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queenendless · 6 months

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❤️‍🩹Tough Love (Adult!SatoSugu x Adult!Fem!Reader)❤️‍🩹

A/N: This is a paid commission I wrote, requested by @anime-lover1234

Content warning: JJK AU with lots of angst, hurt/comfort, short injured teacher/sorcerer reader with lots of boo boos, overprotective!upset!SatoSugu hubbies yall.

Haibara alive in this AU, Nanako and Mimiko are first years here with Yuji Megumi and Nobara and they're your students too. Plus Gojo can heal others in this AU.

AND NEARLY 7K LONG SO THERE!

*Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like and follow instead.

You wanted to impress them.

You wanted to prove your worth in battle.

But things went far off the deep end.

It all began that one sunset evening.

As a Grade 1 Jujutsu Sorcerer, you were a perfect match for the Grade 1 curse spirit lurking in the forest near an abandoned school rumored to be haunted after closing down due to allegations of murderous cover ups.

As you pulled down the Curtain, the cool winds blew at your hair, swaying along with your black attire, as the sun was setting for you exorcized the curse at last.

You were turning, ready to return to Haibara-kun who was waiting by the car parked out front, when you felt a stir in the air.

You sensed it further deep in the thicket.

Another cursed spirit.

Small … but on the highest level.

Curiosity and cockiness came in, seeping into your being, compulsively drawn towards your next – spontaneous – assignment.

It was a tall skinny humanoid one, blood painting its skin, eating one of the few mangled teen corpses strewn about the splattered wrecked tents of the makeshift campsite.

"Forgive me. I couldn't save you all." You muttered, cursed energy pulsing through your legs. “I'll avenge you by exorcizing that curse.”

Then you chanted quietly.

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure."

With the barrier now placed; this one designed to keep curses in, you moved in.

With its eyes slowly turning to spot you bouncing off the branches, a swift blur dashing through the air, you warped right behind it, readying a blow right to its head.

But going toe to toe with a special grade cursed spirit on your own … you know it's not the same as it was before. But you were willing to take this golden opportunity.

Your fist blazing with cursed energy, ready to strike, even as —

The spike in its cursed energy went through the roof in that split second.

The atmosphere now pricked with that rotten flesh smog coming off its figure.

One that sprouted up to 10 ft tall.

Your cursed punch missed its mark.

Its sharpened hand going right into your side.

It was all a trap.

And you fell for it.

Hook line and sinker.

Your banshee cry startled the birds as you warped out of its grip, blood spraying out from the forced movement, skidding back on shaky limbs, its toxic touch seeping into your gash wound.

Flashes of white exploded in your mind.

The screams of your two mighty husband sorcerers were blowing out your eardrums.

Your vision was spotty but you felt the shift in its cursed presence spring forward through the air, barely dodging its swipe but feeling the tips of its claws scrape your stomach.

Deciding to draw it away, you became the injured bait, running for your life, warping out of its grab, ready to slam a kick down from above —

The sight of Satoru and Suguru bleeding and crumpled before you took its place. A twinge of fear stabbed your nerves — you were socked hard from the side, paralyzing your cranium, warping in your dazed state right before slamming into a tree.

Covering your ears in futility at the intrusive fake voices invading your eardrums, you squeezed your eyes over your unwillingness to see their gutted crimson painted selves.

"Don't leave us here!"

Toru.

"How could you leave us behind!?"

Sugu.

"It's not real. They're not here. They can hold their own. Even against bastards like you." You growled under your breath, keeping your eyes shut. "Don't see. Don't hear. Just feel."

Sniffing the air as cursed energy heightened your nostrils, you followed its putrid stench and nothing else. Trusting your sense of smell by amplifying it to near max — your limit.

Yet the debilitating toxins were slowing you down. You were getting lightheaded as blood trailed down your side and leg from that open wound. The punches and kicks you managed to land on it were barely making a dent on this creep.

This curse was sapping you of your strength, your swiftness, and your stability at an alarming rate. All you could do was dodge and weave. But didn't stop the onslaught of punches, kicks and slashes littering your body.

Those normal – now dead – teens were just fodder to it.

Now that you; a sorcerer, was in its domain, you became its toy. It would kill you. But first, it would take its time and play with you, prolonging its enjoyment as long as possible, wearing you down until you broke …

Down at the nearby rural town, outside a combini, a bespectacled man just stepped out, throwing away the wrappings of his just finished sandwich, turning to where the foul energies were resonating, seeing the barrier among the thicket of trees …

Curled into the ground, gashes, bruises and blood painted your now immobile body, keeping your head to the ground when you suddenly sensed a trusting presence slipping inside the veil, looming above you, followed by the anguished roars of the special grade collapsing.

"Don't let it hit you … its toxins can make you hallucinate … and can mimic voices." You rasped out the warnings, coughing out blood in the process, when his folded work jacket was pressed into your hands then against your crimson dripping side.

"Understood. Keep pressure on that wound. You've lost enough blood already." You choked out a sob of relief at that low rumbling voice.

Kento Nanami.

A fellow Grade 1 sorcerer. A dependable comrade and a close friend. One of incredible proficiency. Extremely precise aim. Evades with clever maneuvers. Reinforced body with cursed energy.

Tying his spotted tie around his fist, he went into Overtime. With his now stained clothed blunted sword in hand, Nanami struck in as many weak spots as he could create on that titan.

The red and black sparks of Black Flash streaking right off him to chop off its enormous arm.

His words were ringing in your ears as he revealed his hand intentionally to raise his power levels.

Slashing weak points in the surrounding pine trees, he follows it off with diving in to cleave off its legs by the knee.

Bringing it face down to ground level just to cleave its head in two horizontally.

Releasing both his binding vows to enact that single blow, Nanami's extension technique Collapse activated, causing those pine trees to come tumbling down to bury it for good measure.

Scooping you up at breakneck speed, you two got clear of the fallen debris, slipped through the decaying barrier.

Neither of you sensed it any more.

Nanami's eyes bore great disappointment down upon you from on high. "And here I thought you were better than to emulate those two's recklessness."

You felt your pride crack, your ego bruise, and your shame boosted over Nanami-san's disapproval when you felt yourself blacking out and your form became limp too quick for his liking.

Nanami's exasperated, panicking face getting all up in yours, his shouting going mute in your ringing ears, occurred before it all went dark.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Hastily calling Nitta-san to send the proper authorities to handle post cleanup in those woods, Nanami kept pressure on your wound in your stead as he situated you two carefully in the backseat as Haibara stepped on it; his wary eyes peeking in the rearview mirror now and then just so he wouldn't crash the car.

Watching in dismay as the only signs of you still alive was your little shifts of discomfort paired with frail mumbling, calling out for your loves, as fear worked its way to the front of your mind.

Hurriedly calling Shoko immediately after to meet them at the foothills of Mount Mushiro where the screeching halts of the car's tires skidded to an almost collision at the first torii gate.

The backseat was tainted red as Nanami tossed his stained business jacket aside then undid the buttons of your uniform jacket then tugged up your undershirt enough to show your biggest wound, allowing Shoko to lean over and work.

“What a way to spend my night." She huffed, concentrating as pure white light emanated off her hands and over your wound.

"She's lost a lot of blood already on top of fractured broken bones. And hallucinogenic, auditory ailments are still in effect even when curse has been exorcized." Nanami added, brooding from the added severity of the situation.

"What the hell, L/n?” Shoko heaved heavily, shedding sweat. "That curse's toxins are still in her system. It's making it difficult to fully heal her.” She was able to seal up your side wound though. “That will have to do for now. We need to move her."

"I'll join you all once I park the car." Haibara informed them, quickly leaning over from the driver's seat to kiss Nanami.

Nanami's tender gaze came Haibara's way before he got out of the car, carrying you, carefully treading up the steps, Shoko shutting the car door and hurrying behind him, with Haibara driving off and Nanami's bloody business jacket left discarded on the back seat.

Shoko spent the late night hours repairing your damaged self, collapsing over the metal surgical table from the overtime stress, panting from her energy spent. Blood pumped into a vein on your arm via the cannula connected to the drip. And your shallow breathing toppled with a cold sweat only made her push herself further as she squeezed your hand to keep you as grounded as possible and you continued murmuring the guys names in raspy, pleading whispers.

A harried Nanami patted Shoko's forehead with a clean spare rag lying on a counter while Haibara gave her a water bottle to hydrate.

Coming in and out of consciousness, tugged between horrish illusions and bleak reality, your once weakened pulse grew stronger as Shoko's RCT filled you, pushing the toxins out of your system.

So when you finally awoke, faded scars and bruises dotted your skin, front and back, leaving you groaning weakly as you clutched your pounding head. You felt like a truck had run you over.

"About time you woke up. Those fear toxins should be leaving your system now. But it did make healing you quite taxing for me. We can continue your checkup in the afternoon when we've both rested. But I could really use a drink right now.” Shoko apathetically griped as she carefully pulled the IV out of your arm just to place a cotton ball sticking to a bandage over the small leaking prick.

“Sorry about that, Shoko.” Feeling her gloved hand holding your still sore one, you barely squeezed back. "I failed to exorcize that special grade … I'm sorry I made you all overwork because of my screw-up." Your guilt stricken face struck their hearts.

"Nitta-san made sure the bodies were collected … what was left of them. Just count yourself fortunate that the curse was just dragging it out when I arrived. Never underestimate them." Nanami chastised you at the end, his goggles currently off, sternness laced in his eyes.

"Please … don't tell the guys. It's bad enough I couldn't exorcize it by myself. If they find out, they'll never let me live this down. Satoru especially." You weakly pleaded, struggling to sit up but able to get up on your bum as Haibara pulled you up.

"They'll find out sooner or later. And there'll be hell to pay if you choose to omit it from them. I will not partake in that sort of nonsense." Nanami griped, dreading the world flipped on its axis once your husbands found out.

"They'll never want to leave my side after this! They're already dealing with workloads of missions as is! Adding this to their pillars of stressful shit … I just need to be right as rain ASAP."

"No such thing as stress free in our line of work." Shoko bluntly stated.

"Gojo-san and Geto-san would be heartbroken if you kept this from them." Haibara frowned, personally wounded.

"They'd be even more wrecked that this happened and they weren't there to stop it …" Anxious guilt raked your bones.

A hand plopped into your hair, brushing it gingerly. “Your foolish pride as a sorcerer better be worth it if you're prepared for what will come of this endeavor." Nanami's foreboding didn't stop you from embracing him around his waist, pressing your face in his stomach, humming as Haibara gently hugged you from behind, and Shoko smiled nonetheless at the cute scene, especially at Nanami's sternness lessening and patting your head some more.

Still too out of it to walk on your own, you were pushed out in a wheelchair by Haibara, straight back to the dorms, stating he would stay in the room beside yours in case you needed any aid for the night, needing to head out in the morning alongside Nanami.

Carrying your ruined uniform clothes in the recyclable bag Shoko kept them in, you set them aside as you limped about to change into familiar comfier PJs you kept on hand in your old dorm room closet whenever you had to crash at the school grounds.

Pulling your phone out of the zip lock bag it was kept in thanks to Shoko too, you had seen it was still on.

They had been messaging you all night. Notifications of your group chat popping up on your lock screen.

But you just … felt too ashamed and embarrassed to reply back.

So you turned it off.

Without them smushing you between them tonight, there was no comforting warmth keeping you safe and sound.

And the aftermath of those horrific illusions and their copycats speaking during and post battle still lingered in your memory. Tittering between life and death, you were trapped within your worst nightmare yet.

Their disapproving glares.

Their cold voices.

Turning their backs on you as they walked into the foggy embrace of bloodshed against your voiceless cries and your wavering hand fruitlessly reached out into nothingness.

So going back to sleep was the last thing you wanted.

But even so, being in your old single dorm bed, your quiet sobs swarmed the room, your pent up agony painting your pillow in tears, stewing internally over wanting to suffer your follies alone versus wishing more than anything to have Toru and Sugu embracing you to chase all those bad dreams and fears away like they have always done.

Your phone stayed isolated on the small wooden bedside table, plugged in and charging. In silence.

Meanwhile, in a hotel, nestled in the Saitama prefecture that lies above Tokyo…

"Well, the twins are sleeping. Their mission definitely exhausted them both." Suguru softly informed, returning to his partner's side after checking on the girls in the room across from theirs.

A pouty Satoru groaned miserably, splayed out like a moody pancake across the bed, puppy eyes trained on his phone. "Suguru~! She's not answering me~!”

Now splayed out beside him on their shared hotel bed, Suguru ruffled Satoru's poofy hair. "Perhaps she's sleeping."

"She always answers me though! She didn't even send me a cute kitty gif~! The injustice!" Satoru cried, shoving his phone screen right in his best friend's face.

Suguru pushed Satoru's phone aside, pulled out his own from his sweatpants and sent a heart your way. And yet, it was not even read on your end. His forehead creased with worry. "No response for me either … I do hope nothing bad has happened.”

Satoru slung an arm around Suguru's neck, pulling himself snug against him, frowning vividly. "I miss her."

Suguru plopped his cheek atop Satoru's noggin. "So do I. The sooner we finish here with our own cases, the sooner we can have her in our arms again. Until then," Suguru brushed aside Satoru's snowy bangs to smooch his velvety forehead, tenderly grinning. "We'll just have to keep each other company~"

Now that piqued Satoru's intrigue, cheekily giggling as he rolled them over so the raven head could straddle him. “Nothing wrong with that~”

Suguru quickly turned the side table lamp off before engaging in a long, sensual make out with his smirking mate, whisking the night away.

Your new strategy going forward?

Keep your phone off.

Give off the illusion of still being out in the field, doing assignments far off in the distance.

Stay locked up in your old room except for Shoko's treatments and bathroom breaks.

Until you were all patched up; no visually alarming marks blemishing your skin, you wouldn't let any aside from those that already knew find out.

Not your students.

NOT your men.

By the time you had awoken, Haibara had already left as informed. His sticky note he left on your bedside table with morning greetings and hopes to see you soon followed by a scribbled smiley face did turn your frown upside down.

But it meant you were the only one left in the dorm as your throbbing self painstakingly grabbed some long sleeved apparel outta the closet and changed before putting on some slippers. It was fall now, slowly transitioning to winter, so it was the perfect cover up to be snugly dressed.

You had just gotten outside when you noticed the trio heading to the torii gate exit.

Yuji sniffing the air was what alerted you; skidding to a halt as he was literally across from you on the other side of the long stone pathway, turning to eye you with an unpleasant awkwardness. Running over, his nose dove in closer to get a deep long whiff of you to your jitteriness.

He was your best student in terms of enhancing his senses to their peak with cursed energy. And one you cherished like your own pride and joy. Your pure son.

“L/n-sensei … you're injured. And you look restless. Did something happen?” His eyes became glassy saucers.

Your game plan was on the rocks now. Super human senses at work!

“Hey! The sooner we finish our mission from that blindfolded madman, the sooner I can get to shopping! So move it! No offense, sensei!” Nobara snapped out loud, waiting by the gate, curious what was occurring but impatient to wrap things up for her own reasons.

“Cone on Itadori! We're burning daylight!” Megumi coaxed.

“Alright alright, I'm coming!” Yuji's voice then softened for just you two to hear. “Sensei, whatever’s going on, just … take it easy, okay?”

Your heart swelled at his considerate caring nature like the precious boy he is, smiling thankfully. “I will. Thanks.”

“Welcome back.” That genuine smile of relief and joy of Yuji's almost made you tear up; your swelling up heart touched by his words, doing your best to smile through the soreness as you waved at the boy, saluting back to you, joining his friends, and heading off.

You started uncomfortably limping on your way the moment you students were out of eyesight. Shoko met you halfway, presenting a new wheelchair for you to make traversing more easier. “Sorry but Nanami-kun wanted me to remind you to work on your report about last night. We can head to the faculty office first. Besides, you look ready to topple over.”

You internally groaned at the stingy procedures, expected to recount your near death experience down to the last detail; literally occurring just last night, sending a grateful look her way. “What would I do without you, Shoko?”

“Let's just say I'm better off with you in my life … and I know I'm not the only one.” Apathy gave way to relieving passion in her gaze that you looked away to brush your wet eyes. And you both left it at that as she wheeled you the rest of the way.

Flash forward to some time later …

“I can't believe you going gung ho back there cost me my chance to hit up that sale at my new favorite boutique, you boneheaded idiot!” Nobara bit out.

“Okay okay, I get it! Go easy on my shoulder, Kugisaki!” Yuji yelped in pain at how much she was fussing as she and Megumi helped him walk since he took the brunt of the hits in their latest mission.

“Always ready to put yourself on the line for us … we can handle ourselves, you know, doofus.” Megumi was less harsh, making sure not to hit his shin against Yuji's stabbed one; wrapped in the torn sleeve of Yuji's uniform to stop the bleeding.

Yuji noticed the tender gaze his spiky haired friend gave him, smiling in recognition, chuckling sheepishly. “Protective instincts, I guess.”

“Serves you right, idiot.” Though Nobara and Megumi spoke such mocking words, they were softly spoken, still irked but also grateful they're all still standing.

The moment the trio splurged through the morgue door, spotting your bare back littered with bumps and wide slash marks had them faltering as their short beloved teacher and practically mother figure was in this state.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Their unified exclaims startled Shoko enough to press too hard on a red welt on your forearm, causing your excruciating shout.

You slapped your palms over your mouth, mortified at legit blowing your cover out loud.

Due to the fact that Shoko at the moment got a sudden phone call while examining you.

From THEM.

“Shoko, what was that?” Suguru demanded.

“Sounds like a wounded animal!” Satoru exclaimed.

“Takes one to know one. I have work to get back to. Bye bye~” Shoko's false perky jab reverts back to her usual demeanor after hanging up on them. “I would say stay hidden until everything settles down but I'd be lying. I know 25 mins away means those two lunatics will floor it by the end of the day. I wish you the best of luck, my dear.” Her sympathetic pat on your shoulder did not calm down those anxious belly butterflies.

“I knew you were hurt but … OKASAN WHO DID THIS TO YOU!?” Yuji's own wounds were forgotten as he scrambled over to you, blubbering out waterfalls, throwing off everyone by legit calling you mom out loud but too overwhelmed to notice right away.

You pulled your shirt back down, flushed in shame. “Special grade got the upper hand on me. Nanami-san saved me. Sorry to have you three see me like this. So please … keep this between us? Please?” You literally prayed for it.

“For my favorite sensei, my lips are sealed.” Nobara assured.

“Geto-sensei may be less hysterical … Gojo-sensei not so much … but those two together … oh God.” Megumi paled up at the reality.

“The calm …” Nobara ominously started.

“Before the shit storm.” Megumi drearily ended.

“Uh, while I'm not a big fan of keeping things from Gojo-sensei, if it's what you want, then I'll do it.” Yuji, skeptical but willing to make you happy, blushed pink as you embraced him loosely due to you still not being at full strength yet.

“Thank you.” You weeped.

Megumi, Nobara and even Shoko joined in on that hug.

Meanwhile, back in Saitama, again, nestled outdoors in front of a patisserie.

“That was suss as hell.” Gojo lowly rumbled, sitting under the umbrella covered table on one end, stuffing his last – now smooshed – Maneki Usagi Manju from his hands straight to his mouth.

“We know that shout all too well …” Geto's eyes teemed with cynicism, sitting across from him, sipping Sayama tea in one hand, his phone in the other.

Their mentality synced, restlessness in their bones, their six senses flaring up with red alerts.

Something did happen to you.

Something big.

Something bad.

With their cases long since finished; not surprising, their leisure time was spent sightseeing, tasting the treats the places they visited had to offer. Meaning more sweets for Gojo to savor. However, his gut along with Geto's twisted at the thought of you in trouble.

“Girls, gather your things. We're heading back now.” Geto firmly spoke while speed dialing Ijichi-san to come pick them up.

The twins, sitting at the table beside theirs, stopped taking selfies of themselves with their cutely decorated drinks at his announcement. “Yes, Papa~!”

Throughout the ride back to the school; Ijichi-san fidgeting and sweating bullets at his seniors stewing in silence, panicked thoughts raced through the duo's minds.

The one constant that kept coming up?

Whatever was going on with you …

They were getting to the bottom of it.

The sky changed from blue and calm to orange and warm.

Getting healed by Shoko before being ushered out to continue healing you, the trio crashed in the common room slash longue when the sight of Nanako and Mimiko waving and smiling as they entered with bags of gifts and snacks to share and give had the trio beaming at the twins safe return.

However, the sight of their teachers coming round the corner into view, radiating such potent agitated auras, sent the trio's hearts racing in dread.

It spelled the first sign of doom.

Gojo zipped up right to them, a wide ass smile on his face, waving with bags of souvenirs on the other arm, cheerfully greeting them all.

“Oh my precious students~! Your esteemed adoring sensei has returned! And I come bearing gifts for you all! As thanks for a job well done! But on the condition that you answer me truthfully! Do you happen to know what our dear Y/n has been up to as of late~?”

“Nope.” Megumi kept a straight face.

“Nada.” Nobara is the same.

“We know nothing.” Yuji as well.

Their calm blunt responses had Geto narrow his eyes at their stoic behavior, the twins shuffling to him in nervousness at the tense situation, and Gojo's fake smile fell, becoming so straight faced. “Hmm … okay then. Hold these, please and thanks.”

Dropping their bagged gifts into their arms, Gojo warping away was the second sign.

Appearing again before them, with a squirming distressed you in his arms, was the final nail in the coffin.

Gojo hastily set you down, firmly grabbed your sweater sleeve covered hand, and tugged that sleeve up to your shoulder. Even with the blindfold on, you could picture his Six Eyes shrinking to dots at the colorful splotches and littering your once unblemished skin.

“What the hell?” Gojo's shaky raw voice had you gulping.

“How did … when did … Y/n explain yourself!” Geto's perturbed face turned to aggravation.

Keeping your head ducked, you could picture their eyes bearing those same cold, disappointing glazes those curse's nightmares forced you to bear. Your state of panic got triggered!

You wince in pain, trying in vain to tug your hand free of Gojo's iron hold. Warping into the morgue, literally sweeping you off your feet, greeting Shoko, then warping out of the morgue all meant your recovery got cut short.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going!?" Gojo jested, pulling your back against his front, caging you in his hold, knowing to restrain himself on the pressure, gritting his canines at seeing those same colorful marks on the back of your neck. “You better start talking.”

"You mustn't strain yourself any more, either! You can barely walk as is!" Geto irritatedly griped, wrapping his arms around your other one, leaving you wobbling, therefore needing either of them as counterbalance.

"I'll be fine! I'll get better! I'm innocent!" You babbled desperately, wiggling like a worm, to your utter dismay and their annoyance.

Geto narrowed his eyes, downtrodden. "Have you no shame, Y/n? And you three knew about this, didn't you?!” His eyes flared up with scorn as his face whipped to the trio, having all three flinch back at the irritated sight.

“And after all the trouble I went through to get you all gifts!” Gojo dramatically complained.

“Unnecessary to be honest.” Megumi dryly rebuttal.

“My tastes far exceed yours, anyway.” Nobara throwing shade.

“I'll take them all, thank you very much! I felt like telling you Gojo-sensei, I swear! But L/n-sensei was in pain and I just wanted to help her!” Yuji blabbed.

“Softie.” Mimiko and Nanako teased smugly.

“Yuji~!” Gojo weeped.

“I told them to keep quiet. Shoko and Haibara too. Nanami wanted no part in it. It was all my fault!”

Your pleas only riled them up more. Their eyes returned to you, burning intensely, straight into your soul as they cushioned you between their built bodies just like a mating press.

You gasped as Geto's hand slid under your top, his calloused touch sending anxious tingles through you, feeling that tender scar left on your side, lips trembling and eyes wavering. “Honestly believing you could pull the wool over our eyes, dearest? Ridiculous.” Geto belittled.

Gojo scoffed, suddenly frightening as he towered behind you, alarming everyone besides Geto as he pulled down his blindfold to stare down at you now with those glaring Six Eyes. "Screw that. This isn't panning out well for you, darling. Not at all.”

Your weak whines of protest made the teens cringe with pity. Your short self was literally trapped between giants. The atmosphere was so thick with tension that trying to cut it with a knife would mean getting obliterated. GoGe might as well be a bomb.

But to see tears swell up in your e/c eyes and trail down your cheeks, glistening from the guilt, embarrassment and pain, everyone in that room froze in paling realization.

You were the actual bomb.

And you just got set off.

"DON'T HATE ME!"

Your heartbroken scream had the strongest duo become the weakest. Their grips laxing, their tunnel vision eroding, their resolve dusting, as you pulled away freely, tugging your sleeve back down to cover the damage, sat down on the couch to your buckling knees relief, and cried in your tarnished hands, becoming a mess for them all to see.

"L/n-sensei no!!! Please don't cry!!!" Yuji went into a panicked frenzy, squatting down before you, frazzled as you bowed your head against his jacketed shoulder, rubbing your shoulders in an attempt to soothe you, sweating bullets at the sight of his once mighty teachers now becoming statues at this turn of events. "None of us hate you! It's okay! Everything's gonna be okay! R–Right guys?!”

"You two are the scum of the Earth, you are! Harassing an injured emotional woman!" Nobara yelled abhorrently in their stunned paled faces, pulling out tissues from her small flowered package she kept in her belt pack along with her cursed tools to offer you. “Here sensei. Take these.”

"I won't blame her if she files for divorce." Megumi gripes under his breath, sitting down beside you, timidly rubbing your back in comforting circles. "L/n-sensei, you need to calm down and rest."

“Geto-sama, do something about this! Mama is a wreck now!” Nanako was willing to put her foot down at this insolence.

“This is depressing.” Mimiko patted your head from behind the couch.

Your desperate need to melt into a puddle and just die from utter disgrace was dashed when you felt Gojo approaching.

His serious blazing eyes spoke for themselves to let him handle you himself, but those kids hesitated letting this slide when the gentle shushing of their usually obnoxious teacher threw them for a loop. Sitting down in the free space on your other side, gently brushing your hair, he leaned in to your ear to confess —

"I'm sorry." You stiffened at his words as they rumbled against your ear. While you were partly miffed and scared due to his attitude, his gentleness returning made you drawn to him all over again, recollecting how much you did miss him — miss them both actually cause OF COURSE YOU DO!!!

Weaving his hand through your hair, he carefully pulled your head to rest against his chest instead, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, a shaky vulnerability leaking into his voice. “I'm so sorry.” You dare set down your hands to see his eyes as glittery blue glass. "I shouldn't have snapped like that. I hate seeing you cry like this.” His wandering hand had his fingertips weave through yours to squeeze your hand benignly. “Especially when you're all banged up. I just …”

“I'm deeply sorry as well.” The moment Suguru sat down in Megumi's spot, the kids had already stood back and watched with anticipation as his arms gently hugged your waist from behind, kissing your blotchy cheek, regret radiating on his face. “We both shouldn't have approached you so harshly. We were out of line. We just …”

They were both at a loss for words.

Taking a chance, a risk, a leap of faith, you decide to tell them the truth, rather preferring for them to hear it from you than read it from a document.

“The other night … a special grade curse popped up just when I finished my case … I wanted to prove myself … I thought I could take it on … but Nanami saved me in the end. I was … ashamed … anxious … afraid. It showed me … illusions … nightmares … of you both suffering and abandoning me … and I panicked when you both got upset earlier … I just – !”

“You haven't properly rested at all.” Geto delicately gripped your chin and turned your face to see the dark circles under your now red eyes. “Beloved, you of all people should know that keeping your troubles bottled up inside does no one any good! Least of all hiding your pain from us when we can help!”

“You can't always be there for me … I can't keep weighing you down … but I can't hold my own when it really counts … I'm never gonna be at your level … even as a Grade 1 … by myself … I'm not good enough.” Your eyes squeezed shut, deep seated in this emotional turmoil.

“Yes you are!” The sharp conviction Satoru had made your eyes snap back open. It got your attention attentively. “We still think of them … Kuroi … Amanai … what we could have done differently or better … had we not failed them. If anything happened to you … and if we weren't there to stop it … and it already has … then what the hell’s the point in being the strongest when we can't protect those that matter to us the most?!” You shook as his tears hit your nose, rubbing his wet nose against yours with those beautiful blue eyes now red with compassion looking into yours, for even his watery smile is breathtaking. “You've never been weak. Not to any of us. You kept us together through all the shit thrown our way since that day. I don't need Six Eyes to tell me this truth … that you are the most beautiful, genuine, strongest soul I know you are inside and out.”

“You're the very reason I gathered the courage to reach out to everyone when my resolve wavered … when I lost my way … it's difficult to wear a heartfelt smile in this world …” Sugu's voice slipped for a moment, his almond eyes twinkling as his wet cheek nuzzled yours, pressing a timid kiss to the corner of your lips, another breathtaking smile amiss the waterfalls. “But you brought back my smile. You helped me find a better way … I'm no longer alone. So you don't get to be either. Not anymore.”

Unified, their cracked voices caved.

“We can't lose you too.”

You breathed in their natural scents, submerged in their warmth, coveted in their supportive treasuring embrace, their crying faces resting against either side of your neck, just to be as close to you as possible without hurting you more so than that curse and themselves already have.

In this moment of vulnerability, the strongest duo put down their guards just to show you how immensely you've always mattered to them. Your pain, your sadness, your doubts … they're theirs too.

Your hand that was still being held by Satoru weaved down to rub against Suguru's knuckles, drawing him in to lay his hand atop both yours. “I feel the same way.”

“But damn Y/n, you scared us shitless." Gojo sighed exasperated, now chewing and suckling hungrily on your red cheek just to hear your raspy squeals for their amusement.

"Immensely." Geto hummed conspiratory like, chewing and tugging on your other cheek for good measure, your squeaking making them smirk.

“I'm sorry!” You garbled out, mewling.

Suguru popped off your cheek, pecking it several times apologetically. “We're sorry too. We're just relieved that you're alive.”

Satoru popped off your cheek as well, smooching the welt left in his wake. “Still injured though, but I'll finish healing you myself.”

Catharsis finally came as your waterworks were one of relief. “I missed you both so much~!!!”

"Yosh, yosh~” Satoru doting on you, petting your head like the cutie you will always be in their eyes. “We missed our cutie patootie too~” Now that got you to smile at last, shedding tears of joy, as your chortled laughs made them smile as well.

The kids left you three a while ago when the mushiness kicked in. The twins giggled as Megumi summoned his wolf Shinigami for them to ride on so they could stop pestering him, right before he buried his bashfully blushing face in the crook of Yuji's neck who carried him and Nobara with ease from her own pestering, heading off to do whatever.

Now drained from the mental and emotional trip you went through, all you wanted now was sleep.

And to be honest?

So did the guys.

Your old dorm bed would make do just this once. For old times sake. Warping you three there was easier on an already wiped Gojo, anyway.

Their uniforms, boots, and socks along with your slippers littered the floor.

The AC hummed in the background.

And the drawls of moonlight slipped through the curtains.

Tepid flustered gasps left your parted lips as Satoru sensually trailed his smooth sly hand across every inch of your backside under your top, healing you from that point as you relaxed.

You smothered your face in Satoru's snug black tee covered pecs as he ran his fingers through your hair, languidly brushing it to further soothe you, pecking your forehead. “It wasn't the same without you.”

Suguru carefully splayed on top of you from behind, warmth seeping through his snug white tee and into your cloth covered back, heatedly breathing down your flushed nape as his veiny giant hand caressed your bare tummy underneath your top as well as stroking your thighs with his other hand. “Having you to cuddle again, all snug in between us, truly feels like heaven.”

“No angel to sleep with … oh how did we cope without you~?" Satoru ranted quietly as he could for your sleepy sake.

Suguru gave him a sly smirk. “Satoru~”

Satoru chuckled, ruffling Suguru's loosely free hair, before resting that hand on Suguru's lower back. “Okay, it wasn't bad at all. Even so… can I please just keep us in this moment and never let each other go ever again?” Satoru gently begged.

“As long as I can get some shut eye. And new uniform garbs.” Your cheek nuzzled his chest, consenting in a yawn.

“Deal.” With Six Eyes now switched off, Satoru became heavy-eyed at the sight of his two favorite people in bed with him. Back together again.

“No more bad thoughts for us tonight.” Suguru languorously rumbled in your ear.

“Plus those nightmares will get a kick in the balls if they come back.” Satoru grumbled drowsily.

“If it's a curse, sure. Dreams, not so much.” You mumbled softly.

Satoru could feel your body start to reach the end of its recovery from his healing touch, trailing his hand from your back to cover your hand that rested on the front of his shirt where his heart lay.

Suguru's own hand traversed, resting atop Satoru's, all three splayed on his chest in the same exact spot.

You sagged as you felt the weight of all that battle damage lift right off you, for all the pain got replaced with fuzzy tingling warmth.

Shivering with delight, you felt those two curling in on you from both sides, their legs tangling with yours, as you all smushed in the middle, with Suguru's face against your shoulder and Satoru's in your hair.

“Toru … Sugu … I love you guys.”

Satoru breathed in your scent, smiling drowsily. “We love you too … so damn much.”

"Truly. We'd be lost forever if we never knew you.” Suguru mused languidly.

A tiny smile formed as you succumbed to your long awaited dreamland. “I … feel … the same.”

And the kiddies, poking their heads through the crack in the slide doorway, eyed you snug between those two in just their tees and boxers, your entangled limbed cocoon, the bed comforter halfway touching the floor, as gentle snores and breathing made up your guys personal symphony.

Taking some snapshots for potential blackmail material; basically on Nobara and Megumi's part, they left you three to rest.

Of course, knowing you three, you'll stay in bed all day tomorrow. Whether to sleep, talk, cuddle, make out, do the devil's tango — nah it's all of the above! Meaning no classes.

The weekend is free.

To unwind and reflect.

Your old room feels more homely now that they're there with you.

That night, you’re gifted with cathartic, stress relieving dreams where those two awaited you with smothering embraces and enriching laughter.

Through their tough, imposing, and fierce exteriors …

There lay the true blessings that are their empathy, passion and humanity.

Your chaotically lovestruck sorcerers.

And you, their heaven sent wife, will feel their love till the very end.

And even beyond.

For Infinity.

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merakiui · 3 months

Note

it’s my first time ordering for lunar love hotel 🥺🥺🥺 i’m not sure if i’m doing it right but i’d like to order a flower bouquet with chamomile tea and lemon squares from the midnight menu and a fruit smoothie from the morning menu for ceo azul and afab reader (maybe either his secretary or just an employee working under him, whichever you prefer!)

thank u so much! 🥰

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, obsession, power imbalance, abuse of authority, mention of pregnancy, implied alcohol use/inebriation, ceo!azul, secretary!reader note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

You wake to a dull pressure between your legs, roused from dead, dreamless slumber like a reanimated corpse. Groggily, you blink bleariness away and search through the dimming light for the body propped up above you. Your fingers, clumsy and numb, brush against his chest, climbing up to drag across his collarbone and, ultimately, reaching his face. He’s without his glasses; twin pools of the deepest sapphire flick over your form, assessing the state of your sentience.

“Mmh… Mr. A-Ashengrotto?” you mumble, still so out of it. His hips stutter to a halt. Your eyes shut once more, and this time he takes care to move slower. Softer. You arch up into his touch, breathing heavy. “Ooh…”

What happened? How did you get here? If your spotty memory is to be trusted, you arrived late to the company party, got into a drinking competition with Floyd Leech, and stumbled out into the chilly night, hanging onto the arm of the one and only CEO of Mostro. Your benevolent boss—Azul Ashengrotto.

And now here you are, lying beneath him on a plush bed, your legs wrapped limply around his waist while he rocks into you with a gentleness rivaling that of the smoothest sea. Just beyond the rain-spattered windows, a gloomy cityscape sprawls. You’re not sure where you are or what floor you’re on. Exhausted, your mind a muddled wreck, you force your eyes open.

“Mr. Ashengrotto, what are you…” You swallow dryly. Hangover sticks to you like wet socks on soles. “What’re you doing?”

The hand that had been previously rubbing circles into your hip slides away to grasp at your breast. He rolls your perky nipple between two fingers, marveling at the way it sinks in when he presses down. It springs back with ease, still just as pebbled as before.

“You should know—” he starts, only to break off with a low moan— “that it’s impossible to out-drink Floyd.”

“No… No, that’s not—” You suck in a shaky breath through your teeth. His cock curves up inside you, hitting all the right places. “Can’t… We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

“Not right and—it’s wrong… You’re my boss and it’s not…gonna look good.”

“My dear, is that all you ever think of? Even now, your mind is on work. Won’t you relax?”

“Because…” You squirm beneath him, deeply unsettled and yet unable to phrase your protests in sharper terms. “Mr. Ashengrotto—”

“Azul,” he murmurs, running his knuckles over your cheek. Sickeningly fond, he has the gall to smile at you like an angel. “It would make me happy if you called me that in private.”

You try to shake your head. “I can’t—”

“We offer paid maternity leave,” he reminds you, punctuating that point with a sharp, sudden thrust. Your legs tighten around him out of some bodily instinct.

“Don’t want that,” you babble, grabbing at his shoulders. “Don’t want a baby. I can’t—need money to live. It’s expensive… Please, Mr. Ashengrotto…”

He tuts, a frown flickering on his handsome face. “You look so tired. Rest, my dear. I’m here for you.”

Azul lifts you from the bed, angling his hips down to ensure his seed will find its rightful home in snug, gummy depths. He’s borderlining the edge of the end, teetering on a pleasurable precipice. You feel yourself falling. In spite of everything—the situation and the intention in every thrust—it feels good. Mindless. Intrinsic. Strangely meant to be.

“You work so hard on my behalf. Such a diligent secretary, always knowing just what I want when I need it.” Azul takes your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You shiver at the contact—whether in revulsion or reverence, he can’t say. “Ah, but your eating habits are abysmal. You work late and arrive early. You come into the office on the verge of death, and then you lie to my face when I ask if all is well.” He peers down at you, eyes shimmering with an odd emotion. “Why do you run from me, my dear?”

“A-Azu—ooh… Azul…”

“Was that so difficult? My name isn’t a mouthful. If you say it enough, it may stick permanently. Mrs. (Name) Ashengrotto—what a precious title. So musical.”

You follow his hand as it moves to press down against your stomach. You can’t be with him. He’s your boss and you’re his secretary. It wouldn’t look right. The rumors that would spread… You couldn’t handle that sort of pressure—of having all eyes glued to your figure whenever you walk into a room.

“I wanna go home…”

“You are home.”

“My home.”

His expression sours. “I wouldn’t call that hovel a home.”

Your head falls back against the pillows. What’s the point in debating? Sleep claws at you, dragging you back with greedy fingers. Bile rises in your throat, so you swallow it down. You have to say something. You can’t let him have his way. You can’t be a mother. Not now. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

But it’s so easy to float along and succumb. It’s so easy to be lazy. It’s so easy to agree. It’s what your boss wants. As his dutiful secretary, you must listen and do just as he asks.

“Get some sleep. You need it. I’ll be here when you wake.”

You don’t intend to, but your eyes fall shut. His voice is soothing like the sweetest song. With your consciousness now waning, you slip away just as he bottoms out and releases with a groan. Your insides are flooded with cum, but that’s the last thing you concern yourself with. It’s what he says next that follows you into your dreams. An ominous omen. A confession.

“I love you, (Name)… And soon—quite soon—you’ll love me, too.”

#yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #n/sfw #tw: dubcon #tw: somnophilia #lunar love hotel 2023

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farceurcole · 8 months

Text

Escapees!!!

SKRUNKLY boiis have escaped the faztech research facility 👀

Hmm yes another day in seclusion, up in ur lil ranger tower, watching cute cat vids with spotty reception

… wait wat was that?!

Sus… lets check it out! Could be a lost hiker- and Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Y/n is-was on the job- sorta (lazing about) when they come across… aliens? Cryptids? Cursed fairies? Uhmm… o-oh my their getting closer!

SKRUNKLYS INCOMING!!!!! Quick wat do u….

WEPONS of CHOICE : ur fav throwable plush stuffies and a flimsy plastic flyswatter ATTACK +5

DEFENSE : a semi-decent desk chair, thats great for naps DEFENSE +3

SPEED +1 its dark outside and ur only wearing socks! Wat didja think was gonna happen

CHARISMA +0.5 you are chronically awkward but atleast ur hats cute

CRITICAL THINKING -2 seriously?! Stuffed animals…

SURVIVAL… is unlikely

Fancy a game of tag…out in the woods…in the dark… with nightmare fuel!!! No?!

RIP Y/N

#imma call it swamped au fer rn #sundrop #moondrop #y/n #naptime attendant #daycare attendent #escape with ur livvveeessssss #wip #my art #hehe!

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rxreid · 1 year

Note

gifting spencer socks for secret santa and everyone thinks you’re super boring for it but spencer loves it because he knows it means you pay attention to him :)

aaaahhh so cute <3 gn!reader btw! no use of pronouns for the reader :)

the yearly bau team secret santa (run by garcia, of course) had finally rolled around, and you'd be more than excited to pick a name from the christmas hat garcia had sewn together by hand.

she'd called everyone into her office throughout the week, one by one to get their name - and it would finally be your turn. when you pull out spencer's name, you'd be more than happy, given the fact that you knew exactly what to get him.

flashforward to the day when everyone was opening their gifts, you'd all be sat around the table in the briefing room, taking turns one by one before it was finally your turn.

"who'd you get, y/n?" garcia would pipe up.

you'd unravel the small piece of paper you'd picked out just weeks before, probably slightly tattered by now. you'd turn it around so that the others could see it, and spencer would let out a small cheer.

"oh my god! what'd you get me?"

reaching onto the floor to pick up your gift for him, wrapped in spotty blue paper and adorned with a white ribbon, you'd slide it across the table to spencer. he'd waste no time in opening it, eagerly unwrapping the paper neatly. his efforts would reveal a trio of socks, each a different colour and each patterned with a different bear - pandas, black bears, and polar bears.

rossi would laugh upon seeing your gift, "y/n, you got him socks?"

"that's like, the most boring christmas present ever!" prentiss would join him in laughing, until spencer silenced them.

"no, no- stop, i love them. y/n actually paid attention to the things i like, and now i have these awesome socks. i'm gonna wear these ones tomorrow…"

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #myfics.docx * ˚ ✦

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sarcasmo-mexicano · 11 months

Note

spot fluff pls ty :]

I didn't know if you meant Solo Spot or Spot/reader, so I hope these are ok:

Spot Fluff Hcs

• He likes when you use petnames

• Everytime you use one, he is all bashful.

• After the collider incident and adoptig the "Spot" persona, I feel that he sometimes forgets that he, actually, had a name before.

• So when you call him "Jonathon" he kinda stands in confusion until he realizes you are talking to him.

• While he likes be calling things like: "love" or "honey" He likes it more when you use some variation of his own name.

• It makes him feel more "human".

• There is just something so much personal and intimate when /you/ call him Johnny.

• Prepare to see him squirm with happiness, it just makes him all giddy and warm inside.

• He does gets embarrased when you start using silly nicknames too, like "spotty".

• He is self conscious about how sometimes he info-dumps on you.

• This happens a lot and all those times he is quick to apologize.

• "I'm so sorry- I'm probably annoying you with all this science stuff huh?"

• "It's alright Johnny! I like when you talk about things you love! I like hearing your voice"

• "Pleasemarryme"

• "Huh?"

• "NOTHING"

• He memorized your food/drink orders.

• He is a scientist after all.

• Loves it when you do the same.

• Not related to the above BUT:

• This man probably doesn't own a single plain shirt.

• I bet all his wardrobe has some silly pattern or a nerdy print.

• He also owns a sock collection.

• But not a single black, grey or white ones in sight.

• He has pink socks on his concept art for the love of God! How cute is that??

• When he had his glorious long hair he sometime used cute hair ties maybe even a cute hair pin.

• Spotty boy probably baby talk to animals (if he isn't afraid of them)

#the spot #the spot x reader #jonathon ohnn x reader #jonathon ohnn #the spot spiderverse #spiderverse #please accept this offering 🙏#i love him very much #ask #anon

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askroddcreeper · 2 months

Note

Do your creepers have different colors and patterns like Rodd?

(mod): as rodd is charged his colour it is lighter then it looks. As i don't have many creepers i keep to any colours that a plant can be so its mix could even have a cherry blossom coloured one. pattern i kept simple spotty socks

#minecraft #creeper #roddcreeper #askroddcreeper #minecraft oc #enderman #ask #rodd #nair

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ohtobemare · 5 months

Note

*running into the room, skidding to a stop*

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARE!!! I absolutely LOVE you and I hope you have the best birthday!!! 🥳🎁🎉🎊🍾🥂

For the celebration, could I have Slider with "you remembered?!" "what kind of question is that? of course I did!" and taking a bid of icing off the cake and putting it on their cheek

Fighter, love. I adapted this a little from the OG ask, but I think it turned out okay. Actually got away from me, but, I don't think I'm complaining? Hopefully you enjoy it, and thanks for asking!

Something Dangerous

“Don’t forget the brownies, Ronnie!”

Of all the things to be doing, running late to a volleyball game in the middle of scathing San Diego afternoon was not topping anyone’s list, especially on one of the hottest days of summer. And most especially when the air in your boyfriend’s car wasn’t functioning. Even more especially when you’re approximately three degrees south of absolutely terrible—hair’s a wreck, your feet throb from wedge heels, and that sunburn from all-day yesterday on the sand was starting to smart.

Hustling across the cracked pavement of the military housing unit’s apron, you stop and rest a hip against the offending vehicle in question. Ron’s K1500 looks exhausted, sitting under open sky and pristine blue skies. And if the thing could cry, you know she would—sagging on worn suspension, the front passenger tire needs air. Cracked rubber checkered with snaking crags across RADIAL lettering, most of her V6 and 4x4 badging either missing, sun-faded or busted in half. Tucked away in the bowels of your closet, Daddy had wrangled some replacement badges from a local junkyard back in Tulsa—he’d mailed them earlier in the year. Ron being the nosy one of your relationship, you’d socked them away for Christmas.

The most adorable powder blue, most of the clear-coat is spotty and peeling in all the wrong places. Almost 20 years old, the first time you’d seen Baby, as Slider affectionately named her, you’d assumed she’d survived the war. Or, at the very least, some nuclear fallout the world forgot to remember.

Stepbars aside, you can barely wrangle in and out of the thing—Kerner had lifted Baby himself, put her on some fat rubber. Relished in his ability to all but Frank Sinatra himself in and out of the thing. Perfect for a Gorgon-sized backseat RIO, but not a pocket-sized girlfriend. Five feet almost exactly, plunking your ass in Baby’s front pass seat took effort. It was like tight-wiring at the circus, precariously dangling over whatever terrain you found yourself in. Today it was the driveway, later the beach. Tomorrow would be church’s parking lot. Next week—wide open Tulsa interstate, hot pavement stretching for eternities.

Baby’s fender is ripping hot, sunlight glinting off this-is-the-best-it-gets polished chrome enough to make you squint. Hissing at the heat against your thigh, you reflectively pull away. Readjust to rest your knee against the warm rubber of the tire, strap of your purse dropping off your shoulder as a hand dives into the knockoff Vuitton for keys. Halfheartedly and early in your relationship you’d exchanged spare keys as a couple—the key to Baby tinked right alongside the key to your Land Rover, and vice versa. Two years had all but worn the painted NAVY off your leather keychain.

Muttering under your breath, your fingers brush the allusive keychain at the bottom of your bag. Snagging the keyring with your finger, you snatch them out of the bag before dumping it to the truck’s hood, moving to pop the latch on the door. With a rough tug, the hinge all but slips open—and if you hadn’t helped Slider wipe away the WD-40 drips left behind after lubing the doors, they’d take all the credit. Huffing a breath, you balance a wedge on the stepbar, grab the handle assist, and rest a knee on the seat to lean over the column and insert the key. With a flick, she turns over, stutters for a moment in the cradle. Rips to life with a throaty roar, body shaking a little beneath your feet. A satisfied little smirk at the radio has you slipping back down to the driveway apron, nudging the door lighting with your hip. Turning, you angle the side mirror to check your makeup and your hair—curls clipped back, you’d opted for simple makeup. Base and SPF didn’t mix, and the slight red on your nose from yesterday is testament to it.

Flipping up the collar of one of Ron’s shirts, a hot sunburn simmers beneath the light material—he’d all but insisted you cover. Compliance had left you irritated, Mr. Bronze Adonis didn’t even need SPF. He could bar on-base all day ass-naked as the day he was born and not even pink. Kerner’s tan was almost as dark as the eyeshadow you’d opted for—a bronzy thing you didn’t even remember the name of, but set off the flecks of gold in your eyes. The way you knew he liked, the way you liked.

Pinching your cheeks for extra color, movement in the reflection over your shoulder catches your eye. Here comes Kerner, gliding out the front door on long legs that are effortless, all but ripping out of too-tight light wash Wranglers. Dogtags thrown over his bare shoulder, he’s wedged a t-shirt into his back pocket.

Balancing effortlessly in his flattened palm is the pan of aforementioned chocolate walnut brownies, the other split between his keyring and two six packs of Budweiser bottles that, even from across the lawn, clack together in the most beautiful sound a weekend could offer. Barefooted, sunglasses poised on the end of his nose, Ron toes the screen door back into place easily before hustling off the front step and across the offensively dead lawn.

Meeting him at the edge of the apron, you gesure for the pan of brownies. You’d lovingly made them at his request for this picnic volleyball game—all the girlfriends were bringing food. A phone call to the roster later; Charlie (and thus, Maverick) was bringing macaroni salad, Carole and Goose were bringing condiments and drinks, Hollywood had all but threatened violence toward anyone who dared bring meat he wasn’t responsible for; Wolf had been instructed to bring paper products, and Kazansky had already secured pineapple and vegetables, because healthfood.

That left dessert. And Ron was an absolute slut for anything chocolate, and he’d almost died when you’d whipped together your stepmother’s chocolate walnut recipe last year for his birthday. Groaning sinfully, he’d devoured almost the entire thing himself before you’d leaned across his finely-toned abs, reaching for the pan of dessert he’d dared to hold just beyond short stack reach. Successful in ripping them away, Slider earning brownie privileges had been entertaining to say the least.

You still hadn’t replaced the broken headboard. “These are safe?” Pulling back the cheesecloth pulling overtime to protect all-but glistening chocolate icing from the elements, you peek into the pan as Ron’s now-empty hand falls to brush your lower back.

“Ha ha,” the drill reply is all but eye-rolling as he steps up to the pavement. “We ready to rock and roll or what?” Moving to the driver’s door, he pops it open, deposits the beer to the floorboards, and rolls down the window before peeling at the gauges. “Shit, she’s warm already. It’s hot.”

Finding the brownies satisfactory and fully intact from their escort, you gently work the cheesecloth back into place. Watching him step up halfway on the bar, it takes effort not to notice the ripple of hewn muscle in his arm as he grips the open door. Instead your eyes cut to his feet, brows lifting behind your own sunglasses for a moment.

“Where are your shoes?” Like talking to a child, you balance the pan of brownies against your palm, other hand planting at your cocked hip. “I had them out, right next to your jeans. Ron. You need shoes.”

“Do not,” he challenges with a lopsided chuckle, leaning through the open window. Fingers drumming against the powder blue paint, his smile twists up, smirking. “It’s a day on the sand, babygirl. Who needs shoes? Let these dogs bark.” Nose wrinkling with a chuckle, he reaches to push his shades into place with a knuckle. His gaze casts over you quickly. “And you’re wearing heels.” Wolf-whistling, his brows bounce.

Ron loves when you wear heels, it’s a near-constant request every time you go out. It’s the long line of your legs, the light tick on the right service. Mostly, though, you assume it’s the added height benefit. Ron alone has contributed to your shoe collection more than probably necessary, you sometimes worry it’s more of a passtime for him than not.

Because, while Kerner isn’t exactly rolling in the dough (thanks so much Uncle Sam) you’d never know it with how he spends money. On you. Despising the fact that you’d just as soon shop Salvation Army or the clearance rack at Bloomingdales, he insisted on new clothes. New designer shit that neither of you could afford. And shoes alone, well–whether or not it could be called a fetish is neither here nor there. He’s obsessed with watching you try on shoes, how they look in your closet he’d single-handedly remodeled.

The first Naval ball you’d attended Ron had all but seized when you suggested borrowing shoes from Carole Bradshaw, since you were the same size and she lived right next door. Scooping you up like nothing short of a farm sack, he’d tossed you over his shoulder, smacked your ass, and plunked you in the front seat of his truck. To go shopping.

And Slider knew shopping—he had two sisters. Two sisters and a mother that was an attorney. Not only did his stamina for the urban jungle know no bounds, he knew the game. Understood brands. And he knew your shoe size from peeking around your closet, had dropped your ass in a chair and plucked selections from shelves like some possessed thing from a retail version of the Shining.

His credit card was practically on fire before you’d left the mall with Jimmy Choos, Calvin Kline, Valinto. The dress alone was hundreds of dollars you were pretty sure he was still making payments on, but Slider never seemed to mind. He just grinned, wagged those brows while his tongue traced his bottom lip with a snide, But you can wear it anytime I ask you to, which was, apparently, entirely the point. You hadn’t worn the thing since the naval ball, but, you regularly checked on it in the back of your closet.

Your cheeks dust pink at the way he tips his head to peer over his sunglasses at you. Dogtags all but glistening in the sweat that’s pearling in the curls of hair on his chest, you take a leveling breath. Chest opening a little, your shoulders roll back as your toes curl a little in your shoes. Pan of brownies warm in your palm, you pluck your own sunglasses from the top of your hair and slide them into your place.

“Your funeral,” you chime in a cheeky, sing-song tone at the mental image of his feet hitting the blacktop of the parking lot. Ron, for his size, tends to whine about pain. Unless it’s pumping iron and working out, then he’s steady as an oak. Any other time pain is involved, he’s as weak as a newborn foal. “Don’t cry to me when your feet fry like an egg on the blacktop, Ronnie. It’s a heckuva walk from the parking lot to the beach,” head canting to the side, you lazily twist the ball of your shoe against the concrete apron. On purpose, teasingly. “Ice is the toughest sonuvabitch I know and even he wears sandals, baby.”

Slider’s mouth purses into a tight o, and he whistles a little low. “Listen to you,” he reaches through the open window for your arm, but you step back sharply to evade the grab, “does Kazansky know you talk about him with that mouth?” You giggle when his fingers brush your arm, but you twist away. Slider grins brightly as he slips from the truck to dodge around the door, cutting off your escape.

“You never talk about me that way,” his rough hand successfully snatches your arm at the exact moment you tuck the pan of brownies against your chest for protection. Feet skitching against the pavement, you’re in Ron’s thick arms, pressed against his rippling chest before your heart can even skip a beat. “I love it when you talk filthy.” His tongue skates his bottom lip, his palm smoothing your hair tenderly. Even behind shades, you can see his eyes sweeping over the features of your face. “Why don’t you ever talk filthy about me?”

Face wrinkling into a less than serious pout, his lips twist into a fake turndown that stabs between your ribs. The snort escapes you before you can even track it, and you arch back a little from his chest, over the strong arms pinning you in place. He’s sweating and smells like SPF, but in the best way. Nerves alrighty aflame with inferno light that skips through your blood, you very quickly can’t feel past the way his heart seems to leap at his ribs for yours.

And before you can even think about it, “You keep track of how I talk about Ice?” has slipped from your pretty pink lips like blades laced with poison. Cutting through the thick air that ripples between the two of you, the look that settles on Slider’s face is, at first, unreadable—for seconds, maybe. Within a heartbeat his lips are curling into quicksilver that slices through your facade of confidence. It grabs your spine with chilled fingers, and like smoke in the air, you aren’t able to process past the way he’s looking at you behind dark lenses.

Breathless for all of a few seconds, your brain stops functioning. Fritzes like a static TV. And before either of you can respond, your eyes cut to the tray of brownies resting between your chest and his. Biting the corner of your lip turns into restless gnawing on the inside of your cheek, and for a few seconds you don’t know what happens—except your finger skips along the smooth frosting of brownies. Reaches up with a mind of its own and bleps it on the tip of his nose.

For a few bleeding moments, nothing happens. Until the brown splot on his nose is so glaringly staring back at you that it snaps you like a rubber band back into reality. Eyes flicking from his nose to the pan of now effectively destroyed, brownies, the hinge of your jaw fails. Lips parting into a sweet little o, your face flames redder than it already is with recycled sunburn painting your skin, and you look back up at him.

“Oh.” Your bottom lips rolls beneath your top teeth.

His brows have all but taken flight off his face. Clearing his throat, his posture tightens. His chest opens, shifting the pan of brownies enough that your hand moves to stabilize it. Blowing out a breath from between his lips with gusto, he blinks a few times as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. With a finger, he points to his nose.

“Oh,” he mocks, making a face that immediately rips a giggle from the back of your mouth. More bubbles up your throat as he continues to mock your tone, over and over, until he wrinkles his frosting-tipped nose and moves in for a nose-to-nose kiss that only means trouble.

“Ron, no,” you try to sound serious, but it fractures under your fissure of giggles, “Slider, stop it! The brownies—the brownies!” Never mind the fact you’ll be late to the game if this keeps up–time is all but a construct beyond his arms, the way he holds you. How he looks at you so adoringly. Since the minute you’d laid eyes on him at the South Bay Drive In, you are Icarus flying into his too-close sunlight. The fact that he picked you is so Hollywood, the stuff of cinematic masterpieces and Shakespearean dreamscapes. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real.

“‘Oh, Sli, the brownies!’—I’m not the one who went and wrecked the goods, sweetheart,” you lean back enough that it fractures his arms from their hold around your middle, allowing you to backstep away from him. But Slider is all about the chase, the game—the cat and mouse that sends the two of you round and round, like always. “Now what are you gonna tell everyone when it comes time to cut your birthday brownies?” His voice drops to an uncharacteristic low, like he’s putting on airs.

It’s not the bedroom low you’ve come to adore from him, but it’s something else entirely—like the very accusation has roused an entirely new character from within his veins, one that is dark and tortured just by the very thought of that emerald monster. Halting your retreat from him him, your hold on the brownies against your chest tightens a little, almost to white-knuckle. His words echo through your brain like he’s spoken into some grand chasm, the words reverberating through your very bones. Birthday. He’d said birthday, you’re pretty sure. Willing to bet good Vegas cash on it.

“You remembered,” blinking like a complete idiot, your mouth ticks up into a pleased grin.

“Of course I remembered,” his fisted hands land on either of his hips, disbelievingly. Shooting him a deadpan look, his cheeks darken. Which isn’t like Ron. He’s never bashful, is rarely the butt end of anything. “Oh come on.”

“Last year you forgot,” you correct, cocking a hip. “Tom help you remember this time? Is that what this game is about?” After all, Ron is the one who insisted on a weekend volleyball game and picnic. His idea, his coordinating the details. He hadn’t uttered a word about anything birthday related, and you’d been fine just keeping it lowkey. Had fully planned to have a night-in; cook some pasta, enjoy Wheel of Fortune. Maybe play some naked cribbage.

Slider not remembering your birthday last year wasn’t a big deal. He’d made it out to be more than it was, but you turning twenty-nine was not something worth fretting about this time around the sun. But you suspected, with the way he was babysitting this entire thing, that it was all for you. Not saying anything, you’d let it slide—but now, the way he was looking at you. All dangerous and suntanned and sweating in the sexiest way?

You just couldn’t not.

His brows lift again, teasingly. “For someone who’s supposed to belong to me, you sure talk about Ice a lot.” And he rushes you before you can even counter, but it isn’t fast enough. Skirting around the corner of the truck to put Baby between the two of you, Slider eases up to make the corner. You’re already scrambling up into Baby’s front passenger, tossing the pan of brownies up on the dash with a sharp thunk!, baking pan colliding with the windshield.

You're halfway into the cab when both of Slider’s big hands grab either of your hips, “Not so fast,” pulls you off the stepbar. Shoulders flush to his chest, your head falls back to rest against his shoulder, the toes of your wedge heels skimming the pavement just so that you know it’s gonna leave marks.

Dipping to brush his nose against the soft flesh of your neck. Slider brushes aside the collar of his shirt to nip at your collarbone. His hands at either of your hips dip you back harder against his frame, and the heat of his chest flares to life against the sunburn flaming on your back. Hissing, you wriggle a little uncomfortably, until his hand slips up the curve of your frame and fondles your tit, lovingly.

“Sli,” it’s more of a plea than anything else, and you hate how he’s reduced you to little more than a flailing pile of goo. He hums against your skin, his hand moving from your breast, up the valley of your tits, to firmly latch around the column of your throat. Delightful pressure, but nothing that hurts—just the way you love it. “We shouldn’t—”

“Why not,” He’s chuckling, now. It’s not a question. Instead, simmers low in his chest, like bubbling magma. You can feel it between your shoulders. It lights up your sunburn, stirs the churning pot of your sex like you can’t believe. Seconds and he’s rendered you both incoherent and stupid, two things you are notoriously not. Other hand slipping from your hip to dip beneath the ruffle of your skirt, his fingers brush the apex between your legs. And he chortles, like the devil. Because he is.

“Look at you,” he whispers it into your ear, hot breath chasing across your cheek in a way that sends you keening. Preening at the praise, his hand moves to curl fingers into the meat of your thigh. It burns, deliciously, sending volcanic heat to that delicious little spot between your legs that is throbbing. Achingly empty. Desperate for more, anemic like the starving. “Sensitive, aren’t you, baby?”

Your mewl is lewd. Sinful. Traitorous, even. “Ron—”

With a pleased chuckle, the world flips in a blur of movement as Slider spins you around. Chest-to-chest, he slants his mouth over yours thick and hot, milking a slow little whine from the back of your throat the way he likes it. Licking into your mouth, there’s nothing for you to grab now that the world is rocking, spinning as your senses light up like a control panel. World spinning, reality shattering like it always does every time he kisses you this hard, this deep, you yelp at the sudden cold of him being ripped away. His absence, the daylight between you as he hoists you up, into Baby’s front passenger seat.

And before you can even breathe, he’s spreading your legs apart. Heels planted in the door jamb and on the frame, you’re dizzier than you first thought when his lips curl into a cocksure smirk from between your legs. Core on fire from supporting yourself half-cocked, his big hand comes to rest on your belly, and adds pressure. It’s an unspoken ask, and you flop back to the seat with a desperate whimper, gnawing on your bottom lip as Slider places hot, light kisses to your inner thighs.

His nose brushes your apex as he hums, curiously. “I was gonna save this for later,” his chuckle is devilish. Burns like silver that’s been melted into another state altogether, waiting for the mold of something beautiful. Something dangerous. “But I guess you could talk me into giving you your present early, babygirl.”

Back arching off the seat, your fingers pull at the hem of his shirt that feels little more than a straightjacket on your flaming, searing skin. Eyes pinched closed, that want in the base of your gut may as well be a rabid thing, clawing for release. Desperate for satisfaction. Hungry, your toes curl against the base of your shoes, the straps all but cutting into your flesh. Propping up on an elbow, you reach for his head of curls. With a flick of your wrist, tip his head back.

He’s grinning at you, goofily. “You’re such a cocksucker,” and he is, really. Or, rather, is inches from. His eyes jump with a brightness that makes your heart stutter a little behind your ribs, and you try not to smile. Instead, you bite your bottom lip, noting that it’s still swollen from where he’s kissed you so damn fully. “You want me to beg, hm? On my birthday, Ron?”

“Now’s a good a time as any,” his brows bounce, “so how ‘bout it, hm? Gonna be a good girl and beg for Slider on your birthday?”

He didn’t really have to ask.

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princesscolumbia · 6 months

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Return to Recipient - A Ranma 1/2 fanfic

Summary:

Ranma hasn't been feeling right for as long as he can remember, and he just figured that's normal. But after Jusenkyo, and especially after Jusendo, the feeling of "wrongness" has been getting more and more noticeable... ...because he doesn't feel it in his cursed form. He continues to just cope, keeping his struggle to himself, until he finds a letter tucked into his old travel pack addressed to him, written by him, from a 48 hour period that he doesn't remember and nobody will talk to him about.

Notes:

During the writing of 🔞 And at This Point I'm Afraid to Ask 🔞, I realized I was speed-running Ranma's egg-to-hatched trans journey and made an author's note of that. In the comments for that work, I got a note bemoaning the fact that I didn't spend more time on Ranma's realization, coming out, and social transition as a woman while understanding my reasoning. I replied stating that I needed a good hook, something that hadn't been hammered to death by other authors, and at the time I didn't have anything. I really got it in my head that I should do something, so I posted to Tumblr and started putting it out to the universe that I was Poly Transwoman Author Seeking Story Inspiration and Motivation, in Open Relationship with current WIPs. I was scrolling through the "Ranma 1/2" tag this morning trying to find something I hadn't read when I bumped into Dear Diary by JaquiK. I've read it, of course, and it's short and, for what it sets out to do, good. "Feels like it needs more," says I, "Wish the author would continue it, make something more of it than they did." The little author that lives in my head rent free and looks remarkably like Ranma-chan ran up behind me and socked me in the back of my head, "Dummy! There's your plot hook!" Then she backed a dump truck up and dropped about 3/4 of a story's worth of ideas on me. With the 2023 holidays in full swing (it's Cyber Monday as I type this) I'm not sure how quickly I'll get to outlining this or getting chapters 2-5 out (my personal metric for whether the author is serious about a work is if they have 5 chapters out. This has been a solid rule of thumb for long-form fiction and hasn't failed me regardless of fandom), but I wanted to get at least chapter 1 out as quickly as possible. Tags will be added as I add more chapters, mostly because my writing process means I'm not sure what tags will apply until I'm writing something that necessitates them. 😋 I hope you enjoy it.

Preview below the cut

He had opened it and read the letter. Halfway through he realized he was shaking and that was when he'd vacated to the roof. He finished reading it fairly quickly, read it again, and then again. He was sure it was a fake of some sort at first, but it was like there was a voice in the back of his head telling him it was the genuine article. Not a 'voice,' per se, but like he could hear it in his girl-form's voice as he read it, like a memory of her reading it to herself after she'd written it to make sure it made sense. After, he'd sat there for nearly half an hour, watching as the sky turned deeper blue in anticipation of the sunset. Sighing for reasons he couldn't articulate yet, he looked at the top of the paper, noting the date again. It'd been written months earlier, on a day that was a big gap in Ranma's memory. This wasn't unusual for him, of course, his memory was notoriously spotty. This particular gap stood out, however, because he hadn't been able to tease the memory out no matter how he worked it, and everyone in the house behaved...weird whenever he asked about it. That more than anything told him that whatever had happened was significant enough the be memorable...about a time he had no memory.

He read the letter again,

Dear Ranma Saotome, I hope quite sincerely that you never find this letter, that you won't ever need to find it because you won't have come back. That sounds awful, but if you're back, then that means that I'm gone. I woke up this morning, and for once in my life I felt right. I didn't realize until it'd been explained to me by Akane that I didn't belong. I'm somehow in your body, awake and alive and able to be just me, and all thanks to Jusenkyo. And, apparently, a smack on the head with a pan. I love Akane, but she has such a temper. And I do feel ALIVE. I have your memories, but they're so...cloudy, so dark and hazy. When I make myself remember them, it's like a layer of shadow and pain is over all of them. It hurt so much to be you that I can understand why you hid away and I came out. Your body makes me feel wrong. I don't know what it means, how it happened or why I'm here. I think maybe a doctor might be able to help, but then we'd have to explain about the...'curse.' I don't like calling it a curse, that would mean it was bad. For me, it's not. It's wonderful and beautiful and it means I get to exist in a body that doesn't make me feel like I'm wrong. Uncle Tendo splashed me with hot water and turned me into a boy, and it was horrible. I wanted to climb out of my skin to make the wrongness stop. Don't get me wrong, I understand that you're quite handsome, in another world I could probably see you and consider you a fine catch, maybe even try to make you my husband somehow. But to be wearing your body felt like looking down and seeing a

At this point there were several attempts to write a kanji, each attempt being scratched out with the pen. Finally, the writer of the letter managed to put down what they were trying to say;

cat and not being able to get away from it. Being a boy felt horrible and wrong. You're welcome to it, I never could. In case I haven't made it clear, I'm a woman. Well, I suppose I'm still a girl, but I'm growing up to be a woman and I have dreams of being like big sis Kasumi and keeping a nice house and getting flowers, maybe planting a garden. I want to be married, but I guess I haven't grown up enough yet, because I don't think I like boys yet. I keep imagining a future where I'm married and being a housewife, but all I can see as a 'husband' is Akane. Isn't that silly? She's a tomboy, but she's not that much of a boy! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o In case you do read this letter, take care of Akane. She took good care of me today, even though it was very obvious she missed you terribly. I'm writing this in our room as I'm trying to sleep, hoping that it will help with my racing thoughts and the feeling of loneliness; father is refusing to sleep in the room, he considers me disgraceful. I find without someone else around I cannot sleep. I imagine that's because, from what I remember, that's the only life you've ever known, and technically you and I are the same person. If you are reading this, then I'm gone. Please find a way to stop that awful pain you carry with you. I experienced it for only a few hours, you've had it for your entire life. As strong as you are, as much of a martial artist as everyone says, I can only imagine that much pain will break you someday. Love, Ranma Saotome

Pain... thought Ranma. She called it pain.

Read the whole thing on AO3

#fanfiction #fanfic #nanowrimo #note to self #egg cracking moment #trans female character #transgender #lgbtqia #lgbt #lgbtq+#ranma ½ #ranma #ranma saotome #ranma 1/2 #tofu ono #doctor tofu #doc tofu

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popcornforone · 9 months

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Stolen Looks

A fan Fic based on The Thief

About 14months ago a friend asked me would I write a little short romantic story for them, nothing to smutty but based on a picture, as I write & like to to that, so I did. I then discovered an hourly Pedro Pascal twitter bit that posted random photos of him on the hour so I started writing them about the photo… now here I am (that bot has now gone boo Elon) writing fan fics. & then bam this photo above drops & I had to write about it & the thief, I couldn’t not. So this is An added bonus for you all this week. Don’t worry your still getting Javi G chapter 5

Synopsis: The thief is up to his usual tricks but all it takes is a glance at you to change his motives for the night.

Word count:2600

Warnings: Don’t read if your under 18! There no sex in this but… it’s implied. The thief is bisexual. Alcohol, slight swearing, drugs & drugging mentioned. Oral sex described, fingering, seducing stimulation, mentions of one night stands.consent could be seen as dubious please remember in real life it’s okay to say no. Stealing & theft. This is not an advert for wine.

Thanks as always for the read peoples. All feed back is welcome as always. Thanks.

There you stand waiting for him. In his bedroom. You don’t even know his name. The glances between you at the party tonight were intense. No other mans eyes met yours. No other man could you see the desire flood his veins. But these glances well… palpable is an understatement.

In he walks. Snazzy floral silk long jacket. Over sized cuffs, from the white shirt underneath poking out. Sleek black trousers, that made you see how good he could be. A hint of spotty socks. Black pointy heeled boots, reflecting your face. Messy hair but styled that way on purpose. A large watch that looks small in comparison to those hands, which are carrying a bottle of red wine for the two of you to indulge in. He sits in the chair & leans back admiring you up & down. He rests his bearded chin on his hand, a flat fat thumb pressed to his lips as he sighs inhaling the beauty in front of him.

“Perfection” he states & gestures your hand for you to twirl. Your hair is in a long blonde braid trailing over your naked left shoulder. Your midnight blue strapless dress hugs your curves & gives you a phenomenal cleavage. There’s a thin layer of sparking net over the top to give your dress the look of a starry night sky. Your nails are all dark purple except the index fingers on both hands. They also have some silver to them, they match your heels, clutch & the choker necklace you are wearing. Earrings that are just simple studs, much like your simple make up. There were much more attractive glamours people at the party tonight but you have the attention of the person who never gives anyone the time of day. He gets what he wants & he always makes sure of it.

“Thank you”you say bashfully when you have finished your twirl. Your eyes still darting across every inch of him.

You won a ticket to this party at work, you don’t usually go to these kind of parties or auctions, but this was too good an opportunity to turn down. A country house which rarely gives people access. Champagne in hand slowly coming out of your shell as you started working the room. All you did was sit on a bench for a few seconds. Admiring a painting, taking the weight of your feet, when you saw a man creep through the library door. Dressed to the nines. Dapper. Mysterious. Handsome. Like he was up to no good. & yet the second both your eyes met they were drawn to each other, like a moth to a flame. You’re suddenly off the bench without you realising walking away from him to tease him & instigate a seductive chase. Your mind going insane going this isn’t the kind of girl you are. You avoid the lime light & wondering eyes of unknown gentlemen. & yet your hips are swaying as you move.

He is admiring your arse, & the way it sways, the dress clinging to you. He had spent months planning to get into this library tonight, his last Goya is hanging on this wall, ready for him to track it & lay his tropes to come back tomorrow night to claim it & replace it, the copy already on sight, it will be months before anyone realises it’s a fake. But your eyes & simple beauty have distracted him. He was also intrigued that the painting you stopped at was the Goya he plans on having for himself. He can hear your shallow breathing as he steps behind you. You tried to not look at him or give him the time of day but some slow seductive simple words made all the hairs on your body stand up on end.

“What are you drinking?” That’s all it took, to send shivers down your spine. The warmth of his breath setting your desire free. The way his hand caressed your almost bare back, before it trailed down your shoulder & arm to hold onto your hand & take the flute from your hand. He’s looking to see if your jewels are worth anything but he can see that you are not the usual person who comes to these events.

“Champagne” you whisper back you lips inches away from his mouth as you turn your head to face him. Your lips so plump. Your eyes flutter at him & his are full of desire as they return a glance back to you. Neither of you hear the glass shatter as he drops the flute to the floor, you’re both enchanted by the person desiring the other.

The rest of the night you both circulated trying not to be beguiled by the other & yet there was moments in each room of this country house where you’d end up standing next to each other. Your net working had improved & your confidence had grown due to both the sudden eyes that you felt burning into you all night & also the liquid luck from the champagne. He has managed to eventually get things in place for his heist tomorrow, but he is always if he possibly can, be about 10 paces behind you when you move around. He automatically had the urge to protect you & keep you safe & maybe steal you for himself. So when you taxi failed to arrive at the end of the night & he offered to take you back to his so you could sleep in the spare room you agreed. Those eyes were very easy to say yes too.

He’s still looking you up & down in his bedroom. He didn’t give you a tour he just took you straight to his bedroom, he’s not even kissed you yet. The drive to his mansion he stroked the back of your hand & caressed your face, asking you about why you were there & if you admired the paintings & if you had a pleasant evening. You were surprised when he left you in his bedroom for a few minutes before he returned with the wine. But your face lit up when he sauntered back into the room. His aura always makes it seem like he is creeping in & out of any room he is in like he is a Sluth. He pours you both a glass of red Malbec & picks his up & takes a sip.

“You’re normal aren’t you?” He asks subtlety in a soft way, not wanting to offend. “This isn’t your usual scene be it the party or right now. Your not that kind of girl”

“Is it that obvious?” You giggle & take a step forward to go pick up your glass but he raises his hand to stop you & you look confused.

“Yes, most girls & men by now would be on their knees, gagging around my cock, while I taste this beautiful wine before I return the favour. They don’t wait for consent, they know who I am & they just do it.” He’s clearly a man who goes for a certain type, you mind races now as to why you are here.”but you…” he stands up & his hand takes the other glass & walks across to you. “… you have class & standards. Your not just here for a quick meaningless shag & then we will never call each other again, no your here to be seduced, to be claimed, to be stolen” your own breath hitches as he says he wants to steal you. The idea of his hands tracing your body has been on your mind since he first touched your back earlier. You now know from his statement that he is a man who is usually offered sex on a plate from Whoever he invites back, you are a challenge for him. He likes a challenge.

“I don’t even know your name,” you say as you take your wine from his hand trying not to look in his eyes. “I don’t even know what you do, I don’t even…” his eyes search for yours & once eyes contact has been made you slowly fall silent.

“You stole my eye line tonight, being so naturally beautiful” he says & he kisses your empty hand before you both take a sip of wine. “You stole my attention, the way you smile, the way you hold yourself, the way you are you.” You’re siping more of this wine hoping he isn’t drugging you, it’s the kind of things men like this do to get you into bed. “& you stole my identity, I’m the thief, I’m meant to the the one with the capabilities to steal what I want, to get what I need…”

“But you did…” you interrupt & the man’s face goes a little sour. Are you undercover he thinks, did you see him mark the painting & stash some items to steal it tomorrow? “No one but you was going to steal those precious looks from me tonight, you’re not like the other men that were there. I might not know who you are, but I think you can claim to have stolen my night away from me. Im yours”

The thief take both your wine glasses & put them back in the table, undoing his bow tie at the same time.

“This was not my plan for tonight, no way, but you my mysterious lady, you’ve made tonight so much more interesting.” He moves your braid off your shoulder & starts to pepper it with soft kisses. His lips feel warm against your chilled skin in this sparse room. For a man with a large house you’d have thought he’d have more in his master suit that just a few books on a shelf, a table & chairs, two

dressers & a large 4 poster bed. Clearly a man who likes to keep things simple, maybe that’s why he wants to keep you here tonight.

“How have I made this interesting?” You’re breathing fast as he makes his way to the crook of your neck working his way up to your lips to taste them in a few seconds time, you hope.

“By being you, a few stolen glances are all it took, for I am now yours” he says looking at you directly abandoning his kisses, those stolen looks being exchanged again. You want this. So does he.

“As am I to you” you whisper & cup his cheek. His hands, those large palms hold your face as he looks at every blemish on your face, not caring that your make up is starting to look a little bit old. He doesn’t care. The look & nod are small but the second your lips meet a fire erupts in you. Those lips that have pouted all night at you & have had seductive words flow out of them are now learning how you kiss. One of his hands goes around your waist as the other unties your braid, so he can feel all of you. Your body’s so close as your mouths continue to engage in this embrace. He tastes of the wine. Rich dark & seductive, like him. Maybe he has drugged you into feeling like this, but right now as all of your senses are on high alert & you feel the passion take over, you don’t care. You may have kissed the devil & its Making you want more.

Eventually his grip is loose around your waist as you both stop making out with each other. Both desperately needing more than the kiss, but both needing a moment of reflection. Are you this girl now? Does he really want to have you to himself all night? Are You going to be filled with regret in the morning? One look into his eyes & you suddenly see him soften. No longer this man who has seduced & stolen your heart as well as the looks from you tonight. He’s just a man, a man who wants you, who clearly is treating you differently to every other man & woman he invites back to his after an event. You’re someone he needs to take his time with. To learn to appreciate,

& to maybe add to his collection & share it with him one day.

“We…” he’s stumbling “we don’t have to… there’s no pressure…” his hand trails around his neck scarring his beard. He’s nervous for once.

“& what if I did…” you reply “what if tonight you take me, one night of mine can be stolen & given to someone else & I’d like it to be you.” you say as your hands start to trail up his silk floral jacket ready to help him undress.

“Darling, if you stay with me, it will be for more than just one stolen night” he says, his eyes filled with passion. His hand glides into yours like it’s meant to be as he walks you across to the bed & he slowly lowers you down onto it. He lies to your side watching the rise & fall in your body. You’re breathing more than enraged trying to control yourself. This is made harder by his hand, trailing inside your dress, up your leg, over your inner thigh. “Let go beautiful” he whispers softly in your ear as you gasp & his thumb makes contact with your clit.

You jolt awake at 10am on a Sunday. A dream of lust & desire. A memory playing out in your mind as you slept in your small bed, in your apartment. The feeling of his thumb still there teasing your clit, as you wake up in a sweat wishing he was here. He’s not unfortunately. Your bed sheet damp underneath where you sit, as you had obviously cum while dreaming about him, maybe your own hand had been seeing to your pleasure as you remember the first night you met. You lay naked back down on your bed remembering the rest of that night & the next nine afterwards. Realising making love to you was his alibi for so many things. You still jokingly after all this time still call him the thief, to arouse the two of you, to get you in the mood occasionally, not that you could keep your hands or lips off each other. Your horizons now broadened & you were not just a one off. This was the real thing for the both of you. You always chuckle a little at that as you turn over to check your phone & send him a good morning message. Imagine if you hadn’t won that at work. Although you have now not worked for the last 3months at all, a sabbatical before you start to retrain in what you want to actually do in life. He has made you realise these moments need to be grasped & enjoyed, no one should wait for what they want. He’s said he will help you, but you insisted on one day paying back every penny. you then sit up & look across at the wall & smile & say good morning to what faces you. That Goya, yes the painting, his most prised possession. Which he has gifted to you as a promise to always return. Which he does when your buzzer to your apartment goes off about 5minutes later. You bed & apartment might not be as grand as his mansion, but it keeps you both grounded & your spark alive. All to just steal a few precious minutes of love making together, away from the eyes of the rest of the world.

#fanfic #my fics #pedro pascal #smutt #no minors #over18 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #the thief #Casin

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newsiesheadcanonscusican · 1 year

Text

Spot Headcanons

He is a chihuahua man and no one can tell me otherwise

He is a tough guy on the outside but a softy on the inside. He was always really caring to all the younger newsies and would make sure that they were safe and comfortable and would beat up anyone who slightly upset them

He is overprotective to the max about those he cares about or about those that may need protection

He is always made fun of for his height, but he will promptly sock you in the face

The only one allowed to call him anything but his chosen name is Racer. Racer is the only one that would ever know his birth name and the only one other than the really young ones able to call him Spotty and anyone else who attempts to try to, will probably end up missing teeth.

Isn't always mad, he just has a really bad RBF and a very short temper so his anger can come on quickly even if he wasn't angry before

Hates most people and mainly tolerates the Manhattan newsies for Racer's sake

Always felt that people would never take him seriously with his height so he trained so he would be physically strong enough so he would be respected enough and not get beat up so much

He loves Race with all his heart and is completely devoted to him. A single scratch on Race is another body hitting the ground

#spot conlon #sprace #newsies headcanons #newsies #racetrack higgins

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spotsandsocks · 5 months

Text

A Merry and Froggy Christmas to anyone who celebrates and if you don’t have a wonderful day anyway

Thanks for all the messages left on my deco tree they’ve really made my day you’re all the best little pocket pals ever and you’ve made fandom so much more fun this year with asks and tag games, sharing your talents and wips, ideas, thoughts, anon prompts, art gifs, gifts and everything in between, and you’re so lovely encouraging me with my stories too. I adore you all and sharing my fics makes me happy.

I’m a lucky little spotty sock to have found this corner of the internet and you all 🥹 even if we’ve never spoken I appreciate seeing you around and maybe next year we might share a message or two.

Take care and be kind to yourselves too you deserve it 😘

Wishing the best 2024 to everyone out there I hope it brings kindness, contentment and all the things you enjoy best.

💕💜💕

@hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @hippolotamus @monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @thewolvesof1998 @rogerzsteven @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @weewootruck @steadfastsaturnsrings @disasterbuckdiaz @jamespearce9-1-1 @buddierights @thekristen999 @spaceprincessem @honestlydarkprincess @housewifebuck @the-likesofus @jobairdxx @caroandcats @ronordmann @underwater-ninja-13 @stagefoureddiediaz @pirrusstuff @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @bekkachaos @fiona-fififi @heartshapedvows @eddiebabygirldiaz @rainbow-nerdss @jesuisici33 @exhuastedpigeon @cm1031sr @fortheloveofbuddie @wildlife4life @paxdracona @mandzuking17 and the inevitable few I’ve missed sorry loves

#christmas #froggy Friday #on Christmas Day

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rosemaidenvixen · 7 months

Note

If you still need some more prompts how abouttt. “I… i think I have fangs.” for Mary, Darci & Claire.

And

“Is that really red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup.” For all five of the kids (Jim, Toby, Mary, Darci and Claire) or if that’s too many just Toby & Jim.

First prompt answered here

Urban Legend

Ao3

“Dude I think that was a dead rat,”

“That was just plastic, now focus,”

“Tobes I’m pretty sure that one was real,”

“Jim we passed a silicone zombie, two fake giant spiders, and no fewer than four killer clowns who did not in fact kill us. The rat was fake now get your head in the game,”

Jim glared up at him, the furious look on his face still visible even though the only light came from spotty moonlight “Why did you drag me here again?”

Toby inclined his head to the trio walking ten feet ahead of them “To impress the ladies, that’s why,”

The official popular clique at Arcadia Oaks High had a very specific initiation ritual. The upperclassmen would bring any freshmen that wanted to join to a sewer tunnel, with a map and detailed instructions on how to make it to the other end. Anyone who finished the gauntlet was in.

Of course there were dozens of rumors about people going missing and monsters living in the sewer tunnels, but everyone above the age of thirteen knew those were just urban legends bolstered by the rumor mill and the Halloween decorations the seniors put down there to scare the pledges.

Toby happened to strike gold when he’d overheard Regina briefing Mary, Darci, and Claire on the date and time of their initiation. Knowing a once in a lifetime opportunity when he saw one, he’d jumped in and asked if he and Jim could come along. To his delight Regina had agreed.

Well her actual words were ‘I guess you can tag along but that doesn't mean you dweebs are in’ which was fine with him. If Toby ever became popular it would be on his terms and no one else's, even if that meant he never was part of the ‘in’ crowd. He knew he and Jim were cool, and hopefully by the end of the night Mary, Darci, and Claire would to.

Sure they had to slog through a river of muck, and the sewers smelled like the bottom of a dumpster mixed with low tide, but it would be worth it.

“I’m not sure getting my socks soaked through with sewage is worth getting Claire to notice me,”

“First off, that's just rainwater, black water runs in a completely different line. Second I think what you meant to say was ‘Thank you Toby for the opportunity to talk to Claire Nuñez, who I have a very obvious crush on, without interruptions’,”

The gloom of the tunnel did nothing to hide the bright red of Jim’s face “I’ll…I’ll talk to Claire when I’m ready,”

Toby held back a deep groan, knowing Jim ‘When he was ready’ would end up being his eightieth birthday. Time to shove the baby bird out of the nest and watch them fly.

“One day you’ll thank me for this,” grasping his friend by the elbow, Toby yanked him along forward as he jogged ahead.

“Wait Tobes don–”

“Good evening ladies,” Toby greeted as they caught up to the trio “How are you enjoying Arcadia’s finest sewer?”

Claire and Darci gave him questioning looks while Mary just rolled her eyes “It’s nasty as hell, thanks for asking. And if you’re here to protect us from the big bad sewer monsters don’t bother,”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, I just wanted to see what kind of mannequins the seniors managed to stash down here. Although if a sewer monster did show up I’m confident you three could handle him,”

Trying to be the big tough knight in shining armor was a rookie mistake. These girls were absolute queens and they knew it. They didn’t need a guy to protect them, they could do that themselves thankyouverymuch. What they needed was a guy who appreciated how awesome they were, standing by with a shield while they chopped off the monster’s head themselves.

Mary narrowed her eyes and said nothing, Claire looked neutral but Darci actually giggled a bit.

They had their opening.

“I mean look at that guy,”

Toby gestured towards a dummy dressed as a businessman, plastic axe buried in his head surrounded by fake blood “I mean who wears business casual into the sewers? And that blood, totally not realistic, Jim remind me what the recipe for fake blood is?”

Still flushed, Jim managed to stutter out an answer “You do it by mixing corn syrup, corn starch, water, and red food coloring. Although I think for the fake blood on Mister Business the just used red food coloring without adding any other colors,”

Mary’s eyebrows rumpled “Wait I thought blood was supposed to be red?”

“It is, but adding just a hint of other colors adds contrast that makes the red hue richer,”

“Yeah Jim’s pretty much a genius in the kitchen,” Toby patted his friend’s back “He makes a mean cordon bleu,”

“What about you?” Darci elbowed him with a grin “What exactly does Toby Domzalski bring to the table?”

“I’m a man of many talents. Geology whiz, legendary DM, anime expert, and I’m no chef Jimbo but I do make a mean green bean casserole,”

“Speaking of food check out the blood on this guy,” Claire walked over to a small side tunnel where another mannequin was laying sprawled against the wall “They definitely went the extra mile on the blood,”

The rest of them followed her, gathering around the small side tunnel and the body inside.

This one was definitely a cut above the others. It looked like a scruffy white guy dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with impressively realistic looking dirt and grime. A nasty gouge cut out of his neck with blood running down his front and smeared along the tunnel wall, even congealed in some pl–

Wait…how exactly did they get corn syrup to congeal?

Come to think of it, how exactly had the seniors managed to get a mannequin this good, it almost looked like…

Something cold settled in Toby’s chest, an idea too awful or horrifying to even consider so he didn’t let it fully form.

After all there’s no way this could actually–

“Is that red syrup?” Mary whispered, voice tight, prodding Jim with her elbow “Please tell me that’s syrup?”

Jim didn’t say anything, but his chalky face and gaunt expression did all the talking for him.

Claire stepped forward and gently reached out to tap the mannequin’s–

It was a mannequin it had to be a mannequin

Cheek with a single finger.

The instant it made contact Claire whipped it away, a scream choked into a strangled cry escaping her throat.

Toby’s heartbeat boomed in his ears as the thought he’d been desperately trying not to think about blasted to the front of his mind.

“Guys that’s…that’s not a mannequin,”

No one said anything but the silence that filled the tunnel spoke volumes.

Suddenly Toby was very aware that he was in a dark sewer tunnel in the middle of the night, no one knew where he was and no one would hear if they screamed.

“We need to get out of here, now.” Darci said, voice low and serious.

Toby agreed wholeheartedly, and was about to join the others in hauling ass out of this sewer when Claire actually took a step down the side tunnel.

“I think we should check this out,”

“What!? You want us to go down the spooky tunnel with the dead body in it!?” Mary hissed.

“Yeah that’s basic horror movie 101, you do not go down the dark spooky tunnel with an actual human corpse in it!” Toby was psyching himself up to start grabbing shoulders and dragging, but before he could do anything Jim stepped up to Claire’s side.

“Someone else could be hurt or stuck, and if they are, we need to help them,”

Whatever objections Toby had died in his throat. Going forward was still a boneheaded idea, but deep down he knew Jim was right. Maybe it was a stupid move, but if someone was there and in trouble they couldn’t just walk on by.

“Ok but let's be smart about this, we need people watching our front, back, and sides at all time,”

“I’ll take front,” Jim and Claire said simultaneously, glancing at each other.

“I’ll watch our backs,” Mary added.

Toby looked towards Darci “You ok with watching right while I watch left?”

Her expression was gaunt but she still gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement.

“Then let’s go,”

The five of them made their way down the narrow tunnel, scant moonlight gone, lit only by the light of their phones, the smell even more intense in the small space, following the streaks of rusty red along the wall.

After a few minutes of walking the red along the wall curved away into an even smaller passage. The five of them having to go single file, cautiously creeping inside a small chamber at the end.

For a second Toby forgot about the very real dead body they’d just passed and thought that the seniors must have set up some kind of fake mad science lab. The room they found themselves in was cluttered with bubbling beakers over smoldering burners, lit by the cool glow of fluorescent lanterns.

Then the smell hit him and he realized this was anything but.

“Guys this is a meth lab we need to get out of here now,”

Claire whipped around towards him “How the heck do you know what a meth lab looks like!?”

“Watching Breaking Bad how else!? We need to go before–”

“You brats aren’t going anywhere,”

They all froze at the sound, Toby’s heart shooting straight up into his throat, turning to see a guy who looked just as scruffy as the dead guy pointing a handgun at them.

“I wouldn’t let Jason narc on me, and I won’t let some random brats–”

Whatever else the guy had to say was lost when Mary threw a boiling beaker full of something in his face. Whatever it was making a nasty hissing sound when it made contact with his skin. He howled in pain, dropping the gun and pawing at his face, and the five of them booked it out the room.

The five of them sprinted down the dark tunnel, not even seeing where they were going. Pain flared in his knees and elbows as Toby banged into the walls in his mad sprint but he didn’t slow down. They were so frantic in their running Toby didn’t notice until too late that they’d made a wrong turn at the small tunnel.

“Guys I think we’re lost,”

They came to a halt at a crossroads, whipping around at the various tunnels surrounding them, Claire pulling out her map.

“Any…” Jim pulled in a deep shuddering breath “Aanyone know the way out?”.

“That way…I think,” Claire looked up from the map and pointed down a side tunnel, this one with a very real rat crawling along–

A thunderous boom and the rat vanished in an instant, the concrete behind it spattered in red.

Toby whirled to see scruffy, splotchy red burns covering his face and a shotgun tightly gripped in both hands. At the sight his entire body went cold all over. A handgun was bad but a single bullet could easily be dodged, but a shotgun in this small a space–

Oh god they were going to die.

“No one’s going anywhere!” Scruffy barked “I’ve worked too long and too hard to let it get screwed up by–”

There was another skittering sound to their side, Scruffy whipped the gun around and fired.

Toby stared at the spot, but to his surprise instead of the red spatter of another rat this was green…and thick looking, stray arms and legs still twitching.

What the fu–

The cocking of the shotgun pulled his attention back to scruffy.

“Now all of you against the wall before I–”

“Waka chaka….”

The voice, so low and raspy, for a second Toby thought he imagined it, echoed from behind scruffy. Along with the clicking of claws on stone.

Scruffy whirled around, allowing the others to see the creature.

It was green, about the size of a cat, round fat body with spindly limbs, pointy ears and wide frog-like mouth lined with large teeth.

The creature hissed at Scruffy, who yelped and fired the shotgun again. Turning the creature into a green puddle with a loud blast.

“Waka chaka…”

Another identical green creature crawling in from a side tunnel, Toby and the others dove for cover as scruffy blasted it away to.

“Waka chaka…”

“Waka chaka..”

More and more green creatures poured in from all around them, seemingly endless, scruffy firing this way and that. The deafening booms echoing in the small space. But for every creature he blew away two more took its place. Soon the entire space was swarming with green creatures, all of them streaming towards scruffy as he struggled to keep them at bay with his shotgun.

And Scruffy pulled the trigger only to hear the gun click harmlessly.

He bellowed and started batting away creatures with the butt of the gun, but then one jumped on top of his head, another two on his back, and a third on his chest sent him toppling to the ground.

Scruffy vanished in an instant as the creatures swarmed over him with various cries of ‘Waka chaka’ his shouts of alarm turning to howls of pain.

It was horrible but Toby couldn’t look away, staring at the writhing mass of green creatures while scruffy screeched in agony underneath them.

A tug on his elbow startled him, whipping around to see Darci, face a mask of desperation, pulling him in the direction of a side tunnel. The others already standing outside it poised to run.

Right, this wasn’t time to stop and stare. They had to get out while the getting was good. Toby hurried after her, filing into the tunnel with the others, sparing the writhing green mass that concealed scruffy one final glance before it vanished from sight.

But his screams followed them as they went down the tunnel, getting softer and softer before abruptly cutting off in a wet gurgle.

Toby forced himself to not think about what that meant and kept running.

Finally, he felt the cool breeze of fresh air on his face as the five of them staggered outside. Darkness of the tunnel giving way to swaying trees beneath a starry sky.

“What…” Mary managed to gasp out between panted breaths, sinking down on her hands and knees in the dirt “What were those things?”

They all shared a tense look but no one said anything.

Frankly Toby had no idea what those things were. And he knew that later, after the adrenaline faded and he actually had time to process what the hell they’d just seen, he would question everything he thought he knew about their town, the world they lived in, and the creatures they shared it with.

But right now he was just grateful to be alive.

#tales of arcadia #trollhunters #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #toby domzalski #mary wang #darci scott #arcadia quintet #tw death #tw mild gore #rmvwrites #halloween prompts

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