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katerina-marie · 5 days

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The Beach Episode (Romantic Sunday)

Sukuna x Reader

You and Satoru are supposed to be filming a short ad on the beach, but your blue-eyed costar has a habit of never showing up on time. What happens when a certain tattooed, pink-haired band member surprises you with a visit? You frolic in the ocean of course!

Notes: A celebrity!au that popped into my head while listening to Romantic Sunday by Car, the Garden and would not leave. While this is a Sukuna x Reader fic, other characters do play minor roles and may have brief POVs. This fic is pending in my head as a chapter in a larger work that chronicles reader's and Sukuna's developing relationship and is inspired by other scenarios that come to be while listening to music, but nothing is concrete. Since that's so, Sukuna and reader's relationship isn't explicitly defined but is certainly past friendship.

Word Count: 5.3k

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo (he's picked on, but I love him so please don't take offense), other favorites who have small supporting rolls, all fluff, crack, and humor, includes an innuendo or two, but other wise PG/PG-13, out of character Sukuna (he's so fluffy).

P.S. I've used a line from a favorite TV show back in my teen years. Let me know if you recognize it!

——————————————————————————————————

“Well…you did say you wanted to go to the beach, Kento. Look where we are!”

Your teasing tone and amused grin did nothing to budge the frustrated scowl off the face of your manager. If anything, it drove the furrow between his eyebrows that much further, and you swore a vein in his forehead started to throb.

“A vacation, actually,” Nanami began, sending you a pointed look that said he knew exactly what you were playing at, “in Malaysia…on a beach…by myself.”

You tutted at him before giving him a dainty smile and settling further into your makeup chair, “I was only trying to make you laugh, Kento.”

In your opinion, laughing and smiling was something Nanami Kento seldom did but often should. Whether it was a personal standard he held himself to or some other form of ritual torture, your manager stuck to a strict dress code no matter where he went. Case in point, on a beach in the middle of the summer, Nanami was clothed in his usual suit, tie and dutifully styled hair in tow. The only indication that he planned for the environment you all would spend the day in was the thick white stripes of sunscreen pasted on the sharp angle of his nose and over the apples of his cheeks. Whether he intentionally matched the color of his tan suit to the sand under your feet was anyone’s best guess. You hesitated to ask, a mercy for Kento if you did say so yourself, if only because he looked one wrong word away from throwing himself in the ocean, and not in a way that indicated any fun would be had.

As if privy to your thoughts, he released a drawn out sigh and crossed his legs in his own chair across from you. He took a quick glimpse at the time on his phone and shook his head.

Poor Kento. He really did deserve that vacation. And honestly, you did appreciate and acknowledge his dedication to his craft—and you, by extension.

“I’m sorry,” Nanami murmured, an apologetic softening of his eyes making his whole expression smooth out, “my frustrations are not towards you, I assure you. I’m confident you could guess at whom my ire is directed at currently.”

You snorted. “Well, of course I c—,”

“That blue-eyed bastard is late again!”

The flap of your makeup tent was thrown back with enough force that you were surprised it hadn’t ripped clean down its seam. Your overgrown tree of a bodyguard had a habit of “forgetting” the strength and stature that made him so adept at his job and simply enjoyed his ability to throw any object—or person—around as he pleased.

You scowled at Toji for interrupting you and watched as he stomped over to stand next to you and Nanami with a pout that pulled at the, frankly, appealing scar at the corner of his mouth. Between that, his eyes that looked as if they knew every secret you ever had and shaggy black hair that probably needed a cut, Toji posed both an intimidating and handsome figure. That was besides the point though and not that it mattered much to you. He had a son that was a friend of your friend and only a couple years younger than you. Not that Toji looked it one bit.

“Satoru hasn’t been heard from, I presume?”

Toji and Nanami both leveled you with a deadpan look and answered you at the same time with the same disgruntled voice, “no.”

You threw your head back in exasperation and instantly regretted it when you were reminded of the dozens of pins holding your styled hair in place as they all poked you quite viciously in the back of the head. You winced and raised your hand to rub at the sore spot, only to have it slapped away by a member of the hair and makeup team to prevent you from mussing it further. You crossed your arms with a huff and slouched further into your chair.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Toji remarked, his smirk full of sarcasm and twisted amusement. “I think they missed a spot with your makeup though.”

You found no humor in the waving of his hand as one of his fingers circled the entirety of your face in the air in front of it, nor were you concerned with the false insinuation that you looked anything other than well put together. Now, the chance of said makeup sliding right off your face as soon as you stepped into the late afternoon sun? Plausible, but best left to the worries of the experts.

“Toji,” you crooned, voice cloyingly sweet but eyeing him with a sharp glare he was surely well acquainted with, “we’re at the beach. Why don’t you, oh I don’t know, go play in the ocean and swim with the fish? Or, do you want to build a sandcastle?”

The smug grin he was wearing fell clean off his face and was replaced with an ugly pinch of his nose.

“Hell no, I hate sand! The damned stuff always gets everywhere no matter what I do. In my socks, my sandwich, the crack of my a—,”

“Enough!”

Nanami’s exclamation was loud and angry enough that it caused you and Toji both to jump and effectively ended whatever crude tale he was about to subject the crowd in the tent to.

“I’m going to go call Geto and see where the hell his client is.”

Nanami stood and brushed any bits of sand from his suit. Not that anyone could tell if there had been any in the first place.

“You,” he added, pointing in your direction, “will get dressed so that once I finish ripping Gojo’s manager a new one, we can talk with the director of this damned affair and see if we can get any film done with just you while we wait.”

Without leaving any room for protest or discussion, Nanami was gone with a flutter of a tent flap and you were left making wide eyes at your equally stunned bodyguard. There was silence and stillness for a beat of time before Toji shrugged and movement about the tent resumed again.

“Well,” he drawled, “that’s my cue to leave. I’m off to go guard some bodies and what not.” His eyebrows danced and his eyes flashed, not in the least deterred by your annoyed stare.

“We’re on a closed off, private beach, Toji. There’s no one here for you to throw out.”

He was unbothered and took a few sauntering steps back towards the entrance of the tent.

“Still, I wouldn’t want you to think I was slacking on the job and quit paying me. Have fun getting dressed, Princess.”

Toji ignored the baring of your teeth and left just as quickly as Nanami did. You blew out a resigned sigh as you took a peek at the mountain of lace, fabric, and strings that hung from a corner of the tent and decided at that moment that you wished it was Toji being stuffed into a dress and primped within an inch of his life.

“He’s going to charm his way back into the refreshment tent and pass out,” you grumbled, and oh yes, that was seething jealousy you held for your bodyguard. Someone chuckled behind you, but was quick to prompt you to stand and disrobe.

Really, it couldn’t be that bad…right?

——————————————————————————————————

Some suspiciously placed tape, three assistants, and nearly forty five minutes later would prove you to be exceptionally wrong. Lace sleeves had been tugged up against sweaty arms, the strings at the back of your dress that held it together had been pulled and tied so tightly that you were hesitant to move too suddenly for fear of busting it, and the pins in your hair had been removed to let it lay as styled. You were one moment of heat induced lightheadedness away from falling over into the sand, and there would be no getting up after that. There was fabric clinging and swishing against your legs and you thought you had seen a train at the back of the dress, though that made no sense to you at all given what was planned to happen in front of a camera.

“Please,” you begged to anyone in the room that would listen. “Can I be done now? If I don’t get a breath of fresh air, I’m going to pass out.”

Your wish was acquiesced, and with the promise to not mess anything up, you made your great escape out of the tent and towards the edge of the ocean before anyone could change their mind. There was no need for any more hair to be pinned, makeup to be touched up, or fabric draped.

The water that went on endlessly for miles in front of you was a light blue and mostly calm in its movement for the day. Sandy beach on either side of you stretched out until you could just barely see it transition into rocky cliffs that helped form its crescent shape. If one could ignore the highway and paved parking lot a couple minutes walk behind you, it was almost like you were on a secluded island paradise.

Though the sun was still hot, the fresh air was successful in clearing your mind, and the salted mist of the water was enough to help balm the warmth under your dress. The multiple tents strewn across the sand each served their own niche purpose with people popping in and out of them all day. There was chatter about, people hustling from one side of the camped setup to the other and cameras placed strategically to capture whatever commercial or short that you and Satoru were supposed to film. However, no one paid you much mind at the moment, and you sidled up to where the water met the sand, dress held above your ankles so the waves could tickle your feet.

“Don’t you look pretty.”

Elated surprise made your heart leap at the sound of a familiar voice, and you whipped around with excitement written all over your face to meet the eyes of the handsome man behind you.

“Sukuna! What are you doing here?”

The man in question grinned, his expression half mischievous and maybe the slightest bit bashful, though no one would dare point it out. His pink hair was pushed back into its normal style, but due to the humidity, random pieces drooped down his forehead and into his eyes slightly. His tattoos were on full display in the tank top and swim trunks he was wearing. Every bit of him was a sight for your sore eyes. Sukuna opened his arms for you and it took only a moment of hesitancy before you stepped into them for a quick hug.

“Yuji and Choso wanted to go for a drive since the day was nice, and naturally Fushiguro tagged along. Coincidentally though, Yuji had us drive along the highway behind the setup you all got going on and ‘poof,’ here we are.”

You pulled back from Sukuna as he finished his sentence and gave him a small, happy wiggle of your shoulders. You made a note to remember how you felt his fingers dancing down languidly over the lace covering your arm and swirling gently around the edge of the sleeve that came to a point on the back of your hand before letting his arm fall back against his side.

“Well, I’m glad the four of you made it, coincidence or not,” you quipped at him. Your eyes still hadn’t left his and you knew it was going to be a struggle to wipe what had to be a lovestruck grin off your lips.

“You sure about that?”

Sukuna laughed and threw a hand back over his shoulder, gesturing towards what your eyes followed and found to be the refreshment tent. What you saw had you doubling over in laughter, or at least as far as you could in your dress.

Yuji and Choso, Sukuna’s brothers and bandmates, were struggling to stifle giggles as they hovered over a hulking figure laid out in a chaise underneath a misting fan. As you predicted, Toji was dead asleep, mouth agape and a half eaten cheeseburger dangling from a hand resting on his chest. What really set the whole thing apart was the way Yuji and Choso were surreptitiously trying to see how many french fries they could place in Toji’s mouth before he either woke up or started to choke when one inevitably fell back down his throat. In the corner, Megumi stood watching with barely concealed glee and a phone in his hand capturing the whole ordeal. You assumed that no matter what way this went, Megumi was bound to come out of it on top with either the joy of having comedic blackmail to hold over his father’s head or the pleasure of getting to watch him beat his friend’s asses. In the best case scenario, it was both.

You recovered from your laughter with a shake of your head and a measly deep breath before turning back to Sukuna. It was sucked right back out of you when you found his eyes trailing up from the tips of your toes, lingering at where the dress cinched your waist and then at the lace scalloping your chest before finally coming up to meet your eyes. His gaze was half lidded and heavier than usual, and it set your cheeks aflame in a way that you could never pass off as from the sun. He smirked when you stuttered over some inarticulate noise that had escaped your mouth, and you were about to take a giant step back to compose yourself when his face eventually softened. Sukuna offered you a quick wink, not so devious and more contrite than anything else, though it didn’t seem to affect your racing pulse any less, and then continued his tirade as he hooked his pinky finger around a lock of hair framing your eyes.

Somewhere in the back of your head choirs were singing and clouds were parting, but all you could think about was the hint of black polish on his nails that you spotted out of your peripheral and the growing number of people you could see beginning to take interest in the way Sukuna towered over you and how you didn’t seem to mind. You finally made space between the two of you by pressing your knuckles against his chest with just enough pressure to send the message. He obeyed and returned the small smile you sent his way to soften the gesture.

“So,” he started, his hands set deep in his pockets and a rock to his heels that would make anyone else look nervous, “what are you all waiting around for?”

Thankful for conversation to focus on, you threw your hands up to convey that you were just as confused as he was and followed it up with what you made to sound like the most logical and obvious explanation in the world;

“Sa-to-ru is late. Again.”

At the first enunciated syllable of Satoru’s name to leave your mouth, a corner of Sukuna’s nose quivered in disdain and he rolled his eyes in a way that was clearly disparaging, yet you found weakened your knees.

“Tell me about it. He most likely forgot or got caught up w—,”

The most ungracious snort left Sukuna’s nose, and you were so taken aback by the fact that it happened, and let alone found it attractive, that you missed whatever he had hissed under his breath.

“Tied up is probably more like it.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing important.”

His voice was too intentionally innocent and his face suspiciously cleared of any ill will for you to believe an ounce of what he said, but there was no chance in getting Sukuna to admit anything he didn’t want to, and you were more preoccupied with getting that look from earlier back in his eyes. So with that, you meandered back a few steps into the water and waited.

“So, tell me, what brilliant songwriting have you been up to, oh esteemed ‘King of Curses’, or is that strictly confidential, band member-only info?”

You knew asking Sukuna, or even Yuji or Choso, about their wildly popular band ‘The Curses’ was a sure fire way to get them talking about their shared passion, and it always brought a smile to your face to see them so excited. You expected the same now, but were caught off guard when Sukuna stumbled over the step he took to follow you and the brief way his face shuttered blank before he recovered. That act alone would have been enough to put an end to your flirty intentions—because you just knew that nickname of his got him riled up whenever it came out of your mouth—but the sensation of fabric being pulled tight against the back of your legs had you stopped. A quick glance down into the water confirmed that he had stepped on your dress and the extra fabric was beginning to swirl around his calves.

So that’s what the train was for! A devious, delicious idea began to form in your head and you knew you had only one chance to make it happen.

You glanced up at Sukuna through your eyelashes (he struggled to recall in that moment if they had always been that long or if it was the makeup making his mind fuzzy) and cocked your head gently to one side before beginning a slow prowl around him.

“What, no love songs or epic tales of star crossed romance have emerged from that practice studio of yours lately? Don’t tell me a cat has got your tongue?”

Ever focused on the way your lips curled into a sultry smile and the feather-light drag of your finger along the top of his shorts at his hip, Sukuna was unusually quiet as he followed you with his eyes. You began to pass behind his back and your circle was nearly halfway complete.

“Su-ku-na,” you called when you received no answer, watching as he gave a shake of his head as if to clear a haze from it.

“Quit being a brat and distracting me!”

There was no malice in his tone, but you could tell that he was being truthful. You had completed your circle and came to stand in front of him once again.

“I’m just waiting for you to answer my question,” you sing-songed.

Sukuna’s mouth stuttered open for a second and nothing came out before he finally seemed to collect himself, “No! No love songs, no sappy lyrics, and no star crossed romance. Who do you take me for?”

Your peals of laughter that followed his blurted response floated about the beach and seemed to soothe whatever had come over him in the last couple of minutes. In a haste, you cast a glance down at his legs to check that everything was in place.

“I’m just playing with you, Sukuna,” you cooed at him, “there’s no need to get defensive.”

His eyes narrowed and you watched with glee as he pulled himself up to his full height, leaned down into your face, and let a haughty smirk tug the corners of his mouth.

“You don’t want to play with me, Sweetheart. I. Play. Rough.”

“Hmm, you think so?”

You let a delicate, breathy sigh brush up against his mouth from yours while you arched your back slightly to press your chest against his. Sensing you had Sukuna’s full attention, you smoothed your leg between his to let the side of your foot trace oh so gently over the bone in his ankle. His breath hitched, and in the same moment you tipped your head back to close a fraction of distance between your lips, you also tightened your fingers in the furls of your dress.

“Really,” you whispered, “somehow I think that I play rougher.”

Yank.

Since he was already off balance when you ripped the fabric of your dress out and around from under his feet, it only took a quick sweep of your foot against Sukuna’s leg to keep the momentum going and to dump him and his gobsmacked expression into the knee-deep water of the ocean. You jumped back to avoid as much of the splash as you could, and in the same heartbeat, you lifted your dress and took off in the direction of the tents set back on the shore. Your plan was a success.

There were two oversights on your part, however, that became all too clear in the couple seconds after this monumental event took place.

One, the amount of water your dress accumulated and how much it now slowed you down due to its weight and tangle in your legs.

Two, which you really should have anticipated if you thought back on it, was the unbelievable amount of speed and agility with which Sukuna pushed himself out of the water, set a borderline maniacal look upon you that promised glorious retribution (you would have to question yourself later as to why this sent shivers down your back and warmth to places you would rather not think about), and thus began an inhumanly quick sprint towards you.

So, naturally, you did what any independent, perfectly capable woman would do; you screamed at the top of your lungs bloody murder for your bodyguard and high tailed it out of the ocean.

——————————————————————————————————

The first thing Toji wondered upon being awoken by the screams of a dying woman was why his mouth was full of french fries. He sputtered on the cold and soggy pieces in his mouth as he leapt from the chaise he had barely remembered falling asleep on and frantically looked out towards the water to see what fate he had let come upon you. Toji was certain there were only two possibilities.

One: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now being eaten by a shark.

Two: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now drowning in the ocean.

To his sleep addled brain, which was currently working through the onslaught of you shrieking his name, either option had an equally probable likelihood of occurring. The outcome, however? In both scenarios, there was only one logical conclusion. He was getting fired.

With that thought in mind, he started the process of becoming your own personal search and rescue. All in a flurry of forward movement, he kicked off his shoes, dropped the crumpled half eaten cheeseburger from his grasp, and flailed his hand around in his pocket to locate his wallet. He was not about to let his most important possession be lost to the tides—especially with the encroaching threat of unemployment looming over his head—and was about to seriously consider dropping his shorts to the ground altogether when he heard your screams reach a sudden pitch and then descend into hysterical laughter.

Toji took that as a sign to further scope out the situation in front of him and after rubbing sleep and sand from his eyes, he could now better understand that you weren’t actually in mortal danger. You were just flirting.

With the adrenaline that was previously coursing through his body now taking a sudden nosedive, Toji staggered back into the tent to plop onto his previously occupied chaise. While he was obviously relieved to see you weren’t dying, he was even more glad that he wasn’t going to have to call Shiu tomorrow and admit that his asset was dead and he was in need of a new job. Surely offers would be next to none, and he didn’t think he could handle guarding any more feisty starlets or listen to them vent about their secret love affairs with pink-haired band members…at least not without the blood pressure medication his doctor had threatened him with at his last check-up.

At the sound of muffled laughter to his left, Toji swung his gaze over to his son, a grin on Megumi’s face and phone in hand, and his son’s two idiot friends, both of whom were having to help hold the other up.

“Not you three now too,” he grumbled, standing up from his chaise and making his way over to where they stood. “What’s got you idiots making so much n—,”

Toji came to a sudden halt as Megumi’s hand lifted up to shove his cell phone in his face. His eyes squinted at the screen, the laughter from Yuji and Choso increasing in volume, and he needed only a second to process the video he was watching before snapping his head towards the two brothers.

“You bastards!”

Megumi watched as his father and two friends stared wide eyed at each other for a couple of seconds before they all took off running out of the tent and beyond. The thought of catching the pummeling that was coming the brother’s way once his father caught them was plenty enticing, but years of living with Toji Fushiguro taught him that he too was to be considered guilty as an accomplice, and thus making himself scarce was the wiser decision. Besides, there were plenty of cameras already rolling anyway.

——————————————————————————————————

You had taken only a couple of steps onto dry land before a set of well muscled arms locked around your midsection, lifted you clear off your feet, and jerked you back against a solid chest. Sukuna’s breathing was loud and heavy in your ear and you could feel water leaching through the back of your dress from where he pressed forward against you with the entirety of his body.

“That was naughty,” he taunted, and the low scratch of his voice made your feigned attempt to wrestle out of his hold falter.

Before you could say anything in response, in an impressive feat of strength, Sukuna once more swept you off your feet and planted you stomach down over his shoulder. He turned and began to wade back into the water, and it wasn’t until your view from beside his hips started to be filled entirely by water that you struggled—in earnest this time.

“Sukuna!” You gasped, trying to come up with some kind of plea that would keep you from your fate of being dropped into the ocean. “Suk-Sukuna, I can’t swim, I can’t swim!”

This wasn’t true in the slightest, but you hoped his concern for your safety would outweigh his need for vengeance. Just as the ends of your hair became engulfed by water, Sukuna dragged you back up from over his shoulder and slid you down his front until he could grasp at your thighs and pull them open around his hips. You threw your arms around his neck and prayed that the pleading look in your eyes would work.

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” was all the warning Sukuna gave before cocking an eyebrow at you and promptly falling flat backwards into the ocean with you secured against his chest. The two of you crashed into the water just in time for a wave to surge over you both. It was a cold shock to your system, but you had no more than a hiccup to process the feeling before Sukuna was up on his feet and trudging back to shore with you in his arms. You sputtered the whole way back and pawed at your face to pry a curtain of soaking wet hair from your eyes.

It was at the line where ocean became more sand than water that Sukuna stumbled, presumably from wet fabric caught in his legs again, and rotated mid-fall just quickly enough to save you from being squashed under him.

It took a minute for your combined unabashed laughter to subside, and when you finally caught your breath from where your head rested against the curve of his shoulder, you flew upwards. You swatted Sukuna’s chest when the glimpse of sparkling eyes and a full smile snagged your attention, and you hoped that the swaths of fabric pooling around the two of you was enough to disguise how you straddled his hips and that his fingers were tracing absentminded figures at their place right on the small of your back. Unable to control the flush of heat through your limbs, you exclaimed the first thing that popped into your head and then immediately regretted it.

“Sukuna, I’m completely soaked!”

The quickness of the wicked grin that spread across his face astounded you, and when you noticed his lips begin to part, to no doubt retort something highly inappropriate for the given situation, you slapped a hand over his mouth. His smile was still present under your palm, his eyes soft and adoring, and you swore you felt him place a small kiss at the meat of your thumb.

“AND CUT!”

The director’s shout was enough to shatter the intimate quiet that had gone unnoticed by you two, and the both of you lurched just far enough apart to separate your bodies but remain near enough for the bump of a knee or shoulder. Before you could even gather your bearings enough to understand what was going on, a tall shadow appeared over you, and you leaned your head back to squint up at whoever it was.

“That was certainly entertaining.”

You recognized the voice of Satoru’s manager just as he held out a hand to help you to your feet, and you shot him a look of dismay once you steadied yourself.

“It’s nice of you and your client to finally grace us with your presence, Geto,” you replied dryly.

Geto shrugged, not a single care evident on that pretty face of his, and brought your attention to the crowd gathered behind him with a flourish of his hand. You took a tentative glance at what he was referring to and nearly cringed when you caught sight of the numerous cameras pointed at you and Sukuna. Not to mention Nanami, who stood next to the director with a hand pressed up against his temple like he was in great pain. Though from the small smile you could just barely make out and the animated chatter from the director into Nanami’s ear, you assumed that what had just transpired wasn’t such a bad thing. Even Toji, who was a couple feet behind them with Yuji and Choso in head locks under each of his arms, looked like he had gotten quite the chuckle out of the whole thing.

“It seems like the film was still able to get captured well enough without us,” Geto remarked. “I don’t believe there’s any reason to re-do anything with Satoru just for the sake of appearances.”

You were about to open your mouth to make known your agreement to the idea when Sukuna suddenly threw an arm around your shoulder and popped back at Geto with a brusque “hell no.” You weren’t sure if you felt offended or disappointed by his objection, but before you could start to fret over it, Sukuna was stroking his thumb gently across the back of your neck, and you proceeded to melt into his side. Perhaps his initial disagreement had less to do with his reluctance to be seen as part of the project and instead had everything to do with him making sure you had the full ability to determine how much of him at your side you were ready to share with the world. The thought had you giddy.

“I have zero objections to using the film with Sukuna.”

There was a jubilant cheer from all the staff once they heard your words, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the satisfied look on Sukuna’s face that followed them.

“Ah, question,” he called out suddenly, making pointed eye contact with the director, and even Nanami too. “By agreeing to this, that means she doesn’t have to frolic around here with the white-hair idiot, right?”

Over the immediate roar of laughter from everyone around, an indignant “hey!” could be heard from the nearby makeup tent, and for just once, you were grateful for Satoru’s inability to ever be on time.

——————————————————————————————————

Part 2

Notes: If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you didn't catch it, the line "Somehow I think that I [you] play rougher" is taken from a scene in the Vampire Diaries (I was obsessed). Did I also get inspiration from that scene in the horse movie Spirit for Sukuna and Reader's moment in the water? Yes, yes I did.

Also, in my decade and a half of reading fan fiction, I have not once written or posted any of my own. So if I miss something important, please kindly let me know.

Always feel free to share comments, thoughts, or questions <3

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #nanami kento #gojo satoru

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radiant-reid · 1 year

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200

Summary: Spencer and reader’s mission in Afghanistan finished years ago until both of them are taken hostage and tortured for information (based on 9x14 with Spencer and Reader instead of Cruz and JJ)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (angst)

Content Warning: Attempted rape (no rape takes place but reader gets sexually assaulted, please don’t read if this triggers you), descriptions of torture

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist | Navigation

This is not where Y/n’s meant to be.

She isn’t exactly sure where she should be right now since the hours have escaped her, but wherever it is, it’s not with her arms above her head, chained to the ceiling after being brutally tortured while she lays on the floor and waits for the next assault. The chilliness of the room is the least of her concern.

It had to have been close to a day, nearly 24 hours of entire body pain. She has been hurt by unsubs before, taking a punch to the eye, being knocked onto concrete by a bomb, or being hit in the back of the head, but this is different. What she feels is blinding pain running through every vein of her body, total agony, likely the result her abductors are striving for.

The only escape is in her head which is pounding so loudly that her brain is barely functioning. She has been hoping for the BAU from the moment she was dragged off into the night with a hand over her mouth that quickly made her lose consciousness. They would have been notified quicker of her disappearance had Spencer noticed when she missed their date, but she has no idea when, or if, they found out.

Technically, Spencer did notice she wasn't at the restaurant at 7:30, but that’s because he’s chained up next to her. It means the BAU is two team members down. If it were just her or Spencer, the other would have easily linked an abduction with this MO back to their joint mission in the middle eastern war zone. It's the same players, code names, and secret numbers.

It was a bad idea to be in Afghanistan. She knew from the moment she was on a jet there that getting involved in such a confidential mission with murky alliances was dangerous, and now she's paying for it, possibly with her life.

The only slightly positive thing is that their mission abroad was the catalyst in her and Spencer’s relationship. They had both been taken from the BAU without explanation to their team members. He’d been recruited for his linguistic abilities, learning Arabic as quickly as he could, and she was there for the feminine presence they needed. It wasn’t appropriate to have an official romantic relationship, and they didn’t have the time, so nothing romantic happened until they got back to DC and were back with the BAU. They’d learned to separate the personal and professional moments overseas during their nighttime talks or card games in the desert, so dating and being agents wasn’t a challenge.

She's hoping they called Emily when they realized they were missing. Although Y/n never went against the oath she swore, there was a conversation just after she got back where Emily picked up on some of the worry pouring out of her friend and tugged slightly at the string that could unravel it all. As well as her international connections, the current BAU team will need what Emily doesn't know she knows.

Penelope had been suspicious of Y/n and Spencer for a while. The secret phone calls and the passionate discussions that halted when someone else walked into the room led her to believe they had either gotten secretly married or were expecting a baby. It was just trivial office gossip which everyone knew was light-hearted fun and not to be taken seriously, but Y/n wished it was that simple.

She’s dreaming about both scenarios as an escape, but the logical part of her brain prepared her to accept that this is it: she and Spencer will never have any of that because they’re about to die.

Like thinking about her beat-up boyfriend beside her, thinking about the BAU makes her want to cry, knowing she might never see them again. They're her family of many years, and none of them needs more tragedy.

She caves first, appearing to put her passcode in. If the team is where she thinks they’ll be in their investigation, Penelope will get the panic code, and they’ll be saved. It’s what she’s desperately hoping for when she types it into the computer.

They need Spencer’s, too, but the BAU needs time, and the profiler in her knows how she can stall. Tivon Askari is a torturer and a follower, not a leader, but she knows who is.

“Okay, it’s enough.” She declares. “Come out.”

“Who are you talking to?” Askari demands.

She’s not going to get a positive reaction, but this is valuable time for the BAU. She doesn’t have much left to give, laying on the concrete floor covered in bruises and blood, but she’s going to give everything she’s got. It’s what Spencer once told her he admired about her, and it’s a descriptor worth dying for.

“Not you, to your boss.” She clarifies. “Come out and face me, you coward.”

Spencer sees Michael Hastings first when the door opens, but Y/n doesn’t bother to look back, knowing she’s right.

“How’d you know?” Hastings asks, strolling into the room.

If Spencer wasn’t so wrapped up in calculating the probability they get out alive and profiling their former colleague turned traitor, he’d be thinking about how smart she was for figuring it out.

“Askari couldn’t know about Spencer and me.” She tells him. “Not even our unit chief in the BAU knew, but we were just about to kiss one time before you walked in with a message from the BAU.”

She remembered it fondly. How tanned Spencer looked, how they were technically breaking the rules by sitting on the lookout post instead of in their tents, and how pretty the sunset was, despite how horrible everything around them was.

“The Humvee attack proved there was an inside man.” She continues.

“And look at what it cost you.” Hastings taunts her.

The answer is everything.

“You can threaten to kill me.” She informs him, not breaking eye contact. “Spencer won’t give you what you want.”

“She’s right,” Askari confirms, carefully watching Spencer with the laptop on the floor.

“Don’t I know it.” Hastings’s voice moves as he walks behind her, stopping where she can’t see him and doesn’t know what he’s doing until the chains drag her up and off the floor forcefully.

The stretch on her arms is painful, especially when she’s feeling so weakened already, and her breathing deepens as she grunts.

“But I also know you, Spencer.” Hastings continues, walking back to Y/n.

Spencer’s torn. He knows Hastings is going to punch her or make her bleed, and what type of a boyfriend is he if he lets that happen? The only way he can stop it is by handing over his code and betraying his country, then they’re both dead. Still, Y/n’s message wasn’t just to Hastings. She was telling Spencer not to give him the code, even if the threat of violence was there. He’s seen them hurt her, so he just has to put up with it for as long as it takes the BAU to get here.

Hastings’s hands gravitate to her hips, thumbs touching the bare skin of her waist that’s exposed when her arms are above her head. “And what line you won’t let me cross.” He reminds Spencer.

Y/n’s breath hitches in her throat when she feels his hands dip along her ass. She knows what this is. If he’s behind everything that happened to Nadia Mubari, she’s about to meet the same fate. The pit of her stomach sinks as she informs herself of what is about to happen, like it’s going to make the suffering more manageable.

It’s surprising a sexual sadist managed to withhold this long, but there’s a reason he waited, knowing it would be the ultimate move to get them to surrender.

She knows she’s not meant to show fear but she can’t look at Hastings as he stalks over to her, still talking to Spencer. “And I don’t blame you. She’s an attractive woman.”

In one move, he grabs Y/n’s chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him, like the dead look in her eyes is a turn-on for him.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Spencer yells, finally breaking.

“No more games,” Hastings tells him, forcing Y/n’s head back as he looks across the room. “I want Integrity, and she’s the price.” Then he pulls her head forward again, not at all helping her pounding headache.

“No, no.” She resists, trying to keep space between them. She still hasn’t accepted what’s about to happen, but she repeats the fact to herself: she’s going to get raped and Spencer’s going to be forced to watch.

His hand drifts to her lower stomach, fingers spread across her shirt as he rubs circles, pushing her shirt upward. All her muscles tense at once, and she’s hyper-aware of every nerve ending. “Maybe I’ll fuck you better than he does.” He suggests.

Y/n’s heart beats quicker and harder, so painfully she wants to throw up. He’s so close to her, where she can smell his musky scent, and he’s touching her somewhere no one but Spencer has touched in a long time.

It’s intimate, that part of her skin and it sickens her that someone’s touching it and she can’t fight him off. “I’ve always wanted to.” He confesses, voice deep as if it’s romantic. She’s begging herself to space out, let it happen to her body while shifting her mind somewhere else.

Fresh tears appear in her eyes when he starts unbuttoning her shirt. Her plan to not show fear so he can’t get off is gone in a second. It’s all too real.

His hands don’t feel like Spencer’s. It’s not that time at her apartment, the first time, when Spencer undressed her in the living room, admiring her before letting her lead him to the bedroom. It’s not that time in his apartment, both of them slightly wine drunk, as he frantically unbuttoned her top between frantic kisses.

“Take your time, Spencer,” Hastings tells him. “I know I’m going to take mine.”

“Spencer, don’t,” Y/n tells her boyfriend, despite every part of her willing this to not happen. Dutiful until the very end, that’s what Spencer admired about her. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She repeats as Hastings starts on her pants, the back of his fingers against her lower stomach. It’s an assurance to herself as well. “I’m fine.” She manages between gulps of oxygen. She can feel the heat and excitement radiating off his body.

Spencer breaks at the look in her eyes. It’s predictable, really, probably why this was Hastings’s strategy. “Okay, okay, enough. Just stop!” He yells. “Just stop.” It comes out as more of a whimper that time.

Hastings does stop, and Y/n wishes she could believe it was over. He focuses on the laptop being brought in front of Spencer, all of them waiting for him to type in code that’ll put valuable information in the hands of the wrong people.

Hastings tells his footsoldier which files to download while stroking Y/n’s hair back harshly. Spencer sits there wondering if he’d done the right thing, jeopardizing so many people’s lives just because he couldn’t watch his girlfriend be raped. It’s selfish, especially when she was so selfless as she promised the room she could take it.

Then Spencer gets dragged up by Askari, arms yanked above his head, but at least Hastings has left Y/n alone. He’ll take any amount of pain to keep it that way.

The lights flickering off is not what anyone expected, clear from the look on their captors' faces. It’s the BAU. She knows it deep inside her, but she can’t get too excited. Not when Hastings and Askari have been planning this for so long and can do deadly damage in seconds.

She’s listening to their conversation about escaping, taking it all in so she can relay it to the team when they get there. They both grimace when Askari slices their inferior's neck open, a clean gash that has him dead in seconds.

Hastings walks over to her, hand on her stomach as he pulls her wiggling body into his chest to whisper in her ear. “Sorry, sweetheart. I was excited to have you.”

He turns and leaves the room, nodding to Askari, who, predictably, isn’t about to leave Y/n and Spencer alive. He holds his knife firmly as he replaces Hastings’s position behind Y/n, ready to murder her.

Their farewell must have taken too long, though, because Hotch and Emily bust through the door at the right moment, neither hesitating to shoot Askari.

“Em.” Y/n whimpers as her friend hurriedly unfastens her chains, Hotch doing the same thing to Spencer. She didn’t know she had any more tears left to cry, but these ones are of relief. “I knew they’d call you.” She pants out, landing on her feet as Emily helps her to the floor. She doubles over trying to get her breathing right.

“Shh.” Emily tries to calm her, working on getting the shackles off her feet. “We’re here, we made it.”

Y/n nods, coming off the high from all that adrenaline pumping through her body. She hears Hotch talking into his comms about Hastings fleeing to the room, but she’s focused on slowing her heart rate.

“Y/n.” It’s Spencer’s voice, right near her. She recognizes it and stands up so quickly it makes her head spin.

All that matters is hugging him. No comfort comes close to being in his arms, feeling her chest firm against hers while he rests his cheek against hers. They stand there and cry together for a moment, relieved, hurt, but ultimately going to be okay. It’s the moment they’ve been waiting for all of those terrifying hours.

He pulls away to cradle her face in his big palms. “Are you okay?” He asks seriously, and not just about her superficial features.

“Better now.” She assures him. It’s going to take time and therapy, but with Spencer by her side, she’ll recover. “You?”

He sucks in a breath, nodding. “Now I am.” He answers. “We’re okay. We’ll be okay.”

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cosmal · 1 year

Note

scenario 16: “sender pushes receiver against a wall to kiss them” with sirius please

gin

valentines day celebration!

summary — sirius really is going to kiss you at this party tonight.

content — sirius black x fem!afab!reader, mentions of alcohol

You'd sent Sirius a photo of your outfit before you left. It was nothing promiscuous, it was sweet and innocent which he's sure made it worse. Sporting a red top that squeezed your waist until your top half sort of spilled out, and a white, frilly skirt that leaves enough room to show the soft plush of your thighs, and the message is this too much for mary's? :/ You were nervous — in an outfit like that. He'd sent back no sweetheart you look amazing.

He'd stared at the image on the train the entire way to Mary's. He's sure he's gonna kiss you tonight.

He knows you're around somewhere, you messaged him when you arrived. i'm here. lmk when you get here, i wanna see you. :) Bold, considering how you are when you're around him. Shy and all things sweet. It's a challenge to get a smile out of you when he's you're together. You hide them in the back of your hand most of the time. He hopes you're not drunk just yet.

All he wants to do is see you. When he shows up, it's like he has tunnel vision. He says hello to Remus and James, though it's short and sweet, he's not rude. Sorry, gotta get some booze into me. Code for, he has to find you right now while he still has the confidence.

He hears you before he sees you. He follows the sound of your giggles around the corner and into the hallway. You're standing outside the bathroom, talking to someone through the door.

"Y/N!" The skirt looks even better in person. Your cracked brick phone didn't do it justice.

"Sirius!" you cheer, walking the length of the hallway to meet him, leaving behind the poor soul in the bathroom. He didn't see the boots in the photo. He swallows.

You hug him first, which is different. He has the suspicion you're drunk. Confirmed when he selfishly pushes his face into your neck and can smell something like gin.

He pulls back and holds you at arm's length, the sleeves of your shirt bunch under his hands until he can feel your cold skin. "How much you had to drink?"

"I've had two," you smile. You're not hiccuping like you usually do when you've had one too many.

"Really?" he asks. You nod and it's adorable. "You smell like a bottle of Gordon's."

You laugh and tip your head back. Sirius tries really hard not to look at your neck and fails miserably. "Emmeline spilt her drink on my jacket."

"Oh, no," he says and he means it. "Is it ruined?"

"A little, but it's okay. She didn't mean to." You smile and wrap your fingers around his wrists. You turn your head to place a quick kiss against his skin, leaving behind a light pink lipstick mark over one of his green veins.

He startles because you've never done that before but he's not about to start complaining. "You're very happy tonight."

You turn back and then he catches that shy smile you're always doing around him. He thinks it's worse than a usual smile because your eyes droop, a crush of eyelashes that almost kiss your cheeks, and your nose twitches.

"I'm happy to see you," you admit and crane your neck so your cheek smooshes against his arm. You blink and look up at him and Sirius feels dizzy momentarily. "Super happy," you laugh.

"Why's that?" he asks and tries not to sound as affected by you as he feels. His heart a thundercloud in his chest.

"Because you're here," you admit and he can tell you're trying just as hard to sound casual. You lean off of him to look him in the eye. "You're here and I think you're gonna do something.''

Sirius swallows and suddenly he's nervous. He's never like this around you. He thinks he maybe should've taken a shot before he found you. Despite the fact he's a mess, he says, "Oh, yeah?" as smoothly as possible because he's Sirius Black.

You bite your lip and then look him up and down. Your eyes drag up the length of his neck and then stop at his lips. He thinks whatever you've drunk tonight was just enough to boost your confidence. he's selfishly loving it.

"I think you're gonna kiss me," you say in a tone lower than before. He thinks your eyes darken but that could be something he's imagining in his dizzy, lovesick head.

"Do you want me to?" His voice goes husky and you shiver. He almost laughs. He's still got one over you.

"Are you serious?"

You slam your eyes shut as soon as you say it.

"As a matter of fact—"

"Sirius, don't—"

"I am."

You roll your eyes. "God, shut up and kiss me, Black."

Sirius doesn't have to be asked twice. He grabs a hold of the sides of your face, fingers parted over your ears to guide your face to his. There's heavy breathing, lips smacking, and the tiniest of a whine on your part and Sirius melts into you. He's not as rough as he usually Is — as rough as he wants to be. But he pushes you back to hold you against the wall, keeping his lips planted against yours.

Selfishly, he lets one of his hands roam down to your hip and gives it a squeeze. You jolt and pull away from him, gasping sharply. He misses your mouth sorely and shows it, chasing you momentarily with his eyes closed.

You giggle and murmur, "Fuck," quietly under your breath.

"Fuck," he agrees, panting because he can't help it.

You kiss him again and ignore whoever it is you share the hallway with. This time, when he's not so caught up in the feeling of your hips against his and the sounds you're making, he tastes you. Something like gin and cordial. It's addictive.

He pulls back suddenly and says, "Wait, how'd you know I was gonna kiss you tonight?"

"I didn't."

He ducks his head down and hides his face in your shoulder. "You're unbelievable."

"I know."

Sirius makes a mental note to write a letter of appreciation to Gordon's Gin.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x female reader #sirius black fanfic #sirius black imagine #sirius black fan fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black drabble #sirius black blurb #marauder #marauders #the marauders #the marauders fanfic #marauders fanfiction #marauder x reader #sirius black fluff

824 notes · View notes

ourolite2 · 3 months

Text

⬭ 𓈒 ݁ mise en scène alhaitham + black ( chubby afab ) reader. one-shot coded! nsfw/smut. written in third person, male oral, sarcastic usage of "princess", switch! reader, dom! alhaitham, cock-warming, brat/brat tamer coded, lowkey bunny coded reader too, impact play, implied dacryphilia, edging, orgasm denial, slight degradation, not-so-slight condescension, overstim + sleepy aftercare fluff.

"𝒞'mon, babe." An annoyed tone overtook that of what was meant to be sultry, as Alhaitham glanced along another paragraph in his book while resting along the upper part of the grandiose bed, while his persistent lover eyed him from below. Her ass wiggled and bounced behind her like a cat prepared to pounce as she pressed him with redundant queries and testy teases. "Read my movements instead, hmm? Them pages ain't finna make you cum, you know that... Tuh.. Do you know that?"

Not caring much for a response to her question (particularly because she knew her boyfriend wouldn't grant her one), Y/n's plump, mocha lips resumed wrapping around the rose resembling tip, tasting his unasked-for arousal coat her tongue and pool at her throat as she filled herself to the brim with his warmth. Her cheeks sealed his sensitivity tight in her mouth like a butterfly in a honey trap, adding onto the analogy as she watched his fingers flutter across the next page of his book like fragile wings, knowing the rest of him was just as delicate and immobilized, despite his overall silence.

Randomized grunts of overwhelm were the only responses audible, though poorly disguised to be those of annoyance and inconvenience as Y/n restricted the lower space of his dick, squeezing and stroking around the supple skin and it's pulsating interior with her velour-like palm. Meanwhile her other hand trickled inchmeal up his thigh and trailed leisurely along his abdomen. The happy trail there tickled her fingers a bit, causing her to giggle with her mouth full, inevitably causing her two clement, cherubic cheeks to reverberate around the sage's repetitive twitches and innate jumps and shoves.

By now, it's evident that he's not processing a thing in this book, deduced by the slight part of his lips and the gentle pant relieving itself between them with every suck and squeeze she pressures him to undergo. The covers are nearly closed front to back and drifting out of his grip, likely willingly, but of course he has that uselessly immovable nature of his. Indurated in his dick as much as his head, he'd rather lift the book back up and pretend to still peruse his useless passages than pay praise or even scrutiny to Y/n, even knowing he could cum within the next three minutes. The man still dares to have the imprudence to utter meaningless teases in a scenario that should have him speechless and writhing.

"Expecting desperation from me only shows what you're trying to hide about yourself, princess." That sobriquet. Sarcasm or not... God, isn't he so attentive. Y/n hums around him, feeling that warm, sweet ache between her own pudgy thighs increase and leak between her brown lips. She's straight to the point in proving him right, huh? Needs more so much to the point where she's humping into that longing sensation ever so gently, not wanting to lose too much composure. Though such is merely fanciful as she begins senselessly imagining Alhaitham's two fingers poking her cute new panties to the side, prodding her sticky folds apart, and then rubbing ringlet motions over her pretty, puffy clit until she's squirming for release.

Her body takes more initiative than her literacy will allow her as she detaches from his sloppily glossed and veined dick, giggling so preciously as she crawls up toward Alhaitham and his fabricated glout. Leaning near his neck and taking hold of his book in the most grabby, demanding manner, Y/n tosses the band of papers and ink to the floor before moving his iconic headphones to his neck, resting the set out of the way as her lips graced the shell of his ear in a ticklish tone. "M' I desperate, smartie? That's it? Then if you're sure that's the case don't have me waitin' on you."

Judging by the way his model of a lover slips her own panties to the side in preparation, she's apparently taking it upon herself to decline seeking succor in patience and pleading. Aligning his blushed tip at her panting, slippery lips, Y/n lubricates his peachy skin with squelches and smacks from the pent up arousal dribbling helplessly toward her outer folds. "Since I need to continue my research, and vexing you will only be a hindrance to my progress, I guess as the Acting Grand Sage.." His mind swirled briefly around warm sin and temptation as he spoke, chuckling between a pause as he sunk his warm palms and spread fingers into her squishy love handles. Her aroma is as intoxicating as forbidden flowers on a Sunday morning, and that sweet delicacy her body owns is like putty in his hands. How could he not ponder over how bendable, mendable and breakable she must be under his influence? "Despite my busy schedule, I'll have to fit you in."

The tip licks along her soaked pussy, barely spreading it open as he takes his time to her obvious displeasure, before delving into her clenching hole and stroking himself into her with a firm hold on her hips, as if he's simply using her to beat his dick at whatever pace he prefers. However, Y/n has had him pent up for hours at work before, so he's really not so conveniently persuaded to indulge in her antics at the drop of a thigh garter. In actuality, he'll claim that he's doing this in order to shut her up, rather than for his own pleasure. In spite of this, he's beyond aware that she'll only become more of a drooling, huffing, blubbering show, yet he forces her up and down quicker and quicker, causing the saliva at the corner of her mouth to trail down her cheeks which jiggle so adorably with every bounce, matching the look of the rest of her rubenesque figure.

"S' better than a book, baby? Me? Yeah? Mhm?" Her voice is disrupted with irregular breaths and muttered fuck's, and drenched with the mellifluous taste of honey. It rolls so sweetly off the tongue that she just can't seem to shut the fuck up, and if she were to do so Alhaitham wasn't sure if he would be more pleased or distressed. She's so fucking tight around him, taking it upon herself to clench when she needs not and to run her hips in a circle to deepen the uncharacteristically ruby tinge on the tip of his nose and surely the entire head of his dick. It's pushing so deep, as if with every plunge she feels the warmth in her clit and her lips and her walls excel. So stimulated and torrid and glistening in speckles of sweat down her breasts, upon her neck, behind her knees-- it's as if she's already drenched, already full, already close. "Tell me I'm all you- fuck.. Fuck me- close! Baby, Alhai, m' need you, pl- fuck. Deep-deeper-!"

"Rarely a challenge, so I'm not surprised.." Aware of Y/n’s delirium and failure to remain coherent, he forces her into place on his lap, pulling her in deeper the more she gyrates around him in resistance. She’s still wiggling and whining, but his voice gives her goosebumps when he leans beside her ear to inquire on what she’ll do the next time he’s occupied. It's vital that Y/n answers. Alas, she’s stubborn.

He lands a smack to her ass as she replies with fidgety insolence: “Fuck you, fuck me, like this-,” She rotates her hips to demonstrate before beginning to hump forward and back due to her puffy, under-stimulated clit. “-Like this, like that, right.. right there.” Leaning over Alhaitham’s shoulder to catch her breath erratically right beside his ear is as draining as it sounds, not to mention the squelches and smacks coming from between her thighs. With every writhing motion the friction of her thighs, let alone the feeling of her ass plopping and slapping incessantly, is enough to make a grown man groan. At least it should be.

Rather than desperation, he’ll hit her ass again, rolling his neck slightly to relieve its stiffness and ease his impatience, as she muffled a whine in response. Inquiring on what the fuck he’s testing her for, Y/n pouts slightly while being expected to maintain eye contact with him, rather than complain and roll her eyes over the increased sting still permeating.

“Is the princess going to pout now? I’m sure I can exonerate your temperament problems if you can choose your next words carefully.” He speaks with ease, disregarding the discomfort of Y/n's position as his lover pulsates helplessly around him. He knows his words only enhance her agitation and poked out lip and puffed out cheeks as she clenches more than she'd likely admit. She's gripping onto his shoulders and contemplating wrapping her hands around his neck as she mumbles a curse and half an insult in response, followed by yet another spank. And another.. and another, and another, until her eyes are watering, until her eyelashes are fluttering, until one more hit could have tears dripping along those chubby little cheeks of hers. Holding her chin up with his thumb and forefinger to observe her sniveling, slobber-lipped face, Alhaitham- the 'sweetheart'- grants her the courtesy of wiping the drool away as it kisses the underside of her pretty, fat, carob hued lips. Though, it'd be sinfully uncharacteristic of him to hold any kindness and patience any higher than necessary, so he threatens her with what no bratty beloved wants to hear. "Hmm. You've had many poor attempts at behaving today.. Rather than lacing my words with rhetoric, I prefer speaking factually. I guess.. I just won't be able to reward you."

Nearly immediately, Y/n gyrated incessantly in retort, clawing at his shoulders while his fingers still held up her quivering lips and wrinkled chin. Due to his hands' proximity to her face, he found no other solution but to bluntly tap her cheek twice with the back of his hand. Though, when this didn't work, he pulled her off of him and slammed her back inside, allowing the impact to demonstrate what friction she's reprimanding for herself if she continues. Still having little to say in return to him, he strings along more words to chime through her fuzzy, hot little head instead. "On the topic of speaking factually, it's painfully clear that you're doing this because you enjoy being degraded and tamed. However, when your defiance starts to bore me, I'll just find something else to mess with, since you're obviously capable of fixing this yourself."

"So mean to me, Alhai.." She whines, sniveling more than before as her arousal leaks around him, still warm and suffocating- if not more than before. "Wanna be good, okay? I'll--" Amid her breathy claims, a trail of warning taps reverberate against her ass, followed by much harsher, louder smacks the more she whined and attempted to speak in between each landing. His hand was out of view behind her, but from the sting against his palm he knew it was less palid than rose-related. The only thing stopping her skin from being the same of course was the naturally deeper shade, though this couldn't eliminate the intensity of the aftermath. She attempts to ask what she did wrong through choked moans and apologetic sobs, and he's placidly alacritous to give her a reason.

"Didn't ask you if you'd be 'good', that's subjective to your definition of 'good'. What will Y/n do the next time the Acting Grand Sage is busy?"

Her mind and body are too overrun and overheated to think of a means to answer mistakenly; too dolorous and defiled to notice that she's begging him between her compliance to not interrupt him again. Words slurred with another trail of drool which Alhaitham doesn't bother wiping away, since it's already leaking against her bouncing tits and open neck as he begins fucking into her. A thrust more, quicker with every apology and plea, with every moan and whine and sign of gratitude. "Thank you, baby, thank you, thank you.. Fuck. S' good to me, s' much- fucking much-"

Squeezing him so tight, she can't help it. Making a mess on his thighs, coating a soapy white ring of cum around him- who's to say whose it belongs to? Perhaps it's self-explanatory; the head is dribbling and drooling with excessive pre-cum, rubbing off all over her gummy walls, provoking twitches to correlate with the heightened frequency of clenches and throbs from her pretty pussy. Can't keep it in, she knows that familiar warmth building at her clit and starting deep inside is so close to releasing, and Alhaitham doesn't take it as a deterrent to ease up, but as a motive to speed up. "This.. is a lot. You'll have to.. take it." His breaths interrupt him, followed by light groans, and that's what brings her over the fucking edge.

Convulsing and clenching, Y/n can't keep either of her fat fucking lips closed- not the ones dabbled in drool or the ones drenched in cum. She's begging him to slow down, feeling the orgasm overrun itself with pleasure and numb her walls and weaken her body. So relieved and exhausted, princess is still exerting broken, mellifluous noises from her tainted little mouth, which still has the taste of Alhaitham's dick residing within it. Does he care?

"Look at you. Proving yourself useful." He patronizingly compliments Y/n in her fucked out state, knowing she's hardly processing anything as his twitches and warm cum use your hole as he nears his own climax. He's so much more intense now. He's being selfish and inconsiderate, bucking his hips so harshly knowing you can barely manage any penetration at all in your state. The last thing he needed to hear was you whining and begging him to hurry up and cum, even demanding him to cum inside as to give your aching pussy a break as soon as possible. Baby, how could he say no? Rather, how could he stop himself? A trail of focused grunts muffle themselves in the crook of your neck as he feels himself finish; the warmth of his arousal rushing inside where it belongs, before leaking out due to you being too full to hold any more of him.

"That's a good girl." Y/n's head rested against Alhaitham's rising and falling chest as he complimented her once again, though she had become fatigued and hardly able to speak with her now sore throat. So much begging and retorting came at a price. Despite her exhaustion, she begins to roll off of him, awaiting the usual mutual aftercare and such, though he physically denies her procedure. Rather, he holds her steady and places his heavy hand on her head, silently gesturing her to stay close to him a while longer. "I'd like to avoid any disruptions, I still have three sections to review. Rest now.. if you move anywhere else I'll be prompted to clean up the mess immediately." As he states this, Alhaitham gently turns to reach for his book, then whirles the pages toward the back of it as Y/n sighs against him and her breathing slows. He's lucky she doesn't have the least bit of energy left to argue on why taking care of her should be his first priority.

However, once she's fast asleep, the scholar cuts his reading-time a chapter short so he may begin his hidden objectives amid her unconscious state.

Gently moving her body along its side, knowing his remaining arousal and hers are bound to begin leaking beyond her pudgy folds, he wipes his thighs clean with a cloth before using her personal feminine wipes to clean off her clit. Then the tighter areas on either side of her hole, and every other area where she's managed to soak with her own magnificence. If she were awake, Alhaitham knew he wouldn't be able to take his sweet time, or have a few moments of serene silence to cherish her without obtrusion or movement of any sort. He needed this time for himself; to listen to how soft she breathes, to leave delicate butterfly kisses along her belly pudge, pussy pudge and all her rolls. To smile as he analyzes her cellulite and her lighter brown stretch marks, and traces his fingers along her hip dips, only finishing the moment by whispering sweet secrets about how he feels about her. Ones which he'd be too self-conscious and vulnerable to utter in even her presence without a slight alcohol intake as a means of excuse. Yet still, he's aware she already understands his emotions and his behavior, she somehow always knows what he's truly thinking and feeling; none of it is logical. Realistically, he can't fully compute why he behaves so secretive and shy about this himself, other than the cliche observation: love.

Well, she is the one he adores more than all under the sun and moon. His adored and adoring, no matter the amount of banter and brazen sarcasm they torture one another with through morning coffee and bed-time routines. As he slides on her favorite, stretchy shorts and ties a bow on the side of her now-secured bonnet (he found the side bow to be incredibly more adorable), Alhaitham kisses her forehead and cheeks in another attempt to show how much he loves her, wondering if it'll translate in her dreams. Words often fall short, he knows, and perhaps that's why he's not so sensitive with how he uses them, but his actions will never falter in showing how much devotion he holds for her.

Sliding beneath the emerald and aureate sheets of their shared bed, the man can't help but chuckle from knowing how Y/n's certain to complain in the morning, only before realizing she in fact was taken care of, with his book still rightfully neglected. "It's every day with you, isn't it, princess?" Before nodding off in dreamy thoughts and an uncharacteristically reminiscent imagination, her beloved finally dims the light and rolls on his own side, knowing he'll be playing fox and bunny once again with her tomorrow, and forevermore.

⑅ leman productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.

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taddymason · 5 months

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Taddy I know you said that Kaida doesn't refer to Jay as "Dad" like. At all.

BUT I can't stop thinking about a scenerio [that I wanted a write a ficlet about but I don't have the time due to uni work :sob:]

Where after Kaida and Jay are with the Ninja but Jay doesn't have his memories fully back yet.

And Kaida gets caught off guard by the enemy or something and is taken by them as bait. [I know, very unlikely]

And she tries to act cool about it but she is terrified on the inside because shes still just a kid and god Jay is not coming for her.

He got his real family back- he doesn't need her around anymore- shes alone again- shes got abondened again- why should he care about her anymore?

Meanwhile Jay is LIVID.

This is a man who does not remember the honor code of the Ninja.

A man who killed a dragon by himself.

A man who possibly killed way more than a dragon.

A father whos child was taken from him as bait and is in danger.

He's ripping through everything in his path that is between him and his daughter, and the rest of the ninja are terrified as they can only watch the lightning without restrain destroy everything in his path.

Kaida doesn't understand whats going on outside,there are explosions and yells and she can't help but flinch away as someone points a gun at her face.

But then there is a loud crack as the room flashes in the brightest light ever.

And when she opens her eyes back up again, all the men are on the ground twitching in pain.

And Jay is there.

He's sparkier than usual.

And covered in more blood than usual.

And kinda blurry on the edges, his eyes and hands and body burning way brighter with lightning than she ever saw.

[As if he's almost lightning itself]

But he's here.

He came for her.

He didn't leave her.

She can't even say anything before he's suddenly next to her checking her for injuries as his hands shake from the adrenaline and fear of almost losing her.

And she chokes up with tears upon seeing him so scared, terrified of what could have been and lets out a choked up "Dad..."

Suddenly he's hugging her and she can't help but bury her face onto his chest like a baby as shes trying to not to cry, not to be weak, shes picked up and he mumbles a soft "I got you kiddo. Let's get you home." And that's when she breaks down.

And Jay refuses to let go of her during all the way back to the monastery, and if the rest of the ninja see both of them cry at some point none of them say anything.

KEN KEN KEN THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!?!? I LOVE THIS!! THANKS FOR THIS!!! HUSJFBAF

I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH (Like, Kaida definitely addresses Jay as "dad" in situations like this) THAT I HAD TO WRITE AND DRAW SOMETHING RIGHT AWAY BECAUSE I LOVE TORTURING THESE TWO. Also writing Angry Badass Jay is entertaining

I hope I did justice to this scenario because I wrote this really really quickly so I hope you like it

Home

Words: 2.9k

TW: blood and violence.

When Kaida first wakes up, she is in a room with cold lights and no windows, with unknown people moving back and forth through thick bars. She feels tired, her eyelids are heavy with a sickly feeling, and her palate tastes like moldy cotton.

She tries to remember the name the ninjas had given this thing. She thinks it's called Vengestone. A stone that can disable elemental powers.

She had never seen anything like it and terror floods her veins with ice when she realizes that what they said turned out to be true. She didn't know that there was something capable of suppressing that energy that has been in her blood for years. Uselessly she pulls on the metal on her ankle, looks for a way to break or open the lock with some of the tricks she knew, even tries to see if there are any loose bricks in the wall, and only manages to draw blood from under her nails, adding to what already covers her clothes.

She tries not to get scared. She tries to calm down and breathe even though they look at her like little more than an animal and she has no way to defend herself. She wishes she had her gun in her hands, even the knife she always kept in her boot, but even that had been taken away from her, and all she had left as a weapon was to uselessly insult them.

She tries not to panic, but finds it difficult to control her breathing when she can't see through the walls to those approaching and she feels blind. Everything looks dark and she feels stupidly weak when people approach her and without her powers to see them; they look like corpses.

"They are anyway" she tries to tell herself to calm down. They are if Jay was looking for her.

If he was looking for her. If he hadn't already decided she was a burden. Because she is, she knew it.

As the hours pass, the voice she tries to ignore in the back of her head reminds her that she is essentially a nuisance that he went to too much trouble to care for. She is essentially a girl for whom he only felt sorry, and now with the way things are, he may finally want to take a burden off his shoulders and stop having to worry about her.

She knows that she is the reason why he decided to continue working in a place as miserable as the Administration, the reason why he could not return home for so long, the main reason why he was separated from his family. If he had had his memories from the beginning, he wouldn't have even stayed there in the first place.

It's a burden, and if he had finally realized that he had his real family waiting for him, maybe he wouldn't even bother looking for her.

"How do you feel?" one of them ask her with a smile in his voice. She was pretty sure she's been there for a day already.

“Fucking great.” she spits, crossing her arms to try to look confident. If being a ninja included being captured by crazy people like these, she didn't understand why the bother.

He seem to ignore her mockery as he analyze her carefully. That guy, who must be some kind of leader if the way he's the only one talking is any indication, approaches. “You are the elemental master of spirit, aren't you?”

She stares back at him dryly without even bothering to respond. They had asked her name before and she hadn't even given them that.

The man waits in silence for a few seconds before continuing. “I know all ninjas have pretty interesting powers, the main reason why they are so annoying to us. As far as I heard, kid, you can steal someone's soul, right?”

She shakes her chained foot while frowning. “Why don't you take this shit off me and figure it out yourself?”

He smiles and then steps back, leaving the cell as if the exchange had bored him. "Not yet. We have to keep you alive until your friends come after all.”

And then he leaves, and she is alone. Again.

She rests her head on the wall behind her, trying futilely to keep track of the idiots hovering back and forth with threats that leave her shaking inside, and her hand clutches the yellow pin to her chest.

---

Jay's head is somewhere else during the eternal passage of days in which they search for clues to Kaida's whereabouts. He doesn't sleep or even eat. His concentration is solely on the battlefield and clinging to any possible clue. He is determined and alert, aware enough to be able to duck when necessary and able to dodge when shot.

But that's all. He feels nothing when he uses his powers over and over again against them without holding back his blows. It is like a storm that continues to build up until it explodes and he doesn't take into account who it lets that brutal rain fall on.

And the rest of the team isn't much help.

When they stop him for the fourth time to tell him they need a plan, his patience breaks.

He already has a plan; find his kid.

Lloyd, who Jay had learned that he was a kind of master on the team, harshly reprimands him at the end of an interrogation of one of the stupid bastards responsible for taking Kaida. Once the line of questioning ends with the man writhing on the ground in a haze of burning flesh, everyone looks at him with growing horror and fear.

He has no regrets, neither for this one nor for the others before him or for what is yet to come. If it were up to him, he would pull out what other pain that bastard has left to feel.

The green ninja, however, is unfazed by the anger crackling in his eyes and matches it with a stern glare. "Jay, I understand you're worried, but taking it out on them won't solve anything. You can't do that."

He breathes shakily, his hands, covered in blood that is not his, clenching and opening at his sides with sparks still cutting and hissing through the air.

"You are not my leader." He spits tiredly between his teeth. "Don't tell me what to do. You don't understand anything. If you really think I'm going to spare their lives for some stupid ninja shit I don't know about-"

"Jay, relax." The black ninja, Cole, steps forward, his voice heavy and wobbly. He approaches with his hands outstretched toward him, and he hates the anguish in his words, he hated that they acted like they knew him when he couldn't even remember anything about them. He hates all of this, and can barely speak with the guilt creeping down his throat. This would not have happened if they had not left the Administration. “We understand, we really do.”

Jay turns around, can't help but wave his arms in the air in exasperation, his voice rising to the edge of a shout as he shakes his head. "No, you don't. I don't need your help. If it were up to you, we would still have no fucking clue where she is. It's like you don't even care- “

A hand on his shoulder stops him, cutting off his speech as he flinches, and only then does he realize how much he's hyperventilating. The anger that makes his hands shake is as intense as the fear in his chest, and without a target to aim for so long, one becomes stronger than the other. When he turns around in his stupor, he finds the water ninja staring at him with one hand still on his shoulder.

Nya looks at him with understanding and sympathy, a deep grimace creasing her face even though her eyes otherwise remain calm. Her hand squeezes his shoulder tightly, almost as if she wants to hug him instead, and he hates how much they seem to really know him. He only has a vague idea of what they are supposed to be to him (his friends, his brothers, his yang) and that's it, they're still just strangers.

His real family, all he has left, is far away.

“We'll find her, Jay. I swear. You are not alone in this.” she emphasized firmly, and somehow, like a memory washed away by the tide, something in his chest calms at her words. The others look at him the same way, that anxious, worried look that loosens his jaw as his frown softens.

His hands were still shaking, and the power on his skin had not stopped crackling for even a second since they had begun their search. He pulls away from the touch on his shoulder somewhat abruptly, knowing it's probably not good to touch any of them while he's like this, and the others stare at him expectantly.

He takes a deep breath, barely closing his eyes for a fragment of a second where all he sees is bright white, and when he opens them to look at them, he can almost let himself believe that these people are his family.

"Alright." he chew the words through air that is too harsh and cold. His tongue is filled with the taste of ash and blood. “We know where these bastards' base is. Take us there.”

They all nod and leave, and Jay doesn't let anything stop him from getting to his daughter. His first and only priority.

---

Kaida loses track of time while there. She stops trying to count the minutes that pass and any hope she has left slowly dissolves.

And maybe it was for the best anyway. She knew she was a bait. A small fish to catch a bigger one. It was better that they didn't come for her. There was no reason for him to risk it when he already had his real family with him.

The men here don't linger with her any longer than necessary. They need her alive after all. One breaks her ankle so she doesn't even try to flee. Another hits her head particularly unpleasantly against the wall when she spits in their faces and things get confusing from there. It reminds her too much of Boarding School, and if she closes her eyes, she can practically feel the rivulet of blood running down the side of her face from her left eyebrow.

They seem proud of themselves when they finally manage to force screams of pain through her teeth, even if she doesn't even cry. Don't you dare cry. Don't you ever cry, she said in her mind over and over again.

And she tells herself that's not even the reason she's so terrified. It's not because she was deprived of her powers, or because of the pain that was pounding in her body, or because of whatever stupid plan these sons of bitches had, but because of the fact that she knows deep down that no one is coming for her. She knows she deserves it and that's what leaves her shaking as she stares straight ahead.

They should never have left the Administration, if they had stayed home instead of getting involved in saving the world and that stuff, none of this would have happened.

She feels selfish for thinking about it, but she can't help it.

She wants to go home, but she knows it's not even safe to go back there anymore. She hates how much those ninjas always had the power to take him from her, and now they finally did it.

And suddenly, the guards patrolling next to her cell hastily leave. All the people she can see through the bars share worried looks, frightened murmurs as they run to the left with weapons in their hands. Her heart races and all she can do is wait. She cannot see a single soul behind the walls when they all disappear.

There is an icy silence, one that builds in her cell the moment everyone leaves her alone, but that finally breaks when she begins to hear distant screams in the distance.

She stands suddenly, leaning against the wall, ignoring the pain clawing at her ankle and the damn chain that only makes it worse, and concentrates on listening.

She hears gunshots, hears high-pitched cries slowed by the walls. She's heard those screams before, the kind that come up just before a person's light disappears. She knows that they are coming from very far away, she knows that they are from the direction in which everyone ran, and from one moment to the next, the silence of her prison becomes a cacophony of screams that increases the tension that shakes in her chest.

There is also a growing ringing that pulses in her ears, which sounds too much like a muffled roar. A snake crawls across the ceiling, and when she looks up, she notices how the lights shine full of energy, turning on and off at the pace at which everyone runs desperately. That hum goes down and up constantly while the lights flicker until they finally break, exploding loudly. Glass and darkness hit the hallway.

Kaida can only watch open-mouthed, her mind barely able to comprehend the meaning of it when one of their leaders enters her cage with a gun in hand and a look full of anger.

“What the fuck is going on?” Kaida asks, pressing herself against the wall, hating the way her jaw trembles as the guy approaches her. “Is this also part of your plan, you idiots?”

The mockery comes out weak and raw at the end when she sees how the man removes the safety of the weapon and places it in his hands without hesitation. A knot of anxiety tightens and unravels in her chest until it reaches her mind, and her face pales.

“Looks like your friends are already here, kid. Now you are as useful alive as dead.” The gun is pointed at her face. If she had her powers, in less than a second, she could steal any excuse for soul that this guy had until he was an empty shell, take because that's what she always did. Only she doesn't have them, and the man's index finger is already on the trigger. “Unfortunately for you, I could use getting rid of an elemental master right now.”

The man points the barrel close to her forehead, far enough away that she can't even try to grab the gun from him.

Kaida steps back, her gaze focused somewhere in front of her, and she prepares for the worst with her teeth clenched together.

She's just not prepared for the way the man's body suddenly shakes violently. The grip on his gun loosens and he lets go. Collapsing heavily to the ground with white ribbons that run through his limbs until they fragilely disappear along with all traces of life in his gaze.

There is an echo of thunder behind it that conquers every struggle between silence and screams, and it is only when she looks up from the body at her feet that she finally sees Jay staring at her surprised on the other side of the cell. His hand still raised firmly forward, red and glowing as if snakes of light ran down his arm.

Her vision is blurry, either from the pain in the back of her head or from the held back tears, but it was definitely him. Through the cloudy haze, she can see how his reddish hair is more bristly than usual and the blood that practically covers him from head to toe.

She looks around, behind Jay, she sees completely still bodies scattered on the ground. She's not particularly fazed by it, she's seen worse, they've done worse. But the fact that he did this for her, that he took the risk to do it, leaves her reeling with a thread of breath.

Before she can register it, Jay quickly crosses the distance between them, dropping to his knees beside her so he's level with her. His trembling hands, whose skin over his knuckles she can see are slit and raw, grab her shoulders and he frantically search for any kind of wounds. She barely registers it, barely hears him speaking in panic at a mile a second.

Instead, she was still processing the fact that he was there. That he had come back for her.

“I've got you, kiddo, it's okay now,” she hears him say. His voice sounds more scared and agitated than she's ever heard.

His hands briefly touch her face and only then does she realize she was crying. She doesn't know how long she's been crying.

“Dad-” nothing but sobs come out.

He holds her close, reality finally hitting her as she buries her face against his chest, inhaling as she cries. Her forehead is pressed against that stupid blue gi, staining blood and tears and who knows what else, but she can hear his heart beating, fast but steady, and he's here and he didn't abandon her.

“We're going home,” he murmurs, as shaky as his breathing, and she doesn't care where that is anymore. All she really cares about is that he's here, and that's enough for her.

#I'm not good at drawing blood guys #I also did this in like less than an hour sjfbh #kaida walker #ninjago #dad jay au #ninjago fanfic #ninjago jay #ninjago oc #jay ninjago #jay walker #ninjago au

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tetsunabouquet · 10 months

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Just asking, do you write for nash gold jr? If you do could you do some nsfw headcanons or a scenario?

Also I hate how shallow they made jabberwock in the movies, I know they're meant to be like the typical antagonist but I personally don't think nash is as shallow as he seems

A/N: Here is a Nash Gold Jr X Reader one-shot considering the lack of Jabberwock content! Considering there wasn't any specification about the reader's gender or the scenario being an NSFW, I wrote it female coded and non-NSFW.

Nash Gold Jr's hands were aching. After the game they lost in Japan, they had left back for the US. Silver had been rageful the entire time, and didn't seem to calm down until he beat Nash Gold Jr. Nash Gold Jr fought him, knowing he needed to vent. This wasn't the first time Silver would beat someone up, nor, would it be his last. Unless Silver were to work on his anger issues, and Nash Gold Jr did not see Silver do such a thing in the near future. So Nash Gold Jr drifted alone on the streets, preparing what to say to his mother, who undoubtedly was extremely worried for his emotional state and had probably been baking like a madwoman. She had a tendency to keep baking cakes for him to the point where the entire kitchen was bursting with an abundance of cake whenever he was sad. It was a habit she had developped ever since his father's disappearance. His father was a proud soldier who had gone missing last year. He had been sent to the conflict in Afghanistan, and neither his mother or himself, even knew whether he was still alive or not. As he reached his house, he could see your bike parked in their tiny small garden. 'Great, I should have known y/n was here to pester us.' Nash Gold Jr sighed. It had been this way too, for a while. You were his long-time study buddy. You had saved his grades countless of times. You'd noticed his mother's unstable emotional state after his father had went missing and would often help her with things around the house Even now the two of you had graduated, you had remained a pesky presence, always making sure his mother was okay. He wanted to be grateful for you, but you snapping about the risks he always put himself in was frankly annoying. 'She really should stop offering me help all the god damn time. Doesn't she have her own life?' Nash Gold Jr sighed as he went up the steps, unlocking the door with ease. "Mother, Y/n, I am home." He lazily called out as a greeting. You entered the hallway, carrying balloons in your hand and a sour, disappointed expression on your face. "We wanted to surprise you!" You whined, and Nash Gold Jr slightly melted. His mother stood in the doorway of the living room and said, "We had planned a party for you. We thought it was important to celebrate your first competition abroad, even if the second one didn't went so well." Nash Gold Jr couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. Probably your idea, to turn his mother's baking obsession into a operation. He chuckled and ruffled your hair, and as you pouted he greeted his mother, glancing into the living room to see even more balloons, decorations and a plethora of cakes, but not as many as his mother would have baked otherwise. He held his mother tightly to himself, whether to reassure her, or himself, he had no idea. "I will admit, there's some foreign potential, alright." He omitted another small sigh, and felt your hand slapping him across the back. "Well, now you know what to expect and how to prepare, right?" You asked enthusiasitcally, and Nash's slip of smile broke way for a bigger one. You always did this, you were always there to pump hope into his veins. "I hope you haven't stuffed yourself full with too many cakes already, because you're totally helping me with those," Nash said instead of telling you how much he appreciated you, but he figured you knew anyways. You always seemed to know the question to every answer. "Of course I haven't, I figured you needed my assistance. I gave any cake your mother tried feeding me over the past days to my own family so I could spare my stomach." You declared, ever so knowingly. Sometimes, when Nash dared to allow himself to think about his growing feelings for you, he couldn't help but think; 'If I am the Magician, Y/n is my Oracle.' Perhaps someday he'd say them out loud, but not now. Now, he would eat cake with you and his mom and celebrate his first opportunity to basketball overseas. His mother started blasting one of his childhood favorite songs, and began dancing in the living room as you cheered her on and Nash did feel grateful for what he had indeed.

#knb #kuroko's basketball #nash gold jr #jabberwock #nash gold jr x reader #kuroko no basuke x reader #knb x reader

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hatredmadeofgold · 3 months

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honestly your take on my erotic machine samuraiden ask is so poetic and wonderful and I'm injecting it into my veins. but honestly I was also thinking about idk some repair type scenario and Raiden touches something on Sam's cybernetic arm and Sam, not used to this, involutarily makes a noise like that vine with the woman seeing the fake rat. I love the idea of inner workings being sensitive tbh.

Hey again :] Sorry for taking so long to answer these asks, I am very busy during weekdays sadly 😭

Hmmm well his cybernetic arm is a prosthetic, so it wouldn't be permanently attached to his organic body but I think that nanomachines connect the artificial nerves inside the arm to the brain, creating a perfect symbiosis between organic and inorganic. Repairing a prosthetic isn't something I could imagine anyone but a cybernetic engineer/orthopaedic technician do in that case. But Sam's prosthetic getting damaged badly during battle and Raiden checking on him and doing some sort of quick 'diagnosis' with his cybernetic eye, that I can see happening.

In real life, damaged nerves can become hyper- or hyposensitive, depends on what, how, where, and also how the recovery goes. For Sam's arm being a prosthetic, inorganic and organic have to match perfectly. In my last response to you, I already explained that for a combat cyborg to have the highest efficiency, they'd need the identical sensory input of that of a human, maybe even enhanced input. We get our sensory input from the nerves of our body. So the same logic can be applied to Sam's prosthetic arm. We have seen what he can do with it, the movement speed and accuracy are incredible.

Raiden of course isn't so gentle with Sam in general. Even shows that sadistic side of his — he's both a sadist and a masochist in my book; enjoying pain only when he can inflict even more pain to the other in return — and he 'accidentally' touches an open laying artificial nerve of the damaged arm while checking the damage.

Now, those open laying artificial nerves in Sam's arm could be hypersensitive. It's overwhelming and painful even. Add also into the mix that I think of Sam as a masochist (him being sadistic is more of a persona, not a part of who he really is), so the noise he makes is a mix of shock, and pain, but also a bit of pleasure. Not that Sam would ask for Raiden to do that again of course, they are both too proud to admit such things out loud. As long as they are sober at least.

But I believe that Sam hadn't been taught of the complexity of the cybernetic, or how they work in perfect sync with his body, aside from the part with the nanomachines maybe — hence the surprised response to the sensitivity. Raiden knows that Sam gets off to pain (but that wouldn't stop him even if he didn't know either).

Perhaps teases him about his lack of knowledge about the inner workings of his prosthetic arm. Maybe that can be code for "I know you enjoy that when I hurt you" that Sam knows to interpret that way.

It's unfortunate that MGR didn't pick up Raiden's lightning powers from MGS4 again, but I do imagine that he still has them.

Now in other areas of the damage, the artificial nerves could be hyposensitive. Imagine Raiden using his lightning powers to send electric shocks through Sam's arm. He says that he needs to test "if the sensors still respond at all", but Raiden doesn't know how to fix a prosthetic like Sam's either — it's just some bullshit to tell Sam that he's going to play with him a little bit for his own entertainment and pleasure. But in fact, the electric shocks that go through the artificial muscles and nerves go directly into Sam's pleasure centre, and he's struggling hard to not let that show. Again, his pride is at stake here, they are out in the open and either of them could be interrupted by a codec call. Not exactly a situation in which he wants to get caught being a horribly turned on mess.

Perhaps Raiden might continue messing with Sam until he gets him to that point where he cannot keep up his act, and Sam is an incredible actor, so that takes a lot to break it.

I could take this further and write an entire detailed scenario of them fucking during field work because of injuries and the analysis of the damage, and nanopaste only being used after the climax has been reached but oh well. Might put that on my idea list for smut for later.

Some last commentary that isn't directly relevant to the topic:

Although the lore of MGR says that a cyborg's move set is nothing more than new program code, I doubt Sam would rely solely on that. All of Sam's skill as a swordsman is entirely that of his own, not something a program code could replicate. Decision making and muscle memory go hand in hand after all. Cyborgs relying entirely on their bodies following their programming might also be why he could defeat them so easily... 😉

I also do not believe in the metal boob thing that fanon came up with. Concept art and screenshots alone show that it's a part of the suit, not part of his actual body. Also from a medical perspective, it would be completely unnecessary and also batshit insane to touch the surface area of the torso, remove skin and muscle tissue for some shiny but otherwise useless metal piece when the affected area is Sam's right forearm. Because the shape of the metal part also doesn't suggest that it replaces the muscles that connect the chest and arm muscles. It is purely there for aesthetics.

Anyway, it's fun answering these asks 💕 So feel free to drop in any more ideas, suggestions, prompts. I can ramble about these two for hours, it's a huge passion of mine c:

#samuraiden #Jetstream Sam #Raiden #Raiden MGR #MGR #metal gear rising #metal gear rising revengeance #mgrr #Raiden MGS #anon #ask #long post

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petrock42clone · 8 months

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Splatoon 3 Shiver vs Frye vs Big Man predictions because oh my cod I think they might've found a worse theme than Gear vs Grub vs Fun

People are gonna ignore the theme actually being "who is the better leader" and say it's "who's the better idol".

^ Adding onto this, I think people are just gonna say that Nintendo claimed it was about leadership and not favoritism just to avoid backlash.

After Big Betrayal, I think a good majority of Frye fans are gonna choose Big Man instead.

The Frye and Big Man fans are gonna team up to make sure Shiver's win streak will finally end.

Someone on Frye's team will end up in the hospital and make a plaza post about it.

Tri-color is gonna be extremely broken and beyond saving.

Best case scenario is that either Frye or Big Man wins because, a) Shiver winning more than half the Splatfests is actually starting to piss people off and, b) Frye and Big Man need to win at least one more Splatfest.

Worst case scenario is that Shiver wins because of reasons I've listed before.

There'll likely be a war on twitter where people will argue over if all people who sided with Shiver only chose her because of her looks while also throwing in a lot of mischaracterization for all members of Deep Cut.

The results will bring up that they already have Marie as their boss so the fest was pointless.

Speaking of which, the Squid Sisters are gonna get PTSD from this fest.

Someone on twitter will make a thread claiming Nintendo is racist for making Frye (a POC who is heavily Indian coded) lose almost every Splatfest. And before anyone claims this is stupid, need I remind you of when ACNH twitter got mad at someone for using an in-game hairstyle?

A certain lying yellow gremlin will make some white washed art of Frye as well as some very controversial takes that will have him hated by even the Frye haters.

Someone on AO3 will anonymously post a fanfic about Shiver being tortured to death in a similar vein to the MLP fanfic Cupcakes.

Overall, the Splatfest is just gonna divide the community and probably drive some people away.

I'm gonna reblog this a week after the fest just to see how much I got right.

#splatoon 3 #splatoon3 #splatoon #splatfest #splatoon 3 splatfest #splatoon splatfest #shiver #frye #frye splatoon #shiver splatoon #big man #big man splatoon #this fest is gonna be the worst event in the game

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hjgmilf · 1 year

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dramione plot bunny:

Hermione's hands were cold as she grasped her wand tighter, the sound of her own footsteps fading as she ran to the nearest apparition site. Her mind repeated what Harry's patronus told her just barely even a minute ago.

"Hermione! Code silver! He's escaping! He's got a wand! He's out to get you! Find Ron and-" The message ended with sounds of spells being cast.

She could feel it. Her head could almost sense the ward of the topmost guarded prison cell in Azkaban breaking. What horrified her was that she was not even surprised. She knew it was only a matter of time.

Hermione apparated into her estate. She looked around the entire house where twenty-five high ranking Aurors were supposed to be stationed in case this exact scenario happened.

"Lyra!" she called out, willing her voice to stop shaking. "Lyra, where are you?"

Her entire world crumbled along the sound of someone apparating. She did not even have to look to know it was him, the darkest of magic emanating just by his presence.

"Well, well," his deep voice boomed making her shiver, "Been a long time, isn't it, Granger? Or, is it Madame Minister now?"

Hermione faced him and was finally confronted with an image straight out of her nightmares. He towered over her. His blond hair pushed back to reveal his face. His silver eyes were narrowed, deep and shrunken, looking at her as if she was his meal.

"Draco."

He laughed loudly, "We're long past introductions, sweetheart. I have been inside you after all."

Hermione bit back her response, not daring to provoke the dark wizard any further. But this was only until she saw a streak of curly blonde hair through her peripheral.

"Mummy!"

Hermione saw red. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and her sole thought was to protect her little daughter. She cast the first offensive spell and chaos ensued. She dueled Draco Malfoy, sending him the most fatal spells she knew and he cast them back with as much conviction.

She was able to pull Lyra aside merely seconds from getting hit by one of his nasty blood hexes. Hermione put herself in front of her daughter, shielding her from danger.

"Mummy," Lyra cried, hiding behind her mother and grabbing onto her skirt.

The hexes suddenly stopped.

"Is that... is it ours?" he asked, his face betrayed a look of curiosity.

Hermione only stepped back to hide Lyra further from him. It was strange, seeing her daughter's lovely features mirror the evil man before them.

"Granger." He was beginning to get furious. "Is that ours?"

"She's mine," she answered, holding Lyra's wrist so tight like she could vanish at any moment. "You have no right."

At that point, Hermione Granger was not just the Minister of Magic. She was a mother. Her sole focus was to protect her daughter from harm. She intended to kill.

She cast curses after curses, directed at the only intruder in the home she built for only two people. Nothing more.

He stopped firing hexes back, only casting defensive spells to shield himself from her attacks.

She was able to corner him. The Killing Curse was at the tip of her tongue but the sound of Lyra's crying voice pulled her back.

Draco Malfoy's face was blank. He threw one last look at her girl, then back to Hermione.

He disapparated, leaving a trail of black smoke with his absence; a promise that this would not be the last.

To be continued...

repost from Twitter

#dramione #hermione granger #draco malfoy #text #hp #harry potter #drabble

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markicantwait · 8 months

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Warning: malexmale, Mark and Jaemin are switch. Bad writing. Not really a fic or a plot, just some hard thoughts. Female reader. If you are a minor, please don't read. Polyamory thing I think. Bad bad bad bad writing and smut scenes. Suggestive. Not really smut because I can speak English. And yes, part 3 ( and I hope final) is around the corner.

Part ll of this (kinda)

It was easy and simple to match your routine with the boys, you were basically with them 247 before that night at the apartment. You and Jaemin had classes together, do homework together, study together; Mark also helped the two of you, sometimes Jaemin will be sitting between his legs while you are at the other side watching them being so... comfortable.

Sometimes you will sit on Mark's lap while Jaemin was taking a shower or doing something that requires his complete attention, he would watch the two of you and ask you questions like he normally does without a hint of awkwardness for this new scenario.

Since that night, nothing too sexual happened again. Some kisses here and there, a lotta cuddle sessions and some "dates" inside Mark and Jaemin's apartment. And that's kinda frustrated for you.

That afternoon they guys asked you to come, you picked up food and already knew the door code, so you just get inside the apartment. You were just about to call Jaemin name when you hear them, of course you will recognize the moans of the two men who did make you come that warm night

"God, Mark, you feel so good"

What you should do? You could live and wait a bit, then call and ask if you could come. You can call them too. You could just get inside the room and watch them

You noticed the stamina the boys may have. Sometimes Jaemin will appear with some new hickeys at places you knew you didn't kiss. Other times, Mark will walk around the apartment shirtless, the marks on his hips, or his shoulders, or his neck, or his torso giving you a good dreamy scenario of what he and Jaemin do when the door closes.

"I can't wait to have her between us. What you think, hyung? Meaby this time you can hit me from behind while I'm inside her, bet that would make you cum really hard, right?"

"We could try"

The two boys look at you standing at the door, the Imagine was better of what you thought.

Mark flushed skin, messy hair, sweat torso, the veins of his arms while trying to keep his self up all in fours, red lips and tongue picking out his mouth

Jaemin holding Marks torso and neck, red plumping lips, bangs sticking to forehead, strong chest, shoulders and arms marked with scratches and dark dizzy eyes

Jaemin asked you to wait for them in the living room for a moment, five minutes later the three of you were sitting facing each other, the guys wearing baths rope and still smelling like sex

"We thought it would take you longer to come" Mark was the first one to broke the silence

"My class ended early"

The anxiety hit you all at once, they look almost guilty of something, they didn't want you? What if they tell you they didn't mean what you heard? What if they wanna... stop seeing you?

"And?"

"Pardon?"

"You will be up to try what you heard me saying there?"

You will. You been dreaming about it for the past month, the makeout session, the cuddles, the words, the thickness tension in the air when the three of you are together. You can deny the nervousness in you body, the little doubts here and there about things you don't know if you want to think about it just yet

Right now, you want the two of them.

Mark lisp smash yours first, Jaemin undressed you at the same time he was kissing your shoulders, touching your boobs and ass. At some point your body was pressed under Jaemin in the bed while Mark was busy takin out your shoes

"I can't wait to be inside you- Jaemin said out loud- is this the first time you are with two people at the same time?"

"Yes"

Jaemin fingers touched your clit in slow motion, kisses in your neck and cheeks, you feel like crying near to the desperation point brake

"What you said, Mark: shall we take turns? Meaby we can prepare her well enough to take the two of us at the same time... or we could try the fantasy you been dreaming of and fuck me from behind while I fuck her face to face so I can see her pretty face"

The mere thought makes you moan and whimper, at this point begging was everything you could do, your dizzy head expecting that Jaemin said.

"Should I prepare you? Or you want me to eat you out like the last time? Fuck, Jaemin, that night was one of the hottest nights of my life"

Mark's hands were touching your legs, the pressure on it delicious along with his raspy voice and authority aura making you shiver

"The feeling of you mouth around my cock, the imagine of Jaemin making you come because his tongue and when you beg us to fuck your mouth at the same time I thought I would come"

Amd just like that, you first orgasm of the night came.

#nct #nct 00 line #nct u #nct dream #nct 127 #nct reactions #mark lee #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #na jaemin smut #na jeamin #nct ships #nct mxm #jaemin hard thoughts #mark lee hard thoughts #nct hard hours

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rose-reaper · 6 months

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A Rant About Sword Design

I'm so tired of sword designs in media not looking something that functional. The kind of swords that people who don't know sword design, who add unnecessary design choices that would ACTIVELY HARM the user.

Take this sword from Code Vein for example. For context iirc, this Queen's Knight is supposed to be the equivalent of a demon trying to protect the reason why you can no longer die. This sword would not be used by a human being because of the problems that persist. Aka the pointy bits designed for, "Intimidation." It's not intimidating, it looks stupid. You can tell this is also imbalanced as all hell because of all that extra weight. You can cut off a lot of this sword's extra bulk and you'd have a much more functional sword by removing the spikes alone.

This is a sword from Fate/Stay Night used by Saber. It is simple, elegant and therefor a lot more functional and convincing that someone has used this in war. I swear to you you can demonify this sword and still have it be much more intimidating without all the extra wacky bullshit. I don't want, "Because it's got magic, therefor it functions better." NO! NONE OF THAT! Magic justifying a stupidly design sword, doesn't change the fact that the sword is designed by an ignorant writer who can't design a sword because they're too lazy. Swords are not a fantasy only thing that exists in fantasy. These were real weapons designed to kill people effectively.

I'd be more scared of this guy trying to kill me than the demon from Code Vein if I was to duel them with the assumption I have the training (Which I don't but let's just pretend for this fictitious scenario) because I know that with the demon with unbelievable strength would fall victim to his poor choice in a sword that he'd hurt himself much more before hurting me. You want a sword that functions but has all the wavy stuff put behind it? Take a look at the flamberge.

This is a Flamberge styled sword. German engineered to help be able to pierce through armor effectively, while still allowing for cuts to be made clean. There's also other swords that are designed with a much more straighter curve like for example: The classic saber

or khopesh.

The curve serves a purpose here as the center of gravity allows for a much more effective cut. Moral of the rant: Please writers of fantasy, do your research on your weapons because weapons are more often than not more fun and engaging when they don't look like overdesigned and overly complicated messes. This whole rant applies to shit like short bows, longbows, pistols, rifles, and trebuchets. IF IT IS A WEAPON THAT EXISTED BEFORE, USE IT! Don't overcomplicate your designs and I promise you'll find it more fun to draw stuff that already exists than whatever the hell Bandai Namco tries to do with its weapons.

#fantasy #swords #functional #writers on tumblr #artists on tumblr #gaming community #serious post

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ethanhuntfemmefatale · 6 months

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Hey Cecil, as a fellow MI1 enjoyer (although you are a gold medal winner where I am a hobbyist) and resident Luther(/Ethan) enjoyer, do you ever think about how Luther is literally the only person still alive who saw even part of Ethan and Claire’s dynamic together? In the same vein as your ‘what if Claire lived’ scenarios, I am thinking ‘what if Luther saw what was happening and/or ever tried to bring up the subject of Claire with Ethan?’

Oh god punct. I think about this literally every single day.

To start, I just want to say this idea is deeply close to my heart and hurts a bit to think about. Personally, though, I can’t imagine a world where it happens, at least not one that also maintains my specific take on the Luther/Ethan dynamic.

I have my own ideas of Luther/Ethan. Going off on a tangent for a bit, if you don’t mind indulging me, Luther is an interesting figure in MI. the other agents are routinely given “moral tests,” benji and the bomb in DR1, Brandt and the nuclear codes, Ilsa and the ‘come away with me’ scene as a few examples. Scenes that act to solidify to the audience the character’s morality, priorities, etc. Luther isn’t given those hardly ever, he’s treated as a known commodity—he’s Ethan’s friend. That’s his morality. And there’s an assumption that we must know him, he’s been around for so long, but his character arc has basically been as follows: MI1 gives us a very batshit snapshot of a hotshot (queer) wrong-side-of-the-tracks former agent who happens to have an unexpected almost naive moral core, that Ethan picks up on. In that movie, Luther’s most striking for his ability to roll with Ethan’s plan throughout while having no knowledge of his history or intentions. Then in MI2 he likes Gucci. Then in MI3 he likes gunning down relative innocents, and pestering Ethan about his love life. In MI5 he’s shown to generally trust Ethan to handle things himself—“you don’t know Ethan. They’ll never catch him.” “Sometimes Ethan is the one who can see the only way.” Then in MI6 he sits ilsa down to have a talk with her about ethan’s feelings, and his history with Julia, which would be probably fine if Ethan wasn’t such a private person, but he is, and the Julia Thing is his business, not to mention something he doesn’t generally bring up to Anyone. It’s…confusing.

This is why I generally base most if not all of my luther characterization off of mi1, because that’s where he feels the most dynamic and believable to me. With a side of mi5 cause it tracks with MI1 the most. There’s a lot about mcquarrie era luther that I love, but honestly I sometimes feel like his character never gets back to the sheer fascination he holds in MI1. Anyway, tangent concluded. Onwards:

Like I said earlier, Luther in mi1 minds his own business. Not only that, his friendship with Ethan is founded off of ask-no-questions, at a time when Ethan is deeply evasive and Luther is equally so. (Honestly, the principles of ask-no-questions are baked into early MI, the movies where Ethan’s relationship with luther is centered the most, just because none of them ever fucking reference each other.) I have this working theory about Ethan and Luther’s friendship which is, they don’t talk. And canon contradicts it, but I don’t totally care? There’s a professional respect that is established between them in MI1, based in the fact that they didn’t need to know anything about each other to trust each other. I can’t help but feel that Luther asking Ethan about his history or his personal life would violate their unspoken pact of Literally Completely Illogical respect and trust and care. And I think Luther, with his diva tendencies, his secrecy (“no one’s ever been able to prove I was involved with that”), values that mutual privacy and trust a lot.

Whenever I watch him in the cheek kiss scene, I’m struck by the way you can see him notice it, and then you can watch him look down. I think he’s trying to mind his own business—I think he’s a nosy bitch, and I think he wants to know badly, and I don’t think he would ever ask. I think part of his and Ethan’s loving professional QPR is based in the itch of the hacker to know more and the respect of the friend that holds that desire back. And on Ethan’s side, the itch of the agent, the itch of the honeypot, to leverage his friendship with Luther, to get closer to him, to figure him out, to test him—the way that that’s also held in check, by trust and respect. Luther is kinda the first person who has any kind of boundaries with Ethan, and that’s too sacred to me to imagine a world where it doesn’t last.

That being said I do think he holds the memory of seeing that kiss inside him and he thinks about it sometimes. I honestly love the way that Luther acts as a witness, the fact that by virtue of still being alive he means that the things that happened to Ethan were real. And they don’t need to talk about it for that reassurance to be there. Ethan knows that Luther saw it, and I almost feel like the trust deepens between them, with Luther being essentially handed blackmail on Ethan—without the context to understand it, but with enough context to realize it’s probably blackmail—and keeping his mouth shut and his head down. It’s a formative moment for them in my mind

I really really really like the idea of Ethan’s “sins” coming to light in a visceral way, particularly the Jim/Claire relationship and the Max relationship, as well as the Alanna thing. And I’m actually playing with that in fic form currently, mostly because I think it would be Ethan’s absolute worst nightmare, and those are fun to write. But I think that Luther takes his role as Ethan’s first real friend seriously. He would rather leave Ethan alone with his trauma and self hatred (trusting him to ultimately be fine) than risk violating the trust that they’ve formed over the years, comfortably living by the honor system in the most deceitful organization around. It’s not necessarily the “correct” choice, if there is such a thing, to ignore everything going on with Ethan—especially given how self destructive Ethan is in mcquarrie era—but it is a well-intentioned one, and one that I think is in line with Luther’s Deal in MI1 and tracks with the better part of his characterization (by which I mean, the characterization that’s good). Crucially, Luther is not the team member who gets to yell at Ethan. That’s benji’s job.

TLDR Luther Stickell World’s Best Ethan Hunt Enabler 27 Years Running. And I would be interested in what benji would do if he was handed evidence of something like what Luther saw

I am writing this at. just before 4 am. So if it is incomprehensible forgive me

#mission impossible #luther stickell #punct somehow you read my mind btw #and combined the Ethan Hunt Sins Revealed/Confronted thing on my mind #and also the Luther Ethan Best Friends who Don’t Talk thing on my mind #thank you<3333333 #cecil meta #long post

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