#German vending machines.

[glasratz]

These vending machines were disgusting when I was a child in the 90s. They haven't changed one bit.

Someone is obviously still refilling some of them. Does this mean kids are actually still buying stuff from them?

I can still taste the rock-hard lemon shaped chewing gum from back then. It turned into crumbles as soon as I managed to break the shell. The toys were always disappointing - but I think every kid knew that. They were bought out of morbid curiosity alone.

[astriiformes]

One of my friends from high school lives in Germany now and the other day they posted a picture of a wurst vending machine, so to all the Germans I would just like to say: keep it up, you guys are doing amazing

[steal-this-idea]

I received an old nickel in my change yesterday and it got me thinking about how, in old photos, you’d see advertisements for, say, a cup of coffee and it costs, like, 5¢ and now it costs maybe $2 or more?

Why did we let that happen? And it happened all over the world too. Small change used to be able to buy things and now you can’t buy shit with ‘em

How did the whole world collectively sigh and resign themselves to letting their coins become practically worthless tokens rather than demand from the Powers That Be that nickels be able to buy things again?

Even the French...Even the French who will light their country on fire from the barest of provocations surrendered on this front, dooming their cinq centimes...

[almostempty]

Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar. 

Warnings: drinking, smoking, smut, glorification of substance use as a coping mechanism, using sex to avoid processing emotions, PWP, like mostly just porn and emotions, spit, one (1) pussy slap, pussy pronouns, size kink, sort of pleasuredom!javi, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc i like it that way, piv sex, fingering, creampie,

Notes: cigarette vending machines were real, part 2 exists and if one single person asks for it i’ll post it 

please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to @auteurdelabre , u know what u did 

WC: 6.7K

AO3: here

Part 2: here

Masterlist: Here

It’s not enough.

You feel the inescapable temptation racing like wildfire through your veins. Thick, hot air whips your hair into your face, and you laugh, throaty and as loud as a barking German Shepherd with saliva frothing against their teeth. The thought of jerking the wheel and rolling your car into oncoming traffic causes your fingers to twitch. The roar of the semi-truck you pass drowns out everything else, your music, the wind surging through the windows, and your violent intrusive thoughts. You decide not to opt for a head-on collision. Heading towards your side of town, you slow to a less reckless speed, immediately missing the road noise. 

The temptation still pounds in your head, unbearable. Something stronger. You need something stronger before you drive to his house and choke on the smoke while you burn it to the ground. 

But you’re free! You grin as you race directionless through the streets, the kind of grin that would unsettle a small child. The evening sun blinds you whenever you choose a street facing west, and you welcome the jarring obtrusion, the pain. But driving into the sun isn’t enough. 

You pull over at the first parking spot you can see, ripping off your seatbelt and twisting around to dig under your seat. Nails catch on the carpeting, but you only recognize some change, receipts, and a petrified french fry. The muscles in your shoulder could tear from the tendons for all you care as you contort yourself to check under the passenger seat before digging through every compartment you can fit your fingers into. 

A cigarette seems healthy in comparison to crashing your car or lighting your ex’s house on fire. You swore there was a forgotten pack of smokes under one of the seats in your car, stashed away in case of emotional emergencies months ago before you committed to quitting. Nate must have found them and tossed them. Of course, he could still keep making this day worse. Even after you’d walked out on him mid-rant about how it was somehow your fault that he’d become even more of a repulsive asshole during the months you’d spent apart. “Hope you’re happy with how you chose to use your last ‘second chance,’” you had spat at him, already halfway to the door. You imagined the look cemented on his face as you left. You hope to never imagine his face again. 

Dried tears sting the corners of your eyes. Rubbing at the raw skin burns. You stare at your red eyes in your rearview mirror, and you can see the flicker of your soul nearly snuffed out from the years of despair. Blood pounding in your ears, you roll your head on your shoulders, and popping and grinding noises in your neck add to the symphony of your pulse. Tipping back against the headrest, you refocus and take in your surroundings. A bar. A beacon in the fading golden hour as dusk overtakes her glow. 

Bars have cigarettes. A drink, or four, would help, too. You need to feel something else. Find something strong enough to break through the numbness of anger and embarrassment. Something to override your loquacious internal monologue. It’s not enough.

Your demons materialize on your shoulders, prepared to fight your morality. The neon beer signs in the window sing a siren song. Temptation wins in the first round, she’s a seductress not to be outclassed. 

The gravel crunches under your feet as you cross the parking lot, kicking up little clouds of dust in your wake. Inside, you swerve between the pool tables, crossing the dimly lit space in a beeline to the cigarette vending machine for a new pack and matches before lasering in on an empty stool at the bar. Tunnel vision. 

Cold beer soothes the burn in your throat from the tequila shot you slammed before you even settled your full weight on the barstool. The liquid waterfalls down your throat until the bottle runs dry. The surly bartender replaces it with another, and her eyes flick from yours to the empty shot glass and back. 

“I’ll just stick to beer for now,” you answer. A barely perceptible snicker yanks your attention to your right. He’s smirking to himself, trying to hide it with a swig from his bottle. Your scowl softens by a hair as you rake your eyes down his profile. Strong features, sparkling dark eyes, well-groomed, and an open collar that teases you with a glimpse of the skin of his chest. His look piques your interest. But that smug curl of his lip raises your hackles as you return to your mission: a neurochemical intervention. Maybe he knows where you could procure a lobotomy if nicotine and booze don’t help. 

You slam the second beer, signaling for another. Your head weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you can start to feel the warmth of the alcohol blooming within your chest. A welcome warmth despite the suffocatingly thick air in the bar. You feel the layer of sweat coating your torso. The skin bared on your thighs sticks to the vinyl stool, but you don’t care about being warm and sticky. Your assignment is simple. Get the liquor to your brain before you recruit Smug Mustache and Silent Barkeep to your crew. She can drive; he can be the lookout. Accomplice to arson shouldn’t be a hard sell.

You smile to yourself at the thought. 

The tiny muscles in your face start to relax, and the line between your brows softens. The racing thoughts get quieter, and you can process your environment more easily. The clack of the billiard balls on the pool table, the rock ballad barely audible over the buzz of the patrons. A variety of mostly bald or bearded men occupy different seats, and women with brassy hair and loud laughs hold all the secrets. You and the man seated next to you don’t quite fit the demographic, but nobody seems bothered. 

You slide a cigarette out of your pack, and before you tuck it between your lips, the man next to you pushes the amber-colored ashtray he’d been hoarding towards you and offers you a light. 

Leaning towards him, you’re hit with an intoxicating rush of spicy aftershave, leather, and tobacco. You seize the opportunity to take in his features head-on, inhaling deeply while he unabashedly sweeps his dark eyes over you in turn. Sinfully dark, they flick back up to yours. He drags his thumb across his bottom lip, and you’re entranced momentarily by the need to feel that plush lip between your teeth. 

Sex. 

That could work. Ease the restlessness and the deepening impulse to scream. Maybe that’s the third ingredient to your impulsive master plan. 

“Thanks,” you exhale, breaking the heady silence. The rush of nicotine entwined with alcohol begins to replace the rage in your veins. Vengeful racing thoughts are replaced with a mantra. A dull pounding in the back of your skull. More. You smile. More. More. He tracks your mouth as you press the cold glass bottle to your lips. You swallow and swallow. He raises one eyebrow, head cocked, as you drain the bottle. 

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’m not sure you’d taste it at this rate,” he teases in a voice thick as molasses. 

You consider your frenzied rate of consumption. Might be time to slow down. 

“Maybe you could convince me to savor it,” you challenge. He nods and orders. He studies your lips as you take another drag from your cigarette. More. He doesn’t shy from holding your gaze. Not when you smile or when you look him up and down again. You usually aren’t so forward. The cocktail of substances and the emotional hangover from your failed reconciliation emboldens you. But, one tiny crack fractures, and for a brief moment, you’re gone. 

Your eyes lose focus. Disconnected from your body, the bar, and reality. He watches with amusement. He knows that look. He wears it often. 

Your thoughts flash and crack like a lightning storm. Nate’s face. Livid, red, and sputtering foul insults at you. Enraged that you’re drinking, smoking, and desperate to whore yourself out to the first man you see. Worse. You don’t care. Nate wasted your time and shattered your goodwill. You want to be set free. Erase him and his pathetic voice altogether. 

You take another sip and another drag, hoping one of them will detach his grubby claws from your conscience. You blink, and the horrifying hallucination is gone. 

“Drinking to forget, cariño?” the man you’d been staring past interrupts your thoughts. His tone is genuine. But why? Is that his schtick? Offering to fix broken women with a well-timed light and teasing glance?

“Something like that,” you muse, taking another drag. You hadn’t realized how close you were sat until now. It’s intimate. Smoke curls in a delicate dance between you, alluring as it winds and flares. You feel drawn to him, connected by chance. Something new to focus on. To study. He watches you with such intensity you note. Unwavering. Too sober and too shiny to be a regular old barfly. It’s not a bar full of singles. He’s out of place. Maybe he got lost along a warpath like you. Good. More.

He’s still watching. Waiting for you to elaborate? You let your knee slide forward until it’s pressing into his firm thigh. “Just trying to feel something,” you answer honestly. 

“Mm,” he takes another swig, and you watch his neck in slow motion as he swallows. 

“And you?” 

“Same goal, I guess,” he confirms. His hand drags slowly down his thigh and slides onto your knee. Your mouth parts at the contact of his palm. A new fire rips through your veins, but it’s not rage. More. 

“Would you say it’s working?” you gesture to the bottles coated in beads of condensation on the bar top. 

“No.” He stares at you openly. His carnivorous mouth splits into a grin. 

His boldness makes a giggle bubble up in your throat. You tilt your head back with a laugh. Your hair slides behind your shoulders, exposing the delicate flesh of your neck.

“No,” you repeat in agreement. You match his physicality and grasp his own thigh firmly with your hand, studying his face for any hint of a response. “It’s not enough,” you add, dragging your hand further up his leg. Slowly. 

“You’re looking for more, cariño?” he dares with cloying charm. Yes! More!

You might've rolled your eyes at the whole situation if you weren’t so many drinks in with a sinister desire for escapism. You’ve barely spoken to each other, engaged in an elite-level erotic staring competition instead. 

The best you could do was exchange names. 

“Javier Peña,” you repeated back to him. Deciding if you liked the way it sounded on your tongue. You wet your lips. 

“Just Javi is fine,” he counters while leaving enough cash on the bar to cover both your tabs with a generous tip. 

“Smooth, Just Javi,” you bait, looking at the cash and back to him. He flashes a wolfish smile back. It makes you want to fuck him right here on the bar. More, you scream at him with your eyes. 

He removes the nearly finished cigarette between your much smaller fingers, takes the last drag, and stubs it out in the ashtray. 

If you weren’t so aroused by everything about him, you’d chastise him for trying to get you out of here so quickly. But you feel it rolling off of him, too. It feels like taking a narcotic. Time is syrupy and slow. You feel your smile sticking longer than you meant, your eyes linger hotly, and you squeeze his upper arm harder than intended. It’s an addictive rush to feel your desire reciprocated. And with such urgency. You take in his height and broad frame now that you stand face to face. He stills. Observant. You don’t need any more time to decide what you want. You need to feel him and only him as soon as possible. 

“Let’s go. Now,” you order as you lead him out of the dingy establishment into the clear night. 

You expect him to cage you against the cool metal of his pickup, but he’s a suave gentleman opening the passenger door for you instead. Fine. You slide across the bench seat just as he’s turning the key in the ignition, pressing your curves into the side of his firm body. Restless and grabby, your fingers dance over him, unsure where to start when he grips your chin in his large palm and tilts your face towards his. 

Rage flashes behind your eyes at his interruption. Never far from the surface, ready to lash out.

“Be good for me, cariño,” he says sternly. 

“Oh, I’ll be so good,” you purr, dragging your hand down his chest towards the bulge in his too-tight jeans and batting your lashes before he grabs your hand. 

You huff, indignant. Rolling your eyes. 

 “I’d like to give you my full attention.”

“You can have mine.” 

“No.” 

“Who put you in charge?” you spit out with a fierceness. 

He laughs, harsh and mean. You flush with irritation, recoiling like his grip suddenly burned. What is this? You thought you were reading everything right; you’re in his truck, ready and wanting. Frustrating man. You need something to ease your anger, or you’ll spit venom. 

He leans into your ear like he has a secret despite the privacy of the cab of his truck. Dragging his voice over broken glass and gravel, he murmurs, “You want to feel something?” his hand is suddenly wedged between your legs. “You want more?” He squeezes tight, pressing his fingers against the seam of your denim shorts, and you choke back a moan. His spiced scent fills your nose. You feel his smile against your ear. Your head spins. Yes. You need it now. No games. Your nails dig marks into his wrist, pleading. 

“You get to touch, but I don’t? What is this, Javier? Afraid you won’t last?” You jeer at him. 

His hot laugh fans down your neck. Your body betrays your mind in search of friction. Shamelessly, your hips roll against his hand. 

“Such a sharp tongue,” he tuts at you, pulling back to look into your eyes, “for such a needy pussy,” he pulls his hand away. You fight to still your body and level his stare, feeling the heat of anger and lust in your face. He lists his demands. 

Be good for me. Until we get home. 

Simple. 

Then I will give you what you need. 

Bold. 

Something different washes over you, but you keep pushing at him. 

“And what do I need, Javi?” 

“Need to be stuffed full of this cock until you forget what ‘more’ means.” 

Soaked. Your traitorous pussy floods your already ruined panties. But you can’t shut yourself up. You have to push him harder. 

“Awfully confident, Javi. Hope you aren’t the type to oversell and underdeliver–” Your snide remark is cut off when he covers your hand with his and presses it into the hard bulge in his jeans. 

“Does it feel like an oversell?”

You barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. No, it most definitely does not feel like an oversell; you refuse to admit it out loud. He grazes the edges of his teeth down tender skin. At the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, he snaps you back into reality with a sharp bite. A small gasp escapes you that he definitely doesn’t miss. 

You catch the smirk. Cocky bastard. 

“Now,” he demands your attention, “you’ll be good for me all the way home.”

It’s definitely not a question, but he stares like he’s waiting for a response. 

You fold your hands in your lap begrudgingly and nod. But something in your chest blooms brightly. The dance for dominance does exhilarate you. He grips your upper thigh like he’s the only thing holding you to the earth. Like you might fly out the window if he lets go. Or, like you might crawl into his lap, sink down onto his cock, and cause you both to launch through the windshield when he crashes into a ditch. 

His fingers tease under the edge of your shorts, white-hot flesh against flesh. You’re wired.

You direct him to your place. It’s close, and you’ve no patience. He doesn’t argue. 

..

You lead him into your home. He doesn’t take you ferociously against the back of the door. Infuriating. You behaved all the way home. He’s a curious juxtaposition of lewd and polite. Restrained, he takes his shoes off at the door and asks for a glass of water. Like he’s your neighbor invited over for tea. But, you can feel the carnality radiating off him as he watches to see if you’ll show good manners. More.

“That’s good, cariño,” he praises, soft and raspy, taking the icy glass from your hand. “Show me your room,” he instructs. How is it your turf, but he’s still in charge? You glare at him briefly before you acquiesce and traipse down your hallway to your bedroom. 

He places the glass of water on your nightstand, still full, and turns to assess you. You furrow your brows. Was the water some kind of test? Whatever. You behaved in the car. You behaved all the way to your bedroom. You’re nearly dizzy with need. Every breath feels like a lifetime.

His golden skin glows in the lamplight. You’d describe it as angelic if he wasn’t driving you mad. Morbid desire crawls under your skin, itchy and tense. He gestures for you to sit on your bed, and you do. If he insists on leading, you’ll follow. 

You fold your hands in your lap again as if awaiting his next command. He cradles your cheek in his palm, and you look up through your lashes. You are not the saint of patience; your fingers twitch with the urge to tear his clothes into shreds. Why is he taking his time? Your mind is racing for a snarky comment when he interrupts your thoughts like he could hear them. 

His touch is so gentle. Patient. Like he’s experienced in domesticating rabid animals. 

“Shhh, I know,” his voice is earnest. Not teasing. Not mocking. 

It catches you off guard. Grounding you. Strange. 

His expression seems to slip into something unguarded as well. A moment of understanding. You see him. Something is building in the distance in your mind. Like the shore is receding before a tidal wave hits. But it’s too quiet without the waves breaking on the rocks. More.

“Make me feel something, Javier,” you reply. 

It hangs delicately in the air. You aren’t provoking or begging. It’s a genuine expression of your desire to run from your internal state.

“I intend to,” he confirms with confidence. Like that’s the permission he was waiting for, the wait is over. Your lips connect. He kisses you with a bright and burning passion. Plush lips and wet tongues slide together expertly. Sharp little nips pull whiny melodies out of you. Your hands tug and pull at his hair, shoulders, and shirt. It’s not enough to just have his mouth. 

“More,” you demand into his tongue. 

“So needy,” he condescends, and you feel your cheeks warm. 

He peels off your shirt, and his hands fly to exposed breasts.

“No bra?” he tuts as if he didn’t put that together while ogling you at the bar. You shake your head in response as he kneads at your soft skin. “Of course not.” He pinches at your nipples with precision, pleasure bridging on pain coursing through your body. You feel your chest arch towards him for relief, deep moans falling from your mouth. You want him to consume you. He looks like he might. 

..

Javi hums at the way your body responds to him. Pliant but strong. You move into his touch, seeking intensity. He increases pressure and maps out your body. 

He lets all his thoughts be filled with you. Your warm skin and soft vanilla scent are hidden until his nose trails behind your ear. You freely let all the sounds and breath spill from your mouth as he caresses you reverently. He wants to know how many sounds you can make. 

You were a delightful surprise, crashing into the bar next to him. He recognized the look in your eyes. He’s going to give you what you need. Because you want it. And because he wants to drown himself in it. He feels drawn to you somehow. 

..

Despite how good it feels to have his hands and mouth on your body, your neglected clit aches for attention. He continues on, almost obliviously, and you reach a fever pitch that splits your eyes wide open. Possessed by one word. More. 

Your fingers come to life and work rapidly, yanking at his belt and the button on his jeans before slipping a hand in to feel. You’re struck with a surge of delight as your hand skates over his hot flesh and coarse hair. A hedonic sense of imminent victory unfurls in your core. 

“No underwear?” you tut back at him. 

“Nope,” you swear he winked at you as he said it. 

He pulls you up to stand, stripping the rest of both of your clothes off quickly. You push him back a step to get a better look at his now fully naked form. 

“Shit.” “Fuck.”

You mutter over each other at the same time. Like you’ve been compelled, you reach for him, needing to immediately taste and touch him everywhere. You knew he was a gem in that dive bar, but in front of you in your bedroom, you realize: he’s fucking gorgeous. 

Of course, he won’t allow you to touch him. Nasty man with his beautiful body and devilish disposition. He scoops you up like the petulant child you are about to become and drops you onto your back in the middle of your bed with ease. You bounce against the mattress. 

He catches the sour pout on your face as he settles himself between your legs. 

“No need to think now, princesa,” he kisses just inside your left knee, “that’s my job now.” His mustache tickles the soft skin of your inner thighs, but it’s the spark in his dark eyes that makes you squirm. You groan in frustration at being deprived of the freedom to touch him once again, but you remain malleable. 

“I need you to lay back and spread these legs for me.” 

You comply. Parting your legs wider as his hands slide towards your center. Your eyes are locked on his, and his eyes are locked on your glistening folds in front of his face. 

“Fuck, cariño, yes, just like that.” 

You curse your body for needing to blink. Enraptured with the look on his face, you don’t want to see anything else. Floating and lightheaded, nobody has ever seen you like this. Seen the truth in your eyes so easily. Seen your blaring evidence of need pooling and dripping. And still looked at you the way he does. Desperate to be touched, you are grounded in the present. No other conscious thoughts. More. 

He pulls at the skin on the top of your thighs, nowhere near close enough for your liking, but fully exposing your achy clit and fluttering entrance to his eyes. You’ve needed his touch since you left the bar, or maybe since you first felt his husky voice frazzle your brain. 

He stares and stares as you watch impatiently. 

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” he says to himself before he hovers closer and blows a stream of cool air over your swollen folds. 

You could slap him for that or scream, but what comes out is a breathy “fuck,” and you clench your fists in an attempt to remain composed through this macabre sexual torture. You feel like he’s been down there for an eternity. And still, he’s given you no relief. 

You brace for another stream of air, but instead, you watch agape as a glob of spit falls in slow motion from his lips to your clit. The barely there sensation snaps something in your mind as his saliva flows downward. 

“You just gonna look, or you gonna touch any time soon?” you goad. 

Javi’s eyes shoot to yours, narrowed. You’ve interrupted a private conversation. Vague and meaningless threats start flowing from your mouth, and you shift to reach for him when an abrupt slap to your pussy jolts your nervous system. 

Before your brain and mouth can comment on his audacity, your body betrays you. You feel the patchy flush on your chest burning and the gush of lubrication in anticipation. He clocks both signs. 

“Cariño,” he coos at you darkly. “I told you,” head shaking with disappointment, “no need to think.” He looks back down, “Now look, she’s crying for me, and I haven’t even had a taste yet.” 

Your head sinks into your pillows with an exasperated sigh. How can torture feel exquisite? Wretched man. 

“No. You don’t take your eyes off me,” the edge in his tone suggests you don’t want to disobey. 

You find the strength to tilt your head back towards him. And it’s just in time to watch as he runs two fingers up and down your glossy folds. He ghosts around your clit, avoiding what you need most until he’s satisfied with his coated fingers. He plunges them both into your eagerly awaiting hole, petting at your velvety walls. An animalistic noise that must come from you fills the room in competition with the slick, wet sounds of his fingers. 

“That’s right. Keep those pretty eyes on me while I play with your pussy.” Javi looks down to watch for himself. “You look so good swallowing my fingers,” he rasps thickly. Your walls clench and constrict around his fingers as his voice carves out a home in your mind. 

Your room is cool, thanks to the hum of your window AC unit, but your body runs hot. You’ve never had a man in your bed who was this good with his words before. It forces you to stay focused. Present and aware of every sensation. Your ex was too insecure to be vocal. Other partners lacked tact or creativity. None of them ever took charge like this or took their time. You feel your chest heaving and see the wide smile break across his face. Your skin tingles as a sheen of sweat breaks out.

Javi takes his time experimenting with the ways your body responds. He speeds up and slows down, changes pressure and patterns, tapping and tracing, petting and prodding. It’s like the nine extra settings you don’t need your vibrator to have, but better. It’s not careless. You watch, like he instructed. He seems studious, observing how you respond, scanning your face and body. Microexpressions on his face calculating and plotting. 

You flex, tense, and writhe as much as you dare, trying to maintain some control over your body. Your eyebrows are pinched, and your hips are tight as you strain. 

Javier can tell. Do you not trust him? He needs you to give in to him. 

“Let me take you there, cariño,” he urges. “Can feel she wants it; just relax for me, breathe.” 

“Fuck,” you confirm with a whisper and do your best to let go of some of the rigid tension. He maintains a steady rhythm for you to focus on. He slowly builds in intensity, and he continues to murmur encouragement to you. Breathe. There you go. Easy. 

You slowly melt into it and let him puppet your mind and body. Building and building. Breathing and breathing. Allowed to be out of control. That does it. Your climax crashes violently against your loose frame. Yes, cariño, just like that, fuck. Contracting muscles in your core pull your chest forward. Jerking and spasming, you raise with stuttering gasps. You aren’t sure if you should laugh or be embarrassed as you pant, feeling like he just performed an exorcism on you. His expression settles you. Pleased with an edge of ravenous. 

He slides his fingers from you and sits up, looming tall and strong on his knees over your damp, limp body. Your eyes are glued to his weeping cock, softly bobbing at your eye level. Saliva pools in your mouth, craving the weight of it sliding over your tongue. You swallow and blink. Recalibrating your senses and figuring out what he just said to you. 

He runs his fingers back through your overly sensitive folds to get your attention. Your entire body twitches, wrenching your attention to his face. He already has you at his mercy. 

“Close your mouth, baby,” he commands. You weren’t aware it had been hanging open and snap it shut. He laughs gently at your stupor. Enamored. Then he’s running his slick coated fingers over your lips like a debauched lipgloss. Your mouth parts to question him, and he slides them onto your tongue before a word gets out. 

“Good,” he praises, “suck.” You do. And as he drags his fingers out he replaces them with his tongue. He sucks and nips at your lips, tasting everything. The bright flavor of your arousal, the lingering beer from the bar, the smoky tobacco, and the gum you tried to sneak on your way out of the bar. It’s a potent concoction, and it fuels his thirst. You run your tongue along his neck and commit the flavor of his sweat-salted skin to memory. 

You can feel the rumbly groans filling his chest, and you’re back to needing more. Clawing at his skin and tugging at his hair. One of your soft hands finds his throbbing cock, and wrapping your fingers around it causes you to exchange throaty moans. You slip your thumb around the head, coating it in precome and using it to glide your full fist down his shaft. It’s stupid how big his cock is, and part of you is loathe to admit it. You just know he’s already aware, but a mindless so big slips out of your mouth anyway. You feel him smile against you. 

“Y’think so?” he breathes against your neck. 

You roll your eyes at him and tease, “Don’t be trite, Javi.” You tug firmly at his length. “I’m sure all the ladies you pick up in shitty dive bars fawn over your pretty cock.” 

A distant look flickers across his face before he flashes a sly grin at you. 

“Y’think it’s pretty?” Is that all he heard? 

“Oh my god,” you groan in feigned annoyance at him. 

He looks down to watch your hand stroke him and decides that is a pretty sight. 

You hope he was right in the cab of his truck. That when he fills you up, you’ll forget how to think. He pulls back from your greedy little grasp. I know, I know. He says with the marks he leaves along your skin. 

“You think she’s ready for me?” he asks as he adjusts to line up with you. You’re too entranced to respond. He slides himself through your folds, and you whimper at the pressure. He’s still waiting for an answer. He pauses and stares at your face. He gives your clit a playful swat with the weight of his cock. 

You blink back up to him, “huh?” 

“You think she’s ready to take me?” he repeats. 

“Yes, Javi, m’ready.” 

He gives you a disapproving look, for god knows why. And shifts further away from you. You feel your face shift into a pout. 

”I think she can give me a couple more first.” 

Something in you loosens, and you realize you’re defenseless. Willing.

This time, he doesn’t toy with you. He strikes swiftly. Overwhelming your senses when his fingers slide back inside of you and the hot furnace of his mouth envelopes your no longer neglected clit. He brings you over the edge rapidly with the combination of his curling fingers and the firm pressure of the flat of his tongue. 

He praises you adoringly, but he doesn’t let up. That’s it. Dámelo. Breathe. You can take it. Another. Know she wants it. Like that. Taking you further than you thought you could go. Again and again. You’re blind and boneless, a sticky mess. He could watch you like this for hours. Writhing against his fingers as his other arm wraps over your belly, holding you in place. 

“What’d you say?” he asks as you come down from another flood of endorphins. You weren’t aware you could form words. You blink dazedly before you can figure it out. 

“Please, Javi, please,” you repeat. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore. 

His lips are pressed to your sweaty forehead. When he pulls back, a mischievous grin spreads across his face. You’re trying to think of what you were trying to communicate, but it’s hazy. 

“Doing so good for me, cariño, you deserve it now.” 

You can only nod and whisper another “please.” He slides the head of his cock through your dripping, sensitive folds. That’s what you wanted. More.

“Yes,” you chant, “please, oh god, yes, Javi, please, fuck.” You exercise the full extent of your current vocabulary in quick succession. 

“Beautiful, cariño,” his words drip over you like honey. 

“Yes, Javi, please,” you continue your chant. 

Slowly. Painfully slowly, he begins to feed his cock into you, eyes rapidly flipping between studying the expressions crossing your face and the view of your pussy stretching around him. 

“Oh god, oh,” you repeat mindlessly as he works his way inside of you. 

“Fuck” he exhales and locks his eyes on your face before pushing the rest of the way in. When your eyes widen, and your jaw falls slack, he knows the image will be seared into his memory. 

“Yes, Javi, fuck–” your mantra is cut off with a deep moan as he grinds his hips into yours. You're so full. You run your hands down his back, trying to force him closer. Trying to merge solid bodies into liquid pleasure. Transform physical vessels into the intangible. More.

He begins to slide in and out, never leaving the clutch of your warm walls all the way. His pace steadily increases, along with the intensity of the snap of his hips once he’s as deep as possible inside of you. He folds your knees towards your chest and thrusts with fervor, captivated by the way your tits bounce. 

A cacophony of lewd noises bounces off the walls in your room. Your shared panting, the rocking bedframe, the wet slip of his cock sawing into you, the skin-to-skin slap of his heavy balls bouncing against your ass, it’s all a debased symphony together. 

A delirious giggle pours from you as the realization strikes. He was right, no need to think; all you need is to feel how perfectly he fills you up. He’s not thrown by your fit of laughter. You think he knows. His mouth is moving, though. He’s speaking to you. You focus with all the effort you can muster. 

“Again, cariño. You’re going to come on my cock for me,” he breathes like he’s the one ready to beg. You obey. It takes the slightest touch, swirling your fingers around your sensitive nerves. Watching the tense expression on his face. The weight of his body fucking you into your mattress. You’re clenching around him like you could pull him any deeper.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he drops his mouth to your salty neck, “so well-behaved for me.” 

You preen at that. Breathing each other's air. 

“These legs still work?” he asks, swatting at your thighs. 

“A little,” you shrug. 

“Good.” He sits up, pulling your chest into his, breathing with you for a minute as you wrap your legs around him and settle on his lap. “Not done with you yet,” he growls into your hair. You think about the moment at the bar earlier, when he lit your cigarette for you. You hoped he’d be good. You didn’t think he’d be this good. 

“Yes, Javi,” you agree as if you know what’s next. He shifts, and you let him arrange your body as he pleases. It’s blissful. Not having to think. He maneuvers you like a doll, but you know you aren’t an object to him. Not with the way he gently rolls you onto your belly, arranging a pillow under your head. You rest your cheek against it and peer dreamily at him. He lifts your hips, propping you up on your knees, and pauses for a second to admire the way your pussy glistens readily for him. The way your smooth back arches in presentation just for him. But it’s the expression on your face, the insatiable more in your eyes, that gives him purpose. 

He kneels behind you and sinks in easily, a groan ripping through his throat as you push your hips back into him with more energy than he expected. You moan loudly in response, attempting to muffle it into the pillow. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you rasp at him. “How can you possibly get any deeper?” you ask incredulously. 

“How are you still talking, cariño?” he taunts, picking up an unyielding and brutal pace. 

“M’not” you decide, “no thoughts.” 

“Fuck” you both echo as he hits a new angle. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you beg openly, “just like that, Javi, holy shit.” He slips one hand underneath you to play with your swollen clit. 

“Yes,” you begin chanting again. But you want him to come. You need it. You slide your own hand under his to replace it. Reaching further to feel the way you’re stretched around him. You wish you could see it. The feeling alone turns your brain to mush. 

“Javi?” you plead for his attention. You could sob with the intensity building in your core. 

“Yes?” he asks without slowing down. 

“Need you to come,” you whine into the pillow your face rocks into. 

“Yes, cariño,” he consents. 

“No, now. I need you to fill me up, please; I need to feel it,” you beg like you were invented for him in a dream. So perfect. 

“I know,” he asserts, “gonna stuff you full,” and that sends you. 

“Fuck, Javi, yes, I need it,” you sob out as your muscles flex and contract around him once more. 

He grips your spineless frame and tugs your back into his chest. You might be drooling as your head rolls into his shoulder. You register a hand squeezing at your tits as he gives you what you want. A few more harsh thrusts and he’s filling you up. You can feel his cock flexing and straining to give you everything he’s got. Javier’s rough breaths reverberate through your blissfully quiet mind. It’s enough. 

He lowers you back to your pillow, still on your knees, and he slides out of you with a soft groan. You echo it, feeling immediately emptier without him.

You stretch across the bed to fish for your cigarettes in your pile of discarded belongings from earlier or maybe a lifetime ago. 

He accepts one when you offer and, in turn, offers you the water he asked for earlier. You gratefully accept. You ask if the water trick works on all the women he picks up in dive bars. He argues that it’s not really a trick if the sex happens before you drink it, and you share a real belly laugh at that, realizing he’s right. You finish your cigarettes in a calm silence next to each other. Your mind is quiet. You let out a satisfied little sigh. 

He gets up and starts pulling on his jeans. Reality hits you like a brick smashing into your skull. Leaving blood and bone fragments across your pillow. Substances and sex are temporary. Distractions, not solutions. A fleeting release to quell your demons. The ones that reappear back on your shoulders, cackling with glee over the chaos. Your mind is back in action racing. You drag your hands down your face. Holding your eyes shut tightly. You wait, holding your breath. Listening for the sound of your front door opening and closing any second. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Interviews

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your Momma and Morsa sometimes have to talk to people on a screen for their job

Sometimes your Morsa and Momma don't play football for their jobs.

Sometimes they had to sit at a table with a computer and talk to people on the other side of it.

It was pretty boring so you like to sit under the table and play with your toys, leaning back against Momma's legs to let her know that you hadn't disappeared.

(You had done that once and Momma had burst into tears when she found you at the vending machine with Caroline Graham-Hansen.)

"Of course, you're both role models for girls individually and as a couple but also to working mothers as well. I know that your daughter was living in Germany with you, Pernille, but how has the move been for her?"

"It has been good," Pernille replies with a smile," y/n is still quite little so she's adapted pretty well to everything. I think Magda is the one that was thrown for the first few weeks."

You vaguely hear your name, muffled from where you're hiding under the table. You shuffle closer to Momma on your bum, peaking out from your hiding spot.

Both Momma and Morsa are smiling at the computer.

"As Pernille said, it is good," Magda continues," It is nice to be here, together as a family. y/n is getting to that age now where everything is new and shiny and she's just beginning to understand that Momma and Morsa get to kick a ball around for ninety minutes and win medals."

The interviewer laughs. "And is she a big Chelsea fan?"

Magda laughs as well, shaking her head. "We have only just got her to stop calling it 'Not-Wolfsburg'."

You hear Morsa say 'Wolfsburg' and your interest is renewed. You shuffle out from under the table, on your hands and knees.

The table your parents are sitting at is very tall and you're very small so your forehead barely peaks up over it. You stand in the space between Morsa and Momma's seats and lean forward on your tiptoes - just about tall enough now to be able to peer over the table.

There's a woman on the screen with a microphone. She looks nice but she's speaking English and she's a stranger (Morsa always tells you to be careful around strangers) so you don't really like her on principle.

"Oh, hello there. It looks like you have a little visitor."

Your English has gotten a lot better now - you understand everything she tells you.

(Momma always says you are like a sponge with languages because sometimes at home you flip between Swedish, Danish, German and English when you forget a word in one of your languages).

Morsa turns to look at you, smiling. Her big hand comes to rest on your head, ruffling your hair. You smile back and pass her your favourite stuffed swan before you clamber up into Momma's lap.

She grabs a hold of you securely, moving the chair so you're both tucked in properly and there's no chance of you falling.

"That's a pretty jersey," The woman on the screen says.

You look down at yourself, pinching the emblem.

Momma bounces her knee up and down as she rests her chin atop your head. "What do you say, princesse?"

"Thank you," You say shyly," S' Momma's Not-Wolfsburg jersey."

The adults all laugh and you frown.

You're not entirely sure what you said was funny.

Adults are weird sometimes.

"Is it a competition? On whose jersey she ends up wearing?"

"Usually, yeah," Magda says, looking at you and Pernille fondly," We have had to start dressing her in normal clothes so we don't argue but it's media day today so we thought that she should probably represent the team."

"And how did you decide today?"

"Rock, paper, scissors," Pernille replies.

"Pernille cheated!"

"I did not!"

"She did. She distracted me with y/n before we played."

You giggle as your Morsa pulls a funny face at you and makes your stuffed swan kiss your face. Momma presses a kiss to the top of your head as another peal of laughter escapes your mouth.

"Now, before I let you all go. y/n what's the best thing about living in London with your mums?"

You cock your head to the side for a moment. "Er...Morsa does my hair all pretty and Momma makes nice breakfast! And-And they have a big bed! Sometimes, Momma gets me up in the morning and lets me sleep in the big bed with Morsa!"

You continue to ramble on, more than happy to talk about your favourite subject, only tapering off when your tummy grumbles.

Momma checks the fancy watch Morsa got her for their anniversary.

"It looks like it's lunchtime for the princesse. Can you say goodbye, y/n?"

"Bye!" You smile at the woman on the computer and wave, allowing Momma to place you back on the ground and Morsa to hand over your toy.

As they log off, you grab Morsa's hand.

"We have lunch now?"

"Yes, princesse, we'll have lunch now."

[lieslab]

All of this turbulence wasn't forecasted

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Jeongin X gn reader

Summary: After euthanizing your pet unexpectedly, you fall apart in front of your boyfriend as grief hits.

Genre: Comfort/hurt with angst

Word Count: 3.2K

Trigger warning: Pet loss, euthanasia, grief, guilt, anxiety, and a brief mention of attempted physical assault.

_ _ _

Guilt latched onto you like a starving dog; a starving dog with jaws locked around flesh. A starving dog who hadn’t eaten in days and was so desperate and so hungry that anything would be sufficient enough to consume, even if it was you. Guilt was a starving dog.

Usually, animals made you happy, but as you sat unexpectedly in the waiting room, each new animal that came in filled your heart with dread. Longer wait times meant more patients and less space in the waiting room. Despite the TVs on each side quietly murmuring two different shows, it didn’t make you feel any better. 

With your pet down at your feet, anxiety strummed in your stomach. Too many people came in with smiles. They happily chatted with the receptionists and the receptionists were so excited to see the animals for their usual check-ups. 

Check-ups were so simple. A quick overview of vitals and a visit from the veterinarian about anything you might be concerned about. You knew it wasn’t fair to project your feelings at other people in the room. It wasn’t their fault you were in a shitty situation. 

The room was too crowded and even though you were in your own seat in a small section, you still felt suffocated. The german shepherd on the other side of the room was barking so loud. The deep guttural noise seemed to pierce your sensitive ears like needles. Not to mention, you knew it was stirring up stress for your own pet. 

Other pets in the area looked just as anxious. The shaking yorkie stayed close to the elderly woman holding the other end of the leash. With a coral colored collar around its neck, it didn’t leave the woman’s side. 

A small kitten in a black plastic carrier couldn’t have been much more than a month old. Small meows mixed into the melody of faint murmuring humans. The room smelled like an antiseptic and the fear from pets afraid of the place was too obvious. 

There was only one dog who seemed happy to be there. Some sort of medium mixed breed and speckled fur with cream and copper. The elongated snout seemed to be smiling. A bright pink tongue lolled from the side of its mouth. A wagging tail and the cheery owner drilled dread into your own heart. 

As you glanced back down to your feet, you couldn’t help, but ponder the fate of your own pet. The sickness was so unexpected and with every minute that passed, you knew it was another minute of their suffering. You were drowning in your own guilt. 

Why hadn’t you just checked on them earlier? Maybe when they seemed to be picking at their food instead of eating it normally, you should have known something was wrong. Tears threatened to prick at your eyes and all you could do was swallow your guilt and endure it all. Reaching down to stroke the top of their head, you whispered comforting words of reassurance, but you weren’t sure if they were able to understand it or not. 

The room was too noisy. The dogs were getting loose fur everywhere. In another section and on top of a leathered seat, another cat was hissing. When a young man stuck his finger into the metal grate to comfort it, a paw full of claws swung. The guy hissed in pain before pulling out his hand and shaking it. 

The tears were welling up more. You hated this. You hated waiting with no answers. You hated waiting and not knowing the fate of your pet. You hated vets and the overpowering antiseptic. The stupid swirly cursive handwritten sign above a well stocked coffee bar with a smiley face. 

Two pots for water, a stack of to-go cups with lids, and even bags of tea. Further back, a vending machine lit up with lights. As the sun set and the outdoors grew darker, the inside and fluorescent white lights grew brighter. Veterinary assistants came out to gather histories of pets with bright colored scrubs. Photos of healthy pets lined the walls. 

Where was the sympathy? Why couldn’t anyone understand what was happening? It was a goddamn emergency, your pet was suffering, so why did it seem like nobody cared? The animals were too loud. The staff was too friendly. Animals were going back to be treated and checked up on, but not one of them was yours.  

Just when you were on the brink of tears, their name was finally called. You quickly got up and struggled to gather your thoughts. Your steps were wobbly. You weren’t even back there yet, hadn’t received a diagnosis, but something inside of you knew. You just knew deep down that you weren’t leaving this place like you wanted to. 

You wanted to go into the warmth of your home with your pet. You wanted to lay down tonight and be reassured that it was all okay. You wanted your pet back in tip-top shape. You wanted to go back home with both of you safe and sound, but… 

“I’m sorry, but I think our best option at this point is euthanasia.” 

You knew it was coming, but it still stung. It was a bullet to the heart. As you stared at the sympathetic look on the vet’s face, tears pricked your eyes again. You forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat as you looked down at the creature on the cool metal table. 

What had you done to end up here? Was it something you did? Could they have been saved? What if, what if, what if, what if. It was a collision of thoughts that were never-ending. Why did this have to happen to you? 

You were good at being a pet parent. You prided yourself on going out of your way to buy the healthier food. Giving them the occasional treat because you thought they deserved it. Was it something in the food? Had a bag of treats expired and you just didn’t realize it? 

Your bottom lip curled into your mouth. The teeth piercing the soft skin hurt, but what your pet was going through hurt so much worse. Maybe you deserved to feel the pain after this. 

It took everything within you not to fall apart as you stayed by their side. You tried to soothe them through a hoarse voice, but it didn’t seem to do much. They were so lethargic, could they understand what was happening? Through the plethora of strangers, headache-inducing scents, and the whining of animals, did they understand you were just trying to help them? 

You didn’t mean for the metal table to feel this cold against their skin. The piercing prick of medicine for sedation wasn’t supposed to hurt that much. Were they afraid? Did they know the end was near? Would they ever forgive you for this? 

It was a miracle that you managed to stay up on your legs. The rest of your time was a blur. Payment plans, the sympathy from the staff, the cold and lonely feeling was burrowing in your bones. It swelled when the cardboard coffin was placed into the back of your car. 

The name of your pet had been written neatly in tiny print. Someone drew a small tiny heart next to the name. Even by strangers, your pet had been loved up until the very end, but it didn’t feel like it. 

As you stood in the darkness and stared at the box in the back of the car, you didn’t dare open it up. You didn’t want the lasting imprint of your pet to be one where they weren’t moving. You didn’t want to hold the weight of your emotional instability. Sometimes love was three pounds and other times, it was nearly a hundred. 

The drive home was too quiet. Venturing through the darkness felt like a funeral procession. Knowing your deceased pet was in the trunk and it’d never be the same, it was a heavy weight to process. These things took time, but right now you felt numb. 

You didn’t remember turning on your turn signal or switching lanes. You didn’t remember driving all the way home, but you did. One moment, you were zoned out on the highway, the next you were putting the car in park and glancing up at your front door. 

The porch light was on and your heart sank even more. Your boyfriend was home, but you didn’t have it in yourself to greet him. You didn’t want anything to do with him or anyone right now. Right now, you wanted to be entirely alone and weep. 

The kisses from your boyfriend would be bitter. Being kissed hello felt like a death sentence. After everything you went through with your pet, it didn’t feel right to get to greet the love of your life. Everything went head over heels and it was all wrong. 

You should have been able to bring them home alive and they’d be fine. You shouldn’t have had to put them down. You weren’t meant for this type of grief, no one was. 

You weren’t excited to see the flowers adorning the porch. Dread lined your stomach as you approached the door. Knowing Jeongin, he’d have the door open for you. He knew you were taking your animal to the vet, but you hadn’t told him it was for emergency purposes. You felt like you bothered him too much and you had hope in the beginning. You wanted it to go so much better than it had. 

The moment you opened the screen door and the brass knob turned, the scent of food clouded your senses. You had barely eaten anything all day, but the idea of eating right now made you nauseous. Death clung to you and the ghost of your pet was everywhere. 

From the fur on the floor to the food and water bowls staring at you. Half-consumed food remained untouched. The cold water shifted to room temperature. The food would never be consumed again. The water would never be spilled as your pet tried to lap it up. 

“Hey, there you are.” Jeongin leaned his torso out of the kitchen doorway with a shy smile. “I’ve missed you. How did the appointment go?” 

Your heart shattered in your chest. The lump cemented the back of your throat again. You struggled to breathe and the image of your boyfriend blurred. You didn’t get to see his face fall, not with all of your tears. 

“Are you okay?” Footsteps creaked closer as he moved towards you. An outstretched hand was ready to grasp your shoulder. When it landed, you swatted it away as if it was an annoying bug. 

“Don’t,” you weakly uttered, “just don’t. I don’t want to be touched right now. Please just-” your voice cut off and you squeezed your watery eyes shut. “Don’t.” 

“What happened?” His hand lingered, but he did as you wished. Not once did he try to touch you again. “Where is-” 

“Gone. They’re gone. They’re gone and they’re never coming back.” 

Confusion wiped across his face. He tried to conjure up the meaning by scanning your body, but he couldn’t make sense of it. That would mean that they…no way. He didn’t want to believe it. 

“What happened?” 

“They had to be put down, okay? Something happened and they got sick. The vet said it was better to put them out of their misery, so I did. They’re gone and I’m here and life goes on.” 

“But the-” 

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. They didn’t suffer for that long. I have to figure out where to bury them because this wasn’t supposed to happen. One moment they were fine and the next-” You cut off as you wiped your eyes. Even just talking about it was emotionally exhausting. 

Jeongin frowned while watching you. He knew you didn’t like to be around people when you were struggling, but he wasn’t going to leave you alone. Not when you were like this. The food frying on a skillet back in the kitchen was the least of his worries. 

“Okay,” he finally uttered, “we don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Thank you.” 

His heart twisted in his chest. He dropped his arm back down to his side. He wanted nothing more than to console you, but you wouldn’t let him. It was pointless to ask because he knew he’d be rejected. 

“I’m making dinner.” 

“You should leave.” 

His head jerked straight up as he looked at you. “I should do what? You want me…you just want me to leave?” 

“I think it’s best if you do. I can’t deal with this right now. Look at me!” You gestured back to yourself. Exhaustion was stamped beneath your eyes in the form of brown bags. Your hair wasn’t neatly combed like it usually was. Your eyes were bloodshot and the apples of your cheeks were lined with tear streaks. 

“But you probably haven’t eaten properly and you need to eat something.” 

“Get out.” 

“Sweetheart…” “Get out!” Your sharp voice raised. “Just get out! Go away! Leave me alone!” The nearest object at your disposal was a beige pillow on the couch. You couldn’t stop it as anger ignited in your veins. You grabbed the pillow and chucked it at his head. 

It fell flat before it even reached his body. A sense of sadness began to well up inside of Jeongin. Not because you told him to leave, but because he knew you were grieving. He couldn’t imagine what you were internally going through right now. 

You had that pet for quite a while. If he would have known a situation like this was happening, he would have been there for you. He would have been right by your side at the vet. He would have held your hand while you consoled your pet. 

He would have driven you home and let you cope. He would have done whatever it took to ease the pain and suffering. He thought it was just a check-up. He thought the two of you would come home like normal and everything would be okay. He had no idea the true extent of your shattered reality. 

“Why are you still there? Get out! Go away! I said leave!” You gestured to the door. “So leave! I don’t want you here anymore. I’ll call the goddamn cops.” 

“No, you won’t. I’m not going anywhere. You can yell at me if it makes me feel better. You can scream until your lungs give out. Hit me if it’ll make you feel any better, but I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your bottom lip began to quiver. Tears silently crept down your cheeks again. At this moment, you hated him. You hated him for sticking around and watching you become so vulnerable. You hated this so much. You just wanted the grief and the pain to stop, but it was everywhere. 

It was the picture of your pet on your wall. The fur floating off the pillow you threw at him. It was the softness of their fur still ingrained in your head. The way they made you laugh on your worst days and were there to fuel your fire on your best. 

The memories were like fire and they wouldn’t stop spreading. Everywhere you looked, memories were there. The couch where they used to lay. The kitchen where they begged for a bite of your food. No matter where you turned, it wouldn’t stop. You were suffocating in the smoke of it all and there was nothing available to distinguish it. 

“I’m not going anywhere because I love you.” 

“Then stop loving me.” 

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen. You don’t have to pretend to be strong here. You don’t have to pretend to be okay and you don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not. No matter how much you cry, even if it’s enough tears to drown me, I’ll still love you.” 

You didn’t utter another word as he opened his arms out to you. A loving gesture, even after the bitter words you spat and the pillow you threw. Most people would have given up and walked out, but not Jeongin. 

He didn’t let up. He stood there with his arms up and waited for you to approach him. He knew you were on the verge of bursting into sobs. You were desperately trying to hold them back, but you couldn’t stop the whimper from climbing out of the back of your throat. 

“Honey, you’re not okay and that’s okay.” 

That’s all it took before a sob burst through your lips. Your knees buckled and down you went towards the floor. Jeongin rushed forward and tugged you into his arms by the cotton of your shirt. He sunk down with you onto the floor as sobs reverberated through your chest. 

Everything you held back came pouring out. You gasped for air and struggled to suck in air through tears, but it wasn’t enough. In pure desperation, your fingers clung to Jeongin’s shirt. There was nothing to save you from this inner turmoil of pain. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Go ahead and let it all out.” 

Your cries got louder and louder. The familiar scent of his baby powder shampoo crept into your nose. You clung to him like a life preserver. Your lungs were perfectly intact, but it felt like they had been sliced. The flesh responsible for controlling your oxygen seemed unresponsive. 

Your head sat over his shoulder. Your limbs wrapped around him like a koala, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind that your heart rapidly thumped against his own chest. In fact, he welcomed it. 

You would never be too much for him. This grief was not the monster you thought it was. It would rear its ugly head and it would buck, attempting to puncture his heart, but it would never scare him away. Your words, no matter how sharp, he knew you’d never speak to him like that unless you were hurting. 

Grief is hard and we’re just humans, stardust trapped in bodies and given souls to experience humanity; the good and the bad. He stood by you at your best times and he’d continue to do it at your worst. 

Minutes passed by or maybe hours. You didn’t know, you lost track of it as your eyes drooped. Soft hiccups filtered through steady breaths and your eyes shut. Exhaustion from the day’s events were finally catching up to your weary soul. Jeongin’s hand never once stopped rubbing your back. 

“Just get some sleep, honey. Don’t worry, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

You couldn’t resist the urge to shut your eyes anymore. Life was hard and losing a beloved pet made it ten times harder. With your cheek pressed into the side of his shoulder, you knew sleep would likely bring a nightmare. If not, you’d wake up to one. 

Jeongin knew that too, but he also knew that with him being here, you’d find the comfort you needed from him. He wasn’t perfect, but he was still the better alternative than you being alone. Every good love story was laced with loss and vulnerability, but also hope. Hope; for a new beginning, for peace, for understanding, and for love.

There’s no point in loving without hope. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

[brewed-pangolin]

Salvation at the Shelter

This is my first entry into the Soap It Up Challenge by @glitterypirateduck, and apparently I'm feeling angsty. I don't write angst well, but that doesn't mean I won't try. I only used one prompt for this, and I'll let y'all find it. Sorry for the feels on for this Super Soap Sunday.

cw: mentions of loss. also a few callbacks to mwiii if you look closely

Johnny. Your beloved Johnny.

Gone.

Taken away too soon. Leaving an emptiness in your heart and a hole within your soul.

You grieve for what feels like years, yet only turns out to be days. Time standing still as you continually waist away into a fetal crouched mess alone on your tile floor.

Friends, family, and colleagues all tell you to move on. You have to.

But you can't.

For how can one heal from the pain of losing the other half of your soul?

-

It takes you a solid six months to even begin to feel anything again. Feeling everything and nothing all at once. Overwhelming. And not enough.

The emptiness both devours you entirely while continually spitting you back out like a relentless living turbine.

You try to hide the pain behind a smile. It's futile, but it works with most nonetheless. Most.

A few take notice. Those with their own scared hearts and broken stitched souls underneath a practiced expression.

And that's when a coworker confides in you what she did when she lost her husband many years ago.

-

"Go to the shelter," she says plainly over the rim of her glass.

"The shelter?" You question, raising a brow while fumbling with your lunchbox.

"Like, the homeless shelter?"

"No, silly. The animal shelter. Lots of lost souls needing a home. Maybe one there will help fill that hole inside you."

"I'm fine." You bite back. Swallowing your emotions with a gulp of Orange Fanta as you briskly rise from your chair.

"Mhm. Just give it a shot. Might help." She says before turning to walk down the carpeted hall to return to the solitude of her cubicle.

And you're suddenly left alone again with your thoughts, staring aimlessly at the brightly colored face of the vending machine. The color of the Fanta bottle in your hand so reminiscent to the Irn Bru that was consistently stocked in your apartment, you thought you'd break down right then and there. In the middle of your office hallway.

Subtle reminders of him strewn about all through your day you'd nearly become numb to the constant memory of him.

You choked on your emotions once more. Walking as casually as possible back to the devoid walls of your cubicle. Busying yourself in a desperate attempt to rid the tight entanglement of Johnny's echo buried deep within your mind.

You'd take the advice. Go to the shelter. Fill the emotionless void within your soul with at least something. Anything. Hell, even a goldfish would do.

-

The sound was defeaning.

It made your ears ring and your bones tremble. The constant barrage of barks, howls and wails nearly made you spin on your heals and exit before even entering the double doors.

Yet you stood fast. Pushing forward. Perhaps somewhere in this cacophony of canine chaos, you could find solace from your unrelenting heartache.

"I'm just here to look," you tell the attendent with a stern brow. It's a lie, of course. But you muster the strength of poise and composure as your heart and spine wither to dust with every passing moment.

"That's what they all say," the keeper, Jared by the nameplate and probably no more than 18 replies. A wisdom in his voice as he's seen the world come through those doors a thousand times.

"C'mon. And don't get too close to the cages."

You follow close behind. Eyes scanning back and forth between metal bars, taking in the mirage of fur covered lost souls while somehow searching for one that may pull at your broken heart.

German shepherds. Pit bulls. Weimaraners. Jack Russels. Dachshunds. Every breed you could name and so many others you barely could identify.

And they all seemed to mirror your expression perfectly.

Searching. Waiting.

Waiting for an absolution that would never come.

You felt their pain. Their loneliness. Their betrayal.

Still though, non called to you. Marked you.

You were told not to look into their eyes, but how could you not. It had become so second nature to get lost in his eyes you nearly forgot what it felt like to be without them.

You were rounding the corner to the main exit, only a few cages remaining, and a sickening feeling began to boil within your gut. Choking on the bile in your throat with a fruitless attempt at speech.

"That it?"

It was a total loss. Heart sinking to your knees as Jared, the wayward keeper, opened the doors to escort you out of the wing and down an adjacent hall.

"I can show you one more. He's scheduled to be euthanized tonight. He's young. But he's very high energy. And a stubborn little shit. Which is why no one wants him."

He knitted his brow, opening the door to let you in as the overwhelming sound of aggressive barking and growling filled your ears.

Reluctantly, you stepped into the confined room. The solitude had made the poor animal more ruthless and hostile to anyone who stepped through those heavy doors.

Yet something pulled you in. A feeling. A tug at your heart that swiftly moved to wrap around your spine and move you forward.

And as you shut the door, the barking steadily began to settle. The blur of furr and teeth slowed and gradually transformed into a more discernable figure.

And as you stepped up to the cage, you cautiously crouched down to meet the animal at its level and finally met the eyes of a soul you had thought was lost to you long ago.

Blue. A blue so pure yet somehow so misunderstood. An icy cerulean wrapped around tan fur and sharpened teeth topped with blacked edged ears and darkened socks on his feet.

His, because it was obvious. He hadn't been fixed yet.

"Yeah, he's got a thing with doors. He's fine while they're closed but goes ballistic at the slightest movement."

You take note of the dogs calming demeanor. Keeping a close eye on him, scanning across his back and hindquarters, inspecting his conformation for any obvious or detrimental abnormalities.

"Poor thing seems pretty docile once he's settled down," you remark. "Why'd the last family give him up?"

You slid slowly along your feet, edging closer as the canine's demeanor shifts to become more open and submissive. Ears perked with a gradual pull of its paw to expose its tender underbelly.

"They lived next to a railroad or something. Apparently, he hates trains, too."

"What's his name?" You inquire, unable to break the stare as you gently move your hand between the bars in an attempt to gain a physical connection.

"He doesn't have one. And I wouldn't do that, ma'am. He's got-"

He chokes on his words as the fearful pup inches forward to bring the top of his nose your fingertips. You remain calm, quiet. And so does Jared. More out of sheer terror of the inevitable bite that was surely to come.

With a few curious sniffs of your scent, the dog pulls himself forward and against your hand in a desperate attempt to feel your touch.

He curls his back into your palm, rolling his spine underneath the tips of our fingers while moving to lay on the concrete floor.

It's in that moment you know you've been marked. Two lost souls finding one another in the cold and metal walls of a heartache and rekindling the vigor of life within your devoid souls.

"Damn. Never seen him do that before."

You acknowledge his voice, but the only sound reverberating in your ears is the constant strum of your beating heart. Alive once more as the ancient connection between man's best friend heals the scars of an unending loss.

"How old is he?" You ask, turning to face the man standing next to you. Comfortable enough to trust the newly found bond forged as a feeling of warmth and rejuvenation bellows from within your abdomen.

"About six months, I think. Give or taken a few weeks."

Six months. It's purely coincidence.

"I'll take him."

"Alright then. I'll get the paperwork."

You retract your hand just as Jared opens the door, and the frightened pup bolts to cowar in the safety of the corner once more.

But he remains silent. A searching stare locking into your gaze to gauge how to move forward with this unknown terrain.

Slowly, you extend your hand once more into the cage to coax him back to your touch. Rebuild the bond of trust once more as you wait for the inevitable to blow through the door.

With a solemn yet comforted look in the pups eyes, he gradually crawls over and rests his chin within the palm of your hand. Soul blazing eyes staring up within the confines of furr, having a certain familiarity you hadn't seen since so painfully losing that love so long ago.

"That's it. I'll take care of you," you whsiper in a voice akin to haunting within the walls. Rubbing your thumb along his bristled jaw line, not to dissimilar to the affection you showed once before to another blue eyed angel.

The heavy door swung open once more, yet you both remained entwined within an enamored bond as the attendant gently turned the metal knob.

"Think you've found yourself a dog there, ma'am," he muttered with a smile, extending the pen and paperwork for your newly attained ownership.

"You think of a name yet?"

You remained silent for a moment. Knowing full well his name was bestowed upon him the moment you walked through that door.

With one quick glance into his eyes once more, you fell in love with him all over again. And uttered the name you'd thought was destined to become nothing more than a distant memory.

"Johnny. Gonna call him Johnny."

This is hit me just before going to bed and I had to get it out. Love them furbabies. Boop all the snoots.

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @writeforfandoms @punishmepunisher @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @obligatoryghoststare @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @ghosts-goldendoodle @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @thetrashpossum @designateddeadend @luismickydees @foxface013

[stardustvalentine]

context: one time while nannying, i was doodling kyouhaba. the kids grew enamored with the characters, named them “john” (kyoutani) and “michael” (yahaba), and ever since then, whenever i had my sketchbook, they told me things happening in john+michaels lives. this has resulted in a three-chapter comic series written by two children and illustrated by me⁉️

we didn’t illustrate the first chapter, but the summary is: john/kyoutani’s dog died and since michael lived on a farm, he came up to him & they talked abt it. ANYWAY:

The Jichael Comic

additional jichael facts the kids made up:

- they both work at starbucks

- the ring was worth $5 and was one of those cheap plastic ones from a vending machine

- john (kyou) likes galaxies and michael (haba) likes aliens??? oops they plagiarized another ship 🫢

- they live in either canada, china, or america (but only if they’re both part german??) but the kids couldn’t decide

- john owns a truck

- they adopt a grotesquely ugly baby

- they have a golden retriever named biscuit!

anyway, this is definitely one of the weirdest things i’ve illustrated but. i felt that the internet needed to see it too

[dimlylittorch]

Random Thoughts: Edition 2

random unpopular/irrelevant opinions i think the cod boys would have

(John Price, Simon Ghost Riley, Johnny Soap MacTavish, Kyle Gaz Garrick, König, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, Phillip Graves)

My Masterlist🌱

Price:

- cigars are healthier than vapes

- spanking is not a good style of parenting (unpopular bc of his age)

- marriage can be overrated

Ghost:

- black cats are the best cats

- Taylor swift is overrated

- British government is just as wacky as American government

Soap:

- beating up vending machines is acceptable

- i should be allowed to wear kilts wherever i want

- Scotland vs Ireland discourse is top tier entertainment

Gaz:

- being a childless adult is perfectly okay

- pancakes are better than waffles

- squishmallows should be a required gift for every holiday

König:

- German should be offered as a language option in every school

- pixar is better than Disney

- doorways need to be bigger

Alejandro:

- women shouldn’t have to wear bras if they don’t want to, it seems very uncomfortable

- Tex-mex restaurants are overrated

- black cats bring bad luck (him and simon argue often over this)

Rudy:

- chihuahuas are good dogs

- periods should be taught to boys too, they need to understand basic female anatomy

- bring back trains. they were cool

Graves:

- Americans have the best accents

- pineapple belongs on pizza

- i would look good as a brunette

Thanks for reading!! Let me know if you’d like a part 2! Asks and tips are open <3

[alphyser]

I come back to post about Kaminari and ended up posting about Monoma instead.... anyway, here are some Monoma things in my Dr ☕

(Also for some odd reason he looks like Satan from obey me....)

(Just look at that... it's so uncanny..)

— he is partly dutch, he doesn't talk about it much though. He does brag about his gramma being a royal (we don't know if this is true)

— He is prideful and boastful, not about himself though. Mostly his friends or his family. He loves them to death and is their ultimate hype man. Bro's the type of guy who doesn't mind being insulted but look at his friends the wrong way and he'll beat your ass

— EXTREMELY bad singer. Like, I think he's tone deaf, one of my favorite stories (that I heard from Kiri who heard from Tetsu) was that Monoma was singing in the showers and everyone could hear it in the dorm, it got so bad to the point that Manga screamed at him and the text bubble broke a wall 😭

— He's actually a very quiet person (just get him away from class 1-a and his opps). He much prefers to study or read cooped up in his dorm room. He's just an introvert in disguise guys, trust me.

— Theater kid! Despite his lack of vocal ability, the man can ACT. Okay for a bit of context, UA has a lot of events in the SY, one of those was a play put on by the students, written by the drama club and performed by the drama club and whoever wants to audition. During our year, they performed Be More Chill, and Monoma got Michael as his role and he ATE. I cried. Izuku cried. Most of us did.

— UA had the school festival, but they also have University week! It's basically a break for the students to just enjoy and celebrate the legacy of the school! There are stalls all over with food and a few events set up by the students. Why did I say all that you may ask, well there's this improv game that happened in the courtyard of UA's main campus and anyone could enter, from any course and any grade. Monoma joined it and he slaughtered the competition... it's actually insane how easily he can go from insane and deranged to giving the most heartwrenching monologue...

— He is fake pretentious 😞 He says he likes tea and wine but he is a liar. He loves shitty coffee. His favorite are those vending machine ones because they're sweet. His "wine" in lunch? grape juice 😞

— DnD player. This is actually how I figured out he's a chill guy. He is a great Dm and is actually very considerate of his players. The first time I played with him he taught me how to do character sheets properly, also he owns so many dice but they're all basic as hell (apparently he prefers the clean look). He also has a dmpc, it's a half-goblin btw.

— Was bullied as a kid, not for his quirk really, it was mostly because he was a little... chunnibyou. Think Kaidou from Saiki k, he was a lil weirdo 😞 (He's recovered now. He's not like that anymore but sometimes he does do rp online)

— Shit spice tolerance. It's so bad. He can't even handle black pepper and peppercorns 😞 He pretends like he has god tier spice tolerance though.

— Language man, he speaks many! Mostly european languages though. Japanese, English, Dutch, German, and French. He likes studying them and is currently learning Spanish

[dasha-aibo]

We return to the German Meat Vending machine to see if the eggs survive the fall

I was also requested to buy beer, but failed, because I don't have a German ID yet

I also spay way too much time fumbling with the money. Oh well.

Thank you @echoedcall for your generous donation, which allowed this stupid video to happen!

[minisnacc]

First time ever writing something like this on Tumblr, so it’s most likely hella messy because this is just a very IMPROMPTU BRAINSTORM :( I also got the German translations for stuff from a friend who lives in Germany :) ((he says, and I quote, if you need anything in German I’ll be your guy))

Anyways,

Imagine ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ Loser!Konig, Yknow, the kinda guy that’s like ‘I listen to rock hurrhurr no one understands me hurrhurr’ the ‘NEVER interacts with anyone (other than his best friend Hong Jin) ESPECIALLY women’ trope.

Like imagine König with a wardrobe FULL of band shirts, and ripped tank tops, and he’s obviously got a bass guitar, his dorm room is filled with band posters and he has medium length hair, and he like, never ever interacts with women cause ‘he’s not like that’ ((sure bud, sure)) and he only ever listens to rock and metal to ‘drown the voices out’ ((definitely not cause he’s edgy or anything 🙄🙄🙄))

Sees you, who has the smile of an angel, and at first tells himself he’s DEFINITELY not enamoured by you, your laugh, giggles, the way you speak, the way you just… are.

“Agh, nein, I’ve just been lonely, these are just delusions, why the hell would she be into me anyway,” shakes it off and goes back to his dorm and goes to sleep thinking about you (because well, he was… trying NOT to think about you).

Sees you repeatedly on campus, like as if you’re TAUNTING him with your presence, and he then begins actively avoiding the places you frequent, like the library, the canteen, even starts sitting on the COMPLETE opposite end of the classes you share with him, to the point where even you notice it.

Now you.

You, who have been hypnotised by this behemoth of a man wandering around campus, in his band shirts (and your personal favourite, his tank tops, cause, you know, his big meaty arms…), and think to yourself that someone as cool and attractive as he is would NEVER be into you anyway.

The way he always chuckles deeply at what his friend says, this Hong Jin guy (who you think you kinda have a crush on too, ugh, why are there so many cute guys on campus?), and the way he flips his hair out of the way when it gets into his face, sooooo majestically… (okay, so you might be slightly delusional, so what?)

One day you notice he starts… disappearing from the campus… like there’s a lack of presence from him. How? He’s like, the Hulk 2.0, HOW IS HE GONE??

So you start actively going out of your way to ‘bump’ into him. You go to places where you think he’d be on campus - to classes you KNOW he has, with the excuse that you’re there to say hi to a friend, or to the vending machines scattered throughout the compound, cause he loves his canned drinks, and even to the GYM, just lurking around long enough till the staff ask if you’d like a membership (to which you sheepishly decline, then scurry away).

Two whole weeks go by and you begin to think he doesn’t like you, and in fact, think he HATES you.

Then you see Hong Jin, by a vending machine, alone. You stare at him for a good minute, contemplating on whether to just approach him outright and ask him about König. You vigorously shake your head, hype yourself up, and approach him at an alarmingly quick pace, to which he notices, and is startled when you abruptly stop right in front of him, interrupting him as he chooses his drink.

“Jin, right? Nice to meet you, does König hate me?” You ask, almost rapping it like as if you had 1 second left to live, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

Jin simply looks at you, flabbergasted, so shocked because that was NOT what he expected to be asked today. Or by anyone. Or by YOU. The girl König had been talking about, the one he said he thought looked ‘kinda cute’, which, he never ever says, cause he’s way too busy raving about new albums or songs or his new PR at the gym.

He chuckles, which then turns into a laugh, as he looks at you through forming tears. You feel like a puppy with its tail tucked in between its legs, shy, scared that you pissed him off with your (unintentional) direct attitude.

“You’re funny, you know that?” Jin says, wiping away a tear, his laughs tapering off. “To answer your question, no, he doesn’t hate you,” he smiles, a glint in his eyes… a hint of deviousness, you decipher.

“Let me let you in on a little secret,” he leans in close, to your ear, and takes a quick glance to his left and right, “Reason he’s not been around is cause he reeeeeaaaaaaaalllllyyyyyyyyyy likes you,” he drags the word out, taunting you almost, and you jerk your head back and look at him dead in the eyes.

“Really?” You whisper, a smile creeping on your lips.

So this guy liked you this entire time? Who would’ve thought?!

“Yeah at one point he couldn’t shut up about you,” he grins, gaze shifting behind you, his voice now louder than before, “Oh, and don’t tell him I told you this, but he LoooooOooOOOOves thinking about you at night,” Jin leans backwards to an upright standing position, and smirks in the direction behind you.

You turn, and see Konig standing behind you, eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape, frowning. You can’t tell if he’s shocked, mad, flustered, or all three.

“Oh, right, and I think you’re real cute too,” like pouring gasoline on an already ABSOLUTELY BLAZING DUMPSTER FIRE, you see König’s face shift to that of anger.

You can physically see him tense up and turn red, and the once stoic giant you (thought) you knew explodes, “HÄ?! DIGGA WAS MACHST DU?!” he practically screams.

You flinch, instinctually, from the giant getting mad, like he’ll actually charge straight through you to get to his best friend. König notices when he glances over to you, and loosens his body a little, as well as his expression, but still maintains a glare at Jin.

The Korean man taps you twice on your shoulder, dragging your attention back to him, and he winks at you, “good luck,” he clicks his tongue twice, and promptly RUNS away (rightfully so, or he would’ve been ripped apart by the angry Austrian), leaving you and König alone together.

You’re frozen in place. Don’t even turn around to look at your crush. Well, more like can’t.

His best friend just admitted to the fact that he likes you… like, REALLY likes you. Your mind races with so many thoughts, like, what did Jin mean by König thinking about you at night?? And why did he not shut up about you??? Is this real?? Is this a dream??

A loud sigh interrupts your train of thought, urging you to look behind you.

“Sorry,” König says so quietly it almost sounded like a whisper. He looked like a kicked puppy. Then, a moment of awkward silence. Your eyes dart EVERYWHERE but at him, you don’t even know if you can bring yourself to look at him, such a pitiful sight, but you do, and your heart aches. His eyes are glued to the ground.

It looks like he thinks you hate him, almost like as if he’s holding back tears and ready to beg for your forgiveness for being such a fucking creep, for being such a loser in love with someone like you, and you deserve someone soooo much more manly and cool and handsome and actually likes something other than dumb songs and dumb drinks and dumb gymming routines and…

“Hey, it’s alright,” you break the silence, approaching him slowly, “If it makes you feel any better I really like you too,” you smile softly, offering comfort. You look up to the poor man, into his eyes, and take his hand gently.

You wipe his shame away with those words, and there is a spark in his eyes, which you notice.

“Wirklich?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t believe how much I think about you too,” you blush, now you’re shy, because this is way too much for one small meeting. You’re pouring out intimate secrets to him, ABOUT HIM, while he very very very intently listens.

Again, there’s silence, and it’s a little awkward, considering now you both are in close proximity, being intimate, your neck craned upwards just to be able to maintain eye contact with this giant (HES a tree, you swear).

“So, uh,” König gulps, now taking your hands in his, “Wanna come have dinner with me?” He asks, slight blush dusting his cheeks, “At… my place?” He smiles.

[dick-helmet-magneto]

Prompt from @slagneto4life For Erik trying to teach the kids German but realizing he's forgetting the language after speaking English for so long. hope this is okay! I sort of just chose children to use

It sounded like a fun bonding activity for Erik and the children, something he could teach them and they could do together. After all, it wasn’t like he had anyone else around he could speak in his mother tongue with. If he taught Peter, Wanda and David then it would just be something for the four of them to share. 

Not to mention that Charles kept saying he needed to spend more time with David. Erik was just struggling to find something to do with him. But he did seem to enjoy learning knew things and so it was decided. 

Erik came into it prepared, a couple of worksheets he’d found in a book Charles had laying around, a game set up for the kids. He wanted to make it fun, something they would enjoy instead of just staring at him while he lectured. He wasn’t Charles, after all. 

The first couple of lessons went well enough. Counting was something he would never forget, at least the first three numbers were burned into his memory. Every time he said or heard eins, zwei, drei it was followed by a gunshot that seemed to echo through the years and find him no matter how long had passed. 

And Peter seemed to giggle every time someone said fünf, which gave Erik something to look forward to during the first three numbers. 

The third lesson, David insisted they go over the alphabet, no matter that Erik had assured him it was basically the same. He wanted to know the letters and how to pronounce them. Another thing that Erik was certain he could never forget. The number of times his mama had sang the little long to him, and then to his sister. Over and over until Erik still could get it stuck in his head today, if he wasn’t careful. This only led to the days of the week and the month of the year. Erik’s lesson plan was mostly useless that day, but he wasn’t complaining, they were still spending time together and the kids were learning—and what they wanted to learn. 

By the fourth lesson, however, Erik was beginning to regret the whole plan. 

“Auto…” He started to say and then stopped, “Automat…” His brows were drawn together as he looked at the picture on the page. An ATM, something he wasn’t as familiar with, something that wasn’t burned into his memory from when he was young. Yet, it was something he knew he had heard, something that he had said before, he was certain. 

“Do you not even know?” Peter asked, looking up at his dad, seeming amuse and Erik glanced at him. 

“It would make sense,” He said softly, unsure if he was talking to himself or Peter. “But automat is like a vending machine, not-“ He paused as it finally hit him. “Money, geld. Geldautomat. ATM. That’s what it is.” 

It was a terrifying idea, that he was forgetting things, things that made sense and he knew at one time. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to him that he could’ve been losing his ability to speak the language he knew so well, the first one he ever learned. He just assumed that since it was his mother tongue, muttersprache, then it would always be with him.

His eyes moved on down the page. Train station—bahnhof, subway—U-Bhan, restaurant—which he was glad to see was still restaurant. 

“You could’ve chosen and easier page if you don’t even know the answers to this one,” Wanda said, tapping her pencil against her desk and Erik let out a breath. He knew she was right but was he going to admit to that? 

“I can figure this out. Here, there’s some for food and drinks. Those should be simple enough,” He decided, passing them to the three children. 

“Are you going to be able to grade us on these?” David asked as he looked over the page. Erik wasn’t sure but he looked down at the one he had kept for himself. 

Most of it was matching, a word and a picture. Simple enough, brot and bread, wasser and water, tee and tea, kaffee and coffee. He nodded, “This one I will be able to,” He informed them as he went back to looking at the first page. 

Church was Kirche, theater he wanted to say could be the same, but it could be cinema. Somehow that still didn’t feel right though. It wasn’t somewhere he frequented as a child.

These worksheets should’ve come with a word bank. Pharmacy, Erik could identify as apotheke, bakery was bäckerei, but if he had to, he wasn’t certain he would be able to spell it. Links and rechts for left and right he could remember. It was really all a hit or miss. 

Before the next time he was going to meet up with the children for them to learn some more, he was going to need to do some learning of his own. When he decided they would all do this together, he didn’t expect to be learning right along with them.

[someonesrealityshifting]

🍷, 🤍, 🌹, & 🪽

Hooray! Another for the ask game! These are fun 😊

I’ll do this one for my Spider-Slice-Of-Life DR, too

🍷: what do you and your s/o like to do together?

👀👀👀… well, 😏… if you just know… this man is weirdly obsessed with legos. Like, I have no idea why, especially because they all look so tiny in his massive goddamn hands, but he wants legos for every birthday, holiday, anything. Also, taco dates constantly. We binge watch movies and over eat ice cream, we cuddle and kiss and go on late night drives/swings throughout my Nueva York. We watch the sunset and prank Hobie and plan training for the younger spiders. We do almost everything together, and I love him more every day. 😊

🤍: what are your love languages vs your s/o’s? How do you show theirs and how do they show yours?

I actually just answered this one, I’ll link it for ya!

🌹: what is something you have taught your s/o and what is something they have taught you?

I taught him how to make German chocolate cake. This man… this man didn’t have such a thing in his universe, we looked. I was very, very disappointed. We looked through 80 and 90 year old archives and still couldn’t find anything. He taught me how to cheat the vending machines in every. Fucking. Universe. It’s not even “oh make a portal grab a candy bar” there is a hack that works in every spider-verse I have ever been to and it’s incredible.

🪽: what is your s/o from? And why do you feel drawn to them?

…. *deep sigh* great, now I have to explain myself (/j). Okay. My s/o is Miguel O’Hara, from the Spider-verse film franchise. To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure what drew me in. I hated him at first, I mean, he’s awful to Miles, but then I got on tumblr (thanks, tumblr) and then I got a shit ton of fanfics. In reading those, I kind of started looking at him as past the asshole? Like, if we took away the trauma, if we took away the hurt, if we took away the severity of his problems, what kind of person could Miguel O’Hara be? The spider society was an incredible idea, and if it had been executed properly, it would have remained an incredible idea. Unfortunately, he took too much on himself, and refused to let anyone help, and he lost everything he cared about. He had nothing left to live for, and while for some people, that manifests itself as kindness and gentleness (so no one else felt how they did), his manifested as pain and rage (which I don’t think was intentional, he just needed help). So I like the idea of having a version of him that got the ability to regulate himself and his emotions, that stayed kind even after losing his light. I like the idea of having a version of him that he lets touch the flame once more, burning even brighter than before.

[gutta-percha]

very very disturbing thing has happened not even sure if i want to talk about it.

it is another object which has inexplicably appeared in my home with no logical reason for it to be here. this is gonna sound stupid but im actually unnerved

its a tiny plastic green duck which has been blutac'd to the grill of my fathers bike (not his main one, he says he hasnt ridden this one in about 2 month) it looks like the type of thing youd get from a christmas cracker or one of those capsules from a vending machine.

we do not have any blutac. i cant remember the last time i used blutac. there is no blutac in this house

its pretty conspicuous, so he would have noticed before so it must have been put there recently.

the creepiest thing is that there is cctv in the garage, and no way for anyone to put something there without being seen.

possible explanations:

some weirdo affixed it there when he was parked somewhere in public, for some reason, months ago and he only realised now, and it somehow didnt fall off

one of the kids on the estate (there are a lot) snuck into the garage while it was open and my dad wasnt looking, without being seen by the camera, and affixed it there (for some reason)

he put it there himself in a fugue state and doesnt remember. but where did the blutac and duck come from???

someone has broken into the garage while i was walking the dog (no one comes near the house without him barking) but didnt steal anything? just left a little plastic duck (for some fucking reason???)

ghosts/aliens/other fortean phenomena

this is just like the weird german seeds all over again WHERE HAS IT COME FROM WHAT DOES IT MEAN

[woso-dreamzzz]

Shirt Swap

Pernille Harder x Child!Reader

Aitana Bonmatí x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Inspired by the fact that Aitana waited twenty minutes to exchange shirts with Pernille

There's a small girl in the mixed area, waiting by the doors of the Denmark side.

You wouldn't describe her as little because you're little but small seems suitable.

You watch her as she lingers by the door. She's dressed in the Spain kit and she looks a little anxious.

Momma let you go and get snacks from the vending machine so long as you came straight back, which you did, but you still find yourself staring at this little girl by the door.

You've got a packet of skildpadder in your hand. You've missed skildpadder so you're glad the vending machine had it.

The girl is still by your door so you huff and approach - adults are so weird sometimes.

"Hi."

She jolts in shock, looking down at you. "Hola."

You frown. You don't speak Spanish. Danish, yes. Swedish, yes. English when you absolutely have to and German when you want to annoy Morsa. So, you say again," Hi."

You blink up at her as she crouches in front of you. Finally, she says," Hello."

You grin. "Want one?" Because Morsa says it's good to share.

She looks at the packet in your hand, biting her lip as she glances back at the closed door and the even further away door of the locker room. "What is it?" Her accent is thick and rough but she's speaking English so at least you can understand her.

"Skildpadder," You say in awe," It's...er...chocolate and cream and caramel. It's very good." You open the packet and offer one to her. "My Momma and Morsa don't let me have them a lot but Momma let me get something from the vending machine."

The girl takes it. "Thank you. My name is Aitana."

"I'm y/n!" You grin and eat your own bite of chocolatey goodness. "Why are you waiting outside?"

Aitana's cheeks blush red and instead she fixes your Harder jersey from where it's gone askew. She notices the name on your back. "Do you like Pernille Harder?"

You frown. You're not sure what kind of question that is but you answer it anyway. "Uh-huh!"

Aitana smiles and says to you in barely a whisper. "She's my absolute favourite," She says," I look up to her a lot. I...I would like to swap my jersey for hers."

You nod along. It makes sense. Momma is one of the best in the world - you know that because she's got two trophies that say so - but Aitana seems pretty cool and you can't imagine someone as cool as Aitana wanting one of Momma's jerseys - the same as all the other ones you wear to bed.

You flick the thought away through because you give Aitana another skildpadder for being honest because that's what Morsa does for you and you take her hand.

She doesn't put up much for a fight as you walk her through the door and into the changing room. Lots of your aunties are changing and crying out words in Danish for you to come and cuddle them to console them after their loss but you ignore them all.

Instead, you go straight for Momma, dropping Aitana's hand to slam into her.

"Momma!" You cry in laughter as she lifts you easily onto her hip.

"Princesse! Did you get what you wanted?"

"Uh-huh!" You hold up your chosen snack triumphantly. You look back at Aitana, whose eyes dart between you and Momma in shock. "This is my new friend Aitana. She was waiting outside. She wants one of your shirts."

Momma places you back on the ground and walks closer to Aitana.

"You want to exchange shirts?"

Aitana nods. "Er...Por favor?"

Momma strips her shirt from her body and passes it to Aitana, who takes it after a moment of shock. Aitana repeats to gesture until they're both standing shirtless in the middle of the locker room.

"Do you mind if I give your shirt to y/n?" Momma asks as you creep towards them, standing at her side. "She's got quite the collection of shirts from the greatest players in the world."

You nod. "I have Frido's, who plays with Morsa sometimes. And Viv and Daan and Jill for when they play for the Netherlands. And...And...Oh! And Caro from when Momma and I were at Wolfsburg. And Leah from Arsenal! She says she will get me a Keira Walsh shirt because she is friends with her!" You list off your other jerseys and Aitana nods along, although you're talking so quickly you're not entirely sure she's fully keeping up with you.

"Aitana plays with Frido and Keira in Barcelona," Momma tells you and instantly you gasp.

Aitana is very cool.

You give her another skildpadder.

Aitana takes the shirt she gave to Momma and places it on you.

You smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She looks up at Momma and looks down again, blushing. "I...er...I didn't realise she was yours when we met."

"We keep her face out of the media most of the time," Pernille says as she watches you scamper off to Rikkie to brag about your new Bonmatí shirt. "But yes, she's mine and Magda's."

"She's very sweet."

"Yeah, she is."

There's silence for a moment and then," It's kind of inflating my ego a bit to know that someone like you wants my shirt."

"I appreciate the way you play," Aitana says, unable to make eye contact," And your dedication. You...er, what is the word? You are an idol of mine."

Pernille smiles softly and they both watch you munch on your skildpadder as the rest of the Danish team fuss over you.

"You must have made a good impression on her. She loves skildpadder. I'm surprised she's shared it. You've made her day, giving her the shirt."

Aitana's face reddens more with the amount of compliments she's being given. "I..." She takes out her phone and opens the notes app. "If you give me your address, I...I can get her the Keira jersey she wants. And if she's collecting world class players, I do not think Alexia or Patri will mind giving theirs up either."