#while he has the drive it doesn’t mean he has the skill to.
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Me finding this post/ positive and also the analysis do be hittin home😭😭😭
Sk8 the Infinity & how Reki Kyan is written to be human
SO 👏 if you kept reading past the opening line welcome back to some more thoughts I have had about Sk8. In the show, I think Reki is the most humanly written character in the show. This is due to his personality, but more-so his actions and internal dialogue.
We open the show with narration from Reki explaining skating and what he loves about it, before seeing him lose the beef with Shadow, and be forced to watch as his board burns. We see straight away that, for all his passions, Reki is punished and given consequences for being too over-indulgent and confident in winning. He loves skating, but it can hurt sometimes.
One of my favourite scenes with Reki, is him in school before Langa. It’s short, but he is sat doodling away new skateboarding designs and parts. The second someone shows interest and asks what he is doing, he eagerly asks if they want to talk about it, to which he is immediately rejected for his eagerness. His passions being met with disinterest.
Then we have Reki meeting Langa. He doesn’t pay him much attention in class, but when meeting him outside of Cherry’s studio, we get to see Reki’s goofy side come out more. Asking him if he was interested in skating, if he’d want to learn. Then getting shot down once again for his eagerness, only to end up with Langa as a co-worker instead thanks to Oka. As Reki teaches Langa to skate, we het to see Reki shine in his knowledge. he never gives up, even if something seems impossible. He slowly encourages and pushes Langa until he can finally nail that first trick, having fun the whole time and making their friendship all the brighter. It is honest and genuine, even if a little battered and bruised sometimes.
Skipping forward a bit, we see how Reki reacts to other skaters like Miya. Up until this point, we know that Reki is an average skater compared to most, and Miya being the child prodigy, shows Reki up and makes him land face in dirt more than once. There is jealousy of his skill, but also a playful rivalry. Miya is just a kid, similar in age to Rekis younger sister, so he can’t hold a grudge against him for too long. He quickly jumps in to defend Miyas honor, showing that despite everything, he is his friend above any rivalry or squabbles.
SO. When Reki races against Adam, we see a side of Reki we don’t see much. He is dejected. He tries to joke and laugh, but anyone can see that he is bitter about losing. The people he is surrounded by are spectacular, and he is just regular. He wants to get better, but for now he needs to recover.
I love the beach episode SO MUCH and for one reason I don’t see people mention often is the scene between Joe and Reki. Reki confides in Joe, and Joe does what he can to comfort him. It’s a rare heart-to-heart we don’t get much of in the show, but when we do it tends to be between the two. They are very similar in my eyes, Joe seeing himself in Reki, and wanting him to not make the same mistakes he did. Reki admits that he doesn’t want to fall behind, and while he has the drive, it doesn’t mean he has the skill to.
As the episodes pass and Langa QUICKLY improves, he gets left behind like he expected. He hates it, he doesn’t want to just be ‘the one that hangs around the GOOD skaters’ he wants people to know his name and acknowledge his skills.
The turning point for Reki’s character is when Langa goes against his promise. Reki is a man of his word, and expects everyone else to keep the same ideals. Once a promise is made, you shouldn’t break it. Knowing Reki was the one to teach Langa everything, seeing him exceed his own skills, and then not keep his promise made Reki break. To him, that was him being left behind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach the same stars that Langa could. As much as this era of the show hurts, Reki is written so realistically. He knows that he shOULDN’T be so upset about this, seeing and supporting his friends improvement used to bring him joy, but now he was left behind without so much as a thank you, he can’t help but close off and run away. How I see it, Reki has the ideals of Someone who wants others to put the same energy into their friendship as he does, and when that doesn’t happen, he gets crushed.
Reki at his lowest is when he gets beaten up by his old skating friends, and Oka finds Reki wallowing in self pity. He feels as though he deserved to be beaten up for feeling this way, that his feelings are selfish and he should just be happy. Oka’s advice that sometimes people are just cut out to watch and cheer them on gives Reki the energy to go and watch a race, but even with cheering Langa on, he doesn’t WANT to watch. He wants to be there, skating alongside his friends and having FUN! What fun is there in just sitting there?
The small scene between Reki and Tadashi has always been interesting regarding Reki’s character. In the depths of his moping, it takes someone who (as he sees it) completely missing the point of skating to knock him out of it. He loves skating, he loves skating with langa, it’s all meant to be FUN! saying it aloud to someone else seemed to be the wakeup call he needed, even if tears were shed.
Once Reki and Langa finally makeup, with Reki having had more time to think things over, we can finally see Reki be given the acknowledgement from Langa that he IS amazing. And of course, Reki blushes. As much as he wants to be recognized for what he can do, being bombarded by compliments makes him nervous and a little embarrassed, and as I read it, feel like all his moping was useless if Langa thought that about him the entire time. It’s sweet and a genuine moment between the two.
NOW. this post is already really long but I absolutely adore how the skating between him and Adam is done the second time. Reki knows what to expect this time, and just has to endure it until the time comes for him to shine. He might not be the best skater, but he knows everything about the boards themselves, and gets to show off his knowledge once the rain comes. Seeing him win and get that big hug from everyone once it’s over feels like a reunion that I didn’t know I needed. For once everyone is on Reki’s side and supporting him vocally and physically.
As we reach the end of the show, we get to see Reki watch Langa skate almost to his death before their reunion and Langas victory. I think Langas leap of a hug into Reki is the culmination of 12 episodes of friendship- ups and downs all culminating in a fun and loving embrace. A thank you for showing Langa how fun living in Okinawa could turn out to be.
Their duo skate at the end is, as I see it, the start of something new, and the end of Reki’s arc. He has learnt so much, and ended up with a best friend and a newfound love for skating alongside people who truly cherish him. Reki is NOT a perfect person. He gets jealous, and pouts when he gets teased, and makes awful jokes and does some goofy things that sometimes puts him in weird positions, but he is a character who just wants to have FUN as hard as that can seem sometimes.
#i found this post a lil while back in order to read it properly#i say i am SOBBING SCREAMING CRYING😭‼️‼️‼️#tldr i kin him so hard#<—- too real#reki kyan my beloved#reki kyan#while he has the drive it doesn’t mean he has the skill to.#<— THAT IS TOO REAL REKI STOP BEING RELATABLE CHALLENGE (failed i need therapy now)#god god god god reki means so much to me as he is so relatable of a character i cannot🥹
124 notes
·
View notes
Note
the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues
CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION
❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥
Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke.
Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while.
Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking!
Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes.
Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.
David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.
❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥
Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking.
Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.
❥ secret third worse thing ❥
Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you… Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while.
Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.
#crazy ass boys gang#this was SOOOOO fucking fun to write nonny#i remembered how scary some of these fucking attack dogs are midway through writing#billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#jordan li x reader#josh washington x reader#kevin khatchadourian x reader#black!reader#jd x reader#sebastian valmont x reader#nathan prescott x reader#david mccall x reader#ben hargreeves x reader#umbrella academy imagine#jordan li imagine#gender neutral reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
not me doomposting about l*ona again
I pointed out in an older post that Leona seems to demonstrate a unique ability to unite others under a common cause. This is in spite of the lore stating that it's very difficult to get different kinds of beastmen to see eye-to-eye, so much so that Sunset Savanna's acting king, his older brother, has yet to really unify their people.
WELL.
***Spoilers for Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes below the cut!***
A central theme to Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes is figuring out what makes someone worthy of being "king". At the start, everyone is reminded of Jack Skellington's status as the "King of Halloween, which makes him the most important person in town. However, Leona's quick to point out that the title isn't what's important, but what one achieves is. He then expresses interest in what it is exactly that Jack Skellington does around here to earn his crown. His opinion of Jack isn’t that good; in the event story, Leona thinks Jack doesn’t pay attention and doubts that he can have deep thoughts. Jack describes his duties as making Halloween the scariest it can possibly be. He drives around in his buggy, walks his dog Zero through the local cemetery, studies and conducts experiments, and reviews the proposals from Halloween Town residents. An important part of his job is considering his people's ideas! But Leona thinks there could be a more efficient way to do this rather than having the king read the proposals one by one. We can see a divide between their ways of thinking; Jack is willing to hear individuals out whereas Leona is focused on efficiency. This is also reflected in how they assign tasks later in the vignettes. Jack has everyone going up one ladder to decorate, while Leona commands the witches to do this task, as its much faster for them to do on their brooms. I don't know if this was intentional, but the way Jack rules feels reminiscent to how Leona often describes his older brother, Farena/Falena. So often does Leona mention that Falena is too kind and cares too much for others, which impedes on the political and economic gains he could be making if he were just more focused on his goals. “[Falena] could just focus on the kingdom’s affairs–you know, his JOB–but nooo, he’s gotta be the caring big brother who’s nice to everybody." (If you want to read a more in-depth analysis of Falena vs Leona's priorities when it comes to ruling, please read this post.)
Leona claims that the qualifications for king around here are actually really simple--and yeah, maybe there's nothing more to his line than this, but considering that in his home country one's order of birth is also a strong determinant, a merit-based system like what's seen in Halloween Town probably is simpler to him. And that means it's his time to shine and be acknowledged when he wasn't successful at earning this recognition back home.
Now, what REALLY surprised me in these vignettes wasn't that Leona knows how to boss around his peers and put their strengths to use (for example, he tells Vil, who has an eye for detail, to look over the embroidery, and Idia, who is a science and math whiz, to handle difficult calculations). It's that Leona is also perfectly aware of the abilities of the Halloween Town residents--people he has only known for less than three days--and uses them and their skills well too. That's an insanely short amount of time to get to know an entire TOWN'S worth of people and what each of them are like... yet he just pulls it off effortlessly????? HUH... This earns him the praise of Dr. Finkelstein, the mayor, Jack, Sally, and Skully. Sally in particular highlights Leona's strengths very concisely, stating that he can accurately assess the situation and give appropriate directions on how to act in that situation. Skully adds that Leona technically doesn't move himself or do any of the dirty work, he's focused solely on giving orders. This makes him a "king" and a leader of equal standing as Jack Skellington. And then Skully--SKULLY, THE OBSESSED HALLOWEEN OTAKU THAT THINKS HALLOWEEN SHOULD BE A VERY SPECIFIC WAY--says that Halloween was made possible by not one, but two great kings this year. It just goes to show how much one can truly accomplish when not barred by a negative environment and a lack of social support.
One definition of "king" that is offered in these vignettes is "the one who can bring everyone together". That's certainly something that both Leona and Jack do, albeit in very different ways. But then, at the end of the Halloween Town segment of the vignettes, Leona acknowledges that "king" can be defined another way. He realizes that Jack is recognized as king not just because he's a leader, but because he's also needed and loved by the townspeople. This, too, is a "king". However, it seems that this is a definition that Leona somewhat looks down upon, as he basically apologizes to Jack for not thinking highly of him at first. Again, Leona prioritizes getting shit done, no matter what the cost of it may be--and even if it earns him the ire of others. This, as I said earlier, puts him in stark contrast to Jack, as well as his own older brother. But here and now, we have Leona finally seeing the strength that a different kind of ruling can have instead of always speaking so disparagingly about it. Even if it's just a little... it feels like he's growing and learning, doesn't it?
The vignettes end on flashing forward to Leona back at Savanaclaw dorm. A few of his freshmen students are goofing off right before magift/spelldrive practice is about to start. As soon as Leona shows up, the freshmen snap to attention and rush off to change for practice. Jack (Howl, not Skellington, lol) remarks that usually the other first years are so lazy, but their attitudes completely changed when their dorm leader appeared. Ruggie chimes in, saying that Leona keeps the entire dorm in line... THJBAEBVUFAEIYAFIOYBVADFILH ThEN HE CALLS THEIR KING THE BEST... AND JACK AGTREESS... WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHUT THE FUCK UPAS ALREADY STOP POGINTONG OUT HE'S A AGOODFK leADER DFOR YOUE AEPEOPLE YADFJKHAFLIYVDGVYUADGVUEGAVN
In response to the praise, Leona says that simply scolding misbehaving students doesn't make you a king. If it were as simple as that, it would be a pretty cheap throne build only on flattery. The vignettes end with him telling everyone to move their asses to practice. lh WDBHFAIYOEAIYEIYF BUT TAHAT'S PRETY YMASSIVE FOR HS CHARACTER... These vignettes demonstrate that Leona's not fixated on the title of king, but what it means to truly "be" a king and leader. He doesn't value being called a "king" if he feels it's easily earned, he wants to prove himself worthy of it and earn that title through his talents. This all circles back to a thought I had a while ago: that what Leona is after isn't the literal seat of king, but all the things that come with it but was denied of in his childhood. Respect, admiration, recognition for his abilities.
And 💦 Leona doesn’t realize it yet (either that, or he’s in complete denial) but… He also fits that second definition of “king” 😭 He’s the type of person that gets things done (like what he believes should define a king) BUT GIS DORM MEMBERS ALL ALSO NEED AND LOVE HIM…
OOoogohoggoOGH... OTL I hate how well it comes together...
#ON J WORD’S BDAY TOO NO LESS#disney twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twst#jp spoilers#Leona Kingscholar#Jack Skellington#nightmare before christmas mayor#dr. finkelstein#sally ragdoll#Skully J. Graves#Farena Kingscholar#Falena Kingscholar#Ruggie Bucchi#Jack Howl#Savanaclaw#notes from the writing raven#leona nightmare suit vignette spoilers#NOT L*ONA ROT#Idia Shroud#Vil Schoenheit#twst analysis#twisted wonderland analysis#twst character analysis#twisted wonderland character analysis
604 notes
·
View notes
Text
HIT BRAKE! sae itoshi
(Sae needs to practice his goals and you… driving)
~3.8k words, humor, fluff, angst if you grab a magnifying glass, use of soccer instead of football (i have too much pride to do that), theyre so polar opposite they unfortunately come full circle and match each others freak
Sae Itoshi returned to Japan with several new things under his belt:
The ability to speak spanish (although his grammar structure can use some help from time to time)
An insane growth spurt
Probably shell shock syndrome
And the scariest new update to a chronic Resting Bitch Face that you had the displeasure of seeing thrown your way when you accidentally ran over his ball driving home. Maybe this is why most Japanese people rely on public transport instead of using their licenses
TWO was the number of times you had failed your driver’s test. Yes, you could always use the bus or ask your friends for a ride, but college doesn’t start for another few weeks and you’re determined by pure stubbornness to be driver certified before starting school. You think you’re doing pretty good so far: no accidents, no being pulled over, no getting cursed, and no one loudly complaining about your skills (no one has trusted you to drive them). The only thing you had left to master was parallel parking.
It was a legacy in your family to be horrible at city parking.
One of your earliest memories was in the backseat of a rental car in a foreign country while your mother tried to park on the side of the street, only to get honked at by cars and drive against the flow of vehicles in a one-way zone.
A bag of groceries lie in the trunk of your car as you drive to your family’s home. Humming along to the song softly playing through the radio, you slow down as you near the residential area, confident that this drive will end without a single thing gone wrong. Without speaking, you jinx your thoughts as you jolt when your car goes over a bump and a loud wheeze follows it. Turning your head to the side, your entire body freezes and your eyes go wide upon seeing the pissed off glare of Sae Itoshi, the infamous Japanese soccer player who just returned from Spain with a sexy tan.
With a shaky hand, you roll down your window and immediately start tumbling over your rushed apologies. You don’t even understand what you’re saying but you hope that Itoshi somehow understands. When he doesn’t react, which is what you expected but it hurts nonetheless, you immediately shut up and tumble out of your car before getting on your knees and seeing what you ran over.
Your hand reaches and pulls out a deflated soccer ball, the entire thing flat with a large hole on the side from when it got run over by your car. You almost feel inclined to inflate it with the tears that are about to spill out of your eyes but the only realistic and socially acceptable choice was to give it to Itoshi and once again, apologize but with words that he and the average person can understand.
Itoshi mumbles a “it’s okay” before taking the ball (can you even call it that?) a once-over. “I have more at home, I’ll just throw it out.”
“Holy shit I’m so sorry about that I can buy you a new one just please don’t sue me I can’t afford a good lawyer, I’m in student loan debt.”
“...why would I sue you?” he asks, his face slightly scrunched up in confusion. It’s not much different from his normal expression, just a slight crease of his brows but it makes all the difference.
“I didn’t mean to assume that you’re gonna sue me, please don’t sue me for assuming!” You think that you should begin to pack your bags and take out a loan to move to another country. It would be easier to be a criminal than to deal with a conversation with a guy who multiplies your humiliation. “I just thought that you might get your super prestigious and rich and wealthy and prosperous and exquisitely-copious-in-currency soccer team on my ass ‘cause I ran over one of their balls,” you nervously rambled. Your face heats up at every word and one Itoshi divides into two Itoshis and two Itoshis split into four.
“Are you schizophrenic? I thought you were normal back in middle school,” sixty-eight Itoshis say in unison.
Your body freezes, the now one hundred twenty-eight Itoshis all morphing back into one. “Wait, we went to middle school together?”
“Uh, yeah,” he blinks, this time looking even more awkward than you. “We were in the same class for two years straight and I sat next to you the semester before I left. I think I would remember the kid who slept through each period but still got all the answers right when called on.”
“Oh!” You perk up at the recollection of a scrawny red-haired boy from five years ago, one who would try to not-so-discreetly look at your worksheet answers and peek at your notes during class. “You’re the boy who would always copy off my work. I do remember you!”
“Is that all you remember about me?” If Itoshi were any other person, you’d say he looked uncomfortable but all he did was tilt his head a little more to the left and shift on his feet.
“I mean, the only reason why you remember me is ‘cause I saved your academics without even knowing. Don’t think I didn’t hear our teacher whispering ‘good job’ to you while returning our tests and how you suddenly moved up in our class rankings.”
“Well you didn’t bother to hide anything when you were snoozing away so whose fault really is it?”
“You were gonna leave for Spain, anyway!” you point out, remembering being pissed off when hearing the reason why your seatmate left was because he was some kind of sport prodigy, basically having his entire future as a star secured at the age of thirteen.
“My parents would’ve killed me and held me by my feet if I flunked.” Itoshi grimaced, kissing his teeth and brushing his hair back as it had fallen over his eyes. His cheeks had returned to its usual color, removing the red flush of running and exhaustion.
“Huh, I guess I should be credited for your success. Spain should thank me.”
“Are we forgetting that I’m the one who plays the sport?” Sae’s voice came out harsher than he intended and cut through the playful atmosphere by the first syllable. His demeanor appeared unchanged but he felt himself tense.
Conversation had never been strong for Sae, only ever talking when he needed to and the most of his words going to his teammates on the field or his little brother. His success was a sensitive subject whether he liked to admit it or not. Spain served as an eye-opener to the teenage boy, being left in a country where no one looked like you and no one spoke your language. The only thing he could rely on was a translator he barely trusted and the expressions of the people around him.
When you don’t respond, Sae observes your face, noticing how you began to fidget with your fingers just as you had when you first stepped out of the car. You weren’t his previous coaches; you were just a former classmate who he happened to run into, or rather, you drove into. It was too late to laugh and he felt slightly guilty at freaking out someone that wasn’t his brother, an opponent, or a bothersome news anchor.
“If you want to repay me for the ball, meet me at the sports store nearby.”
“Sorry, but I don’t really know where you’re talking about,” you sheepishly reply, wanting to sink more into the ground with every word. You decide that talking to athletes is more tiring than playing an actual sport.
“Give me your number, I’ll send you the address.”
You hand him your phone, hoping he doesn’t comment on the horrendously cracked screen protector that you had been telling yourself to replace for months. At the same time, you also want him to notice the small possibility of him offering to buy you a new one, taking advantage of rich people or whatever. “I can pick you up if you don’t mind.”
“Should I trust you to drive me?” he asks, carefully looking between you and your car with his turquoise eyes as if analyzing his opponents on a field, only, this was a residential street and the only other player was a balding middle aged man walking his dog.
“I mean, you’ll be my first passenger so you can find out for everyone else.”
“If I get into an accident I’ll sue you for real.”
“I’ll try not to, I don’t have a job anymore and I’m going to college soon so even if I do please be merciful I swear I have good intentions.”
“Pick me up tomorrow at 11 and I���ll give you a review,” he decides, handing over his phone with the contact ‘Sae Itoshi’ at the top of your phone and the name of a sports store sent to your conversation. You ponder for a moment about asking for a contact picture but you’d like to stay alive for at least one more day so you bid him farewell and sit back in the driver’s seat, hoping he doesn’t hate your taste in music when you turn the radio back on.
—
The Itoshi residence is rather normal, differing from your expectation of a lavish mansion with fountains and fences of gold, given that Sae was a famous athlete and his younger brother Rin was known throughout the prefecture for being a mini Sae. The previous night when you had just finished brushing your teeth, your phone screen illuminated with the presence of a new notification: a text from the older Itoshi.
>make sure you don’t have anything planned for tomorrow
>i’ll need to try each ball out
>you did this to yourself
>shitty driver
A jolt of pain had struck your pride, crumbling your ego at the realization that he was, unfortunately, right about needing to sacrifice your entire afternoon to babysit a (grown) stranger whom you haven’t talked to in years; those conversations were brief, lacking any substance to consider them actual conversations. For a moment, the thought of bailing on him had crossed your mind, the idea of leaving him stranded at his residence while you enjoyed a night in, marinating before a tumultuous college career seemed insatiably tempting.
Disaster struck when you Googled Sae Itoshi’s net worth, his bank account leading you right to his front doorstep.
“Don’t get into any car accidents,” Sae told you as he dipped his head down to step into the passenger’s side of your car. You were suddenly struck with a moment of insecurity; a wealthy athlete who could probably buy your family and your ancestor’s mummified corpses is sitting in your car and is probably rich enough to get away with murdering you for having half a particle of dust fall onto his lap.
You realized you zoned out when Sae cleared his throat, blinking a few times at you with an unamused expression and eyebrows furrowed in judgment. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, man. Just trying to remember the name of the place you mentioned. It’s a technique I use where if I think really hard in the same place I was when I thought of that thought, that thought I had thought of can reappear in my thoughtless mind.” You aren’t sure if you understand what you’re saying but you think you can get away with spouting bullshit if you use enough hand movements like a person on TedTalk.
“What the actual fuck are you saying?” Sae doesn’t seem to believe you but you’re an innovator—you simplify the problem down to something the average person (underling) can understand.
“Can you give me the address again..?”
“You’re a freak.”
Sae picks up your phone, which was opened to the navigator app, and quickly typed in the name of the sporting good’s shop he had mentioned the day before. It was a small place, smaller than you would expect a star athlete to go to for equipment but you suppose it makes sense at the same time: less people, less paparazzi, less crazed fans, and a selection of items picked specifically for trained athletes.
“So, uh, are you gonna make me pay for the ball too ‘cause I’m at least, like, five yen in student loan debt,” you sheepishly ask, hoping Sae can appreciate your humility in being a college student, taking a step forward in life by pursuing a higher education.
“How cheap are you?” Sae scoffs, letting out a sound that started off as half of a chuckle but ended as a constipated grunt, making him sound like a diseased lab-grown goat that was raised by war-stricken alien society. You think Sae should become an experimental musical artist if soccer doesn’t work out, sorta like a fucked up version of Björk who’s slightly less musically talented and a total cunt instead.
“I’m not cheap! I’m just curious. I brought my credit card just in case. I’m a responsible adult; this is all for budgeting and logging my payments or whatever else people do to save money.”
“You’re lucky you’re funny,” Sae comments as if it’s the most nonchalant thing in the world. For you though, you almost stepped on the breaks and begged him to repeat what he said. It would have been just another condescending compliment from anyone else but Sae Itoshi is notorious for not humoring anyone in the media and you quickly realized, even those in real life. Before you could doubt your memory, Sae opens his mouth again. “You lucked out on pretty privilege. All the bullshit you say would not slide if it came from any other person. I’m convinced the only social experience you have is talking to a mud wall.”
Any negative statement he had made went through one ear and directly out the other, keeping only the compliments for your brain to process. Without noticing, a giddy smile appeared on your face and to Sae, it was wildly masochistic the way you tolerated his foul personality and even relishing in his attention—no matter good or bad. He could almost pity you, deducing your attitude as a lack of self respect, but you somehow manage to surprise him every time.
“Nah, I think I had a lot of friends. I don’t know if we were actually friends but I knew their names so it’s probably good enough. Speaking of, there was this guy named Kota who I knew when I was seven and he seemed pretty cool until I caught him picking at his feet in the middle of class. Sometimes I wonder how he’s doing and if he’s still collecting foot gunk. But yeah, I think you’re just self projecting with the whole ‘no people, only soccer’ thing and moving to Spain with zero spanish skills. Damn, wait, that’s kinda sad. Shit, now I feel bad,” you take a look at Sae, searching for any sort of discomfort or offense but he simply shrugged.
“It’s whatever, they all bothered me anyways. I was there to play soccer, not make lifelong friends. It’s not like I’m gonna stay in Spain forever. I’m back in Japan to renew my passport ‘cause I know I’m gonna come back eventually.”
“You’ve already made a name for yourself and you’re making insane money that can last more than a lifetime for the average person once your contract is over. It’s not gonna be long before you get onto the Olympic team for Japan. When you do make it on, you better thank me for making sure you kept on playing by bringing you to buy a replacement for a ball I ran over.”
You drove into a parking lot with two other cars directly in front of the sports shop. The building was in the middle of a small plaza, adjacent to an udon shop and a bar. It was undoubtedly an odd place for a sports shop to be and that might have been what caught Sae’s eye in the first place. In the window display, a tennis racket and a pair of soccer cleats are put on display and on the glass door, countless advertisements for events and brands are taped on, each barely correlating to the others.
Right in the corner of the shop is the checkout where an elderly man sits, scribbling something in a beaten journal. There is a stack of newspapers behind him, every issue marked with highlighted annotations and then neatly folded as if it were untouched. Sae greeted the man and turned to find someone else, this time, being a younger man who appeared to be in his thirties or forties. He gave Sae a warm smile and shook his hand, not as a business partner, but as an acquaintance.
It’s here that you realize you’ll never be able to see the world the way Sae does. In your car he was just another boy in your neighborhood that you decided to get to know. But to others, he was Sae Itoshi, a prodigy who could conquer the world with just himself and a pair of cleats. Although his eyes are dimmed and his apathy anything but silent, his shine was lost to know one and when he boards a plane back to Spain while you settle into college, you think you’d be content calling him a shooting star.
Sae notices that you stopped following him and turns around in confusion, tilting his head to motion you to follow him. It takes a breath before you put your hands in the pocket of your jacket and tentatively follow him. It wasn’t until you walked into the store that you truly realized how out of place you felt and if it were just you and Sae, you might’ve thought to ask him what everything did. He’d call you a dense fuck and tell you that he plays soccer, that he doesn’t deal with anything else. You had even the smallest bit of shame so you kept your mouth shut and continued to trail after him, stealing glances at the stacked shelves until the employee came to a halt.
Before you was a wall, lined with four shelves of nothing but soccer balls, each decorated with the signatures of different brands and their series’.
“The guy said I can try them out in the back.” Sae tapped your shoulder and grabbed onto the fabric of your jacket, dragging you with him like a pet cat. “They have a lot of empty space there. You can help me carry everything I want to try.”
Agreeing turned out to be a mistake. In your arms you struggled to carry six different balls, with Sae dribbling one between his feet as the owner of the stop unlocked the door to the back where Sae would be testing things out. You felt like an overworked butler from some bad comic and in your head, you imagined yourself as a fainting princess—a damsel in distress being overworked by the evil kingdom in which she is supposed to be respected.
“Stop being dramatic,” Sae sighed, noticing your dejected pout and lost eyes. He could almost pity you if you didn’t look comically pathetic in the moment, almost adorable if he wanted to be slightly sentimental. “You can put them all down now. Just sit here and wait. Take a nap or something, you’ll be fine.”
The lack of standards you have would be an issue to address at a later date because the barely comforting words of the ever eloquent motivational speaker Sae Itoshi had you immediately perking up and cheering for him.
“Go! Go! You got this! Get that goal, ugly!”
“Who are you calling ugly? I could knock you out with this ball, you know. If you want to be supportive, don't be a freak.”
“Are you really gonna disrespect the only fan you have at the moment? What if I tweet about this and get you canceled or some shit?”
“Do you really think I care about that?”
“...no…”
“...”
“...”
“Whatever. Do what you want.”
“Kick that ball, little boy! You’re a prodigy! Number one soccer player in the world! Bend that net over!”
—
By the time Sae had finished shooting several goals and alternating dribbling between them at least five times, the sun had set and your throat was sore from bullshit cheering, half of which were incoherent sounds of moral support. Sae grabbed an unopened box of the ball he had chosen and denied a pump when offered one. When he placed the cardboard packaging onto the checkout table, your wallet was in your hand and ready to check out and pay off your debt to the Itoshi.
However, you were met with a receipt in your hand instead and a farewell from the owner, bidding you and Sae a happy rest of your day. You quickly turned your head toward Sae, mouth agape as your brain twitched, trying to process if he was fucking with you or not.
“Do you want me to pay you online or write a check or what? Wait, why did you pay? I thought I owed you it? My complaining earlier was all joking. I literally popped your old ball. The least I can do is pay for a new one!” You rant, quickly taking your phone out of your bag to open up your banking app but Sae was quicker to take your hand in his and bring it down to where it was before.
“And I was fucking with you too, dumbass. Or are you too stupid to remember back in the car how I didn’t respond to you asking if you needed to pay? Start listening, will you?”
“I think this is the meanest act of generosity I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not being generous, I’m telling you that you owe me something else.”
“What the fuck?” You’re perplexed by the audacity of this man. You hope his athletic career flops and every brand deal that he has gotten offered drops him. “Are you gonna start charging me an insane amount of interest like a loan shark? Dude, aren’t you rich?”
“I’m not asking for money.”
“Then what is it?”
“Go on a date with me.”
“Are you being for real right now?” You’re still perplexed by the audacity of this man. You’re perplexed by how his words are chosen to form the most foul sentences with sweet meanings. You’re perplexed by how out of all who know him, and all whom he knows, he would take an interest in you. But you’re a selfish person—if Sae Itoshi is offering his beauty and his awful personality to you, then you’ll take it with all your heart.
You move to Sae’s side, putting everything in your hands into your bag and intertwining your fingers with his, a dumb smile planted on your face. As you skip to the car and swing your hands between the two of you, Sae Itoshi’s grin is highlighted by the golden glow of the setting sun.
He really can’t wait to come home.
#itoshi sae#itoshi sae x reader#sae itoshi x reader#sae itoshi#blue lock x reader#blue lock sae#blue lock itoshi sae#bllk sae#bllk itoshi sae#bllk x reader#bllk fluff#bllk#blue lock#blue lock fluff#this fic is my farm fed organic almond baby
640 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bruce must genuinely be more concussed than he thinks though if he thinks Jason is a hallucination but still can’t stop himself from interacting with him and sobbing over him. (Emotional lability is a common symptom of concussions.)
He’s genuinely, seriously vulnerable and it’s freaking Jason out. He’s rambling and crying and Jason has already had to redirect him twice to stop the identities falling out in front of the paramedics. Bad enough that Jason (broken ankle, dammit, this wasn’t supposed to happen) tried to stand up out of the paramedic’s grasp when he realised just who it was they were pulling out of the back of the car and onto a stretcher, face pale and lax and bloody. Bad enough that he forgot himself enough to say “Dad?” – quietly, but loud enough for the paramedic to hear. Bad enough that when the paramedic asked “That your dad, son?” he was still too much in shock to do anything other than nod. (Bruce wasn’t supposed to be hurt. Bruce didn’t get injured, not like this. He was all-powerful, larger than life, a superhero. He couldn’t be taken out by some stupid car crash. When Jason didn’t even know he was there.)
Bruce was blinking and hazy-eyed when they brought Jason, splinted ankle and all, in to the ambulance and settled him next to the stretcher. Just play the part, Jason told himself. He probably won’t recognise you anyway.
“Jason…”
So much for that idea.
–––––––––––
Bruce has a brief memory of a truck coming out fast from a side road and a motorcycle swerving to avoid it, directly towards them. He remembers thinking I can’t do anything about this. Then a memory of a skid, the world outside the window blurring, and then the sky, framed with an edge moving past him with people jabbering at each other around him. He thinks for a moment and parses that one as him being pulled out of the side of the car by… some people.
Now he’s… in a vehicle. An ambulance.
He should get up, get back to work. The Mission… no, he’s Bruce Wayne right now, isn’t he?
Someone is being wheeled in and strapped next to him. It’s his dead son.
He knows it isn’t, really. But he can’t help himself. He smiles, tears in his eyes. Jason. His son. As he could have been. If he’d grown up. If Bruce had been able to save him. Bruce hadn’t saved him. If he’d only been quicker, had stopped the shipment sooner. His Robin –
“Hey, hey, stop. Bruce.”
Bruce, yes, he’s Bruce Wayne, he’s not –
“Hey! It’s OK, I’m here, you’re – you’re going to be OK.”
And Bruce knows it’s a hallucination, but it’s his son, and he can’t help but smile through his tears.
Prompt:
Brucie Wayne gets into a mild accident in public (read-got hit by a car). And Batman would just walk it off (“it’s barely a bruise”), but Brucie obviously… can’t.
So he has to suffer the ordeal of having civilians call paramedics, getting fussed over, and having-
Having his dead son get into the back of the ambulance with him.
Oh- oh no. He must have hit his head worse than he thought. He thought he was past this…
#batfam#jason and bruce get into a car crash#I was trying to imagine how this could happen given both Bruce’s and Jason’s driving skills and general reflexes#I think the crucial thing is that Bruce *wasn’t driving*#nor a pedestrian#he was in a car *someone else* was driving#he was on an official Wayne Enterprises trip to visit some subsidiary office or other#and he was in a Wayne Enterprises car (i.e. not one souped up with battech) with a Wayne Enterprises driver from the driver pool#the WE driver is OK by the way#rather bruised and very *very* shaken#(oh my god I nearly killed the boss)#but not badly injured#Jason was going to do a cool move where he flung the motorbike out from under him and rolled over the bonnet of the oncoming car#and back onto the bike again#he’s trained that move#but he’s trained that with skilled drivers who knew the plan#and honed it in chases and fights with desperate drivers with nothing to lose#WE driver is just an ordinary driver with ordinary levels of skill#WE driver panics and slams on the brakes when they see a motorbike bearing down on them#car skids and jackknifes and the back of it slams into a lamp-post or that truck or something#Bruce doesn’t know he’s babbling#Jason trying his best to keep a lid on the identities#means he has to keep reminding Bruce he’s Bruce without giving the game away#which means he has to be Jason#which means there’s no chance of backing out of this#the paparazzi are at the hospital when the ambulance arrives#hospital security chases them away but someone gets a good shot of bruce and jason leaving the ambulance together#there’s at least one medical professional who thinks it’s highly suspicious#that Bruce Wayne’s dead son *just happens* to get in a car crash with him and they both end up in the same ambulance#while Bruce Wayne is concussed and vulnerable
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Jeff the killer SFW & NSFW headcannon’s:
SFW:
-ahh yes our lil emo boy who played with fire
-100% does not believe in haircuts. you will have to be the one to force him
-if you let him he will live off of beef jerky and dr pepper
-only finds showering necessary when he's soaked in blood, which just so happens to be almost every night. so TECHNICALLY jeff is clean but not because of regular hygiene ideals
-certified yapper. finds himself having the most in common with ben, but has a tendency to hangout with EJ, its more along the line of opposites attract kinda thing
-loves rock/alternative/'emo' music. room is covered in band posters and everything is black
-his cheeks remain raw and uncut, they never heal/scar. he constantly has to use eye drops and uses a wet washcloth to cover his eyes when he sleeps
-speaking of sleep, is lowkey an insomniac. hes got loads of unaddressed trauma, he has lots of night terrors and prefers to stay awake if possible
-slept with jane once when they were teenagers, its how he lost his v card. (she thinks he was absolutely terrible in bed, thus why he will never admit this to anyone and claims he was drunk)
-LIVES in hoodies. you will never find this man in another form of clothing. skinny jeans and basketball shorts are his go to
-liu stays at the Trenderman mansion, so he never sees him. he never has to address his guilt or remorse, and he prefers it that way.
-tries to be a great big brother to sally, since he was a shitty one to liu
NSFW:
-knife kink, obviously
-however I dont think Jeff has a blood kink. despite public belief, jeff IS a horndog, but only has the confidence to actually hook up with someone he cares about. he'd love to see you hurt but in other ways <3
-choking, spitting, bruises, slapping, and hair pulling are on the roster
-with his knife he likes to tease you with it. watching goosebumps raise across your skin and the hair on the back of your neck stand up is erotic as fuck for him.
-'Shh, don't move. Might nip ya'
-I think its fairly obvious Jeff's a rough dom, his egotistical attitude not faltering in the bedroom. there is nothing soft about jeff and his love making skills
-however that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to fuck you senseless
-‘your whimpers are so cute doll’
-likes to manhandle you. fucking you against walls, the floor. hes like a rabid dog
-jeff has a high sex drive. he could go without nutting for a day but that’s about it
-likes to nibble at your earlobe. the way your body melts under his is intoxicating
-prefers to receive rather than give. something about face fucking you and abusing your tiny little throat sends him into a feral frenzy
-‘fuckin take it slut. swallow it all’
-prefers pounding you into the mattress, your face buried in the sheets. he likes to grip your hair while you struggle to breathe against the sheets as he fucks you raw
-refuses to wear a condom but steals you lots of birth control and plan b. he refuses to procreate‼️
#creepypasta#creepypasta smut#creepypasta lemon#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x female reader#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x you#jeff the killer x y/n#jeff the killer x you#jeff the killer x ticci toby#jeff the killer x reader#jeff the killer x eyeless jack#jeff the killer x oc#eyeless jack x jeff the killer#jeff the killer smut#jeffrey woods#jeff the killer#jeff the killer headcanons
452 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza, not knowing he’s a crime lord. And he swears it was an accident! He just, you know, panicked. Tommy and Tubbo were just minding their own business slapping graffiti on a building (practicing their art skills, you see) when a cop started screeching at them, apparently not an appreciator of the fine arts. And since Mrs. Innit would KILL him if he got arrested, Tommy panics and takes a hostage, shouting at the cop not to take a step further or he’ll kill the random civilian he’s ducked behind so he can’t get shot.
Meanwhile Philza isn’t entirely paying attention, and realizes there’s suddenly a small child sheltering behind him from a cop. He gives the cop the nastiest look imaginable, which causes them to back off enough that Tommy thinks his plan is working. Once the negotiations start Philza is baffled by who would have the gall to kidnap him, and so poorly at that. Frankly it’s an umbrage to face the work of an amateur.
Well, till the abductor asks his name. “…do you not know who I am.?”
Tommy squints at the guy. His suit looks kinda fancy? Is it better or worse for him if he managed to randomly capture some Wall Street schmuck? “Hell no,” he hisses. “And I don’t care. I’m a dangerous guy alright? You don’t know what I’ll do to you.”
Philza’s laugh causes the cop to advance, wagering the situation isn’t intense. But because Tubbo’s ‘Yes And’ game is a force to be reckoned with, he casually pulls out a nerf gun (painted to look real for a prank on Ranboo) and trains it on the cop. Philza is positively delighted as he realizes just how amateur his abductors are. Oh this will be a riot to watch.
With more bluffing than Tommy knew he had in him, promising the hostage 20 bucks if he pretended to go along with it, the pure manic chaos bleeding from Tubbo’s eyes and ample gun waving, and creative use of spray paint in the eyes of the chasing cops, Tommy and Tubbo somehow manage to book it. For some reason the hostage keeps up with them instead of escaping. Huh. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome that fast? Tommy would ask, but he’s panting from sprinting. And as they live in an unjust world, hostage guy isn’t even breaking a sweat despite the three piece suit.
“You’re not going to get far on foot,” Philza murmurs. As corrupt and useless as the cops are for most things in this city, he doesn’t imagine there’d actually be that much fuss over a random man being kidnapped, but he wonders what they’ll do if spooked a little more. It’s been amusing thus far. The boys bicker, then elect to force him to drive as neither have licenses. They don’t ask him to drive to their homes, instead some secondary location. Smart, albeit Philza will definitely know both addresses within the hour.
While Tommy is busy ‘threatening’ Philza about the consequences of not getting them there, Tubbo just leans over from a bag of chips he’s munching on and offers them to Phil. Tommy rounds on him, less for showing exploitable kindness to the hostage and more for eating the Doritos that were meant to be his. Philza almost chides them for revealing each other’s names, but decides it might just be easier to hand them notes at the end of this. So far they aren’t getting a passing grade in abduction. But he has to admit it’s far more entertaining than the ‘business’ meeting he was planning to attend.
(Techno, meanwhile, hasn’t heard from Philza and is going BALLISTIC trying to figure out who kidnapped him. From the police report Phil just kinda went along with it, and looked terrified after a private exchange with the abductor, which has to mean the threat is ungodly to convince the Angel of Death to submit. Techno’s about to have a panic attack imagining the unthinkable horrors happening to his best friend, and is only holding it off by doing atrocities about it. This is the THIRD secret criminal organization he’s ripped apart in the last two hours and PHILZA ISNT HERE EITHER!?)
Philza has decided he likes his kidnappers. They’re not experienced in the slightest, but they make up for it with bravado, determination, and a certain lack of rationality that is necessary in the line of business Philza is in. Yes. They’ll do nicely if given a little guidance.
It’s half an hour before either of them notice Philza is driving aimlessly and they don’t recognize the city around them at all. “Hm? Next time I don’t recommend you give the hostage control of the vehicle. I could have immediately driven to the police station.”
Tommy frowns, almost more nervous at the implication the obvious blackmail would go unused. “…why didn’t you?”
“There’s no love lost between the cops and I. And even more importantly, you amuse me. I like your…potential.” He grins at the soft click of Tommy covertly trying the handle and finding the car doors locked. “Getting out at this speed is almost always fatal, Tommy.”
Tubbo lifts the muzzle of the fake gun towards him. “Let us go right. now.”
Philza leans over, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. The teen gulps at the glimpse of the holster Philza’s jacket was hiding, sharing a wide eyed look with Tommy. “I’m not exactly scared of foam bullets, mate.” He chuckles lowly at the tension freezing both of them. “Relax. You’ll be home by dinner. After you went through all the effort of kidnapping me to avoid trouble with your parents, I don’t intend to ruin it. I like you two; you have spunk I don’t see often. After all, it takes a lot of guts to kidnap the leader of the Syndicate.”
#Sbi#dark sbi#dark sbi fanfic#sbi fanfic#angel duo#clingy duo#emerald duo#philza#tommyinnit#technoblade#sbi au#tubbo#tw kidnapping#philza fanfic#tommyinnit fanfic#tubbo fanfic#for the record auto suggest tried to make the first sentence:#Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza not knowing he’s a vampire#Which is insanely different direction but also would be fun#But reverse mafia kidnapping story was the goal so#something to nom on
999 notes
·
View notes
Note
can we please have sleeping with the enemy rafe finally announcing to his friends (and max) that they’re dating now!! 😓😓 (ps. i LOVE your fanfics🤞)
thank you sm, love!! yes yes definitely 🥰 i had to make it super fluffy i had no choice
based on this fic, continuation of this blurb
after they eat a late lunch at an off-campus restaurant, rafe is relieved that she doesn’t ask him to drive her back to her dorm. now that they’ve put it into words, this mutual understanding that their friendship had at some point become much more, he hates the idea of being apart from her.
and once he realizes that, he also realizes he’s gone soft. because he used to never think stuff like that, like it would actually physically hurt to be away from somebody. but she’s the only one he thinks like this about. and now, he figures he can say this stuff out loud.
“you’re my favorite person to hang out with,” rafe says, his thumb tapping over the steering wheel once he starts up the car.
he cringes at himself. it still feels weird saying shit like that. they usually just crack jokes and tease each other. but when he looks over at her, at how bright her smile is, he knows he’s going to keep saying stuff like that until it feels normal, because it’s worth it if she’s going look at him like that.
he suggests they hang out at the house and she happily agrees. they’re curled up on the couch and while they used to always subconsciously be touching in some way, their contact is much more intentional now.
rafe has his arm around her as they sit together. her knees are drawn up to her chest. the sports channel is always on at the house. on the screen is an nfl player sitting behind a microphone at a post-game press conference.
“you’re gonna hate that,” she says. “the interviews.”
his body always buzzes when she talks like that, like him going pro is inevitable. he’s confident in his skills, but not nearly as sure as her that he’ll make it to the nba.
“you think?” he mumbles, playing along.
“yeah, because you have to be media trained and it will not take,” she teases. “like, imagine you were interviewed about yesterday’s game.”
he squints his eyes, indulging her, thinking back to the win his team secured.
“a reporter asks you what you thought of the other team’s offensive approach,” she says. “what would you say?”
“they played like little bitches.”
“see?” she says with a laugh. “you’d lose all your brand deals in a second.”
“you think i’ll get brand deals?”
“mhm. and lots of girls,” she adds.
“already used to that.”
she slaps his chest.
“i’m breaking up with you,” she jokes.
“so, you finally admit it,” a voice from the top of the stairs says. they look up to see one of the other four basketball players living in the house coming down the steps.
“what do you mean?” she laughs.
“that there’s a relationship to break up,” liam clarifies. “you’re not just friends.”
rafe sighs. liam is one of his friends who never stops fucking with him about how married he is to her. rafe has told him time and time again that they’re just friends.
“yeah, we’re not,” he answers.
“you’re not what?” liam says.
“just friends.”
liam just looks at the two of them as they sit on the couch, blinking slowly.
“wait, for real?” his teammate asks.
“yeah,” rafe nods.
“you’re not denying it?”
“no.”
“i don’t know what to do.” liam scratches his head. “i’ve never gotten this far. uh… finally? congratulations?”
“thanks,” she chimes in.
he looks at them for another few seconds.
“this isn’t a joke?” liam says.
“no,” she answers.
“wow,” he says. “what took so long?”
“you can leave now,” rafe tells him.
“cool.”
she laughs as liam turns and heads down the hallway. the conversation goes about the same way with every other housemate as the news spreads.
eventually, she dozes off in front of the tv. she’s curled up in a ball, her hand wrapped around his bicep, her cheek on his shoulder. he can’t help but take a photo from his vantage point.
when she wakes up, she tells him she should go home. he drives her to her dorm. on the way, she’s scrolling on her phone and sees he posted a story. he hardly ever posts anything.
it’s a photo of her taken just over her head, her eyes closed, lashes resting over her cheeks, hand wrapped around rafe’s arm. it’s a sweet, almost intimate photo.
“wow,” she teases. “you’re going to hard launch me just like that?”
“sure. whatever the fuck that means.”
she laughs.
“you know, guys tend to unknowingly post the worst pictures of their girlfriends,” she tells him. “but this really isn’t that bad.”
“no shit,” he says.
“what, it can’t be bad if you took it?” she guesses, rolling her eyes.
“it can’t be bad ‘cause it’s you.”
she glances over at rafe, watching the passing street lights glowing over his handsome face. is this the kind of stuff he’s been thinking and never saying out loud? they were always honest with each other, but she gets why he wouldn’t say things like that if he thought them. it’s so far from friend territory.
she’s determined to do the same thing. to go back to saying everything on her mind to him, instead of stopping herself from sharing her affectionate thoughts like she’s gotten used to doing.
they share a long kiss before she gets out of the car. when she makes it to her room, she reposts the photo on her story, his account clearly linked. just so there’s no confusion and simply because she’s so giddy, she captions it: boyfriends can take good pics sometimes?
it reminds her of the first night they hooked up and she posted a photo of him shirtless in her room.
eventually, everyone on her squad and every basketball player on the team, including her ex-boyfriend, view the story. it’s crazy how part of the reason she and rafe even got together was for revenge over him. she was shattered when max broke things off, but he inadvertently pushed her towards her best friend.
now, there’s no way anyone can misconstrue things. rafe is her boyfriend. and she’s proud of it.
so, she keeps her promise to herself. she won’t miss any opportunity to tell rafe how much she likes him. she texts him: i’m so so so glad i met you
he replies: only three so’s?
she texts: +5 more so’s
he replies: better
then, her phone buzzes again with a text from him: me too baby. you really are my favorite person
(continuation)
576 notes
·
View notes
Text
rick sanchez x reader
headcannons or something idk i like old men read my stanford x readers here too x <- POLL AT THE END !!
- you’re probably a family friend, you come over every once in a while to supervise morty and summer while jerry and beth try to rekindle their failing marriage
- you do a horrible job because the kids always end up sneaking out with their grandpa to kill some god or something absurd like that
- your oblivious, rick isn’t necessarily cold towards you, just indifferent
- he would rather be elsewhere than in the living room talking to some random person that beth insists on having in her house
- one day you catch them sneaking out and probably hide inside of the trunk of ricks car(?) because curiosity killed the cat or something like that
- the cars system would probably inform him that he has an unexpected visitor and your caught red handed, now inside the passenger seat with morty and his grandfather
- awkward would not be enough to describe what that whole journey was
- rick would berate you for being so stupid, telling you that you had no survival skills getting into strangers cars like that
- morty sat in silence, disappointed that he couldn’t go to “boob world” or whatever he called it
- you see, you’re a professional glazer
- it’s not even unintentional like you’re genuinely super impressed by this guy what the fuck do you mean he’s fucked a planet?? crazy work me next
- he decides to keep you around to stroke his ego, it’s refreshing to have someone who’s not always busting his balls about morality and space laws
- and having someone as attractive as you worship him like a god sounded good to him
- after a while he’ll definitely enjoy your company but pretend he’s super cool and suave , pretending that he’s not excited to spend some time with you
- morty gets a little concerned at the fact that his grandpa has taken a liking to you, with with beth
- they know what he’s like, he’s brash and cold one minute, and a little normal the next
- they eventually give in though, they’ve never seen him so calm before, maybe you’ll change him and his chaotic ways
- (you can’t and you won’t)
- he’s super distant when he realises he might have genuine feelings for you, it’s not like him at all to feel all mushy
- truth is, he’s lonely, he’s sad, he’s afraid that things won’t work out, something bad happens to you etc, then he’s back to being lonely
- yeah he’ll probably be a little mean to you at first, to try and scare you off
- doesn’t work, so he gives up with the sass
- definitely builds you little trinkets and machines now and then
- you have no time to mow the lawn? he’s going to build self mowing grass for you (it’s a little sad)
- always stuck in traffic? he’s tinkered with your car and now whenever you drive by a traffic light it’ll always be green (so many casualties)
- too cold today? he’s going to discreetly push the sun a little closer to the earth, juuust a smidge
- he definitely butt dials you when he’s drunk only to cry on your lap until he sobers up and then pretends nothing happened, if he tells you anything particularly sensitive then your memories about it are going bye-bye
- it would take a lot for him to confess, for real
- normally though you’ll probably find a bunch of voice mails from him, he sounds rough and panicky, like he’s about to die in some stupid mission (you could always near morty crying in the background)
- he’ll tell you that he loves you, and that you make him forget about how much he hates himself
- forget about that though because in the very next voice mail he sounds normal again and is telling you to ignore what the last message said
- do not ignore it pls
- do something subtle but nice, like bake or cook him something, or buy him a new lab coat, anything
- he’ll probably get the hint soon
#rick and morty#rick sanchez#rick c137#x reader#rick sanchez x reader#morty smith#rick and morty x reader#reader insert#xreader#beth smith#jerry smith#stanford x reader#ford x reader#gravity falls#rick x reader#diane sanchez
248 notes
·
View notes
Note
AHHHH I NEED MORE KEEGAN IN MY LIFE PLEASE could you write some Keegan h/c?
Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader
Warnings: just general stuff, language, bad driving, NSFW under the cut, mdni, spit kink
A/n: it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing😌 Keegan is such a bad bitch, he deserves more attention
• Starting off - I’m pretty sure that Keegan would want a civil partner; someone not related to military and actually as far as possible from all the war stuff. First of all, it’s to avoid having constant fear of losing you on the battlefield - it’s a highly dangerous job, sometimes coming out alive is not only a matter of skills, but also pure luck. Secondly, the amount of trauma and emotional damage Keegan carries is more than enough for two people - he needs someone grounded and, well, more stable, someone who will be able to give him a piece of blissful domestic life, faraway from all the constant war Keegan lives in.
• Always referring to you as his girl in conversations with other people or when introducing you to someone new. “That’s Y/n - my girl” “That’s for my girl, she likes pink” “My girl doesn’t like the smell of smoke so I’m trying to quit”. It’s also a way of showing everyone that you’re his - letting others know from the very beginning that you’re taken and no one better try anything with his precious girl, otherwise a few bones will be broken.
• Gives off annoying older brother vibes. He’ll always playfully nag you, and it’ll only become worse once you start dating. Placing stuff on the highest shelves just to watch you struggle to get it yourself, drawing some silly doodles on your notes, messing with your makeup that you spent nearly an hour organising neatly, punching your favourite plushie just to get a rise out of you. And of course, constant bickering! “Keegan, can you pass me that book?” - “Fuck no” *passes the book*. “Keegan, I want some sushi” - “Well shit, what am I supposed to do about that?” *already placing an order online on his phone*
• Another amazing driver here. Keegan has horrible road rage, hitting the car horn aggressively, yelling most intricate insults out the window at whoever that happened to piss him off. I also have a feeling the he drives really fast and reckless, teasing you whenever you ask him to go slower - so you better always buckle up. And yes, he definitely got in a few minor accidents - scratching or leaving indents on other car’s bumper.
NSFW here~*•.
• And while we’re speaking of driving - just imagine giving him a sloppy noisy head while being stuck in a long traffic. Keegan is seething with hot anger, rolling his eyes on other drivers, lack of nicotine adding to his distress. And here’s a sweet lovely you trying your best to make Keegan feel at least a tad bit better, soothing his booming annoyance with your silky tongue swirling around throbbing shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide stronger suction, allowing Keegan to set the pace. And it seemed to work wonders on him - his nape against the headrest of driver’s seat, pretty blue eyes half lidded, staring at the car ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, feeling your throat wrapped around his cock.
• Oh, how nasty he is. Biggest spit kink ever - ordering to open your mouth nice and wide just to spit a thick globe of saliva in it, then closing your jaw and making sure that you swallow it. Will gladly let you spit in his mouth as well; loooves messy wet kisses - either during make out session or after you gave him head, slurping up your spit mixed with his cum from your lips and chin. Very often uses his spit as lube, or telling you to spit in his palm before spreading it all over his needy leaking cock, plunging it deep inside your warmth.
• A horndog. You never have to ask him if he’s in a right mood because yes, he is. He is always in the mood to fuck. Now, he always lets you know that it’s totally fine if you say no - Keegan will never pressure or guilt trap you into any kind of intimacy, no means no. You can always cuddle up together or do something fun like cooking, dancing or simply dorking around. But if your sexdrive happens to match his - oh boy, I’m sorry for your neighbours. Let’s just say - there’s hardly any surface in your flat that you didn’t fuck on.
• It’s nothing new, but this mug is cocky. Like, I don’t think he has unimaginably big dick - not small for sure, but not huge as well; but the way he works with it - a chef’s kiss. Keegan just knows how to angle his hips to massage that one spot within you, how you like your clit to be played with, how he quickly discovers and memorises all the sweetest spots of your body. “Aw, cumming already? I barely touched you, does it feel this good?” - he’d purr, curling three of his long fingers inside of your needy cunny, thumb flicking swollen clit while hot mouth sucks on perked up nipples.
• Daddy kink? Daddy kink😏
Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love<3
#keegan p russ#cod keegan#keegan russ#call of duty keegan#keegan russ x reader#keegan x reader#keegan russ x you#keegan russ smut#cod mwf2#cod x reader#cod smut#cod#cod x you#cod x y/n#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty writing#call of duty#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#call of duty smut#call of duty ghosts#call of duty headcanons
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]
Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍
Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.
Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.
Word count: 5.1k
💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰
“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.
Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”
“For what?”
“Maybe someone will save us.”
“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”
“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”
“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”
Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.
Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”
You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.
“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”
He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”
“You don’t want to die a virgin.”
“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”
“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”
“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”
“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”
“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”
“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”
Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”
You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”
“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”
“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.
“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”
“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”
“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”
“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”
“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”
“Two.”
“Good. Don’t use them.”
You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”
“Remember what you promised me.”
His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”
Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”
“I rarely do.”
“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”
It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.
Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”
The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.
The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.
“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs
You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed
You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave
There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”
The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.
Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”
Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”
All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.
Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”
The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.
“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”
The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”
Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”
“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”
Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”
“Get bit, you poodle.”
Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”
Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.
“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”
“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”
Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”
“Odessa, Oregon.”
He nods. “We’re going to California.”
“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”
“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.
“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.
“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”
“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.
“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”
“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.
“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”
You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.
Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.
“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”
Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”
“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”
“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.
“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”
“I’m seventeen!”
“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.
“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”
Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”
“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.
“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.
“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”
“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.
“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”
Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”
“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.
“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”
“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”
Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”
“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.
“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.
“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.
“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”
Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”
“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”
“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”
“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”
“Who’s Criston?” you ask.
“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.
“Oh, your stepdad?”
“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”
“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.
Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”
“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.
“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”
“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”
“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”
Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”
Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”
“So racist,” you agree.
Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”
Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.
“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”
“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”
Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”
Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”
“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”
There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.
“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.
“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”
“Where is it?”
“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”
Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.
“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”
“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.
Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.
Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”
Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”
Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”
“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.
“And then I have to marry Michelle.”
“You gotta.”
“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”
“It’s the only logical answer.”
“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.
“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.
~~~~~~~~~~
Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.
You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.
What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.
Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”
“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”
“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”
“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”
“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”
“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”
“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”
It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”
“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.
“Kentucky,” you confess.
“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”
“Why would I want to go back there?”
Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.
After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”
Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.
“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”
“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.
“Aemond?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to your face?”
He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”
“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”
“I did.”
You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”
He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”
You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”
“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”
“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”
He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”
“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.
Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.
There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”
Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”
#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen
418 notes
·
View notes
Text
sibling!reader dealing with demon!dean headcanons (req.) ── ✮⋆˙
Pairing: None, just platonic Winchester!Reader (fem) and her brothers Genre: Angst, fluff To note/warnings: Hurt/comfort, grief (temporary character death, as in Sam and Reader think Dean died), canon level violence A/N: A great way to start the year is definitely getting a cool request by @midnight--raine! Tysm, dear, your praise means a lot to me <3 and I 100% agree, Demon!Dean is terrifying. Still my favorite arc ever, because I’m a sucker for the nitty, gritty, dark and scary, but yes. Credit & links: dividers ──〃★ request here
Sam’s heart breaks twice that day. For one, there is the crushing grief that comes with watching the life disappear from his brother’s eyes. Then the realization: How could he possibly tell his sister what happened? Dean’s death is tearing him apart, and he knows it will absolutely destroy her.
There’s no easy way to deliver the news. But, alas, he’s spending a good amount of time sitting alone in the Impala, Dean’s lifeless body in the backseat. The ride back to the bunker was the hardest ever, the silence nearly driving him insane. Sam is thinking back and forth on what to say, what to do.
He knows waltzing in, carrying the corpse is not an option. If anything, Sam doesn’t want her to see Dean like that at all. Though he figures she’ll probably want to see for herself.
She probably already knows something bad happened the second Sam enters the bunker. Of course she does, her brothers have trained her to stay alert 24/7, to look at her surroundings with a keen eye — Dean would be so proud of her people reading skill right now. Sam’s by himself and his expression… he’s devastated, though he tries to keep it together for her sake. It can only mean one thing.
It feels wrong right away. She can tell. It’s obvious when he doesn’t answer her questions. “Where’s Dean?” Silence. It speaks volumes. “It’s not funny, this is a dumb prank.” Sam still can’t bring himself to speak up.
She runs past him, straight outside to look for Dean, even when Sam tries to stop her.
Sam’s glad he thought of draping a jacket over Dean’s body before talking to his sister. She shouldn’t have to see her brother so lifeless, after all. This view alone, even just through the car window, is enough to traumatize her.
What happened isn’t his fault, but Sam still apologizes over and over again. He can just stand there and feel guilty while he’s holding her shaky form.
It’s not their first rodeo with death and while it doesn’t make it any less sad, her tears convince Sam even more that he has to fix this, somehow.
That night she can’t sleep. Nothing can console her, not even Sam. Though she is grateful to have him at her side.
It’s the same for Sam, honestly. With both of them restless, they dig through the library, they try to find anything to bring Dean back.
In the end, she’ll probably fall asleep right at the desk, her eyes heavy and sore from crying and reading. It’s not a peaceful slumber by all means, it’s more like her brain and body just shut down.
Sam carries her to her room, but the second he tucks her into bed and wants to leave again, she wakes and sobs again.
She’s terrified to spend the night alone, nightmares haunting her. If it were for her, she’d be up and in the library again, but Sam manages to make her agree to a compromise: She will try and get some rest and he will stay with her.
None of them get another wink of sleep that night, she’s staining Sam’s shirt with tears while he’s busy brushing his fingers through her hair.
The next couple of days are rough. The bunker feels like a graveyard, Dean’s presence is definitely missing.
She finds herself wanting to prank her brother like every morning — she’d always exchange his shampoo bottle with the ketchup bottle, shed secretly put a Celine Dion cassette in the Impala. Now, there’s no point for any of that.
Instinctively she grabs onto any piece of Dean she still has. She takes one of his shirts to wear, his scent still lingering in the fabric. She doesn’t touch the piece of pie in the fridge, which she’d usually steal, but she wants to keep it there, preserve it, just in case Dean will magically return.
When Dean’s body disappears, it’s like losing him all over again at first. He’s suddenly gone, again, and panic sets in. And it feels even more permanent. However, it’s also a glimmer of hope, right? He has to be somewhere, so is he alive after all?
Sam’s more reluctant to get his hopes up high. He’s dealt with heavy losses before. Seeing his sister motivated to find Dean is a double-edged sword. It’s the first time since Dean’s death that he sees her eyes sparkle again. But he’s also scared she’ll break down even more when this turns out to be another tragedy.
It’s because of that very reason that Sam’s working on this without telling his sister. He hates keeping secrets from her, he hates lying to her, but he can’t bring himself to feed into her delusions only for her to end up even more hurt. So, when he’s able to track Dean down, he’s not telling anyone.
It bites him in the ass. While Sam’s out trying to find Dean, Dean’s already on the way to find her.
She looks like she’s seen a ghost, honestly. Wide eyes staring at him and filled with tears. Suddenly all her hunting skills are out the window. She doesn’t care to throw holy water at him, she doesn’t think of nicking him with silver. Demons, skinwalkers, none of it exists to her in that moment. All she can think about is her big brother being back.
She jumps right into his arms, scolding him, whining and sniffling and hugging him with a death grip.
Dean’s quiet, eerily so, but that’s not enough to make her suspect anything just yet. Maybe he’s tired, maybe she’s confused, it’s so much all at once. She refuses to let go of him, afraid he’ll slip away again, so she drags him to the kitchen and happily presents the piece of pie to him.
Dean doesn’t even touch it. Hell, he’s not even looking at it.
She quickly texts Sam, letting him know Dean’s back at the bunker. Then, when she looks up from her phone again and sees Dean not eating, she’s starting to get doubtful.
Dean not digging into pie? Is he sick or something? “You okay?”
There’s a grin on Dean’s lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it feels off. It feels dangerous. “Never felt better.”
The wheels are turning in her head and her blood runs cold. She didn’t do any of the routine checks. Why didn’t she do any of the routine checks? Sam and Dean have taught her better, but she was so caught up in the moment and…
Her phone buzzes and Sam’s reply is simple. ‘That is not Dean.’ Her eyes widen. ‘Demon. Get away.’
The three or four seconds she spent looking at her phone are what almost gets her killed. It’s plenty of time for Dean to grab the kitchen knife and aim it at his sister instead of the pie.
She manages to dodge, somehow, although Dean makes it sound like he just enjoys playing with his prey. As his eyes turn jet-black, she knows she’s in trouble.
“I’ll give you a headstart, sis,” he hums and even his voice sounds so twisted, so wrong.
“Headstart?,” she echoes. “Dean, please, you don’t wanna—”
“Ten… Nine…”
He absolutely wants to. Sam’s right, this isn’t Dean. Not their Dean.
She bolts out of the kitchen as fast as she can. The bunker is big, but the problem remains that they all know it inside and out — where can she possibly hide? Should she lock herself in the dungeon? Should she ditch the place altogether?
“Six… Five…”
Panicked, she just makes a run for it, not knowing where to quite yet, but knowing it had to be away. As far away as possible. She scrambles to find a weapon, anything to fend off a demon, though she hates the thought of fighting against Dean. Not only would she not stand a chance against her brother, she could never bring herself to harming him or his vessel.
“Ready or not here I come.”
She’s definitely not ready. He could’ve given her a minute, an hour, a freakin’ year, nothing could prepare her for such a chase.
Stupidly, she decides to hide in Dean’s room. It’s far from the safest option, but it’s where her feet have carried her. She can’t really think of any room in the bunker that could protect her from the demonic version of her brother, but here at least, she’s surrounded by happy memories, right?
She’s holding her breath, clutching Ruby’s knife in her trembling hand.
It’s only through a trick that she’s able to survive. Of course, Dean finds her, but she’s fast and able to (a) distract him long enough to make preparations and (b) then lure him to the dungeons.
Dean’s not dumb, he knows there’s a devil’s trap. But he didn’t know there were two of them. She’s haphazardly drawn one he didn’t see until he is standing in it.
Bless all the times she has cursed in the past. She has complained to Sam so often whenever he had forced her to practice drawing pentagrams. She’ll make sure to thank him for it later.
Speaking of the devil, Sam returns just a bit later. He must’ve broken several traffic laws racing back to the bunker, but between that and his sister’s safety, she obviously came first.
He thought she’d be pissed at him for lying to her, but she has a priority too right now: Turning Dean into a human again.
It’s definitely not an easy task. More specifically, it’s downright nauseating to witness the purification process. Dean’s clearly suffering, the pain must be agonizing, but they are able to heal him.
Dean’s back, and he’s human again and it’s all she could’ve ever asked for.
Now, for Dean? Shit, he won’t be able to look into the mirror for a very long time. He always sees himself as the family’s protector. His siblings are his world and to think he attacked his baby sister? It’s killing him.
He feels so guilty he’s not able to look her in the eyes, let alone talk to her or touch her.
Which is why when she hugs him, clinging to his form sobbing, he thinks he doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. His greatest fear is that she’s now scared of him. She’d have every right to be, he attacked her with a damn knife.
“It wasn’t you. It was your body, but not your mind. I mean, that thing comes up with all sorts of dumb things, but not that kind of dumb.”
He can’t help but chuckle at that, of course she’s already back to sibling banter. How she manages to pretend like nothing happened is beyond him.
The events stick with him for a very long time, they never fully disappear from his conscience. He wishes he could wipe the memory of your panicked eyes from his brain, but that image will still haunt him in his grave.
Something has changed though. His shampoo is shampoo and his cassettes are his cassettes. There’s always pie in the fridge and she’s not playing any pranks on him anymore.
It makes him feel even worse. Especially when she explains to him that she’d rather be nice to her pain-in-the-ass brother and have him alive than be mean and have him dead.
“You know one thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other, right?”
It almost sounds like she’s blaming herself. As if Dean’s death was her punishment for bickering 24/7. It’s not right, if anyone should be feeling guilty, it’s him. And he does. God, he does.
It’s very obvious that she’s more afraid of losing him again than she is of the monster he’s become.
He’s set out on playing double the amount of pranks on her then, in hopes of getting some normalcy back. Of reminding his little sister that he’s still here, he’ll always be there. He’ll always be her pain-in-the-ass brother that’ll look out for her and keep her safe and play pranks on her.
When one morning he finds his toothbrush in a jar of pickles, bristles soaked in the vinegar-y liquid, it’s a small victory. Her post-it note with a smug smiley drawn on it is a step in the right direction.
Dean Winchester Taglist (Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist): @ladysparkles78 @ariasong11 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126
@zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46
@midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24
@whump-loverz @cassieriddle713 @ilovedeanwinchester4
Sam Winchester Taglist (Put a book emoji 📚 in the comments to be added to the Sam x Reader taglist): @s7nburn @whump-loverz
Please note: Ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!
#dean winchester x reader#sam winchester x reader#supernatural x reader#demon!dean x reader#dean winchester x sister!reader#sam winchester x sister!reader#sibling!reader#sister!reader#supernatural headcanon#spnhc#angst#spn angst#dean angst#sam angst#dean hc#sam hc#chevroletdean writes
167 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking more on Psychonauts (since I’m still replaying the first game at the moment lol) and how while it’s never really commented on all that much, Raz’s acrobatics training as part of his family circus is actually a HUGE part of his abilities and the gameplay.
As in, it’s the in-universe justification for the game’s platforming.
For example, just look at Oleander’s Basic Braining from both a gameplay and narrative perspective: Gameplay-wise, it’s the opening tutorial level that introduces the basic controls and all the platforming mechanics that will define the rest of the game, and because of that the level is pretty easy and forgiving to the player.
Now where this gets interesting is when we consider that it’s pretty clear that for the rest of the campers, Basic Braining is basically a horrifying death with most not even being able to finish.
So it’s basically implied that the level being so easy represents that for Raz, it WAS easy. Specifically BECAUSE of all his acrobatics experience. While all the other kids were struggling with ridiculously long ladders, net walls, rope-swings, multiple trapezes, dodging machine-gun fire or just getting blown up by random landmines, Raz the trained-before-he-could-walk acrobat was absolutely blitzing through all of that. He got through it so fast Raz almost stumbled onto the big bad’s evil plan simply because Oleander never thought he’d get through the course so fast!
And the fun thing is that this unspoken emphasis on Raz’s acrobatics skill permeates through the entire rest of the game, and even explains a few metanarrative elements! Like you know how it’s implied that Raz pics up new psychic abilities and skills ridiculously fast for a kid his age while at camp?
Well, aside from his natural talent and drive to learn, from a gameplay perspective we can assume at least part of it is Raz picking up a bunch of those Psi cards, Challenge Markers and Scavenger Hunt items scattered around the camp. Most of which just so happen to be squirreled away in some VERY hard-to-reach places. At least, hard to reach for anyone without years of acrobatics training.
And that’s not even touching on what happens when Raz picks up Levitation. Like for the other kids, levitation is just a fun gimmick to zip around rolling on a glowing ball. But as we see with Raz, he’s practically FLYING.
Is it any wonder Ranger Cruller is surprised when Raz gets half the scavenger hunt done in an afternoon? And is pretty sure nobody has ever done the whole thing when Raz finally finishes the hunt?*
And I think this all plays very nicely into the narrative thru-line that runs across both the first and second games: That for all the baggage that may come from them, Raz’s connection to his family is still an important part of his life. Particularly with how this plays into the end of the first game with Raz reconciling with his father, and into the second game with both reconciling and dealing with several of his broader family issues.
That regardless of what he learns as a psychonaut, the lessons Raz learned from his family will always be of help to him.
*I mean, aside from the fact that one of the items can only be obtained through use of a psychic power that doesn’t seem available to campers, and another item straight-up isn’t even in the camp.
278 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Fourth Wing Boys and their Kinks
Summary: Just what I think the boys' main kinks would be
Words: 3.9K words
Warnings: smut
➩ Overstimulation - Xaden thrives on control and precision, and overstimulation is his way of showing just how deeply he can unravel you. He takes his time, pushing you further than you thought possible, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure until you’re shaking beneath him. His low, gravelly voice whispers in your ear, “You can take more, can’t you?” as his skilled hands and lips continue their relentless assault. Xaden watches every reaction—your trembling limbs, breathless moans—with a predatory satisfaction, proving that only he can bring you to this point of exquisite surrender.
➩ Brat taming - Xaden’s authoritative personality means he doesn’t tolerate defiance for long—but he enjoys the challenge of taming a brat. When you test his patience with teasing remarks or deliberate disobedience, he’ll pin you with a dark, warning look that promises consequences. “Is that how you want to play this?” he growls, his voice a dangerous purr. Xaden thrives on putting you in your place, using firm dominance tempered with just enough restraint to make you crave more. By the end, you’re begging for forgiveness as he reminds you who’s really in control.
➩ Semi-public - The danger and thrill of semi-public intimacy appeal to Xaden’s dark, commanding nature. He’ll pull you into a shadowed corner, his hand firm on your hip as he murmurs in your ear, “Be quiet, or they’ll hear.” His touch is deliberate, teasing you while maintaining enough composure to keep control of the situation. The risk of being caught only heightens his intensity, as he pushes boundaries and leaves you breathless, flushed, and craving more even as others are mere feet away.
➩ Edging - Xaden has an unmatched patience when it comes to building anticipation. His touch is a tease, giving you just enough to drive you mad but never quite letting you fall over the edge. He watches every reaction intently—your gasps, the way your body arches beneath him—all while holding you back with a devilish smirk. “Not yet,” he’ll murmur, his tone dark and teasing. He enjoys knowing he’s the only one who can push you to the brink, dragging out the tension until you’re begging him to let go. The eventual release is explosive, leaving you trembling in his arms as he murmurs, “See what happens when you trust me?”
➩ Bondage - Xaden’s authoritative nature makes him an expert at restraint—both physically and emotionally. He enjoys tying you up, his rough hands gliding over your skin as he secures you with precise, unhurried movements. He takes his time, ensuring you feel safe, whispering promises of what’s to come. There’s a thrill in knowing you’re completely at his mercy, unable to touch him while he explores every inch of your body. He’ll linger, taking in the sight of you, his dark eyes filled with predatory satisfaction. “You look perfect like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with intent, right before he shows you exactly how much he’s capable of.
➩ Thigh riding - Garrick’s serious, no-nonsense demeanour gives way to a deliciously commanding side in the bedroom. He’ll pull you onto his thigh, his hands firm on your hips as he guides your movements. His intense gaze locks on you, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you lose control. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. He revels in the power of knowing he can make you come undone with just his thigh, the tension in his body evident as he holds himself back from taking things further—until he decides you’ve earned it.
➩ Hair pulling - Garrick’s lack of patience shows through in his touch, rough and unrestrained when passion takes over. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, his lips curving into a wicked smile at your reaction. “You like that, don’t you?” he teases, his voice laced with amusement and desire. For Garrick, hair pulling isn’t just about control—it’s about eliciting raw, unfiltered responses from you, something that feeds his need to break through his usual stoic exterior.
➩ Face fucking - Garrick’s authoritative nature shines in this act, where he takes full control, ensuring you’re as much a participant as you are at his mercy. He guides you with firm, steady hands, his tone encouraging yet commanding. “Good girl,” he growls, his voice thick with arousal. Garrick’s focus is unwavering, watching you with intense eyes that hold a mixture of pride and hunger. He’s mindful of your limits but pushes them just enough, ensuring that every moment feels like both a challenge and a reward.
➩ Somnophilia - Garrick’s protective side translates into a fascination with your vulnerability, though he would never act without explicit trust and consent. On rare occasions, he might wake you with soft, lingering kisses and featherlight touches, murmuring your name as his hands explore your body. His low chuckle would accompany your sleepy, surprised reactions. “Couldn’t wait,” he’d whisper against your skin, his tone teasing but tender. For Garrick, it’s about cherishing the intimacy of those quiet, unguarded moments where nothing exists but the two of you.
➩ Body worship - Garrick’s serious, duty-oriented personality doesn’t stop him from showing reverence for your body. His hands move with purpose, exploring every inch of you with quiet intensity. He takes his time, pressing kisses to scars, curves, and soft spots, his humor shining through as he murmurs playful compliments and earnest praise. “Perfect,” he’ll say, his voice full of conviction, his eyes filled with adoration. For Garrick, body worship is about showing you how much he values you—every mark, every flaw, every detail—and reminding you that you’re utterly, completely his.
➩ Praise kink - Liam thrives on knowing he can make you feel good, both emotionally and physically. His words are genuine and heartfelt, spoken with an edge of playfulness that keeps the mood light. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he’ll murmur, his hands steady and warm as they explore your body. Liam’s praise comes from a place of deep admiration and care—he enjoys building you up, reminding you just how much you mean to him in every whispered compliment and tender touch.
➩ Cunnilingus - Liam is the definition of generous in the bedroom, and nothing brings him more satisfaction than focusing all his attention on you. He’s thorough, patient, and utterly devoted, taking his time to learn exactly what makes you gasp and moan. He’ll lock eyes with you, a playful grin on his lips as he revels in every sound you make. “That’s it,” he’ll say, his voice husky with pride and arousal. For Liam, it’s not just an act—it’s a way of showing his loyalty and unwavering desire to put your pleasure first.
➩ Breeding - Liam’s loyalty and protective instincts lend themselves to a fascination with the idea of creating something lasting and permanent with you. The thought of you carrying a piece of him makes his possessive side flare in the most tender way. He’d pull you close, his tone a mixture of seriousness and affection. “You’d look so good carrying my baby,” he’d whisper, his hands firm on your hips, his words equal parts tease and promise. For Liam, it’s about deepening the bond between you, a physical representation of the love and commitment he holds so fiercely.
➩ Body worship - Liam’s charm and natural warmth make him an expert at lavishing attention on you. His hands are soft but firm, his lips leaving trails of kisses over every inch of your skin. He’ll pause at scars or imperfections, lingering to show his appreciation for every part of you. “Every bit of you is perfect,” he’ll murmur, his gaze full of sincerity. For Liam, body worship is his way of cherishing you, ensuring you never doubt how deeply he adores and values you.
➩ Foreplay - Liam loves to take his time, making foreplay an essential part of the experience. His humour and charm shine here, as he uses teasing touches and playful banter to build anticipation. He’ll trace soft kisses along your neck, whispering dirty jokes or sweet compliments in your ear. His hands are everywhere, learning every inch of you and coaxing you into a state of absolute need before taking things further. For Liam, foreplay isn’t just a precursor—it’s a way to connect with you emotionally and physically, ensuring every moment is unforgettable.
➩ Cunnilingus - Bodhi takes immense pride in his ability to please you, and he approaches it with both enthusiasm and tenderness. His playful nature comes through as he grins up at you, clearly enjoying every sound you make. “You taste so good,” he’ll murmur, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady. For Bodhi, it’s not just about the physical act—it’s about making you feel completely adored and cared for. He loves seeing you let go under his touch, knowing he’s the one responsible for your pleasure.
➩ Thigh riding - Bodhi’s tactile nature makes thigh riding one of his favourite ways to tease and connect with you. He’ll settle you on his lap, guiding your hips with firm hands, a playful smirk on his face as he encourages you to let loose. “Come on, sweetheart, show me what you’ve got,” he’ll say, his tone equal parts teasing and supportive. The friction and closeness drive him wild, and he loves the intimacy of having you so close, your pleasure written all over your face.
➩ Body worship - Bodhi’s sweet and protective nature makes him a master of body worship. He takes his time, tracing kisses along every inch of your skin, murmuring soft words of admiration with every touch. “You’re perfect, you know that?” he’ll say, his voice full of warmth and sincerity. Bodhi focuses on making you feel completely cherished, his hands gentle but deliberate as they roam your body. For him, body worship is about showing you just how deeply he values every part of you, inside and out.
➩ Marking - Bodhi’s protective streak and affectionate personality make marking you an irresistible form of connection. He’s not aggressive about it but rather playful and intentional, leaving gentle bites, kisses, or love marks where only the two of you know to look. “Gotta let everyone know you’re mine,” he’ll tease, his tone light but with a possessive edge. Bodhi loves the idea of leaving reminders of your time together, a way of keeping you close even when you’re apart. His touch is always careful and full of affection, ensuring every mark is a testament to how much he cherishes you.
➩ Somnophilia - Bodhi’s protective instincts make this kink a uniquely intimate experience for him. He’s drawn to the trust it requires, ensuring you’re fully comfortable and consenting beforehand. He’d wake you with soft, lingering touches, his voice low and soothing as he brings you to consciousness. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he’d murmur, his lips brushing against your skin as he eases you into pleasure. For Bodhi, it’s about blending affection and desire, making you feel safe and loved even in your most vulnerable moments.
➩ Semi-public - Ridoc’s humour and cheeky attitude make the idea of semi-public encounters irresistible. He enjoys the thrill of being caught—whether it’s in a secluded corner or in a place where there’s just enough risk of discovery to get his heart racing. “It’s not really public,” he’ll smirk, “just a little bit naughty.” The risk of someone walking in makes every touch, every kiss, more charged, and Ridoc loves to tease, taking things just far enough to make you squirm with anticipation, all while still keeping it lighthearted and fun.
➩ Cockwarming - Despite Ridoc’s playful demeanour, there’s a surprising intensity to his need for connection. Cockwarming allows him to be close to you for extended periods, where the attention isn’t rushed, and he can just enjoy being near you. He may joke around about it, but deep down, it’s about claiming space with you—without words, just through quiet intimacy. “I’m not going anywhere,” he’ll whisper with a grin, letting the tension between you both grow as time stretches on. It’s a way for him to relax, feel grounded, and indulge in the closeness he craves without needing to rush.
➩ Marking - Ridoc’s protective side comes into play with marking. He isn’t aggressive about it, but there’s a playful, possessive edge to how he lays his claim. A quick nip on your neck or a mark left on your inner thigh, all done with a grin and a joke to lighten the mood. “You’re mine now, love,” he’ll tease, the lightheartedness making it clear he’s not trying to be domineering—just showing you he cares in his own, cheeky way.
➩ Dry humping - Ridoc’s tendency to turn everything into a joke extends to the teasing nature of dry humping. His quick wit and playful manner mean he’s not in a hurry to go straight to the finish line. He’ll slow things down, pressing against you, enjoying the friction and the way it drives you wild with anticipation. His commentary will keep the mood light, but the closeness and build-up make it far more than just playful—he knows exactly how to make you beg for more, all while keeping it fun and teasing. “What? Can’t a guy get a little close?” he’ll say with a mischievous grin, pushing you right to the edge of frustration.
➩ Body worship - Ridoc’s body worship isn’t about reverence or slow adoration—it’s a playful, affectionate admiration of every inch of you. He’ll touch, kiss, and caress you with a light, teasing air, as though he’s trying to see how much he can make you squirm. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he’ll joke, but there’s genuine affection in his voice as his hands trace over your body, paying attention to every detail. For Ridoc, it’s about making you feel adored while keeping the mood light and fun.
➩ Praise Kink - Sawyer, with his steady nature and quiet confidence, would appreciate the validation of praise during intimacy. He’s not one to flaunt his abilities or demand attention, but when it comes to satisfying you, he would be incredibly attentive and would enjoy the reassurance of hearing how much you appreciate him. His praise would be understated but earnest, low and smooth, always making sure you know how well you’re doing, and how beautiful he finds you. “You’re perfect like this,” he’d murmur, the calm satisfaction in his voice making you feel cherished. For Sawyer, praise would be an intimate expression of trust and respect, not about feeding his ego but about connecting with you on a deeper level.
➩ Silent sex - Given Sawyer’s composed and calm demeanour, silent sex would be something he finds deeply intimate. He doesn’t feel the need for words to communicate with you during these moments; the silence would be a shared understanding between the two of you. His focus would be entirely on you—each touch, every movement would be deliberate and purposeful. When it comes to making love to you, he doesn’t need to speak to show how much he cares. His gaze, his slow, calculated movements, and the way his hands hold you close would be enough. The quiet moments are where Sawyer’s tenderness shines through, without the need for anything other than the connection between your bodies.
➩ Cunnilingus - Sawyer’s attentiveness to your needs would make him a patient and thorough lover when it comes to cunnilingus. He would take his time, savouring every moment as he worships your body. The way he focuses on you, his hands gently holding your hips as he learns every contour of your pleasure, would be an act of devotion. His quiet, calculating mind would apply the same precision to this as he does with any challenge, ensuring you’re completely satisfied. “Let me take care of you,” he’d say softly, his voice a low promise as he shows you how much he values you. Sawyer would treat this act with reverence, a true sign of how deeply he wants to please you.
➩ Hair pulling - Though Sawyer is generally calm and in control, his intensity would come through in moments of passion. Hair pulling would be a subtle but powerful way for him to express his desire, guiding you when things get heated. His approach would be firm but not harsh—he wouldn’t pull roughly, but rather in a way that brings you closer to him. He’d pull you into a kiss, using the grip on your hair to tilt your head just the way he wants, making sure you’re exactly where he wants you. “You make me lose control sometimes,” he’d whisper, his voice low and breathy as he uses the act to both claim and connect with you.
➩ Cockwarming - Sawyer’s need for connection and his ability to remain calm under pressure would make cockwarming a deeply intimate act for him. He’s not one to rush, and he would enjoy the sensation of being close to you without the pressure to go further immediately. For him, it’s about closeness, the sensation of you against him, and the trust it builds between the two of you. He would enjoy the quiet intimacy of it, keeping you close, feeling your body against his while taking a moment to breathe and simply enjoy the bond. “Just stay with me a little longer,” he’d murmur, enjoying the connection, his hands softly caressing your skin as he holds you close.
➩ Overstimulation - Brennan’s strategic mind would approach overstimulation with precision, as if orchestrating every touch to maximise your pleasure. He has the patience to carefully build you up, ensuring you’re pushed to the brink again and again, each time giving you just enough to keep you on edge. He’d be meticulous in his actions, feeling every reaction you give as he carefully stretches your limits. “Just a little longer,” he’d murmur, his thumb brushing over your skin to calm you before he builds you up again, watching the way your body trembles for him. There’s a level of control and care, but also a subtle intensity in his need to take you to the edge of madness before finally letting go.
➩ Cockwarming - Brennan would use cockwarming as a way to foster a deep, intimate connection without needing to rush. It’s more about the quiet moment, the closeness, and his need to keep you near him. He’d likely enjoy the sensation of simply being with you, even if it means waiting. “We’re not in a hurry,” he’d say softly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand as you rest against him. This act, for him, would be about claiming a small space in the world that’s just for the two of you, even if it’s not overtly sexual. There’s a tenderness to it—a way of connecting without words.
➩ Brat taming - Though Brennan doesn’t seem the type to be openly dominant, his patience and ability to think things through would make him very good at brat taming. He wouldn’t mind the pushback, recognising it as a challenge to be solved. When you act up, he’s likely to smile, knowing he has all the time in the world to bring you back into line. His voice would be calm, almost soothing, as he guides you back into submission. “You can keep testing me, but you’ll only end up exactly where I want you,” he’d say with a grin, letting his hands wander with gentle but firm authority. His approach would never be angry—more like an opportunity to remind you who’s in charge, without needing to raise his voice.
➩ Rough - Despite his tendency to focus on strategic thinking and being calm under pressure, Brennan’s rough side would come out when he knows it’s what you need. His patience would flip into a sudden intensity, driven by his desire to take control and deliver a release for both of you. He’d be firm, but never reckless—his roughness would have purpose behind it, focused on bringing you to your breaking point with intent. “This is what you wanted,” he’d say lowly, his hands gripping your hips as he moves with a force that contrasts with his usual composed nature. For him, roughness would be a way to show his intensity, grounded in his usual self-assurance.
➩ Thigh riding - Brennan would likely enjoy thigh riding as a subtle, playful way to enjoy intimacy without diving straight into more intense acts. His focus on connection means he’d want to enjoy the sensation of you moving against him, your bodies close, without the pressure of rushing. He would love watching you ride his thigh, enjoying how your body responds to the friction. “You look so good like this,” he’d murmur, a grin tugging at his lips as he enjoys the view of you, his hands resting on your hips to guide you with gentle encouragement. It’s a mix of tenderness and desire, with a steady intensity that matches his personality.
Fourth Wing Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024
#bodhi durran#bodhi durran x reader#bodhi durran x y/n#bodhi durran x you#bodhi durran smut#bodhi durran fluff#bodhi durran agnst#fourth wing#fourth wing imagines#fourth wing bodhi durran#fourth wing boys#the empyrean#fourth wing x reader#fourth wing bodhi#Liam mairi#liam mairi x reader#Liam mairi x you#Liam mairi x y/n#Liam mairi fourth wing#fourth wing Liam mairi#fourth wing Liam#Liam mairi fluff#Liam mairi smut#Liam mairi angst#Liam mairi one shot#Liam mairi imagine#fourth wing imagine#Garrick Tavis#garrick tavis x reader#Garrick Tavis x you
262 notes
·
View notes
Text
NSFW Alphabet
Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Reader
Requested
Word Count: 2.6K
Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)
Author’s note: little request, hope you like it anon 🩷 also, Kylian deserves it after his gorgeous goal 😌
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Kylian loves to talk after sex, his voice low and soothing as he murmurs sweet nothings about how much you mean to him, often punctuated by soft kisses along your shoulder and jawline. He is always on a euphoric high right after. He becomes incredibly affectionate, showering you with endless compliments about how perfect you are and how much he loves you. His words range from lighthearted teases — "You’re going to ruin me, you know that?” — to sweet whispers like, "You’re everything to me." After making sure you’re cleaned up and cozy, he pulls you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and buries his face in your neck.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Kylian is utterly captivated by your body. It’s not just about physical attraction — it’s the way your body feels like home to him. While he adores every inch of you, if he had to choose a favorite, it would undoubtedly be your breasts. He’s absolutely obsessed, whether he’s touching them, kissing them, or simply lying with his head resting on them after a long day. He loves waking up with his hand cupping one of them, a habit he doesn’t even realize he has, and you find it endearing. He often jokes, “It’s instinct at this point,” but you both know there’s no place he’d rather be than as close to you as possible.
As for himself, he takes pride in his arms. He knows how much you love them, from the way you trace their muscles with your fingertips to how you cling to them when he holds you. He loves their strength, not just because they allow him to lift and pin you effortlessly but because they let him hold you securely, making you feel safe. The fact that you’re just as obsessed with his arms as he is only makes him love them more.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Kylian is torn when it comes to where he prefers to finish. Seeing his release dripping from your tits drives him absolutely wild — it’s a sight that lingers in his mind for days and never fails to make him hard all over again. On the other hand, the intimacy of finishing inside you is an entirely different kind of addiction. The way your warmth envelops him is almost overwhelming, and nothing compares to watching his release spill out of you.
D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)
Though he is intensely private, especially about your relationship, there’s a part of him that secretly gets a thrill from the idea of being caught in the act — or at least from the thought of someone overhearing how thoroughly he adores you. It’s not about exhibitionism; it’s more about the excitement of a shared secret. He loves the risk of sneaking off during a party for a heated moment in a quiet corner or the thrill of pressing you against a window where the world outside feels just within reach. Of course, he’s careful not to take it too far, he’s far too protective of you to ever let things get out of control, but that forbidden edge adds an extra layer of excitement that he can’t resist.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Kylian is no stranger to intimacy. In his younger, carefree days, he had his fair share of experiences. While he never lacked confidence in the bedroom, it wasn’t until you that he truly understood the depth of connection that could exist between two people. His past experiences gave him the skills to please you, but it’s the love and care he brings to every moment that makes your intimacy so extraordinary. Kylian is attentive and attuned to your needs, always ensuring that you feel loved, desired, and cherished. He has a way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the world.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Kylian loves to experiment, always open to trying new things depending on the mood, but his go-to favorite will always be missionary. If anyone thinks it’s boring, Kylian would prove them wrong in seconds. He’s mastered the art of making it intimate, passionate, and anything but ordinary. The position allows him to be close to you, his body pressed against yours, letting him focus on every little reaction you have. He loves watching your face, reading every scrunch of your nose, every gasp, and every flutter of your eyelids as he moves. The access to your breasts is another bonus for him — he loves touching and kissing them without losing the rhythm. Meanwhile, you have easy access to his shoulders, gripping them as he works his magic, making it a win-win for both of you. Missionary, in Kylian’s hands, is an art form.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous, etc.)
During sex, he is typically serious and focused. He’s entirely tuned into you, making sure you’re satisfied, comfortable, and taken care of. He’s not one to crack jokes when he’s making love to you, he considers the moment sacred. However, the second you’re both done and lying in each other’s arms, the goofiness comes back in full swing. He’ll casually crack jokes about the intensity of what just happened or tease you in a lighthearted way, making you laugh as if he hadn’t just given you the best orgasm of your life.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Kylian is meticulous about grooming. He keeps himself clean and well-maintained, but he doesn’t go overboard. His natural hair is sparse, making upkeep effortless, and he always ensures he’s fresh for you.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
For Kylian, intimacy is everything. Sex with you isn’t just physical — it’s an extension of the deep love and connection you share. Every touch, every kiss, and every movement is filled with meaning. He looks at you like you’re his entire world, and he makes sure you feel that way every step of the way as well. He hasn’t experienced love this intense before, and it’s reflected in how deeply he treasures every moment with you. The way he whispers, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” as he holds you close, or how his hands caress you with unmatched tenderness, makes it clear that for him, your bond transcends anything he’s ever known.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
When you’re apart, he isn’t shy about taking matters into his own hands. While he obviously prefers the real thing, being with you, touching you, feeling you, he doesn’t hold back from satisfying himself when the distance gets too much. He often thinks about your time together, replaying his favorite memories in his head. He’s quick to admit that it’s you and only you who can get him going, even when you’re not physically there.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Kylian has a major praise kink. He thrives on your words, living for the way you tell him how much you love him, how good he is, and how incredible he makes you feel. Your moans and vocalizations are like music to his ears, and he encourages you to be as loud as you want. Beyond that, he has a slight edging kink. He loves teasing you, watching you squirm as he brings you right to the edge before pulling back. Seeing you so close to falling apart and begging for release drives him crazy, and when he finally lets you reach your peak, the satisfaction is unmatched.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Kylian is open to trying new places — bedroom, kitchen, shower, couch, pool, car, floor — you name it. He enjoys the thrill of spontaneity and mixing things up, but his favorite will always be your shared bedroom. There’s something about the intimacy of your own space that he treasures. The freedom, the privacy, and the familiarity make it his top choice, and he loves the way the room becomes your little world, where nothing else matters except the two of you.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
It doesn’t take much to get Kylian going. You don’t even have to try, he’s so deeply into you that the simplest things, like the way you smile or the way you move, are enough to ignite his desire. That said, when you’re being a little bratty or sporting an attitude, it drives him wild. He gets this immediate urge to make you lose that composure entirely. You know this all too well and often use it to your advantage when you’re in the mood to spice things up. Your playful defiance always gets an immediate reaction from him, even if he doesn’t realize you’re doing it on purpose most of the time.
N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
His main priority is your comfort and happiness. Anything that makes you even the slightest bit uneasy is an immediate no for him. Whether it’s a position you’re not a fan of, a pace that doesn’t feel right, or even a word that doesn’t sit well with you, he picks up on it instantly and stops. His goal is always to ensure your experience is as incredible and enjoyable as possible, and nothing is more important to him than that.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Kylian absolutely loves giving. Going down on you is one of his favorite things, and he takes immense pride in knowing exactly how to make you feel good. He loves the way you taste, the way your thighs quiver around his head, and the way you fall apart under his tongue. Watching you lose control gives him a sense of satisfaction like no other, and it’s rare for him to let a session go by without starting things off by going down on you. On the flip side, he also loves receiving. The sight of your lips wrapped around him and the way your eyes meet his in those moments is enough to send shivers down his spine.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)
Kylian usually lets you control the pace, seamlessly attuned to your needs without needing verbal cues. Whether it's slow, tender lovemaking or a fiery, passionate encounter, he thrives on reading your body and tailoring his movements to elicit maximum pleasure. On days when the mood calls for intimacy, his deliberate, sensual pace ensures every moment feels deeply connected. On more spontaneous, heated occasions, he can be fast and intense, driven by raw passion, always striking the perfect balance.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
While Kylian prefers to take his time with you, quickies can still be thrilling for him. He enjoys the excitement of fitting passion into a tight moment, especially when the tension between you two has been building all day. However, quickies are more of an occasional indulgence; he enjoys the full experience of worshiping your body and taking his time to explore every inch of you. For him, quickies are like a decadent snack — satisfying in the moment, but not as fulfilling as the full course.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)
He is definitely up for experimenting and taking risks, provided it’s something you’re comfortable with. He enjoys the thrill of sneaky, adventurous encounters, like slipping his hand beneath your skirt during a dinner or stealing a moment of passion in a semi-public setting. He finds the idea of getting caught tantalizing but always ensures that you feel safe and excited rather than pressured. His playful daring keeps things exciting, but your comfort and consent are always his top priority.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)
Being a top-tier athlete, Kylian’s stamina is nothing short of exceptional. He can go for multiple rounds without breaking a sweat and recovers quickly, often ready before you’ve even caught your breath. His physical endurance is matched only by his emotional investment — he’s not satisfied until he knows you’re completely spent and utterly satisfied.
T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Kylian doesn’t personally own toys but is open to incorporating the ones you have into your intimate moments if it excites you. He enjoys exploring new sensations and experiences with you but tends to rely on his own body, his hands, mouth, and the rest of him, to bring you pleasure. For him, it’s about the connection and the intimacy of knowing his touch alone is enough to drive you wild.
U = Unfair (How much they like to tease?)
Teasing is practically second nature for Kylian, and he relishes every moment of it. From lingering touches to whispered innuendos, he thrives on building anticipation and leaving you flustered. He’s especially fond of teasing in public, loving the sight of you struggling to maintain composure. His teasing isn’t just playful; it’s deliberate, designed to heighten your desire until you’re practically begging for him to finish what he started.
V = Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)
Kylian isn’t overly loud but is always vocal enough for you to know exactly how good he feels. His deep, breathy groans and the occasional whispered expletive in French send shivers down your spine. He’s particularly fond of groaning near your ear, knowing how much it drives you crazy. His voice, heavy with desire, is a sound you’ve come to crave just as much as his touch.
W = Wild card (A random headcanon for the character)
He has a thing for you riding his thigh. It’s a unique source of pleasure for both of you and something he secretly adores. Watching you lose yourself as you grind against him drives him wild, and he often wears shorts around the house just to give you easy access. It’s a quick yet intensely satisfying way for you to connect, and he loves the power he holds in making you come undone without even entering you.
X = X-ray (What’s going on under those clothes?)
Kylian’s physique is a work of art, and that extends below the belt. He’s perfectly proportioned, impressive without being intimidating, and knows how to use every inch to make you see stars. It’s not just about size for him; it’s the way he knows your body so well that each thrust feels perfectly calibrated to your pleasure.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Kylian’s sex drive is exceptionally high, though it’s always rooted in his love and attraction for you. If it were up to him, you’d never go more than a day without having sex. His desire for you isn’t purely physical; it’s driven by his deep admiration for you, your connection, and the way you make him feel. To him, you’re irresistible, and he’ll take every chance to show you just how much he wants you.
Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward?)
Kylian doesn’t fall asleep right away, no matter how exhausted he might be. He loves the post-sex glow, holding you close, running his fingers through your hair, and whispering sweet nothings. He often uses this time to tell you how incredible you are and recount all the little things he loved about your time together. Only once he’s sure you’re comfortable and feeling loved will he allow himself to drift off, always with his arms wrapped securely around you.
#kylian mbappe#kylian mbappe x you#kylian mbappe x y/n#kylian mbappe smut#kylian mbappe fanfic#kylian mbappe imagine#kylian mbappe x reader#kylian mbappe fic#kylian x reader#km9#km9 x reader#real madrid#rma#rmafc#football player x reader#football imagine#football fic#football fanfic
116 notes
·
View notes
Text
dollhouse | 1 (prologue)
Based on personal experiences. This will be fun 🥰
Pairing: Cpt. John Price x AuPair!F!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | smut (male masturbation); humor; age gap; cussing
Synopsis: John Price needs a trustworthy nanny to take care of his precious baby daughter. Signing up as a host parent on an Au Pair agency website, he eventually matches with you.
When John finally accepts the fact that he can’t possibly do it alone any longer, he caves in and starts researching various Au Pair agencies.
He reads reviews, experiences and even has Laswell investigate some of those agencies, before he eventually decides on one – Cultural Care Au Pair – and signs up as a host parent/family, looking for an international nanny.
A whole process goes into signing up and getting approved as a host, a good amount of money and paperwork too, but John appreciates the agencies' effort to make sure the host families as well as the Au Pairs backgrounds are thoroughly checked.
It took him long enough to accept that he will need help with his precious baby girl soon, so now he must make sure to find the most absolute trustworthy and perfect nanny for her.
And it takes for fucking ever.
His standards are quite high, he admits that; his Au Pair needs to have decent English skills and must have enough driving experience if she is to be trusted with his princess in the backseat, she needs to be in her mid-twenties at least and preferably has worked with children before.
“A nice rack an’ bonnie face would be plus points eh, Cap’n?”
John clicks his tongue in disdain and furrows his dark brows as he shakes his foolish Sergeant’s words from his head and keeps scrolling through profiles on his laptop instead.
Oh, his bloody team of menaces had a proper blast when they found out their Captain is looking for an Au Pair to host; a young woman he’ll provide with a roof over the head and a weekly allowance in exchange for her services as a caretaker of his precious daughter.
It does sound like the setup of a bad porn movie. He knows that. A single dad/military man looking for a young woman to live with him to take care of his child?
He’s all too aware of how wrong it sounds, Thank you very much, MacTavish.
Even this feels wrong somehow – checking out the Au Pair’s profiles, reading through their motivational letters, previous work experiences, hobbies, looking through their photos...
John is sitting in his spacious living room, laptop perched on his lap again while he’s sitting in his favourite armchair, feet propped up on the matching footstool, browsing through profiles of young females, 17+.
It’s even more bugging and tedious, because both host families and Au Pairs can only be matched with three profiles at a time – so no one can get overwhelmed, which means John is even more reserved with the matches he makes. Then again, the cards to find a good match are stacked against him as it is, being a single dad in his late 30s.
He’s already figured out that most Au Pairs don’t want to work for a single dad, no matter how tame he looks in his profile picture, no matter how fancy his house is and no matter the fact that he will pay way more than the necessary allowance if it means his daughter is well taken care of.
Bloody hell –
John is about ready to call it a night again, log out of his profile and push this task to the next day, when your profile picture suddenly pops up on his screen, making him nearly choke on the sip of bourbon he just took.
Your sweet smile, those sparkling eyes looking right at the camera, the way you’re holding that chubby baby in your arm, perched on your hip –
He reads your name, says it out loud a few times and tests it on his tongue approvingly.
And in a burst of vanity and rashness, John clicks on the ‘match’ button before he even realizes what he’s done and yet he doesn’t regret it once he’s practically studied your profile.
It’s almost too good to be true, really.
But then he looks through the other pictures you’ve uploaded to your profile; pictures of you with family, friends, at a café all casual and – there's that selfie of you in a white sundress, flashing another bedazzling smile and showing off a hint of your womanly curves – and John knows he’s in trouble when his cock gives a twitch of interest in his underwear.
He shouldn’t be doing this; shouldn’t be looking at you with any other thought in his mind than ‘This could be a potentially good nanny for my sweet daughter’.
“Fuck–” He grunts quietly, shifting in his seat as he sets his glass of bourbon down on the vintage side table to his right, because as much as he hates himself for it, he is currently looking at you with other intentions in his mind.
The alcohol has turned his insides all warm and now the sight of you in that sundress is already burned into his retinas without his conscious consent; it’s not your fault, no – Gods, no.
It’s the fact that John hasn’t seen a pretty and friendly-looking thing such as yourself in such a long time. It’s the fact that John wasn’t bothered to look at another woman since his ex-fiancée and mother of his child cheated on him and then disappeared to fuck knows where with another man.
And now John’s large, calloused hand is already palming his half-hard erection through his slacks absentmindedly, working up that steady blood rush south while his eyes are trained on your picture, until they flicker briefly to scan around his dimly lit living room, almost expecting Gaz and Soap to pop out from behind the drawn curtains, pointing their fingers at their perverted Captain – laughing at him, because they were right in the end.
“Fuckin’ hell,” John curses again, shaking those thoughts off his tired mind, because he needs this now and he’s going to indulge this once.
Once.
And then he will withdraw his match request with you before he loses all his self-restraint, because there is no way he can be trusted with you potentially living in his home.
John keeps the laptop steady on his lap with his left hand while he rucks up his shirt enough to expose his buff chest and the dark coarse hair covering it and then he pops the button of his slacks open with ease, pulling the zipper down before his other hand dives past the waistband of his boxer briefs.
An almost pained, low groan escapes his throat when he finally touches and frees his throbbing cock from his pants.
He should feel ashamed by the sight of his leaking cockhead, knowing he’s getting this worked up because of an innocent picture of you – a young woman who has signed up on a website to help families take care of their children and definitely not to help some perverted single dad and soldier get off – but instead of stopping, he swipes his thumb over his slit and spreads the pearly slick along his thick length, using it as lube while he gives his cock two, three slow pumps.
The musky smell of his own arousal hits his nostrils, and it only confirms the need to revoke the match again, to stay away from you at all costs, because he can’t remember the last woman who had this strong of an effect on him, but it was surely not his ex.
John lets out another low groan when the image of you kneeling between his thighs and smiling up at him eagerly is conjured up in his mind against his will while he fists at his cock in faster and firm strokes, and then he finally lets go – lets his mind run free for a moment.
He imagines what your voice might sound like, soft and angelic, perhaps a little raspy and sultry, calling him ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Price’–
His eyes flutter shut and his head lolls back against the headrest of his armchair, his chest heaves with a wanton moan, “O-oh... F-fuck –”
And then, his blistering orgasm nearly catches him off-guard when the tension coils rapidly in his gut, his balls draw up taut, the muscles in his abdomen flex uncontrollably and John barely has time to cup his palm over his tip before he makes a complete mess of himself; thick, hot cum leaking through his scarred knuckles onto his dark happy trail while his hips keep bucking up into his own fist.
Now, John is breathing heavy, his cheeks flushed uncharacteristically sheepish beneath his thick beard while he catches his breath and post-nut clarity begins to settle in.
He feels like a complete degenerate and more than ashamed as he looks down at himself with a disdainful click of his tongue, poking it into his cheek as he assesses the situation.
His cock is still hard in his grasp while his milky seed already threatens to dry up and become all sticky on his skin – so he needs a shower and another wank if he plans on sleeping peacefully tonight.
John clenches his jaw when his eyes flicker back to the laptop screen on his lap, where your picture is still in full view, and his cock throbs meekly in his hand once more with a dirty mind of its own, and John exhales a huff through his nostrils.
This is pathetic.
It’s Friday, way past midnight, and Captain John Price has just knocked one out over an innocent, single picture of a beautiful woman on his search for a nanny for his daughter.
No one could ever waterboard this information out of him. Ever.
With his right hand a mess, John uses his weak hand to scroll, bids his non-verbal goodbye to your pics, albeit reluctantly, and goes back to your profile to un-match with you after his debauched deed just now.
But then, his eyes narrow briefly before they widen, brows raising up to his hairline, when he realizes that he cannot take back his match request any longer.
Because you have already accepted it.
#captain john price#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#john price x reader#reader insert#tf 141#call of duty#cod mw2#dollhouse
331 notes
·
View notes