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dvchvnde · 2 months ago

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PRAIRIE WOLF | prologue

domestic violence, abuse (not Price). unexpected pregnancy. implied age gap.

MASTERLIST. AO3

He's a regular at the diner you work at.

Sits in the same spot, orders the same thing. Doesn't say much, but—according to Elliot—he never does. English, too. A foreigner. But here longer than you've been. Grown roots. Stretched his legs.

He owns a cabin in the woods that be built with his bare hands, and does odd jobs around town wherever he's needed. Mostly carpentry. Woodwork. Only forty, Elliot says, and already semi-retired. Military grunt, though (and in a terrible, exaggerated cockney accent, he adds) back home.

Running from something, he surmises, and you try not to feel flayed under his heavy, pointed stare, offering little more than a shrug you hope is more blase than you feel and a flat, aren't we all? so what makes his marathon so special?

Comes by at five in the morning, fours hours into a twelve hour shift. Likes, what he calls, an English Breakfast.

He isn't like some of the men who show up after midnight, or in the early hours. Blue collar works hungry for more than rubbery pancakes and coffee. The ones who ignore the split in your lip, hidden under a thick coat of lipstick, the puffiness of your eye. Whispering oil-slick charm at quarter to three in the morning when the pregnancy test you stole from the dollarrama is still buried under bloodied toilet paper in the motel you've converted into a temporary home.

Price—John Price—stares at the mess of your pretty face and meets the ugliness head-on, eyes narrowed into something that might be suspicion. Askance. Wariness. Some amalgamation of what the fuck happened to you and don't bring that mess over to my table.

Quiet. In theory.

You've heard him talk—this low, growling thing; the misfire of an engine, a rumble that reminds you of the old Plymouth Fury your dad had. Dangerous. Men like him usually are.

Little girl fantasies spun into real life. Duct tape. Magnets to girls like you with all the broken pieces, fragile parts. And with the bruises bubbling under your skin—burst blood vessels, fist-sized—and the—

The kid, you suppose. Baby. You can't afford to get wrapped up into something like that no matter how many times you catch him staring.

Watching.

The other server always handles his order when he arrives. Since starting work here four months ago, you maybe had all of a single conversation when you floated through the diner in search of something to do.

more coffee? a glance. a grunt. yeah, love. I'll have some more.

So you ignore it. Him. Keep your head down and pour cup after cup to the other regulars who congregate and pretend you aren't living in a motel to escape a man who seems to prefer you bruised up and bloody. Who—

Knocked you up.

Your hand goes there. To your belly. Nauseous, suddenly, with the thought of it. This.

When you glance up, unease prickling across your nape, you catch him staring at you. At the hand still splayed over your stomach. Something frisson across his expression—whiplike: ripples over a lake—but it's too fast, fleeting, for you to catch. Tucked back inside the folds of his patented frown, the ever present crease between his thick, umbre brows.

John lifts his eyes from your ringless hand, the swollen index finger from when you made the mistake of pointing to the door, trying to stand firm with your luggage hidden in the bushes, and meets your gaze. Stares at you head-on. Implacable as always. Blank.

But—and it's so silly, really—for a moment, you thought it was hunger. Something heavy and dark. Possessive.

Then his head dips. A shallow nod. John looks away, eyes slanting towards the window as if he didn't have to tear his gaze away from your belly. From you.

Your heart is in your throat. This too thick, fragile thing thudding against your jugular. Hard to breathe, hard to swallow around it. In the way—

Outside, tires squeal against the pavement.

John tenses. A shadow falling over his brow, a tug on his lips hidden under thick, wry curls.

You don't know what it is until the familiar gurgle of an engine cuts through the silent diner.

He looks back at you as a door slams. A shout erupts.

Fear is a thick, oily sludge filling your lungs. Tarlike. Sticky molasses. It burns, corrosive, and eats away at your tissue until a hole forms, letting spill out inside of you. To your belly where it hardens into a ferric ball of panic.

You thought you had time. One last shift. Collect your paycheck and then run—

But he found you.

He bellows out your name, angry and a little slurred. Drunk. High. Like the passive, maltreated dog he turned you into, you follow the sound, cowing a little when you see him stumble into the diner, face collapsed into fury.

There's a clatter. The hollow echo of wood hitting linoleum. Screams, his yells. It's all muted in your head. Panic throbbing against your ears, stuffing them full of cotton.

His bruised, marled fist reaches for you—

But John gets there first. His broad stretch of his back filling your vision as he pushes himself into the empty space between you and this man, hands raised, catching his mangled fist in one and grabbing a handful of his shirt, tugging him closer. It's all raw, untameable anger as he huffs into the man's face, grinding the words out on a rough, animalistic snarl—

"Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do."

Stress like this ain't good for the baby, the paramedic tells you, brown eyes dampening with a thick ring of sympathy as she turns over your wrist, and dabs cool, wet cotton over the welts on your skin.

She's pushing for you to press charges. Keeps swiping at your skin to unveil more of your hidden hurts to the police officer that holds an old kodak in his hands and snaps, snaps, snaps at every weakness, each vulnerability she offers up.

It'd be the smart thing to do. He's already being booked on assault, threats. Battery for hitting John on the shoulder, the only place he could reach, with the shovel left by the cooks to scrape the snow away from the spot they usually gather around to smoke. No one brings up the fact that John was choking the life out of him at the time, and the bruises around his neck—ugly red fingerprints—are easily ignored.

Adding domestic violence to the list of charges, she mutters, will keep him locked up. Away from you. Can file for a restraining order, the cop adds, scratching the back of his neck as the camera sits, poised and intrusive, in his other hand.

The problem is that you've been through this before.

Like mother, like daughter.

The knife twists a little deeper. Gouges out another pound of flesh lost to a broken home. Another cog in a ruinous system. Poor kid, below the poverty line, with a dad who sold drugs and mother who did them. Dime a dozen.

And with that comes the knowledge that his sentence will be lighter than they're alluding to—if he has one at all. Upstanding citizen before he got shackled in with the wrong crowd, the runaway. Trouble who breezed through and picked the son of an attorney in the big city some three hours away from this town, this dilapidated diner. Sinking claws in.

My son never drank or did drugs before, your honour—

He'll get off with a slap on the wrist because he's never been in trouble before.

Your dad, too—in jail for the weekend when your mother relented to the impassioned beseeches given to her by rookie cops who just wanted that arrest notch on their belt. Saw a judge on Monday. Prison too crowded for such a paltry offense.

The hurt, after, was always worse than what he went to jail for.

So. No. You won't press charges even though you know you should. It'll take too long and you don't plan on staying much longer. Not with your luggage packed in the trunk. The cheque shoved clumsily into your hands when the manager came out to make a fuss, angling a purpling finger in your direction—nothin' but trouble since the day you were hired—only to be stopped by the wall that is John Price, a snarl pulling up at his lips as he barked call the fuckin' police and, low, as if he didn't want you to hear, adding: you ever point your finger at her again like that, and I'll hang you from the goddamn rafters.

You're not sure why he's still here, standing watch. On guard. His bloodied, bruised hands shoved into his armpits as he paces back and forth like a caged tiger unaware the door has been open the whole time. Stalking. Taking measured, meaningful steps towards anyone who tries to come over—badge or not. Barking out orders. Lancing people with his glare when they tread too closely.

Good fucking samaritan, you think, eyes riveted on the blood drying over the gravel. Your head looping, weaving in arching circles as you try to contend with the fact that it somehow isn't yours, but his.

Maybe that's why he stays. Obligation. Civic duty. It makes you snort, and the paramedic glances at you sharply, assessing in that too thick, too kind, way of hers.

"You doin' okay, mama?"

And you wish she wouldn't call you that. Make it real. Mama. Your idea of motherhood, of mothers and moms and mamas, is a woman slumped on the couch, passed out after staying up all night talking to ghosts. Nails caked with the dust of percocets and restoril and oxycodone (oxycotton, she's always called it). Popping mouthful of pills in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night. An assortment to keep her functional—and asleep.

Nodding off in the middle of conversations. Or fighting it to stay high. Irritated and combative whenever she ran out, supply gone dry.

Toxic.

Neglectful—at best.

You can't think about what you'll end up doing to this kid with her blood in your veins. Her ghosts in your head.

John moves. A shadow in the corner of your eye. "'bout enough of that, don't you think?"

She backs up, startled by the aggression in his voice. "I just—"

You think you hate them both. "I'm fine."

She looks back at you, searching. Wanting that assurance, but whatever she's looking to find, it isn't there. You won't give it, and eventually she nods. Peels back. "Okay. If you feel any soreness at all, if anything changes, come to the hospital."

The nod is for her benefit only, and she takes it with a deep inhale.

It thins out after that. The cop and his camera leave, too, after making you take the paperwork needed to file charges. If you change your mind. His number in smeared blue ink on the back. The paramedics go after another futile round of are you sure you don't want to get checked out at the hospital that's decline with a shake of your head.

It's just you and Price now. Your beatup Saturn three spots away from his truck—an old Ford you hadn't been expecting a man like him to drive, with his thick Levi jacket and his steel-toed boots. Standing there with an armful of paper that's going to go in the trash, you're not sure what to do. How to untangle yourself from the claws of this vicious bear that seems content to loom over you like an unasked for cloud, glaring down at you from the bridge of his nose. Expression pinched, like he's displeased. Mad.

You've had enough of angry men, though, and you turn, offering a hollow smile that works it's way around your mouth like a grimace. "Guess I should head home—"

"Running, mm?"

You blink. "Sorry?"

He leans down, all grit and blunt teeth. "That your plan? Runnin' away from all'a this? Find another town. Another motel."

Another man.

He doesn't say it, but it's there. The implication. The idea. It rankles down your spine, a whitehot ooze of shame. Of anger.

"You don't know me," you spit, all anger and indignation. Embarrassment so sharp, it cuts. "You don't know anything about me."

He rocks back on his heel, mouth flattening into an even line. "No, I don't. But I know your type."

"You—"

The indignity is increased tenfold when he meets your ire with an impassive stare, so firm in his assessment of you that he doesn't even bulk when you glare at him. When you rage in quiet fury, shoulders shaking.

"You'll run," he continues, bulling over the vitriol that stutters out in broken squeals of anger. "You'll find a new place. And it'll be fine for a little while but then you'll end up in the same situation because that's all you know, isn't it? S'why you're not pressing charges. Why you got your bag in your back seat. The slightest pressure and you bolt—straight into the same predicament you're in now."

"It's not my fault—"

"No," he grinds the word, firm and sure, and it snatches you by the throat because no one has ever agreed with you on that. It's not your fault. It's just—

"—all you know."

"What am I supposed to do differently, huh? Stay and press charges that won't stick? Wait for him to get out, frothing at the mouth for revenge? Yeah, right," you scoff, rolling your eyes up towards the stale sky. "End up as another statistic? Or—"

Like your mother. It quiets you. Snuffs the flames. All you feel is scraped raw. Hollowed out. Empty and hitting and—

"So you'll just run your whole life? Until it catches up to you, mm? What happens when someone finds you in a place you can't run? When you're all alone, and cornered?"

It tastes like defeat. Resignation. "You think I haven't thought of that before?"

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. "Got yourself into a little mess, but it ain't the end of the world. Jus' got to fix it. Can't do that when you run."

"And what's your solution? Find another job, hope that his charges stick? He—"

Drained you financially. Beat you bloody.

You shake your head. "The best thing to do is to leave. I'll be smarter, I'll—"

He scoffs. You ignore it, hands shaking.

"I can't. I just—I can't."

"Come stay with me," he says. Just like that. Stay with me. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Come stay with me. "Got a spare room."

"I don't even know you—"

"People rent to strangers all the time."

"I don't have a job. Money. I can't pay you—"

"Been needin' a receptionist for some time. Pay is fair. Hourly."

You blink, eyes hot. Wet. You feel the sharp edge of hope digging in, that deadly, terrible thing that only ever falls apart when you finally relax.

"Just like that?"

He nods, sharp and firm. "Jus' like that."

"I have a kid," you blurt out, panicked. This conversation is getting away from you. Slipping through your fingers. And the worst is that it sounds so good. Too good. "I'm—I'm pregnant," you add like he doesn't already know. Hadn't heard you mutter it to the paramedic hours ago.

The look he levels you with is an incendiary thing. You feel it in your chest. Deadcentre. "I know," he rasps, head bending down closer to you. "Doesn't change anythin'."

"How could it not?"

"How should it?" He counters.

"In a few months, when the baby is here—"

"I won't change my mind."

"You say that now," you breathe, pulse thudding in your ears. "But when it's screaming in the middle of the night, and—"

His hand reaches out slowly, like he's trying not to startle a horse. Fingers grazing your arm, warm and rough, before closing around your wrist. The one that's bruised and sore. Swollen in his hand. Its done with measured purpose, confidence, that the panic doesn't have time to surge. Instincts too incipient to keep up with the sure, steady way he winds around you.

With his hand on your wrist, fingers folding over the hurt—hiding them—he leans down, thumb stroking along your skittish, unraveling pulse, and makes you meet his stare. Open, maybe, for the first time since you met him. All raw want, naked truth. The bare, fractured look is enough to steal the air in your lungs, snuffing out the innate protests that spume whenever someone offers any sort of help or charity. The no crushed under his heel.

"m'a man of my word," he low, drawing the words out. "I'll be there for the cryin' and the dirty diapers and the sleepless nights."

"And when I can't work for you?"

His lips quirk. "I offer better MAT leave than most places. Reckon you could even do the bloody job from bed."

"Price, that's—this is insane—"

"John," he grunts, giving another shrug before peeling away from you. "Savin' me the trouble of talking to these idiots. Ain't nothin' crazy about that."

"I could be a horrible person. A murderer. Rob you blind, and leave you with you nothing."

It has the opposite effect of scaring him off. If anything, he looks amused. Squares his shoulders, stands to his full—intimidating, impressive—height. Stares down at you with a brow quirked and strange gleam in his eyes.

"Think I can handle myself, love. And if you wanna rob me, bite the hand, so to speak, then I promise you, you won't like the consequences."

You swallow. His tone sparks against your sense of self-preservation, and you fight the urge to take a step back. To put distance between yourself and this grizzly-like man with blunt teeth and sharp claws.

He senses your hesitation. Must because he quiets, shoulders sinking. Hand warm on your skin, giving a slight squeeze before he lets go. You ignore the urge to chase that heat again, and hide a shiver behind a shift.

"How 'bout a test ride, mm? A trial. Stay for a few weeks and then decide if you still want to leave."

Too good to be true. You know this deep down in your marrow. Every instinct inside of you rebelling against this, screaming trap, it's a trap. But there's a truth to what he says, and maybe if you weren't pregnant, you would have flipped him off and ran because men like him aren't kind to girls like you unless they have a reason to be.

You're just not sure what he has to gain in all of this. Why he put himself between you and harm without so much as a sparing glance. Stayed, too, and barked at everyone who got too close. A thunderous shadow full of teeth.

And maybe it's that. The blood concealing into a thick, pulpy plum over the split of his knuckles, the blood on the gravel that isn't yours, the goosebumps rising over the spot he touched, colder than the rest of your skin, that makes you quieten under his heavy stare. Softening into something agreeable. Unreasonable. Instincts shoved into a box.

So you nod and let him place his hand over the small of your back, guiding you to his truck with a firm nudge. Say anything when he helps you in, hands fastening the seatbelt with a clipped I'll be back when he finishes, keeping his wary eyes on you even as he moves quickly towards your car, grabbing your suitcase from the back. Promises to get your car later, too. Bring it back to his house.

And yours, too, he adds, glancing your way after he tosses the suitcase in the backseat, searching for something you're not sure he'll find. So you look away, staring at the dust on the dashboard as he rounds the truck, and slips into the front seat. It smells like him. Fresh leather and the wild. Cedar and moss. Tobacco. Something heady. Masculine. Soaked sage. Loam. Gasoline.

You lean back on the headrest, breathing it in. Trying not to think.

You'll keep your luggage packed. The keys in the ignition. When whatever it is he's planning comes to the forefront, you'll be ready to run.

But right now—

You just want to sleep. Your jaw aches. Your wrist. There's a knot in your stomach—not good for the baby—and it thickens each time you look at his bloodied knuckles curled loosely over the steering wheel, the other on the stick. Close enough that you can feel the heat bleeding into your knee. All fire and spite, and—

Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do.

"Get some rest," he grunts, eyes slanting towards you in a brief, heavy flick. "I'll stop and get some food soon, too, but it's a two hour drive to mine. And you look dead on your feet, sweetheart."

Love. Sweetheart. I won't change my mind.

You swallow down the protest that swells, the lingering residuum of self-preservation that won't let you bear your neck just yet, and offer a slow nod, blaming the easy submission on fatigue. These aches and pains that weep, tender to the touch.

Your eyes slip shut against your better judgement, the warm interior of the truck, his smell, bleeding a sense of soporific comfort you can't remember the last time you ever felt. Just a quick nap, you think. Long enough to rest your eyes—

It's swallowed under the deluge of exhaustion that rushes through when your shoulders drop, lax. He mutters something, but it's awash under the seafoam that fills your ears, lapping waves dragging you further and further away from shore. Something that sounds like girl good but you can't be sure. Hypnagogia is a terrible a thing that likes to spin dreams, play pretend in the cradle of your subconsciousness until the lines between reality and fantasy blur. Ignoring it is easier than admitting that it floods you with a warmth so deep, sweat gathers along your hairline. Feverish and sickly sweet.

Fingers dance along the edge of your brow, rough and coarse, and it's a devastating thing, isn't it? All this tenderness along the broken edges of yourself, nails grazing the fractures like they can be fixed, pushed back into place, and not as if they're about to shatter. It makes you want to lash out even though you can't feel your body anymore, stuck between worlds of wake and rest. Later, maybe, when the phantom press doesn't feel so sweet you'll snap—broken jaw and brittle teeth—at his hand until he remembers to never touch you again. A risk he won't take.

But with the knot in your belly, a baby there, too, and a body more contusion than flesh, you let it happen. Mewl, maybe, a quiet little slip of a thing, and curve into the palm resting over your cheek. Small and docile, leaching comfort as fast as you can before you remember yourself.

in the moonglade, you murmur thank you and swallow down a rough, painful sound when he scoffs under his breath, and says ain't got nothin' to thank me for, sweetheart.

#this is rough and messy but i woke up with this idea burning in my head and couldn't write it out fast enough #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #wips #fic: prairie wolf

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rqnarok · 4 months ago

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summary: how old man!logan deals with jealousy…

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. fem!reader. daddy kink. jealous!logan. dom/sub dynamics. unprotected p in v. pet names: kid, baby, etc. not proofread.

Imagine how Logan regrets taking you into that bar. He only wanted to take you out and let you try one of his favorite drinks.

But he forgot the existence of those sneering boys who can’t keep their hands to themselves. He’d turn his head a little and suddenly a fuckin’ guy drapes himself in front of you. Rambling on to you his childhood story that is supposedly to be comical.

The tips of his fingers grip the crystal clear glasses way too tightly it almost shatters. His brows furrowed and the lines on his forehead show themselves profoundly as he freezes, watching you from the counter.

What’s bothering him the most, the plague crawling up beneath his skin, the one taunting his jealousy–is how you laugh at the guy’s jest. Because Logan knows that he can hardly make you laugh. Maybe a few sweet giggles but that’s all.

Logan does know that there is nothing funny left in him at his old age. His much younger self would be capable of doing so—but he’s not young anymore. He could not make you cry out those sweet snickers he wishes he could.

What he could, though, is holding you down with his arms as he laps at your slick folds. His calloused hands dug into your plush skin. His scruffy salt-and-pepper beard scratches at the sensitive core while he greedily sucks at your swollen clit—before diving into your hole. “Ah!” Humming a pleased rumble against your mound when you whine a high-pitched sound in pleasure.

You try to cover up your face in shyness, struggling to look at him. Not when he’s looking at you in ferocity and possessiveness—as if you are his last meal. Your trembling figure is yet to be devoured by the prey inside of him.

“Pussy tastes so sweet, y'know that?”

His deep deep voice is enough to make you tremble, but “Hmm. Daddy’s pretty cunt.” is making you writhe on the bed, begging him for more.

“Tis’ pussy’s mine, yeah?” He’d continuously ask until your head bobbed at an erratic speed and acknowledged it with words, “Y-yeahyeahyea— All yours, Daddy.”

When he remembers your interaction with that fuckin’d boy in the bar, he’d dip back into what he was doing, practically making out with your pussy, kissing it so passionately like he would kiss you. The squelching sound he makes between your thighs pushes you to gasp even more.

Logan loves eye contact. Loves to see that you see who’s pleasing you: him. His mouth is on you and his eyes are also on you—peers at you with a dark lingering gaze.

“Who gets this pussy wet, huh?” He asks as if you can answer properly when he’s got you like this, tongue fucking you. “S’ it those fuckin’ boys?”

You’d shake your head, denials stuck in your throat as you feel the warm feeling on your stomach—how close you are reaching your high. Your head moves rapidly from side to side. No! No. It could never be them. It could never be anyone other than you, you want to cry out.

But you’re too busy moaning out incoherently instead of saying it. Hoping Logan’d understand.

And he does. “Or ‘s it wet for Daddy, hm?” He always does.

All you can do is nod and nod—nodding so fast not caring how your head might hit the headboard. Because it is always him, only ever for Daddy.

He chuckles darkly against you, his tongue plunging back inside your pussy. Knowing it is the truth.

“Ya’ like me, sweet’art?” He hums after wrapping his lips on your puffy button and sucks—earning himself a mewl from you.

“Like knowin’ y’re fuckin’ an old man?”

Your thighs tremble at how close you are and your head falls back into the pillow before looking at him again. The sight in front of you is everything: His grey beard is soaked with your slick, his eyes looking at you with both tiredness and yearning.

Logan grins as he feels you making grabby hands at him. He flicks his tongue over and over at your clit before sucking the swollen bundle of nerves between his lips again.

“Come for Daddy. Daddy’s got you.”

Your lips form a smile after you reach your orgasm—when you think he’s satisfied.

Until he is not. Not even close.

“C’mon, kid,” Logan grunts as he squeezes the fat of your ass, “Y’ said y’r mine. ‘Said tis’ pussy’s mine. Huh?”

You’re mind empty as the older man manhandles you so his tip can reach that sensitive gummy spot inside of you that no one has ever reached. Not like this.

“Y-yeah— ‘s yours, Daddy, Ah—”

“Then fuckin’ prove it t’me.” He growls, “C’mon, let her soak on Daddy’s cock—fuckin’ prove it that y’r mine.”

The feel of his broad scarred shoulders pressing into your back makes you roll your eyes in pleasure. Your mind can only think of one thing, no, one person.

“C’mon, baby. I ain’t got all fuckin’ day.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #old man logan #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan by nina <3

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redflagshipwriter · 2 months ago

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Ghost Driver 5

Masterpost

Chapter Five

Danny did not succeed in coaxing Robin out of his car at the cemetery. “I have a juice box,” he lied, shaking his hand inside his pocket enticingly. “You can have it if you go home.”

“I wanna stay.” Robin pressed himself against the opposite car door. His wristwatch was flashing again.

‘If I go to the other side really fast and open the door, he might fall out.’

“Let’s go already.” Jason sounded done with both of them. He had a hand on his forehead. “If we are going anywhere. There’s no point in anything.”

“That’s a bit much,” Danny muttered to himself. He heaved a great sigh at how ridiculous these Gotham people were. This place was silly.

“It’s not pointless.” Robin plastered himself to the back of Jason’s chair, bizarre in his sincerity. He peered around the headrest. “Why do you think that?”

“Dad didn’t pick me,” Jason said nonsensically, and extremely morose.

It tugged at Danny’s heartstrings. “Want my dad?” He offered. He sat back down in his seat so he could lean over and rub at the back of Jason’s neck. Jason rolled his head over towards him.

Jason sniffled.

“Your dad would pick you.” Robin leaned forward.

Jason lolled forward and put his face in both his hands.

Robin didn’t get a clue. “He loves you,” Robin pushed. He patted the back of the car seat. “Your Dad cares so much, du-“

“Back off,” Danny hissed. He gave the kid a glare. “Can’t you see you’re not helping?”

“Of course I thought that then,” Jason warbled. “I wanted my Dad to save me.”

“This is getting dark.” Danny scratched his neck nervously. They needed to change the subject. He put on an artificially bright voice. “How about we go do paperwork and a prisoner transfer!”

Jason didn’t answer. Danny turned around to see Robin.

After a long pause, Robin gave him a thumbs-up.

“Great.” Relieved, he patted Jason’s leg and then checked his seatbelt was good. “Aight, let’s go.”

“What exactly is going on?” Robin prodded.

“Uhhh…” Danny stalled for a moment as he finally contextualized how far off task he had gone. “Well, I followed a police escort to a weird militaristic asylum today.”

“Why?” Robin interrupted.

Danny gave him the stink eye in the rear view window. “Because I thought it might have been Jason who-“

He cut himself off with a cough.

Shit. He couldn’t share Jason’s personal information with the detective freakazoids. If they figured out he was the Red Hat, they’d never stop bothering him.

“You thought he would get a four police car escort?” Robin asked. He lifted an eyebrow in a way that made him look extremely punchable.

“Hell yes,” Danny said loyally. “I believe in him. He’s capable of anything.”

“Aww.” Jason genuinely sounded touched.

Robin twitched.

“Anyway, I met this freakazoid there, total creepo, found out he keeps breaking out and I punted him to the Infinite Realms but I guess I was a bit sketchy about it? So now I need to move him to a legal holding facility and get paperwork that proves the transfer to show Mr. Police guy, because he says he can’t allow kidnapping and I think that’s fair even if it’s a bummer,” Danny rambled. “In my defense, most of the time sending people to the infinite realms for being buttheads is the most appropriate course of action. When you have a hammer you see a lot of nails or whatever. Wheeee.” He accelerated to get over a police barricade.

Jason closed his eyes again. “I think imma be sick,” he said philosophically.

“You should probably rely less on false imprisonment,” Robin said in a mild tone.

Jason immediately repeated that in a mocking tone, complete with a flapping hand to imitate a mouth. “Was I really this annoying?” He mumbled. “Jeeze. Say like, golly. Gosh. Willickers.”

Robin looked extremely offended. He was deathly silent the rest of the car ride.

‘Spoke too soon,’ Danny thought, about a minute away from his destination.

“What are you doing?”

Danny ignored his shriek and hit Robin with his head to keep the little weasel from grabbing the wheel. “I know where I’m going,” he grunted, and busted through the construction barricade.

Robin braced. Danny flicked on a turn signal. Jason sort of grimaced and closed his eyes.

No one outside the car noticed or reacted to them, because of course he had gone intangible and invisible. He wasn’t a total dingus.

“It’s a long detour,” Danny justified. The car rattled angrily over potholes. He swerved to avoid an open manhole. “And we’re out.” He flicked back into visibility and eased the car to a stop outside the police station. “Just a second.”

“…What are you-“

He slammed the door on Robin and jogged up the stairs.

A young man coming down the stairs stopped and stared at him. “Hey,” he said, nodding.

Danny nodded back. Jeeze, what a handsome guy. “Hey yourself,” he said genially. “Scuze me-“

“Sorry, can I stop you for a moment?” He flashed a very white smile. “What are you here for? Maybe I can help you.”

Danny looked down to confirm that the stranger really had put a hand on his shoulder. He removed it sheepishly. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I was gonna go ask a cop to come with me.” He rolled his shoulders.

“…I’m a cop,” said the guy.

Danny looked at him. He looked at his car. In the backseat, Robin tried to sink down out of sight. “Wanna come with me and my new friends to get some paperwork from a ghost cop?”

Handsome guy’s whole face twitched. “I sure would. Is that Robin?” He started jogging. “That sure looks like Robin!” He said, in a voice that might have been disapproving.

The door locks clicked on for some reason.

“No worries, I can fix that.” Danny plunged his hand through the window to manually depress the locks and then opened the backseat door with a flourish. “Got a cop, guys!”

Jay groaned and gave a thumbs up. He was still covering his eyes with the underside of his forearm.

The cop was standing still to stare at Jay. His face was unreadable.

“He’s got the front seat, so you’re back here with the bird, sorry.” Danny bullied the cop into his car and then flung himself carelessly back into the drivers’ seat. “Seatbelts on?”

Two clicks came from the back seat.

“I know the rules, Danny.”

“Awesome.” He gave them all a thumbs up. “Okay, uh, I am going to…” He hit the gas hard and accelerated down the streets of Gotham. Something thunked in the back seat when he took a hard turn.

“Are you leaving city limits?” the cop asked.

Danny nodded, heading towards the highway entrance. “I can’t bother Wulf to be my personal interdimensional portal guy, he’ll start to feel used. I’m gonna pop over to the cheese mansion and take vampire Vlad’s portal to the ghost zone.”

“Do we have any snacks?” The cop leaned a bit up into the front seat. “It’s just, that sounds like a pretty long trip. Are we gonna be gone all morning?”

“I’ll stop when we get to third street,” Danny promised. “Vlad is, uh.” He grimaced. “About two hours away.”

From the backseat came a sullen: “You owe me a juice box.”

“I never said that,” Danny lied. “Officer, this child is trying to rob me.”

Nevertheless, he did stop and promise to get Robin a juice box. The handsome cop guy hopped out of the car and paused weirdly outside the store.

Danny cocked his head and watched. “Are you posing for the security cameras?” He snorted. “You look like a model.” He headed in, ignoring the bemused “thanks?” that garnered. The two of them headed in while Jay malaised in the car and Robin attempted to become a dark cloud. Teenagers, man.

“I didn’t catch your name. I’m Dick, by the way.” Handsome Guy pulled open the cold door and started piling drinks into a basket. Danny edged past him on tiptoes to investigate the chip aisle.

“I’m Phantom.” He started tossing snacks over his shoulder into the basket. “Hey, do you have money? I don’t have much money. I can maybe cover, half of this.” He grimaced. “Maybe Jay would pay me back for his share, but he’s so out of it. Birds don’t carry money, right? That bird looks broke.”

“I can get it, I have a credit card.” Handsome Guy Dick snatched a bag of superhot puffed things and made his way to the check out. “Gas?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and obviously declined a call. His phone began vibrating again immediately.

“That would be a good idea, thanks.” Danny floated behind Dick to the counter, relieved to have a higher level adult present.

They were back on the road and about halfway there before it occurred to him that he should probably warn Vlad he was coming. Danny fished around in his jacket pocket. Nothing. He frowned. “Do you see my phone?” he asked Jay.

Jay said nothing. His head was lolling forward.

“He is out of it, my guy,” Handsome Cop Dick said genially. “Is this it?” He produced Danny’s phone.

“How did that end up back there?” Danny wondered. “Thanks, guy.” He unlocked it with his left hand and started a speakerphone call. As soon as it connected, he said, “I have guests.”

Vlad cut himself off mid what would have definitely been something like, “So you, Daniel Fenton, come crawling back to me, Vladimir Vlad Plasmy Plad, you, the son of my greatest enemy and tragically disinterested love interest.” He was just like that. The guy had no sense of discretion.

“I need to take a cop, a vigilante, and a guy I wanna date into the ghost zone,” he explained. The countryside flew by outside the window in a dizzying rush of green. “I’m on my way to your place to borrow your portal.”

“...How do you get into these situations?” Vlad sounded interested, damn him. His tone dropped suggestively. “You are constantly in situations, my lad. Perhaps it is a lack of paternal guidance-”

“Probably not,” Danny interrupted cheerfully. “But I hear you loud and clear, you have an empty nest and you’re not dealing well, say no more, I’ll send over the little gremlin and the big guy, let them know you just hit up costco and you want them to stock up-”

Vlad literally hissed into the phone. “Cease and desist. Fine.” He was outright pouting.

“Oh, you sound sulky.”

“I am going to tell your father that I want photos of you in the turtle halloween costume to put on a slideshow for investors.” Vlad’s voice dropped dangerously low. “I can convince him that there is a legitimate reason. He probably will not even ask why.”

Danny winced. “Truce,” he said. “I’ll be there in like an hour, okay? Can I take a car in through the lab?”

“A car?” Vlad shrieked. He sounded weirdly offended about it.

“I didn’t know his voice could go that high,” Danny said in a quiet aside to the car. Dick nodded. His expression was unreadable. Danny lifted his volume to explain. “They’re all humans, can’t fly, also now that I think about it I need some way to move the prisoner.” He frowned. He noticed the cop went very stiff in the backseat. Hmm. Yeah. The backseat was getting pretty full.

“...You are a disaster,” Vlad said flatly. “I will provide a more appropriate vehicle. I will accompany you.”

“You sure? I’m gonna have to see Walker. He hates you, right?” Danny switched lanes to pass a slow van. “He hasn’t told me anything, but everyone hates you, so he probably also does.”

Vlad hung up.

…fair.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #red ghost driver

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versairic · 9 months ago

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Paddock guests | MV1

In which you and your class visited Max at the track in Zandvoort.

warning : This is the second part of 'special guest' and you don't have to read the first part first, but it might make it easier for you because of the connections in this part. You can also find 'special guest' on my profile :)

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

ALL EYES are on you and your class as you enter the paddock in a row of ducks.

Until now, it has never happened that countless six-year-olds in Red Bull merchandise and paddock passes around their necks have entered the paddock together with their teacher.

But that changes today. Having plucked up the courage a few days ago to save Max's number and thank the Dutchman for a great day in the lion class, you didn't expect the three-time world champion to invite the whole class into the paddock as a thank you.

"It's important that we all stay together. As you can see, the paddock is quite large and spacious, so we all have to stay very close together to get to the Red Bull Garage, okay? ", you look at your pupils one by one with a smile.

You can clearly see the beaming faces of your protégés and the anticipation of the day ahead.

Today is Friday, so there won't be too much happening at the track this weekend, so this is the perfect day for Max to show the six-year-olds where he works.

In a video message sent directly to the Lion class, he thanked them for the great day at school and invited all the students to his garage to take a look behind the scenes.

You're also looking forward to seeing everything up close, so you can hardly wait to walk over to Red Bull and marvel at everything up close.

"Then let's get going," you indicate to your charges with a smile.

As it is impossible to keep an eye on all the children alone in this spacious paddock, you are accompanied by a nice Red Bull employee who introduced himself as Mason a few minutes ago.

You're grateful to Mason not only for helping you keep the kids together, but also for guiding you through the paddock and getting you to your destination.

Because if you're honest, you wouldn't find this way on your own. The paddock already looks pretty big and expansive from the TV, but in real life it looks twice as big, so if you didn't have a clue, you'd be one hundred per cent lost.

Mason starts to run off in front, while the rows of two that the children have formed follow the Red Bull employee and you bring up the rear so as not to lose any children in the hustle and bustle.

Every now and then, a few employees or even drivers cross your path, who give you a big smile and greet and wave to your protégés in a friendly manner.

It doesn't take long before Mason comes to a halt in front of the Red Bull Hospitality and all the children gather in a semi-circle around Mason.

"We've reached our first destination. This is the Red Bull Hospitality. This is where we stay from time to time when Formula 1 is on a break..." While Mason begins to explain a little to the children, you start to take a few photos with your mobile phone to capture today's event not only for you, but also for the children.

"Max has another appointment, so it will be a while before he can show you all round. But I see you've all got rucksacks with you, which must contain your breakfast, right? " the Red Bull employee adds as you walk up the small ramp to the hospitality centre and shortly afterwards the sliding doors open to reveal a large room with countless tables and chairs.

A loud chorus of 'yes' answers Mason, who indicates to the children that they should find a place to have a snack to tide them over while Max has something to do.

You smile gratefully at Mason when the dark-haired man presses a coffee into your hand a few seconds later.

"The little ones are really adorable, " Mason enthuses as he sits down at a table opposite you.

Your students are sitting around you, talking excitedly and eating their breakfast.

" Yes, isn't it? " you smile and wrap your hands around the cup before taking a sip of the hot liquid. " It's really great of Max to make this possible for you. "

"Max is a really warm person, " Mason smiles and shortly afterwards starts to engage you in conversation, which you're really grateful for.

Because it's not just your class that's pretty excited and nervous about what's going to happen in the next few lessons. You are also really nervous and excited, but you try your best not to let it show.

—

"I hope the garage has room for you all," Mason turns to you and your class with a grin as he continues walking backwards.

You all sat in the hospitality centre for about an hour, where you ate breakfast in the back and then the children were allowed to ask Mason a few questions about the team and his duties.

Mason is part of the mechanic crew who look after the car before and after the sessions.

The children have listened attentively to his stories during the last lesson.

But now, the closer you get to the actual destination, you clearly realise how excited your charges actually are.

A smile plays around your lips as Mason starts to walk down the dark blue corridor towards the garage and begins to tell the children that Max and Sergio Perez always walk along this path to get to their cars.

A few seconds later, you finally reached your actual destination. The garage.

The six-year-olds fill the garage with amazement as they see the two blue cars for the first time.

A broad grin appears on your lips as you realise where you actually are. So far you've only ever seen this view from the sofa on your television and now you're actually standing here.

Apart from a few mechanics who have gathered at the front wing and seem to be making a few preparations, the garage is empty.

"As you can see, Max's car is on the left and Checo's car is on the right. Can anyone tell me what makes the two cars different? " Mason looks round with a smile, from which countless index fingers shoot up.

" Max' is faster! " Milan shouts formally after Mason takes his turn. Loud children's laughter from the class fills the garage.

"Milan..." you almost admonish the blond-haired man. Not because it's true, but because it makes you a little uncomfortable that Milan is more or less rubbing salt in the wound, because everyone knows that things aren't going as well for 'Checo' as they are for Max at the moment.

The Red Bull employee begins to scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment and seems to be struggling with the words. However, he can't seem to think of a suitable answer, so he looks relieved when Max suddenly appears.

The children happily start shouting the Dutchman's name, who gives each child a high five and then gives you a friendly smile, which you return.

" I'm glad you all came! " Max begins as he stands in front of the children and Mason disappears from the centre of attention and goes back to work. "As you probably already know, you're now in the place where I spend a lot of time. How about we take a closer look at my car? "

With a wave of his hand, Max gestures for everyone to come a little closer so that he can show the children his car in more detail and answer a few questions.

Excited, everyone moves a little closer to the car.

"Make sure you don't get too close to the car, will you? You remember what I told you this morning, don't you? " you ask the group.

"Don't touch other people's things!" your class shouts back in chorus, causing a proud smile to spread across your lips and Max looks over at you.

His lips form a wordless 'thank you' before he crouches down to be a little more at eye level with the children and shortly afterwards he begins to explain everything about the car and answer questions.

—

" Thank you very much for your efforts, " you thank Max as the Dutchman comes over to you.

A few minutes ago, you stood a little apart in the box so that you weren't in the way but also didn't lose sight of your class.

"Always a pleasure," Max smiles as he leans against the wall next to you and you look over at your class and Checo.

During Max's detailed explanations of his car, Checo joins in later and now the Mexican takes over to explain the steering wheel to the children in detail.

Sergio sits on a folding chair with the steering wheel in his hand, while the class sits in a semicircle around him on the floor and listens attentively to his words.

" It's really not a matter of course that you invited us all here. That really wouldn't have been necessary," you begin. You are really grateful for what Max does for you and especially for your class.

"It's nice to see the little lions again. And so I also have a reason to see your great teacher again. " Max winks slightly at you, causing the warmth to start shooting up your cheek.

Embarrassed, you brush a strand of hair out of your face and then slowly raise your eyes to look at the Dutchman.

Max's blue eyes are fixed on your face as his lips curve into a smile.

" I mean that seriously, " he adds.

" U-uh... thank you?" you stammer, almost caught off guard. Max's words were so surprising that you didn't even come close to having a perfect answer.

But that 'Uhm, thank you' didn't even make it any better in your mind.

The Dutchman, however, seemed to take this quite calmly, as a grin appeared on his lips.

"I didn't think I would succeed in making you so embarrassed. " Max takes a step closer to you so that you can clearly smell his aftershave.

Without meaning to, warmth begins to gather in your body, causing a warm feeling to spread through your whole body.

"But you succeeded. " Your voice almost sounds like a whisper, so you're not sure whether Max has understood your words at all, as children's laughter can be heard in the background.

" Max! Come here, you have to take over again," Checo calls out just as the Dutchman opens his mouth and starts talking.

"We'll talk later, " Max says in your direction, before he runs over to Checo and, together with Checo, begins to explain the racing gear to the children and, shortly afterwards, one or two of the children put on Max's and Checo's helmets.

And while Max sinks back into his element and makes sure that the children have an unforgettable day, your thoughts are permanently with Max and his words, which you won't be able to get out of your head any time soon.

—

Countless new impressions and information and a completed first free practice session, which you and your class followed live, the day of your visit to the paddock at Zandvoort slowly comes to an end.

A satisfied but also exhausted smile is on your lips as you watch Max hug each child goodbye and have a few kind words for each of them.

You’ve been impressed all day today by how well the Dutchman has dealt with the children and how much time he has really taken for each of them, even though he has a tight schedule and is certainly quite exhausted.

It's sweet to see how some children wrap their arms tightly around the Dutchman and don't want to let him go.

Even for these children, he takes extra time to talk to them quietly and whisper a few words that you don't understand.

And then the Dutchman is suddenly standing in front of you, while all the children are already waiting with Mason at the exit of the paddock.

"Thanks again, Max. Not just for today but also for the visit to the class. That really meant a lot to us, especially the children," you thank the Dutchman again.

"I was happy to do that," he replies with a smile and pulls you into his strong arms to say goodbye, which takes you rather by surprise.

It takes you a few seconds to break out of your little stupor and carefully wrap your arms around his middle.

"I hope we meet again. You've got my number," he whispers in your ear as he hugs you a little closer.

"We will," you assure him.

A tingling sensation begins to awaken in your body and your whole body is slightly electrified.

But before you can really savour the feeling, the Dutchman has already pulled out of the embrace.

"Then I hope you won't say no to that. "

Confused, you look at Max, who pulls something out of the back pocket of his trousers and shortly afterwards presses another Paddock Pass into your hand.

You frown in confusion. The Paddock Pass in Max's hand looks exactly like the one you already have around your neck. What is he trying to say?

Max must clearly see your confusion, because the Dutchman begins to grin slightly before he starts to speak.

" I'd like to see you in the paddock for the next two days so that we can spend some more time together. But only if you want to, of course. "

He starts to scratch the back of his neck nervously while he waits for your answer.

" I'd love to! " you say quickly as you take off your paddock pass and hang it around your neck.

And if someone had told you back then that it was the beginning of a relationship, you certainly wouldn't have believed a word they said.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one imagine #red bull racing

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angstandhappiness · 2 years ago

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Interesting to consider

@sapphire-monkey The show is frustrating to watch as a Sun Wukong fan. Especially when I'm already familiar with the original story. All my brain can say is that's not how it happened. Why are they telling it that way?

Sun Wukong deserves better then this shit. That said, the Qi Xiaotian plot point is interesting at least.

@sketching-shark @sapphire-5505 LITERALLY like why are they doing the Monkey King dirty like this, + more fear that he's going to be revealed as Qi Xiaotian's deadbeat bio dad. Like I got into this thinking it would be silly fun adventures with a close relationship between Qi Xiaotian & Sun Wukong, not them constantly being separated from each other & SWK just looking more & more like a thoughtless jerk with Qi Xiaotian suffering as a direct result :(

@antidotefortheawkward-art oh my god im so glad i stopped watching this 😭 the more i hear about their swk character assassination the more insane i feel

@sapphire-monkey @sketching-shark Same, I wanted to see more Sun Wukong Qi Xiaotian bonding. Sun Wukong is barely in the show! T.T It hurts my Great Sage loving heart.

I think the run time worsens it, since its so short characters are getting shafted.

@sweetpeathecat There is a documentary video about the making of “lego monkie kid” both the lego sets/designs and the pilot episode. One of the points of contention/conflict between the two sides (American script written/Australian animation studio and Chinese devision of Lego ) is how SWK is going to be portrayed. The American/Australian side want to portray him in a more silly, hands off way. While the Chinese side wanted him to be more of a proper mentor.

@sapphire-monkey @sweetpeathecat Why does that not surprise me? God damn it America/Australia. How hard is it to be respectful of the culture you're trying to sell toys to? smh.

@sweetpeathecat @sapphire-5505 I think it’s more of a cultural difference on how to portray mentor figures in media. Western media tends to remove the mentor figure from the story in order for the protagonist to grow on their own. Eastern media tend to keep the mentor figure in the protagonist life in order to show how important it is to have a guide in their journey( to the west)

@sketching-shark @sweetpeathecat @sapphire-5505 AUGH i feel like there must be a way of maintaining a happy medium of 'good and attentive mentor who's also happy to watch the protagonist grown on their own' but gosh dern between all the trauma & SWK & Qi Xiaotian constantly getting separated & now SWK consistently making things worse even if inadvertently...(X_X) @antidotefortheawkward-art crying shaking throwing up begging western media to let their monkey kings be at least semi competent (yet the insistence on impulsive 'chaotic' monkey reigns supreme)

@nothingnessanduniverse I hope it’s more of a Azure King manipulating the circumstances or seeing from his point of view. Because as I remember, wasn’t the Jade Emperor and his army losing, and what’s the whole reason Buddha was called in the first place? It’s canon in LMK he went up against Buddha, because it was mentioned. And also, wasn’t the whole reason Wukong joined Tang, was kind of unwillingly? He was under a rock for 500 years, so of course he accepted any way of getting out of punishment.

@birbs-n-cats @nothingnessanduniverse the absolute divergence from jttw is breaking lmk apart like c’mon now. Not to mention they couldve use swk og sworn brothers and not those 3. Like if theyre gonna make completely new backstory for three of the worst villains (LEMH is stil there but hes another issues) why not ise the actual sworn brothers??? They got the right species, wrong ppl.

@nothingnessanduniverse@birbs-n-cats I do not even mind divergence from myths and legends in media, it can make things more exciting, fresh and interesting, seeing the authors own interpretation. But the core ideas in my opinion should stay the same. However, I think one of the main problems, we never see from Wukong's perspective, everyone is bashing him in the show, but he never retorts nor argues. Like, it is never explained why he killed Macaque (explained in the original jttw though)

OP’s tags @sketching-shark : #might be darkly humorous if at least one character was like 'okay! problem solved! :D'#but that might be a little too dark for a kid's show & not keeping with whatever message flying bark is aiming for efgerseawrf

@spadaaces #it sure is a trend. esp after s3 when you can tell there was some Genuine growth on his part in terms of opening up as seen in the first ep#but also the way I saw it while watching the season is that it’s very focused on how Other’s percieve him/jugde him#in the sworn brothers scene it seemed like they all universally agreed they needed to do smt about the heavenly realm#/that it wasn’t purely swk’s idea to attack#then azure lion says he betrayed them by joining the journey but w the way the visuals of it was framed#it really did not seem like swk actually had much of a choice#so to me it seems like it’s a case of azure lion and the others THINKING swk betrayed them.#not saying he didn’t I mean he did still seal them in the scroll#but in ep 7 when confronted by the ink version of him there’s a lot of focus on it telling him he’s only meant to wreak havoc#that he can’t fight that violent destiny. simillar to the things xiaotian’s turmoil focuses on#agh I didn’t mean for this to get so rambly I just think it’s interesting because#thru the 3 other seasons we see a lot of characters all have their own opinion on who Swk is/what he should be#and while reading jttw I kept thinking about how through a lot of chapters. it seems to be about people wanting to Control swk#(mainly due to his violent tendencies even when they’re from well intentioned places)#idk it’s very interesting to me with how ep1 shows the manifestations of his regrets mainly being people he betrayed#I’m not gonna lie I lost my train of thoughts a bit sorry for rambling so much in your tags GSJSGSJDH#and sorry if it seems I’m trying to argue against you! I’m not this was just how I percieved this Whole Thing#swk being reduced to his violence but desperately wanting not to. idk. i just hope they let him actually recover a bit#I hope any of this made sense. I’m running on very few hours of sleep

@tesseractrave There are sooo many reasons why I can't handle LEGO Monkie Kid, but this is one of the biggest ones. I got into Journey To The West via the original stories and legends, and I've absolutely loved to find and research most of the adaptations and different takes on the story and its characters, but this show in particular makes me irrationally angry. Sure, it's pretty, and I like LEGOs, but I'll be damned before I recommend it to anyone; its faith and respect to the source material are constantly lessening.

@sun-wukongs-peaches #it is Frustrating to say the least#

hmmmmmmMmMMMMM so lego show spoilers ahead & good chance this is just me misunderstanding things and/or being too harsh on a silly goofy lego show and/or hanging onto an increasingly dwindling hope that Monkie Kid will give a better explanation for the Monkey King’s behavior than they’ve so far done beyond “Sun Wukong’s a impulsive idiot 5 eva,” but does it seem to anyone else that in the process of making a number of the villains from Journey to the West more relatable that it’s resulted in Sun Wukong just coming off as worse and worse? (to say nothing of the “intelligent” part of “intelligent stone monkey” seems to be getting dissolved in favor of hyperfocusing on the ol’ chaotic/impulsive characterization but that’s a conversation for another day).

Like in the og classic one of the things that makes the Monkey King a fascinating character is that he IS very violent, BUT his violence always has a clear reason with clear thinking behind it & which he’s often shockingly honest about. So to give a few examples! Why did Sun Wukong wage his havoc against heaven? Because heaven sent an entire army against him after he ruined one(1) banquet. Why did he attack the yaoguai kings of the Lion-Camel ridge? Because they were planning to eat the Tang monk (and had already eaten tons upon tons of other humans like holy HELL the description of their actions & their cave is gnarly). Why did he murder the Six-Eared Macaque? Because the Six-Eared Macaque attacked his pilgrim family, aimed to murder-replace him, and was using SWK’s monkey family as his personal tools to do so. So this SWK is a murderer many times over as he himself freely admits, but he tends to have pretty clear & dare I say understandable reasons for being a murder monkey.

But in Monkie Kid? Well, turns out that Sun Wukong convinced his sworn brothers to attack heaven again AFTER his havoc in heaven, and presumably thus got them all in a heap of trouble/trapped in an evil scroll for something he instigated! Why did he attack the other yaoguai kings? I guess he’s just a power-hungry jerk who betrays everyone now! Why did he murder the Six-Eared Macaque? Ditto the previous quote.

Now there is some slight indication that this betrayal of his former sworn brothers was because he was literally tortured into submission by heaven, but this only comes in a brief hint, while again the focus seems to be on how thoroughly Sun Wukong hurt and failed literally everyone he’s ever cared for up into the show’s present. And this has been true for the past couple of seasons. IDK, maybe this will all end with him being the ultimate example of “even if you are struggling with crushing grief and guilt & feel like you need to solve everything by yourself you need to accept help & tell people things,” but for the time being it’s honestly just making the Monkey King seem like someone who’s incapable of doing the right thing or changing for the better and who no one would possibly want to interact with.

Kind of does make the sudden concern for SWK that characters who clearly hate his guts or have some beef with him show when he gets locked in the evil scroll weird. Like, why do you care?

#monkie kid #might be darkly humorous if at least one character was like 'okay! problem solved! :D'#but that might be a little too dark for a kid's show & not keeping with whatever message flying bark is aiming for efgerseawrf #sun wukong #meta #lmk analysis #sketching-shark

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littlcdarlin · 1 month ago

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dbf!Joel headcanons

warnings: big, though unspecified age gap, 18+ (as always)

note: Uni has been kicking my ass, so I’ve only had time for some headcanons lately. This Joel is very sweet, but I’m open to writing sleazy or dark Joel, too! If you have requests for any headcanons, I will be able to write them even during this stressful time. Full fics will take me a while longer. Enjoy reading, my loves <3 and feel free to add stuff!

He doesn’t really know how to cook well and mostly eats his faves every day but when you stay over more and more he makes an effort to learn and actually finds out he really likes it

Whatever pressure your parents put on you, he relieves it by accepting it rather than trying to fix it for you — you can just exist around him without expectation

He worries the age difference means you don’t have much to talk about, so he watches your favourite show that you mentioned and although it certainly wouldn’t have been his first pick, it lets him unwind. He likes watching something he knows you’ve watched and loved when you’re not around, it makes him feel closer to you

When he first starts looking at you differently he blue balls himself so as not to disrespect you — when he has sex with someone to relieve himself, he accidentally says your name to them

He keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet and cashiers wonder why he smiles at his debit card so much

He finds it hard to stay friends with your dad, because it makes him feel weird about this dynamic with you. He distances himself from your parents after they react badly to the news of your relationship, not because of guilt or cowardice, but because he doesn’t tolerate how they treat you

He thought he would hate the gossip after the two of you go public, but when you do, he finds himself imagining knocking you up just so everyone knows what he does to you. He opts for lots of hickeys until kids might be a possibility, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending you don’t have an IUD when he finishes inside of you

He loves when you wear his clothes, but when you forget your scarf at his place he wears it and enjoys that just as much — it smells like you and he likes the idea of people being able to tell it’s somebody else’s

When he figures out how much you like him talking to you during sex, he starts using the same voice/phrases in public to get you flustered & wet for him

He keeps everything that reminds him of you, like parking tickets etc. He doesn’t do anything with those things, doesn’t put them in a box, so they linger around his house, reminding him of you the way photographs would, except more privately

He starts “putting in an effort” for you when you start dating: styling his hair & wearing clothes he thinks you would prefer, until you tell him you like nothing more than his flannels and band tees and jeans, and although he doesn’t tell you, he’s beyond relieved. He realises you like him for him

When you tell your parents, Joel asks your father to hit him because “he knows he deserves it”. With time he learns he also deserves your kisses and smiles. Those things coexist within him, he thinks both are true

Despite completely supporting you in your pursuit of a degree & career, he likes when you’re on holiday, waiting around for him in his house wearing nothing but a pair of panties he bought for you & one of his hoodies. During those lazy weeks, he fucks you morning, afternoon, and night: before he leaves, when he gets home, and right before you go to sleep

He buys you a ring during the first week of dating because you mentioned how much you like it. He doesn’t give it to you until he knows you feel certain about him — he doesn’t want to freak you out. Still, even before that, he sometimes looks at it in its little black box and envisions it on your finger

During your first couple of “public dates” (neighbourhood barbecue where your parents are present etc.) he refrains from touching you much, although everyone knows about your relationship. You have to take his hand and initiate small touches for him to feel more comfortable

It takes him a short while, but then he loves being able to touch you in front of people: a hand on your lower back, an arm across your shoulder, his fingers lacing through yours, him pulling your back against his front and wrapping his arms around you. People stare sometimes (your Dad breaks one or two wine glasses in his hand), but Joel stops caring when he sees how happy it makes you

He tells you that you can change things about his home, that it should feel like your place, too and asks if you want to go shopping for “candles and stuff”, but you love being in a space that feels completely like him. It’s not how your apartment looks, but it makes you feel at ease, like you’re somehow living inside of him

Before he tells you he loves you, he whispers it in your ear when you’re sleeping, hoping your subconscious will somehow pick up on it. When he does tell you while you’re awake for the first time, it’s during breakfast. You stub your toe, and let out a string of curses you must have picked up on from him, and while he presses ice against your foot, kneeling in front of you, he smiles up and tells you: I love you.

The first time you sleep over at his house after he spent the night in your apartment, two brand new bottles of the shampoo and conditioner you use are in his shower. You thank him and jokingly ask why he didn’t buy your shower gel, too. He kisses you and tells you he likes when you smell like him.

He likes making you come more times than you thought you could — something about moving in and out of you while you tell him you can’t do it again, that you’re done, and then watching you fall apart on his cock anyway, thrills him to the bone. It makes him feel powerful, but part of it is knowing you let him fuck you without expecting an orgasm, that him being inside of you is enough for you to feel good

He doesn’t tell you, but he adds your name to his car insurance, so that you can drive it whenever you want

When you figure it out you give him road head every time the two of you drive somewhere — until he almost crashes the car and he forbids you to tempt him while he’s behind the wheel

He’s so nervous he asks Tommy for help when picking out a birthday gift for you — Tommy goes overboard and the gift turns out to be something completely ridiculous like a pair of huge earrings you would never wear. You tell Joel you don’t need a big fuss to feel loved by him. At night, he gives you a present he’s been wanting to give you for a while: he plays you a song he wrote for you on his guitar. It’s quiet and simple and so perfect you cry for half an hour

He doesn’t sleep well when you’re not around, and loves being close to you at night. If he could, he’d sleep nestled inside of you after a round of lazy midnight sex every night

As much as Tommy annoys him, it makes him happy to see how well you two get along. When you become actual friends with Tommy and hang out with him on your own, he’s more than pleased: the two people he loves the most in the world have become close

He would never ask it of you, but when you tell him you have stopped masturbating because he fucks you so often, it pleases him deeply. He likes being the only source of your pleasure. When you are apart for a while because of work/collage etc., he buys you a toy he can control from his phone

He tells Tommy he thinks he’s going to marry you during the first month of dating, which you find out about only on your wedding day during Tommy’s speech

#joel miller x reader #mine #my writing #joel miller game #joel miller #joel miller x you #the last of us part 1 #tlou1 #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel #dbf!joel x reader #joel miller headcanons #Joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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alexiswritingstuff · 5 months ago

Text

Everyone can heal.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Gn!reader

Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.

Genre: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.

This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.

A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!

Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!

I hope you enjoy!!

Logan masterlist.

It had been a long few days.

It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.

Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.

But you wanted to learn. Or... did.

The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.

See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.

It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.

Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.

Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.

But you couldn't exactly blame him.

This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.

He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.

It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.

The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.

It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed.

You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer.

It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.

The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.

It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.

Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.

Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.

The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.

Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.

He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.

His eyes were closed.

At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.

Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.

Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.

Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.

Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.

You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.

You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--

And then bam.

Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.

In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.

“Whoa-- hey!”

He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.

They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.

It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.

“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in.

He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.

But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.

Until his gaze lowered.

Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.

So, why did something sound like it was dripping?

“Y/n.”

By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”

You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.

“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.

There was your answer. “Oh.”

Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?

“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”

“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.

“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”

Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”

He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.

“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”

You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.

But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.

~~~

The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.

It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.

You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.

But that was the last thing on your mind.

You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.

Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.

You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.

Until today.

A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.

The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.

It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.

In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.

Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.

Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.

So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.

Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.

More so who.

Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.

Logan.

He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.

There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”

You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”

It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.

“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”

“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”

“Y/n, I'm sorry.”

“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”

You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.

It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.

But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.

“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.”

The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.

“And, I'm still here, Logan.”

You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.

A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”

“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”

You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.

“See?”

Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.

They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.

“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”

“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.

Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.

“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.”

Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles.

It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.

I guess it just slipped your mind.

“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.

“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”

That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”

“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.

He was supposed to be relieved.

“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”

The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.

The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.

You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.

It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss.

Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?

Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired.

Just a different kind.

You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.

Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.

By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.

You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,”

“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”

Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.”

He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”

This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.”

The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it.

But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.”

In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”

Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.

“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.

Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.

He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.

“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.

You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.

You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”

There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.

Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.

By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.

Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further.

His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.

An extra weight that you were glad to carry.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x gn reader #wolverine #wolverine x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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gremlinmodetweeker · 4 months ago

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When König Freaks Out

I think that sometimes, people don't really know how to write König getting mad. I think a lot of people assume that because he's a soldier, he loses his shit all the time. Either that, or they assume he's nervous and scared. He's not either. He's a colonel (or, was), he is far too self disciplined to lose himself like that. However, König isn't always able to control himself. Under special circumstances, König loses his shit.

TWs: König yelling, teasing, childhood photos being used to embarrass König

Wordcount: 1.2k

Art from This Post

König is a very, very stable person. He almost never lets his true emotions show. It's extremely rare. Sure he has his sadistic belly laughs, but other than that, König doesn't express himself fully. He just doesn't.

König doesn't cry. He doesn't yell when he's around civvies. He doesn't even swear much when in casual conversation. He may seem relaxed and calm, but if you pay attention, he's extremely careful with what he says and how he says it. Part of it is social anxiety; he's extremely aware of how he's being perceived and takes care to curtail that image to his need. He needed to be careful to rise the ranks as quickly as he did. He's not colonel for nothing.

High ranking military personnel are not like your average soldiers, especially among special ops. Lower soldiers might be careless and rough and hardened, but to be a colonel you need to be the perfect soldier. You need to drink, but not too much. You need to be a gentleman, but you need to be dirty. You need to be kind in public, cruel on the field. It's a position of contradictions. Not many civvies understand how hard these people have their entire identities on lockdown. They often compartmentalize their lives to be able to function in different settings. They have to be, at the very least a little bit, sociopathic to succeed. Again, they're not inherently evil, I'm not saying König is evil. I am saying that if you pay attention to him in a civvie situation though, you'll notice that he is an unflappable gentleman. You'd never know he was out at the bar until 3am with his drinking buddies the night before and nursing a wicked hangover while he's sipping coffee at lunch with you.

Why am I being so careful to outline how calm and steady König is? It's because when he freaks out it's usually insanely funny, or terrifying. Sometimes both.

Now, I've told you all before in this post that König's instinctual reaction to being startled is to fight. He will punch first and ask questions second. But, sometimes, König doesn't get scared.

He gets mad.

König is normally hard to upset, but family reunions bring something special out of König. Something dark, something hidden, something murderous. It's not battlefield rage, it's worse. It's the hatred and fury of being the youngest brother in the family, and it all comes out when he brings you to a reunion and they bring out the baby photos.

"Nein, nein, nein," König will chant as he rips the photo album out of his sister's hands, "this is going back on the shelf."

You're already cackling because it's far too late to go back.

"But you looked so cute in the tub!" Lisa's grinning from ear to ear as her little brother loses his shit

"Why do we even have those pictures?" König huffs as he slumps back in his chair, "we don't need them. They can be burnt."

"You know, you grew a better beard as a kid than you do now," Friedrich mutters as he sips his beer.

"I grow a perfectly fine beard!" König snaps.

"You call that shit-stain on your face facial hair?" Stephen looks down his nose at the youngest Leichenberg.

"I can't help it!" König grumbles, "I try to shave but then it all grows back."

"Yeah," Friedrich rolls his eyes, "that's what happens, Kilgore. It's called biology."

"No!" König huffs, "it grows fast! Too fast! By the time I go to bed it's already making my face itch!"

"So you keep that on your face?" Lisa points and laughs.

"It's trimmed," König grumbles and rubs his chin before turning to you, "it looks nice. You think it looks nice, right?"

You look at his dark stubble, a stark contrast to his wheat blond hair. In truth, he looks rather handsome with the dark shadow on his jaw. He does his best to keep it nice and trimmed (always in regulation), but since you arrived in Austria five days ago, the stubble has grown into an unruly thing on his face.

"You haven't trimmed in a bit," you admit.

"See! Even your wife thinks it looks like a rat's nest," Klara snorts.

"I wouldn't go that far-"

"I look fine!" König's voice raises up a notch with indignation.

"Mama," Friedrich ducks around the door to the kitchen, "come tell Kilgore he needs to shave."

The little woman pops out of the kitchen to glare at her son. She looks him up and down and scoffs.

"You call yourself a colonel? Tch, you look like a mangy dog."

She ducks back around the corner to tend to the oven.

"I DO NOT LOOK LIKE A DOG!"

Everyone (except you) laughs as König's face turns a bright violent red as he squawks furiously. He huffs and puffs, just on the brink of a meltdown as his family taunts him further.

"And he looked so good with a full bubble beard!" Klara laughs.

"Oh but you looked better," Friedreich snaps another album off the shelf and flicks through the photos, but stops on another page, "oh wait, we'll look at that later. Look at this picture of Kilgore on his first birthday!"

Even you can't help but laugh as Friedrich brandishes the offending photo.

There, bordered in paper butterflies and tulips, is König sitting in a puddle of mud, gleefully shovelling a handful of the muck into his mouth. I the background, a young Friedrich has Stephen in a headlock while Lisa, the only presentable sibling, is eating a slice of König's cake.

"Mama worked for days on that cake, but Kilgore only wanted to eat the mud," Stephen explained as König bellowed slurs at his eldest brother.

Lisa was beside herself with laughter, nearly keeling over out of the chair as Klara pointed out how, in this photo as well, König was completely nude. Apparently, getting young König to wear clothes was quite the task.

"WE DO NOT NEED MORE PICTURES," König roared as Lisa pulled out another album.

König looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel at this rate. The only time you ever saw König this worked up was when he was dealing with subordinates. Never before had you seen König lose his temper quite like this. A part of you was horrified, another part amazed by how easily his siblings pressed all the right buttons to make him tick.

"Look how stoic our little soldier boy is!" Stephen remarked as König smacked his meaty fist against his thigh with a thick thud.

"I. AM. A. COLONEL!" König howled.

He was about to carry on before all the siblings went silent. Even König stilled, his mouth clamping shut with a click as he looked behind you. You turned to look at what stopped them to find the elder Fritz Leichenberg holding up a hand.

He uncrossed his long, long legs and adjusted his half-moon glasses on his hooked nose. Soft, watery blue eyes looked down at his youngest son. He gently pulled his tobacco pipe from beneath his salt and pepper moustache and rang a long, veiny hand through his bushy beard lightly. He blinked once, then said, "Kilgore. Go upstairs and shave. You look atrocious. I can't send out Christmas cards pictures when you look like this."

The room echoes with laughter as König slowly pulls himself to his feet and trudges up the creaking stairs, off to shave the unruly mess off his face.

Regular Fanfics

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actuallysaiyan · 1 year ago

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You Even Make Me Glow(Virgin!Choso x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, dry humping, making out, premature ejaculation, mentions of vaginal fingering, recreational drug use, Choso is Yuji's older brother, AU/canon divergent, age gap(Choso is early 20s and Reader is 18) word count: 1.7k pairings: Virgin!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader a/n: Here's a little bday gift for the wonderful @dreadsuitsamus! Happy Birthday!!!

Every time you went over to hang out with Yuji, you’d always see his older brother, Choso. Choso was always reclusive and would keep himself tucked away in his room. You’d pass by his room on your way to Yuji’s room every time. It drew you in, even just looking at the door made you intrigued as to what could be going on inside.

Choso loved to listen to loud music. You wondered if he was trying to drown out the world. The concert stubs and mini band posters that plastered the door to his sanctuary gave you hints as to who he liked in terms of music, so you began listening to the same bands. Yuji didn’t seem to pick up on this, which relieved you. You were beginning to become a little embarrassed about your obvious crush on his older brother.

Then you began to linger near Choso’s door a little more every time you would come over. Your hands shaking as you raised them to knock on the door, but you never had the guts to do so. So instead, you’d fantasize about what it would be like to go past the threshold and enter his sanctuary. You began to imagine what it might be like to become his friend, and maybe more. You figured he’d have some experience with intimacy, and he’d have to show you the way.

At night, when the world is quiet and dark, you lay in your bed thinking of what things could be like between you and Choso. You wonder if he even likes girls like you. Girls who are maybe a little softer than his rough edges. Girls who are sweet and hang out with his kid brother. Despite finding Yuji incredibly cute, you know you want to pursue these feelings with Choso. You need to figure it out if it’s only a crush or maybe it’s something even deeper.

It happens one night, when you’re over for your weekly movie night with Yuji. As the first movie ends and Yuji is pretty much passed out on his bed, you decide to go into the bathroom and get a snack. As you pass by Choso’s room, you notice the door is open this time. Your heart skips a beat, then you scurry off to the bathroom. You splash some water on your face a few times, then you make your way back to Yuji’s room.

“Hey kid,” you hear from inside of Choso’s room. “Come in here,”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you actually heard that or if your mind was playing tricks on you. You look into the bedroom, and he smirks at you. He’s sitting on his bed, the window propped open. You see the smoke swirling in his face before he takes another drag from his joint. He points at you, then crooks his finger to motion for you to come inside the bedroom.

“Yeah, I said come in here.”

You swallow hard, your mind going blank and your mouth getting dry. This was finally happening. Maybe he finally figured out about your little crush. Small steps make you enter his sanctuary, and he gets you to close the door behind you. Then you sit on the bed, careful not to get too close to him.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just hands you the joint. You take it from him, and you bring it to your lips. Just the idea of swapping a little spit like this makes you excited. You take a few puffs off the joint before passing it back to him. When your fingers brush, you have to look away to hide the creeping blush on your cheeks.

The music that is playing is soothing in a lot of ways. It’s a band you discovered through listening to whatever Choso was listening to through his bedroom door. You bob your head to the beat, and Choso smirks when he realizes you like this band as well. Then again, he knows you admire him from afar, so for you to enjoy this band as well was a given.

“You like ‘em?” He asks, playing coy.

You nod your head, “Yeah this band is great. I really like their first album.”

He smirks at you, putting out the joint in the ashtray that sits on the windowsill. The two of you begin discussing music, movies and all other sorts of media you like. You learn that you and Choso have a lot more in common than you previously thought. You’re both buzzing with companionship and the weed is making your senses more heightened.

The conversation dies down, and you and Choso are both eyeing one another. He’s a little shy about all of this; you’re his kid brother’s best friend after all. But you’re so damn adorable. He’s always found you so sweet and kind, but the more you would admire him from afar, the more Choso realized he was attracted to you. And as time went on, this developed into a crush.

He leans in a little closer, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear. With him this close, you feel your heart thumping faster and louder. You look into his eyes, and you see the lust that burns in them. It’s not long before he’s cupping your chin and leaning in to capture your lips in a very sweet kiss.

His hands are shaking a little as he presses you down into the mattress. You’re so small under him, and he’s already got a raging hard-on in his pants. As much as you have been admiring from afar, he’s been doing the same for you. You’re such a beautiful young woman, and you make him excited like nothing else.

“You okay with this, doll?” he asks, the false confidence almost slipping from his facade when you nod eagerly.

“Yeah, this is okay, Cho…”

He loves the sound of your voice saying his name like that. He swears he’s going to keep that sound in his mind forever; something he can use for the spank bank later. He keeps you pinned to the bed, lips on yours once more. It feels so good to be able to kiss you like this finally. You taste so sweet too, like soda and candy.

“Thought I didn’t notice you checking me out, huh?” he asks between hungry kisses.

Your cheeks burn at his words. So he was aware of your little crush. You try not to let on that you’re embarrassed, but your reaction really has his cock throbbing again. He grunts under his breath, and then he begins nipping at your neck. The last thing he wants is for you to find out he’s a virgin and that he’s never had sex before. He’s doing all he can to play it cool. His hands shake slightly, but they do not fumble as he slides them up and down your sides.

This is when you wrap your legs around him, bringing him in just a little closer. You let out a surprised gasp when you feel his hardened length pressed up against you now. He’s really big too, which makes you excited. And now that you’re both this close, Choso decides he’s going to test the waters a little more now. His hips move in a sensual way, rubbing his cock against you. It feels so good, he can’t help the small moan that falls from his lips.

Neither of you say anything else. You just go back to these hungry, teeth-clashing kisses. His tongue is violently thrust into your mouth. The moment it touches yours, you’re both moaning and panting. Your fingers thread through his hair, undoing the updo he usually sports. He grunts once more, this time louder, when you gently tug on his hair.

“Shit,” he pants as you move against him eagerly. He’s trying to slow it all down, but he’s chasing his own high as well. It’s almost a little too much for him to back away from. “Fuck, you feel so good…”

You can barely think straight anymore. Your mind is once again blank from this intense kissing. He sucks on your tongue as his hips grind against yours. You imitate his actions, unsure if you’re actually really doing something to him or he’s just praising you to make you feel like less of a loser.

Choso lets out a strangled moan when you suck on his tongue once again. His balls are drawing up and his breath is coming out in heavy gasps. It’s too late to back down, but he’s trying to pull away to save himself some embarrassment. You cling to him, grinding against him for a little more stimulation.

“Doll, wait—” he chokes out. “W-wait…”

You buck up against him once more, and that’s all it takes for Choso to fall off the edge. With his eyes screwed shut, he humps himself against you for that relief. Pumps of hot, sticky cum begin to fill the front of his boxers. His lips tremble as he lets out the cutest little moans. Then it’s over before he could even take control of the situation. His eyes snap open and he looks so mortified.

“S-shit! I am so so sorry, I didn’t think I would—”

But you cut him off with a kiss. You didn’t think that would happen either, but you weren’t complaining. If anything, you find it super hot that he got that excited just from a little dry humping and making out. He’s confused by your reaction but definitely not complaining. When he pulls away, he gets up from the bed and makes his way into his bathroom to change.

You sit on the bed, trying to figure out what has just happened. Your heart is still racing, and your lips feel swollen from all that kissing. There’s a wetness that’s formed between your thighs that you can no longer ignore. You rub your thighs together for a little relief.

Before you can do anything else, Choso is back and he’s crawling on top of you. There seems to be a renewed sense of confidence in him as he kisses you once more. No longer beating around the bush, he slips his hands into your pants and plays with your panty-clad cunt.

“Now, where were we?”

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starry-bi-sky · 11 months ago

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i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc prompt #man i just really need more dpdc stuff where danny and bruce have a good relationship. like man i NEED it. like i need to see these two #bonding together. and not in a cracky 'oh danny is a distant friend/cousin/etc' stuff but like. active participants in each other's lives #or as active as can be in this case. i neeeeed these two getting along and caring about one another #this idea came to me like last night and hasn't left since nd it was driving me up the wall to think about both positively and negatively b #i neeeded someone to hear about this or i was gonna implode #danny is the first son #tried to just get the general gist of the idea down but i definitely thought of the idea that bruce lowkey suspects vlad for having a hand #Vlad allows Danny to sneak off because he thinks Danny is alone. if he knew Bruce was there he'd be piiisssed and would put a stop to it #Sam and Tucker are alive they just got ghosted for a bit by danny bc he was in Major Grief and didn't wanna socialize. He couldn't go to #them because he didn't wanna put them in danger via Vlad.#oh that thing he handed Bruce? Yeah that's his ghost core. I have a headcanon (that isnt always applied) that ghosts can take their cores #out of their bodies at will and painlessly and without issue. and its common practice actually to do so bc they can be a not insignificant #distance away from said core before problems start to act up. and its common for ghosts to leave their physical cores at their lairs for #safekeeping because as long as the physical core is fine: so is the ghost. they can reform if their body gets destroyed. it also acts as a #fast travel sometimes. where they can reform at their core in an instant. its not inspired in the slightest by SU but i do see the overlap #most cores are pretty small for safety sake: its harder to hit if its small. and they're pr resilient too but its better to be safe than #sorry. so yeah. danny essentially gave bruce the physical embodiment of his soul and indirectly said #'if anything happens to me at least i'll be safe with you'#danny doesn't know he's batman btw #starry rambles.#was gonna go into danny becoming a vigilante beside bruce but im sleeeepy so i'll do that in a reblog. he's gonna go by nightingale if #anyone is interested. stereotypical but to be frank it is a *good* name imo. has a good amount of syllables and consonants to it #and the bird theme. and since its part of an ancestral name it has even more backing for it being bird-y without being meta

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urhoneycombwitch · 8 months ago

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heated touch

Eddie Munson x Reader summer edition.

foreword: “but Lulu it’s not even summer yet how come you wrote a pool fic” okay first of all global warming. it’s absolutely summer rn. hush up and eat up. 👼

cw: R wears bikini top + skirt, Eddie is Down Bad™️, and is also touchstarved, brief use of the awkward miscommunication trope, R’s baby hairs mentioned but no color or texture, weed mention (Robin is a stoner canon change my mind u can’t), R uses sunscreen (no skin color mentioned), implied plus-sized reader

wc: 3.4k

___

It’s the first real, normal, non-apocalyptic summer that anyone can remember having in a long, long time.

With the heat index at a sizzling 97 today, various members of the Party have taken over Steve’s half-shaded, half-pool extravaganza of a backyard. The kids are jumping in and out of the bright blue water, splashing and cackling, while you and Robin stretch out like house cats in a sunny patch of grass nearby.

You, mere yards away, in a swim top and sweet little pleated tennis skirt. All that lovely skin on display, glistening in the light.

And Eddie is sulking, indoors, frozen with lovesickness. There’s condensation dripping from the forgotten can of beer in his left hand; through the window above the kitchen sink, Eddie observes the scene in mournful silence.

“Christ, you really are a pussy.”

Eddie whips around with a glare that would level a normal human being, shushing Steve with a panicked fierceness that only makes the guy chuckle harder at Eddie’s expense.

“Y’know,” Steve continues with the insults, dipping into the fridge and reappearing with a Fanta and a shit-eating grin- “You might want to try leering like a creep from the garage window. That way no will hear you jack off-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Harrington.” Eddie interrupts with a grade-A scoff and eye roll combo, rivaling Steve’s own bitchiness. “Wasn’t your last successful date back in high school, like, six years ago when you had better hair?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. With condescending sympathy, he sighs and shakes his head of (beautiful-even-when-wet, damn him) hair, snapping the soda can tab with a flourish. “Might wanna hurry up and make a move. Can’t suppress my charm forever just ‘cuz you’re too chicken to man up- it’s not natural to keep all of this hidden away.”

Steve gestures to the broad expanse of his golden chest, dark thicket of hair sitting proud, the scars that he seems to have no qualms over showing off criss-cross along the flex of muscle at his sides.

Realistically, Eddie knows Steve wouldn’t go after you, not even as a joke. It would defy the honorable and unmentioned Bro Code they’ve lived by ever since Eddie almost died in an alternate hell dimension and Steve valiantly pulled him back topside.

Teasing, though? It’s Harrington’s godgiven right- especially since Eddie’s so hopelessly in love. It’s almost too easy to get him riled up, to light a fire under his ass to maybe finally get the situation some forward movement.

Flames lick at the kindling. Steve walks backwards, shooting Eddie one last finger gun and wink before rejoining the boisterous outdoors crowd. Through the crack Steve’s left in the sliding glass door, Eddie can hear that asshole’s cheery voice ring out- “Lookin’ good, ladies!”- and your subsequent peal of laughter.

Eddie can feel the heat through the black denim at his ass, sweat rushing to prickle at his pits underneath the light layer of tanktop- the one with a high-necked collar and sides long enough to conceal most of his scars.

Not that he’s trying to hide ‘em, perse... they’re just sensitive to the sun. Plus his black jeans have holes in them, so they totally count as summer attire. He’s basically wearing shorts right now. Steve can suck it.

“Suck it, Steve,” Eddie grits out to no one for good measure, before taking a steadying gulp of beer and stepping bravely out beyond the glass doors.

It’s shockingly bright, sun bouncing off the surface of the pool and rendering Eddie momentarily blind; he shields his eyes with his free hand in time to catch the tail end of Sinclair’s mid-air somersault.

“Five,” Max calls out, lounging safely out of the splash zone, waves from Lucas’s cannonball lapping at her pink donut pool float. Thick black prescription sunglasses take up half her face, expression unmoved even as her boyfriend splutters in the deep end.

“Are you kidding?” Lucas is indignant as he huffs and treads water. “Gimme at least an eight. Did you even see the flip?”

“I saw it.” Unimpressed, Max shrugs a freckled shoulder. While Lucas devolves into swearing out his complaints (already with one elbow planted on the concrete to get out and make another attempt at a higher score), Max zeros in on Eddie, one brow arched high in searing appraisal. “You gonna swim with your boots on, too?”

“I’m- shut up, Red. Nice donut.”

Max’s triumphant smirk confirms what Eddie already knows (he totally bombed that comeback), but if there’s one thing in the world Eddie’s good at, it’s Pretending. A trait forged and perfected over the years of being reigning Dungeon Master; it’s served him well during D&D sessions, and when running from the law.

And it’s coming in handy now, too, as Eddie walks past Steve (half-snoozing in a lounger) and the table of Baby Byers and Wheeler Jr. (playing an intense game of Slapjack), pretending to be totally Normal and Chill as he approaches you and Robin, a ways off from the bustling pool.

Go with what you know, Eddie tells himself, because if he focuses for more than two seconds on the fact that you’re stretched prone, sunlight filtering through the big tree overhead and illuminating the soft curves of your thighs just visible under the Spandex hem of your skirt, he’s gonna have a pressing issue that will be anything but pretend.

Robin’s lying on her back on the beach towel next to yours, a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice held up close, obscuring her field of vision. Using this to his advantage, Eddie crouches on his haunches, then leans in to press his cold can of beer to the tender arch of Robin’s bare foot.

She yelps, kicking out on instinct (which Eddie was expecting). He manages to take the brunt of the hit with a forearm block, but doesn’t see the paperback coming until it’s hitting the side of his face.

“Ow, christ, Buckley,” he moans, slumping to sit on Robin’s towel, hamming up the victim act for your sake and sympathy while Robin snatches up her book and gives him another solid thwack, pages fluttering.

At the commotion, you’d lifted your head from your arms, leaning into them now with the weight of your upper half. Eddie tries really, really valiantly to not stare at your swimsuit top (practically a bra), and instead distracts himself with the fact that you were giggling. At him.

Give the boy an inch and he’ll take a mile, Wayne is wont to say of his nephew. Never been truer than now, as Eddie gets drunk off your attention and humors, crowding familiarly and rudely into Robin’s space just to piss her off more and to keep your twinkling-eyed focus.

“Yech.” Robin gags. “I’m not gonna sit here and watch you two flirt up close. I just ate lunch.”

Eddie’s worried that comment will embarrass you into pulling away but apparently, you’re not shying from the accusations of his affection anymore.

A snort and a sardonic eye roll is what you dish back, and Eddie latches on, delighted to have a Shit Starter in Crime, pushing an honest hand to his chest in faux-shock- “Flirting? Me? I’d never. What an accusation. You’re getting crazier by the day, Buckley.”

The peal of laughter that ripples from you is like a song, vibrating the frequencies between Eddie’s ears, scrambling all the channels with its aching beauty.

Goddamn addictive, he thinks, as the white-out of his hearing fades back to normal. A light, warm wind rustles through the big oak overhead, leaves shushing together; allowing himself a glance at your stretched form, Eddie’s (un)luckily close enough to see the smattering of goosebumps rise on the skin of your arms.

To observe the way sweat curls the baby hairs near your temple, at the nape of your neck. To see the little creases near the corner of your eyes as you close them, turning your face into the wind, a quiet expression of summer bliss on your face.

Eddie could sit here for hours like a (happy) creep just taking in every minute detail, but Robin starts bitching at him about the weed he still owes her from ages ago, poking her cold toes into the holes of his jeans, mischievous and irritating.

Eddie smacks at her ankles until she pulls them back, matching her argument point for point; it’s not about the weed, of which he’d gladly give- it’s about keeping that smile on your face even as you sit up to start digging through your nearby tote bag.

“And plus,” Robin’s saying, sticking a finger into the dimple of Eddie’s left cheek like the obnoxious little sister he never asked for, “You scratched the everliving hell out of my bike last month when you insisted you were sober enough to ride it home.”

“What’d you want me to do, drink and drive? Not very Just Say No Club of you.” Eddie is operating on autopilot with his responses, absorbed in the way your delicate fingers move inside the canvas of the bag.

“I wanted the same thing that I currently. Want.” Two more ice-cold prods of her toes into the same spot of his exposed knee. “Three grams, pre-rolled, plus an apology.”

Eddie is about to give in with the promise of the rest of his sizable stash and a bike waxing regimine with his own spit thrown into the mix to get Robin off his case, when the sound of your voice cuts through the bickering.

In your hand, held aloft and out between the three of you, is a bottle of sun lotion. Your focus is fixed on shaking displaced items back into your bag, not looking as you make a request:

“Babe, would you do my back?”

Eddie moves on instinct before he even has time to process the ask, reaching out towards the palm tree-printed plastic- but for some reason, Robin’s hand collides with his mid-air. Goddammit, Buckley.

His annoyance at Robin quickly gives way to confusion, then roiling embarrassment as two sets of eyes whip to him, your mouth slightly parted in an o shape and Robin making a squeak of awkward alarm.

You were talking to Robin. Obviously, you were talking to your girl friend to rub you down with lotion.

Jesus christ, Munson, get a grip.

Eddie lets go at the same time Robin and you draw back, the three of you stammering half-sentences over the thunk of the bottle hitting the ground.

“I meant- sorry, god, sorry, I meant Robin-”

“Fucking- jesus, of course you meant Robin, I’m sorry-”

“Oh god! I can do it! It’s fine!”

There’s a brief pause where all of you stare down at the bottle, as if it holds some great mystery of the world. Or is perhaps concealing a time-bending device that will let Eddie go back twenty seconds to kick himself in the head.

He’s just about to make some lame excuse to fuck off forever when Robin beats him to it, jumping up with a spastic, nervous energy. “Um. Steve’s calling me. So I gotta… see what that dingus wants. You’re good?”

This last part, directed at you; with a quick, reassuring nod, you say “I’m good.”

Seemingly recouped from the whole debacle, you squint up at Robin- “Eddie’s got it,” and then fixing Eddie with a disarmingly beatific smile- “Right?”

It’s like looking into the sun. Eddie is pretty sure his neurons haven’t been firing properly ever since he caught a glimpse of your thighs earlier. By some miracle, he manages coherence- “Uh-huh. Yep. Right.”

“O-o-kay.” Robin lets the word expand, then gives a dorky two-finger salute and makes for the empty pool lounger next to a snoring Steve.

Then it’s just you and Eddie, blinking at each other from your seats on opposing towels, until you lean to pick up the bottle, this time handing it directly to him.

An invitation, paired with a smile that still pulls at the corners of your mouth.

Someone jumps noisily into the pool, a few scattered cheers accompanying the crashing water. Red’s distant “Nine-five!” echoes through the backyard and this, of all things, spurs Eddie into unfreezing.

He takes the proffered lotion, shifting to kneel in the strip of grass not covered by either of your towels, waiting and watching for your approval.

Like something out of a dream, you lower yourself face-down again, hands tucking themselves sweetly into the space between the hollows of your shoulders and the ground. Eyes half-lidded as Eddie scooches closer.

“Just on your back?” He asks, soft, like you’re a deer about to spook (although based on the way his hands are trembling, Eddie’s the more likely candidate for chickening out and running for the hills).

“Mhm. Please.”

Fumbling under your sidelong gaze, Eddie wiggles all the rings from his fingers, stuffing them into his pocket.

“Too cold,” he explains, feeling fidgety from your eye contact, rubbing his hands together briskly to bring out the warmth and give them something to do other than shake.

Eddie pines for a cigarette, a quick burst of nicotine to steel his nerves. Instead, he picks up the sunscreen, squeezes a quarter-sized puddle into his left hand, and shifts to kneel close as he can without actually bumping his knees into your side.

The sunscreen is already warmed from being out in the heat of the day, so Eddie starts on your left shoulder. Dips his fingers into the puddle, spreads a thin layer on the blade of your shoulder, and rubs it in.

At first, his touch is gentle and apprehensive, but when your eyes drift shut on the second pass of his fingers, Eddie gets a bit bolder. On your right shoulder, another layer of suncream goes on, but this time, Eddie lets his thumb slip into the grooves under your shoulder blade.

He runs his thumb along the stripe of muscle next to your scapula, still with pressure light enough to feign keeping to his task, thrilled when you make a soft noise of satisfaction.

“I would’ve asked you, y’know.”

Eddie pauses, hand resting at the top of your spine, the skin of your neck freshly glistening and tacky from his work. “Asked me what?”

“To do this.” You shrug a shoulder, pointing in a roundabout way at your back. “I just… I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Why the hell would I say no to this?” The words are out before Eddie can bite them back and find a much more cool and normal thing to say. He can feel your chuckle, the vibrations of it, the way it causes the muscles in your upper back to move.

Eddie tries to cover his lameness by refocusing on the mission he’s been given, like a heroic knight bestowed with a great honor by a fair maiden… on second thought, he’s got to cut out the fantasy metaphors. This situation is wild and tempting enough as-is without adding a potentially very horny layer to the mix.

“You can get under my top, if you want,” you murmur, lashes dark against your cheek in profile, voice all honeyed and fair-maiden-like.

Eddie swallows hard. Distributes the rest of the lotion between two palms, rests them just below the black fabric, and then slides up. Underneath the top, your skin is the same- smooth and pliant and sweet.

“Feels nice,” you whisper, eyes still closed in reverie, sounding sleepy and relaxed.

Eddie is entranced with the way your muscles move under his touch. He applies a bit more pressure to the mid-back area of your spine, dragging his thumbs down on either side. You make another noise, this one closer to a moan, and Eddie’s really glad he’s practiced at the skill of Boner Killer On Command because he wouldn’t dare sully the atmosphere with ill-timed arousal (though his limits are certainly being tested today).

“Sorry about the callouses,” he says, a bit of self-deprecation to fill the air because he’s gotta focus on something other than the way his hand fits perfectly in the center of your low back.

“S’okay. I like them, actually. You’re good with your hands.”

Not for the first time, Eddie is relieved that you’re not looking at him- his ears are burning, on their way to bright pink. Same with his cheeks. “Cool, yeah. That’s good. Um. I play guitar, y’know so… I get around.”

After cringing at himself, Eddie watches the apple of your cheek round upwards with a smile, a sharp flash of your teeth as you say, “I can tell.”

There’s an amiable quiet that falls over the two of you; in the background, splashes and chattering from the pool group float in the air, muted by the warm winds shushing through overhead branches.

At one point, Eddie realizes he’s covered your whole back in sunscreen and is now just trailing his fingertips over the notches of your spine, starting low and ending near your neck, following the path down again in a loop. If you mind, you don’t say anything, seemingly sated by his touch.

There’s an aching behind Eddie’s ribs. It squeezes at his heart, makes his next breath pinch- he wants to touch you like this all the time. He’s already hooked.

All too soon, you’re peeling yourself from the blanket, sitting up with a sheepish smile. Eddie can’t tell if you’re getting shy on him from the touch alone, or if it’s the fact that he’s the one that’s been touching.

Either way, if Eddie could find a more chill way to say “I’d like to do that every minute for the rest of my life if you’ll let me,” he’d say it to appease any worries you may have.

Bare knees pulled to your chest, you gesture at the bottle still in Eddie’s hand. “I could… do you, if you wanted?”

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, through the heated curtain of curls. “Nah, that’s okay. My abs won’t be ready to debut until the end of summer. 1993.”

He’s expecting at least a chuckle out of you, but instead, he’s fixed with a kind, all-knowing look.

The two of you are face to face, your shin close enough to brush Eddie’s ribs as you state, “Not a fan of the heat, are you.”

“What gave it away?” Eddie gestures animatedly at the humidity-fed frizz of his hair, then shakes his head like a wet dog.

When you catch one of his curls between two fingers he freezes, heart slamming to a pause as you loop it around a knuckle.

“I have some deep conditioner at my place. Could help you out if you wanna come by some time.”

Mere inches from his cheek as you lean in, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to memorize how you smell- coconutty from the lotion, a bit sweaty, a faint hint of deodorant and the vanilla perfume you spray in the mornings.

He’s never been this close before.

He feels electric. Or more accurately, like he’s been electrocuted, and he’s waiting for you to restart his heart.

“Does that sound good, Eddie? You, me, some hair care… maybe a movie? I can steal some from Family Video. I know a guy.”

At his ear now, your voice is low as you wrap a hand around the inside of Eddie’s arm- it’s his turn to break into goosebumps. “Oh yeah? Willing to steal for me already?”

This earns him a stellar laugh, head tipped back to show the curve of your perfect neck. You shove at him playfully, and he’s about to snap up your hand to bite as payback when your name is yelled from across the yard.

“Come on, we need another unbiased judge!” Max waves urgently from the pool as Lucas and Dustin get into an increasingly loud argument over the Olympic grading system.

“Goddamn kids.” This comes out much more growly than Eddie intended; you just chuckle and squeeze his arm before pulling away to stand.

Eddie mourns the loss of your body heat until you extend a hand towards him, saying, “Let’s go humor our goddamn kids, and we can talk about dinner afterwards.”

It’s like your hand is made to fit inside Eddie’s. He follows close on your heels, heart thudding a steady, overjoyed rhythm once more.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic

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ssa-danhotchner · 23 days ago

Note

please i need a least angstier version of happier maybe reader has to go to a mision like s7 aaron in pakistan a he sees how much he really misses her

What we left behind | Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

note: I tried my best, I hope you like it!

english isn't my first language so please be kind

cw: BAU reader, beth is in here, angst, regret, past relationship struggles, unspoken feelings

wc: 1.5k maybe?

read part two here

It wasn’t like you hated Beth.

She was kind, warm, and approachable—the kind of woman people gravitated toward without hesitation. She seemed good for Aaron, too. For all his years of shielding himself, she brought out something softer in him. When you saw them together, he smiled more. He laughed in a way that had felt rare, almost forgotten.

But watching them together hurt in a way you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was grief.

Grief for what you and Aaron had been, for what you thought you might have been.

He was the one who ended it, after all.

You remembered the night so clearly it still stung, like a bruise you kept accidentally pressing. He’d invited you over, his voice softer than usual on the phone. At first, you thought nothing of it. But when you arrived, the heaviness in the air made your stomach twist.

Aaron wasn’t one to stumble over his words, but that night he did. “You mean the world to me,” he’d said, his voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

You’d stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about? We’re fine.”

“No, we’re not,” he said quietly, looking at you like it physically pained him. “You deserve someone who can be there for you, who isn’t constantly distracted by the job, who can give you all the things I can’t. And I... I can’t keep holding you back.”

His words shattered something in you. “I didn’t ask for perfect, Aaron. I asked for you.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, and shook his head. “You’ll see, one day, that this is what’s best.”

You didn’t fight him after that. You couldn’t. And maybe some part of you even believed he was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

For months, you carried that pain with you like a shadow. You buried yourself in work, throwing yourself into cases until you were so exhausted you couldn’t think about anything else.

It helped, a little.

But then Beth showed up.

The team was supportive of Aaron’s new relationship, of course. They were profilers—they could see how happy Beth made him, and they teased him lightly about it. Even Rossi, who had a knack for keeping things professional, cracked a joke now and then about Aaron’s “smiling problem.”

You played along, smiling and laughing at the right moments, even as it chipped away at you.

“You okay?” Emily asked one day, catching you lingering at the coffee machine longer than usual.

“Yeah, fine” you replied quickly, avoiding her eyes.

Emily didn’t press, but the look she gave you made it clear she didn’t buy it.

---

When the opportunity to work with the State Department in Pakistan came up, you jumped at it. The mission would take you halfway across the world for months, giving you the distance you desperately needed from Aaron, Beth, and the suffocating reminders of what you’d lost.

“It’s a great opportunity” you told the team, forcing a smile as you shared the news during a team meeting.

Morgan gave you a skeptical look. “You sure about this, kid? Seems... sudden.”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly.

Rossi, always perceptive, gave you a knowing look but said nothing.

Aaron, however, was harder to read. He’d been quiet during the meeting, his dark eyes flicking to you now and then, but he didn’t say a word.

Later, as the team dispersed, he stopped you outside the conference room.

“You’re really going?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“I am,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You didn’t mention you were thinking about this.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Aaron flinched slightly, his jaw tightening. “Of course it matters.”

You sighed, softening your tone. “Look, this is a good opportunity for me. I need... a change.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he nodded. “Be careful,” he said quietly.

---

Pakistan was everything you expected and more. The work was intense, the days long, and the challenges endless. But it was exactly what you needed. The distance, the change in pace, the focus on something new—it all helped you start to piece yourself back together.

And yet, there were nights when the loneliness crept in, catching you off guard. You missed the team. You missed Garcia’s bright enthusiasm, Morgan’s playful teasing, JJ’s steady calm.

You missed Aaron.

You told yourself you didn’t have the right to miss him, not after everything. But you couldn’t help it. You missed the way he grounded you, the quiet strength he carried even in the hardest moments.

---

Back in Quantico, Aaron found himself drifting. The bullpen felt emptier without you, and he hated how often he caught himself looking at your desk, expecting to see you there.

He tried to focus on work, on Jack, on his relationship with Beth. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the nagging emptiness you’d left behind.

Beth noticed, of course. She was too perceptive not to.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said one evening as they sat on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand.

“I’ve just been busy,” he replied, though they both knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

Beth studied him for a moment before setting her glass down. “It’s because she’s gone, isn’t it?”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Beth sighed, setting her wine glass down. “I’ve always felt like I was competing with someone who wasn’t even here.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said quietly, his throat tightening.

“I know you care about me, Aaron,” Beth said gently. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

He looked at her, guilt and regret twisting in his chest. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

Beth nodded, her eyes sad but understanding. “And so does she.”

---

When you returned to Quantico, the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating. The bullpen buzzed with the usual energy—Garcia’s colorful office lights glowed from the corner, Morgan leaned casually against Spence's desk, and Rossi greeted you with his characteristic warmth. But despite the smiles and hugs, there was a lingering sense of unease.

You tried to shake it off. You were home now, and that was what mattered.

But then you saw Aaron.

He stood at the far end of the bullpen, just outside his office, his dark eyes locked on you. The usual stoicism in his expression faltered as you met his gaze, something softer, almost hesitant, bleeding through.

Your breath caught in your chest. It had been months since you last saw him, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all. He looked the same—polished suit, perfect posture, the slight furrow of his brow that you’d memorized years ago.

He started walking toward you, his steps slow and deliberate. You tried to prepare yourself for the moment, but when he finally stopped in front of you, the carefully constructed walls around your heart wavered.

“Welcome back,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gravity that made your pulse race.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a small smile, though your throat felt tight.

There was a beat of silence. The bullpen buzzed with life around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his eyes lingered on your face, the way he seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

“Can we talk?” he asked finally, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to say no, to protect yourself from whatever this conversation might bring. But the way he looked at you—vulnerable and intent—made it impossible to refuse.

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

He led you to his office, holding the door open for you before closing it behind him. The sound of the latch clicking seemed to echo, amplifying the tension in the room.

You stood awkwardly near the desk while he lingered by the door, as if trying to keep some distance between you.

“How was it?” he asked, gesturing vaguely. “Pakistan, I mean.”

“It was... intense” you admitted. “Challenging, but good. It gave me a lot to think about.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he seemed to weigh his next words. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks” you said again, the word feeling hollow on your tongue. You couldn’t take the tension anymore. “Aaron, what did you want to talk about?”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were heavy with regret.

“I owe you an apology” he said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked, startled. “An apology? For what?”

“For walking away” he said, stepping closer. His gaze held yours, steady but full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought letting you go would... would give you the chance to find someone better, someone who could give you what I couldn’t.”

Your heart clenched painfully at his words, but before you could respond, he continued.

“But I was wrong” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt both of us. And every day you were gone, I felt it—I felt how wrong I was.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “Aaron, I—”

“I missed you” he interrupted, taking another step closer. “Every day you were gone, I missed you. And I realized that I’d rather spend my life trying to be enough for you than spend another day without you.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, trying to process his words.

“You ended it” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You told me I deserved better.”

“I thought I was doing the selfless thing,” he admitted, his expression pained. “But all I did was rob us of the chance to fight for what we had. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The rawness in his voice cracked something open inside you.

“Aaron, I...” You trailed off, shaking your head as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He stepped closer again, closing the remaining distance between you. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... tell me if there’s still a chance. If there’s even a small part of you that still feels the same way.”

His vulnerability was overwhelming. This was Aaron Hotchner—the man who never wavered, never let his guard down. And yet here he was, standing before you, baring his heart.

“I missed you too” you admitted finally, your voice breaking. “But I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t know if I can survive losing you a second time.”

“You won’t” he said firmly, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I swear to you, I won’t let you down again. I’ll fight for this—for us. Every day, if I have to.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his dark eyes held yours, left you breathless.

And in that moment, you realized something: you still loved him. You always had.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay” you said softly, your voice trembling but sure. “Let’s try again.”

Aaron’s shoulders sagged with relief, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

And as he squeezed your hand, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

---

#criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #angst #angst with a happy ending

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Santa Baby

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Not wanting them to feel left out, you show some kindness to a coworker, only to be repaid with a most unexpected act of generosity.

Character: Jake Jensen

Day Six of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - extreme weather leads to forced proximity

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another message pops up on the Teams chat, then a reaction. As chair of the social committee, you swiftly open the conversation to review the interaction. The secret santa is a success. So far.

You check another name off your list. You want to make sure that all the exchanges are made. You even arranged to deliver gifts on behalf of those with the day booked off. It’s all going smoothly and you’re a few hours away from declaring another office holiday season a success.

Then you have to worry about the other holiday. The one for your family. Your kids are sorted but the gifts need to be wrapped. And your husband, he’s the nosiest of all. You’ll need to make sure he isn’t sniffing around your bag again.

The presents are just one thing. Your time off won’t be that. You have to drive three hours north to see your family. You still don’t think your sister, Shayna, forgives you for that little argument at Thanksgiving. And if your brother, Jamar, even shows up, that might be worse than the alternative.

Your workday triumph is one thing you can be proud of before your home life implodes.

You run the clock out, your list filling with tick marks. As you reach the one-hour countdown, there’s one name left. Jensen. Strange. He’s handed off his own gift but hasn’t yet received anything. Maybe he just didn’t post in the chat. He does get distracted easily.

As another minute runs off, you jump into action. You head down to accounting to ask Alan about it. He’s swiveling casually in his chair as you approach, nonchalant as she stares at his monitor dully. You say his name to get his attention.

“Hey, just checking in. Going around and making sure everything’s been sorted for the swap. You gave Jensen his present right?”

Alan scoffs and chews the end of a ballpoint, “nah.”

“No?” You frown, “okay, well can you do it by the end of the day--”

“Nope,” he snorts. “Didn’t get one.”

“What?” You have to measure your voice.

“Didn’t feel like it. Guy’s a dweeb.”

“Regardless of your personal feelings, this was voluntary and you signed up,” you chide.

“Mm, kinda too late, isn’t it?” He shrugs and turns back to his screen. “I got a wife who’ll tear my throat out if she doesn’t get a month’s pay in gifts so that goggly-eyed nerd is the least of my worries.”

You sigh. There’s always one bad egg. It’s like when you ask your kids to just not fight for one day. It never happens yet you still keep trying.

“Happy holiday, Alan,” you snipe and stomp away.

You should have expected one thing to go wrong. It always has to and you’re always the one cleaning it up. Why would anyone call this the happiest time of the year? It’s the most stressful and the only thing you ever get are a few new grey hairs.

Well, Kathleen did get you that fancy three-wick candle you plan to put in your bathroom, though you’re not sure how much relaxation you can get when your kids can’t leave you to soak for more than five minutes without interruption. You remind yourself to stop looking for the problems. You’re the problem-solver, not the problem-dweller.

You can figure this out. You go to your desk and grab your purse and nothing else. You hurry out, ignoring several utterances in your direction. If people need you now, well, they should’ve thought of that earlier. It might not be important to them or to your job, but you’d hate to be the only person left out. You have been before. It’s why you’re such a people pleaser.

There’s a hobby shop not far from the office building. You went there for your son’s gift. He’s a big fan of anime. You enter and greet the cashier with an apologetic smile. They are also gearing up for the end of the day.

“Promise, I’ll be quick,” you assure him.

He just shrugs, “no problem, lady.”

You stop and take a breath, gathering your wits into order. Your racing thoughts, your hammering adrenaline, it’s like a platoon of disordered soldiers scattering inside of you. You call them into formation and turn down the center aisle.

You glance over the products on the shelf. Jensen always had that Tetris keychain dangling from his lanyard when he came to troubleshoot. It’s the only video game you ever played, though your daughter let you run around her Animal Crossing island once. She banned you after you offended her favourite cat character.

You bend to the lower shelf, hips straining with the effort, and you claim the box with the red clearance tag, marked right under the spending cap. The mini arcade machine proclaims 30+ games to play, including classics like Pong, Pac-man, his bow wearing counterpart, and Tetris!

You take it to the counter and ask if they do gift wrap. Sorry, no. That’s okay. You pay and mourn the bottle of wine you’ll have to forego to accommodate the extra expense.

You hurry back down the street, without a jacket to protect you from the biting chill or drifting flakes. The snow dampens your face and clothes, catching and melting in your hair as you clack in your heels frantically.

Fifteen minutes left in the day. You rush into the lobby and tap the elevator button impatiently. Screw it.

You tuck the box under one arm and go to the stairs. You take off your heels and clamour up in your stockinged feet. You’re breathless as you get to the top. You push through the heavy metal door and stomp forward, shoes dangling from your fingers.

You ignore the looks sent in your direction. You stop briefly to scratch off the price tag and attempt to compose yourself. You proceed down to IT and approach Jensen as he bites his thumb, his other hand hovering over his keyboard.

His rectangular glasses reflect his screen and his blond hair is spiked only one side as it appears the other has been flattened by anxious palming. You keep from slamming down the box and instead stop beside him. “Excuse me, Jensen.”

“Huh, uh, oh,” he turns his chair and looks up at you. He smooths his Luigi-themed tie as he plants his feet wide. “Oh, hi. Is your PC overheating again--”

“Merry Christmas,” you shove the box towards him, “special delivery.”

He hesitates and pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose. He blinks as he examines the box. He lowers his hand to his chest and pinches the button of his shirt.

“For me?”

“So sorry, I was running around all day,” you explain. “I meant to get it to your earlier--”

“Really?” He looks at your shoulder and you glance over at the melting snow.

“It was in my car,” you lie swiftly. “I’m sorry, really.”

“No, it’s...” he reaches to take the box, his hands brushing your cold fingers. “Oh gosh, you’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him as you retract your hold on the box. He gives you a lingering look before he leans back.

“Huh, this is...” he lowers it to his lap and examines the box. “Really cool. Thanks.” He chuckles tensely, “I almost thought Santa forgot me.”

“Again, I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m not mad,” he assures you as he turns the box in his hands. “Really. I had to set an alarm to make sure I brought in mine, then another to give it to Terry.”

“That’s a good idea. If we do this again, I’ll have to try that,” you smile. “Well, I hope you enjoy.”

“Totally,” he agrees. “It’ll keep me busy on the time off.”

Wish I had that problem, you think to yourself. “That’s great,” you chime. “Anywho, I don’t wanna keep you since the day’s almost done. I gotta get my desk tidied before I head out.”

“Sure,” he gives a slanted grin, “this is so cool, thank you.” He grips the corners of the box, “I always knew you were the coolest.”

You go back to the desk but the person waiting for you is a bad omen for your holiday. You hide your disappointment as Lee waits, leaning on the corner with arms crossed. You stop behind your chair.

“Hello, Mr. Bodecker--”

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” he intones.

“Right, what’s going on?”

“That new one, the pretty thing, she miscalculated the Dorsey account.”

You deflate. Of course she did. That one hasn’t done a single thing right since she started.

“I’d ask her to redo it but I already did. Three times. Needs to be done for year end or accounting will have my ass in two,” he says without censor.

“And you want me to do it?” You utter.

“See, you always know exactly what needs to be done,” he clucks and stands straight, “double-overtime. It’ll be on your January pay.”

“Right,” you swallow. There’s not denial to be given. Your performance review is also in January and you need the bonus after factoring in the family road trip. “I’ll get it done.”

“Good woman,” he winks. “Put the hours into the system.”

“Sure, happy holidays, sir.”

“Ha,” he snorts, “if my ex-wife has anything to say about it, they won’t be.”

You roll you chair under you and drop your purse between your feet. You send a quick text to your husband. The kids are being dropped off by Hannah anyway. He just needs to be home. Even he can figure out how to reheat the chili you froze last month.

After you get your instructions sent, you turn your attention to your computer. You still have to finish up all your other wrap-up before you get to Dorsey. As you put your nose to the grind, Mary wishes you a happy break on her way out. She's followed by a speckled succession of eager coworkers, ready to begin their time off.

Your eyes haze as the glare of your screen feels brighter with each passing second. You have a prescription but never a change to fill it. You don’t imagine the neglect is making your vision any better.

The office grows desolate as you continue plucking away. As the snow falls on the other side of the windows, they dampen out the noise of the city. You’re isolated in your focus. The files for Dorsey are a complete mess. You're not sure how anyone could fail to balance a spreadsheet. There are very easy formulas to do the work for you.

Mulling over mistakes won’t fix them. Your fingers flutter over the keys as you painstakingly restart the entire workbook from scratch. You’re disappointed, not that you’re stuck in the contradictingly uncomfortable ergonomic chair, but that you won’t get to see your kids or husband for more than an hour or two if that.

You close your eyes as the gridlines burn into them. You lean back and rub your brows. There’s tension sewn into your brows. It’s grim how getting older really dims the sparkle of this time of year. Everyone else gets to be happy and you’re just the courier of that happiness. Maybe that should make you happy, that you can be that for them.

No, it’s just exhausting.

Before you can open your eyes or sit forward, you let out a yelp at the sudden warmth on your shoulders. You twitch and look up at Jensen as he stands behind your chair. Your heart quickly calms.

“Oh, what are you still doing here?” You ask, a tremor of fright in your voice.

“Back-end work,” he answers as he squeezes your shoulders. His touch is unexpected. You wiggle but he doesn’t let you go. “What about you?”

“Just some last-minute quality control,” you answer. “You really snuck up on me.”

“Ha, yeah,” he slowly drags his hands away, his fingers caressing your neck lightly. “Sorry, I... I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet,” you agree.

He leans on the back of your chair as his proximity clouds you. It’s a bit awkward. You just want to get your work done but can’t bring yourself to tell him to go away. Especially knowing what you know. He doesn’t deserve any of that just because he can be a bit different.

“What about your family?” He asks.

You wince and turn the chair to face him. You shrug, “I’ll be a bit late but they’ll survive without me.”

“Sure, sure. You must be excited to spend time with them,” he lets go of your chair and backs up a single step as you look at him.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see them a bit more,” you agree. “What about you? You doing anything for the holidays?”

He shakes his head as his lips thin, “no. Don’t really got anyone.”

“Ah, well, it’s always a good time to catch up hobbies,” you offer.

He nods and his throat bobs. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks sad in that moment. He’s still pretty young, you want to tell him to enjoy singlehood while he can. Yet you remember being in your late twenties and how those comments just made you feel worse. All the same, that feels so long ago.

“I know what you did,” he says.

“Pardon?” You sputter in confusion.

“I know Alan got me. I overheard him when we got our names.”

“Oh,” you’re speechless but for that single syllable.

“It’s alright. I know people don’t always get me but... you know, you didn’t have to do all that just for me,” he shifts sheepishly on his feet, his cheeks tinging as he looks at the floor.

“Well, it isn’t fair, is it?” You say.

“Yeah, but...” He looks up shyly from behind his glasses, “you must be a good mom. And a good wife.”

You’re not sure how to reply, “thank you? I try.”

“Your kids and husband are very lucky,” he smirks.

“Sure, I’m not sure they think so,” you say. “Waiting around for me to come home...”

You go to turn back to your desk, but he’s quicker than you. He startles you as he grabs the arm of your chair and keeps you facing him. You press yourself against in as he bends over you.

“Doesn’t sound like they appreciate you,” he says.

“Jensen,” you murmur, “that’s... no, they’re my family. They do.” You spread your fingers over your thighs nervously. “Can you back up?”

You cry out as he answers the question by pushing your chair back against the desk. The impact jars you as he leans in, closer and closer. You flatten yourself to the thin cushion and he plants a kiss on your forehead.

“I appreciate you,” he whispers, his nose tickling your hairline.

“Jensen, please, that’s not--”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as he drops to his knees before you. “I disabled the cameras...”

“Jensen, what?” You squirm and grab the armrests. You try to push yourself to your feet and he slaps his hand against your stomach, shoving you back down. “Get off--”

“They don’t treat you right. No one does.”

"Jensen, that's sweet of you to say but please--"

"Let me be sweet to you," he begs as he clings to your knees, thumbs sliding under the hem of your skirt.

You grab the fabric as he tries to slide it up. You put your other hand on his chest as you sit forward. "No, okay, I know the holidays are hard but--"

"I just wanna give you a gift. Since you gave me one," he purrs.

"It's-- no, okay," you grab his wrist and your other hand slips up to shove his shoulder. "I'm married." He bends his head to brush his chin against your knuckles, like a cat eager for pets. The gesture fills you with pity, but cannot undercut your revulsion. "I said--" You push him again and he twists his arm free of your grasp.

He grabs your wrists and lifts your hands. He squeezes and you feel his strength; even if he wasn't younger, you'd be just as helpless. He pulls your arms and puts your hands against his head. You feel the soft short bristle and shudder. He covers your hands with his and holds them snug.

"Don't let go," he commands. His voice deepens, a razor's edge in his words. You stare at him dumbly. You don't dare disobey. It's as if your body is not your own as it refuses to respond to your fear. That inner plea is smothered by the pounding of your heart.

He lets you go cautiously and drops his hands to your thighs. You flinch and let out a squeak. He glides down the pushes his hands under the fabric, hooking it with his thumbs as he forces it higher. You shiver at the sensation of his palms against your stockings.

As he grazes along the naked skin above, you whimper. He hooks his hands around your hips and runs them under you, lifting you slightly to rumple your skirt below your waist. You shake as your hands remain glued to his head.

You watch yourself from above as the scene plays out. The dimples in your thighs quake as horror floods your body. He slowly bends to press the tip of his nose against the front of your panties. He prods you through the fabric and hums. He swirls around, teasing you through the tenuous layer.

Your hands fall away but he doesn’t notice. He’s too fixated on his prize. He tilts your hips, pulling you down in the chair as he moves your legs around him. Your lip trembles and your teeth grit, eyes hot in disbelief and disgust. How is this happening?

He brings your knees over his shoulders then runs a finger up the back of your plain white cotton panties. The type that hardly get your husband in such a furor. He traces the edge and tugs it aside.

You cry out as his tongue flicks along your folds. It feels like the first time all over again. You’re not neglected, just overworked and overtired. You don’t have the energy or the time. It doesn’t mean you’re lonely. Just busy.

He pushes his face deep and laps you up, spreading his tongue as he tastes you with a growl. You clench the armrest, your other hand catching the top of his head as you try to urge him away. You croak and your cries crackle in the air.

“Jensen,” you squeal.

He pokes his tongue along your entrance and drags it up to your clit, then back down again. The tendrils crawl down your thighs as he reaches blindly for your hand. He moves it behind his head and presses it there. As he does, he nuzzles into you.

He wiggles his head as he drinks you up. Your legs tense and your fingernails dig into his scalp between the short stubble of his hair. His glasses are crushed against your pelvis, forgotten as he devours you. You whine and close your eyes but you can still see yourself, like you’re watching a movie in your head.

You see yourself giving in, melting into him, clinging to him as the coil winds tighter and tighter. As your orgasm builds, you feel yourself splitting into two. There is the body curled up in the chair, wrapped around his head, and the consciousness watching from outside.

And it all evaporates into pleasure. Into forgotten wrongs and broken morals. Reality gives way to escape as you give into the stolen delight erupting from head to toe, as you give in to this man on his knees before you, begging you with the flick of his tongue.

#jake jensen #dark jake jensen #dark!jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #the losers #dc

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mj0702 · 1 month ago

Text

New Year🔞🔞

There is smut content in there so... MINORS NO NO!!!

What a Party it had been. Patri really went all out for this new year party she hosted. Jenni wore a simple black piece hugging her figure just perfectly her eyes in a – what you called vintage – smoky eyes in silver and black makeup her lips painted in a dark red nearly brown-ish. Alexia the complete contrast as usual wore cream light but elegant pants, a – also vintage – crop top (you'd never dare to call your girlfriends old into their faces so you always settle for “vintage” instead) and simple makeup. You – the most simple out of the three of you – wore simply Jeans (you wanted to go in sweaters but both Alexia and Jenni threatened to tie you to a lamp post and just leave you there if you would dare to leave the house in sweat pants) and a Ralph Laurent Polo. Surprise you weren't the only one. You found yourself in a corner with Caro, Ewa, Laura (Keiras girlfriend) and Esmee all sporting the Jeans 'n Polo look standing there awkwardly all of you a cup of something in your hand. It was like a scene from a bad High school movie where all the nerds standing in a corner watching the popular girls while all your girlfriends (minus Ewa who still longed after that girl in her old Club and Esmee who had a dating ban by your girlfriend – the Barcelona one not the Mexican one – after the drama caused with Esmees ex-boyfriend) had the best time on the makeshift dancefloor

“So... how was your Christmas?” Caro asked after 15 minutes of heavy silence

“Oh... yeah... good” Ewa shrugged her shoulders “... spend it with my family in Poland”

“Careful there Pajor...” you smirked nodding at Laura “... not that you get invaded... again”

“hey.... that was ONE time...” Laura rolled her eyes playfully

“Wait what??” Esmee looked confused “Laura invaded Ewa? Uh oh.. Keira won't like that”

“Yeah no...” you snorted “... Lauras grands invaded Poland... and the Netherlands”

“Oooooh....” the young player looked curious “.... why?”

“Hun... I know you're young...” Laura started patting Esmees head “... but even you should've heard of World War II … Jexias plaything over here just loves to milk them Austrian jokes”

“Ooooooh... yeah I heard of that...” Esmee nodded while Caro snorted into her drink

“England was invaded too...” the norwegian pointed out making Laura groan

“Not really no...” you pursed your lips “... our leadership knew what they were doing”

“Can we please stop making bad 1930s jokes?” the Austrian huffed but the little twinkle in her eyes showed that she wasn't mad

“Because you'd lose again?” Esmee asked innocently

“Careful there kid...” Laura pointed her finger at the youngster “... or you and I will have a little face off tomorrow”

“I still have tomorrow off...” the young dutch exclaimed

“You won't if you keep choosing the wrong side” the Austrian raised her eyebrow

“Come to the dark side...” Ewa threw her arm around Esmees shoulders “... we have cookies”

“And alcohol” you pointed out lifting your cup

“And alcohol” the polish player confirmed

“Alexia said I'm not allowed to have alcohol during the season” Esmee hung her head

“First.. she's not looking...” you quickly glanced at your girlfriend who was dancing with Jenni before you pushed you cup into the young players hands “... secondly... drink that”

“Bad influence... all of you” Caro shook her head smiling

“Are you going to report us all to Marta?” you challenged her an eyebrow raised while you “helped” Esmee drowning your drink – you simply held the cup so the young one couldn't do anything else than drink

“And get in trouble because I didn't stop you?” the norwegian snorted “Hell Naah”

“Jesus... that's strong...” Esmee now coughed a little bit after she emptied your cup “... what is that”

“It should've been a Mojito....” you shrugged your shoulders “... I might went a little hard on the Rum...”

“It tasted like... pure Rum” the young player pulled a face

“Because it was...” you said unphased “... I forgot what else belongs into a Mojito so I went for the ingredients I knew... Rum”

“Isn't there sugar in it?” Ewa wondered out loud

“Yeah... but try to find sugar in a pro athletes household...” you waved your hand around Patris home

“Huh... true” Ewa nodded while Laura and Caro started laughing

“I think our Cari is enjoying herself” Jenni husked against Alexias ear her hands on the blondes hips while Alexias back is pressed into the older ones front the Catalans arms hanging loosely around her girlfriends neck

“Mhm...” Alexia hummed after she quickly glanced over to you “... and with Caro and Laura there we don't need to worry that her, Esmee and Ewa get into trouble”

“I wouldn't go that far” the dark haired one chuckled “... she can be quite the brat if she wants to”

“You love it if we act a little out of line” the blonde smirked turning in her girlfriends arms so she can look at Jenni

“I love it even more when I get you both back into line” Jenni smirked bending down kissing Alexia softly

“Get a room” Pina hollered from the other side of the room which caused Jenni to deepen the kiss lifting her left arm and showing Pina the middle finger

“NOT my room!!! NOT any room in my house!!” Patri panicky interrupted when she saw that Pina was about to contra Jenni once more

“You just have to turn the music up Pats...” the dark haired one smirked after she ended the kiss “... both of them can get quite loud”

“Oh god” Jenni and Alexia heard your faint groan bursting out laughing

“Why would you yell at each other in a room?” Esmee asked with the innocents of a child after your groan of embarrassment making Ewa, Caro and Laura burst out laughing

“Jenni and Alexia are both....” you tried to do damage control “... intense people”

“Intense... yeah...” Caro chuckled wiping away a tear “... call it intense”

“I mean I never played with Jenni...” the young player pondered

“Y/n does that quite frequently...” Laura laughed at your misery

“Really?? When?? You play here...” dear god that girl was naïve “... and she plays in Mexico”

“Whenever she's here... ain't that right Tygrysku??” Ewa pressed out before she broke down laughing again

“Can I come and play with Jenni too?” Esmee looked at you pleadingly

“NO” you exclaimed sending the people around you into a new fit of laughter

“Gosh...” the young player rolled her eyes “... you really are egoistic... playing with the best players in the world and not even willing to share”

“Oh she's sharing alright” Caro heaved out trying to get some air into her lungs

“Can you please stop” you pleaded

“Defiantly not...” Ewa pressed out holding onto Lauras shoulder so she wouldn't fall over from laughing

“Sweetie...” Laura started in an overly motherly voice “... Y/n isn't playing football with them....”

“Well... what else would she play with them?” Esmee looked confused

“They're...” Caro started before she had to think for a second “... shaking sheets”

“That makes no sense” Esmee rolled her eyes “... I know for a fact Y/n has a woman coming in once a week cleaning her flat because she's too lazy... I bet she's shaking the sheets too”

“No she's not” Ewa snorted “... not in that way”

“I want to die...” you groaned in agony “... can't the floor open up and swallow me whole?”

“They're playing... bedroom rodeo” the norwegian now clarified waiting for Esmee to catch on – and oh you could see the moment she did

“EW....” the young player exclaimed disgusted looking wide eyed at you “YUCK!!! That's basically mi Mamí you're talking about”

“DON'T call her that” you groaned your head in your hands trying to hide your beet red face

“Even the fans say she's basically my football Mamí” Esmee looked outraged at you

“Please... for the love of god... I pay you whatever you want... just...” you looked desperate which didn't go unnoticed by your girlfriends “... stop calling her Mamí”

“WHY???” the young one exclaimed and again the three players around you exploded laughing

“I think I'm gonna pee myself” Ewa was laughing so hard she hardly got any air into her lungs “... this is gold”

“Just...” you took a deep breath “... stop”

“Everything alright here?” you know heard the voice of Alexia right behind you and at the tone you heard that she expected an answer – most likely from you

“Everything alright” you turned around putting up your best (very pained) smile

“Then why are you looking like you just want to drop dead?” your girlfriend raised an eyebrow

“Esmee and I just.... settled some...” you started before Ewa interrupted you

“Misunderstandings” the polish player snorted trying to hold her laughter in

“I didn't ask you...” Alexia fixed her player with a glare “... Cari?”

“Y/n said I'm not allowed to call you Mamí..” Esmee exclaimed “.. but even fans say you're my football mom”

“Hmm...” the catalan hummed her eyes not leaving yours making you squirmy

“Come here...” Alexia said low but not low enough but you stayed rooted in your place not wanting to give the group around you even more material to make fun of you

“Really?” the blonde just raised her eyebrow giving you a last chance and you knew it “I advice you to think hard about it...”

“Can we please not here...” you said your voice quite sharp – sharper than you intended

“Watch your tone” Alexia was instantly in your personal space towering over you not even leaving you time to react “... now be good and come here”

“You're right in front of me” you snapped “... where should I go then?”

You should've known that it was a bad idea to challenge Alexia Putellas. With her being nearly 15cm higher than you, pure muscle AND spanish-hot-blooded you knew there was no way you would win fighting against her. So the second the words left your mouth you looked up in horror right in time to see Alexias face switch from surprised to disbelieve. A second later her big hand made its way to the back of your neck locking in place pushing you past her and through the whole room. To your relief no one except the small group who were the start of all evil noticed what was happening. Well... no one except Jenni of course who always had an eye whenever Alexia and you interact knowing that sometimes both of you were to stubborn to listen to each other. So the second she saw Alexias hand dart around your neck she was already on her way to interfere whatever argument you two were “settling”

“I don't know what was in that cup you had in your hand before” Alexia sneered the second the front door fell shut behind you two “... but you better pray it gave you enough courage to tell me what THAT was in there”

“You were right in front of me...” you grumbled back wincing a little bit when the blondes hand squeezed a little tighter

“Wrong answer...” the catalan sneered “... think again and think HARD what comes out of that bratty mouth of yours next”

“Well hello...” you heard Jennis surprised voice behind you

“You keep yourself out of it Jennifer” Alexia snapped shortly glancing at your girlfriend

“Ay... I did nothing...” Jenni lifted her hands in surrender “... I'm just here to make sure you don't kill her and end up in prison.. your ass is too pretty for prison”

“Oh you find that funny sí?” Alexia snapped at you shaking you a little bit by the neck as you snorted at Jennis comment

“You do have a nice ass...” you admitted the alcohol in your system not letting you grab the situation “... I must know... I stare at it often enough”

“Are you...” the blonde got thrown off track by your behaviour “... drunk?”

“Teeny tiny little itsy Bitsy bit” you giggled the alcohol kicking in full force now that you were outside breathing fresh air

“Mierda..” Jenni chuckled under her breath “... it took her all of 30 minutes”

“I can't even punish her for being bratty” Alexia looked outraged at Jenni like the older one stole her ice cream

“Amor....” the dark haired one chuckled “... either you sober her up or you wait until tomorrow and then punish her”

“How should I sober her up right now right here?” the catalan asked Jenni bewildered

“Ice water? Coffee??” Jenni offered knowing Alexia wouldn't have the heart to dunk you in ice water

“Uh” the blonde groaned while you looked intensely at Patris butterfly figure next to the door “... she'll cost me my last nerve”

“The joys of love” the older one snorted “... let her be for tonight Amor... I'll let you do whatever you want to her tomorrow...”

“It's not like I have a choice...” Alexia grumbled “... she wouldn't remember anyway”

“Let's get her some water... and some Ibuprofen” Jenni smiled as you tried to poke the butterfly wondering why it wouldn't fly away

It's not like you planned on getting drunk. But being a pro athlete that only has a drink now and then or at some celebration at the end of the season – that Mojito really brought you down. You didn't remember Jenni and Alexia getting you to drink glass after glass of water with you getting distracted every five seconds to the point were the blonde considered just hitting you over the head with a bottle so you would sleep it off. Jenni had a field day watching the two of you bickering the whole evening only stepping in when she noticed Alexia was near losing it. You didn't remembered that you saw them two kiss at midnight sending you into a frenzy where you actively ran away from them out of the house tears clouding your vision so that you fell over Patris porch railing straight into a bush of dark red roses. When Jenni and Alexia who were hot on your heels found you crying in them roses both of them really had to hold in their laughter. What they didn't expect was that you didn't wanted to be touched by either of them – it took a drunk off her ass Ewa Pajor to pull you out of the rose bush (with Patri yelling in agony about her damn roses) and an Ingrid Engen to calm you down so at least Jenni was allowed to sit next to you. When she asked what was going on with you knowing fully well that drunk you was a very emotional you you started crying again how your girlfriend Alexia kissed your other girlfriend Jenni and they both cheated on you with each other. Drunk you also didn't do common sense. Not realizing that your girlfriends were right in front of you. Alexia let out a string of spanish curse words how one could be so stupid making you cry even harder. Jenni got you to calm down by telling you she will have words with Alexia and Jenni that under no circumstances is it okay to forget about you but only if you'd agree to go home with her. You agreed under the deal of her sleeping on the couch – you were a lot but no cheater. The oldest one chuckled and agreed. By the time you three were home you were fast asleep against Alexias chest drooling on her crop top.

“I can't believe that happened tonight” the blonde rolled her eyes as she carefully slipped out from under you

“I can't believe I have to have words with myself” Jenni snorted reaching over you to unbuckle your seatbelt

“How did she get so drunk so quickly?” Alexia shook her head at your black out state

“She never could hold her alcohol” the dark haired snorted while she pulled you out of the car “... just... let's get her to bed”

Jenni should learn pretty quickly that this task alone was a whole other fight. You woke up the moment the dark haired one sat you down on the bed starting to open your Jeans. Alexia went into the Bathroom to get something to clean you up and to change you into (it's either one of hers or Jennis t-shirts) when she heard you panic screeching from the bedroom

“What's going on??” the catalan rushed back into the bedroom to find Jenni standing at the foot of the bed while you were pressed against the headboard a pillow pressed to your middle

“Ale...” you cried out

“Sí Cari?” the blonde features soften a little bit as you shuffled over to the edge of the bed, getting stuck in the blankets falling face first out of said bed to then quickly jump up wobbling behind Alexia for cover

“This woman wanted to.... you know” you whisper yelled behind Alexia with absolute urgency

“This woman???” Jenni exclaimed making you shriek ducking further behind your blonde girlfriend

“Bebé...” Alexia said softly “... it's okay...”

“No it's not!!” you huffed “.... she wanted to get into my pants!!”

“She's drunk... she's drunk... she's drunk....” the dark haired spaniard mumbled to herself so she wouldn't lose it while Alexia tried to not burst out laughing

“Normally you like it when Jenni gets into your pants” the blonde snorted “... come Cari.... let's get your drunk ass into bed”

“But....” you pouted “.... there's a stranger in our bedroom”

“Stranger?” Jenni looked at you with wide eyes while Alexia bursted out laughing

“It's okay Cari....” the catalan laughed “... she's a good friend... she just needs a couch to sleep on”

“Are you really kicking me out of OUR bedroom because of drunky there??” the older woman looked at Alexia outraged

“Just wait until she's asleep and come to bed” the blonde rolled her eyes manoeuvring you back onto the bed

“Since when am I the bad one?” Jenni mumbled as she left the bedroom

“You can come back” Alexia called out just as her girlfriend left the room

“I can't believe she declared me as a stranger who tried to rape her” the older one grumbled

“You know that she's not thinking straight when she's drunk” the blonde said as she pulled your pants off your legs

“But still... I'm her girlfriend!” Jenni huffed as she started to undress herself

“Yes you are” Alexia said carefully

“But?” the dark haired one asked an eyebrow raised

“You aren't around as much as I am...” the catalan pointed out “... we live together... and I KNOW you do everything possible to be here as much as possible... but...”

“It's not enough” Jenni sighed as she got into bed next to you

“It is Jenni... she's not thinking straight...” Alexia said softly getting in on your other side

“Apparently it isn't” the dark haired one huffed

“Don't get hung up on that....” the blonde rolled her eyes “... we'll find a solution one day”

“You both can move to Mexico...” Jenni kept her voice light even tho Alexia heard how much it hurt her girlfriend

“Not in a million years” Alexia played into it “... you know what they say... Barca is Alexia... Alexia is Barca”

“They can have a human sized cardboard cut out from you... can tape it to the side of Nuo” the older one chuckled tiredly

“You're an ass” the blonde chuckled kicking her girlfriend lightly under the blanket

You woke up because you felt so warm. Your head felt heavy and you needed a second to realize where you were and why you felt so hot. You turned your head to find Jenni spooning you from behind her arm loosely around your midsection while Alexia laid in front of you – more half under you. Of course you fell asleep in between the two space heaters you called your girlfriends. These two women had a body temperature from around 200 degrees and always complain how cold it was hence the extra blankets. You on the other hand were english – you literally melted every time you shared a bed with Jenni AND Alexia. One of them was bad enough but both of them... sudden death for you. But there was something else that made you feel hot. Alexias leg was slotted in between yours and her thigh pressed right into a very delicate area. If you were really quiet and REALLY carefully you probably could get away with getting yourself off on the Catalans thigh. You knew both of your girlfriends were normally dead to the world sleepers – even more when they have time off. So you really carefully started to move your hips a little to test the waters a little bit so even IF one of them woke up you could still play it off as getting uncomfortable and just needed to move a little. After your initial try you waited a few seconds to see if one (or in the worst case scenario both) of your girlfriends stirred but nothing. So you got bold. You pressed your centre down on Alexias thigh and out of reflex your blonde girlfriend flexed her muscle making you suck in your breath

“I hope you're not doing what I think your doing Cari” Jennis voice cut sharp through the silence

“Fuck” you swore and jumped a little turning your head quickly looking at your girlfriend with big eyes

“So...” the lanky spaniard looked at you expectantly “... where you doing what I think you were doing?”

“I....” you stammered “... no?”

“No?” Jenni raised an eyebrow “... to me it looked like you were trying to get off on Ales thigh”

“No no no no no” you quickly shook your head “.... I was getting.. uncomfortable... you both are too hot”

“Gracias Cari” the dark haired one smirked wolfish “... but I KNOW you tried to get yourself off... alone the fact that you waited to see if one of us would wake up... you know neither Ale nor I will let that slide.... even tho it was just an attempt... a very poor attempt”

“I didn't...” you started but one look from Jenni shut you right up

“Why are you two so loud?” Alexia groaned next to you

“Our dear Cari just tried to get off on your thigh and now is trying to lie about it” Jenni informed Alexia who shot right up into a sitting position

“You what??” the blonde glared at you which you couldn't quite take seriously since her hair was sporting the fresh out of bed look making her look like a confused Owl and not like Alexia “I can make people cry just looking at them” Putellas

“I... didn't...” you started but the way your lips pressed into a thin line told Alexia everything

“Oh I can promise you now...” the blonde looked down at you “... you will regret that”

“You wanted to come didn't you” Alexia whispered into ear while Jenni was busy eating you out “So you'll come... over and over and over again... until I AM satisfied”

“Ale... por favor” you whined trying to push Jenni away from you

“No Cariño...” the blonde whispered sweetly “.... you were so SO bratty yesterday... challenging me in front of everyone... then you called Jenni a stranger and hurt her with that... and THEN... if you weren't in problems anyway you thought it would be a good idea to use ME to get off... not very clever Bebé”

“Please...” you whimpered but with Alexia having your leg in a dead grip with her legs and Jenni having your other leg over her shoulder you had no chance to get away any time soon

“Come Cari...” the catalan growled into your ear “... come for me”

You did just that. Your back arched off the bed your body trembled and shuddered your eyes screwed shut as you came hard. Alexia smirked against your skin not letting go of you. You on the other hand didn't know where you were for a second. Not only did the blonde keep her hold on you also Jenni didn't stop. From your experience you knew the Madrista could go for hours.

“Ale please... no more” you begged the catalan who just chuckled against your skin before she gently nipped at it

“Oh mi Corazon...” Alexia shushed you “... you WANTED this”

“No I.... dear JESUS” you squeaked out feeling two of Jennis long fingers entering you roughly

“Just Jesus? The last time you called us “oh god”...” Jenni grinned from her position between your legs “... not doing my job well enough then...”

“Very well...” you groaned “... too well... enough well”

“Oh Bebé...” your blonde girlfriend now taunted you “... if you can still talk back then Jenni isn't doing her job properly”

“No... please” you begged again tears starting to form in your eyes when you felt the dark haired one thrusting her fingers in and out of you in a rapid pace and now on top sucking on your clit

“Ssshh Cari... let Jenni do her job and loosen you up for me” Alexia whispered sweetly her nose brushing against your cheek “.... you have no idea what I have in mind for you”

“Ale... por favor” you whined

“No mi Bebé...” the blonde kept her voice sweet “.. you wanted to come... now you'll come”

“I can't.... no more” you screamed out and still your body betrayed you reaching it's climax on Jennis long fingers

“Huh.... that just looked different to me” Alexia faked surprise knowing you wouldn't be done after two orgasms “... be good for us Cari”

“You are pure evil Ale” Jenni smirked from her position between your legs

“She ASKED for it..” the blond defended herself before she turned her attention back to you “... and whatever Jenni does to you know Bebé... I'll do too... only for twice as long and three times as often”

“No please” tears spilled down your cheeks knowing exactly Alexia would do just that to the point where you either tap out or use your safe word

“Oh sí mi Hermosa Corazon” the catalan murmured as she pressed open mouthed kisses to your throat

You groaned pitifully knowing you just.... lost. You feel Alexias evil smirk against your skin and right this moment you accepted your faith. The bed dipped but the blondes hand against your jaw and cheek prevented you from looking what's going to happen. But you didn't need to wait long until you realize what's going on.

“You're so beautiful Bebé” you heard Jenni murmur her hands stroking over your thighs her thumb digging into your muscle there “... you're gonna look even more beautiful stretched around my dick”

“No no no no no” you whined wriggling around but the dirty chuckle from Alexia told you everything you needed to know

“Sí Corazon...” the dark haired one smirked nudging your legs further apart with her own thighs making more room for herself “... just relax....”

You whined when you felt the head of the strap pushed inside you but at least Jenni was kind enough to give you a moment to adjust before pushing further until she bottomed out her hips flush with yours.

“So beautiful” the older one mumbled her hands gently stroking over your stomach “So tight”

“You're getting soft Hermoso” Alexia smirked looking over her shoulder at her girlfriend

“YOU are the one torturing her... not me... I'm just here to let her have fun” Jenni wriggled her eyebrows while she slowly started to gently thrust in to you

It wasn't something that you weren't used to – them speaking about you like you weren't lying writhing in between them. Most of the times you found it extremely sexy but today it hit different fuelling your insecurities and you knew you wouldn't be able to enjoy whatever they have planned with you if you wouldn't word your concerns

“Jenni... el alto” you grunted out and immediately Jenni stopped moving and Alexia looked back down on you – not that you expected anything else

“What's wrong Pequeña?” the dark haired one asked her brows furrowed

“I'm here” your voice raw making Jenni and Alexia looking first at each other than back at you

“Sí... we.. see that” Alexia said carefully not knowing what your point was

“... I mean.. I feel it” Jenni piped up getting slapped by the blonde on the shoulder

“I am HERE” you said lowly

“Sí Bebé... we see you” the blonde catalan said carefully

“Then don't talk like I'm not” you sniffled

“Oh Corazon” Alexia sighed leaning down again pressing her nose into your cheek “... lo siento... we KNOW you are here.... we KNOW”

“Sí...” Jenni nodded slowly not knowing if your head was in the right mindset to continue

“I...” you tried to find the words but you couldn't

“It's okay... breath for me mi amor” the catalan said her voice low “... while you are a brat sometimes you can always talk to us”

“I need you to relax for me Corazon” the dark haired spaniard above you said softly about to pull out as you stopped her

“No...” your hand basically flew to her hip your fingers grabbing the harness to stop her from moving

“Sí Bebé....” Jenni kept her voice soft “... your head isn't here...”

“I can...” you started again before Alexia interrupted you

“We know you CAN...” the blonde whispered “... but there's no use right now... I will get my way... don't you worry... but right now you need something else... you need us...”

“Don't tell me what I need” you snapped

“Cari...” Alexia warned you but she knew this was just a way of you coping “... this is going a VERY long year if you don't watch it...”

“I KNOW what I can take” you shot back a slight feeling of failure making it's way into your mind

“Basta” Jenni interrupted her voice strict “... let go Cari”

You begrudgingly let go of the harness and Jenni pulled back and out of you oh so carefully but still making you grunt in process

“I know Bebé” the dark haired one said softly as she wriggled out of the harness disposing it carelessly on the floor before crawling up your body pressing soft kisses to your skin “... you did so good”

“No I didn't...” you huffed “... failed both of you”

“Ay non of that” Alexia interrupted your train of thoughts firmly “... stop thinking... you did NOT fail me or Jenni or us... you made us proud by telling us what you need”

“Sí... so good for us” Jenni murmured against your skin “... but we need you to tell us what you need right now”

“I need...” you stammered “... I don't know what I need”

“Space? Gym? A run?” Alexia provided

“No” you looked at her shocked

“Cuddles? Bath? Breakfast?” Jenni smirked

“Yes” you sighed sinking deeper into the pillows letting yourself relax a little

“Which of the offered things?” your blonde girlfriend asked

“All of them” you answered like it was the most obvious thing making Jenni snort as she laid down next to you

“All of them?” Alexia asked her eyebrow raised but her eyes soft

“Sí...” you nodded letting the dark haired one pull you into her side

“You heard her Ale... vamos...” Jenni smiled widely keeping her tight hold on you

“You can also...” the blonde started confused and immediately Jenni shook her head

“Can't... someone has to stay with our Cariño” the lanky one smirked

“Increíble...” Alexia mumbled rolling her eyes swinging her legs out of the bed “... usarla para no hacer nada”

“Someone has to look after her...” Jenni yelled after Alexia who just flipped her off on her way to your bathroom getting started on that bath

“What do you want for breakfast Cari?” Alexia asked from behind you holding you securely in her arms while you had your eye closed simply enjoying the warmth of the water and the calming smell of Sandalwood, Chamomile and a little splash of citrus oil

With you being very open to stress and anxiety Alexia started quite early in your relationship to read and study about different ways to reduce your stress and calm your mind and body. You weren't open to everything she introduced you to like mediation. Even tho you could meditate if your in the mindset for it most times the quiet left you even more overwhelmed than relaxed. The blonde figured out very quickly that if the technique got pushed on you that you left the session even more stressed so she put a stop to it immediately and kept on looking for other solutions. Sometimes skin to skin contact helped you immensely and sometimes even the lightest body contact sent you into a frenzy. But what always worked was scent. If it was in form of a Bath like now or Candles or a few drops of oil that your catalan girlfriend sneaked on your pillow before you went to bed. And yet it was a long road to figure out what worked best. You absolutely despised anything too floral or too woody. Citrus always worked but citrus wasn't very calming so Alexia experimented a lot until she got the perfect mixture for you. She didn't mind one bit always one for learning new things exploring new directions. She even used Mapí and Pina a couple of time as a cross reference. Pina apparently was allergic to Jasmine – poor woman sneezed for two days straight after Alexia held the little bottle under her nose asking if she likes that smell.

“Breakfast is nearly ready” Jenni appeared in the doorway keeping her voice low seeing how you basically melted into Alexias embrace

“Vinga Cari...” Alexia mumbled against your temple “... esmorzar”

“No...” you whined your eyes still closed

“Sí... vinga” the blonde said pushing you slightly to sit up more

“If you move at this rate we can make dinner out of it” Jenni rolled her eyes disappearing again

“Come on Cariño....” the catalan poked your sides making you whine even louder “.... you know we'll never hear the end of it if we need too long and Jennis hard fought breakfast making is for nothing”

“We can eat it later... it's only cut up fruit” you whine sinking back slowly again

“I made eggs!!” your other girlfriend yelled from the kitchen knowing you and Alexia bashing her breakfast skills

“I rather get a red in a Champions League final than to end up in hospital again because of food poisoning” you mumbled making Alexia bark out a laugh

“We'll just let her eat first...” the blonde smiled “... if she drops dead from the chair we know not to eat it”

“You see....” you slowly got out of the bath “... food poisoning takes time... even IF she eats first... it's at least four hours until the symptoms kick in... I'm NOT risking it again”

“I'll never do anything for you again if you don't move your ass soon” the dark haired one yelled from the kitchen again and you heard she's getting annoyed

“We're already moving” Alexia yelled back wrapping you in a big fluffy towel

“Good...” was the answer you got as you pulled an old t-shirt (probably Jennis according to the length of it) and put on some boxers Alexia held out to you knowing you prefer those to “normal” underwear

“I don't feel good...” you mumbled your back pressed against Jennis front as you were laying on the couch her arm loosely around your midsection your feet in Alexias lap

“What's wrong Corazon” the dark haired one murmured from behind you her eyes closed as she was about to drift off to sleep

“My stomach hurts” you whine trying to get more comfortable

“Oh no...” your catalan girlfriend looked over alarmed “... not again”

“What you mean again?” Jenni lifted her head slightly looking at the blonde

“You cooked her into hospital before” Alexia said eyeing the lanky one until she caught on

“ONE time... that was ONE time” your girlfriend exclaimed

“Ale...” you whined holding your stomach

“Oh Bebé...” the blonde was up as a shot kneeling next to your body

“Hurts” you whimpered while Jenni looked flabbergasted

“I used the book you gave me for Christmas!!!” Jenni defended herself

“And still our Cari is laying here in pain...” Alexia snapped at your girlfriend “... Jesús Jennifer... why do you always have to offer to cook”

“I followed the book step by step” your dark haired girlfriend huffed starting to gently massage your stomach making you groan

“We should go to the hospital” the catalan mumbled stroking some hair out of your face

“Tea... we could make tea” Jenni said quickly “... tea is good for stomach”

That's when it happened. You quickly sat up thinking you need to puke. Alexia scrambling away thinking the same. She loved you but it was not on her new years agenda to get puked on by her girlfriend. But no... the burp that left your body was everything but NOT human. Jenni and Alexia looked at you like you were transforming into a demon right in front of you while you smiled happily instantly feeling better.

“Now I feel better” you declare grinning widely as you threw your body back on the couch getting comfortable again

“That was...” Jenni looked down at you then back up at Alexia

“... I'm at loss for words” Alexia shook her head still shocked “... how can such a pequeña Cariño make such a sound??”

“It's a special talent” you smiled cheerful “... you should look up the video where Mapí challenged me to do the Sprite-challenge... THAT was loud”

“I'm dating a child...” the catalan said bewildered “... a literal child”

“Found it” Jenni held up her phone grinning widely

“Two children...” Alexia shook her head stunned listening to Mapís voice cheering you on to ex the bottle and then the demonic sound coming out of the phone while Jenni nearly died laughing and you grinning pleased

#alexia putellas x reader #jenni hermoso x reader #woso image

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