#LIKE SCRATCH THAT!!! FUCKING SCRATCH THAT!! he wasn't even a player he was a fucking PIECE in the game
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AHH UR SO RIGHT, fucking him over his bike, his pride and joy, while he gasps and moans while blubbering on how good u make him, how good it is.
AHHH him in leather too, he'd look so fine with a leather jacket bro omfg (≧▽≦) the way he'd tremble when you'd bite his neck, marking him up all from his neck to his shoulders as he tries to he quiet, embarrassed that he's feeling this good with you railing him over his precious bike
Maybe he's known as the "bad boy," the complete opposite of you,, and nobody would expect the two of you to even speak to each other,, but here the two of you are, both of you pretty much trembling from overstimulation and how good you're both feeling aahdbsksbdjs
It's such a good idea omfg ahdhshdbs ur brain is so good it's amazing
-pera
"in an open match, 【 pera 】 has invited WRIOTHESLEY to play . . .
dress for the slide
✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!male!reader, sub!ftm!wriothesley, modern au, sex against a motorcycle, vaginal fingering, PIV sex, dirty talk + teasing + lowk praise, lighthearted bickering (mid- and post-coitus), slight breeding kink, creaming, creampie, alluded aftercare .
A/N : i know it technically wasn't an invitation, but . . ye<3 + fun references of dad!wrio with sigewinne <33
"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."
Wriothesley is not an arrogant, prideful man. He is humble; he tips generously at restaurants, holds the door open for anybody coming up behind him, greets people—you especially—with a kind smile.
The scars marring his body, the thick leather of his jacket and pants, the spikes and chains worn like jewelry, accessories—it’s intimidating, sure, but on him, it’s hardly such.
Little children—they bound up to him, pulled as if by a magnet. It’s adorable, it’s endearing; and Wriothesley takes it all in stride, smiling that toothy grin of his and giving lollipops and candies from God-knows-where. (He’s got a pocket in his jacket just for sweets.
It’s why he always smells like sugar, beneath his frosty cologne.)
And speaking of children... Wriothesley is so good with ‘em. He holds custody over small Sigewinne, for crying out loud! She’s quite popular in school, too; while she's certainly a ball of sunshine on her own, her father certainly seals the deal for her—especially when he drops her off and picks her up in that hot ride of his:
a goddamn motorcycle.
Now, you’re not exactly an expert in the things: all you know is that it looks badass, and it makes Wriothesley all the more ruggedly handsome to you.
And, well.
It just so happens that, now, you’ve got this ruggedly handsome, sugar-frosted man all for the taking, spread out across the seat of that damn bike. He’s got his usual get-up on for when he rides—leather jacket, torn jeans, simple tee—, his hair a mussed up mess from where he took off his helmet. The helmet is resting precariously on the back seat, a support for Wriothesley’s body as you kiss him silly.
“Hah—wait, wait,” he’s pushing you back, breathless, his leather, fingerless gloves accentuating his fingertips, the short, bitten nails of his. His cheeks are tinged pink, and he looks good enough to eat—to devour.
You hum, tip your head to the side to nonverbally ask, What’s up? but Wriothesley’s twisting around just-so, just enough to grab his helmet. He passes it off to you—with, to your delight, shaking hands—, and asks, “Can you put this on the ground?” You raise a brow, taking it anyway to do as he asks, and he continues, sheepish. “I—ah, I don’t want it to fall.”
You laugh, then, corralling back up to him once the helmet’s safely deposited on the grass (and not the pavement, thank you. You’re not a monster, letting something as sexy and sleek as that helmet risk getting scratched up).
“Oh?” You lean back in, making like you’re about to kiss him again—kiss him proper, now, without worrying about the precarious balance of his beloved helmet—, but you dip down at the last second to press hot, searing kisses across his throat. “Why would it fall?” you continue, chuckling at the soft whimper that falls past his lips. “Unless you’re thinking about something naughty.”
He goes silent; the motorcycle rocks, just a little.
You pay it no mind, though. “Dirty, dirty boy,” you coo instead, lapping at the heavy thrum of his pulse. He groans, strong, leather-bound hands coming to wrap themselves around your biceps, yet he makes no other noise besides the quiet sounds of each exhale.
Soon enough—because it seems Wriothesley truly is intent on keeping it zipped—, your mouth has landed on the softest, most tender part of his neck. You hone in on it like you’re some type of mosquito blood-sucker, lips wrapping around his skin and sucking, suckling, working your tongue over it until it blooms a pretty shade of purple.
You tire quick, though, of the lack of vocal reply from your lover. “You can’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about this already,” you murmur, suckling a new mark opposite of the first one you’ve set prominently, “about me, about me fucking you jus’ like this...” You slide your hands up from his side to cup his jaw, thumbing at the subtle stubble as he looks up at you with such icy-blue irises.
You don't expect Wriothesley to nod. “I do,” he adds on, to really fluster you.
“I—ah?” You hiccup, pause, bite at the side of his neck mere inches above your first mark. “Gimme the deets.”
(It’s fun, to be immature like this.)
He huffs above you, gentle laughter shaking you from where you suckle bruise after bruise after bruise, leaving him looking like he got mauled by a bear, or whatever. (Your possessive heart soars at seeing your claim spread across his skin, where even his jacket collar can't cover.
Everybody will know he's yours.)
“Stop talkin’ like that,” he grumbles—the effect lost by the way he laughs—, “you sound like a teenager.”
“A horny teenager.”
He barks out a true laugh at that, the sound spilling into a soft moan when you suck at the slight hollow of his throat, the area oversensitive because of the scars. “You're insufferable.”
“And hard,” you murmur, rolling your hips down into him. The motorcycle creaks at your movement, but, this time, it stays still—perfectly still. (You thank Wriothesley for the care he gave his bike, going as far as to invest in a good and proper kickstand.
He definitely didn't imagine this when buying that, though.)
It's time to up the ante, then (to really test the give of the product.)
“Lemme fulfill those dirty fantasies of yours, sweet thing,” you coo, suddenly dropping the pretense of light-hearted teasing and diving right on into adopting that tone of voice you know makes Wriothesley utterly helpless in his arousal.
Yet, “Sigewinne rides on this with me—” he tries to say.
“So?” You dip down, hot breath fanning against his lips. His eyes cross to follow your descent, trained on your mouth getting closer, closer. “I’ll clean it.
“Besides,” you continue, rubbing the tips of your noses together. His own breath tickles your face. “I want you to be reminded of this. Every time you go on a ride, you’re gonna be thinking about this—about me, about the way I ruined you right here, right on your precious lil’ bike.
“You’ll always be reminded of this.”
You don't expect the way he mutters, all breathless off of nothing but the pleasant ache across his neck from the hickeys and your dirty, dirty words—it’s a simple, a quiet but gruff, “Good.”
“Good?” You tip your head to the side.
Wriothesley only huffs again, pulling you closer with the hands he's moved to your shoulders. You swear you can feel the grooves of his gloves through your own shirt. “Good,” he repeats, easy confidence dripping from his voice. (You want him to drip with something else.) “I want to remember.”
And, really, the grin you give is downright ridiculous, this love-sick, dopey thing that has no place in such a charged environment; but Wriothesley shares it with you, your own private smiles, and then he's surging forward and pulling you down to meet him in a desperate kiss, one all tongues and teeth.
“Now quit talkin’,” he drawls, licking at the roof of your mouth, “and make g-good on that promise.”
“Promise?” You chuckle, dark, a play out of Wriothesley’s own book. It doesn't fit you, really—you, the epitome of a good boy, a handsome sonuvabitch who has grandmas tripping over themselves trying to marry off their granddaughters. (“Oh, isn't he charming, sweet Cecily?”
“Grandmama, I’m a lesbian.”)
“I didn't promise you anything, Wrio,” you coo, but your mouth and hands are hardly on the same wavelength; as you tease him with your words, dripping straight sin, your hands are unbuckling the heavy metal strung across his hips, thumbing down the fly ‘til you get your fingers wedged right between his thighs. “Maybe I should have you beg, hm? Beg to be ruined right now, right here on the same bike everybody sees you ride around town in.
“Oh,” you murmur, then, an idea springing to your mind as your fingertips press to the throb of his cock even through his briefs, “isn’t that an idea?” He whimpers, the sound so soft, so—so unbecoming, if you didn't know Wriothesley the way you do. “E’rybody’s gonna see you ridin’ this, and they're not gonna have a damn clue, are they? They're not gonna know the way you spread yourself so eagerly across her pretty seats—” you tease him by calling the bike a her, knowing how peculiar Wriothesley is about personifying the thing.
He nods, hips humping desperately into your fingers. The whole time, he's making these other soft sounds, and you're taken, over and over again, by how lucky you are to have such a strong man at your mercy. “Please,” he begs. “Quit talkin’, and fuck me.”
Snickering, you bump your palm against his mons, saying, “But you love it when I tell you all the things I’m gonna do to you.”
Unable to even deny it, he groans, deep and throaty. “I do,” he acquiesces while you take away your hand and help lift him enough to shimmy down his jeans and boxers both, “but I’d love it better if you'd do more than just talk.” You leave the fabrics bunched mid thigh as you stand him up proper and spin him around, pressing him gently into the leather upholstery.
It’s quick, after that, to curl over the heft of him, to nudge your fingers back down between his bare thighs to tease at this thick cock, his throbbing cunt. He's soaked, off so little, and it's easy, too, to slide in one, two, three, working him open in soft, gentle movements that stretch him without a biting burn.
“I’m ready,” he bemoans, shimmying his hips ‘til he bumps against your own erection, tenting at your own pants. “Fuck me!” His hips move, tantalizing, teasing, and you find, unsurprisingly, that pre-cum is seeping through the fabric of your boxers.
“Fine, fine,” you murmur, pressing your fingertips against his g-spot for the first time today, the spot swollen beneath your touch. He mewls, chasing the pleasure, and you give it to him readily as you dig your cock out from your fly, barely pushing your pants down enough to rest just past your balls.
Now that your cock’s out, you slide your fingers from his wet, loose heat. (It never ceases to amaze you, how loose a cunt he gets when he's sufficiently aroused. He opens so easily for you, sopping off of nothing but some words, some foreplay.)
No matter how wet he is, though, you're still careful to further slick him up with lubricant. You dip into him just-so, just enough to slather his hole and cock both in lube. He starts, slightly, at the starkness of something cold against where he's most hot, most sensitive. “Ah.”
Grinning devilishly against the nape of his neck, nosing down the high leather collar of his jacket, you drag out your fingers, terribly slow; and, only when you're sure Wriothesley is well aware of just where your hand is, you slather your own hard cock with the mess of lube and his slick.
“Ready?”
He huffs. “I’ve been ready, babydoll.”
You laugh at that, nudging your cockhead up and into his loose hole. The resistance is hardly evident—really, his body gives so easily for you—, your cockhead popping in in that perfectly saccharine way that always makes you groan low, makes Wriothesley whimper high in his throat.
“So open for me, babydoll,” you coo—his own word against him—, one hand dropping from his hip to brace against the seat of the bike. It hasn't gotten truly unsteady yet, but you always like to err on the side of caution when your beloved is involved. (Plus, you’re really not keen on having to buy a replacement bike for him.
A year’s salary alone probably couldn't buy a bike as souped up as his, the years Wriothesley put into the thing paying off beautifully in the long run. That damn bike's been around longer than you’ve been his boyfriend.)
Your cock slips in quick, easy, smooth, sliding right in down to the hilt, where you pause to let him adjust to your size. And, like clockwork, he shuffles his hips side to side against your one-hand hold and breathes out a low, whistling breath, says, “Okay.”
With that simple word—that small phrase, really—, you’re drawing your hips out slow n’ slick, the sound frankly obscene in the quiet around you. His bike doesn't so much as creak this time, either: it’s silent but swaying in time with your thrusts, barely noticeable and not at all that important, supporting the weight of you both and the heft of your next tender thrust.
Nosing at his sweat-damp hair, you drawl, “Look’it you, sweetheart, all open n’ pliant for me on my cock. You’re takin’ it so well, pretty thing right on your pretty bike.”
“Baby—” he starts to say something else, but he gets cut off with his own moan, your thick cock budding up against his g-spot. You feel him froth around where you're balls-deep in him, and you slide your hand from hip to mons.
“Want my hand, Wrio?” you ask, fingers brushing the mess of black curls sprouting from between his thighs.
He nods vehemently, his bangs splayed across his sweaty forehead. God, if anybody walked by, drove by—they’d get an eyeful of your Wriothesley, fucked silly and hot by your cock; they’d get their heart’s content of punked-out Wriothesley, leather gloves and leather jacket spread across leather upholstery, his accessorizing chains rattling off with each thrust.
But Wriothesley is yours and yours alone; you wouldn't dare share the sight with anybody else. As such, you curl yourself further over his stretch-out, prone body, breathing hotly against and moaning against the blushing shell of his ear.
“There we go,” you murmur, taking to circling the throbbing head of his cock with a gentle finger. He mewls into the air, his head almost limp on his shoulders. “There we go.”
“F-feels good,” he moans as he tips his head into yours. “So good.”
“Yeah?” you ask, rhetoric, switching from circling to stroking him, your pointer and middle finger lightly squeezed on either side of his straining erection, moving forwards n’ backwards in gentle undulations. You swear you can feel his heartbeat in each throb of his cock, driving you to give it to him better, sweeter. “I can feel you throb for me, sweet thing: are you already that close?”
No longer trusting his voice (which is a shame, really, considering how much you love to hear those ruined syllables pass from his lips), Wriothesley can only nod, letting his head loll even further forward ‘til he’s practically curved over the seat of the bike. You follow him all the way down: you, wrapped over his curled back; and him, head pillowed on his crossed arms. A shimmer of sweat makes itself known on the sleeves of his jacket, the leather of it catching the sun. He’s devolved to helpless moans.
While he trembles beneath you, around your cock, you hone in on that perfect angle—the angle of your fingers stroking him off, the angle of your cock bumping against the spots deep in his cunt that never fail to pull Wriothesley apart. “There we go,” you repeat, your own words coming out muddled with the pleasure threatening to pull you under, instead. “‘m gonna cum in you, gonna fill you up ‘til you can’t take anymore—y-you want that, baby? Want me to breed you while you cream my cock—”
“—yes!” His voice is shot to hell, this raspy thing that’s somehow thrice as gruff as normal and equally as hot, as absolutely, resolutely ruined. “Yes, yes! Breed me, w-wanna be bred...” He tapers off with a whimper, cunt beginning to tighten up around you as his orgasm threatens to pull him under with you—no longer just apart, but wholly wrapped in you, safe and protected.
“Cum for me, then—mm—, Wrio, Wriothesley—”
He whimpers, again, and you barely catch a whisper of your own name in the intelligible mess before you’re cumming, too, your cock pulsing with each involuntary squeeze of Wriothesley around you. Even as blood rushes through your ears, though, you’re whispering sweet words—nasty words, each one making him whimper n’ whine—, your fingers—long-trained, by now—keep up the gentle strokes of his cock until he’s too sensitive to go on. You withdraw them slowly, even as you’re still pumping him full with cum, even as his cock is still helplessly twitching and cunt still milking you for all you’re worth.
Coming down from your highs, then, is a slow, drawn out thing. You stay seated to the hilt, but you tease at the way his cunt’s spread open around the base of your cock, your fingers coming back covered in opaque white. He whines and weakly kicks his leg back, but you only laugh, bringing his cum up to your lips, tongue darting out to lick it clean. You groan—more-so for show, to get a rise out of your boyfriend—at the taste, and he seems to finally find his voice at that.
“Quit it,” he says; and, damn, did you do a number on his voice. It seems to have dropped an octave, all syrupy-slow and gruff in that way he always gets post-coitus. “‘s nasty.”
“I’m nasty?” Laughing, you nuzzle your cheek against the back of his head, cat-like in your affections. “You begged for it.”
Wriothesley groans. When he attempts to lean up, you help by wrapping your hands around his abdomen—surely leaving a patch of saliva somewhere on either his tee or jacket—and prop your chin on his shoulder... all while you’re still balls-deep.
“Hi,” you say, grinning. You can feel his eye-roll.
But he says “hi” back anyway, letting his head fall back onto your own shoulder. He tilts his face towards you and meets your gaze with a satisfied sort of smile.
“Well?” you ask. “Did I live up to your fantasies?”
He nods. “And more,” he adds; but then he’s pulling off of and away from your cock, leaving you no time to dwell on it. “I starkly remember you saying you would clean my bike.”
“I did.”
“Get to it then.”
You grumble, though, tugging him back into your with the bear hold you’ve got wrapped across his torso. “You and the bike,” you finally correct, “and you come first. C’mon.”
Whether or not you actually get to cleaning that leather upholstery, well... Wriothesley may be driving Sigewinne to school tomorrow while sitting on a barely-there, all-dried patch of his and your cum.
i got rlly carried away . . this was 3k words before i even knew it >< . . but: was this inbox from february? ye. does my pera anon still show their face? idk ! if ur still here, this is dedicated to u, honey <33 i know this may feel shallow of me, but i really do miss u guys when u disappear (；′⌒`)
#ㅤ✦【 INBOX 】#ㅤ【 pera 】#i love adding in subtle stutters whenever the sub gets a bit too confident<3#reminds 'em that they're not all that (~￣³￣)~#male reader#x male reader#top reader#sub wriothesley#wriothesley smut#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley x you#anddddd#sub genshin#genshin smut#genshin thirsts#since the og ask was just a thirst tbh . .#genshin x reader#genshin x you#trans nsft#also no. he did not give birth to sigewinne. she was adopted#!! the br//ding stops at the k/nk . .
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On Challengers...
Okay.
So, here's the thing. It's decent.
It's sassy, catfighty, but with dudes using rackets and tongue-wrestling, and the tennis scenes are tense, but... it wasn't at all confidently scandalous like I would've expected.
....Like I feel like they didn't push it far enough, somehow?
And not even in the way you might think, with dicks a-swingin and thrusts abundant.
Remember, the movie Closer?
-I think that came out in 2007ish and was rated PG-13??? Or could have been if not for the language.
Natalie Portman has a similar nudity clause to her contract and *STILL* had the absolute sexiest scene with Clive Owen....
.....Which I'll put in this post to demonstrate what I mean.
This felt like it held back at moments...
When it came to pushing desire, between the men and/or with Zendaya, with one or the other.
It just felt so tame to me given the hype. I was hoping for a return to artistic sensuality in film again, instead of this weird sort of by-rote-feeling purity culture we're having rn. (I'm watching Love Lies Bleeding tonight and I BET that delivers. Lesbians, salude!)
I was hoping for Cruel Intentions' lush cut with The Dreamers' sensuality..if that makes sense?? AND some good-good tennis.
THAT did deliver.
WOW, some of the shots for that were eye-popping.
A critic I follow noted that her issue (she always has the best takes I don't agree with all of them but they are always well-articulated) was that Zendaya was not fleshed out as a central figure, especially as a BLACK WOMAN.
It was yet again another case of a Black woman dropped down from the moon coming from no people of her own, but just somehow existing in a sea of white people with not a hint of Black friends or loved ones.
Hell, they could've even laid out *her people* like the brilliantly underrated Beyond The Lights with Minnie Driver playing the stage manager mom to Gugu Mbatha Raw's biracial pop star.
But that comes down to the white male gaze fucking it up, yet again. I looked up the screenwriter and just kind of nodded knowingly with an 'oh, yeah that's what I expected, that explains it...'
He simply didn't have the range beyond a sort of vague tennis fetish for brown girls in short skirts grunting and swinging and wanting to do something with that.
He admitted that Naomi and another Black woman player's interaction on the court *inspired* this...
Perception of Black women doing ANYTHING can be so heavy with a weirdly asexual gaze from white women and hyper-sexualized by white men. And if desire/centering tips in the "wrong" direction deemed by prejudice and our assumed place....*yeesh* we catch hell.
You're either bafflingly too ugly to be treated with desire (whew the incel bigots are big mad that it's Zendaya and not a Sweeney-type) or only deemed good enough for it, because of that white gaze.
And resented regardless.
*sigh* Can't win for losing. But I digress.
Zendaya's co-stars are the oddest looking mystical-dwarf-head ass forest creature white boys with big ears, but they GAVE in the acting department.
Mike Faist is a STAR.
He has a sort of laidback sweetly confident rizz. But he definitely is the lovechild of a young Scott Glenn and DJ Qualls.
I want to put him in a western immediately because he has Civil War photo face.
Mike O'Connor has that desperate dirty hairy scruffy thing like dude from The Bear. Like you KNOW he has a scratch tat somewhere and would do the dirty with his partner in the toilet stalls or anywhere else.
Hollyweird is strange about beauty standards man.
Back in the day, they used to pretend old white men, who looked like they smelled like Barbasol mixed w/ urine would somehow be sexy to a twentysomething.
Now, we have this dichotomy of thankfully a little more of a diverse gaze for the centered "bombshell" other than blonde with large breasts number 32637263872.... but we also have some actresses cutting fat out their cheeks and being Ozempic thin. *sigh*
...While the "basic" hot boys are punching the air rn because they are also passé.
Got to have something interesting going on in the face for everyone now, I think. Can't just be AI "pretty" anymore. Thankfully.
....Anyway.
It is good, but with those caveats I laid out.
P.S. ICONIC for me is seeing Zendaya's Black-ass nose bridge drawn large on that poster.
P.P.S Thank LUCA for doing the queer elements well... I personally don't think it went far enough, tho...
Mike bottoming for all, including getting pegged by Zendaya would've happened in my version of this... at least implied, come on (ficwriters?)
Oh! and here are the clips from Closer, but then it was a successful play first, so the script is more substantial in that.
youtube
youtube
This is how filthy I expected Challengers to be, and it's just. not.
Nothing in The Challengers touches the heavy heady nastiness in this scene IMO, but something in that movie should have, dammit!
Note they never even touch each other.
#challengers#it is riveting#also that soundtrack!!!#already bookmarked on the spotify#atticus and trent do it again#so happy to see the goth industrial prince trent evolving to this movie score icon place now.#the challengers#josh o'connor#mike faist#zendaya#Youtube
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hold on everyone shut up im getting super emotional about jonathan sims
#tma#kara stop blogging#thinking about the web. thinking about how it was his first mark#and how that mark how that unaddressed trauma so deeply affected him.#and how befitting that is for the web too- to tie someone up its strands for YEARS#thinkin about how almost every single decision that man makes is made out of fear#that motherfucker has never felt safe in his god damn life you can tell and im EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT#thinking about how so much of his fear response is CONTROL because of it. His ridiculous skepticism was him trying to control it#if he denies it if he refuses to believe in it it cant hurt him#about his paranoia and desperation for knowledge is so rooted in that fear of losing control#about his entire s4 arc and grappling with becoming inhuman. about not feeling like he has any kind of personal autonomy#and how so often thats written off as him making excuses (and dont get me wrong- he makes excuses too. im not saying he doesnt) but also-#like you look at what happened with his first leitner and its like. he couldnt move. couldnt do anything to escape#and then when the other boy got taken he couldnt do anything to save him either#of course he feels like hes never had any control#of course hes desperate for knowledge- if he had only *known* what couldve happened then he couldve prevented it.#the survivors guilt is so deeply part of his character#and thats what makes jonah targeting him so fucking insidious and scary#he took his man who is already so terrified- put him in a situation where he was so out of his depth#knowing that his fear response would be to desperately try and figure out what was happening- to keep asking questions--#pulling himself deeper into the eyes influence and easily turning it around and making it Jon's fault#as if Jon isn't trapped like everyone else- it's just his fear response is so fucking perfect for the role the eye needs him to play#and then it leads to the ultimate trauma of ripping control away from Jon and forcing him to do something so fucking horrible#something he would never in a million years CHOOSE TO DO#how he's so terrified of being made a pawn and he is. playing a game against elias where he couldn't even see the board#locking him out of his own body...forcing him to open the door. like. FUCK#I MEAN FUCK DUDE. PETER LITERALLY SAYS “HE GOT YOU” WHEN JON ASKED WHAT HIS 'PRIZE' WAS#LIKE SCRATCH THAT!!! FUCKING SCRATCH THAT!! he wasn't even a player he was a fucking PIECE in the game#GOD!!!#GOD!!!! free my boy he did nothing wrong (he did so many things wrong)
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Cuddling With Toji Headcanons!
MDNI
Depending on his mood, Toji is either the most clingy person ever or the most "ew, don't touch me" person ever. And there's no in-between.
"Wait, baby c'mere..." Toji rolls over in bed, facing you, grabbing at your waist. You roll your eyes, gripping onto the sheets to stop him from rolling you over.
"You said you didn't want to cuddle... well, no, you said, "Ugh, no, not right now." And swatted me away." You smirked to yourself, theatrically crossing your arms over your chest. He groans, attempting to uncross your arms.
"Well, I changed my mind. C'mon, let me hold you." His calloused hands pull your back flush against his chest.
BIG SPOON. This man grabs you and holds you tight, like his own personal teddy bear.
"Holy shit, Toji, no one's taking me away." You whine as you attempt to loosen his grip on your torso, eventually breathing out a sigh of defeat. He grunts in response, nuzzling his face into your neck, smiling softly.
Avid hair-player. Toji LOVES scratching at your scalp and innocently studying your subtle spilt-ends when he can't fall asleep. If you have curly hair (like me! Where are my curly babies at?? 😩🥰) he focuses on a single curl, wrapping it around his finger and watching it slightly unravel.
"You're gonna make it frizzy, stoooooppppp."
I think he's very mischievous. Pinching and tickling your tummy, kissing your neck, playing footsie with you.
"Ew, wait, why are your feet so cold?" You pull your knees into your chest, trying to escape the freezing skin of your boyfriend's feet. "You're so dramatic, c'mon, they can't be that bad." He took the criticism oddly personally, slightly pouting at you as you laugh, "Put those icicles AWAY!"
While you're watching TV, your spot is permanently on his lap. His favorite time of the night is when you're so tired that you stop caring about the program, shifting in his lap to face him. He always pecks you on the cheek after you nestle your face into his shoulder.
The only time you get to hold him is when he's dead tired or blackout drunk. He'll never ask for it, either. Even when he's upset or sad, he finds comfort in holding you.
"Fuck, 'm sorry... didn't mean to wake ya princess." Toji stumbles into your dark bedroom, exhausted, deeply frowning when he sees the outline of your soft figure sit up. "It's okay, I wasn't sleeping too well anyway." You gently speak out into the darkness, hearing Toji strip of his work clothes. The soft foam of the mattress sinks as Toji sits next to you, hunched over. "Tired?" You ask, rubbing and scratching at his drowsy shoulders and back. He hums, hovering over you slightly, allowing you to pull his head to your chest, attempting to envelop his brobdingnagian body in your small arms. "Love ya to pieces, sweets." Is the last mumble you hear before bass-like snores fill the room.
Toji, much to his dismay, learned that he can not fall asleep without somehow feeling you.
After an explosive fight, Toji found himself tossing and turning on the small, boxy couch. After hours of trying to soothe himself to sleep, Toji began the short journey of walking to the bedroom, tail between his legs. Once he arrived outside the door, he quietly swung it open, standing in the middle of the door frame, arms dangling at his side. A beautiful combination of "Mom, I threw up" and creepy home-intruder.
He trudged over to your side of the bed, pushing your shoulder passive-aggressively to wake you up. "Can I sleep here? Please. I know you're mad... just, please?" He pointed at his side of the bed, embarrassed by his own actions, feeling wildly pathetic. You grunt in confirmation, the desire to be unbothered overtaking your previous anger. He smiles, plunging into the sheets, trying to hold you. His smile quickly vanished when you pushed him away, accompanied with a half-hearted "nuh uh".
He huffed, crossing his arms like a child until you begrudgingly offered out your hand to him. He interlocked his fingers with yours, taking what he could get, squeezing tight. Not long after, he's knocked out, sleeping like a baby.
This one felt a little lackluster idk 😕
Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo
#jjk x reader#fem reader#size difference#age difference#jjk toji#jjk#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#18+ content#toji smut#dilf toji#toji x you#toji zenin#headcanon#toji headcanons
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"I'm gonna fight them off. A Seven Nation Army couldn't hold me back"
word count: 485
pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader
warning: mentions of fighting, fluff
This is in the same universe as the other imagine that I posted.
Jack really tried to convince you to not attend the Devils and Rangers game. Talking about the hostile environment and how Rangers fans can be a lot sometimes. Unfortunately for him, you knew all of this, and it was the exact reason you wanted to go.
After everything that happened at the last game against the Rangers, this one surely promised to be an electric one. Specially after Jack let it slip that they were preteding to start their 4th line. Against the Rangers' 4th line.
With your boyfriend safely tucked away in the bench, out of harm's way, you were free to enjoy the brawl that broke out within the first two seconds of the game. It was like your eyes couldn't keep up with everything that happened on the ice. Suddently, you wished you had a pair of eyes for every fight happening.
Jack, on the other hand, even though he never had a problem getting distracted by you and the fact that you always sat front row, tonight he was having a hard time keeping his eyes away from you. He is always left mesmerized watching you watch the game you love so much. And at this moment, as he watched you excitedly bang on the glass and scream along with the other fans, he couldn't help but wonder how the hell he got so lucky to have you for himself.
And as the players were sent away to their respective locker rooms and the misconducts were being called one by one, you sat down, took a sip of your water and prepared youself for what promised to be the best game of the season so far.
As you watched Jack leave the locker room with his coat and beanie back on, you saw the look on his face, as if he knew what was about to happen.
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God" you bounced on you feet excitedly as you embraced him. "That was so fucking sick, I can't believe I watched that with my own two eyes". He obviously knew his girl found the brawl the best thing ever, but he enterteined your excitment anyways.
"Might have to get myself in the middle next time, since you think it's so awesome", he said, with a wiggle of his brow.
"It was only entertaining because you weren't a part of it. I honestly don't know how I would react if you ever got into a fight like that", you looked at him, trying to convey how sincere you were being about this, so he scratched from his brain any ideas about potentially getting into a fight in the future.
"C'mon, let's go home. I can't wait to hear your second-to-second review of the fights as if I wasn't there myself", you laughed at this, because you absolutely would recount everything right as you guys slipped into bed.
#jack hughes#jack hughes one shot#jack hughes angst#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes fluff#jack hughes imagine#nhl#nhl imagine
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THE MORNING AFTER
warnings - very suggestive, reader is black and female, cursing, ass slapping, takes place in college, reader and aran are aged up to 21+
aran ojiro, one of the most popular and handsome man on the volleyball team and the whole entire campus. he stands six feet tall, and his skin wa smooth to the touch, with no blemishes are no marks, only a bit of hair below his chin and above his top lip that had women and men feeling weak in the knees. his muscles had boyfriends feeling insecure, and his ass had girlfriends envious with it's round and plumpy look. full lips were always pulled into a pretty, panty-dropping smile, the white teeth --sometimes adorning gold-- that flashed with it didn't even help the case. to put it simply, everyone, their mother --and fathers wanted aran ojiro, and you were no exception to that.
maybe that's why he was in your bed. naked back moving up and down as he breathed, the scratches you had no doubt left on his back causing you to cringe as you looked at him from your position on the bed. you gripped the sheets to your chest tighter as you watched him shift for a minute, exhaling deeply when he didn't seem to be awake.
"damn." you muttered quietly, eyes raking up and down his brownskin with amazement, bottom lip now between your teeth as you lifted up your covers and nodding in understanding when you saw his ass, women had a right to be jealous. with a deep breath you slowly slid yourself off the bed, trying your best not to wake the man beside you, smiling big when you suceeded before running off into your bathroom.
you had to take a minute to actually convince yourself that you actually slept with thee aran ojiro. now, no insecure shit, of course you thought highly of yourself, with a face and body like that why wouldn't you! but unlike some of the other players, aran didn't fool around with girls like that, you'd be lucky if he even smiled at you, let alone pound you all the way into next week. your hands worked to tie your braids into a ponytail before taking up your toothbrush, cursing under your breath at the fact that you forgot to put on a bonnet, but who could blame you when you were getting fucked by one of the sexiest men on campus?
smiling, you spat the foam out of your mouth, rinsing your mouth which had you bending over the sink and no longer looking in the mirror, if you were looking in the mirror you would notice the naked figure walking towards you, eyes on your ass and pussy that peaked from the material of your towel. he licked his lips before pressing against you, slightly smirking at the way you jumped and immediately straightened up, eyes wide as you meet his in the mirror.
"oh..." you said, averting your gaze from his to the toothbrush in your hand, moving to put it in the cup, your breath hitching when aran's hands drag up your towel to rest against your waist, nibbling on your lower lip before meeting his eyes in the mirror. "hi?" it was said so softly, that if he wasn't so close to you he woulcn't have heard it, but he did and ti caused his lips to tug up further.
"hey," the raspiness of his voice isn't unexpected, but it still causes you to shudder and look away fom him again, focusing on the veins that run along his arms. aran licks his lips, eyes on the hickey that sat prettily on the side of your neck, his grip on your hips loosens momentarily to spin you around so that your ass rests against the counter instead of his crouch and your towel presses against his muscular chest. not knowing where to put your hands, you rest them on your chest looking up at aran through your lashes. "got tired of starin at me?"
your face flushed with heat at his words, rolling your eyes at his words you place a hand on his chest. "your not all that, relax." you lied, feeling his chest vibrate when he laughed.
it was quiet when he stopped, his eyes dragging down to your lips before slowly up to your face, the hands on your hips tightening their grip as he leans to press his lip against yours.
the action was quick, but it still had your knees slightly buckling and a lovesick smile to make its way unto your face. "you have any classes tomorrow?" he askes causing you to raise an eyebrow at him, fingers twisting the silver chain that rests against his naked chest.
"nah, why?"
he rolls his eyes. giving your hips a gentle squeeze, "cause I wanna take you out, duh. thought you were supposed to be smart?"
kissing your teeth, you remove your hands from his chest and fold the over yours. looking away from him you try your best not to smile, "ion know. y other man might wanna--" giggling fell from your lips at the slap he gave your ass, eyebrows draw together as he looked down at you with a blank expression, you gave him an innocent smile while your fingers traced the hair above his top lip.
"don't even play like that." he mumbled, pulling you against him so there was no space left between the two of you. he closed his eyes for a minute, taking in the comfortable silence that surrounded the both of you before your giggling interupted it.
"bae, why you tryna hug me with your dick out?" aran only opened on of his eyes, looking down at you with a serious expression.
"cause ima put it in you, duh."
#x black reader#hq x black reader#hq🌟#hq x reader#hq aran#hq x you#haikyuu fluff#haiykuu#x reader#x black fem reader#black y/n#aran ojiro#aran x black reader#aran x black y/n#aran x reader
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are u down 4 sum lil angst?? well, i'm just curious how would it be being the famous star volleyball player, Sakusa Kiyoomi's TOTGA?
YOU HAD N O RIGHT MATE
ok so fun emmy history, back when I was a wee child and before the miya twins were even a thing, i wrote a self insert that I’m still weirdly proud of today so congratulations, you scratched that memory HHEISBSOSN-
Hey! Future Emmy here. so... major tw; kiyoomi is very mean, extremely toxic, and i for sure went overboard, but there's a lot of blaming and yelling and just. ugh. this piece hurt my own heart smh.
-
But listen. You slipped into Sakusa Kiyoomi’s life surprisingly. He wasn’t expecting you or even just to date at all, you were just at the right places in the right times where he finally felt at ease in your presence. You just understood who he was beyond surface level, and he’d never had that in someone before.
You loved him before he was cool, before he was anyone other than a top ace in Japan. You were the first to tell him it was okay to mess up, do something other than eat drink and sleep volleyball, even if he wants it to take up most of his time.
Time, he no longer has, when he gets injured.
It wasn't like it was an inopportune time- though, as a college athlete, there really is no good time to get injured- if anything, it was spontaneous and had he not had dreams of making it big, he'd never think twice of it.
But he gets injured. Junior year of college, just as his name starts to grow in the industry, and he gets injured. Bad ankle, it’s actually a former injury from his childhood that apparently didn’t heal right.
There’s articles that spread about Bokuto Koutarou, how he’s climbing the ranks and how Miya Atsumu, the same little rat who bothered him in high school received an offer from god knows what team, and he’s fuming.
That should be him and his setter getting those offers and climbing that ladder, it’s been him and him alone for years, and he knows it's bitter to hate people for their successes, but its not fucking fair, he deserves more than this.
He deserves more than doctors trying to encourage surgery to heal at the sacrifice of volleyball, he deserves more than flowers and cards of best wishes, more than Miya Atsumu texting him to see if he's okay, he deserves more than any being on earth could give him.
And that includes you.
"Baby, did you finally call the surgeon?" You ask, coming in with a water bottle and a cup of his meds.
Apparently, that's more than enough to set him off.
"I don't need surgery."
He hears you sigh, "the doctor says the tear is too big just for physical therapy, you'll need the extra support-"
"In case you forgot, I was fucking there."
His breath becomes hot, and he can't peel his eyes from the commercials playing on the tv. The room suddenly feels suffocating, and of he could will himself to do it, he'd apologize and tell you he loves you, he's just tense and hurt, and he's grateful you're here, and-
"I'm the one who's life is going down the tubes. Fun fact."
The other thoughts in his mind are static. merely an incoherent buzz. You're his victim now, to his ugliest sides that therapy and his family prodded back years ago.
There's no one to prod it back now.
"I... I didn't mean any harm, I promise-"
"You really shouldn't talk to me right now," he snarls, rage bubbling and clawing away at his soul. There's a bubbling of tears that rip at his waterline in a demand to fall, but he's blinded to anything else.
He hates his life. He hates his ankle. He hates his doctors for telling him it may not heal right ever.
He hates you.
"Kiyoomi, please-"
He bears his teeth like a dog in an attack, and you flinch back slightly. "If you hadn't fucking distracted me, this never would've happened." He hears you whine in your throat.
he ignores it.
"I was fine," he barks. "I was happy before you. I was strong, I was powerful, I was a damned force to be reckoned with." He crawls closer to you on the couch, and when you cower to try and get away, he chases your body with his torso.
When you stand up, he does too. His leg lights every single nerve up in a blaze of agony, but he's too gone in his own rage to think about it.
"I... I know you're mad, but please, sit down Kiyoomi-"
You're right.
"Shut the hell up!"
Even on one foot, he towers over you threateningly. You bring your hands up to try and force distance between you both; your touch does ground him slightly, but not enough to stop his scorn.
You sniffle softly, clearly uncomfortable, "you're just mad... and that's okay. Please stop shouting at me, we can make this work, kiyoomi."
Now, his eyes are scalding with furious tears.
"I want this to work, oomi... please, stop shouting-"
“It doesn’t matter if you want it to work,” he snaps. “I’ve got a plan to stick to that’s already been screwed because of us, AND IT'S YOUR GODDAMNED FAULT!"
When you sob and crumple to your feet, there’s a small part of kiyoomi that comes to, the words suddenly sour on his tongue. He feels… confused, he doesn’t know where it came from inside of him, but the way your eyes water from his words snaps him back to reality.
“I’m… im ruining your plan?” You choke, and god kiyoomi wants the floor to engulf him whole. Because duh, of course now you’re not he’s just the scum of the earth, you’re all he can think of wanting in this shitty life, but he can’t say that, not when your hands cover your mouth in distress and horror, tears slipping over your fingers. He feels the blood leave his face when you take a step back, followed by another, then one as you turn on your heel to leave.
“Wait-“
“No, Kiyoomi,” you snap, and its his turn to feel your rage, your head whipping to look at him in betrayal. “No. I’m officially done waiting for you.”
And despite the fact that he wants to chase you, wants to gather you in his arms and pin you to the wall and demand you listen to him, listen to why his plan has changed and how you’ve completely ruined all of it in the best ways, he can’t. His leg throbs at the mere idea.
He just. Stands there, frozen for god knows how long, staring at the long slammed door, wondering if you’d come back for something you’d forgot in your exit. Something dumb, like a charger or a water bottle, something easily replaceable but you wanted from him just as a last chance makeup.
But you don’t. And once his good leg starts to cramp from standing there, he slowly moves his way to his bedroom.
And he’s fine. Honest!
Sitting by himself in the cold of night gives him more time to think about the future. The one without you, of course. Limping around the dorm on crutches makes his arms ache and knees weak, and the backpack on his shoulders making him fall forwards is plenty to make his elbows strengthen up (they’re withering away) and his breathing circulate (he’s breathing back tears of pain and frustration.)
He can’t… he can’t do this without you.
Call him selfish, but his life was not only easier with you around, it was better, it was fun to love you and have you scream his name from the stands, but now that seat is occupied by someone else when it should be yours and yours alone.
He’s tried to get over it. He’s tried to get everything in line, get you the hell out of his mind but he can’t.
You’re different. He hates you for it. There’s something about you that refused to leave his mind and soul. Every time someone is interested in him, he feels disgusted because every crush is based on appearances now; it never was with you. Every time someone laughs, his first thought is how much he misses yours. When one of those stupid fast food commercials comes on in the late hours of night, he smiles sadly as he remembers the way your eyes would meet his and you’d beg him for some fries at ungodly hours.
He has to move on. It’s been fucking years. Why hasn’t he moved on?
Any sane person by now would have moved on, passed through his heartbreak and try to find another, but he’s so emotionally unavailable at this point. Every thought and every reminder that plagues him continues to hit like a ton of bricks every time.
Maybe it's guilt.
No, its definitely guilt.
He loved you, more than you could imagine, he appreciated you more than he can express, and to show you how much you mean to him, he blamed you for his failures.
No wonder he deserves to be alone.
And just when his exhaustion can't grow, his self destruction and crumbling self worth can't get lower, he gets thrown in another circle of hell that he seems to find himself in; this time, in a coffee shop he frequents. Not too many familiar faces, just a couple blocks from the train, and up until that point, only having known him as an alias.
Until today, when the Gods decide to torture him a bit more.
“Name?”
“Sakusa,” he says, not even thinking as he scrolls on his phone. There’s a high pitched gasp from the girl, and it makes his eye twitch.
“NO WAY!!! Oh my gosh, you’re THE sakusa kiyoomi?! Oh my gosh, wait, hold on- can I get a picture? No, wait, you’re not into those- can I get an autograph? I knew you looked familiar, my sister and I watch you play all the time! I’m such a fan!-“
“Uh… thanks. Can I have my tea-“
The girl doesn’t answer, instead, she calls for her co-worker who barrels out in equal excitement.
On any normal day, kiyoomi would snap. He’d scold and snarl about how rude they were, how he’s still a fucking person who just so happens to be good at volleyball, but he’s like a deer in headlights. He’s too surprised at his own stupidity of not using his usual alias, how damn tired is he?
There’s a weight that feels like a ton of bricks that settles on his chest once he hears the line behind him complaining about how long it’s taking, then people behind the register flashing pictures that have him blinded and asking him questions he doesn’t want to answer, he just wants his tea for God’s sake and-
“HEY!” There’s a snap from someone at a table, and it breaks up the small, impromptu paparazzi at the front. “People are trying to work here, and not get a damn seizure from your damn pictures!” He feels all that anxiety break on his shoulders once they cower away. “And shame on you all!” They continue, the line slowly parting to let them continue shouting. “He may be famous but he’s still a damn person! Make the fucking drink and GO!”
Kiyoomi doesn’t want to look. Even if he’s eternally grateful for them, he knows that scold and he knows that bravery to call out random people for their shiftiness.
Because it’s the same thing you used to do all those years ago.
He winced and pulls the mask higher on his nose to keep himself concealed- as if he’s not a 190.5 cm monster. But you don’t say anything about anything that just happened, you must be deep in your work to not process just exactly who you were defending.
He gets his tea with a quick apology from the baristas, and he heads to the door to leave.
….
…right?
He’s gone. He’s on the bus, headphones in and heading to practice, audiobook putting him in a new world where his only current connection is the hot tea in his hands.
Right?
There’s always been a table on the bus, a table he rudely stalks up to, where you’re sitting and typing away furiously at your laptop and massaging one of your temples, too engrossed in your work to notice the outside hitter standing just in front of you.
“Uh…” he chews his lip nervously. You don’t look up.
This is the chance Komori’s been talking about. If he doesn’t take it, he’s going to hate himself forever.
“Thank you for standing up for me back there.”
“You’re welcome.”
He sighs staggered, “can I… uhm… repay the favor?”
To his extreme relief, you offer him a small chuckle, “maybe you can recommend a coffee shop where random cele…” your voice drifts off when you look up at him, jaw frozen open and eyes wide and dancing all over his face. You’re both just staring at each other, breathing ragged and tense, and his brows furrowing to try and hide the guilt and absolute need he has for you to continue the conversation.
You clear your throat, “your uhm… your foot healed uh… well.”
He wants to, but can’t, fight the snort that sneaks past his lips because that’s about the last thing he thought you’d say. But he sees you crack a smile too, and it’s worth it.
“Yeah,” he says after he clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m playing professionally now. Minor aches here and there, but nothing unusual.”
“So you got to stick with your plan,” you hum sadly, and his heart stops. “That’s wonderful, Sakusa. Im glad to hear it-“
“But my plan never felt complete,” he interrupts, and he sees your nostrils flare in annoyance. “I-I-I thought I knew what I wanted, but god, I didn’t. I don’t, I’ve always only wanted you.”
You offer him a shrug, “Kiyoomi, I was an intruder in your life; I can’t blame you for that, I shouldn’t have been there-“
“I wanted you there.”
“Clearly you didn’t,” you snip, and finally, he sighs in defeat. “You made it just fine without me in your plan.”
Fuck it.
If he’s here, he’s gonna lay all his cards, give you every last thought of his and leave you one more time to pick up your shattered pieces.
“I miss you.”
You freeze, but there’s a glazing of your waterline before you slowly, tensely, turn up to look at him.
“Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t do this, Sakusa.”
“I can’t help it,” he says, own voice twinging raw. "I hate it too. I hate that I've had to carry this weight with me for all these years, years I should've been with you, kept you safe and happy, and I couldn't even do that."
"You shattered what we had. Don't ever forget that."
"I never have been able to."
There's another silence surrounding you both, suffocating and hot and thick, and he gets flashbacks of a scenario not too dissimilar, where you're looking up at him with those same, betrayed eyes.
But your gaze doesn't last. It crumbles before you let out the breath you'd been holding, a sign that you're not going to waste your energy on him anymore, "you're too late, Kiyoomi. You don't get to miss me anymore."
When your hands shift to close your laptop, he sees it. The massive, heavy rock on your finger, glimmering under the soft lights of the coffee shop.
Kiyoomi feels sick. He could faint right now if his pride would let him. Instead, he swallows the bile in his throat and grits his teeth, giving you a smile and a casual scratch of the back of his head, "that's... that's awesome! I'm happy for you."
"Don't be," you smile sadly.
"Why?"
You shurg, "you don’t have to be happy for me. I’m happy for me. He's a friend of Bokuto-San's. Set us up not long after we broke up." Then, you sigh shakily, "I'm just here for work, I won't taint your coffee shops for much longer." It was an attempt to break up the heavy silence.
He could puke right now if he didn't feel completely defeated. He could strangle Bokuto in devastation.
In his younger, naïve efforts to drive you away, he drove you straight to someone else's arms.
He nods and chokes out a small "alright," before spinning on his heel away from you
He makes move to leave the coffee shop, but before he does, but before he can, he turns back to face you, trying to get one final look at you, soaking in your presence and soul before you vanish from his life forever. He calls your name, and you look at him one more time with that big, beautiful gaze.
"Do you believe in the one that got away?" he asks, and you process his answer before slipping your computer in your bag.
"Yeah. And I believe I'm yours- but you were too worried about losing volleyball. Now, I guess we all got what we wanted."
His veins turn icy as he tries to blink back the hot tears searing his waterline, turning his head to dodge your knowing eyes.
Everyone got what they wanted.
Except for his broken heart, of course.
#BRO 2800 WORDS SHUT UP#DONT LOOK AT ME#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa kiyoomi angst#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader#sakusa kiyoomi x reader angst#sakusa kiyoomi haikyuu#sakusa kiyoomi imagine#sakusa#sakusa angst#sakusa x reader#sakusa x reader angst#sakusa x gn!reader#sakusa imagine#sakusa haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu angst#haukyuu x reader#haikyuu x gn!reader#haikyuu x gender neutral reader#haikyuu x yn#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x you#tw toxic#tw toxic relationship#toxic tw#toxic relationship tw
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Imagine Yone having a wife, which the rest of Heartsteel doesn't know about, I mean they never asked, and then one day he brings a child to the bands apartment. Since his wife has to work late hours and the nursery is already closed, he has to take care of their child. What would the reaction of the band be? And how would they be with children? (Also the wife is the reader since I love self indulgence with Yone)
❥ prompt: Yone never talked about his personal life. The Heartsteel gang had a few assumptions, but they were just theories. Nothing proven. Until the gang found a toddler running around the apartment.
❥ content/warnings: fluffy fluff, gang shenanigans
❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel & yonexreader!gn!kid
KAYN
"What the hell is that thing!? And since when did Yone spawn anything into existence!?"
Kayn isn't used to children being within a five-foot radius of his presence. He tends to not surround himself with booger eating, snot crying, whining little crotch gremlins. Even worse, their damn parents.
Kayn's chaotic nature in public can't be stifled. And he's met his fair share of parents trying to lecture him on his behavior. He always has two words ready for such an occasion: Fuck off. And then proceeds to flash both middle fingers in the air, and laugh when the child behind the fuming parents drops their ice-cream. Absolute poetry.
This was a little different. Scratch that—a lot different. Not only does he know the damn parent (Yone) but the child has managed to infiltrate his room, and infect everything with a thousand unnamed child born diseases. He's about ready to blow a casket. Until the kid accidentally starts playing his Pentakill vinyl album on the record player. That's when he saw a rockstar be born. The way that little tyke started headbanging would put a bunch of mosh pit psycho's to shame. And the screeching? A future screamo lead-singer, easily.
An all out heavy-metal concert ensued. With Kayn rifting his guitar with the song instrumentals, and the kid jumping and screaming into a cheap cordless mic he found under his bed. When the song ended, Kayn chanted "Jump! Jump!" into the mosh-pit of one. And you don't need to tell a child to launch themselves off of anything twice. The tater-tot squealed and laughed, being caught in Kayn's hands and praised into the air for a killer performance.
From the bedroom door, an audience member leaned cooly against the frame. Clapping at the spectacle. "Dada!" The kid raised their fists higher into the air. "I'm a rwockstar!"
Yone lifted a brow, crossing his arms in pure amusement. "I can see that."
"Y-Yeah. Next time, tell your kid not to barge into other people's rooms," Kayn coughed, quickly setting down the kid and patting them towards Yone. "Teach it some manners, o-or whatever. So that I don't have to deal with it."
Yone chuckled under his breath. Taking his child by the hand, he smiled. "Come with me. We should go before someone gets a little too attached."
Kayn huffed red. Slamming the door and shouting behind it, "WOULD NOT!"
APHELIOS
".........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?"
So, there was a child. An actual living, breathing one. Stumbling. Running around. Knocking things over. Yelling at the wall and ceilings like some deranged lunatic out on the city streets. What a disaster. What a nightmare. Aphelio's wasn't scared by most things; monsters, zombies, ghosts, spam mail. But children were terrifying creatures. Destructive and loud. The worst kind of combination in a singular human being. Kind of like Kayn.
He swore he broke out into a cold sweat when the child barged into his room. Not quietly at all. His heart pounded. His fingers turned cold. And his eyes trembled against his computer screen. He hoped the child would grow bored of terrorizing his room like some miniature version of Godzilla. He also hoped someone would see the calamity, take pity on him, and come to his aid. Someone like Sett.
He then heard a familiar note. He cursed himself twice. He shouldn't have left his electric portable keyboard out in the open. Aphelios turned cautiously in his chair. He swallowed hard and braced himself for a horrific sight. He thought he'd find the child bashing the keys in or trying to pluck the knobs right off. Instead, he saw a small round face filled with wonder at the sound. Carefully, the child pressed another. Smiling, delighted by the next note. Aphelio's eyes rounded. That's when he saw a little bit of himself.
It didn't take long for Apehlios to gather his spare headset and cord link. He plucked the kid up and placed him right on his lap at his desk. He was going to show this little one all the instruments in his digital toolbox. The workflow of an absolute musical genius. And they were going to make a mixed bite that would leave people speechless.
"Oh! Oh! Dat one. Dat one." The toddler tapped Aphelio's hand against his computer mouse. A few clicks and the instrument was spliced into the mix. When Aphelio's replayed the bit, the child kicked their legs back and forth, clapping their hands together. Wanting to gauge the tots overall opinion, he flipped between thumbs-up and thumbs-down. Back and forth. The little one took his hand, and kept it thumb-side-up with a cheeky grin. And they both nodded in agreement. This mix was a certified banger.
EZREAL
"Hey, guys. Has anyone seen my phone? Nevermind. Found it! Someone's totally random kid has it. Wait—HUH!?"
Ezreal doesn't mind kids so much. They could sometimes be a lot of fun. The only thing Ezreal can't handle is once a crying session starts, or a random tantrum erupts. He gets a little nervous when the meltdowns start. Because he has no freaking clue how to handle it. So for the most part, Ezreal does like kids—from a distance. Where he can smile and laugh at their antics, without having to actually deal with an emotional ticking time bomb. Kayn was bad enough already.
The other thing he can't deal with is someone messing with his phone! And unfortunately, his habit of misplacing it has caught up to him. Because now a toddler has it. Deleting and messing up his apps. Possibly trying to look for some silly game he doesn't even have installed. And if Ezreal thought he was fast, well, this kid took the crown. Call that tyke 'Lightning McQueen', because they were leaving sneaker marks on the floor.
But this game of chase had to come to an end. Ezreal caught up to the road-runner, and slipped the phone right out of those tiny fingers. Ezreal cheered himself thinking he won. Ezreal quickly figured out he was actually about to be the biggest loser. He witnessed those round eyes growing in watery magnitude. Face wrinkling with pure, unfiltered raw emotion. The hiccups increased in volume, and those puffed cheeks were getting more red by the minute.
"H-Hey! Don't cry. No, no. Shhh—Shhh! It's okay." Ezreal smacked his hands together, begging and pleading for mercy upon his sensitive soul. Ezreal sunk his top teeth into his bottom lip. He wasn't prepared for this at all. And if Yone ever found out he made his kid cry, then mostly likely, he'd make sure Ezreal was crying too (and bleeding) on the floor. Then forced to clean up his own murder scene!
A few quick taps and he knelt down with the hiccuping toddler. With the cat filter setup, Ezreal pretended to be a kitten; meowing and licking his paw and rubbing his cheeks to clean himself. The kiddo sniffed back their brimming tears, giggling when they saw they had their own whiskers and ears! After a couple of loud meows, the child hopped up and down. "Doggy next! Doggy next!" One tap and now they were puppies, barking and panting.
Many cute pictures were taken. Ezreal picked out a few and messaged them to Yone.
[Yone:] Thanks. The wife will be happy to have these.
[Ezreal:] np! 😋
[Yone:] By the way. Have you finished cleaning the bathrooms?
[Ezreal]:..............................................yes. 🤗
[Yone:] Finish the bathrooms. Now. Or I'll be confiscating your phone for a week.
Ezreal almost broke down in tears, falling to his knees. He was so close to having his own meltdown. Just from the sheer thought of losing his phone privilege's. Honestly, he should be off the hook for entertaining the kid and sending cute pictures. Life totally wasn't fair!
SETT
"Well, hello down there. You wanna play a game or—shoot. I didn't mean to scare ya'h off! I swear I'm a nice guy if ya'h give me a chance!"
There was no doubt about it. Sett really, really, liked children. There was something about them that brought him joy whenever they were around. All of his personal baggage and adult stress would simply melt away from a simple giggle or smile. And Sett had his fair share of babysitting other single-moms' and their children while growing up. It was one of his part-time jobs from middle to high school. All to help Ma' with paying the bills.
Unfortunately, kids didn't seem to like him too much (at first). With his overwhelming mass, they'd think he was some sort of monster. The one their parents told them would gobble them up if they didn't shower before bed. So, here he was, trying to entertain the little one. But anytime they caught sight of him, they'd cry in terror and scamper away. Sett had to think bigger. He tapped his chin a couple of times before a light bulb went off above his ears.
He laid out the scene in his room. He thanked his Ma' for one of the plushies she sent came with a tea set in the box. He went as far as to grab a few outfits and materials he stitched up as small replicas of larger projects him and K'Sante worked on. Him and the surrounding stuff toys were dressed appropriately for the most exquisite tea-party. Dress, hats, neck pearls and all!
Curiosity always got the best of any child. When the tater-tot heard the laughs and conversations, they had to sneak a peek. And once they entered the room, the child found Sett sitting on the ground, surrounded by his plushies, all served with tiny cups and plates.
"Oh! Quiet down everyone. The prince/princess has finally arrived. Mr. Chonk, please. Show our honored guest to their seat." He motioned his tea-cup to a free spot at the 'table'. The child glowed with excitement, scurrying to their designated placement. With a fancy tilt of their teacup, they took prim and proper sips of their tea. "More tea, Mr.Swett?" The toddler wiggled forward and picked up the teapot.
"Why, yes. I would love some more. Thank you." Sett raised his cup at the offer. The giggles and excitable conversation could be heard throughout the entire apartment. It wasn't long till the rest of the gang stuck their noses through a crack at the door. Opening the door, they couldn't help but burst with laughter at the display. Ezreal, of course, snapping pictures. Aphelios chuckling to himself behind his mask. Kayn roaring with laughter and tears. And K'Sante commenting on how he'd never expect some of his designed outfits would be used at a kid's tea party. "Nuh-Uh. You can't come in." The toddler hoped on their feet, pushing all of them all out the door. "Dis invitation onwy. No stinkers!"
"That's right, fellas. No stinkers." Sett laughed, raising his pinky into the air. "This is an exclusive tea-party. Better luck gettin' invited next year. Right?"
K'SANTE
"He-He. You think you have what it takes because you are Yone's kid? Show me and prove it."
K'Sante grew up with a large family. Brothers, sisters, first cousins, second cousins, the neighbors next door and their kids. Heck, even that laundromat lady his mom was friends with and her kids. Actually, just about everyone in the community. Seemed like it was always a party at his parents home. No matter the day or week, K'Sante had always dealt with a high-energy household. And when the adults pulled out the bottle of Akpeteshie, you knew it was going to be a rager. And at the kids table, K'Sante was in charge of watching over the parade of younger children.
Being a certified older sibling within his family unit, and apparently, Heartsteel as well, handling one little wasn't going to throw off his cool or cramp his style. In fact, he was more than prepared. If there was one thing he knew from growing up, kids loved to play dress up. And he had a full wardrobe of runway worthy outfits.
K'Sante busted out a long carpet down the hallway. Borrowed some plushies from Sett, and made them the audience and judges. Dimming most of the surrounded lights, the hallway bulbs illuminated the catwalk with intensity. Let the show begin!
"Higher energy! Yes, show them a 'ting or two about what fashion truly means." K'sante clapped his hands as the kiddo strutted down with dramatic sass. "That is it. Right there. Now, finish them off with the look." At the end of the carpet, the child titled their head back, and narrowed their eyes before sharply turning with a fling of the boa around their neck. K'Sante cheered, pushing one of the stuffed animals as if it passed out from sheer cut-throat fashion! He blew kisses into the air. "They can't even handle you right now. You are new, you are fresh, but also timeless. Molded by the hands of Gods. Your power is infinite."
Wardrobe changes were a must. K'Sante wasn't going to let such talent go to waste. His work of art and the tiny fashion model would display it all for the world to see. Well, the stuffed animal world, he had to remind himself. Seemed like a game of pretend was feeling like a real runway gig! And after the runway show was over, it actually wasn't truly over. K'Sante had pulled out a magazine from behind a display case. Showing the kiddo a picture of their father walking down a runway in an all black-attire event. "Dada," the kid placed a hand against the glossy page. "Supah cool."
"That's right." K'Sante said proudly, puffing his chest. "And your Dada looks cool because I am the one who designed his suite. But, I'll give him credit. He is a pretty cool guy all on his own."
an: this req was too cute to write omg. sorry if i just focused on the gang and the kid, rather than the yone x reader part you also requested. felt it was getting a bit long, and i wasn't sure if i could incorporate it well enough. very sorry about that. but don't worry! i have another yone x reader req. incoming.
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Mason Mount (Manchester United) - The Silent Treatment
Requested: on tumblr
Prompts: reader and mason has an argument and Mason gets the silent treament
Warnings: cursing
"Can you just fuck off and leave me alone? Fuck sake. Just five minutes of peace! That's all I fucking want!" Mason shouted. Mason had been having a hard time with playing recently. He found himself in positions he didn't wanna to be in and was taking it out on himself...well that was up until the last few games. On this particular night, he let someone past him and that exact player scored from not being tackled and of course, Mason sat blaming himself. In an attempt to comfort her boyfriend, Y/n assured him in the car it wasn't his fault and then again when they got home, which resulted in this argument. "I- Mase, all I said was it wasn't your fault they scored. It happens sometimes-"
"Y/n! Leave me alone for fucks sake!" He screamed. Y/n looked dumbfounded at his rage-filled face in the kitchen. She was sick of this. Almost every week he had a game was like this since he moved club. "Fine. Fine! Sort it out yourself." Y/n replied, storming off to the guest bedroom and locking the door. As she lay in the bed, she sat silently hoping he would knock her door, but as the seconds ticked to minutes, and minutes to hours, the only thing she heard was Mason's heavy footsteps up the stairs and their bedroom door closing. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes. Did he not love her anymore? Was it just the pressure he was under? Regardless,that's no way to treat your girlfriend of four years and would deserve an apology at least. She found herself dozing in and out of sleep and before she knew it, it was morning.
She opened the door of the room where she spent the night and walked downstairs, boiling the kettle for a quick cup of coffee. Thankfully, she had a day off from work today, so she could catch up on the sleep she missed last night. Y/n heard gentle footsteps coming down the stairs. She didn't bother turning to look. She didn't want to. The footsteps stopped as he reached the kitchen door before carrying on, walking past her to the fridge. Her eyes followed him as he grabbed one of his pre-made smoothies and shook it, looking down at his phone in the other hand. "Morning." Mason mumbled. Y/n didn't reply. Instead, she simply made a noise that sounded like she said it back. No more words were shared. All Mason had done was say he'd see her later and then fled out the door to training and when he got home, it didn't get any better.
Y/n was putting away the shopping into the cupboards. Now usually, Mason would come and suffocate her with kisses and offer to help so they could sit together and watch the TV, but instead, he dropped his bag at the door, looked in to say a quick hello and then went upstairs to his games room. Y/n held back frustrated tears. What did she do to deserve this treatment from her boyfriend?
For the rest of her evening, she sat reading. Y/n usually didn't have time to read but given the recent circumstances, why shouldn't she? She heard the occasional laugh from upstairs from Mason, to which she paid no attention to. She had gone about half through her book when she heard Mason come down the stairs. When she looked up, she saw him in his hoodie and sweatpants, looking around bewildered. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but thought better and went back to reading. Mason walked around, checking through the drawers in the living room before he turned to Y/n, scratching the back of his head. "Erm, babe? Have you seen my spare controller? My other one is out of batteries." Nothing. He looked at her even more confused. "Y/n?" She didn't even look at him. He walked closer and knelt down beside her. "Babe? Are you alright?" He asked. She nodded and kept her poker face on but didn't bother looking at him.
"Oh come on, are we seriously doing this?!" Mason asked. She still remained silent and unphased. "Baby, please! I just need to know if you've seen my spare controller. The lads are waiting." Mason pleaded. Y/n shrugged her shoulders and flicked to the next page of her book. "Come on, I'll treat you if you tell me where it is." He offered in a sing-song tone. Still nothing, not even a smirk. "This is ridiculous. A fucking joke." Mason mumbled, standing up and walking off in a huff. He turned to see if she would react to the last remark but nothing. "Are you still caught up on last night?" Silence. "Y/n, babe. I'm sorry but you're being childish if you're ignoring me for wanting to be by myself." Y/n raised a brow, but didn't dare tear her eyes from her book. Gaslighting. Well played, Mount.
"Are we really not going to speak?" Y/n pulled a face and shook her head. "Fine. Be like that then!" He shouted, slamming the living room door behind him, making Y/n flinch. Her breath quickened. He was beyond mad with her. Was this the end for them? Could it even be salvaged at this stage? Before she could ask herself anymore questions, the door opened again and in walked Mason. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, baby. I'll never do that again." Mason apologised repeatedly, quickly pacing over to the couch and lying ontop of her and hugging her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" He said over and over. "It's okay, it's okay-" She repeated back. "No, I'll never do it again. I swear to you, I'll never do it again. I don't like it happening to me."
Y/n lifted his face up to look at her. He was lost in her eyes. "I promise I am sorry. I just can't take you not talking to me." He whispered. "Still need your control?" She asked, running her fingers through his hair. Mason shook his head and nuzzled his head into her chest. "I'm not leaving here. I missed it too much." Y/n let out a content sigh and reached for the control, switching over to the Champion's League and watching the match contently together.
#football#football blurbs#football imagines#masont mount imagines#mason mount imagines#money mase#mason mount imagine#mason mount
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If you’re doing requests could you write smth smutty with jeffery from class of 09 x female reader w some dubcon
Benzo-Addict ~
Yandere! Jeffery x F! Reader
Part Two is in progress. Will contain heavy smut!
warning college AU, mature, non-con, heavy drug use, hostage situation, violence. 1.8k
..............................
** Choice **
Head home,
hang in the res quad with the other losers,
or hot box it in a classroom with Nicole and Jecka.
* click *
>>>
"Nicole, what the fuck is a benzosexual exactly?" Your head whipped to the side at record speed. "Sounds... not good?" You popped a chip in your awaiting mouth. The salt and tang collided on your tongue. A moan then threatened to emerge with each solid crunch. But, you'd held it at bay.
"I feel like we had this conversation before..." Nicole mused through a hit of the shared joint. With a sigh, smoke mingled between the girls, whispering with the dust flurries kicked up through their shuffling.
The classroom you all snuck into felt stiff and desolate, a reminder of how teachers truly made the space. Professors rotate, and it's wholly evident. The walls remained bare through full seasons and multiple decades. Autumn fades without color and Spring rises to meet its end.
This educational prison stood in the glory of its bareness, except for the singular doodle of Homer Simpson on the whiteboard. And the desks were neatly arranged, bolted down into place. Only the chairs beckoned students to sit. They awaited for the next class’s arrival. However, it being a Friday afternoon meant that classes seldom came to these halls
"It's because we had." Jecka retorted before gesturing to you, "She just wasn't here for it."
Nicole scoffed, "Sucks for her that she missed all the pedophiles and rapists, and now we're stuck with molesters and rapists who don't go after minors' asses."
Jecka puffed her chest up before sighing dramatically. "Remind me, why are you still Hitler? Grow out of it."
“I’ve grown -obviously- because I can’t call every man a pedophile in relation to me. Your whore sister, in 6th grade, she’s surrounded by them by the dozen… See!? Development, bitch.”
"Okay, Nicole equals Hitler, but what's a benzosexual?" You urged the pair on. You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. But you decided to ignore it for now.
"Someone attracted to the unconscious," Jecka twirled her fingers. A singular strand glowed too brightly in the setting sun. "There was just this dumb jock named Kylar at our high school who was constantly -and I mean it, constantly- putting weird shit in girls drinks."
"Isn't that illegal? Like, report him."
"He played lacrosse," Nicole muttered. "Reporting it wouldn't do shit. Sports players get molested all the time by their grimy coaches, and it’s the girl's fault.”
You reached for another glorious bite, munching on it with deliberate ease. "Truly the Pessimist," You hissed through gritted teeth. Nicole's stare momentarily flashed to your face, eyes redden and lazy, smoke swirling out her nose, before she leaned further in.
"It's Jeffery, huh?"
Your phone was currently blowing itself shitless. The silence whirled with a frenzy of buzzes. All from your ex-lab partner, you'd assumed. Not a single moment was left undominated by his insistence for your attention. Jeffery needed a response to whatever you didn't care. Up, the buzzing went, utilizing your spinal cord as a ladded. The vibration climbed through your veins, propping its feet between your bones.
You retrieved your phone. 20 missed calls and 50+ texts.
"Forget creeps like Kylar when there's Jeffery. God couldn't even keep him away from us."
Jecka cackled as she leaned her chin upon your shoulder. "Good luck playing into his fetish. Being his... mommy!? And all. Meow~"
You flushed all red, "Don't read it!"
Jecka teased you unabashedly about Jeffery. You made the mistake of defending him after the first week of classes. To you, he was just a smart guy, albeit a little bit socially awkward. Scratch that: he's a lost cause in social interactions. It wasn't horrendous or anything. It made talking to him before stress-free. Now it's a different story.
Jeffery was immensely helpful to your 90 average in Environmental Science. He demonstrated class problems repeatedly until you held comprehension of the subject. There were times he had crossed the lines of your acquaintanceship. One random Monday, Jeffery gave a hentai DVD to you and a notebook that explained his depraved inner thoughts; 'I love watching 40-feet cat women step on guy's penises. The sight made my hand go faster till total completion.'
And frankly, you didn't want to know that. Jeffery, the weird otaku obsessed with NaruParty13, whom you felt bad for, proved to be a complete freak.
With your first semester ending, you closed the chapter of being his lab partner. In came new housing, with your boyfriend and away from the dorms, and less frequent trips to the dining hall, which meant fewer interactions with Jeffery. For literal fuck sake, you shared zero classes together, nor were you a part of the same major. Your paths strayed from one another. You entertained small talk here and there when it felt inevitable. Any sane person would let this lack of relationship go. Not Jeffery.
"I'm not playing into anyone's kinks aside from my own." You stuck your tongue out, shoving Jecka away.
"And sometimes your sleaze boyfriend."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm perfect 10 with a high libido." You mocked, matching your pitch to Jecka's. "And Cody's not a total sleaze."
Nicole tapped your shoulder with the joint in hand, "He's as depraved as any other man. Hence the usage of the word total."
** Choice **
Snatch the weed,
or confront Jeffery.
* click *
>>>
You could deal with Jeffery another day.
You were like a kite soaring through the sky. Your mind fell far into a different plane of existence than your own, but you didn't mind. The world was spinning. And, if you were in a room, you couldn't tell. No amount of stable ground could keep your feet stationed. Your vision was decorated in fuzz and pixels. And, in a twist of fate, you thought yourself tumbling forward.
You had taken it. Nicole's shit- that joint was strong as fuck. The first drag knocked your chest back in reverie. Yet you kept ripping. By the time you had left campus, you were inflicted with giggles, and you'd remained starry-eyed throughout dinner.
Then came the Friday night club scene. You downed shots like a bad bitch. Ghandi would be proud.
>>>
You stumbled through the shared flat with Cody. Your lips entangled with each other in battle. His hands groped your hips and pinched its flesh with fervent joy. His lips were chapped and his tongue held the remnants of beer. You enjoyed its taste against the mint of your gum.
Your boyfriend pulled away. Your name breached passed moans and whines, sobering your tequila-filled belly slightly. "Babe, please grab the Percocet... In the cabinet." Cody damn near whined. You nodded furiously, and your brain rattled against your skull.
He smacked a sloppy kiss on your forehead before shooing you away.
** Choice **
Sober up with water,
or take a dive into prescription pill wonderland.
* click *
>>>
And down the hatch, the Percocet goes.
>>>
"You... you little shi- Fuck!"
Cody? Was that you?
His words felt miles away and your head ached. You knew Cody was crying really ugly. Was he talking to you? Were you dying? You were neither here nor there. And faintly, you registered the sound of skin impacting skin. It was unmistakable.
Cody screeched, "That hurts dipshit!"
"You ruined her. People ruined her," A disembodied voice spoke over you. You groaned, head swirling with more things than one. Could it be a dream? Where were you? How were you here? If you opened up your eyes, would you be able to see? "She was absolutle... Beauty! A perfect girl rivaling those of the anime girls in Doki Doki Daisuke.
It was as if God answered my prayers and brought her to life in front of me. That's who she is to me -perfect as the day I met her... Before she met mean girls like Nicole. And, before she allowed you to defile her."
"Fuck," Cody screeched. "What the hell are you talking about!? We were dating before that whore, Nicole!" Who are you talking to?
Cody? I'm scared. I can't... get out of my own head.
His voice continued. "Look man, she was never going to be with you. We started going steady in high school. You were some bizarre loser, a complete neet, who got assigned as her lab partner. For fuck sake, she would've ignored you still without me or her friends. You are just a nuisance who can't take no for an answer! Is this your final attempt to get her to look at you!? Huh... HUH!? Well? Is it working? Does she see you now? Fuck no -she's unconscious! Guess who you're talking to? ME!!!"
Fingers carded over your scalp, itching at your crown. You tingled all over, and the coldest breath ghosted over your cheeks. "I would treat her better. I would put her on a pedestal that rivals Yuno Gasai, whom I believe to be the sluttiest and most desirable anime girl."
Was that voice Jeffery? You managed to whine at that, and you were promptly shushed -consoled like a child.
"She's like this because of you. You're supposed to protect her. What boyfriend allows his girlfriend to get this drugged out."
Silence.
Cody? Are you still there? Like actually, there? I don't understand. Why is this happening? What even is happening to me?
After a while, your boyfriend tsked, "She's a fucking addict, and it is hot as shit. Imagine what a drugged-up slut would do to please you."
Pause.
"Besides, You aren't at all above it. Don't act like you're better than me. Ain't it true that you roofie bitches? Hehe, now you're coming after my druggie girlfriend. Some SHIT!!"
"Y'a know, you talk too much," Jeffery whispered. And you found the strength within yourself to peel your eyes open. You were home. The few nicknacks you displayed glared into your retinas. Once, twice, it felt unbearable to blink. Your gaze started at the carpet, swooping to the left then the right, along the walls, and down to center
Your boyfriend's stared back at you. Then came the...
Screamss
You hadn't comprehended the missing beats of Cody's responses until then. In that state of limbo, words tied together rhythmically. Now, each plea and wail came out differently past battered lips. He begged you to run through swollen tongues and lisps.
Each pause was a catch of breath. Cody's chest rose and fell in quick succession. His face was bloodied. Swirled vermillion, slathered by a pair of hands. Where the original wound is, you couldn't tell. It was all over the place. Ropes circled his chest, soaking up red, and kept him strapped to a wooden dining chair.
"Co-" You sputtered. You couldn't stop the onslaught of coughs that inched its way up your throat. Before you could say anything more, Jeffery's palm smashed against your mouth. He finally gained your attention, all while waving a knife around.
"My darling sweetheart," Jeffery cooed with adoration. "I'll handle the trash. Go back to sleep. I was just about to silence him."
You wanted to vomit. You hoped that the acidity would transport you to a reality where you were kneeling over a toilet. Or a bush, fuck it. It could be anywhere than this. You'll take on hang-over Central despite wanting to die. You'll say fuck drugs and then by next week, you're on it again.
You can't stay away from Percs and Robo.
Jeffery's appearance was dishevled, a stark contrast from what you were accustomed to. His hair was overgrown and unkempt with inky stands that poked from every angle. It was utterly impossible to look away. His crazed eyes darted across your face, searching within you for something you weren't sure you had to offer.
He turned from you, speaking to Cody. "Stop screaming! Or I'll gut you if you interfere before what's coming next."
** Choice **
Figure out what's next,
or miss part 2, bitch.
* click *
..............................
Thank you for reading! Please leave ideas in the comments! Request rules are here!
I overestimated once again how fast I could write. And my new job is so exhausting, I'm constantly on my feet. But part two will be out soon 🥳
I promised a creampie, and that will happen. This is just the setup. I got too invested in the plot.
>>>
NEXT CLASS OF 09' POST:
Benzo-Addict part 2
Due to the nature of the game, I tried writing differently than what I consider normal. But I had so much fun writing for this fandom. It'll be so entertaining to write up my toxic lesbian idea next. 🫣
Hope you guys like my work, and go check out my pinned post for more fanfic!!!!!
#class of 09#class of 09 the re up#jeffery class of 09#nicole class of 09#jecka class of 09#jeffery x reader#yandere x reader#male yandere x reader#yandere smut#college au#yandere#yandere otaku#tw drugs#tw noncon
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5 mattdrai for the writing meme please
I wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to handle this prompt, but I hope it's still to your liking, anon :)
5. things you didn’t say at all
"Hey."
Matthew really isn't in the mood for this right now. He was having a good time being back home in St. Louis for his first All-Stars, talking to some of the best players in the league, watching the skills competition, going out with the guys, and now the game is in a couple hours--
"Tkachuk."
Yeah, no, he's real. That's Draisaitl yelling at him. Well, he isn't yelling, but since he apparently is so hard pressed to even be around Matthew, it'll probably escalate to that soon.
I'd probably get off the ice.
Even if it was a joke--and maybe Matthew is willing to entertain the idea that it had been, coming from mister 'taken out of context'--it makes sharing the locker room awkward.
The thing is, he kind of likes Draisaitl. Admires his game, anyways, even if he is playing for fucking Edmonton. If Matthew had actually been drafted by the Oilers back then, like he thought, they probably could have been friends.
If he's being honest with himself, he kind of likes Draisaitl beyond hockey, too. Because he'd watched Leon's interviews, checked out his Instagram a little--he was curious, sue him--and because McDavid talks a lot when they're training at Gary's. Also, come on, Matthew's not blind. He hates the concept of him in Edmonton, but it's not fair to say Matthew genuinely hates the guy.
Right now though, this may be the first time he's heard Draisaitl ever actually say his name, and he wishes it was anyone else.
"Hey. Hang on." Draisaitl is in front of him now, stony and unreadable, and only then does Matthew realise like a fool that he has actually stopped. They're face-to-face, alone in one of the maintenance halls, the hustle and bustle of the arena a distant hum.
Matthew stares at him, not unkindly, because his mom taught him some damn manners, but not openly friendly, either. Not until he can get a gauge on what Draisaitl wants. Leon. It's Leon. That feels like the only thing Matthew really knows about the guy, sometimes.
"Did you want something?" Matthews asks coolly, leaning against the bricks with his hands shoved deep in the pocket of his sweater.
Leon glances down the hall, up to the buzzing florescent lights, running fingers through his hair. It's hard not to follow his tongue when it pokes out to wet his lips. Damn it, he has no business looking this good.
"I wanted to talk to you," he finally says, and even after all this time Matthew is still caught off guard by how soft he sounds.
"Talk to me?" Matthew narrows his eyes. "I didn't think you'd even want to be seen with me."
Which is a shame, because they'd look pretty damn good together. In his opinion, anyways.
Leon doesn't take the bait. "I saw that interview you did."
"Buddy, you're going to have to be more specific. I've done a few lately. It's the All-Stars."
"Before the break. I don't remember with who. NBC, I think? They asked you about me. What I said."
He doesn't need to elaborate. Matthew raises a brow, scratches the sudden itch at his neck. The air in the hallway is stuffy and warm.
"What about it? I said you were a great player."
"After that, though."
Leon doesn't need to elaborate on that, either. The intensity of his stare does the job well enough.
What did Matthew say again? I probably can't answer that or he'll get mad at me.
Yeah, because the only thing running through his head when he heard what Leon said was, Well damn that sucks because I wanted to find out if he fucks better than he fights. He remembers biting his lip because his brain unhelpfully supplied him with some tempting ideas that were not exactly family friendly. He's twenty-two, he's got hormones, what's he going to do?
But he was pretty sure declaring he wants to fuck a rival player wasn't going to win him any favours with anyone, let alone Leon. And maybe that comment irked him a little in the moment, but no one's opinion matters to Matthew more than his own. Accidentally outing himself during an interview was not high on his list of career moves, so he'd played it safe, locked it all down, and assumed that'd be the end of it.
"I didn't say anything," Matthew says.
This feels strange. Leon doesn't look pissed, he looks curious. Piqued, like he's waiting to hear something specific.
"I know."
"So what's your problem?"
"What were you going to say?"
Matthew cocks his head. "What, you thought I was going to burst into tears because the German Gretzky doesn't like me?"
Except he knows Leon's not an asshole. Not all the time, anyways. Not off the ice. Which makes it fucking hard to just blow him off.
"You were all over us that game," Leon says. "Kass was pissed. You're a fucking pest, what the hell did you expect me to say?"
"Is this you trying to apologise? Because if it is, you're doing a hell of a job."
"You never hold back on anything."
"Why the hell does it matter?" Christ, it's like Leon is trying to pick a fight.
"You looked like you had something to say." There's a hint of suspicion--of implication--in Leon's voice that makes Matthew tense.
"You think I'm an asshole, so I don't know why you care."
Maybe this is a prank. Maybe he figured it all out and he's waiting for Matthew to break down and declare, I think I could fall in love with you if you let me.
Leon shuts his eyes briefly, shoulders rising and falling as he takes one long, deep breath through his nose.
"I didn't mean it how it sounded."
"Yeah, I heard." Matthew's stomach rolls in ways it shouldn't. "I don't know what other context you want me to take it in, though. It's not even a big deal, anyways. I mean, yeah, it kind of sucks finding out a guy you like thinks you're a piece of shit, but it's whatever, right?"
"I didn't call you--I don't think you're--"
Groaning, Leon thumps his head against the wall and dragging a hand down his face. He takes a minute to compose himself, staring up at the ceiling, then down between his feet, face screwed up in thought. Finally, he looks back to Matthew.
"You like me, eh?"
It's been a long weekend; Matthew's too tired to backpedal and try to make up some excuse. Part of him just wants to drop it out in the open and be done with it. Just come out and say, Yeah, the 'I want to take you home' kind of like. The 'I want you to make me scream' kind of like.
Just to see what Leon would do. At the very least, he probably wouldn't punch Matthew. He's not a glove-dropper, after all, and he's not so scary without a stick in his hand.
He tries to imagine Leon's wide eyed, slack-jawed expression. Maybe the little 'Oh' that would slip through his lips. Because yeah, 'Oh' would be about right. It would be the most embarrassing conversation of Matthew's life; more embarrassing than when he came out to his family and Brady asked him to rank his favourite players by 'fuckability'.
"It doesn't matter." Matthew shakes his head, clears his throat, looking anywhere but at Leon. "Look, man, let's just go back to beating each other up on the ice and pretend this never happened, okay?"
"No, hey, don't"--Leon grabs Matthew's arm as he pushes off the wall, fully ready to disappear and never talk about this again--"It does matter. Tell me."
Matthew would rather go dunk his head under the sink and rub the embarrassing flush from his cheeks. He's hot all over, from the beating in his chest to the blood in his veins. Where Leon's touching tingles with an intimacy they've never had. It may be the first time they've touched without the aggression of a game to justify it.
And damn, Leon's looking at him like he can read Matthew's mind, or trying to get Matthew to read a little of his own. It's all heat and intensity and a look that says, I don't think you hate me, and I don't want you to think I hate you.
"What do you want from me?" Matthew says. "Why's this so important to you?"
It's possible he imagines the way Leon's eyes flit down and back. They're pressed almost right against each other now. That must be why Matthew's overheating, struggling to catch a full breath.
"i just want to know..." Leon swallows the rest of his words as he takes half a step closer; a little too close to be innocent. That brick wall of a chest is pressed up against Matthew's arm, nearly crowding him against the wall.
"Know what?" Matthew barely gets the words out.
It's scary to wonder. Ideas are forming in his head--excited, hopeful ones. Matthew won't pretend he's never wondered about Leon; what he could do with him. To him. How his mouth tastes, how his hands feel, what it'd be like having him over and under and around and inside.
And Leon is looking at Matthew like he genuinely cares how he feels. Like maybe, just maybe, he's thinking, too. Wanting.
Wouldn't that just be the biggest fucking drama of Matthew's life?
There's still too much they're not saying.
Neither of them gets the chance.
Something clatters down the hall, followed by the echo of voices.
Leon lets go abruptly, hand dropping to his side. "Shit, sorry. I should, um... Never mind. Just... forget it."
He spins and walks away, just like that, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. For a guy who never backs down from a challenge, it looks a little too much like running away.
But it's not like Matthew can call him a coward when he can't even get his own voice to work. Breathless, he slumps against the wall and tries to piece together what just happened, how they managed to say everything and nothing. It feels like he's been through a tornado.
Fuck, he can't deal with whatever this is right now. He cannot be thinking with his dick come game time, let alone worry about whatever the hell his heart is doing.
He stands alone in the hall for a good five minutes, waiting for his nerves to settle, until he finally has the courage to head back, falling into the bustle of players and staff and media.
He avoids Leon in the locker room as best he can. On the ice, too. They don't talk and they keep enough bodies between them on the bench.
Once this is over, they can crack open that can of worms again, figure out what's going on. But there's more important things right now.
They play the All-Star game like they're bitter rivals.
Matthew feeds him a slick pass that turns into a goal.
He skates off without a celly, and Leon gives him a "fuck you" with a smirk and a tongue between his teeth.
But it's fun. Really fun. And despite it all, they're both smiling at the end. Leon's smiling at him.
And Matthew wants to believe that means something.
#hockey#mattdrai#matthew tkachuk#leon draisaitl#my writing#asks#this fic gave me a hard time for some reason#I didn't want to to do the obvious 'the thing you didn't say was that you love me' but I guess it kind of became that anyways lol#really my first thought was just 'matthew never said what he thought about leon's get off the ice comment and it haunts me' I NEED to know
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A Player's Aid: Chapter 11
Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe
A/N:....I'm just sorry OUYDBUDHD but also my tag list got lost, if you could please say if you'd like to be tagged in the comments! (I know I can look at previous chapters but I lost some new names and it would be easier to build from scratch so I have it HDOCDHJ)
Warnings: Foul language, descriptions of gore, violence and mentions of injuries
Enjoy!
The effect was immediate.
The sound of many boots against concrete was deafening and your vision blurred as Hyrule tugged you along, his grip still tight as you stumbled after the men in the direction of the castle.
The Hero's instinct is what you deduced, it’s what powered these boys. To jump so readily into action, unafraid of what was to come- these men had a mission to protect the people of Hyrule and you admired everything they did for them. Not even Wind flinched at the scream, didn't hesitate like the others as they raced away from the Sacred Ground, you tumbling along almost unable to keep up with Hyrule's speed (Jesus christ these fuckers were fast-)
You finally broke through the treeline to see the scene before you- horrid and bone-chilling as it played out.
A lone adventurer had seemed to be downed, blood running down a deep gash on their arm in rivers as they tried desperately to claw away from the behemoth of a creature, hissing and spitting towards them as it stalked closer, the giant skull on its back just as intimidating as its many eyes and snapping fangs.
Skulltula were always intimidating enemies in theory. Spiders were already scary, making them the size of a horse with a withering skull on their back, legs similar to knives and pincers dripping with what you could only guess to be venom only made them even more terrifying- you didn’t want to shame the Zelda graphics, but there was no way, from the deepest and darkest depths of hell they could even begin to bring justice to the creature that stood before you all.
"Not a fucking Skulltula…" You whispered in a blood-freezing horror, ducking behind Hyrule when it turned towards your group, seemingly hearing your words. "Christ on the cross, set it alight."
With another hiss, it dashed in your direction, your whole body locking up only for it to cry out in pain as an arrow landed right in one of its many eyes, the group dashing forward with Hyrule removing something from his pocket and pressing it into your hands: a dagger.
"Stay here." He held your cheek softly. "I'll be right back."
He turned towards Wild, situated in front.
"I've got them." The blonde reassured, sending him a knowing look. "Don't worry."
With a firm nod, Hyrule ran to the group sword at the ready with a pat on Wild’s shoulder, your eyes wide in awe as you watched him hurl a phantom red projection of his sword right at the gigantic monster, its shrill calls making you cringe.
As its wails pierced the air, you could vaguely see Sky raise the Master Sword with a calculating look on his face, an almost holy light climbing up the length of the sharpened blade until a familiar sound reached your ears and the hero slashed across the air, the sight of a skyward strike cutting through the lengths of grass and slicing one of its many legs clean off its body, the appendage flailing before disintegrating into dust as the monstrous bug got even louder.
Sickening to see this close.
"Stay behind me." It was a soft order but you weren't about to defy him, slightly ducking behind him as he continued to aim at the Skulltula, the men fighting valiantly. "I promise to keep you safe."
You dug your fingers gently into his tunic. "I know you will, no need for promises."
His ears fluttered subtly at the words.
Watching the guys fight up close was much better than watching from afar, you could have only imagined just how amazing the fight from the riverside bokoblin must have been- breathtaking would have been too small a word to use, there wasn't any word the dictionary that could begin to perfectly describe how the boys fought. Calling it a movie scene would have been underrated, no, it was an art piece even with something as pathetic as a Skulltula, these men looked as if they had just been plucked from the Renaissance itself and you almost went breathless as you continued to bear spectacle to the scene.
Their footwork, their swings, the looks on their faces- they were heroes alright, not a doubt in your mind would refute that. Wild's steeled gaze and the way he handled the bow were just so amazing to you, he was a professional of course but there was an energy about him, not the goofy wild man but the hero that bore the Triforce of Courage.
You were in the presence of some of the strongest men in the current world…
Twilight and Warriors had rushed over to the fallen victim while the others had continued with the battle, arm over each shoulder as they had hauled them further away with reassurances of safety, appearing close to your side as they fished into their bags for a potion to deal with their wounds. The gash on their arm was horrible but the apparent one on their side was worse, bleeding profusely and long, your stomach churning at the mere thought while Warriors called for their attention, deeming this “no place to die.”
…You weren’t about to see someone die, were you?
The idea sickened you to the core.
A cry echoed out as Hyrule used a nearby boulder to leap onto the back of the great beast, the shrill shrieks of the horse-sized spider bloodcurdling as the Hero raised his bejewelled sword and thrust it into its head, tainted blood gushing onto the grass below leaving a bloody mess.
Your heartbeat pounded in your own ears as the monster screamed.
A horrid sound, disgusting and gut-wrenching, you felt even more nauseous as you were able to hear the faint sound of a popping squelch as your hero dug the sword deeper and deeper, blood spurting onto his forest green tunic and catching some of the other boys also.
From your vantage point on that cliff, the destruction of these creatures wasn't something that had gotten to you but seeing this was way worse than your own imagination, no matter how majestic the men looked as they fought, this was still disturbing when the valiant filter was pushed aside. This wasn’t the pg-rated game any more, the one you would play for hours when you were younger, not a care in the world as you gathered the convenient drops- this was real life, these were real living things-
And this was real gore.
You gagged, hiding your face into Wild’s shoulder to force away the morbid curiosity as the other heroes continued to beat down the monster, its shrills engraining into your mind as one of the boys dealt the finishing blow.
(It had been Legend, watching Hyrule flail about as the Skulltula tried to rid him of its back, the man sliding down beneath the monster while digging his weapon into its stomach as he skidded against the grass, opening a mortal wound that had entrails spilling from its underbelly)
The familiar sound of a monster’s corpse poofing away was what brought you back, shyly peaking over Wild’s shoulder as you watched Legend stand, the stains of his tunic a gruesome eyesore that dusted away in the wind along with the smoke of dark magic that was once the Skulltula, Hyrule’s own caked clothes cleaning in a similar fashion until both were free of the thick, murky substance that was monster blood and huffing from the fight. The two looked at one another, conflicting feelings dancing on their faces until they nodded at one another, a sign of acknowledgement in their tense times.
You felt embarrassed at the shaky sigh you released, Wild looking back at you worriedly as you took a step back to compose yourself.
Why were you even scared? It’s not like you contributed to the fight in any way.
“Are you well?”
“Y-Yeah- yeah I’m good.”
His brows furrowed, his hand coming to hold yours. “You can talk to me.”
Your thumb gently danced over his knuckles. “It’s just…scary seeing them up so close.”
Cringing at his soft expression, your free hand moved to rub at the back of your neck.
“Monsters are a disturbing sight to many, you don’t need to be embarrassed for your reaction.”
“I know I just don’t like being some sort of damsel- I can’t fight but I’ve got enough sense to know how to protect myself and it just feels ridiculous and sad hiding behind you like some scared kid.”
It wasn’t a fault of yours, of course, especially in the presence of such skilled fighters it made sense but you couldn’t help it- you felt inferior, you felt weak, you hated having to hide behind your friend and you wished that you could at least stand beside him, a partner more of a cowering fool.
Wild hesitated, his mouth pursing in thought when both your attention drew to coughing close by, the presumed random traveller spluttering as the ranch hand and Captain pulled them into a seated position, the group circling her.
“Are you alright?” Twilight asked, a supporting hand on the person’s back. “Are you able to speak?”
“Yes.” The young woman coughed, covering her mouth with her arm, “Yes, thank you, I thought those moments would be my last.”
A shiver run down your back at the thought of something as hideous as a Skulltula being the last thing you saw before your body grew cold and stiff- would it eat you in that state? Could Skulltulas even eat?
“Do you know of what became of the people here?” Straight to the chase, Time leaned down to the level of the woman, face gentle similar to your shared first interaction, a show of support from such a traumatizing moment. “It was filled with many but now it lays barren.”
Her face curled in confusion. “You mean…you’re not here to help us?”
Your stomach dropped.
Help with what?
She continued. “The head of the people sent a bird not two days ago- we were attacked, by these things-”
“The Skulltula?”
“Yes- they came in every direction, there were so many, we couldn’t run so we held up in the castle-” Warriors rested his hand gently against their shoulder, a soft mutter of ‘breathe’ leaving his mouth as the person panted, her shaky breaths slowing in an effort to calm her racing heart. “There was an opening and I took it when no one had responded then I got caught by that monster- I- I thought you were responding to our call-”
Time’s face had hardened with each word, his scowl like his sharpened sword. His anger was evident, the lingering tension in his shoulders shown even under that heavy chest plate; you knew why, everyone did, it was very much obvious this was the work of the Shadow, predictable and vile, coming for the public like the coward he was to draw out the many heroes for his own gain and entertainment.
This was a trap.
And a very obvious trap.
And he dragged innocent civilians into this mess.
“Can you stand?”
The woman stumbled over herself before nodding, pushing to her full height with the help of the other elders.
“Good- leave to the nearest Inn, we will clear the castle.”
Your mouth dropped at the words, looking towards the towering Hyrule Castle in horror.
The whole thing!?
“T-The entire castle?! But that’s not possible!”
Not possible for most, but then again these were the Links you were talking about, heroes of the times- if they had fought against Ganon, Demon King and bringer of Darkness, of course, they could fight off a few Skulltula.
A few dozen sounded a bit of a stretch though.
“We’ll be fine.” There was a cocksure attitude to Warrior’s words, his smile confident and eyes sparkling with his fighting pride. “A few giant insects won’t be getting the best of us.”
Oh yes, he did sound very cocky indeed- you wondered if the woman was judging him silently from his tone, god knows you would have had you not known he was a great hero.
She tried to argue more, stumbling over her words and trying to reason however it reached deaf ears her stance slowly falling as the group began to discuss their next plans- Wild was the focal point of this, after all this was his home and he knew it like the back of his hand, planning a rescue mission was going to fall to him.
You studied her for a moment now that you could- pale skin, black hair and dark eyes, just a regular-looking adventurer who seemed to be caught on the wrong side of things.
Something felt…off though. Maybe it was just your skewered sense, or your simple wary nature after being thrown through a magic portal by a magic shadow.
It felt like one of those scenes in movies: discovering the wounded adventurer, aiding them in their time of need and watching as the hero lets them accompany them on their quest, after all, it’s not a hindrance right? Betrayal would usually follow, disguised by that weak damsel now shown to be their deceitful enemy this whole time, tearing apart the group by the seams and leaving them all to rot with nothing but a prideful cackle.
Yet, that was the work of fiction, this was real life (such a strange thought now that you pondered it) and so nothing like that would happen, right?
“Please, let me at least join you!”
…right?
Your eyes narrowed, watching the expression on her face then shifted to study the rest of the men, sharing uncertain glances with each other.
Did they feel a similar unease or did they simply want to keep this woman safe?
“I don’t think that’s for the best-”
“My family is in there! My friends too! I’m not just gonna sit by while they’re suffering!”
Any persuasion was met with refusal, the woman becoming only angrier with every second until Time let out a sigh, steeling his gaze as he looked down at the woman.
“Your name?”
She stood taller, “Maggie.”
“Do you even know how to handle a weapon that hangs off your hip?” This was a test, you could tell, the complete shift in his personality was a warning of sorts for what was to come- you would reasonably back down from such a hard look and you were positive that was what Time was trying to do. “Fought any monsters? Been in any battles?”
It didn’t work, as shown when Maggie glared right back. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”
“Seems you can’t.” Legend quipped and Time sent him a scolding look, the pink-streaked blonde throwing his hands with a look of surrender. “I’m just saying we saved you.”
She flushed a deep red “I was by myself but if I’m with you guys I should have a chance- strength in numbers.”
Your eyes stayed trained on Time as he listened intently, the others sharing different glances with one another as they waited for their chosen leader to finalise his decision, your shoulders dropping when he sighed in defeat, dragging a hand down his tired face.
“....Maggie, I will be responsible for you if you venture back into this castle with us- so, you must stay close and not stray far, no matter what you see, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, we move now.”
“Old-” Twilight’s mouth snapped shut, eyes averting from the flaming ones of the eldest. “...”
With a sigh, the man backed off, whistling for Epona who perked up happily, trotting back over to the forest. "I'm not taking her in there."
And you couldn't blame him, not with the threat of something like Skulltulas lurking around the castle halls, Epona could be jumped without a second thought- but leaving her alone wasn't an option, someone had to watch her just in case, right? So taking Gilda gently from your hair, you gestured her over.
"It'll be safer for you with her."
She crossed her arms. "(Name), I've been in more fights than you."
"...Gilda please-"
"I'm just teasing! I'll keep an eye on her, you've already got your fairy by your side~"
Had Hyrule been in hearing range you knew he would have swiped at her, so you spared her a chuckle and watched her whizz off after the ranch hand with a shake of the head.
"Should have guessed these fairies were just as cheeky as the fae."
Time glanced back over to Maggie, gesturing her forward once Twilight had returned, adorned with weapon and shield. “I want you to lead us, if you were able to escape then there may be a good chance that it was a blindspot to the monsters.”
You didn’t trust this, not a single bit. Your radar was going haywire, your body pumping the adrenaline into every little crevice within your body, hands shaking as you watched Maggie take the lead, the others slowly but surely following behind her until you were trailing right at the back with your fingers tightly secured around the dagger Hyrule had only given you moments ago.
The traveller had rejoined your side in haste, eyes ahead as his hand came to grab your own protectively, Wild marching on your opposite with a similar protective sense hanging over him.
“He’s got a plan…”
Hyrule muttered more to himself than anyone but Wild wasn’t far behind with his scepticism.
“A dangerous one- thought that was supposed to be my job?” The comedic tilt in his voice did not aid you at all, Wild’s face pinching in worry at your expression. “We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
You knew they would, they were your heroes and you knew they would do anything to keep you safe.
Yet something told you that it wasn’t going to be that simple.
~~~~~~~~~~
You wouldn’t say you suffered from arachnophobia. Sure, you weren’t a fan of the things, but not in a way to say you had a fear of them. They were certainly freaky looking, eight eyes, eight legs, could produce cobwebs and drunk the blood of flies and other such small insects- but a true fear of them was not what you had, nowhere near. You had seen someone with the phobia, their dropping jaws and the way they raced to the opposite side of the room-
To avoid the tiny money spider that hadn’t even gotten close to them.
That was true fear- that fear would have had them dying right on the spot at the sight before you at this very moment.
The webbing was huge, like sheer curtains decorating the old stone walls of the castle, the few egg sacs a disgusting sight as the men cleared them out, the many Walltula shrieking and spitting fiercely only to die by the steel of the heroes’ blades, monster smoke almost thick enough to choke on.
It was terrifying how quickly the monsters had seemingly taken over, not a place in sight was free of the streams of natural mesh, over the carpets, over the paintings, over the windows and in the doorways- suffocating was the best way to describe it all, especially from the number of times you had walked into the cobwebs, spitting and waving your arms in a horrid frantic boogie to be rid of the texture.
Wind could only laugh so many times.
“Shut the fuck up, Wind.” You had whispered harshly, patting down your tunic once again. “You’re only laughing because you’re too fucking short to get hit by them.”
He waved off your insult with another hushed laugh. “You just look so fucking stupid when you do that.”
You flipped him off, pushing your finger into his face harshly and jerking back when he tried to nip at the skin, calling him another colourful nickname in which he elbowed you painfully in the side.
Fucking hell he was strong for a fourteen-year-old.
"Just around this corner here." Maggie's voice brought you back in, focusing on her head between the many others.
The feeling still hadn’t gone away, not with you and certainly not with the others- you all knew you were walking right into a trap. The signs were evident to them all, a reason as to why Wind had been sent to the back with you three.
“The old man says as soon as anything sketchy happens he wants us to split!”
“Isn’t that dangerous? What if you guys get hurt?”
“Have some faith, (Name), we’re stronger than you make us out to be!”
You knew that- of course you did! Yet the threat still lay bare to the world. Skulltula were probably surrounding you at that very moment and it was clear that you could all be ambushed at any time, the further you walked into the castle, the deeper and darker it got only certainty grew in your brain that the upcoming fight would be inevitable if you were caught in a small corner.
That had to have crossed the old man’s mind, right? Under the blonde head of hair was a smart man, a calculating one so Time must have had a counteractive plan just up his armoured sleeve. He’d get everyone out of here, maybe with a few bumps and bruises, but you’d all come out of this ordeal alive and well with only a little major life-changing trauma- nothing you hadn’t gone through already.
The thought didn’t help though, not really without some partnering action, the weight on your shoulders only growing with each step you took, each room you passed, each corridor you turned into-
…You recognised this corridor.
Rebuilt and better than ever, with the help of the construction team and two years of passing, the winding path that lead to the Dining Hall was almost unrecognisable, the one you had trekked so many times when scouring the castle as you played. You wanted secrets, you wanted weapons and you wanted Korok seeds, if it meant having to lap the entire behemoth 100 times to get what you wanted you were ready to do it, you had practically memorised the route in game but it seemed the rebuilding of Hyrule Castle alongside the millions of cobwebs and the fact you were currently walking through its corridors had gotten in the way of your near photogenic memory of the place.
The archway to the armoury lay only a few feet ahead, along with the following path towards the library-
“The library’s this way, there should be some patrolling but we can easily get through them if we work together.”
The library….
There was a resounding click in your mind, footsteps stopping before they could meet the stone of the walkway, the dawn finally breaking in your mind.
It didn’t make sense- it didn’t make sense.
These hallways were always full, they were the main paths, why would she go through here when they were clearly the most dangerous routes?
Why did she take this way when she could have gone through-
“The secret passage.”
Pause.
You were staring, waiting, watching for that reaction.
And here it had finally come.
Time had been looking for an opportunity, and that had to be it, a broken piece within the glass that was her facade, once pristine and perfect, now so obviously cracked as Maggie finally paused just a few feet ahead of you all, the Chain having stopped when noticing your further figure.
You had given them all they needed.
“Pardon?”
It was cryptic in a way, horror and thriller running down your spine as your body shook with the adrenaline now running its course through your body as you readied yourself for what was bound to come.
“The secret passage, behind the bookcase.” There wasn’t a way they didn’t know about it, Wild had left it open for fuck’s sake, they had been rebuilding, it had to be common knowledge that Hyrule Castle had a secret passage. “In the library, why didn’t you just go through there?”
“I didn’t know there was one.”
Wild looked at you.
You looked at him.
He shook his head.
Liar- as expected.
“I really fucking doubt that.” The Chain had backed up to you quickly, quietly, aware that one false move would have broken the hypnotic spell your words had cast over them all. You licked your dry lips in an effort to stop the dryness from taking over your mouth. “How could you, as part of the restoration, not know about the secret passage in the library?”
“I’m not part of the team.”
Your voice was shaking. “S-So you just stayed ignorant about the place you were inhabiting for the past year or two? Not a single soul bothered to tell you about the cool secret passage in the library?”
“No.”
You grasped Wild’s hand frantically, terrified tears in your eyes.
“You’re a really bad fucking liar, Maggie.”
You could hear the grin in her voice. “I know.”
Weapons were pulled from sheaths, battle faces pulled sharp as you were quickly yanked once again behind them all, their stances deadly as they waited for something, anything that Maggie- whoever this was was about to bring down on you all.
“Are you with the Shadow?” Time called, a sneer on his face. “Or did you just crawl out from one of its portals like the rest of them?”
She laughed, still refusing to turn around as she did, her voice bouncing off the stones and echoing throughout the area- almost masking the rumbling footsteps that were quickly making their way to your direction, a quick glance back the way you had came showing a Skulltula quickly making its way towards you all- no, many were heading over and a quick glance in the opposite direction showed the same.
Fuck you were being cornered.
"Link."
One look and the circle drew tighter.
You were in real danger this time, weren’t you?
“I was just passing through,” Maggie’s voice was quick to change, sinister and cold, curling into this scratchy forced sound as if talking itself was a struggle. "Though I will say that Shadow of yours had an offer too tempting, so I thought why not?"
"And what offer did he give you?"
There was a snap, crack and following pop as Maggie finally turned, your stomach dropping at the body horror of her face expanding to form a snout, skin tearing away to reveal the blue fur beneath and murky gold tint taking over her face.
"The death of the Hero of Courage, of course."
Poof!
The cloud of magic saved you from the horrific scene of the monster’s full transfiguration, dark purple blocking your vision before the sound of flapping wings caught your attention, eyes widening in surprise as you watched the view return to you and replaced what was once Maggie, was a blue bat-like creature also similar to a keese.
"Ache?" You muttered in confusion, backing into Hyrule warily and feeling the man tense beneath you.
Not a common monster, not at all, the eyes of Ganon that hailed all the way from the traveller's timeline- they weren't impossibly hard to beat, well, depending on the Ache of course, a single hit usually was enough to have them out. But that's not what they were for, they weren't exactly fighting monsters, Ache's were pretty much spies for the other foul, grotesque beings, the ones watching for your hero closely so they could snatch him up and use him as a sacrifice for their master: Ganon.
The Ache was here for Hyrule, you knew that and so did Hyrule, so without another thought, you sidestepped to keep him out of its view.
It's the least you could have done.
Even if it was useless in this moment of time.
"I'm not really one for fighting." The creature cackled, hovering a little further away. "So I'll just let them deal with you- no need to worry though, I'll be back soon."
It swooped away into the armoury, just as another group of Skulltula came rounding the arch, their hisses and squeals like nails against a chalkboard.
Shields were up at the ready, swords poised and you, little old you, were in the middle with your dagger at the ready as if you knew the first thing about fighting.
"There's more than anticipated."
"Can we take this many black-blooded?"
"Who's to say they are black-blooded?"
"You think the Shadow wouldn't do that?"
"Enough- stand at the ready, do not break this circle."
The feeling had come back, but then again it hadn't gone away either, crawling up your back, poison seeping into your skin as you glanced around frantically for the feeling.
Something was watching you.
Not the heroes.
You.
Just, you.
And you knew that, because it was the exact same pair of eyes that had stared at you from atop that cliff the other day, menacing, cold and cruel, every dark intention you could think of rolling through your mind space. It wasn't the Chuchu back then, their googly eyes were never that evil, they could elicit a body-numbing reaction, but they could have never brought this kind of primal fear that laid deep into your stomach- not like that night after work had.
Dink was looking straight at you.
But from where? You couldn't see him through the bodies of monsters that the boys were fending off, nor in the Dining Hall, in the shadows of the dark corridor, hell, even the damn ceiling didn't have those red piercing eyes of his.
So where-
Fingers grasped your ankle firmly, nails practically piercing through the fabric and digging into the skin as a deep, breathy chuckle caught your ear through all the noise.
"Got you~"
You didn't have time to scream as you were dragged straight through the portal beneath your feet, catching a glimpse of the others turning in surprise, the feeling of a hand trying to grab yours, a possible scream- before your whole body had disappeared into the absolute black.
It took mere seconds to re-emerge from the inky abyss, spluttering and coughing for stolen breath where your body met the floor violently, cheek meeting the scratchy carpet beneath that tore at your poor, victim skin as you were dragged across the floor, a weird sound echoing through the room before you could take a small glance to see the portal vanish into nothing, leaving a stone wall in its place.
You looked at the area solemnly, wishing it would just open back up to you so you could jump back towards the boys, gut-churning with a violently sick feeling at the thought of looking back.
To make the situation real.
"Awh, are you scared, little guide?"
Yes.
Yes, you were.
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Before I get into it
SPOILERS FOR THE END AND THE DEATH VOLUME 3
Holy shit this book is great! It genuinely is everything I wanted and more. Volume 3 ties everything up so well that even though I knew the plot outline already just from lore it had me gripped from cover to cover. An emotional and bloody ending to the to the galaxy spanning series.
First off I really enjoyed getting the little updates on what some of the other players are doing while it all goes down. Bobby G and his endless strategy meetings as he tries to figure out how to get to Terra. Lorgar pulling a jonestown as he arrogantly misinterprets prophecies. Perturabo wallowing in self pity as he destroys his room like an angry teenager (the image of him pouting in his broken chair as the room lies devastated around him gives me life). Finally Eldrad and the others arguing over shoulda woulda coulda as they realize this is way worse than they thought. It was nice to check in with everyone before we dive into the trauma of it all.
Speaking of trauma let's talk about the black rage! We see sanguineous's mangled corpse in the lupercal court as the psychic shock sends the entire ninth legion (minus Zephon) into a berserk rage. I really can't think of a better word for it than traumatic. After all they've been through together during the siege to have the blood angels turn into actual monsters against their will is just twisting the knife for the loyalists. From Rans desperate fight for survival against a man he idolizes to Amit waking up dazed and confused at the end of a trail of corpses ("why do the bodys end here?" "That's as far as you got" kills me), it's safe to say nobody is having a good time.
Scratch that you know who is having a pretty good time? Rogal Dorn. Fresh out of the desert of endless boredom Rogal finally gets to let loose a little as he fights his way to Valdor. I love their dynamic and I wish we got more of them hanging out("damn you!"(frustrated) "damn you too."(affectionate)).
We check in with Fo and the genocide crew which ends predictably. I saw him completing the Terminus sanction then getting killed trying to escape a mile away. I did not see him making a fucking clone body and replace Xanthus! I love me a devious old scientist causing problems on purpose! I really hope he comes back in a big way.
The library crew didn't do a whole lot other than Ariman being a creepy magic man. It is buck wild that the archivist turned out to be Lilean Chase at the beginning of her career she goes on to found the fucking Cognitae so get it girl I guess.
The did my boy Loken so dirty in the end but fuck me was it good. They planted seeds earlier on talking about how a demon is made, a reaction in the warp to a traumatic event in real space, how in the warp effect can come before cause. But fuck me I wasn't expecting this. After the dust settles and Loken almost convinces Abaddon to give reconciliation a chance Erebus (fuck Erebus) stabs him in the back dooming the galaxy to endless civil war. And why did he do this? Because Samus is the man beside you, Samus right behind you, Samus is the guy she told you not to worry about, look out it's fucking Samus! The abrupt murder of Loken gives birth to the Demon Samus kicking all of this shit into motion. It truly is all Erebus's fault.
I saved the best for last. The showdown on the vengeful spirit. This is where Horus really gets tho shine. I haven't loved his character like this since the first couple of books. He's a fucking mess and I love it this is the man who's daddy issues burned the galaxy to the ground, and as someone who has a difficult relationship with my father fuck me I get it. Dan Abnet is so good at making fights feel intimate, Horus isn't a one dimensional avatar of evil hes a son confronting his abusive father. Horus doesn't want to kill his father he wants to be better than him, and not just stronger but a better person. He needs the Emperor to acknowledge that he had hurt Horus. Horus loved his father and wanted to reach out him on an emotional level so badly, but the Emperor was simply no longer able to do that. When the Emperor purged himself of the infant god the dark king his kindness and empathy went with it ( going on to create the star child). This emperor is nothing but power and cold fury. He enters the room having already written Horus off as dead. It's such a tragedy from top to bottom because we know from Malcador in his all knowing position on the golden throne, that there is a version of this confrontation where they both walk out alive. That does not happen.
The actual physical fight is nothing to write home about besides the fact that different people see it happening in different ways Dusk sees it as a clumsy slugfest between two lumbering giants while LE2 saw it as the greatest display of skill he had ever seen. In truth it was both. The psychic battle had them tossing each other across time and space and fighting through the sites of each other's greatest sins. They use the settings to try and undermine each other emotionally holy shit. Then the do the next logical step AND HAVE A FUCKING TAROT DECK YU-GI-OH DUEL! I need an imperial tarot card game right now GW take my fucking money. It ends with the cards predicting the fall of cadia (the despoiler unlocking the silver door) and the emperor loses. It has become obvious by this point that the Emperor can't beat Horus. Horus outclasses him in every way but Horus doesn't want to kill his father he wants acknowledgement. So what we get is several desperate attempts by the emperor and several others to fight back as Horus beats his father bloody. But nothing works until Oll and John show up having magically teleported much closer than they ment to. They stand right in front of Horus. Horus is bemused at best giving John just enough time to use the word he learned from the tower of Babel directly in Horus's smug face. The resulting blast nearly kills everyone in the room, but it's the first thing so far to actually damage Horus. While her recovers John makes a run for it but Oll goes to the Emperor gives him the athame (stone knife used to commit the first murder) and tries to wake him up. Only for Horus to wake up first and turn poor Oll to a fine red mist.
Finally Horus stands there triumphant and who is there but his own favorite son Loken. Loken is the only one who tries to reason with Horus to make him see the the chaos gods are using and manipulating him. It was a great touch to frame Horus pov in 2nd person as if someone is telling Horus his thoughts. Loken convinces Horus that he's not really in control anymore and the only way Horus can take back control is to give up the power that the gods gave him. The moment he does back on Terra Keeler uses the power of millions of praying souls to relight the astronomicon and and give the Emperor a font of power to tap into. The emperor rises as if from the dead. Horus at first tries to pull the power back but the gods hold onto it as punishment for spurning them. Then Horus looks at the Emperor empowered as an avatar of humanities faith and he finally understands. The gods panic and try to force their power back into him and Horus begs his father to kill him now while he can resist. Then it happens a father murders his son. The emperor tells Horus "I forgive you and I'll wait for you". Excuse me Dan Abnet what exactly does that mean? Horus returned? Ghost Horus? Reincarnated? What the fuck? From there it's mostly just wrapping up they teleport home and we get the last gasp of Malcador as they place the Emperor on the golden throne.
If you read this thank you this was mostly for me because I needed an outlet for my feelings and I don't want to bother my friends to much with Warhammer. It's been a wild ride and I can't wait to see where it goes from here (especially the third Bequin book).
#i said i would so here it is#warhammer 40k#warhammer#warhammer 40000#40k#warhammer 30k#wh40k#space marines#primarch#imperum#the end and the death
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…I swear to God, why have like half the Beforan players tried to bone someone significantly younger than them??? Probably because the author’s a creep who got a kick out of it, but still, between what was just discussed with Rufioh, Aranea trying to hit on Jake, Cronus trying to bone his dancestor (jesus fuck) and Meenah dating a physically 13-year-old Vriska… that’s a THIRD of the dancestors? And those are just the four I’m aware of, I would be very disappointed but not at all surprised if there was a fifth.
Honestly, adults having inappropriate relationships with children is just a heavily recurring theme in Homestuck... It's not really all that surprising when you take a step back. Doc Scratch, Hussie's own self insert, Bro Strider... They're all much older than the Alpha Trolls are, and are creepy towards the Betas in some way.
Further discussion going under the cut.
Content Warning: Discussion of Sexual Assault, Harassment, and Pedophilia.
... Man, I'm having to write about this topic a lot lately, aren't I? This isn't even close to the only ask left in my inbox about something adjacent to this.
It's kind of... Flattering, in the weirdest way possible? I don't know, I'm often approached for my opinions on some of the much more serious and dark aspects of Homestuck. Things that people don't really know, or talk about, or address- like the racism issues, Dave's CSA, et cetera. It's not really prestigious, I don't think, but it does require a level of trust in maturity and literacy. I appreciate it.
Anyways, this is mostly going to be me adding to and even debunking your ask here. I think this subject both deserves and requires specificity. It's an extremely emotionally charged topic, so peoples imaginations tend to get a little... Carried away, when they don't know the full extent to what's happening. Considering how it's not easy to term search things said by most of the Alpha Trolls, and some people really just do not want to/cannot interact with things relating to Child Harm and Abuse... There's bound to be both a lack of information and an excess of misinformation. It's understandable, but... Deeply annoying for me in particular. Lol.
Let's do this.
---
The inclusion of Rufioh in this is both correct and based on some of my own posting on the matter. Rufioh was hitting on Aradiabot, who is 13, because she reminded him of Damara... Specifically remarking upon how she's "just like the real thing". Charming...
Here's where I'm going to supply a debunk: Aranea did not try to hit on Jake, and he is not significantly younger than her. That's a pretty ugly misconception. She's 19, and he is 16. She had zero romantic or sexual feelings towards Jake. Yes, she tried to kiss him once... Because she knew that he was attracted to her and assumed he'd appreciate her making a move on him.
This was part of her little scheme to make him Hope-splode. She never did actually kiss him, and there was genuinely no consent violations involved in the situation- he told her to stop before she could, and she did. It was just a misunderstanding. It happens.
If you're still put off by that age gap, that's fair and entirely respectable, but that's not "significantly younger", and the situation wasn't really objectively creepy.
... Cronus is... Fucking gross. His whole gimmick is that he is "The Worst Character in Homestuck", and boy does he succeed at it. He won that title. Earned it. Absolutely flying colors.
He tried to "get with" Karkat, Tavros, and Eridan. By which I mean he stalked Karkat all the way to his house and then tried to break into it, got really handsy with Tavros in the middle of a crowd, and... Sexually assaulted Eridan- his own flesh and blood!- also in the middle of a crowd. All of these kids are 13 years old, and his main character trait is "Sexual Assault + Harassment". No one's free. Not even literal children!
Cronus counts as a full-blown Pedophile, by the way!! There's your fun fact for the day.
Then there's Meenah, who had her whole thing with (Vriska), who was 13. Not just physically, but mentally, too. She was just 13. That was a whole arc, so it doesn't really need much elaborating upon, I hope.
---
That's... Just about it, I think? That's all I remember, anyway, as far as the Alpha Troll Age Gap Weirdness goes. So... Only 3 of them are really problems in that respect, which is 1/4th of the cast. Still an upsetting amount, but not... As bad as 1/3rd, as far as optics goes.
In full honesty, it's kind of funny to me how the Alpha Trolls who have overtly sexual theming are... Pretty normal about kids. Damara's nice to them and nobody else, we've got zero reason to suspect Mituna of anything, and Porrim's just chilling. It's accurate, if anything.
Hopefully this has been fun and/or informative. Have a lovely day.
#homestuck#homestuck meta#homestuck analysis#alpha trolls#beforan trolls#dancestors#damara megido#rufioh nitram#mituna captor#porrim maryam#aranea serket#cronus ampora#meenah peixes#cw abuse#cw assault#cw child harm#rufioh.pdf#aranea.pdf#cronus.pdf#meenah.pdf#nekro.pdf#nekro.sms
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[father-daughter] iron tank!helena & von pushup one-shot
Helena couldn't afford shit. But to be more specific, she couldn't afford a new sink, because the old one (in front of which she stood) was broken (she broke it, while trying to install it).
It was her fourth month as an apprentice coach of Iron Tank' team, so she knew that the lack of a decent sink would not go unnoticed by Colonel Von Pushup.
,,What the heck do I do now, Larry?" she asked mop, which was leaning against the wall. When she turn her head in said direction, mop fell to the floor. ,,Shit."
For a moment, Helena considered the option of returning to South Africa, changing her name and forgetting about this whole farce called the Super League. But then she remembered she didn't have enough money to do this.
She sighed, stood up and started walking towards training base.
,,If anything happens, I will hit him directly in this beer belly" Helena talked to herself, trying to encourage herself. ,,Just like that."
Working for Iron Tanks was the best option for her among all job offers for other teams (Supa Strikas was too boring, even though her admiration for Coach, and on Hydra stadium she was this close to beat the shit out of Liquido). So it wasn't that unexpected that heads of the Super League decided to send her here... to Germany... in the Alps.
While leaving the building, she put on the fleece military jacket that Colonel once had given her when Helena had gone outside, unaware of the frost. Of course, at first he laughed at her and started telling his players some anecdote about why he always finds it funny when tourists come to this area, not expecting such cold weather. Present day was definitely warmer than mentioned one, but Helena still coudn't get used to temperatures of this region so while Iron Tank's players were wearing long sleeve shirts and Von Pushup himself wore a leather jacket with fur trim around the collar, Helena looked like as if she was going to climb mountains.
,,Fuck, my grandfather was a pilot in an English squadron 70 years ago, and I can't talk to my superior like with normal human being?" she thought, standing two steps away from her mentor.
Colonel Von Pushup with an almost smoked cigarette in his mouth and sunglasses on his nose, gave Helena the side eye.
,,The sink broke" she said with straight face.
Von Pushup started chocking on his cigarette. In a panic, Helena started hitting him on the back and then performed the Heimlich maneuver on him, as a result of which the wet cigarettebutt fell to the ground.
,,Vat?!" Von Pushup screamed, scratching his throat.
,,It was an accident!" Helena screamed back, doing pouty face.
,,How the hell did you break the sink?!" Von Pushup looked at Helena with shock on his face and a dead look in his eyes. ,,Verdammt! Was zum Teufel!"
,,I'm sorry. It was unintentionally!" Helena swore, rubbing her shoes on the ground.
,,Holy-"
Von Pushup looked up and down on Helena and just shook his head, running his hand over the bridge of his nose.
When he at first heard that they will sent him a new apprentice, he thought they will gave him some dodger, who would avoid work and probably not survive 3 days in The Fortress.
But they sent him Helena.
She immediately made a positive impression on him, because the first thing she did when she arrived on stadium was getting into a fight with Thor over the last energy drink in vending machine, but it still didn't change the fact that Helena apart from being very first apprentice Colonel truly liked, was also an underachiever.
Suddenly he felt hunger. Hell, he didn't eat anything since 5 am and this memory of the vending machine just made him even hungrier.
,,Missy Supervisor, we are gonna cook and I don't want to hear any mumbling" he said, tapping Helena hard on the shoulder. ,,This is your penance!" he reminded, when Helena opened her mouth with the intention of interjecting something of her own.
,,More like for both of us, sir" Helena announced, shrugging.
The corners of his mouth turned upwards. She is good.
His eyes turned towards the football players standing in place, closely watching his conversation with Helena.
,,And why are you don't do anything?! Faster, faster, faster!" he whistled with his fingers. ,,All of you will be fixing the sink that our Supervisor broke."
Her eyes widened and she looked at Von Pushup with terror.
***
Iron Tank's players have been trying to fix what their friend had done for half a day.
Would it be easier if Von Pushup (or at least Ginerva) just called a plumber? Probably yes, but everybody knew Von Pushup's methods, so as long as The Fortress was not flooded, there was no need to call professionals to fix anything.
,,You know that, it looks like a dead squirrel with sweat from our guys' shirts?" Helena asked Iron Tanks coach, while looking at pork knuckle that she and Von Pushup had been preparing for two hours.
Von Pushup cackled with big smile, slapping his knee.
,,I consider this as a confirmation, sir" she said with sweet smirk, while pecking out a peace of meat with a fork. ,,I'm not gonna eat this."
,,You will! You destroyed our sink, and...!"
Von Pushup couldn't finish his sentence, because after a while there was a loud crash, and water gushed out from the adjoining room.
Von Pushup's face blushed furiously, but before he could do anything, Helena handed him their knuckle.
,,You know what, sir-man? We better eat that while it's hot."
In anger, he took the first bite of his and Helena's meal.
She is a good kid.
,,All of them will eat cat food for the whole next week."
,,Of course, sir. Of course."
☆☆/
i write this bcs of my english grammar exercises
helena, wtf did you do
#supa strikas#supa strikas women#one shot: supa strikas#supa strikas helena#iron tank#supablr#headcanon: supa strikas#relationship: helena & otto von eisen | colonel von pushup
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im not gonna say that much about this. i didnt think i'd say anything about it at all. but im too angry, and too fucking sad. i wont get too personal but this isnt gonna be like my usual posts so be warned if you follow me for more lighthearted stuff.
i also just wanna say, i talk about myself a lot in this post. *obviously*, i am not the victim here. i have never been a victim of this situation. but it's caused me grief and fury, and this is an outlet. we should be supporting shubble and all other victims. i don't really expect anyone to read this. i just needed to write it for my own sake.
the whole wilbur soot situation is devastating. when i first heard about it, like a lot of others, i immediately shut myself into denial. i have watched this man since he joined the dream smp in 2020. i was there through the entire server, through his 100 player challenges, the sbi mccs, all of it. i was a lovejoy fan from the moment one day came out - hell, i hoped to see them in concert someday. i did countless (though probably shitty) art and writing pieces inspired by his work. it wasn't that hard to tell that he isn't someone with flawless mental health by any means. but i never thought anything like this would happen.
when i accepted that he was the abuser shubble had talked about, i was upset and confused and unhappy. but i also had hope. i hoped that maybe this had served as a wake-up call, that maybe he was getting the help he needed. maybe he'd take a break, come back with a genuine response, and then make his mental health and personal morals a priority. i hoped he was better than this.
needless to say, i am furious. "disappointed" doesn't begin to scratch the surface. i'm angry. i'm insulted. i'm embarrassed to have ever looked up to him. his response was robotic, emotionless, and gave no indication of remorse or accountability. he didn't even apologize. he claimed that he had already received help. if he has, then it clearly wasn't enough. this is not a man who's ashamed and looking to better himself, this is a man who is going to keep hurting people. and that is terrifying. i genuinely can't connect this with the person i've kept up with for 4 entire years. i can't believe it. i really can't.
this response has corporate PR bullshit dripping right off of it. this so clearly did not come from wilbur soot himself. he might not have been involved at all, beyond a glance over and an okay to whatever team did the writing. and that's the most insulting part of all. he didn't even type this up with his own words. he didn't even have the balls to make his own response. and that pisses me off.
he abused someone. probably more than one. and he didn't even acknowledge her. the 4 paragraphs of nothing are addressed to the wider audience, not shelby, the person this should be about. if this is the best he can do, i'm genuinely shocked he developed such a loyal and amazing fanbase. fucking revolting.
with all that said, i'm probably going to stop listening to lovejoy. that hurts me, a lot. that's a hard choice for me to make. but there need to be repercussions. and this is what i hope: i genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, hope he gets help. i hope he wakes up and realizes he isn't ok, and takes genuinely strives to better himself. i hope he grows and improves and becomes better for the people around him. and i hope he leaves social media permanently. that hurts me to say, but i don't think i could ever really trust him after this, and i don't think it would make his situation any better. i hope he leaves, and i hope he makes a better life for himself. it's an optimistic hope, considering how much evidence is pointing to his unwillingness to change. but i won't let go of it.
that's pretty much it. i've said my piece. i'm angry. i'm sad. i wish this was all a dream and no one ever got hurt. but shelby did get hurt, and others almost certainly did too, and no nice fancy corporate words will change that. good-bye, wilbur soot. the memories were good. i won't let you taint them. but there's no going back from this, at least on the internet. i hope you make a better life, and i hope you do it far away from anyone you have hurt or could hurt.
what a waste.
#wilbur soot#abuse#domestic abuse#idk maybe i'll delete this later#i just needed to say it. maybe to make it feel more real#i'm still pretty deep in denial in all honesty#i just can't believe it. i can't believe any of it
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