--"

"You never let me fucking talk!" He roared, "Let me get in a word for once you unreasonable cunt!"

The slap echoed through the room and Boe took her opportunity to slip out of the office. Gojo stared at the wall, his head still turned and his cheek burning. Sarah's hand was still up, his own hand wrapped around her wrist automatically.

Slowly he faced her, his blood boiling as she sneered at him, "You don't get to ask shit from me."

Slamming Sarah against the door, her head hit the wood with a loud crack. Gojo's eyes gleamed with intensity, casting a reflection on her pale skin as he firmly held her cheeks and muffled her mouth. Her eyes widened, but he could tell it wasn't fear. She could kill him right then and there. Well, if she could she would anyway. At the moment, his forearm held her tight, but it wouldn't take more than a second to subdue her with infinity if he needed to. Even she had no way to get past it if he didn't want her too.

"You're gonna listen to me." He rasped, "Get this through that pretty head of yours," Leaning in, his lips brushed against her ear. His breath was hot as he whispered, "You know what I want. All you gotta do is say what I want to hear. You just gotta give me what I want, baby. Don't pretend you don't know what this is."

Her breath was fanning across the top of his hand, her eyes fierce and angry. Against the wall he knew she had no access to her scar, no weapons. She wouldn't summon the skeletons in Tenjiku either, not without risking killing innocent people. No, he had her right where she couldn't fight back. 

"You keep playing this fuckin' game with me, doll." He chuckled, his voice strained, "You strut around this place all high and mighty like you're better than me. Walking around in those little shorts and these tops with your back out. Pretty skin out for other men to see. Your neck. Your thighs. All of you." He licked his drying lips, "You belong to me. The sooner you understand that the sooner we can get past all these silly little arguments."

He pulled his hand back when her head reared back ready to bite, and tutted.

"You're a goddamn psychopath." She growled, "You know it, don't you? A fuckin sexed up junkie who things the world belongs to him." 

"Uh, yeah. It kinda does, sweetheart." He said with a breathy chuckle, he hadn't realized how hard his heart was beating until that moment. He really wanted another hit. He regretted not taking a second before he fucked Boe.

Stepping back, he released her from the wall while his anger simmered. However, the moment he did, she spat at him. The saliva landed on the infinite space between them, but it descended right towards his eye. His lip twitched, fingers flexing as he contemplated slapping her this time. He knew he could do it, and it wouldn't even be a challenge. She'd never be able to react in time.

"When you fucking die," she mumbled, "I hope the last thing you see is your own face and how disgusting you look when you're high."

"Ouch." He chuckled as she turned on her heels for the doors, "Good chat by the way. Thanks for listening."

The door closed with a loud bang as she left, causing him to let out a frustrated groan and run his hands down his face. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Why couldn't things just go smoothly for once? She was such a stubborn bitch. After taking a moment to compose himself, he smoothed back his hair and flashed a confident smile at his reflection in the mirror.

"She just don't get it yet, handsome. She'll come around." He said to his reflection with a wink.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

In the meantime, while Gojo was busy immersing himself in a dazed state with drugs and hookers, Nanami had completed assigning tasks to his subordinates for the upcoming week. He was now reviewing the reports delivered by Ijichi. Ijichi, being an extremely organized individual, always provided reports that Nanami thoroughly enjoyed reading. Unlike his fellow Lieutenants, who seemed to communicate in abbreviated text or scribble aimlessly, Ijichi's reports were a breath of fresh air and easy to comprehend. It was quite astonishing how some grown men resorted to such juvenile writing practices.

On his desk, his phone buzzed for a moment. Flipping the phone over, he saw the text message from Yaga calling him to his office. Setting his reports aside in a neat pile, he rose to his feet and walked out into the hall. From down the hall, Geto raised his hand in greeting and Nanami stopped as he waited for his fellow Lieutenant to catch up. 

"Did Yaga call you too?" Geto asked, and Nanami nodded in response.

Geto and Nanami both let out a sigh upon entering the office in unison. Yaga, as usual, was playing the role of the perfect host, effortlessly engaging in conversation with his guest while wearing his charming smile. His ability to charm was truly remarkable; he only ever displayed that captivating smile for women, and it never failed to leave an impression.

And the woman question? Rin. Because of course it was. She covered her mouth politely as she chuckled, swallowing her mouthful of tea. She smiled at Yaga before saying, "Yes, well I'm certainly glad to know you can have it taken care of quickly."

Yaga nodded, setting down his own cup on his desk, "Of course, Miss Rin. We wouldn't dream of burdening such an upstanding woman with a task so filthy. To stain those lovely hands would be a shame."

Nanami's eyebrow raised slightly from behind his round yellow glasses. It was truly astonishing how effortlessly Yaga could pour out those disgustingly sweet words, and even more astonishing that they seemed to have a positive effect. It wasn't just about his wealth, which Nanami had first assumed was the reason. But it was proven with that woman in particular. Rin was not easily impressed, especially when it came to compliments, but Yaga seemed to have a way with her and any woman he encountered.

"Boys." Yaga said, glancing over his sunglasses at the two of them, "Got a job."

Nanami nodded, "Yes sir." While Geto nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"The floor is yours, Miss Rin." Yaga said, leaning back and taking a drag of his cigarette.

Rin faced them, her lengthy black hair cascading off her shoulder and draping down her spine. Nanami observed her slightly rosy cheeks, her beautiful caramel eyes appearing slightly puffy. It was evident that she had shed tears earlier that day. Despite her efforts to conceal it, he could always tell when she had a tough day.

"The man that you brought to Tenjiku has passed away." She explained, "However something strange has happened with his corpse. The morgue is full of small curses and it seems like they're coming from him. It also seems to have spread to the other bodies according to Shoko."

"You're a capable sorcerer." Geto said, raising his eyebrow, "Why not take care of it yourself?"

Rin's eyebrow raised as well and she smiled, though it certainly didn't reach her eyes. "You should really learn to clean up your own messes. Aren't you a grown man?" She said, turning back to face Yaga.

Geto bristled, inhaling to give a taste of that medicine right back only for Nanami to step forward in front of the woman and cut him off. "Of course, Miss Morishita." He said, "We'll take care of it right away."

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami." She said with a gentle smile, "I appreciate you taking responsibility."

Standing up, she said her polite goodbyes before exiting the room. As soon as he was sure she was out of earshot, Geto groaned. Glancing at Nanami he tipped his head back and huffed a single laugh.

"Really? "Miss Morishita"?" Geto said, a mocking lilt in his voice, "You sound ridiculous. Like a samurai talking to a noble lady."

"Yes, well," Nanami straightened his tie and his back, looking away from Geto. "You should give it an honest try. I think she may appreciate you more if you weren't so arrogant," he said with an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

Geto clicked his tongue, but Yaga interrupted the two of them before things escalated.

"Normally I would have agreed with you in this situation Suguru," Yaga said, "However, this is a particular case that we ourselves should handle. You in particular." 

"Why is that?" Geto asked, leaning forward with his hand splayed on Yaga's desk, "Is it because you'd like me to absorb the curses?"

"Exactly right." Yaga nodded, "Take those curses in and bring them here. We'll have Kojiro take a look at them. Old man's got a talent for studying curses. Plus, we'll have the doctor's report to look over as well."

"Right. Yes, sir."

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[tsutkomi]

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦: 𝘐𝘵 𝘏𝘢𝘴 𝘉𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯

Hello! This is a x reader/OC with the sorcerer Shang Tsung taking place after MK1. This story contains explicit content, words, brief mentions of suic!de/r@pe and gore. This story is recommended of 18+ but we all should know that since this is the legendary Mortal Kombat.

I do not own any of Mortal Kombat content, just this story and the made original characters inside of it.

Warning: Child/Abu$e, Violence, Animal/Abu$e! Death.

"The tiger that has once tasted blood is never sated with the taste of it."

The dry sands subtly fill the air as chats and laughter sound. Banners of Sun Do surround a half decent area. Merchants sounding their product to the people walking by. Goods, teas, potions, meat, swimming in their hand as their last hope to make a fortune to be freed from this wasteland of Outworld backwaters. Starved families lay on the blazing sand, holding empty jars for walking by citizens. Their hands were swatted away. Their last hope was shattered.

Criminals hiding beneath the shadows watching for guards of Sun Do so they won't be shackled as they thief and steal their way out Outworld.

A small boy walks with a dirtied dog as he feeds him carrots. His small fingers fiddle with a small pendant around his neck. Attention on the jewelry, he suddenly trips over a foot. Stumbling upward, the small boy bows muttering a apology before the foot that tripped him moves and kicks him down.

The young lad coughs in pain holding his chest and he coughs away dust. The dog barks and two other men grabs and holds it by the gruff. The boy hurriedly shoved the pendant in his shirt before hesitantly looking up at the brutal stranger.

"Ya got a habit of walking around here with that mutt. Giving me staring looks. Now ya wanna kick my feet?" says a man with obvious scars on his face, and a covered eye. He grips the boy before snatching a grey pouch of koins from the boys satchel .

" Jaka, I didn't know it was you! I'm sorry! I wasn't staring—"

The poor speech was interrupted by another kick to his arm. The man smiles in victory as his other foot places over the child's head. "Then ya lie to me huh? Maybe in another time, ya outta think about that when ya arrive to the pearly gates." Suddenly the man groaned as he was pushed over by a shoulder of a old man. His foot released the boy and he stomped on the ground in anger.

"What the hell?! Ya got a problem, asshole?"

The old man in the hood bowed his head and raised his hands without a word before retreating to the opposite direction. Jaka then looked at his other mates before nodding his head towards the walking old man. The two men started following him before Jaka returns to hit the boy again this time on the shoulder with his fist. "You already know what to do. Got more on ya? " The boy looked up in shocked and puts his hands together in plead.

"Please sir...I don't have any money to spare, my mother is ill—I only have carrots to feed myself and Vatu. You have my gold..Please, for the love of Delia..have mercy!"

Jaka rolled his eyes at the boy and looked back at his mates with the dog who was then pinned on the ground with a knife towards its belly. "Well, if you ain't got anything, I guess we'll have to take your dog since ya can't care for em anymore." The child widen his eyes in fear before scrambled closer in panic. With a cry, the boy raised one hand up in halt.

"NO! PLEASE WAIT!" With tears and blood running down his face, he rambles in his pockets slowly before pulling out a jade pendant. It was ridden with the finest white gold as a hem around a beautiful green jade. It had engravings. A unfamiliar symbol engraved in the gem as it shone brightly. Jaka eyes widen and glances back at the remaining men before snatching it from the boy.

"You've been holding out on me boy! This here is worth loads of money! Such history needs to be sold."

He signals the men and they push the dog towards the child who immediately holds Vatu close. "This here will make me finally leave this wrecked place and get to the top dogs of Sun Do!" he speaks with a raspy laugh.

The boy spoke no words, just holding close what he thought had left of his life. With a final kick, the boy groaned, shutting his eyes tightly—taking in the pain. "And that's for lying to me twice. Pack it up boys, we goin huntin." With that the rugged men left the boy alone with staring eyes of guilt. His tears dried and heart broken—the villagers had done nothing but come to his aid after the fear of man had left.

Jaka and his men walked the shattered road. He smiles with pride and holds the pendant towards the dark sky. "All we need now is a ship. We will be freed at last. Pay off some of the guards with some of that gold I took from the brat. Then boom, a new beginning for the Riot." He says with a smirk and dry laugh before patting his coat. The feeling of emptiness in his pocket made him turn from the crew to his dirtied coat. His face was quickly replaced with irritation and confusion as he patted and searched away at his clothes. His henchman then watch as his head slowly rise up and turn to them with a furious look.

"That son of a bitch mugged me! Where's Harpu and Kain? That old man has my shit! Find him! I want his head now!"

With that, then men split up into groups. They searched every crevice of every alley that could possibly be the hiding place from the old man's cessation. Jaka lurked around, listening for any sign of a dying life or anything of his men. The sweat on his forehead spoke numerous thoughts of what he'd do to the thief that dared take from him. His future will not falter. He will kill anyone that stood in his way.

It was as if the Gods heard his thoughts as he squinted at a familiar face of the old man. He was lurking around the corner before retreating. Jaka growls before running full fledge to him. "Ya son of a bitch, you're mine!!" Groaning as he split to the corner, he paused in his tracks while facing a dead end.

"What...?" Looking around the alley way, the atmosphere suddenly glowed green and the once was a night sky, turned into a dark rainy one. He was surround by trees suddenly as the Outworld Marketplace was transformed into a jungle like area. Crickets sound the area and the smell of dirt and rain filled Jaka's nose. Doing a slow 360 turn, his eyes finally land to what looks like a fiery like portal to where he once was . He couldn't believe his eyes. After slowing blinking and leaning closer. No. His eyes wasn't playing tricks on him. The portal was clear, and the difference of people and lanterns, including the figure of the boy he'd ignorantly beaten to death was walking with a bunch of strangers to what seem to be a doctor.

The Outworld Marketplace.

His heart began beating fast and he ran his fingers through the tresses of his hair. "What the devil is..." A sound of a twig snapped his confusion to alert. He perked up and squinted in the dark forest, unsheathing his small dagger from his coat. He searched around the area he was suddenly in.

The island was free of another living creature. It felt abandoned and lifeless. Vacant. However, it felt like millions of eyes were watching his every step. The untamed forests had crushed skulls, cobwebs, and giant bugs that brought some company. He was intrigued when he heard more twigs snap. Edging closer as he gripped his weapon tightly. He finally had the courage to speak. "Who the hell is there huh?!" The subtle crack in his voice gave away his fear and the shaking of his body gave away his weakness.

His curiosity however...is what ultimately closed his life sentence. That during his frightening investigation did he not realize the portal behind him had shut completely.

Walking into the dark abyss of the forest, he gripped her weapon higher to chin-level. He stealthily moved about, ignoring the beating of his panicking heart. Sweat ran down his cheek, and his eyes were wide. "Come on out! I know you're here!" He was listening for more twigs or breathing. However, only his breathing and the sound of crickets were heard. Jaka tried to ignore his senses telling him to turn back now just from the fact he walked through a portal. It was too dark. Oddly enough, the forest not only reeked with rain, but with iron. He can only imagine that it could be blood. Just as he reconsidered, another sound came but much closer. He immediately dipped and squatted walking through the bushes. His eyes caught movement and bent over. Licking his lips, Jaka raises the blade high over his head ready to dive it into the unknown thing in front of him. However, he was shocked to find that it jumped and flew away. A bird. Jaka breathes out a sigh in relief and irritation.

"Filthy fucking animal.."

His eyes unconsciously followed the bird. He scoffed before looking on the ground not too far from where the bird flew to. His stomach immediately sunk at the sight of a laid out body. He blinked slowly and looked again—his eyes were not deceiving him in the darkness.

His body moved on its own to walk towards it. As he got closer, his sight roamed the ground and made out what appeared to be another body laid not too far away. Staring, Jaka had reached into his coat pocket and slowly flicked on a silver lighter. He hesitantly hovered the lighter over the body slowly from abdomen to neck.

A stab wound was on its abdomen, further up another one in the ribs. It appeared to be dried. He groaned in disgust, and slowly went up its neck.

He paused seeing the same symbol that was on his coat. He held his breath, and clutched the grass beneath him harder. He hesitated to finally light the way towards who he assumed was one of his crew...

"FUCK!"

He jumps back after meeting face to face with a dehydrated, sunken corpse of his partner. Kain. His eyes were sunken empty, he lacked any features. He was just bone with so little skin here and there. His hair was barely there, and he reeked of death.

Bile rose up in Jaka's throat which he quickly swallowed. "By the Elder Gods..what happened to you, mate?.." he murmured rising from his feet.

He moved the lighter towards the other body, and it was in the same position as his other deceased friend. It had a bandana worn that spelled out its name in Outworld scripture—Harpu. Jaka couldn't take anymore, and dropped his lighter. The lighter immediately lit up on Kain's clothes. Cursing quietly, he threw Kain's vest across some wood and it brightened the forest.

The rest of his crew were scattered all over the place. Deceased and swiped of their life.

All Jaka could do was stare in fear and back away from the horrid scene of his friends. It was as if time stopped. Only the sound of crackling fire and crickets were heard. Jaka felt as if it was a dream. How could his friends all be killed in such short amount of time? Their bodies were decayed as if they were here laying dead for decades. "I got to get the fuck out of here."

Suddenly, the crickets stopped their stridulation chirping. Jaka looked around and gripped Kains bag, wrapping it over around him and slowly turned to head for where he came from. "Ya..Fuck this--argh!"

His sentence came to halt by a hand stopping him dead in his tracks. The hand was gripping his neck tightly and rising him slowly. His toes left the ground and his hands desperately grabbed the arm of the stranger. Jaka chokes and drools from the force before his eyes glanced down at the perpetrator. He widen his eyes at the gaze at pupils that represented dark pools. His eyes were cold and calculated. The stranger rose his head to look into the eyes of Jaka. Jaka despite being choked, he could make out that the man was young, his hair was in a half ponytail, he wore a black cloak which seemed to have a hood. Jaka's eyes followed the strangers arms to the hand that was choking him. Tekko-Kagi Claws. "Y-you're.."

The stranger held him higher as he walked them closer to the fire. The look of irritation and disgust was written on his face. As if he was disgusted at the sight of the pitiful creature held by his hand.

"You're Shang Tsung!"

He squinted his eyes and gripped Jaka tighter with a smug smirk. "Of course I am. Who else would pose such a threat?" Jaka began to panic and choked out sentences as he slightly lost color.

"Please! Have mercy! I'll do a-anything you want! I won't tell anyone! N-Not a single soul! Please let me go!" Shang Tsung laughed and tilted his head slowly. It was a laugh that caused absolute terror within Jaka's body. He knew about this man. Word of Sun Do spread throughout the lands. From the beginning where he was healing Empress Mileena of Tarkat to the vile experiments beneath his laboratory. Jaka could only think of how he would be next.

"What a pitiful performance. You're worse than the child that you maltreated. I don't care for your pathetic ruse. What I want is where I can find the owner of..this."

With the hiss of the last word, Shang Tsung ripped the jade pendant off of Jaka's bruising neck with his other free hand and held it to his sight. "They all say regardless of you being a delinquent—you were educated in history. From the present time to the past, such as the Warrior Kings. This scripture on this pendant is a symbol of their existence. Where. Are. They?" He loosens his grips slightly enough to let the choking man speak.

"T-that's not a symbol of their existence!"

Shang Tsung grew agitated fast and squeezed harder quickly before releasing again. "You play me for some fool?" He spoke with a subtle growl.

"N-no! I swear! The pendant was given for protection! Only the Gods of Warrior Kings can give it to mortals!" Shang Tsung raised one eyebrows slightly before pulling Jaka closer. A symbol of protection? Gods? Why would a mere child be given the protection of a God? "Explain."

Jaka swallowed hard before shutting his eyes in thought. "T-they used to give these pendants to people of certain clans! S-Sometimes if they encountered their arch nemesis I think! They're of the richest gold and jade! The Warrior Kings were even gifted a sword for helping the Four Symbols!"

"The Four Symbols? Those are a Chinese myth." Shang spoke with boredom. He felt as if he was being played.

"N-no they are real! But, t-they all died, except one! The jade is the indication of who gave it! Look inside! There should be a tiger!" Shang Tsung slowly was snapped out of his boredom before squinting and looking into the Jade gem. He thought he was imagining things before a golden craving appeared in shape of a tiger. Glancing slowly at Jaka, he then grips the pendant sliding it into his robe. "It would seem."

"That's the symbol of the White Tiger of the West! They are the only one left..the rest were never heard from again, so everyone assumed they were dead!"

After what felt like hours of staring, Shang Tsung released the tightening grip on Jaka's throat, letting him gasp for air before dropping him harshly. He placed his hands behind his back, turning away from the desperate man clinging to life. "The White Tiger of the West...Surely..if they given these powers to the Warrior Kings then..they must have the capability to open my Well of Souls. You will tell me who they are, and where might I find them." Jaka choked out blood and wiped his mouth , rubbing the bruises on his throat softly. "Their name is Jin Jiang. On a island..no mortal can see it with the naked eye. But you have the pendant, so you should see it..It's on the West side of the world..in between Earthrealm and Outworld. Whoever stepped on it never came back though..so survival is unsure."

Shang Tsung scoffed and played with his magic before closing his hand in a fist. "Watch your tongue fool. You would have died, but I am a powerful sorcerer. With this pendant and my sorcery, I shall get what I desire. However, I can only assume that they are not weak. With a little charm and manipulation..I should get what I need from them."

Silence was between the two. Jaka had sweat roll down his cheeks, and he kept glancing at the sorcerers back. 'I could book it. Should I book it?' He scanned the area slowly before looking once again at the sorcerer's back. He slowly move to crawl away before a spike shot through the ground into his hand. "ARGHHHHHH! GRRRAHH!" Jaka screamed and whimpered as three more shot from the ground piercing through his thigh, abdomen, and hand. He cried as Shang Tsung walked slowly to his bleeding form.

"You really thought I was through with you? After you heard my entire plan and what I'm after? After you had seen my face to get a quick bounty from me? With your gossiping like a little woman?" He smugly smirk as he stood over Jaka's bleeding form. The one eyed man could barely look up at the sorcerer while wincing and crying in pain—listening to him chuckle.

"No...You're sorely mistaken."

Jaka suddenly began gasping for air as a green aura glowed brightly around him. Blood was flowing like water into green, flying into Shang Tsung's hands. His skin slowly turned grey and muscles began to rip from his very bones as he desperately tried to reach for nothingness.

"Your soul is mine."

His body then dropped and his bones broke on impact.

Shang took in a breath and smiled in pride. Placing one hand behind his back , he used the other to unclip the cloak before tossing it on the ground. He wore his usual yellow and brown attire, with the red sash. He walked away from the scene, and waved his hand before he appeared at a large old temple. The area looked similar to his laboratory. It was in progress but had the time and effort. Smugly, he walked to a open area that had a already created portal. "A being...with better power than that of Kenshi Takahashi..To open my Well of Souls."

He waved his hands again, whispering a chant as lights and machines began to work slowly. A library which was freshly cleaned was lit. "In the west...by the name Jin Jiang." He put his hands being his back as the portal then showed a small island with autumn trees, with a large temple that seemed to glowed a whitish yellow. He smirked to himself as he walked toward taking a long look at the island.

"The White Tiger of the West. Oh, how I will see you soon. Sooner than you think."

[sapphicwhump]

After Irithyll 8 - Victim

Fandoms: Dark Souls, Dark Souls III Tropes: solitary confinement, trauma recovery, whumpee x caretaker TWs: implied/referenced suicide attempt

[ Previous | First ]

        You awaken the next morning to the sound of knuckles rapping against stone. Karla is already sitting up in bed next to you, reading more from Quelana’s pyromancy tome. Evidently, she didn’t feel the need to expel you from her alcove once she woke up. You’re surprised, but nonetheless grateful.

        An uncomfortably bright light strikes your face as the curtain is pulled aside by someone other than Karla. Although she turns suddenly, she doesn’t panic, to your relief. Her body obscures your view, but you easily identify the visitor as Cornyx by his gentle, slightly elderly voice.

        “Um, Karla, I’d like to discuss your tutelage of—”

        You sit up to greet him, only to pause in confusion as he abruptly freezes mid-sentence. Cornyx, not wearing his usual blindfold, appears struck by a sudden facial paralysis. Your just-woken-up mind lags behind his own, and it takes you an embarrassingly long moment to put together the pieces of where you are, and who you are currently sharing a bed with.

        As soon as the connection is made, your face flushes a shameful red. A jumbled ‘It’s not what it looks like’ races to the tip of your tongue, but Cornyx is already retreating before you have the chance.

        “My apologies! Another time, then!” He drops the curtain back over the shared alcove and hurriedly strolls away.

        Karla slowly turns to you. You briefly fear she’ll berate you, yet as your eyes lock, you can see she’s already cracking up with laughter. She breaks out into a delighted cackle, which you follow with a more nervous one.

        “Well that’s one way to come out.”

        You’re stammering. “But, it’s not like— We didn’t—”

        “Oh? Would you prefer if we had?” She raises her eyebrows at you. You don’t offer a response, choosing instead to bury your face in your hands, hiding your redness.

        Breakfast passes as it usually does. Greirat scored a small container of smoked sausages on his last expedition to the Undead Settlement, so you each dig into bowls of porridge with bits of the sausage mixed in. You’ve had better, but you’ve also certainly had a lot worse, and Karla’s company elevates the eating experience tenfold.

        “So last night, you said you wanted to get out some things that have been bothering you. Are you ready now?”

        She suddenly grows very tense. “...Yes. I at least feel like I owe you some kind of explanation for everything I’ve put you through.”

        “You don’t owe me anything. Is this something you want to talk about? We don’t have to—”

        “N-no, no, it’s fine. I’m tired of stewing in my thoughts for so long, and I think it might help to articulate them.”

        You nod in understanding, waiting for her to continue.

        “I…” She considers her words carefully. “I can’t go back to when I was fine because even though I’m out of the dungeon, it’s like some part of my mind still thinks I’m in there. For so long, all I could think about was survival, and now I can’t stop thinking like that.”

        “How so?”

        “My life is ruled by fear. A chime ringing scared me as if it were a mortal threat. You’re the only person I can talk to without being crippled by dread. I’m terrified of open spaces now; I need my back to a wall or else it feels like someone is about to come up behind me. It feels like there’s danger waiting to jump out at me in every shadow and corner.”

        You want to embrace her, but the pain that wells in your chest is followed by a bubbling anger. “What did they do to you?”

        She gives a short, humorless laugh. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? You want to know the specifics. You need your morbid curiosity sated.”

        Guilt stings in immediately. “I didn’t mean—”

        “Eh. I did say I was going to open up to you. Talking about things like this is supposed to help, right? That’s how this works?”

        “I… I’m not sure. I don’t think you should disclose anything that makes you too uncomfortable. If you never want to tell me at all, I’m fine with not knowing.”

        A long, quiet moment passes as she considers that possibility, before she makes her decision with a slow nod.

        “This… isn’t pleasant to think about. It’s less that I can remember what they did to me, and more what I can infer from the scars on my body, or common themes in my nightmares. My memories are so indistinct, it's like everything's blended together into one long haze of pain and loneliness.

        “...I know there was a lot of torture. Those branding irons? They’re not intended for use on intruders. T-there were… crude implements. Broken bones. Denial of food, compliance through starvation. Insults, degradation, u-um… other humiliations.

        “But honestly, none of that was the worst of it. For the most part, they did nothing." Her tone is bitter and spiteful. “The nothing was the real torture. Aside from their visits, it was just an absolute, constant, insufferable separation from everything. My life was nothing but staring at cold blank walls, all day every day, for years. It's… it's indescribable. Going that long with nothing to do, nothing to experience… it’s an absence so heavy, and so suffocating, that your mind starts to fracture under it. Not all at once; it’s like… I was unraveling, little by little. Now I’m all torn and threadbare.” She idly tugs at a loose thread in her witch’s robe.

        "It felt like I was going insane. I started hallucinating; whispers and shadowy figures until I couldn’t tell what was real. The nightmares were constant. It felt like there wasn't even a world outside the cell anymore, just nothing but me in a little box, forever. I…" Her eyes fall from you in shame. "T-there were times I begged for the jailers to torture me, just so I wouldn’t be alone.

        "I tried to kill myself several times." she admits, fingers white-knuckled on her bowl. "The manacles weren't sharp enough to cut my wrists. I always passed out before the chains could strangle me. I knew it wouldn't matter, and I'd just come back as an undead, but I f-figured…" Your eyes follow the bob of her throat as she swallows heavily. "Maybe if I hollowed, I wouldn't have to think about it anymore."

        Without thinking, you take one of her hands in your own, squeezing it tightly. "Well I'm glad you didn't."

        "S-sometimes, I'm not so sure if I am." She returns the squeeze and smiles morosely. "Meeting you has been nice, though.

        “Needless to say, all this has left me with some… lasting negative effects.�� She keeps fidgeting with the frayed thread. “I'm surprised by how terrible my sense of distance is now. Everything too far away just looks flat, like the set of a play. It causes me to miss with spells when I know I really shouldn’t. I think my eyes just aren’t used to seeing anything further than ten feet away from me.

        “The nightmares haven't stopped either. I get them almost every night. They don’t usually make me scream. It’s another way I haven’t switched back. When I was in that cell…” She pauses for a deep breath. “Every dream I had in that cell, I was still in the cell, in the dream. I couldn’t even escape it in sleep. The worst part was, it didn’t take long before I could never tell whether or not I was dreaming. It was terrifying.”

        She folds her arms over her chest like she's cold. “Even now, all my dreams are still in that cell. Even though I’m out, I still spend so much time in there. Part of me feels like I never truly escaped at all.” She glances up at you. “Remember that first night I screamed, and I told you off like a total asshole?”

        “Karla, you’re not—”

        She gives a dismissive wave. “I can call it what it was. I was scared and hurting and wasn't ready to admit either of those things, to you or myself.

        “That night, I woke up from a nightmare, and I... I was back in the dungeon again. It felt so real; I thought I w-was…” She swallows heavily, her stare vacant. “I thought I never escaped at all. I thought your rescue was what I had dreamed. I thought I was *still in there, *a-and the jailers were coming to hurt me again, and *that’s *when I screamed.”

        “Would it help if I stayed with you more often, like last night?”

        She blinks in surprise. “Um… maybe. I'd certainly be willing to try.”

        More nights with Karla certainly isn’t a prospect you’d mind. If she’s going to wake up screaming, you’d much rather be the first thing she sees when the nightmare ends.

        "I had no idea how much you were struggling. I wanted to help you so much, but every time I tried, you pushed me away."

        She looks away in shame. "I… I didn't want to admit it to myself just as much as I didn't want to admit it to you. I wanted so badly to just be fine, and have things go back to normal. I guess you were a reminder of how much I couldn’t.”

        “Was I being annoying? I could give you more space, if you need.”

        “N-no, no, that’s not it. I want to be close to you. Our breakfasts and magic lessons are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. And I don’t think you could keep your eyes off me if you tried. It’s just—” The words get caught in her throat. “Trying so hard to be fine, and then seeing you, how much you cared for me, how much you pitied me…” She can't meet your eyes. “If I'm being pitied, it means I'm pitiful.”

        “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re far from pitiful. You’re the strongest mage I know, of any discipline. Torture couldn’t take that away from you.”

        “They certainly tried.” she produces her Flame, a distinct orange instead of black. “But I suppose, for all the punishment they could inflict, I’m still just as wicked of a witch as always.”

        “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

        It’s not quite a laugh, but her exhale is more amused than it is mournful.

        “I’ve tried to rebuild my life, but I also have to rebuild who I am. It's taken a… mental shift, to think of myself as a victim of torture. I am irrevocably a victim now, no matter how much I pretend otherwise." She spits the word out like it’s rotten.

        “Some people call themselves 'survivors' instead.”

        She scoffs. “Doesn’t matter what I call it. I still got tortured. I still lost years of my life to that tiny fucking box. I didn't ‘survive’ it out of some inner strength, I just existed through it. I couldn’t do anything else. I didn’t even want to survive it; I tried not to.”

        "Do you want to survive now?"

        She looks up at you, studying your face very carefully. “...Most of the time, yes.”

        Your eyes lock with hers. “Good. Let’s try to keep it that way.”

        She glances away quickly, her attention returning to her bowl of porridge. The heavy silence between you is punctuated only by the clattering of wooden utensils.

        “The guilt hasn’t gone away.” she says abruptly. “I’ve always sort of, um… felt like I deserved it, I guess? Or maybe not deserved—like it was my fault. For the longest time, I figured that what happened was a natural result of me practicing hexing. You say it wasn’t, and I get that, but it’s more difficult to change how it feels. When the whole world tells you you're rotten… I guess it's easy to start believing it.”

        “I get it too. You don’t have to justify yourself.”

        She nods in appreciation before she continues. “The jailers… they weren’t fans of my profession. As you can obviously tell.” Her hand moves to cover her forearm, above the mark you know is there. “Hurting me didn’t get them anything. They just found it fun, and thought I deserved it. I suppose, being around them for so long, their attitude eventually rubbed off on me.

        “I can barely even remember most of it now. It’s all so indistinct, until something throws me back there, and then it’s like I never left. Someone opens the curtain without knocking, and suddenly their face is a jailer's mask. A chime rings, and they’re about to snuff out my Flame. I don’t know if it'll ever get better, or if some part of me will always stay trapped in that dungeon.”

        “I know it's different for me, and I've never been tortured, but I have been fighting since I crawled out of my own grave. In my experience, the fight never goes away, but you do get better at dealing with it.”

        Karla is silent for a long moment. “For the first time, I'm starting to believe that.”

        To your surprise, she begins undoing the leather bindings tightly woven around her right sleeve. “The marks they left won't go away either.” She slides the fabric up to her elbow, revealing her burned flesh. “I'm terrified of what the others would say, if they saw. I've never known others to look favorably on the disfigured. Aside from you, I suppose.”

        “If anyone says shit about your scars, I'll be happy to escort them out, permanently. I’d rather have you here than anyone who'd be disgusted by you. Yuria's banishment would be the least of it.”

        “I don't doubt you would.” She cracks a smile that fades as quickly as it starts. “Doesn't help much if *I'm *the one disgusted by me.”

        “I… I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of. Bodies are just bodies, and we can’t choose the one we get. I certainly didn’t choose any of my scars. A burn mark can’t make you any less valuable or worthy of care.”

        “And yet you still offered to heal it away. Was that for my comfort, or your own?”

        Your stomach knots at the implication. “There's very little that could make me uncomfortable with seeing your body.”

        “I certainly hope that's true.” she sighs. “I won't lie, not being scarred would make me a hell of a lot more comfortable. My skin feels so tight it's hard to move, and I dearly miss the comeliness of my youth. But, I don’t think that's a reality I can achieve. My disfigurements are a part of me now, whether I like it or not.”

        It's not as if you aren't still comely, you think better of saying.

        She rolls her wrist in circles, flexing each of her fingers one by one. “I've found I'm more able to move if I keep the scars compressed and stretch them out regularly. I just wish I had some kind of salve to keep them from drying out.”

        “I'm no apothecary, but I might be able to mix some Estus into a balm.”

        “I think I'd like that.” she says, sliding her sleeve back up and reapplying the leather compression straps.

        “When I return, then.” You stand from the table, clearing your empty bowl. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to depart. I’ll bring back what I can from the castle. Still a whole army between me and the throne.”

        “I can always count on you, my lady pyromancer.”

        Donning your gambeson and brigandine is as easy as breathing. No matter how many gruesome deaths today might bring, holding onto your humanity feels a little easier with a friendly face waiting at home.

[sm-writes-chaos]

Random snippet

I saw a prompt about that dialogue that’s like “who did this to you?” When looking at a wound. And the prompt said instead of that it’s “I did this to you.”

So I wrote a little something based off of that, in this they are referring to a scar. Our characters are A and B because I did not want to come up with names

—

“I did this to you.” B reached out his hand to touch it but stopped and pulled back. A put his hand on top of B’s lightly but it was half-hearted. “It’s-it’s old news.” He shrugged but his face said it all. The way he tried to hide it said enough, but his face…

B looked away. Flashes of their old fights wouldn’t leave him alone. After that video was on the news, after B had seen himself from A’s perspective, the memories changed. Instead of B fighting his rival all he saw was himself from A’s eyes. A crazed man who wouldn’t stop at nothing. That smile. Was that what his smile looked like? He hadn’t even realized he was smiling, but that’s what villains do right? B looked back over at A, he saw a hero with a kind heart. Maybe a bit of a coward but he was always brave in the bleakest moments. He smiled a bit beside himself, but subconsciously stopped when he remembered that video. How did A see him? It had to be different than before, otherwise they wouldn’t be sitting here working together and not trying to kill eachother. B couldn’t forget that video, and that’s what A saw everyday. A must have nightmares about B, that’s what B decided to believe. Ashamed B looked at the floor and got up. A looked up, he was just as lost in thought as B was. “Where are you going?” “Just going to take a walk outside.” “Not much to see out there.” A tried to smile. “The stars will still be the same.” B put on a coat and went out the door. The squeaky hinges made A cover his ears. A hurriedly put the rest of his bandages on and put his shirt back on. He wanted to say that he’d forgotten that that scar was there, but he honestly hadn’t. B was so different these days that A could hardly believe that it was caused by the same man. A frowned at the door, B was holding himself back. Fighting for so long you learn all their moves, and B had almost given up on fighting at together. A noticed the way B’s eyes widened at the sight of a weapon, the way his hands shaked when he got close to A. A tried to stand up but he winced and sat back down. If this wound didn’t heal soon then it might be days before they could go out again. They’d be stuck in this small motel, together, and the way that B had been acting made A mad. He might punch the walls out. A stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, fearing to move because of the pain. He sighed. B’s sad eyes made A sad too. But he was a hero, he couldn’t wallow in regret and shame. He had to keep going, and somehow convince B to fight the way he used to.

B looked up, he said the stars were always the same but that wasn’t true. Light and pollution shrouded them, making the night darker and the shadows longer. B felt responsible for it himself, that somehow his deeds made the stars retreat far into space, tired of looking at humanity and the things they did. The things B did. B took in a deep breath, but the sharp cold air hardly calmed his nerves down. He clasped an area on his side just below his heart. It was a small graze, no need to bring attention to it. He couldn’t have the hero himself heal the villain. He lifted his shirt, it was morphing into a sick green. It was unusual for a cut to do that, but maybe he just didn’t know enough about knives. He mainly worked with swords and guns, opposites but surprisingly worked together when in unison and not against each other. The cold air brushed his wound and he quickly covered it with his shirt again. If it wasn’t actively bleeding there was no need to look at it. He just had to keep going, and hope that A would be okay. A. B turned around swiftly, rushing back to their room. He’d gone down the stairs but wasn’t far. He rushed up and fumbled with the key, unlocking it with strength that made B fear he might have broken it, the door swung open with a sharp squeak. B stood there panting, taking in the picture. A was still sitting on the bed, looking at him with confusion. He’d finished bandaging up and looked tired and ready for sleep. A shot up, “has the enemy found us?” But A wobbled and started to fall back down again. B rushed over and caught him, keeping him from staggering to the floor. “No, no…I just thought..I had a thought…” “You thought you had a thought? Ow!” He tried a smile again but winced. “Sorry!” B tried to hold A carefully as he set him down on the bed, laying him down this time so he couldn’t get back up. B looked down at A as he shifted to get comfortable, but his wounds were hardly ever comfortable. B had another thought, were there nights like this for A because of B? “So why’d you rush over here so fast?” He said through gritted teeth, trying to calm the pain down. B held up his hands to help but they shook and he put them in his pockets. “I…I had a feeling you needed help.” A smiled more genuinely this time, albeit humor in his eyes. “No shit B. But I’m glad you came back. How were the stars?” “Bright.” B lied. A was drifting into sleep, probably not a peaceful one but sleep. B wanted to put images of beautiful stars into his mind in hopes he’d dream of that and not of those who caused his pain. Past or present. “They shined better than the sun ever could. Casting a light that shone over the city, I’m sure the stars are a comfort for many. Sparkling and having no judgment, anyone can look at the stars and think that they’re beautiful.” B was surprised at the sound of his voice, he swear he hadn’t even talked that much lately. A’s eyes were closing, but he was still smiling. “I know you’re lying, about you being able to see them. But I didn’t know you were a poet.” With that A’s breathing slowed and his body relaxed. B looked at him warily, but with surprise as well. No one had ever called him that before. They called him twisted, without ever thinking of the meaning behind his words. But whenever B went on about something A always listened. A always understood. Even if he still fought B he never disregarded his words. B rubbed his face and got into bed, being careful not to wake A and letting him have most of the blanket. B closed his eyes and he saw the stars. In his mind where all was dark he could imagine the stars were as bright as he remembered them. He fell asleep hoping he’d dream of them as well, but villains never sleep easy.

—

After B has retired from being a villain, a new bigger threat shows up and A and B have to work together. They are currently on the run from that bigger threat. This is them hiding out in a motel after a fight with some goons (one bed too ooh)