#but that might be a little too dark for a kid's show & not keeping with whatever message flying bark is aiming for efgerseawrf

[mj0702]

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

[littlcdarlin]

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

[sketching-shark]

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?

[enigmaris]

Danny Kills the Joker AU

Danny is on the run in gotham, as you do in dpxdc fics. His parents are dead and he is trying to stay out of Vlad's custody. Gotham has plenty of ectoplasm to hide his ecto signature. It also has a high enough population of homeless people that no one would even notice Danny just showing up.

He's been living rough in gotham, mostly sticking to Crime Alley and The Narrows, sleeping in abandoned buildings or in relatively clean parts of the sewer system. He eats what he can find and does his best never to be seen.

Not good enough since he along with like 30 other street kids get picked up by joker goons and tied up. Joker is planning an explosive party for the city to watch and he needed guests. Joker literally set up bombs of joker gas around the city that will go off and send the entire city into pandemonium, killing millions. The only way to stop the bombs is to kill his guests (homeless kids from Crime Alley) which the city can vote on. Kill themselves or kill kids.

Danny is sitting at the edge of the group, listening as Joker televises his new plan to the entire city.

He really, really hates clowns.

He is also not gonna let this guy kill all of these kids. He may not be a hero anymore but those protection instincts didnt die with his parents.

And also fuck that clown.

He phases through his bonds, and then starts asking the various kids to borrow their hat, gloves, and scarf. Gotham street kids take one look at this out of town kid and mentally wish him luck while planning out his funeral. They keep on acting terrified because as stupid as this kid is being, they're not snitches either.

Danny puts on the borrowed clothes to hide his face and hair. He can't be identified, or Vlad is gonna be on his ass tomorrow. Once fully covered he gets up and into view of the camera. The Joker notices him, turns around to laugh and jeer at him. Probably shoot him for being impolite and interrupting him. Danny doesnt even pause just walks right up to the clown and coldcocks him.

Based on the sound of bones snapping Danny admits he might have punched a little too hard. Danny checks the Jokers pulse and immediately panics. Danny has Batman levels of fear around killing and he is panicking about becoming Dan.

"Holy Shit I killed him!" He says, to the entire city because the camera is still rolling.

Cue:

Danny running for his life, trying to hide away from his fear and guilt.

Red Hood becoming like his dad and drawing up mental adoption papers

Harley Quinn also drawing up adoption papers, paper ones, while Poison Ivy changes their home's 'no boys allowed' banner to 'son boy allowed'

Jokers goons trying to find Danny to kill him for killing their boss

City wide pandemonium as the jokers death is confirmed and people are partying in the streets, the mayor is planning on giving the street kid who did it the key to the fucking city

The batfam trying to find Danny to protect him from Jokers Goons (Bruce is third in line for custody not that he knows he is gonna have to fight both Harley and Jason for the honor)

The crime alley kids are still not snitching on the kid who saved them. Anyone who asks them about Danny only respond with 'what are you a cop? Fuck off pig'

Vlad Masters, as someone who has been punched by Danny, immediately recognizes the punch and flies to Gotham to find his wayward 'son'.

Vlad even meets with Brucie Wayne to ask for help in finding Danny. Bruce gets bad vibes from Vlad and is even more invested in finding Danny. The boy has dark hair, blue eyes, and a tragic orphan backstory. Its fate!

Danny meanwhile is hiding in some sewer somewhere breathing into a paper bag as he panics about becoming a world ending threat.

[fandom]

Top 24 of 2024

Well, well, well, look what we have here. If it isn’t 52 weeks’ worth of data drawn from the exemplary original posts you’ve been producing day in, day out, combined with the likes, reblogs, and search data—all of it weighed, ranked, and presented here for your viewing pleasure. In news that will come as a shock to no one at all, 2024 was the year of Artists on Tumblr. But quite right, too, as just a cursory scroll through the fanart, illustrations, digital pieces, paintings, textiles, and more will attest. It’s a goldmine. But this ain’t just any goldmine, this is your goldmine, and we’ve got abundant gratitude for the wonderful work you’ve shared this last year. 

Dungeon Meshi won hearts and minds with its cozy feel, its cookery, its cast of eclectic, likable characters, and a delightfully off-center vibe. Farcille made for the sapphic love story we didn’t know we needed—and the inspiration for endless, exquisite fanart. There was much appreciation for season one, and excitement abounds for season two. But there were endings as well as beginnings, sadly, as the much-loved Jujutsu Kaisen brought six years of sublime storytelling to a close with Chapter 271. Good faced Evil, a nephew faced an uncle, and some really liked it, and others really did not. Discourse ensued, as discourse is wont to do. 

Television! And lots of it! 2024 was the year in which animation ruled supreme with an embarrassment of riches to plunder. Gravity Falls and The Book of Bill became your fall fixations and simply refused to stop trending for seemingly an age (a Good Thing). Bill Cipher and Stanford Pines both made the Top 24 in their own right as you shipped them to high hell, with Billford coming top of Ships for 2024. Speaking of Hell, Hazbin Hotel was the new kid on the block. And, after a five-year wait, the new kid charmed—it was filthier, funnier, raunchier, and more heartfelt than you could have hoped for. 

When it comes to hope, the times continue to be challenging, and the news can threaten to overwhelm. 2024 was no different. But you all painted the dash every color of the rainbow, stood loud and proud, and supported your ever-growing community online and offline in the struggle for LGBTQIA+ rights. While folks continue to voice their distress and concern for the ongoing crisis in Palestine, they also fight the good fight with activism and fundraising efforts across the dash. These may be dark days, but you all work tirelessly for the greater good as only you know how.

Looking after oneself is vital in these trying times, and you’ve all done just that in your own inimitable fashion. Cats still rule Tumblr as bears still poop in woods, and everyone has taken essential time to peruse the dashboard’s plethora of cat GIFs, cat art, boopin’ cats, cats of yore, and so on. You’re keeping things similarly wholesome with some more Tumblr mainstays: cottagecore, and its sister aesthetic, naturecore, imagine a simpler, greener, and quieter time. A time where the breeze billows softly through the long grass and gently turns the blades of the windmill; a time where we, too, might poop in woods.

The only thing more important than looking after oneself is treating oneself, and what better way to do that than gaming? Baldur’s Gate 3 made a most impressive leap from #21 last year to #7 in 2024, as the need for sexy monsters and beautiful beasties becomes ever more imperative with each passing year. Pokémon may have dropped a little from five to 11, but these games and shows still hold a dear place in your hearts—as demonstrated by your bountiful and beautiful fanart.

Here are the 24 most-mentioned things on Tumblr in 2024.

Artists on Tumblr

Palestine

Dungeon Meshi

Gravity Falls

Hazbin Hotel

Baldur's Gate 3

Cats of Tumblr

Jujutsu Kaisen

The Batman Universe

Pokémon

One Piece

Good Omens

Marcille Donato | Dungeon Meshi

Laios Touden | Dungeon Meshi

Cottagecore

Hermitcraft

LGBTQIA+

Bill Cipher | Gravity Falls

Naturecore

Doctor Who

Percy Jackson

Falin Touden | Dungeon Meshi

Stanford Pines | Gravity Falls

Jason Todd | the DC universe

Feeling inspired? Want to create a dedicated place to discuss the things you love with the other people who love them? Create a Community here on Tumblr to do just that.

[dvchvnde]

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.

[rqnarok]

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.” 

[versairic]

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.

[redflagshipwriter]

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.

[alexiswritingstuff]

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.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

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

[actuallysaiyan]

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?”

[urhoneycombwitch]

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. 

[ihave-atummyache]

lap up!

Stray Kids Imagine/Blurb

OT8

summary: sometimes you have to lap up, to save space… or just because you can.

mega fluff, SFW

3.1k words

Bang Chan:

When he is especially tired, he has himself wanting you on his lap. If he wants to wake up, you're like an espresso shot for him. If he wants to fall asleep, you're like a warm blanket that he loves.

He finds the most peace when your bodies are pressed against one another. He's a real lover and genuinely can never get enough of you.

If you are just sitting in his lap, he is fidgeting with your clothes or your hair. He might be absentmindedly squeezing and rubbing you. We all know the man can't keep his hands still.

He’s definitely the type to push his hands into the rips of your jeans and squeeze at the the plush of your thighs.

—

You walk into the studio and sit your bag down. Chan seems to sense your presence and pulls the headphones off his ears.

"C'mere," his accent is thick, a sign that he is getting tired. You smile and cross the room to your pretty boyfriend. You step between his open legs and lace your fingers through the unruly curls on the back of his head.

Chan's hands rest on your hips for a moment, thumbs rubbing back and forth before he looks up, his gaze meeting your's.

"Hi," you smile softly down at your boyfriend, your hands grazing down to his jawline, your own thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, you've always thought he looked the (hottest) prettiest when he’s bare face and in producer mode.

He looks at you with a lopsided, sleepy, smile before his hands leave your hips, grazing over your ass. He stops there, giving a quick squeeze, before letting his hands trail to the back of your thighs.

He sits back away from you, pulling you towards him. The motion has you being pulled to straddle his lap. You quickly oblige, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands wrap around your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

He inhales deeply under you before letting it out, a low and sleepy groan leaving with the breath. His hands loosen for a moment, pushing under your sweatshirt and his hands press against your bare skin, making you jump.

"Mm, cold hands, Channie," you giggle and he lets out a chuckle, pulling you closer anyways.

"Smell so good... ‘S warm. I just need to finish this song and then we can leave and I can have you all to myself," he grumbles, more to himself than to you. You chuckle and run your hand back into his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

"Am I motivating you to hurry up?" You ask and he immediately nods. You laugh again, "Good. That was the whole reason I came in here," you press a kiss to the top if his head.

Lee Know:

Minho pulls you onto his lap whenever he wants and deems it would be fit. Meaning, if someone's gaze is lingering on you a bit too long or if he thinks that you're drawing too much attention to yourself.

It doesn't matter to him what the setting is. It could be at an award show (if you're public), a family gathering, in front of the boys, wherever! He's a possessive little shit and you both know it.

And also his thighs are just soooo sittable. Like you can’t look at his juicy pretty thighs and tell me they’re not BEGGING someone to sit in his lap!!

Also! Chronically cold hand haver!! I believe his hands are cold most of the time. I can’t explain why but it makes sense to me. He’s the type to shove his hands down your pants, not in a sexual way (sometimes), and rest them on your thighs, his cold skin raising goosebumps on your thighs before they eventually warm up.

—

You're sat on the arm chair that Minho is sitting on, your back to him as you indulge in a conversation with some random guy you just met. You're at a work gathering for your boyfriend and you've been getting a lot of attention all night.

Minho talks about you constantly but you had never been able to make it to anything work related for him until now. This is the first time his coworkers and staff are able to meet you, outside of the boys. To their surprise, you're just as charming and beautiful as Minho had described you! They thought he was exaggerating, wearing the rose colored glasses, but you're honestly amazing.

Minho's arm wraps around you, his hand resting on your thigh, playing with the threads hanging from the holes in your jeans, absentmindedly. You let out a laugh at what the man in front of you said, your head tilting back.

The sound of your laughter immediately pulls Minho's attention away from his own conversation to your's instead. What could possibly have been that funny?!

Before you can process it, his hand that was resting on your thigh wraps around your waist and he pulls you into his lap, making a squeak leave your lips at the sudden movement.

You fall back, your legs still resting over the arm of the chair and turn your face towards your boyfriend, his gaze elsewhere in the room.

"You big, jealous baby," you grumble and roll your eyes but adjust yourself anyways in his lap. You wrap your arm around his neck and twist the hair at the base of his skull before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheekbone.

Changbin:

Like Minho, juicy thighs. So firm but soft at the same time. I also just know that Changbin is one of those people who is always warm. My source? Just trust me.

If you’re especially cold, he’ll pull you into his lap and wrap his big, warm arms around you. I feel like he really likes having you sitting on his lap in general. He feels like he’s protecting you and that natural instinct just takes over. Changbin loves to take care of his baby!

He likes that he can feel you immediately melt into his touch when he wraps his arms around your torso. He has no problem placing you in his lap himself either. He’s quick to pick you up and plop you right into his lap. (strong man. i need him so bad. u dont understand. im tweakin rn)

—

“Gotcha,” Changbin’s voice spooks you and his warm breath against your neck. You let out a squeak when he cups an arm under your knees and the other around your torso before he, quite literally, sweeps you off your feet.

“What are you doing?” You giggle out, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He carries you out of the dining room, where you had been rereading some papers for work, completely oblivious to your surroundings.

“You are to engrossed in your work. You didn’t even hear me come in. I could’ve been an intruder, y’know?” he raises and eyebrow at you as he approaches armchair and sits down, placing you sideways in his lap.

“But I know I had the door locked and was perfectly safe,” you counter, tapping his nose gently with your finger tip. He chases your finger with his teeth, chomping on air when you move just a little faster than him.

“But babyyy,” he whines, his arms wrapping around your waist and his face nuzzling into your neck. You roll your eyes but wrap your arms around his head anyways.

“If you needed a cuddle, you could’ve just said that, bunny,” you tease and he scoffs against your neck, pulling you closer anyways.

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin is a fan of lap sitting but only for a short period of time. He gets hot easily and will get hot even faster with your body heat against him. It usually starts off as you sitting in his lap but eventually evolves to you sitting between his legs.

Whether he is on the couch and you’re on the floor below him or you’re still sitting on furniture, you usually end up with your boyfriend’s legs on either side of your body.

If you do sit in his lap and he knows it’ll be for a while, he prefers for you to be perched on one of his thighs, your legs between his own.

However, Hyunjin has said before that he gets cold easily. Therefore, if you two are at a winter show or an event and it gets cold outside, he just slowly moves closer and closer until you are in his lap, acting as his own personal heated blanket.

—

“I told you to bring a thicker coat, baby,” you scold your boyfriend when he inches closer to you, pulling one of your legs on top of his. You turn your body towards him before swinging your other leg onto his lap as well.

“I know, I know. Don’t scold me,” he grumbles, pulling his beanie further over his ears, which were quite red from the cold nip in the winter air. You turn your attention back to your friend’s daughter’s winter show. They were showing a Christmas classic and you wouldn’t miss it for the world, despite it being on an outdoor stage.

Your attention is drawn back to your dramatic boyfriend when he lets out a whine, pulling you completely into his lap. You roll your eyes but adjust, wrapping you arms around your dramatic boyfriend. He immediately presses his cheek to your chest, his eyes still on the show.

“Such a baby,” you tease him and he shrugs, his eyes never leaving the stage.

“Yeah yeah. You knew what you signed up for when you agreed to date me, angel,” he whispers quietly and you chuckle, returning your gaze to the performance on stage.

Han:

Han loves to be close to you 24/7. You're his personal happy pill and everyone knows it. Whenever he gets into a funk or just feeling down, you have the ability to bring him back to you.

You usually notice that he's going downhill before he even notices. All it takes is you distracting him from whatever has him hyper fixated and feeling down. Usually it is some post or comment on social media or sometimes he just starts to get down for no particular reason (dont we all).

It’s like magic the way you have the power to bring him instant comfort, no matter the circumstances. If he had a nightmare? He pulls you into his lap and you’re basically acting as a weighted, girlfriend shaped, blanket.

—

"Hannie?" You peak your head into the spare room in your house. His back is to you as he's hunched over his computer, headphones on. Chan had texted you and told you that Han had been feeling a bit defeated about a specific song that they had been working on.

He was having the worst writers block ever and you hoped you could pull him away from the screen, his poor eyes probably strained from how long he has been staring at the screen.

You approach, gently closing the door behind you and approach his slumped over frame. You place your hands on his shoulders, rubbing there for a moment before he lets out a deep sigh.

You circle the chair and gently push the headphones around his neck, his big does eyes staring up at you from behind black framed glasses.

"Hi my baby," his voice is hoarse, he clearly hasn't spoken in a while, probably since he sat down at this computer. You push his hair away from his face and lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips before sitting in his lap and leaning your back against his chest.

"Watcha workin' on?" You ask, hoping that if he talks about it, it'll help with his slump. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder. He reaches towards the computer and pulls up the beat he's been working on.

Han pulls the headphones from around his neck and settles them on your own head before pressing play and the pretty melody fills your ears.

"This is really good!" You exclaim, much louder than intended, due to the noise canceling headphones. He lets out a chuckle and pulls the headphones from your head.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, forcing a giggle from your lips at the feeling of his breath.

"I love you so much, you have no fucking idea," the words that leave his mouth are quiet, almost like he didn't want you to hear his little confession. You reach behind yourself and scratch at his scalp gently.

"I love you more than anything," you confess in return, turning your head to press your lips to his.

Felix:

You often find yourself in Felix's lap but surprisingly enough (not really), he also ends up in your lap!! He never does it in a soft way though. He genuinely uses you like a chair. He's light, and you don't usually mind.

When you sit in his lap, however, it's all wandering hands and gently kisses. He's just a soft little baby and he loves to hold you. If he could crawl into your skin, he quite literally would.

Not that you mind his affections, he was like this even before you two began dating. He has always been down bad for you since he first laid eyes on you.

—

You don't even look up from your phone when you feel your boyfriend sit on your thighs. You're slumped back into the couch and he saw the opportunity so he took it.

He's leaned forward away from you, one hand on your knee between his legs and the other one holding the glass in his hand. He's talking to one of the boys about some new video game and you couldn't care less, opting to scroll through social media instead.

"I love being your personal chair," you chuckle after a few minutes, your eyes never leaving your phone.

"I'm pretty sure you have texted me and said that if you were a chair you would want me to sit on you. Consider this a favor," he replies over his shoulder at you and you roll your eyes, laughing again.

You absentmindedly run your nails up and down his back, making him relax a bit more, more of his weight sinking onto your thighs. You don't even notice yourself doing it, its such a routine for the two of you to be affectionate like this.

Felix has no problems with physical affection or PDA. It might’ve taken some getting used to on your end, but he really is overflowing with genuine love.

Seungmin:

He likes to have you in his lap in private. He wants you to sit facing him and wrap around him like a koala. It makes Seungmin feel so safe and so loved to be completely surrounded by you like that.

He also likes to rest his head in your lap after a hard day. Usually when you're catching up on some shows or reading, he'll come in and not even bother changing his clothes. He'll kick his shoes off and crawl onto the couch next to you, resting his head in your lap.

In front of others, Seungmin has this tsundere personality that he is determined to maintain but when it is just the two of you, he's just a baby. He's babied by his whole family and he's used to this kind of treatment. He likes to be doted on, although he'll pretend he doesn't.

Most the time, if you have guests over, you rest your feet in his lap or your legs over his lap. His hands will absentmindedly stroke your ankles, calves, feet, whatever he can reach.

—

You hear your boyfriend before you lay eyes on him. The door swings open and a sigh that is so characteristically Seungmin meets your ears, making you press pause on your T.V. show.

"Baby?" You call out but you don't get a reply, instead you do hear him kick his shoes off in the doorway. He finally rounds the corner and you lay eyes on him, his broad shoulders slumped and deep bags under his eyes.

"I'm so happy to be home," he mutters before crossing the room and sitting next to you on the couch. He leans down and kicks his feet up on the couch before settling his head in your lap. He lets out another breath, his hand making it's way under your thigh for warmth.

"Long day?" You question, your hands threading through his messy hair, gently scratching at his scalp. He hums in response before letting his eyes fall shut.

"I'll run you a bath when you wake up," you promise and lean down, pressing a kiss to his temple before grabbing the remote and pressing play on your show again.

I.N:

Like Seungmin, Jeongin also isn't too touchy feely in public. However, he loves you sitting in his lap in front of people. He may not be too fond of PDA but the man is still possessive (aquarius king).

He's the type to pat his lap when you lock eyes from across the room, signaling for you to have a seat on your throne! He usually keeps his hands to himself, resting a ring clad hand on your thigh or hip.

But, he has also developed the same habit as you and will absentmindedly play with your fingers or hands. He'll twist your rings around if you have some on or he'll rub your hands.

Because you play with his hands so much, he'll sometimes offer you his hands to rub and play with until your heart is content!

—

You look up from your phone after reading your boyfriend's message, immediately meeting his fox-like gaze. A soft smile creeps onto his lips and he sits up straighter on the couch before gently patting his lap.

You cross the room quickly, squeezing through people and random conversations between all the people that are taking up the practice room. They're rehearsing for a big music show and there's a lot of moving parts going into the performance.

"You looked uncomfortable. You okay?" Jeongin's voice is soft as you approach and you nod before stepped between his open legs and settling on one of his thighs.

"Better now," you let out a sigh of relief before wrapping your arm around his neck and leaning more of your weight into him. He hums in response and places his hand on your thigh, squeezing before turning his hand face up.

"Try to relax, pretty," his voice is quiet, careful to not let the others hear it. You grab his hand and quickly begin cracking his knuckles.

"You know how to calm me down so well," you smile and glance over at his boyfriend, a wide smile on his face as his eye flicker between each of your's.

"It's my job to take care of my future wife," he teases and you immediately feel your face heating up before mumbling a low 'shut up' and avoiding his gaze.

sorry i’ve been down bad lately on changbin if u cant tell

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 8: The Rugged Pop Star

Anonymous asked:

Hello, Love your stories and I love the merge thing. Now, you see, I've got a huge crush on Charlie Puth and I was wondering if you could merge me with him? That would be awesome to be able to live that. I'm a pretty tall guy, kinda hairy on the chest, black hair and dark brown eyes. I wonder what I would look like after.

Can you help me? Your price will be mine!

Another successful show for the mega successful pop star:

Life is good, life is perfect, it would be.

Charlie found out about prowlers: celebrities born from jealous people forcibly assimilating the target of their ire & living the dream they worked so hard to obtain. He himself was almost a victim to this after a typical LA party. Some preppy kid wanted his fame for himself. Charlie knew that something had to be done. He needed a defense against this phenomenon.

With his money & connections, he able to find out how others are doing it. His heart sank. He would only need to do it once, but he would need to assimilate another. This would give him a natural defense against predation attempts on him, like a vaccine. But who? He would be taking away someone's right to live their life independently & of their own free will.

He heard of stories of celebrities losing it all, after choosing a member of their management team, it meant duties as a star in their field & the behind the scenes work load. He didn't want a super fan, the result could be extreme levels of narcissism, and that has ended the careers of many or destroyed their ability to form relationships.

"Here's your coffee sir," the intern chimed. He was tall, had black hair; lots of facial hair. His clothing choices hid his build, but he seemed a little skinnier than Charlie. Charlie had his choice. He would scope him out first.

The intern was a fan of his, but never confronted Charlie or tried to get an autograph. He was able to separate his own desires from his work. A strong work ethic. He didn't have any outwardly noticeable social media either, no mention that he works for a mega star. A strong work ethic, mature, and not using him for clout. Charlie could dig further and find a more perfect candidate, but he was shaken up. If it were not for the taser gun, someone else would be living his life, and Charlie would be stuck in them forever.

He called this intern to his dressing room. He didn't know what Charlie wanted, maybe to complain about the coffee, but he was happy nonetheless. After he came to the room, he was sat down by Charlie.

The intern was nervous at first, but Charlie explained the situation. He couldn't believe it, Charlie Puth wants me to be a part of him! The intern looked back at his life, university graduated, aside from his job as a part of Charlie Puth's crew, a new addition mind you, he had nothing remarkable going on. That is why he never blasted his job online: he wanted to keep this one. So he worked his hardest & kept his head down. And now he might be mixing his body & mind with his idol.

The intern agreed when Charlie was done. Charlie sighed that this was necessary & thanked him. He informed him that he wanted to do this now. The intern was shocked, now? He blushed. Ok, so be it. Promotion to Charlie Puth.

Charlie went and locked the door. The last thing he needed was for someone to walk in and get grabbed by his transforming self & adding to the result.

Charlie pulled out a flask with red liquid and drank it. He sat down in another chair. He hesitated. He apologized again and with his right hand bid the intern to come.

The intern, overjoyed, took off his shirt and jeans, revealing boxer briefs. He was about to go commando, but Charlie stopped him from doing that.

All they needed to do was touch skin and then press hard into Charlie. Let the process handle the rest. The intern was taller, and had a build similar to Charlie, only more cut. He was hairy too. Like all over. It was intimidating, no going back. Time to invest in better razors.

The intern got on his knees and then pressed his head against Charlie's chest. His head started to go in.

Charlie felt pressure, and a wave of liquid flow into him. Then pleasurable sensations. He didn't let out any moans or groans except from heavy breathing through his mouth. He didn't want to express the pleasures from assimilating others. Even if they consented. His face showed discomfort, like he was going to cry. And then it hit him.

As the intern entered, he liquidized. Within a few minutes his entire being was a slurry of liquid masses swimming throughout Charlie's body. The underwear fell the to ground. The intern entered Puth's brain, his mind. Charlie felt everything the intern was feeling, and so did the intern. As their minds merged, they reconciled their differences. Charlie's apprehension went away, he was at peace. His face changed to calm. He looked as if he was sleeping in the chair.

The mental traits that didn't become a dominate part of Charlie's mind went into his subconsciousness. From the intern's prospective, he was floating in an peaceful abyss. He would hear Charlie's thoughts, feel what he felt emotionally & physically, see what Charlie sees, and on occasion push Charlie's decisions in one direction or another; just a little. He was Charlie Puth now, small part of the whole.

Charlie's body was rife with activity. The liquid mass of the intern moved through out, looking like big lumps under beneath his skin. Pulsating fast and randomly.

The intern's dna latched on to Charlie's. Puth's new dna then fired off. The mass began to settle and in act new changes. Charlie could feel each one, but all he could do was open his mouth wide open & clutch his hands to the arm rest of the chair he was sitting in, and crunch his toes.

He could feel muscles pop, and in other places, his skin constrict. His bones stretch. His hair darken. And then his face morphed. As if a layer of skin toned smooth clay was covering his face, the intern's facial traits settled in. It was if the intern was a sculptor, and with care & precision molded his new face, dyed his hair.

The intern was a hairy man, and when the merger was focusing on his face, hair started to erupt all over. But as if Charlie was standing next to his new body, as if with a pair of scissors, began to cut away the hair. The body & facial hair began to shrink. Finding a happy medium between Charlie's original bare skin & the intern's wall of hair.

The process was over. Charlie let out a deep exhale and closed his mouth. He opened his eyes.

He was a new man.

But what has he become? Can he still sing?

He looked at the dressing room mirror.

He was taller, and more muscular. He wasn't fat or overweight beforehand, but the intern gave him that push. A six pack was more visible, but he kept his mass. His arms were more vascular. Was he a pop star or a bodybuilder?

His arms and shoulders grew too, a thicker neck. Did he really merge with someone, it felt like he just went to the gym more or dieted better. His brushed his hand against his chest.

Body hair?

He had hair on his forearms, on his chest and abs, and in the face. Sideburns that connected to his new beard & mustache. His hair was darker too, & more voluminous.

His mouth was smaller, and his nose moved more upright, but the lower mouth generally followed his original shape. His ears & skull were longer. But his eyes? A mix of his and the intern. More the interns. The signature cut above his right eye was gone.

He wiped his face, scrupled his hair.

The intern's personal history. It was melded to his. He knew partly why he was big now, his was practicing judo beforehand.

He wanted to feel the fresh air now with his new body. He changed into the underwear & shorts of his fusee and then went outside for a jog:

It was exhilarating. He was stronger, faster, had more stamina. He could see why people get assimilated. But this is it. No more. Too many, and the original me will be gone & buried. A monster hunger for more power.

He went back to the dressing room and used the secret shower within. He changed his clothes. Everyone addressed him as Charlie. No one knew the difference. When he asked for the intern & described him, no one knew what he was talking about. Scary.

He went to his vocal coach and tested out his singing voice. He sounded more mature, but kept his perfect pitch abilities. And now he could kick butt too.

[childrenofcain-if]

As amazing C and MC's rivalry is, I can't stop thinking about how competitive Elias would be during events where parents had to attend, say something swimming related. I can imagine him yelling and being the biggest supporter while beefing with C's mom 🤣🤣😂

the natatorium’s air was sticky with chlorine and nervous energy, the sound of splashing water punctuated by the muffled echo of parents yelling over each other.

it smelled like bleach and snack bar nachos, a sensory combination that left you feeling vaguely ill. parents packed the bleachers, cramming into rows with territorial elbows and passive-aggressive blanket spreads, while the kids—most of them wiry and shivering—fidgeted in clusters by the pool, nervously adjusting their swim caps.

you sat on the bleachers, clutching the strap of your goggles, trying to tune out the background noise of overzealous parents and the faint, taut laughter of kids waiting for their turns. beside you, C was idly tapping their foot against the concrete, exuding the kind of nonchalant cool that set your teeth on edge.

“don’t think too hard about it,” C said, not looking at you. “overthinking leads to choking. you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of all these people.”

“thanks for the pep talk,” you shot back, trying to ignore the way your stomach was twisting itself into knots.

“anytime,” C replied, smug and effortless.

it wasn’t fair how calm they were right now. even with their dark brown hair clinging to their forehead and a bruise-like shadow of exhaustion under their eyes, they looked quite nonchalant and uncaring. like they belonged here in a way you didn’t, even if you were the one with better times in practice.

a sharp voice cut through the din, rising above the clash of sound.

“let’s go, kiddo!”

your father. of course.

everyone else was sitting politely in their spots, clapping politely at the polite intervals. elias stood at the edge of the bleachers, one hand gripping the metal railing like he might vault over it at any second, the other cupped around his mouth to amplify his already too-loud voice.

“that’s my little shark!” he bellowed, even though you weren’t even in the water yet. you were still waiting for your event, seated with your teammates and trying to disappear into the bench. “you show them how it’s done! this pool’s your kingdom!”

“he looks like he’s going to start swimming himself,” C said, tilting their head toward the commotion.

“at least he cares,” you muttered, though you could feel your face heating up.

C opened their mouth to retort, but another voice joined the fray—low and scornful, with a faint french accent curling around the edges.

“perhaps if you let the professionals handle it, monsieur, your child wouldn’t be embarrassed before the race has even begun.”

your head snapped around in time to see her: louise lecomte, her presence as cutting as her cheekbones, arms crossed and expression caught between disdain and amusement. she stood out even in the chaotic crowd, her elegance unruffled despite the humid air and cacophony of shouting parents.

elias straightened immediately, his face twisting into a theatrical scowl. “my kid’s going to wipe the floor with the competition. don’t worry about us, ms. lecomte. maybe worry about yours keeping up.”

louise’s smile was razor-thin. “ah, yes. because nothing says good parenting like living vicariously through your child’s achievements.”

“better than showing up just to critique everyone else,” elias shot back, his voice rising enough to turn heads.

“i am here to support my child, not treat this event as a proxy war,” louise said smoothly, though her chalcedony green eyes flashed.

you sank lower on the bleachers, wishing you could evaporate into the chlorine-soaked air. beside you, C snorted. “your dad’s really going for it, huh?”

“shut up,” you hissed, yanking your goggles over your head.

“he’s not wrong, though,” C continued, their voice maddeningly even. “i’m probably not going to place. swimming has never really been my thing.”

“then why are you even here?”

they shrugged, leaning back and stretching their arms over the bench. “extra credits.”

you could barely suppress your eye roll. honestly, you weren’t even surprised at their answer.

still, they weren’t the one with their father breathing down their neck like some vicarious olympian, shouting encouragement loud enough to drown out the starter’s whistle.

“first heat up!” the announcer called, and you rose to your feet, every muscle in your body taut with tension.

***

the water was a sanctuary and a battlefield. the moment you dove in, the noise from the stands dissolved into a muffled roar, your world narrowing to the lane lines and the rhythm of your strokes.

kick, pull, breathe. over and over, until the rest of it fell away—the pressure, the crowd, the looming figure of your father yelling incoherently.

you swam like something primal, something desperate. when you hit the wall at the end, your lungs burning, you looked up at the scoreboard and saw your name in gold.

***

elias’s cheer was deafening, his voice cutting through the applause. he was practically leaping over the railings, shouting your name like it was a victory chant. you wanted to be proud—you were proud—but mostly you just wanted him to sit down.

C finished a few heats later, their time decent but not medal-worthy. they climbed out of the pool without much ceremony, shrugging a towel over their shoulders like they hadn’t just faced a crowd of hundreds.

“congrats,” they said to you, their voice light but edged with something unreadable.

“thanks,” you replied, unsure if you were being mocked or not.

***

by the time you were leaving the building, the crowd thinning as families trickled out into the cold evening, louise intercepted you and your father. she was still impeccably put together, her scarf draped artfully around her neck, her balenciaga coat fitting her completely.

“congratulations,” she said, her tone warm but her eyes fixed on elias. “you must be so proud, monsieur. though i suppose modesty was never your strong suit.”

elias bristled immediately. “some of us don’t need to be modest when our kids win gold, ms. lecomte.”

you wanted to sink into the floor.

louise laughed lightly, the kind of laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “oh, elias. always a little too loud. it’s a good thing that your kid clearly inherited their good traits from their mother.”

she turned to you then, her gaze softening slightly. “well done,” she said, and for a moment, her smile felt real.

“thank you,” you mumbled, glancing at C, who was leaning against the wall, watching the exchange with visible annoyance.

“come on, C,” louise said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “we’ve had enough of this circus.”

“yeah, yeah, maman,” C replied, sauntering past you with an infuriatingly smug expression. they stuck their tongue out at you as they passed.

before you could react, they were gone, trailing behind louise like a shadow.

elias huffed beside you, crossing his arms. “unbelievable woman.”

“you’re both ridiculous,” you muttered, already walking ahead. “i was beginning to wonder who were the middle schoolers and who were the adults.”

while elias huffed playfully, there was a flicker of warmth in your chest that you couldn’t ignore. as mortifying as he was, as obnoxious as his volume and his competitive streak could be, there was no denying it: your father loved you loudly, shamelessly, with his whole being.

and maybe, as you let him ruffle your hair despite your indignant protests, that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.