#its too scraggly man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dcandmarvelimagines · 3 months ago

Text

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 1)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, some blood, Wade being too flirty for his own good, vaginal fingering, bathroom sex, dirty talking, the relationship with Logan is a "slow" burn in comparison. More smut to come, I swear. Author's note: Damn...it's been a while huh? My last comic related fic was in 2018, funny enough also because of a Deadpool movie. I was already sappy in a post before so I wont subject y'all to it. But this was intended to be a short little oneshot and has absolutely ballooned out of control. I'm thinking this will end up being five chapters. I will upload the second chapter concurrently with my ao3 upload, so if you prefer to read there, feel free! Also as a little aside: I am so unbelievably sorry that the reader's job working in outreach to help Al is barely described and is probably highly inaccurate. I was desperate not to get lost in the weeds of research on the subject. I needed something that would keep the reader out of the apartment most of the time and let the relationship grow differently, so neighbors was out of the question. If you work in community outreach (absolute angel), please just avert your eyes.

I used to think my life was boring. It was the same day in, day out. I never met anyone interesting or experienced new things. That changed when I knocked on an unassuming apartment door in a dingy building.

I worked in government outreach, providing assistance to elderly blind clients. I had been assigned to work with Althea Sanderson. Her file had listed her as combative and she didn’t disappoint. She absolutely hated my guts at first, grumbling about how she just needed her “disco dust” to keep going. She assured me that she had roommates and didn’t need me “thundering” around her small apartment.

For nearly two weeks, I thought her mind had to have been slipping, because no one else would come from that apartment besides me. Imagine my shock when I walked into the place and found a hulking mass of a man, only in his boxers, in the kitchen. His brown hair, streaked with white, was wet after a shower and he was half heartedly rubbing at his shoulder with a towel covered in sparkly unicorns. “Who the hell are you?” He snapped, voice gruff. He glared at me like I had personally insulted him by my mere presence. My eyes darted all over him, the thick ropes of muscles in his arms, the harsh planes of abs, the thin sheen of dark hair on his chest, the trail disappearing into his boxers. The man yanked the fridge door open and snapped me from my drooling.

I had barely stumbled my name out before Al, as she insisted I call her when she realized I wasn’t going anywhere, came around the corner, her hands guiding her along the wall. “Leave her alone Logan. She’s like herpes and I can’t get rid of her.” My lips pursed at the comparison. The man, Logan, huffed with either annoyance or laughter before padding away, beer clutched in his hand. For how big he was, I was shocked at how light on his feet he was. In comparison, I really did thunder around.

“Oh! Do we have a new roomie!?” The voice trembled in excitement. Its owner bounded around the corner, clad only in low slung sweatpants, nearly tripping over the scraggly dog at his feet. I drew back, sucking in a sharp breath. The new man was no less tall than the other, but lean in comparison, with a wide chest and firm arms. But I was far more distracted by his skin. It was a mixture of mottled pink and white, looking more like swirled bacon fat than anything else. He was completely hairless but I saw the skin of his forehead rise. “Al, you didn’t say you had a hot granddaughter!”

“Oh I’m not,” I said. While I was scheduled to be here for four hours, I was already contemplating how to escape the suddenly cramped apartment.

“Does she look like she’s related to me dick for brains?” Al growled at him. The man shrugged, a megawatt smile plastered on his face as he picked up the dog and let it lick at his face.

“She has the same wild sexual energy you do, my sweet black Betty White.” He walked closer, carelessly dropping the dog into Al’s lap just as she lowered herself into a creaky chair. The man theatrically bowed, snagging my hand to press a too wet kiss to my knuckles. His skin was unbelievably soft as it held mine, the grip light enough that I could pull away at any moment. “Wade Winston Wilson.”

He was so close to me that I took a half step back. I gave him my name, just my first, and wriggled my hand free. “Um, I'm assuming your Al’s roommates?”

“Roommates is such a safe for work word, I prefer to be her personal pommel horse.” A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. Wade grinned at the sound and shit, his face softened in such a charming way that I felt my defenses come down just a little.

“I don’t think you understand what a pommel horse is.”

“Isn’t it something you ride? Get all flexable on?”

After that first awkward day, all four of us fell into an easy routine. Al seemed to warm to me more, though her sharp tongue never faltered. Wade was a vibrating ball of energy whenever I came over. He bounced around the kitchen as I made Al her coffee or insisted I sit with them to watch Golden Girls . I came to realize that only his right hand was so soft, the left was scratchy and blistered, which was something I refused to think about any deeper. Logan remained standoffish and reserved but he was there when I needed a break from Wade’s constant talking. I would occasionally find him sitting on the fire escape, smoking the cigar that seemed permanently stuck to his fingers. We often just sat in silence while Wade and Al argued about Ikea furniture.

I had always found their schedule strange. They would disappear for days, sometimes weeks, at a time with no rhyme or reason. I had originally thought they might be businessmen but Logan’s quick temper and Wade’s obnoxious energy clashed with the idea. Wade often talked about going to exotic places and had brought me back a diamond that he swears up and down is not only real, but is also the tip of a woman’s finger.

The day I found out their real profession had started horribly. The train line to Al’s apartment had broken, so I had to take a cab there. I was flustered, hungry, and in desperate need of caffeine when I trudged up the five flights of stairs to Al’s apartment, because, of course , her elevator had broken. It was customary for me to knock twice, allowing Al to respond before I used my key to come in. Today, my knocks were much shorter. “Good morning Al,” I called, slipping into the door before turning to close and lock it. I spun and nearly screamed.

“Oh hey,” Wade said, leaning against the wall of the kitchen, a mug clutched in his hand. I was far more distracted by three massive claw marks across his chest, blood oozing down his stomach, staining his plaid underwear.

“Oh my god! Wade!” My keys and purse clattered to the floor as I rushed to him, bracing my hands against his chest. “What happened?! Holy shit, oh fuck.” I was babbling now, distracted by how sticky and hot the blood was. But his chest rumbled under my shaking hands. I glanced up and saw a smile on his face as he failed to contain his laughter. “What are you fucking laughing at?! You’re dying here and you're laughing?!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear. Miss good samaritan knows such nasty words.” I tried never to swear around patients but this was a worst fucking case scenario.

“Oh fuck off! You’re dying and you're laughing ‘cause I said a bad word?!” That only seemed to make him laugh harder.

“Calm down sweetheart,” came a rough voice behind me. Logan had started to call me that more often, but it always felt like he was insulting me with the word. It usually had a stinge of annoyance laced around it, now was no different. “He’s fine.” I peaked over my shoulder, hands still pressed against Wade’s firm chest, about to argue with the other man about how un fine Wade was. I nearly screamed again. A knife was embedded into Logan’s shoulder. There was blood everywhere . On his bare chest, his face, his hands and arms.

“Logan!” I wanted to reach for him but couldn’t without leaving Wade to bleed out.

“Now peanut,” Wade cooed and slid out from under my touch. “I told you, baby knife is just for the bedroom.” With that, Wade yanked the knife from Logan’s shoulder. The spurt of blood made my head woozy and I gripped the counter to hold myself steady. Logan barely reacted to the five inch blade being ripped from his skin, just a small grunt.

“What’s going on?” My voice was thick with confusion. They had clearly been mauled and attacked in their own home, yet they walked around like nothing traumatizing had just happened.

“Target practice,” Wade said, using a kitchen towel to clean baby knife. Logan turned and dropped on the worn couch, the springs screeching in protest.

“What?” I grabbed at his wrist before he could walk away. “Wade, please, I hope you understand how jarring that was. Now, please explain and cut all the punny bullshit out.” Wade pressed a dramatic hand to his chest like I had insulted him.

“We’re mutants.” My eyebrows knitted together as I stalked toward the living room. Logan sat there, whiskey already in hand. He seemingly hid a bottle everywhere. Wade followed behind before collapsing on top of Logan. The older man snapped his jaws like an animal and a little snarl escaped his throat. Wade grinned, tugged at his hair, before going to the other end of the couch.

“Mutants? Like the X-Men?” The scowl Logan shot me turned my blood to ice. Some of that shock must have shown on my face because Logan glanced away, taking a hefty swig of whiskey, and Wade tugged at my bloody pinky.

“Ignore him, the X-men are a touchy subject for him, and never touchy in the fun way.” He scratched at his chest, some of the blood smudging. The skin was…

“You’re healed?” I knelt before the couch, hands feeling his chest. “Holy shit I thought you were going to bleed out.” It was impossible. The wounds were deep , I could have sworn I saw bone before.

“God I’ve thought about you kneeling there for so long.” Logan’s fist cracked into Wade’s arm. My hands flinched away and I quickly stood. “Hurtful peanut. You know my arms always take too long to heal.”

“Stop being a fucking creep,” Logan hissed. I turned to him and saw that the wound in his shoulder was also gone. Without thinking, I bent to touch the smooth skin, as if I couldn’t believe it without feeling it as well. Logan went still under my touch. I knew Wade didn’t mind the physical contact, he practically threw himself at me whenever I was around, but Logan was always just out of reach. I was too frazzled to think correctly anymore.

“So you can heal,” I mumbled.

“Very fast,” Wade said. He grabbed the remote and clicked on the tv.

“You can stop touching me now sweetheart.” Once again, I snatched my hands back with a mumbled sorry , a faint flush burning my cheeks.

“Comes in real handy with our line of work.” Wade was bouncing his leg, the couch squeaking under him. Logan’s hand shot out to still him, knuckles showing white for a moment. Wade winced and I heard another snap.

“Which is…?”

Logan answered for me, “mercenaries.”

“Oh,” I plopped down on the rickety coffee table. The information settled like a lead weight in my stomach. My first instinct was fear. They killed people for money. Would they then turn on me now? Curiosity tugged at me as well. I couldn’t explain it but there was something so magnetic about them. The edge of danger had always been there, especially with Logan. I would have never guessed it was this. Ever since I first met them, I knew I would be fascinated. I guess I had my answer as to why they were as fit as models. “How come I’ve never seen anything? Do you guys not have…guns or whatever?”

“He didn’t want to scare you.” Logan jabbed his thumb Wade’s way. I cocked my head at Wade, a tiny smile pulling at my lips. He actually looked a little bashful.

“I’ve found that women don’t always respond very positively to my intestines hanging out.” My stomach flipped and I sat a little straighter.

“Has that happened?”

“No, but a fortune teller told me it will happen when I least expect it.” He stood with an excited jump, moving to stand in front of a small closet. There was only a faint limp in his movement. As he walked, I became incredibly aware that both men were nearly naked, only clad in thin boxers. With every step, Wade’s well defined back flexed and his legs tensed. I only allowed myself a moment to take him in before I drew my gaze away. He turned and flung the door open with flourish. “Behold! My batcave!” I glanced inside, and found a tall gun case, massive stacks of ammo, and two katanas balanced against a red suit. There was a yellow one tucked next to it as well. “Mine is the red one, a very flattering color I assure you.”

“The yellow one is yours?” Logan just gives me a curt nod. His face is stone again, clearly done with this conversation. “Do you use any of that?” I ask, motioning to the “batcave”, whatever the hell that means.

Snikt.

“Woah,” I whispered. The three blades protruding from between his knuckles were shiny and looked wicked sharp. I leaned forward and pressed the pad of my thumb against the middle blade. It immediately split the skin and a drop of blood oozed down my skin. Logan watched my warily, like I was liable to jump on the claws at any moment. “Do they hurt?” There were small beads of blood around where they had pierced through his skin. With a flex of his veiny forearm, the claws disappeared. The blades slid smoothly between the bones on the back of his hand.

“Yeah, everytime.” I watch his skin knit itself together again with rapt attention. Once it finished, I ran my injured thumb over the regrown skin, our blood smearing a thick stripe across his knuckles. Logan’s hand was relaxed as I held it. Wade flopped back onto the couch, his head in Logan’s lap, baby knife clutched in his hands. Logan seemed resigned, face relaxing just a bit, and allowed Wade to rest. He withdrew his hand from mine before resting his arm across Wade’s neck. The motion was surprisingly domestic and it made my heart warm. Behind me, the Golden Girls theme played.

“Isn’t Al in danger with you two here? Don’t you have enemies that could find her?” The briefest sad expression flashed across Wade’s face. I stood suddenly, “oh my god where is she? Did someone already grab her and that’s why you were fucked up?”

“She’s fine, probably wandering the streets or whatever women of her age do,” Wade made a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Wade!” I stepped on his foot in my mad dash to my fallen purse. I needed my phone to do…something. Call someone? The phone call would sound ridiculous. Hi, I help a blind woman and her two mutant roommates are mercenaries and got her kidnapped. Yeah, totally believable. I had just snatched my bag up when the door opened and Al herself appeared.

“Fucking Jesus,” she snapped as she ran into me. My body sagged in relief at seeing her. I gripped her shoulders, just to make sure she was actually there.

“Oh my god Al, don’t fucking scare my like that.” Her hands flew up and shook out from my touch.

“Well you were late!” I wasn’t. “Are those two done fucking yet?” I twisted to look at the men on the couch. Logan was half way out the window to smoke. I could have sworn I saw him lick at his bloody knuckles. Wade was studying me, the hint of a challenge in his eyes, daring me to say something about their relationship. I smiled, hoping it let him know I didn’t care. But that easy look might have been ruined when pieces fell together. The knife. The three slashes to Wade’s chest. Their near nakedness.

Huh.

“Uh yeah Al, I think I ruined the mood for them.” She scoffed and shoved a grocery bag into my hands. I dutifully turned to the kitchen and began to store away the random assortment of items. She guided herself over to the coffee maker and began to load the grounds into a filter.

“I think you are one of the biggest things that puts them in the mood honey.” I heard a growl float in from the window.

Wade and Logan stopped avoiding me after finding out their true occupation. It never got any easier seeing their bloody bodies strew around the apartment. I slipped on enough stray bullets that I learned to watch my feet. Wade was always cleaning his guns with a concentration I didn’t think he was capable of. One night he forced me to sit down, offering his lap first and whimpered pitifully when I took the chair, and made me hold the gun, showing me how to cock it and flick the safety on and off. The name Chekhov was stamped across the side in shiny gold letters. “Do I really need to know this?” He leaned closer, cheek pressed to mine. His warm hands slid over my own, guiding me to a button that would pop the magazine out and helped me click it back into place. He had grown much bolder in his touching and I couldn’t bring myself to stop him anymore.

“Never know when you’ll need to flip the badass switch.” His bubbly finger tapped the glittering name for emphasis. I shifted in my seat to face him, my lips ghosting over his cheek. He followed my lead and our noses brushed.

“I didn’t think I would need that with you around.” A beat passed as we looked at each other. There was something soft in his eyes that made my heart clench. “You’re going to protect me, right?” It wouldn’t take much to lean closer, to finally kiss him. I knew he was thinking the same thing and my eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation.

The alarm for my Al’s meds broke the moment.

I knew I was sliding into a sticky situation. I found myself staying later and later, well past my shift with Al had ended. It was absolutely forbidden for me to become involved with clients. The excuse that they weren’t technically my clients wouldn’t work on my boss. I needed to make a decision. Either stop working with Al or end any attachment to Wade, and Logan by extension.

***

I’m not sure how Wade and I ended up on that date. He and Logan had been away on a job for a week. It was finally peaceful in the apartment but I couldn’t lie to myself, I had missed them. So I didn’t fight Wade too much when he asked “nicely”, aka demanded , he tag along while I ran errands for Al. She was the last person I had to visit for the day so I allowed him to drag me to a bar after I dropped her meds off. Logan had a dark look in his eyes when he saw Wade clutch my hand. “The old man is just jealous. He wishes someone would take him out, but he doesn’t do well in crowds, very bitey.” I smirked and let Wade choose our destination. His hand was steady around mine, giving it occasional squeezes as we rushed across busy streets. The bar he picked was properly seedy, full to the brim with haggard men with face tattoos. Normally, I would have run screaming from a place like this. But Wade was clearly well liked. He moved through the room, smiling and waving at everyone. He tried introducing me to some people but it was hard to keep their names straight. We found an empty booth tucked behind the row of pool tables. I eased onto the sticky laminate bench as Wade headed to the bar to get our drinks. I listen to the men next to my seat argue over who was supposed to break for their next game of pool while I waited.

Wade returned with my drink, a neon green one for him, and two small shot glasses. I eyed them suspiciously as he passed me one of the whipped cream topped shots. “I thought it was only right to start our date with a blowjob.” I coughed on my laugh, examining the glass. He tapped his against mine before downing it and I followed his lead. It was pure sugar, nearly masking the burn of the alcohol.

“Whoever made this has clearly never given a blow job. Way too sweet.” Wade grinned in that mischievous way he always seemed to when he was going to be especially gross. I had no idea why I was being so forward. But I felt light, happy. All my worries from work had melted away as Wade held my hand on our way here.

“Oh yeah? I’ve been told my cum is rather delicious. It’s all the pineapple I eat.” I rolled my eyes and matched his grin, propping my elbows on the table, head cradled between my hands.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a single fruit. Or a vegetable honestly.” Wade copied my pose, fluttering his nonexistent eyelashes.

“How about you taste mine and I taste yours?” I pretended to contemplate, eyes scrunching, head tilting from side to side. My hand inched across the table before I plucked the cherry from Wade’s drink. He saw me, I could tell by the minute flick of his gaze, but he let me take it regardless. I yanked it from the stem with my teeth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Hm, I’m not sure. Don’t you think Al would talk if you were moaning my name so much?” He grabbed my wrist and dragged my hand closer. My breath caught as his lips enveloped my index finger and thumb. His tongue lazed over them before he drew back, the cherry stem between his teeth.

“Sweetie pie, I moan it enough as is.” I blushed and my stomach grew warm. The stem disappeared, his jaw moving. “I haven’t been able to convince the old bastard to dress like you yet. But he lets me pretend.” I took a big gulp of my drink and glanced away. The patrons were starting to get more boisterous. Their shouts echoed off the peeling wallpapered walls as they called for more rounds or catcalled some of the working girls. I watched as a pretty blonde walked off with two men. Would Wade and Logan take turns? Or would they pin me between them, spreading me open on both of their- “Jealous?” My head whorled back to him but only found a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Shut up,” I growled and took another deep drink. Wade’s tongue lolled out, in the center was a perfectly knotted stem. I shifted in my seat. This was not how I had intended the night to go. I wanted just a drink, conversation, and then home for a long awaited rest. But here I was, squirming at the mere sight of Wade’s tongue. “Impressive,” I mumbled. I reached across the table and plucked the stem from him. It looked like he was going for another kiss but my hand drew back too fast.

“I know it’s impressive. Just spelling out my name gets it all twisted like that.” I rolled my eyes with a smirk.

“You didn't strike me as a guy who would spell his name out. I thought you might be a little more creative.” He leaned closer, eyes just a bit too wide.

“Oh? What were you imagining I would do? I have a lot of skills and I’ll use them all on you.” Damn it . I finished off my drink and the booze buzzed down my body as it settled inside me. A small voice in my head reminded me that I needed to pick. That if I went down this road with Wade, I needed to stop visiting Al. But fuck, I craved the feeling of his hands on me. I dreamt of him and Logan anytime I saw them. My brain became more and more depraved as the weeks went on. I could barely look at them sometimes without blushing.

“Wade,” I sighed, twirling my straw in the slowly melting ice. “If we do anything, I have to stop working with Al. It’s a conflict of-“ he held a scarred hand up and my voice died away.

“No work talk. It’s Friday, let me show you a good time.” I sighed again but nodded.

The night passed blissfully. Wade was a strangely great date, much better than any guy I’ve been with recently. He asked me a million questions, ranging from my childhood, food allergies, to my favorite Mexican food. He gave me half joke responses about his own childhood, but gave me enthusiastic answers to everything else . He bought me another drink after he finished his but I was careful to sip mine slowly. The last thing I needed was a hangover. He also brought some greasy fries and I dove into them gratefully. We played one round of pool, which he won by only a few points. Then he promptly annihilated me in darts. “So unfair,” I groaned. “You do this for a living, I would have never won.”

“I thought you being sexy would distract me enough. Strip, then you’ll win.” I had that pleasant buzz running through me so his words just made me giggle.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” I held up my hand to cut off his next words. “Not now you horny bastard.” He pouted, lip stuck a full inch off his face. I playfully plucked at it. “Pout all you want. You gotta put more effort in to get me naked.”

That was perhaps the wrong choice of words because he bent down, his lips colliding with mine. I gasped but grabbed at his sweatshirt, clinging to him. He kissed like he wanted to eat me, all tongue and spit. He tasted as sweet as candy from the bright cocktails he had. It made my head swirl, skin heat. His hands moved to my hips and traced the sliver of exposed skin before they dove into my back pockets, and jerked me closer. I moaned into him as I felt the hard ridge in his pants pressed against my hip. The few whoops from our onlookers made me pause. “Probably not the best place.” Wade’s voice was a little husky, lips still close enough to mine that they moved with his words.

“No,” I mumbled. But neither of us disentangled from each other. “I should probably go home.” Wade sighed and straightened. He nodded, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear.

“Fuck you look gorgeous.” His voice was barely audible under the conversations and the music. I opened my mouth to say something but he cut me off. “I gotta hit the head then I’ll take you home.” He removed my hands from his sweatshirt, but still held one as he guided me to where the bathrooms were, situated at the end of a long hallway. “Wait here, don’t get too many men drooling over you.” Once he disappeared into the men’s room, I let out a breath. He was overwhelming, equal parts sweet, filthy, and ridiculous. The last thing I wanted to do was be responsible. To go home and ignore all the things he made me feel. I had already gone too far, what were a couple more steps? I bit at my thumb nail and watched the bathrooms intently. I didn’t see any women come or go into theirs. I scanned the bar and only found a handful of them. I knew I would have it mostly to myself.

Cautiously, as if I was somehow breaking a law, I walked down and into the women’s bathroom. It was empty, mostly clean, and smelled fine. Which I’m sure is more than I could say about the men’s. I propped myself against the wall in the hallway, waiting for Wade to emerge again. Two men passed before I saw him. “Aw, I don’t need an escort out of this creepy hallway.” I roughly grabbed his shirt, and backed into the still empty bathroom. “Oh wow, the promised land.”

I slammed him against the door, far too rough from nerves, but his face lit up nevertheless, a little excited laugh escaping him. “How about you show me those skills you talked about, yeah? Consider this a trial period before I let you fuck my brains out.” He didn’t need to be told twice. He hauled my body tight against his, lips crashing against mine again. This time, I gave into his kisses completely, his teeth tugging at my lips. There was a pinch of pain each time but it only made me claw at his neck harder. Judging by the groan he let out, I think I broke through skin. His tongue prodded its way into my mouth and I moaned loudly against him. His hands slid all over my body before they hooked behind my knees and he carried me to the counter. He lifted me like I weighed nothing. My head was beginning to grow fuzzy from our kiss but I refused to part, greedily sucking air from him instead.

Wade was the first to rear back, gulping down lungfuls of air. I wanted to drag him back and kiss him till I was lightheaded again. “Goddamn woman,” he mumbled. I just hummed, moving my desperate kisses to his jaw. My hands crawled up his shirt and littered his torso with scratches. He leaned closer, my head hitting the mirror behind me, as he gripped my hips and dragged me flush against him. My legs curled around his waist, craving the feeling of his hard cock against me.

“Wade,” I whined while I ground my hips against his. I found a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear that made him rasp my name. He cupped the back of my neck, leading me back to his greedy mouth. His thumb brushed along my jaw before his fingers delicately laid across my throat. I arched my neck to give his hand better access to the column of muscle. But his hands slipped from me entirely so he could shove my shirt over my breasts. He buried his face between them, peppering the skin with long, sucking kisses. “ Wade,” I moaned, hips bucking desperately against him, “I need you to fuck me.” His hand went to my jeans, pulling the button free and easing the zipper down. I yelped when his teeth captured a bit of flesh and bit down, hard . But the sting of pain only made me crave him more. Finally his hand plunged under my jeans and into my underwear.

“So wet all ready,” he hummed, biting at more of my skin. He drifted over my clit in loose, but firm circles. With his free hand, he worked the cup of my bra down and captured my nipple in his mouth. I thursted against his hand in an attempt to get him to do more, to bend me over this sink and fuck me like I knew he wanted to. Instead, he traced the tip of his finger over my entrance and had the nerve to chuckle when I tried to force it inside.

“ Jesus, Wade , stop teasing me.” My voice was airy, tinged with desire. His teeth glanced across my nipple and I nearly wailed. “Wade!” My nails went to his head and dug into his scalp, heels digging into his ass in annoyance.

“I love the way you say my name, pretty girl.” His finger drove into me, pumping in and out quickly. He sucked one last bruise onto the top of my breast before he was kissing and licking back up my neck.

“ More , Wade,” I panted, “you aren’t going to break me.” He laughed, the sound sending goosebumps across my feverish skin. Another finger worked its way into me and my eyes rolled back at the stretch, a sigh catching in my throat. His thumb moved into more controlled figure eights. My legs trembled around him as he crooked his fingers inside, hunting for that spongy spot inside me. “Wade, oh fuck.”

“God you moan so nice for daddy Wade.” Something between a laugh and a sob of pleasure bubbled up from my chest. Heat oozed through my body, settled deep in my stomach.

“I’m not gonna call you that. Ah, keeping doing that, so good.”

“Are you going to call Logan daddy when he makes you wiggle like this?” He found his mark and stroked the spot deep inside me with complete focus. My hips bore down on his hand, chasing for the orgasm I sensed. “ Aww seems like you like the idea. You’re sucking me in so much.” He bit more bruises on my neck, tongue lapping at the skin after to soothe the ache. “I can’t wait to see you stretched on his big dick.”

I whimper, the tension inside me near breaking point. “Yours first.” The coil finally snapped. My eyes squeezed shut as a stream of his name and half gasps fell from my chapped lips. His free hand pinned my hip to the counter to stop its wild jerks. He scattered soft kisses across my face and cheeks as he worked me through my orgasm. It seemed to last an eternity and the waves of bliss made my body tingly.

Eventually, my body relaxed and slumped against the mirror, chest heaving. Wade’s fingers remained in me, lazily plunging inside. Now that the haze had passed, I could hear just how wet I was. The lewd noises echo off the cramped bathroom’s tiles. “Wade,” I mumbled, tugging weakly at his wrist. “You should get to fucking me now.”

“ Ew , how about you guys don’t. Do you know how dirty it is in here?” I jumped at the voice, scrambling to cover myself. Wade shifted himself to block me from view as I did. His fingers withdrew with a pop that made my face heat even more. The woman idly scrolled on her phone to give us privacy. My bra was fixed, shirt back over my chest, in record time.

Wade was fine to let us wait it seemed. His sticky fingers lingered on my stomach, running over the curves and stretch marks, before he buttoned up my pants. “Okay sugar bean, let’s get you home.” He helped me off the counter, my weak legs wobbling just a bit. He kept his firm arm around me for support anyways. I had half a mind to think it was just to keep touching me. I didn’t mind and leaned into his side, head against his chest.

The night was cool, the slight bite of oncoming autumn in the crisp air, and I breathed it in. My head felt clearer with each one. I went to pull away first, to tell him that I would see him on Monday, but he kept walking. “Where are we going?”

“Gonna take you home.” I blinked.

“How do you know this is the way to my place?” He made a noncommittal noise and shrugged.

“Is some light stalking a turn off?” I knew I was crazy, absolutely insane, because all I did was beam up at him and cling closer. We made our way to my apartment in long winding segments. First the train where he pulled my legs over his and kissed at my wind whipped cheeks. Then a stop at a late night burger chain where Wade promptly drowned his in ketchup. We walked slowly to my apartment, hand in hand. Exhaustion had finally reached me and my feet dragged behind me. The night had only grown colder, breath misting in front of our faces. I was wearing a light jacket as I anticipated being home before the drop in temperature. I drew Wade’s arm closer, pressing it against my chest, clinging to the bit of heat. “You know, if we were both naked you would be warmer.” I rolled my eyes.

“That’s absolutely not how that works. Also, my place is just around the corner.” We only had to walk a few more steps before I saw the familiar entrance to my apartment. Wade followed me to my door, leaning against the rail, waiting for me to fish my keys out of my purse. Once I had them in hand, I also tugged my phone from my pocket. “I don’t have your number.” I oddly felt shy, like this was too much of a leap. It felt more official like this. When I held it out for him, he took it eagerly, fingers tapping quickly. Then he kept typing. I peered down at my phone and saw him adding information for Asshole GILF, surrounded by an assortment of hearts. Quite frankly, I didn’t even know Logan had a phone, I had never seen him with it.

My stomach dropped when I saw Wade open a conversation with Logan and began typing. I was only able to read the words horny and get it up before I snatched my phone back. “Oh my god Wade!” I rapidly deleted the text, refusing to read anymore of his nonsense sexting. “I would prefer Logan to not think I’m trying to jump his bones.”

“Aw come on! Live a little. Logan loves people who come on too strong, especially on his face.”

“I think you are probably the exception, Wade. Logan doesn’t seem to want much to do with me.” His cold palms cupped my cheeks and drew me closer.

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, just you and me, yeah?” I nod, arms encircling his waist. The warmth of his chest spread into mine. “Logan dreams about you. He growls your name. He humps me in his sleep like a teenage boy. Then he wakes up and fucks me for hours.” My face heated at his words. I could feel him getting hard against my hip. “He wants you so bad it makes him crazy.” He pushed against me, just the slightest bit. “ I want you so bad it makes me crazy.” I realized that I never repaid the favor at the bar before being interrupted.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Wade smirked, kissing the apples of each cheek then my nose.

“No, I’m gonna surprise Logan. He’ll go nuts when he smells you on me.” I blinked in confusion. I didn’t smell that bad, did it? “He has enhanced senses,” he explained. “He’ll be able to smell your cum on my fingers from outside the apartment.”

“Oh god,” I mumbled, stuck between embarrassment and arousal. “Okay, well, don’t keep Al up.”

“She has ear muffs.” I shook my head, chuckling at the absurdity. Wade pecked at my lips but didn’t allow me more. “Goodnight baby girl. Make sure you text me so I know who you are. So many crazy fangirls, you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Uh huh,” I teased, finding the key fob for my building. Wade left one lingering kiss on my forehead before giving me a nudge toward my door. The scanner beeped, door releasing with a click. I wedged the door open before it could lock again. “Goodnight, see you Monday.” I blew him a kiss before the door clicked behind me as I went to the elevator. I reached for my phone and searched for Wade in my contact list. Of course I found him listed as Bootycall . Instead of solely hearts, his name was circled by eggplants and hearts.

Me: you have to send me a picture for your profile. I could have missed you

The elevator dinged and the door slid open. I traced my usual route to my apartment, jiggling the lock open with my key. My phone buzzed on the counter as I set it down to toe off my shoes and hang my coat up.

Bootycall: once I’m done with Logan, I’ll send pictures for the both of us.

Bootycall: Do you have other fuckbuddies? How could you? We should be the only ones for you

I woke up late the next day to two pictures. One was blurry, but the brown hair and a pointy white tooth told me it was Logan. It seemed Wade had tried to sneak it and was caught. The picture of Wade nearly made me faint. Pearly white beads of cum were splattered across his face and dripped off his exposed tongue.

Me: I can’t possibly make that your contact picture

Bootycall: you’re right! Make it your background!

746 notes · View notes

meowmeowriley · 2 months ago

Text

Ghost had been on his phone since Soap had entered the rec room. Not unusual, he tended to read emails or news articles in his spare time. No, what was unusual was that he had his phone sideways. Occasionally tapping at the screen with a thumb. Gaming then.

The 141's resident emo was full of surprises, one being that Ghost loved video games. The man had an old Playstation 3 that might as well have been his first born, the way he adored it. If the PS3 were his first child, then his Xbox One was rebellious problem child, the way he cursed it constantly, threatening to dismantle it and use its husk as a doorstop. Something about changing constantly, and adds on startup had been his most recent rant. He swore he loved it too, but the favoritism was obvious.

Ghost would be found in his room on one of the two consoles nearly every evening. With how often Soap found him gaming, this behavior shouldn't have struck him as odd, and yet it was the first time he'd ever seen the man play anything on his phone.

"Ya winnin', Lt.?" The glare he earned for that comment had him cackling as he fixed himself a midday coffee.

Soap sat down on the sofa with Ghost and turned on the TV. Ghost continued with whatever he was doing.

Beneath his mask the man's brow was pinched, he chewed his bottom lip, and each tap of his thumb was marginally more firm than the last. Ghost was seething, then.

Soap abandoned his show and instead watched something much more entertaining; Ghost's apparent descent into madness. He huffed on occasion, shifted in his seat, hunched his shoulders, and glared daggers down at his phone, a look that could make any of the rookies on base cry and wet themselves.

Soap was delighted. After he finished his coffee he jogged back to his room and snatched his journal so he could draw Ghost having his fit, he wanted to commit it to memory.

Soap was nearly done with his sketch, though it was a bit more than a simple sketch, nearing realism with how much detail he'd poured into Ghost's stormy eyes, when Ghost spoke quietly and for the first time in nearly an hour of them sharing space. "This game is for godless heathens."

Soap nearly lost it, just barely managing to smother the laugh that bubbled forth. He coughed to hide what little escaped him, and used his hand to hide his face, scrubbing down to erase the smile that tried to give him away. "What, ah, what're you even playin', Ghost?"

"Tile Towers, on Webkinz."

Soap did lose it then. He'd seen the now ancient stuffy in Ghost's quarters, a scraggly looking leopard, but couldn't wrap his head around the man actually playing the game, let alone getting this angry over a mini game for children. He laughed so hard it hurt, tears streamed down his face, and Ghost booted him off the couch without even looking away from his phone.

***

Written by someone who recently found out that webkinz classic has a mobile app, and rediscovered their utter hatred for Tile Towers. Why do I keep playing it? It's awful, fucking stupid! And yet I keep. Going. Back. I'm also miffed that my original account has been deactivated. I've only been absent for like 13 years! Come on! 🤬

#call of duty #22 ghost and his love of older tech #my beloved headcanon #modern warfare #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #fanfic #also webkinz

370 notes · View notes

techwrecker · 2 months ago

Note

platonic Logan howlett x kid reader where Logan takes the kid under his wing because the reader didn’t have like, parents anymore???

Intentions (Mutations)

Summary: After living on the streets for years, Logan takes it upon himself to make sure you're taken care of after your mutation develops.

Genre: Fluff?, light angst?

Tags: SFW platonic!logan, gn!kid!reader, not really fluff but not really angst, logan goes dad mode again

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: N/A (please let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: Thank you for sending in the ask! I hope you enjoy what I have! This is the longest piece I've written yet. Please keep in mind, that I jumbled the already incoherent timeline a little bit- I hope that's okay! Let me know if there are any grammar/spelling errors please. as always, reblogs, likes, & comments are always appreciated ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

AO3//Taglist Sign-up

Other: dividers by @moosgraphics & @bunnysrph (tysm!)

The man standing at the mouth of the alley wasn't the usual kind of grungy, scoundrel that you were used to seeing. He was wearing a slick leather jacket over a pristine, white undershirt. His facial hair was well-kept and stylized unlike the scraggly, long beards that most around here men touted. His hair was seemingly done with a little tuft sticking out atop either side of his head. He could have just had bedhead or hat-hair, but they were too pointed to not be intentional. Ever since you were a kid, your intuition had never led you astray.

'''D'jya hear me, kid? I asked what the hell are y'doin' out in the cold all alone for." His voice was rocky and gruff, but it wasn't slurred or subdued by the weight of yellowed alcohol. You were surprised he even spotted you, huddled up against the frozen dumpster in the alley.

"Got nowhere else to go." You shrugged, attempting to retain the illusion of being unconcerned despite the wicked chill seeping beneath your layers. It wouldn't be long until the bite of winter dug its way deep into your body, carving you out and rattling your bones.

Living on the streets alone wasn't easy, especially in the winter. It had been about three years since your parents disappeared. You were yet but a tender 11 years old. At first, it was nice not having anyone around to make you get up early and go to school. But the days turned to weeks. Crying yourself to sleep night after night snuggled in deep between the fluffy pillows and lifeless covers of your parents' bed became your routine.

Eventually, the police came around after negligence reports by the school. You knew if you stayed alone any longer, you'd be taken away by force, sent off to live with strangers. Something in your stomach made it turn, telling you to run away. That bad things would happen if you stuck around. So, you packed up what your tiny frame could carry and struck out on your own, leaving the only home you had ever known.

"C'mere." He beckoned you out of the shadow with one hand and stuck it back in his jacket pocket. "Y'r gonna freeze if you stay out here any longer."

Under normal circumstances, letting strange men call you towards them late at night was a death wish, but there was something deep in your gut that told you it was safe to trust him. Besides, anywhere had to be better than in an odorous alley behind a slimy bar.

You shuffled to your feet, gripping the threadbare blanket tighter around your shoulders. You were just about to outgrow it. The ragged edge barely touched the tops of your feet anymore. Despite the trusting feeling that had wedged itself in your mind, you kept one eye on the man as you hoisted your grimy backpack onto your shoulder.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, y’know," you said, cautiously getting closer to him.

"Yeah, well, you're also not supposed to be outside when it's 20 below."

You were now within arms reach of him. He lifted his arm out of his pocket, toward you. Instinctually, you flinched, using the backpack as a shield to cover you from any contact he might attempt.

"Relax, 'm not gonna hurt ya." He lifted his hand back in a surrendered position. "Just wanted to carry y'r pack for ya is all."

You peeked back around at him. Gingerly, you slid the backpack off your blanketed arm. You extended it to him, grip still secure on the strap. The man grabbed the other strap, but you didn't let go.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why’re you helping me?"

"'Cause I’mma bleedin' heart for the youth a tha nation, that's why," he retorted sarcastically.

You tugged the pack slightly back towards your chest. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. Letting go of the strap, he stuffed both hands back into his pockets.

"Listen kid, y' remind me of someone 's all. I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of." He shrugged.

You stared at him silently, assessing him. Delicate flurries of snow started to fall from the sky. They nestled gently on the tips of his tufts creating a light blanket. The icy fluff reflected in the harsh streetlamp, mimicking a halo. You looked into his eyes. There was a genuine sincerity in them. That trusting feeling was pulling at your conscience again.

“‘Kay… but I’m watching you, old man.”

It wasn’t a joke, but he gave a little chuckle and shook his head, amused. He mumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite make out. Something about ‘christ’ and ‘regrets’.

“Whatever y’say, bub. You’re the boss here.” He started walking off down the street, expecting you to follow suit. You shrugged the heavy bag back onto your shoulder and started after him, slightly trailing behind him, just beyond his reach.

“So what’s your name?” You asked.

“Logan,” he said simply, not even bothering to look behind his shoulder.

Logan. It was a surprisingly mundane name. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Just Logan?” If you were going to let the stranger lead you to an even stranger location, you should at least know his full name to give the police if things went south.

“Yeah. Kid, I don’t got all night. Get a move on.” He sounded annoyed.

But it was his fault you were tagging along in the first place, you thought. Whatever.

You picked up the pace in a light trot to catch up with him, careful not to slide on the now-slick sidewalk. You were walking side-by-side with him now, but using up twice the effort to stay in step. Logan was tall, taking long strides to get to the unknown destination quickly.

As you walked, you admired the frosty blanket beginning to layer the frozen city. Pale drifts of snow piling in corners glittered under bright street lamps, reflection shifting with every step. It may have been freezing, but even you had to admit, the untouched, pure snow was beautiful. The street was a silent beauty.

“So who is it?” You probed carefully.

“Hm? Who?”

“The person I remind you of. Who is it?”

“Oh, uh,” he started. “Her name’s Laura.” His voice softened at her name.

“Laura. Pretty. Is she your daughter?” Your intuition prompted you to ask.

“Yeah,” he replied shortly. Apparently, he was a man of few words. He let his head hang for a moment, watching his feet drag through the graying slurry. You watched as he inhaled sharply and lifted his head back up, staring straight ahead stoically, not paying you any mind.

The rest of the trip was made in freezing silence. You were still at his side, but slightly out of his arm’s reach. He was still a stranger, after all. It turned out his apartment building was only a few blocks from where you had been hunkered down.

His keys jangled as he pulled them out of his pocket. The lock clicked open with a solid thunk. Warm, yellow light spilled out from the doorway onto the concrete steps and frozen metal railing. Logan gestured with his arm, prompting you to step in first. You didn’t like it when people stood where you couldn’t see them, but the comforting glow of the apartment was beckoning you in. He stepped through the threshold after you and shook out the snow that had nestled in his tufts of hair. They were starting to droop slightly as the snow melted in the warmth of his home.

He slipped his arms from his jacket and tossed it on a nearby table. You took in the space he called home. It was obvious that he lived here alone, a bachelor. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the plaid couch in the corner of the living room. Much like your blanket, it was becoming threadbare with pieces of stuffing starting to poke out from the arm rests. It was calling your weary, frozen name. You tore your eyes away to put together the rest of the space. A worn-in recliner propped toward a small television set, a coffee table covered in various newspapers, a few amber beer bottles and crushed aluminum cans. The space wasn’t grimy, just a little cluttered.

“Are y’hungry?” He was walking away, further into his home, toward the kitchen. You stood there, unmoving. It had been about three years since you had set foot in a nice, proper home. You were almost brought to tears.

“Yeah. Always.”

Logan gave you a small smile and began pulling out ingredients.

You walked toward the kitchen, keeping your snow-crusted boots on and still bundled by your blanket and backpack. Though Logan’s home was exceptionally warmer than outside, the chill of the snow had taken root in your chest and had spread its way through your appendages. It would take you a while yet to thaw.

“How d’ya feel about grilled cheese?” The skillet was already warming on the stovetop and Logan had begun spreading butter across the two pieces of bread. Your mouth watered at the sight. The familiar pang of hunger ripped through your stomach. You almost wanted to tell him to nix the stove altogether so you could eat as soon as possible.

“I feel excellent about grilled cheese,” you said instead, gently tugging on one of the chairs at the small dining table. You sat cautiously on the edge of the seat. There were deep scratches gouged across the wooden tabletop. This was not typical wear and tear.

What on earth could have caused that? You wondered. Upon seeing the scratches, your over-active intuition strangely made you feel more at home. Apparently, there was more to this Logan guy than meets the eye.

He peeked at you from his peripheral vision, gauging your reaction to the gouges. You gave him a shrug.

“Accidents happen,” you said, making yourself sink further back into the chair. You played it off as if the scratches were only a water ring made by an overly condensated glass sans coaster. Overcome with exhaustion and finally warming up, you decided to let yourself relax a little.

He smiled, like you had stumbled upon an inside joke he held only with himself. Though mostly humorous, the smile held a dash of contempt inside it.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Not knowing what else to say, you took in the rest of the apartment. The windows were covered with yellowing slatted blinds, chips and cracks scattered throughout. The checkered linoleum floor probably hadn’t seen a mop for months. You couldn’t judge him too harshly though. In fact, you weren’t in a place to judge him at all. He led you off the street with pure intentions and into a warm home.

The delicious smell emanating from the stove curled its way to you, tugging at your already-growling stomach. Logan reached into the skillet and flipped the sandwich with his bare hand. It was not a delicate pinch at the corners and he didn’t even wince or make any indication that the sandwich was hot at all. Strange.

“How’d you do that?” Your curiosity got the better of you.

“Magic.”

“Magic isn’t real. C’mon, tell me how you did it,” you begged.

“How ‘bout this,” he started. “Let’s make a deal. You ask a question, I ask a question. A trade off.”

You weighed the pros and cons. If the only exchange for satiating your curiosity was him prying into your own life, you came to the conclusion that it would be worth it.

You realized you were desperate for somebody to want to care about you. All you had known for the past few years was solidarity and seclusion. You had been in a constant state of fight or flight mode ever since running away from your parentless home. You just wanted somebody to want to look after you again.

“Okay, deal.”

“Great. I’ll start.” He set the plated sandwich down in front of you and took the other chair at the table. It creaked as he sat, as if it were straining every splinter to carry his weight. He certainly had a sturdy frame, but he was not by any means a big man. Strange again.

“Thanks,” you finished. It came out flatly, but you were genuinely grateful.

“Y’r welcome, kid.”

Careful so as not to scarf it down too quickly, you held the golden, crispy sandwich delicately between your dirty fingers, pulling it apart. The hot, gooey insides webbed between the pieces. Logan watched you take the first bite, letting you savor the first real meal you’d had in who knows how long before he asked his first question. It was cheesy, savory bliss. You could have cried, it was so tasty. It trailed warmth down your torso as you ate, taking bigger and faster bites. Before you knew it, you were licking your greasy fingers clean.

“Want another?” Logan asked.

“Yes please.” You were still starving. “Does that count as your question?”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Does that count as yours?”

“Guess not.” You smiled back at him, sheepishly.

He took out two more pieces of bread and began on sandwich number two. You could tell he had done this before, taking care of young kids. He had a paternal instinct and it showed. He was slightly standoffish, but not so much that it was completely awkward. There was no ulterior motive behind his actions, you felt he just truly wanted to take care of you.

“‘Alright, bub. Why are y’on the street?”

You knew this question was coming, and yet your heart still skipped a beat, soaked with anxiety.

“I sort of ran away, but it’s not what you think.” You paused, seeing if he would interject. He didn’t make an attempt, so you continued. “I didn’t run away because I wanted to. I ran away because I had to. My parents disappeared and the police started coming around and I didn’t want to-”

“Hold on,” he cut you off. “Your parents disappeared and your bright idea was to run away? That’s probably the stupidest thing you coulda done.”

Embarrassment and annoyance prickled your cheeks. Logan was still a stranger to you, but you felt oddly compelled to defend your actions, to make him see your side.

“Yeah, well it’s better than being an orphan and forced into foster care. Placed with a family who couldn’t care less about you than the dirt on the ground!” You shot back.

The apartment was suddenly more than warm enough. It was almost sweltering. You twisted your shoulder out from under the strap of the backpack and shrugged off the blanket, letting it fall behind you. You felt a little dizzy as your heart pounded, loud against your chest. You were already weak from scraping together food all the time. Burning sweat began to bead against your hairline and coat your palms.

Logan turned his back to you, facing the stove. “Still seems stupid t’me. How long’ve ya been livin’ like this?” His voice was muffled, like cotton balls had been shoved in your ears.

Suddenly, a chorus of pounding, pulsing sounds arose and started to drown out everything else. It surged to such a volume, you instinctually pressed your hands against your ears in an attempt to dampen it. It did nothing. The noise was inside your head. There was no stopping it. Your vision started to blur and you blinked hard, trying to rid the fuzz and dizziness with no avail. You opened your mouth to yell and felt the muscles in your throat move, but you couldn’t tell if any sound escaped. Your conscience was slipping, but the grip of the noise wouldn’t let you go. It was only getting louder, more painful.

You must have made some kind of sound because a fuzzy, Logan-shaped form was moving toward you, seemingly in slow motion. You were slipping out of the seat in pain. He caught you in his muscled arms, right before your head hit the ground. He was yelling something at you, but you couldn’t make out what it was. His lips were moving desperately, his eyes frightened.

Logan was the last thing you saw before your mind surrendered to the stress of the noise, finally descending into unconsciousness.

Your eyes tried to open, fluttering against the bright, white lights on the ceiling. It was too bright to open them fully, but you adjusted fairly quickly. The room was made of sleek metal with a circular door on the opposite wall. It wasn’t a hospital, but it had the feeling of one. It was more unfamiliar and eerily quiet aside from a monitor’s steady beeping. The bed you were laying in looked like it came straight out of an exam room. You looked down at yourself. A tube was sticking out of the crook of your elbow, drips of a translucent liquid sliding into your veins.

The pounding noise in your head had ebbed to a dull ache instead of the throbbing pulse it was before. How much time had passed between Logan’s kitchen and now? Where was he? Had he just abandoned you in this strange room by yourself? You felt your heartbeat quicken in anxiety and as it did, the ache grew stronger. There must be a connection between the two. You had so many questions and nobody was around to answer them.

Just as you were about to start freaking out, the round door opened with a swoosh, the panels disappearing into either side of the wall. You sat up, startled. An older bald man in a wheelchair, a smartly-dressed woman with deep red hair, and the slightly-more-familiar Logan came into the room. The pounding noise and your heartbeat slowed back to normal at the sight of him, but three more louder, of sync beats took its place. The noise got louder as they got closer. Wincing, you wanted to cover your ears, to prepare for the worst. You didn’t want to pass out again or have to endure the painful drumming against your head.

“Ah, welcome back to the world of the conscious,” the bald man said, getting closer to you. His physical voice could barely be heard above the noise, but it somehow reverberated in your mind. “You gave our Logan quite a scare. That is a very difficult thing to do.” There was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

You looked to Logan. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, still in the same outfit you last saw him in. Dark denim, white undershirt, boots. Maybe hardly any time had passed at all.

“Thanks… what happened?” You asked the trio. Your voice was hoarse from sleep. You couldn’t tell how loud, or quiet, you were being.

The woman reached over to the side table and poured a glass of water for you. Her face was beautiful and kind. She smiled sweetly at you. You took the cool glass from her and let the water soothe your throat.

“Your mutation began to manifest and you passed out,” she explained. Her lips were moving, but like the man, her voice echoed in your head, quieting the thrumming in your ears. “We aren’t quite sure what power your mutation will present itself as yet, but whatever it is, we’re here to help you.”

You looked from her to Logan, confused. The slight scowl on his face wasn’t encouraging.

“Where am I?”

“My dear, you are at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I am Professor Charles Xavier and this is Jean Grey. Logan very wisely brought you here last night,” the man in the wheelchair said. “To our lab.”

Your eyes flickered between the strangers. The familiar feeling crept back into your gut. Your intuition told you he was telling the truth.

“If you’ll let me,” he continued with a soft smile. “I would like to utilize my mutation for your benefit. Jean and I are telepaths. I can enter your mind which might help us deduce what exactly your mutation is.”

No wonder you could hear their voices echoing in your head over the clashing, thrumming rhythms. They were projecting them into your mind.

You must have looked uneasy, because Jean placed a hand on your gown-covered shoulder, attempting to reassure you.

“It doesn’t hurt, but you will feel his presence in your mind. We just want to help you,” she said.

Again, you looked to Logan, anxious for his reassurance. Upon catching your eyes, his expression softened and he nodded slightly, giving you the go-ahead to let them help you.

You fiddled with the top sheet, nervous. It crinkled under your touch. Only hours ago you had been trying to survive the freezing temperatures alone in the dark.

They were all looking at you, expectantly. Without Jean or the Professor in your mind, the volume of the beats returned, still discordant with one another.

“Okay,” you agreed, meekly. You did not want a repeat of what happened last night. The pain was too much to bear again.

You watched the Professor close his eyes. He knit his brows together, slightly, in concentration. There was a mental push in your mind, like somebody was knocking on the door, asking to be let in. You obliged. As he began combing through the files of your brain, searching for answers to whatever your new-found ‘mutation’ might hold, you noticed one of the rhythms sped up a hair quicker. Logan’s scowl returned, eyes laced with concern.

Jean was right, it didn’t hurt, but it did feel a bit like an intrusion. However, you knew it was all for your benefit and would be for the best in the long run. You kept your eyes on Charles Xavier the entire time, hoping your own concentration on him would be helpful in some way. After a few, long, minutes, the Professor retreated from your mind and opened his eyes again.

“Well, my dear, it seems you have a mental ability as well,” he began. “You have the ability to hear heartbeats that are in close proximity to yourself, and in turn deduce the intentions of another person.”

“That’s what the pounding is? Heartbeats?”

“You can hear all three of ours currently, correct?” he asked.

“Yes.” For some reason, it felt like you were violating their privacy. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and your hands returned to folding the sheets between your fingers.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know. You’re special. Like us,” Jean said, smiling gently. She grabbed a metal clipboard with complicated-looking charts attached to it, flipping over the pages until she found the form she was looking for. She took the pen from behind her ear and jotted something down. You assumed it was a description of your ‘mutation’, or ‘power’, or whatever they call it.

“Why is this happening to me?” You asked quietly into the air, to nobody in particular. Your eyes were still trained on your nervous fingers. The burning in your face grew stronger, an angry red. Hot tears stung your waterline and the tip of your nose prickled with emotion.

Logan unfolded his arms, causing you to watch him through tear-filled vision cross the room and sit on the edge of your unfamiliar bed. His heartbeat grew louder as he got closer. You could see his lips moving, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was look at the Professor, silently asking for help. You watched him say something to Logan, probably telling him you couldn’t hear anything over the constant noise in your mind. The Professor closed his eyes again and again, the rhythms quieted to a hush. You looked back to Logan, the Professor still concentrating.

“You’re a mutant, kid. Simple as that,” he said, eyes full of tender but resolved concern. “But ‘m gonna take care of ya. Make sure y’r comfortable here.”

“H-here?” Your teary eyes went wide, your own heart speeding up anxiously.

“Yeah, you’re gonna attend the school here with Jean an’ the Professor an’ me. You’ll learn how’da not let your power control you.”

“You’re a mutant too?”

“Especially him,” Jean cut in.

Logan gave her an irritated look, but raised both fists in front of his face. In a split second, long, metal claws shot out from between his knuckles into the open. You gasped. He carefully brought them down, letting you inspect them. You lightly pressed a delicate finger against the tip of one of the claws. It was freezing cold and razor sharp. A scarlet drop of blood fell from your fingerprint, staining the sterile sheet. He retracted the claws and you watched as the slits quickly stitched themselves back together.

It suddenly all became too much. The tears involuntarily spilled down your pink cheeks, overcome with the developments. Mutations, telepaths, claws … nothing made sense anymore.

The quiet sobs wracked your small frame and as the emotions overtook you, the thrumming rhythms returned, making it all so much worse. Logan pulled you into his arms in a tight hug, pressing your head to his chest. His loud heartbeat was steady and strong. Reliable and solid. It overpowered everybody else’s rhythms, drowning them out. He let your tears soak through his once-pristine undershirt as you processed everything, his thumbs smoothing circles against your covered shoulder blades. You tried to focus on his grounding touch, tried to bring the tears to a halt. After what felt like an eternity, they finally slowed.

Finally, you pulled away from him. His heartbeat was still the only one you could hear. You looked around the metal room, swiping at your eyes. It was empty except for you and Logan. Jean and the Professor must have left some time ago, but you hadn’t heard their heartbeats soften.

He let go of you completely and picked up the chart Jean had been holding. He quickly scribbled something and flipped it to face you. ‘Feel better?’ he wrote.

You smiled and nodded, almost laughing at his solution to communication.

“Thank you, Logan,” you said. He only smiled in response, knowing you couldn’t hear him. “Now what?”

He held up a finger, asking for a moment, and reached toward the side table. He picked up a device that looked like a small disk, a couple inches thick. Pulling on either side revealed a metal wire that retracted back into the device when the disks were brought together again. The insides of the disks had padding in them. He brought it around behind your head and placed either end over your ears.

Silence. Quiet. Peace.

You let out a sigh of relief. Logan’s pounding heartbeat was brought down to a manageable pulse. Even the rushing sound of the air conditioner and low hum of the electricity flowing through the lightbulbs couldn’t be heard anymore.

“Better?” He asked.

You heard him! His voice was no longer fighting to be heard amongst the drum of his heartbeat. It was loud and clear. You burst into a smile.

“Yes,” you said, reaching back across the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck enthusiastically. He almost lost his balance against your grateful hug.

“C’mon, let’s go find Charles. Y’r gonna love it here.”

You let Logan lead you out of the lab and into the unknown for the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time it was different. You now knew that the trusting, gut-feeling you had about him was your mutation sensing his intentions all along. You knew he was going to make sure you were taken care of and continue to do so long into the future. It’s just the kind of man he is. The caregiver, the protector. He’s Logan.

135 notes · View notes

bitterkarella · 2 months ago

Text

Midnight Pals: Tough on Cosmic Horror

Laird Barron: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the story of eldritch forces beyond mortal ken Lovecraft: oh this is my favorite kind of story! Barron: of course the protagonist is a big tough manly man's man Lovecraft: what

Barron: this guy is a real rough and tumble fella Barron: loves beer and broads and bowling Barron: shoots guns Barron: drives a real cool car real fast Barron: was one of teddy Roosevelt's rough riders

Barron: this guy is a real macho dude Barron: this guy eats lightning and shits testosterone Lovecraft: i can't relate to any of this

Barron: and his name is Ramsey Graham Tananarive Moreno-Garcia Barron: Oates Hendrix Vandermeer Blatty uh Barron: Bloch

Barron: he's out doing manly things with his friend Bram Broadus Matheson "R.L." Keene Lansdale Barron: and his other friend Koji Carlton Saul Machen SanGiovanni McCammon Koontz Koontz: hey! my name's Koontz too! Barron: that's not a coincidence, boy Koontz: whooooaaa! Lovecraft: um excuse me? Lovecraft: Laird? Lovecraft: i believe you misspoke? Lovecraft: when you said buff man's man Lovecraft: surely you meant to say reedy academic? Barron: no Barron: no i did not

Barron: look, i think we can all agree Barron: the nerds have run cosmic horror for too long Barron: so i say Barron: [tearing shirt to reveal a second shirt with a NO SMOKING sign over a nerd]

Barron: no nerds! Lovecraft: b-but Lovecraft: you can't have cosmic horror without reedy academics who faint constantly! Mary Shelley: now this guy Shelley: this guy, i like!

Barron: and guess what else? Barron: this guy wrestles gorillas... and wins! King: and wins?!? King: wow! this guy sounds super tough! Poe: that is pretty tough King: boy! i'll bet if anyone is able to stare into the cosmic void and NOT go insane, it would be this guy! King: i would bet money on that! Barron: well, i got some bad news for you steve

Barron: this guy might seems pretty tough Barron: but even this super tough guy can't look into the cosmic void and come away unscathed King: whoa! Mary Shelley: ok back up there laird Shelley: exactly HOW tough is this guy? Shelley: cuz i think i could do it

Barron: actually, mary, it turns out that no amount of toughness can prepare you for the cosmic void Barron: not even Ramsey Graham Tananarive Moreno-Garcia Oates Hendrix Vandermeer Blatty Bloch could do it Shelley: Rip to that guy but i'm different

Shelley: now if some cosmic void tried to make me go insane Shelley: [brandishing shiv] i'd just stab it Shelley: right in its unknowable mystery!

Barron: sorry, mary, but no knife can save you from the cosmic void Shelley: my knife's different Barron: Barron: what's different about it Shelley: its owner Shelley: that means ME Barron: Shelley: bam! right in the unknowable mystery!

Lovecraft: laird's right! it's not about stabbing! Lovecraft: it's about mental fortitude! Lovecraft: the mental fortitude only possessed by reedy academics of an Anglo-Saxon persuasion! Shelley: ugh we're back to this nerd shit

Koontz: what about William hope Hodgson? he's REALLY tough! Koontz: he's like the toughest guy we know! Barron: William hope Hodgson? Hodgson: [swallowing 4 dozen eggs] you say my name, pipsqueak?

Koontz: there's no one as burly or brawny! William Hope Hodgson: as you see, I've got biceps to spare! Koontz: not an inch of him's scraggly or scrawny! Hodgson: and every last inch of me's covered in HAIR!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #edgar allan poe #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #mary shelley #laird barron #william hope hodgson

101 notes · View notes

verysium · 1 year ago

Text

ACT 1, SCENE 4: blue lock headcanons

shidou would view traditionally ugly creatures as strangely cute. it's not a disgusting cockroach, it's a silly little bug with eyelashes as long as his. no, he's not going to let go of that scraggly one-eyed cat that likely has rabies. it looks too sweet to be abandoned on the streets. his dream childhood pet was definitely a piranha.

aiku wears band t-shirts without knowing the actual music group. no, he does not listen to sex and the pistols, he just thought the design looked very cool. would also wear lana del rey merchandise just to impress the ladies. the only song he realistically knows is west coast, and even then he's only heard it at a random sushi restaurant.

reo would have stereotypical rich people problems. he can't decide if he should bring his chauffeur and valet or actually drive the car himself for your upcoming date. also spends at least one hour seriously pondering over which gucci silk pattern tie looks better on him. trick question, they're both the exact same shade.

shidou steals your covergirl perfect point eyeliner because he thinks it looks way better on him. also a big fan of body glitter and super vulgar eyeshadow palette names. his favorite hue so far is that one hot pink fuchsia that literally burns your eyes with its brightness. nothing is too neon with this man.

ness is the epitome of the sunshine-turned-unhinged-maniacal-killer trope. he would be the bestest boy, but if someone even lays a single hand on you, he’s already plotting their murder. eerily good at hiding bodies but would never divulge his secrets in fear of scaring you off.

shidou would walk unashamedly to the women’s clothing section of the general department store. would never be embarrassed by the bra sizes. you have a double D? he’s already trying three of the cup sizes on just to see if he can get you a comfortable one. if you’re part of the itty bitty titty committee, he wouldn’t judge either. this man loves femininity in all its full glory.

aryu exclusively uses dior beauty. he would rather die than use a generic drugstore makeup brand. sometimes you wonder if he's secretly a dermatologist because this man knows the exact shade, tint, and quality of product for every possible skin tone and type. also very passionate about the controversies behind animal testing and parabens. would be exceedingly picky when it comes to anything he smears on his face (think jeffree star but without the problematic issues.)

sae has his phone screen set to default wallpaper. he only has the translator app downloaded, and that's about it. his personal trainer takes care of all the rest of his stats. after he started dating you though, he kept pictures of you in his private photo albums.

noa cannot tell a white lie to save his life. if he doesn't know something, he will not know something. he doesn't see the point in hiding that. sometimes has trouble reading the room, so you need to remind him that brutal honesty and pure rationality aren't always the way to go. he does become more conscientious after that.

bachira used to draw crayon portraits of all the imaginary monsters he saw at night. scared the shit out of his parents because they thought he was hallucinating (he actually was.) nowadays, he's a lot tamer because you force him to take his meds.

isagi is, in fact, the number one mind reader and manipulator throughout the entire series. this man is clairvoyant, psychic, and telepathic all packaged into one. sometimes his right ear twitches, and he just knows someone is talking about him behind his back. unfortunately, all of this occurs in his head, so no one on the outside world actually knows about his sixth sense.

rin was absolutely bombarded with valentine's chocolates last year, but when he sorted through the entire pile and realized you hadn't given him one, he returned them all to their respective senders. will refuse any form of sweets unless it came directly from you. you need to be there physically to hand him the box.

kaiser writes, thinks, and speaks entirely in german even if no one else can understand him. he secretly can speak english but chooses not to because he absolutely hates anglicization. refuses to compromise his own language and culture just to fit in with the rest of the world. it's degrading. if he had it his way, german would be the new lingua franca. definitely thinks translation is for dummies. what do you mean you're not already bilingual? you better run, not walk, to that little green owl app. does use his foreign accent to make you feel flustered though. has a voice kink but in a non-traditional sort of way. you have to be the one turned on by his voice. only then will he start feeling it.

yukimiya loves it when you lose your shit. one time a jerk cut you off in traffic, and you started aggressively cursing. he fell in love with you right there on the spot. it was something about the fire in your eyes and the way you refused to take any attitude from the other party. that self-assertiveness you exhibit is so empowering.

aiku takes you out to karaoke bars just to hear you sing. you look so pretty under the purple disco lights, belting your little heart out to the rock lyrics. sometimes he has to take a minute to just appreciate how lucky he is to have you.

nagi didn't know that you have to actively check and update your email inbox. he had no clue school even started until one day the principal called his parents over his thirteen student absences. he thinks it's a headache to even get out of bed and put his fingers on his laptop keyboard. since when was the distance between his arrow cursor and the search bar that wide? it looks too long for him to reach. maybe he should just do this tomorrow.

reo does not know what saving money is. the first time you asked him for a promo code, he looked at you as if you had just spouted a strange language. when you showed him your little wallet full of cut-out coupons, he literally had to hold them up to the light and closely inspect them. it was definitely a moment of enlightenment.

sae likes anklets, especially the super thin gold chain ones. something about the way it brushes against his bare leg when you sleep beside him drives him out of his mind. he's also a sucker for subtle jewelry as evidenced by his necklace and wrist bands.

otoya practically lives for instant gratification. he would be guilty of love bombing. loses interest quickly, but sometimes wishes he could actually commit for once. football is important to him because it is one of the only activities he has consistently practiced for over a decade.

karasu is down bad for anyone who can actually outsmart him. you got a higher mark than him on the recent exam? damn, his heart just beat a little faster. spaces out in a love-filled haze whenever you ramble on about your nerdy little subject interests. he is a sapiophile through and through. intelligence just does it for him.

loki is the type of person who absolutely demolishes your self-esteem, and yet you still cannot bring yourself to hate him. when people say god has his favorites, they mean this man right here. he would be an innately talented genius while simultaneously being the most humble human being in existence. at this point, it's not his problem. it's a you problem. try harder next time.

chris is very similar to a neurosurgery resident. he has the largest self-entitled ego in existence. not a single day goes by when he doesn't remind you that he is, in fact, one of the highest ranking football players in the world. you can't say anything about it though because he has rightfully earned his arrogance. i mean, what are you going to use against him? his grueling hours of blood, sweat, and tears? this man works harder than the devil himself. in fact, he is the devil.

rin is the type to get emotionally attached to the most ordinary objects ever. he collects batteries and keeps a separate drawer as a graveyard for them once they die. the triple A ones get a special funeral since they're so hard to find. he just can't bring himself to let go of objects that no longer serve a purpose (just like his relationship with sae, sorry not sorry.)

hiori cannot go to bed unless it is absolutely dark. the curtains have to be closed. the door has to be locked. everything has to be drowned in pitch black. the reason he does this is because he still has flashbacks from that tiny strip of light underneath his bedroom door. his parents would argue all night when they thought he had gone to sleep. it still haunts him to this very day.

nagi wishes he could be a cat. sleeping all day and sunbathing on the rooftop seem like great ways to spend his life. unfortunately for him, he is not a cat. when he dies though, he wants to be reincarnated as one. either that, or a rock.

rin snores like a whole power drill at night. sae secretly hates his brother for that but can’t bring himself to wake him. whenever the itoshi family goes on vacation, ear plugs are not an option but a necessity.

chigiri knows ventriloquism. he used to play with his sister's dolls and make up character voices for each of them. definitely uses it as a party trick or as a way to make you laugh when you've had a bad day.

sae always keeps his feelings to himself. sometimes he finds it easier to rant to you than others, but then he almost always ends up retracting back into himself after realizing just how much he's revealed. he hates being emotionally slutty.

ness is the big scary dog in his relationship with kaiser, not the other way around. everyone thinks kaiser is the intimidating one, but ness wears a leash for a reason. one of them is the chihuahua, and the other one is a rottweiler. you can already guess who is who.

reo was having a mental breakdown in his limousine one time, but he ran out of his usual luxury aloe vera lotion tissues. instead of buying more, he took out his cheque-book and ripped out the pages to dry his tears. money is just paper to him. it can be recycled (no, it can't.)

loki is the type to show you a sweet and heartwarming smile before pulling out the most atrocious uno card combination in existence. i'm talking reverse, wild card, skip, draw 2. you sat there for twenty-five minutes trying desperately to draw a green. by the time you were done, he only had one card left. (screw you, loki.)

niko draws his own manga whenever he doesn't like how the official plot ends. if the canon ever diverges from the way he imagined it in his own head, he will draft his own fan fiction instead. one time, he rewrote an entire shonen jump series just to bring his favorite character back to life (*cough cough* said character wears a blindfold.)

karasu is definitely the "um, actually..." type of student. he will always have a rebuttal on hand. the truth is never black-and-white with this man, and he will argue both sides if it furthers his own agenda. he reads the encyclopedia front and back every night just so he can pull out a random arbitrary fact to win an argument some time in the near future.

shidou had a bad habit of chewing pens as a child until one day it finally exploded in his mouth. from then on, he vowed only to chew glittery gel pens. that way when it exploded in his mouth, his tongue would be stained a bright, shimmery purple. if you ever got him a scented gel pen pack, his life would finally be complete.

rin cannot differentiate between colors. if you asked him to find the difference between bubblegum pink and cotton candy pink, he would not know. to him, seven colors is already a lot to memorize. when he was a child, he only drew pictures with a single color because it was less of a hassle that way.

otoya used to think lime green was the most aesthetically pleasing color in existence. almost considered dying his hair that shade until karasu told him that girls don't actually like guys who look like neon highlighters. still wishes he did it though. he wants to glow in the dark.

843 notes · View notes

leahnardo-da-veggie · 2 months ago

Text

Daughter

The man who was not a man held the girl's limp head, kneeling on the fine marble floor. All the riches in the world meant nothing compared to that small, lean body splayed out on the floor. He would have given up everything he owned, everything he knew, everything he was, if only he could see her lopsided smile again.

“Andrea,” he murmured, begging, pleading, praying. “Andrea, Andrea, Andrea.”

She did not respond. He knew she would not. Knowing, with absolute certainty, was one of those things that came of being a not-man. From the second he had set his eyes on that fierce face, on those calloused hands, he had known this would end horribly.

He took a deep breath, ready to give a eulogy, ready to say goodbye, ready to close this chapter of his book. But the only thing he managed to close was his mouth.

No, he couldn't think of it, say it, do it. He wouldn't. It hurt, the way only foolishness could hurt. It hurt like bloody hell I dropped the cup again, like say what is that flower, like oi watch your tongue old bastard. It hurt beyond all the pretty words he so often used, in the lands where incoherent screams and broken silence lay.

He should never have taken her in, never have patched up that infected eye, never taught her letters and painting and all the beautiful things a runaway-child warrior had never known. It was a mistake. A horrible mistake that had fortunately rectified itself. A mistake that was over now, so he could return to his daily life and never acknowledge her existence again.

And yet- And yet- And yet- He could hear her gasps of wonder at his little knick-knacks, taste that awful pie she would make with her assorted gatherings, smell the wildflowers she left at his table every morning. He felt her fingers tugging at his robes, arms thrown about his neck in thanks, feet treading on his hooves.

That eidetic memory of his had betrayed him, for once; not in weakness, but in its perfection, in that detailed reel of her malnourished stick-thin body shooting up and filling out, of that scraggly hair growing lush as the tallgrass, of their time together played over. And over. And. Over.

She named him, with the simplicity of a child's imagination. 'N', for the way his arms bent thrice, at the wrist, elbow, and that third joint he had no name for. She wove crowns of the freshest daisies every year to grace his head, and mad, and promised to defend him with her life, and made good on it too. She had given him so many gifts, and he had but one to give her.

Deep in the crevices of his mind, he remembered a word. He had no use for it, there being only one of his kind, but her used it anyway, then.

“Daughter,” he named her, a fair exchange for that which she had given him. “My daughter, Andrea. I love you so much. I promised you a safe home, one where none would ever harm you again. I-”

Words failed him again. N cradled her body against him, keening as he did so, a long, agonised noise like a wolf's howl. He pulled her fingers to his chest and wept into them.

Alas, his duty extended beyond merely mourning. She deserved a proper farewell, like the little warrior she was.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I apologise. I apologise a thousand times over. I have failed you, my daughter.” He knew she would die, as all mortals did. He knew it would hurt. But how could a bloodless wound hurt so very much?

He would have wrenched open his chest to dig out his heart if he had one. He would have slit his throat if he could die from it. He would have done anything if it would undo his mistake.

No, that was a lie. He could undo his mistake. He knew how to bring her back. Knowledge, especially the forbidden sort, was his specialty. It would be so, so very simple. A city razed, blood pricked from an infant's heart, and a sacrifice of true love. That he could do in an instant, just to have his daughter back.

But for all his love and heartache, he was no man. He did not have man's selfishness, man's free will, man's ability to give up a thousand lives for just the one. He could not do it, not without giving up a part of his soul. So he did not.

The man who was not a man laid his daughter back down. He was not quite sure what to do with a corpse. He had never had one before, after all.

Then again, he had never had a daughter before.

(in honour of my dad's birthday <3)

Taglist: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#Do not ask why this was my automatic reaction to my dad's birthday #I am weird like that #writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #creative writing #my writing #writing community #spilled ink #short story #fantasy

76 notes · View notes

babyaiker · 4 months ago

Text

I can feel the art block slowly seeping into my veins (so many ideas, pen so heavy) so I’m feeling rambley

Here’s me ranting about my specific Kieran Duffy Roman Empire

Kieran has not known a day of peace in his life, and you can tell I think about that a lot due to how tried and scraggly I always draw him. Bro hasn’t ever had something to call his own, just absolutely zero stability of any kind

Whether through his own decision, or more often then not due to something out of his control, he’s had to leave and find a new home. Parents died, kicked out of his job, joined then left the military, ran with a gang that then all died, forced to join the O’Driscolls, kidnapped by the Van Der Lindes. My boy is a fuckin survivor Jesus. The only stability he knows is that he knows wherever he goes, there’ll probably be horses.

This isn’t some kinda groundbreaking thesis tho, as he literally says this to the camera with his line “and all I know is folks all seem to die… and… I still love horses”

The thing that I tend to think about the most is the desperation he exhibits. He is desperate for safety and the tiniest sense of community, that he stays with the Van Der Linde gang. He doesn’t run during Paying A Social Call, he chooses to save Arthur’s life. He then immediately gets on their asses and insists they let him join now. (The amount of missed characterization in that quest alone warrants its own post)

And even after this point, when running from the gang is no longer an option, as the O’Driscolls will probably kill him if he strays too far, he’s still a surprisingly proactive member of the gang. He’s seen being friendly and polite whenever someone gives him the chance to be, and there’s dialogue from him talking about how joining the gang was the best thing he ever did. He is attacked and berated every day, but you can tell that compared to the rest of his life, this is the best he’s ever had it. He’s genuinely trying to always make the best of it, and it’s so fuckin sad

Despite having everything stripped away from him time and time again, he still doesn’t quit. He is so in need of community and family that he’s more than willing to deal with the abuse the gang throws at him, as he’s more than adamant on showing them he’s not the man they think he is. And I think that’s why I love him so much :)👍

“Thank you mister Morgan… for sparing me like that… I’ll work hard. I am not a bad feller… you’ll soon warm to me’

“Just see that I do”

“Oh you will!”

#I’ve been thinking bout this since march #kieran duffy #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #rdr2 kieran

71 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

A foe most frightful 1

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐌𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧. 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐱!𝐋𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐰𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭, 𝐲'𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞.

𝐀𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥, 𝐈 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬! 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞.

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐏𝐬, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞!)

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. 💖

A carriage rattles by as you pull Altun out of its path. The boy is the second youngest in your charge, a rowdy rabble bunching around you with hopping and vibrant chittering. Your siblings, six in all, hang off of your skirts as you carry a basket in one arm and Adela on your other hip. Marcella, nine-years old and quiet walks ahead of you, shoulders low as she trods grimly towards the sweltering horizon.

Beyond, the village awaits you. You are to barter at the market for some wool and grain, and several other things your mother listed as wanted but not required. She also warned you not to stay too long even if the sun may linger.

As you press on, the early summer beating down on your swarm, Rowena, only just three, tugs on your dress and whines. You tell Sidney, the second eldest to you, to take your skin and give her some water. Milo, Marcella’s twin, asks for a drink too.

The noise of horse hooves hammers in the distance, an unusually fleet pace that bears down on the party of the children. You move further onto the grass, withered yellow patches burnt where the sunlight beams most hotly. Your siblings sidle along with you, Milo craning to see the approaching cacophony.

A train of horses dressed in livery approaches. You glance over your shoulders as the children are distracted and stop in their tracks to watch. You turn as Adela’s eyes round at the jostling noblemen in their saddles. How odd, you don’t know you’ve ever seen Duke Hansen's men outside the fair days.

The group is headed by two young pages, their haircut short in the current style, not shanky or scraggly like the men and boys on the farm. Then older men in dyed vests, their sleeves bloused in a most fashionable way. At the centre is a man sat high on a warhorse, its limbs and rump nearly twice as wide as the rest.

The man’s silver hair shines in the summer hue, the sides of his head shorn close in a warrior’s cut, and a trim of hair across his lip. His blue eyes are dark even in the bright morning and he wears an overcoat with a high-collar unsuited to the season. On his breast is the Duke’s crest, a dragon with its tail curve in a perfect arch around its body.

As you try to quiet your siblings and keep them from wandering underfoot, your gaze meets that of the party’s centerpiece; the man with the silver hair and stony jaw. You almost gasp, quickly retracting your gawking eyes. It isn’t proper to stare at a man of his stature.

Adela covers her ears as the clomping of hooves grows discordant. She starts to whine and you hug her closer in an effort to calm her. The men do not slow, they do not stop, as they barrel by upon a mission. You stare after the horse tails, another four men at the rear.

Milo lets out a noise of awe and the children begin to chatter about the knights and their pages. You smile to humour them but your curiosity is much more sober. Your parents always warn to be weary of the rich.

The basket grows heavy so you hand Adela to Marcella as you come across the plateau right before the village. You cross the wooden bridge as the furor of the market roils in the air. You pass the stables near the cobbler's stead and enter the square where booths are set up with wares as sellers holler about their goods.

The crowd clusters to one side as marketgoers are distracted from their bartering by the men striding along the stalls. The nobles in their coloured cloth peruse the lengths of woven wool and the handcrafted figurines. Milo stares and you tug on his sleeve.

“Stay close,” you bid your sibling, “we need eggs and wool, yes?”

“I want to see his sword!” Milo proclaims and Altun agrees giddily. Before they can run off, Sidney herds them back to you.

“Don't! They are knights,” she hisses as she holds them by the wrists.

“Row,” Marcella calls as the little girl dawdles across the dirt. The elder sibling can do little as she holds the youngest in her arms.

“Rowena,” you cry out and follow her, hanging the basket from your arm as you give chase.

Before you can reach her, she is amidst the men, barely able to escape their treads. You bend and scoop her up, an arm hooked around her as she wriggles and fusses. She shrieks in your ear as you try to escape unnoticed.

You turn to flee but stumble back as a figure blocks your path. The man with the soldier's hair and the badge sewn across his chest. You gulp and your eyes flit past him to the rest of your clan, huddled together as they watch agape.

“Sir,” you keep your chin down, “apologies, I did not mean to impede–”

“That would be ‘your grace’,” he corrects you, “though I can assume you don't oft entertain dukes. Likely the farmers in their hay by the looks of your brood.”

“P-pardon, your grace,” you eke out as Rowena continues to squirm and you fight to keep your hold on her.

“Yes, pardon, run along before that thing should dribble onto my coat,” he sneers.

You wince and bend your knees slightly, trying to curtsy but are unused to the gesture. You clumsily sidle past him and go back to your brothers and sisters. You shove Rowena at Milo and wiggle your nose. It isn't the man's words so much as his assumptions that sting.

“Come,” you bid the children and point them to the stall with a pen of hens clucking around it, “we will fetch some eggs.”

Sidney steps up next to you as the others follow behind, “was that knight very mad?”

“Duke,” you swallow dryly, “that is the duke and he was not very kind, no.”

“Duke…I thought…”

“Perhaps he is retired from the battlefield, or there is no war to be fought,” you shrug, “it hardly matters, sister, let us stay clear of him.”

“That is what Jeremy says,” she counters, “his brother lost a hand when a hunting dog went missing.”

“Oh my,” you murmur.

“Particularly cruel with how little the duke is in house to seek game,” she shakes her head.

“Yes, well, we shouldn't trouble him or ourselves,” you gird, “mother wants a wooden spoon if we can have one at a good bargain.”

🏰

You have your eggs, your wool, the wooden spoon, and even some goat cheese to take home to your mother. Rowena sleeps in Sidney's arms as Adela snores in yours. Marcella and Milo carry the basket between them, and Altun clings to your skirt as he drags his feet. It's a far walk back to your family's plot but it must be done before night falls.

As you set off, the sun begins its slow descent. The village is still in its throes as those more local continue their barter and some begin to sink into their cups. Your back aches and your soles throb. It's not a pain you haven't bore before. It is much better a journey to town than a day in the field.

Further down the road, you stop to sit for a while. The summer has the days stretching longer. You share a truncheon of bread among you, even the children saying little as they chew. Up again, you take Rowena and let her have the lighter toddler for the last leg of the trip. As you begin anew, hooves once more pound the ground, shaking it like thunder as they approach.

You step into the divet of grass that runs parallel to the beaten road. It is no farmer's cart but the nobles upon their return to the castle.

As they pass, a soft tomato splatters across Sidney and Adela, tossed by the riding men. She cries out as Adela wakes and begins to sob. You hush them as the horses trot unbothered ahead of you. You stop once more, this time to help your sisters get clean. A sickly red stain remains on Sidney's wool dress and Adela's hair is flecked with gooey seeds.

"That was mean," Marcella pouts.

"Be happy you were not the one hit," Sidney snaps then turns on you, "you did not lie, sister, when you said they were unkind."

"Perhaps they didn't see us," you murmur, "no matter being upset. We have some way to go."

"Ugh, you are too meek," Sidney remands, "if they'd let their horses trod over us, you'd say it was our fault."

"Not at all, sister, but what can we do? The duke owns father's plot, he pays for the land we till and the scythe, he makes sure we have what little we do."

"Oh, valiant knight," she drawls dryly.

"And he's got a big sword!" Altun proclaims.

"That too," you tilt your head at Sidney, giving your brother's innocent fascination another gleam of meaning.

Sidney rolls her eyes and hitches Adela higher, turning down the road ahead of you. You let her lead as the twins pick the basket up again and you bring up the rear with Altun and Rowena. The boy is the only one with the energy to bounce with his steps.

You hear hooves again but not from behind you. It is rather late for any to be coming to market just then. You look ahead and see two horses. You squint as your siblings' heads perk up in curiosity. It is the nobles, not all of them, only two. A page and the silver-haired duke, lazily cantering in your direction.

You put your head down and quiet the others, bidding them to keep along. There's whispers and mutters but they listen. The day stretches on like the road, winding and tiring.

“Aye,” the holler frightens you as the horse kicks up dust not far away, “you, boy!”

The page points at Milo who stops and nearly overturns the basket. You flutter your lashes and peer between the nine-year old and the man on his steed. Behind him, the duke slows on the speckled gray war beast.

“Think you're clever, eh?” The page accuses as he draws his horse to a halt. “Small as you are, that voice is like a squawk.”

You step up and put a hand on Milo's shoulder, “respectfully, sir, my brother did not speak of your passing.”

“Aye, aye, we heard. Our men do have keen ears. We heard the little imp say it,” the page continues anon. “So say it again, boy, let the duke hear it.”

“I… I didn't…” Milo stutters and look up at you, squeaking your name, “sister, I swear it, I didnt–”

“It is the duke who asks,” the page insists, “so confess.”

Milo shakes and sniffles, his sobs breaking through as he chokes. You put yourself in front of him protectively. You know even if he had spoken, it could never be anything wrong.

“We all heard as well and he said nothing, sir,” you stare at the horse's snout, not brazen enough to look at him straight.

“You are defiant, woman,” the duke speaks at last, “you speak in the place of men. The boy must face his own words.”

You frown and peer over towards the tall warhorse. What game is this?

“What was it the boy said?” The duke asks, “Llewellyn has a sharp ear.”

You watch the duke's gloved hands, folded calmly around the reins as he sits slackly in his saddle.

“Bastard…” the page hisses sinisterly.

“No!” Milo exclaims, “I wouldn't… I do not know that word.”

“We are only peasants, honest,” you plead as Marcella begins to tremble and Rowena wakes in your arms. Sidney coos at Adela as she rouses at the voices. “Please, your grace, sir, we would swear it on the lord–”

“Then the lord would have you a liar,” the duke insists, “Llew,” he flicks his fingers brusquely.

The page swings himself from his horse and his boots send up a cloud of dry dirt. He comes towards you and Milo. You know you should not but you try to obscure him from reaching your brother. The man gives you a harsh shove and you stagger, barely keeping from dropping your sister.

You whimper and apologise to Rowena. You put her on her feet and turn back as the page grabs Milo's arm, jerking him so that he drops the basket and Marcella does the same as she tries to smother her bawling. You rush forward and clasp onto your brother's elbow.

“Please, sir, do not hurt my brother–”

“You are petulant,” the page faces you and reaches to his belt where a danger is sheathed, “a woman like you would fare better without her impetuous tongue.”

“He's done nothing–”

“Carry on on your defiance and I shall take the younger too,” the duke declares.

Your breath catches at the threat, the malice that tinges his voice. Your eyes snap up and meet his, forgetting yourself as you find him smirking. Just as quickly you tear your gaze away.

“Where do you mean to take him?” You plea.

“I do not answer to commoners,” the duke snorts, “but he looks fit enough to dump my pot.”

Your lips part as you're left speechless and helpless. You look at the others, Sidney hugging a wailing Adela, Marcella hugging Altun, and Rowena babbling wetly as she grabs at your dress. Milo quavers as he's caught between you and the page.

“Sister don't let them take me, please,” he whines.

“I–”

“We take you, boy, or leave you here holding your innards,” the page barks and cackles.

“Milo…” you croak, “I don't… I don't know what to do…”

“I'll go. I said it.” Sidney steps forward, “I sound much like a young boy, don't I?”

The duke guffaws, “all of them liars.”

“It was me,” your sister insists.

“Enough. You will surrender the boy or you will all face the king's justice,” the duke puts his hand to the pommel of his sword.

You drop your head as Milo trembles violently in his terror. You let your hand fall too and utter a hollow apology. You can only hope the duke does not harm him much before you can fetch your parents.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #a foe most frightful #series #medieval au #au #the gray man

212 notes · View notes

mustainegf · 4 months ago

Note

😊😊james fluff and u get him a little kitten for his birthday/christmas wtv and he treats it like a baby

this is just about the cutest thing i think i've ever written

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 ¹⁹⁸⁵

Christmas night in the Metallica house in 1985. Stockingless, the five of us huddled around the small, scraggly tree that we could scrape up. There were no Christmas lights, or ornaments, just a tiny little tree Cliff and I had hauled inside. James stuck an empty beer can on the top, claiming it was the star. It wasn't much, but it was ours, and that made it special enough.

James, Lars, Kirk, Cliff, and I had been living together for about a year, every penny they made went toward the band. Christmas wasn't really a feasible option for any of us, yet we still managed to get each other a few small presents.

"Alright, who's first?" Lars rubbed his hands together with a grin. He always had this look in his eye, like he knew something we didn't.

"I'll go," Kirk volunteered, pulling a small, poorly wrapped package from behind his back. "It's for you, Lars."

Lars ripped off the wrapping paper, revealing a packet little gold earrings. "Dude, thanks! I always lose mine," he said, oddly, but genuinely pleased.

Next came Cliff. He handed a small, fiat package to Kirk. Inside was a collection of horror movie posters. "I know you love this stuff, I had a cousin who didn't want 'em no more," Cliff said with a mellow smile.

Kirk's eyes lit up. "Man, these are awesome! Thanks, Cliff. Check out this Dracula one! Fuck yeah!"

I enjoyed watching the guys exchange their presents. Then it was my turn.

"I got something for James," I said, feeling some nervous flutter in my stomach.

James looked at me with his bright blue eyes, his expression curious. "What is it?" he asked, grinning.

"Hang on, I need to get it from the other room," I said and dashed off to take the small box. I had been building up to this for weeks, I had found the perfect gift.

It had only been a few months ago that James and I were out for a walk when we came upon somebody's cat wandering around the streets. James knelt down, cooing at the cat, stroking her, and cuddling with love that gave away just how much he adored the animal, even though he had never admitted it. The memory of this Incident had remained in my mind, and now, with my eyes on this kitten, I just knew this had to be his.

I gingerly took the box that was full of holes and headed back into the front room. I juggled my grasp on the shaking box, making the guys raise their eyebrows.

"What's in the box?" Lars asked, bending over to get a closer look.

"Open it and find out," I told James, holding it out to him.

James took the box, and as he felt it move, he froze. "What…?"

All the guys stared in curiosity and confusion. James turned around eyeing me with a cautious look, turning to open the box, gently tugging at the cardboard as the box wobbled. A little black kitten poked its head out, mewing softly.

James just melted there, his eyes wide with shock, as well as instant love. He scooped the little kitten up into his arms, cradling him like a precious jewel to the world. "Oh my God," he whispered, smooching the kitten's head all over.

"Seriously, a cat?" Lars laughed, shaking his head. "You are such a goddamn softie, Hetfield."

"Shut up, Lars," James replied, but he was smiling. He was too thrilled to be harassed. He looked up at me, his eyes sparkling. "Is it a dude or a chick?"

"It's a boy," I told him while chuckling, feeling warm inside when his face lit up.

James thought for a moment, then grinned. "I'm gonna name him Snowball."

We all burst out laughing. "Snowball? Really? The cat is jet black, dumbass" Cliff chuckled.

"Yeah, Snowball," James said nodded, but he was laughing, too. "He is mine."

The teasing continued, but James didn't mind a bit. He was head over heels in love with the tiny kitten and picked him up, kissing him all over. Snowball squirmed just a bit but seemed quite content in James' arms.

James with Snowball was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. He acts so hard on the outside, but he has such a big heart. He was so full of happiness and love to give

What remained of the night was laughter and joy. The guys continued to rag on James and his new kitten, but he didn't mind one bit.

Snowball was now cozily nestled in James' lap, purring away as the night rolled on. Across from me, James's eyes overflowed with gratitude. "Thank you," his lips silently mouthed, his fingers buried in snowballs black fur.

#mustainegf #fanfic #reqs open #fanfiction #request #metallica #metallica x reader #metallica fanfiction #metallica fluff #james hetfield x you #james hetfield x oc #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield imagines #james hetfield fic #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield #metallica oneshot #metallica imagines

115 notes · View notes

squiddy-god · 4 months ago

Text

his ugly orange hair

This is a vent fix I wrote so please keep that in mind lol

CW : young! Konig (just joined the military) roommate reader, civilian reader, trans man reader, ftm reader, bad breakup, hurt comfort, panic attack,

1.4k

They had left. You had tried, Lord knows you tried. Again and again tears rolled down your face, cheeks red and eyes darkening with the slow flood of stains that painted you like glass after rain. Your chest heaved with the great weight of your lungs and the world, again… again… again again again Again Again AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN OVER AND OVER. until you choked on your breath and tongue, tears stinging until you gaged and sputtered. Left a hopeless sobbing puking mess on your bed. The bed was cold, soft quilted sheets like a prison.

Several days were spent in a spiral of thoughts and flurries of emotions. You hadn't told your mom yet, didn't think you could bear to, but the long dragging scrape of your eyelids forced you to blink back tears. It had been a day and in cliche of a cliches you rifled the cabinets of your two bedroom apartment. Yours- you laughed, you had shared it with your roommate for 2 years now. A tall young man about 19 like you. Unlike your study abroad program that had accepted you on a small but feasible scholarship, he was a military man partnered with a pmc. Really it was his apartment. Over the years you grew close as friends when he was home for the time between deployments. You didn't even think in your delirium and haze that today was the day he'd get home.

The sound of rustling cardboard and the gentle noises of bathroom products sliding against the shelfs of the small closet filled your ears. Half empty jar of manic panic sat temptingly in the back, behind body butters and discarded Colognes. Not what you where looking for. Finally you found it. Reaching in you grabbed a reflective box, iron brand permanent box dye. Better then splat red, you thought to yourself as you cut the box with your kitchen scissors.

Looking down at your hands you felt the bile rise up in your chest, the burning in your eyes as you blinked back tears. Your hair had gotten longer, shaggy and slightly unkempt in the recent weeks leading up to the cat and mouse game that was scheduling a haircut. It brushed uncomfortably against your neck and that gnawing feeling from your childhood returned. It was like your face morphed in the mirror, hideously soft, lashes too long, and you wanted to look away. Lose ,bright shirt, the sleeves and neck cut off and the thing ruined by stains of black and red and blue. The dye shirt, a staple and testament to your love of this particular activity. 9pm bad decisions. Your chest is devoid of its usual bindings and it eats at you a little until you find yourself rifling to find a hair tie.

Snip snip snip, clips of uneven hair fall until you are happy with the slightly uneven results and scraggly look it gives. It makes you smile.

First wash, then dry before you once again clumsily drag out a mixing bowl and brush fully determined to make this a masterpiece. But as you slipped on your blue gloves, once a pretty flower design now covered in blue and black from the last incident, you couldn't help but give into that child.the urge to dip your hands into the goopy mix. In goes the bleach, followed by a sloppy measure of vol. 20 developer.

And the goop called your name- brush discarded as a mixing tool alone you slathered the goopy mix into the strands of your short hair, realizing in panic as you didn't mix enough. Struggling with your nemesis the gloves you cursed under bated breath before managing to get one off so you could once again arduously unscrew the caps and re-mix in another sloppy bit of measuring.

The counter of the small bathroom was a mess. Neither you nor Konig were particularly neat- a mouth watch in the corner and on the other side a clear blue cup with two toothbrushes inside it. Behind the rim of the white sink were two razors, one missing its guard from frequent use and the other beginning to rust because you forgot to dry it. Sprawling in the mess was a small vial of your testosterone, and also the gell. Closest to the door was a box of tampons and- only now- vol. 20 developer. Ibuprofen next to Tylenol and a children's cough syrup that was God knows how old. Vix vapor rub and a tooth paste. Messy. The hair in the center of your head gradually turned a light blond as your sides and back didn't take the same. Disgruntled you at least hoped for a cool effect. Your scalped itched and nose burned at that familiar comforting smell that was hair bleach. Bowl and brush discarded into Water and sink, you braved the cold frigid touch of the shower head to rinse your bleach soaked hair.

Should you be going into this right after bleaching and drying? No. But hesitation seems foreign to you as you take out a second brush and bowl, mixing the copper orange until your concoction looks about right.

You look like a highlighter and it brings out all of your joy. You stare and wait as time ticks by with your head slathered in that ghastly orange. “Heilige Scheiße, sehr orangefarbener kleiner Herr” his voice heavy with his accent and light laughter. He towered in the doorway, arms raised as his large fingertips hug on the top of the frame. He leaned down slightly to watch you and your bright orange hair. Your position didn't go unnoticed by him, sitting on the floor by the tub and showering with a bowl of orange remnants on the toilet. It also didn't go unnoticed by the glassy look in your eyes or the almost imperceptible darkness forming around your waterline from the tears. Your chopped up hair and of course the slightly patchy orange. “I'll help wash your hair, ja Süße?” You smiled and he stalked off the few paces to his room in order to strip his tactical gear away. When he returned he wore a black compression shirt and plaid red lounge pants- the ones you got him last Christmas- and his mask, a nasty habit he picked up from his time serving. He almost never takes it off, when he has it off the gnawing feeling returns. That paranoia and anxious scratching that just won't quit. He doesn't go out much either, preferring to stay home where his face can be on display without anxiety overcoming him in that snippy aggression that seized him. You knew being at home in the little apartment would take a few day before the mask slipped off again, yet to your surprise as he kneeled down he pulled it off. His naturally ginger hair had once again lost much of the length it usually held, although somewhat more lax and not buzzed, you missed the usual small man bun that would hold back his deep auburn hair. His face was aged beyond its years by suffering and work, sharp angles and elegant defined slopes covered with the light scruff of his facial hair that he probably had not had a chance to shave in a few weeks. His cleft lip pulled slightly on the shape of his lips but blended in for the most part with the silver scars littering his face. Next to his mouth and along his jaw, under his eye on his cheek bone, threw his right eyebrow and most concentrated in the area of his mother and lower jaw the pale scars decorated his skin now don't peppered all across him. You smiled seeing his face, interesting and handsome. The latter a thought you beat down with a stick. “Want to tell me why you've been crying huh?” He asked as if he already knew. You nodded and squeaked out a strained yes before leaning over the tub to rinse the dye. His large palm cradled the back of your head as the cold water rushed past your eyes in a stream of orange. Thick fingers pressing ever so gently into your tender scalp scrubbing the remains of orange goop and leaving only one the patchy hair behind. He rubbed the dampening towel against your hair as you explained to him you ex and how you where now on the hunt for a partner. He chuckled, that deep rumbling sound that was a endless source of delight. “kleiner Schlingel- you don't have to look far” he said confidently, yet his piercing green eyes normally devoid of much feeling searched yours for a sliver of Reassurance.

You delivered, leaning against his massive shoulder as your ugly orange hair soaks his shirt. But he didn't mind. He loved your ugly orange hair.

1.4k words

#konig x reader #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty #call of duty x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 #ftm!reader #trans!reader

61 notes · View notes

multiplicationdivision · 6 months ago

Text

The Transmutation Crew

It wasn’t uncommon to see a construction crew that was entirely identical these days.

It wasn’t cloning, not exactly. With the advent that was transmutation technology, even duplication wasn’t out of the question, but these copied crews did not come from mitosis.

Transmutation was the simple conversion of one material to another. Using a small sample of rare material and converting cheap shit into it. Clay could become ultrahard steel, paint could become a thick gold coating. Construction sites were rife with the machines, letting off heavy bangs as entire freshly built structures were changed at the atomic level into sturdy workings of titanium and diamond.

Like anything on a construction site, there was an expected level of risk. One would fear the conversion of a man becoming hard rock, but this technology had laws. Like became like, inanimate struggled to be animate and vice versa. This risk was rather functionally pretty harmless.

Foreman Adams operates the transmutator, the closest position to the samples of once-rare resources stored at its core. Foreman Adams flips the switched to convert cheap plywood to mahogany, and his own signal echoes outwards as well.

3 men taking a break just a little too close look at their new shared faces, clade in the same belt tucked shirt and blue jeans that had been pristine a decade ago, but were now clung with dust. 2-year-old boots they could all remember shelling out a fair bit of money for, worth it for how well they’d held up.

These new memories always sat comfortably by the original mind. One of the men, Dustin, wouldn’t think twice about how one half of him had been so much shorter a second ago whilst the other felt that he’d functionally teleported away from the machine that his original self was still operating. Dustin would just down the rest of his water and stretch his new bulkier form, absent-mindedly wondering if Adams would let him come home with him that night. Spend a night with his foreman’s rocking husband, reenact countless memories of that man getting fucked by small armies of Adams.

These transformations were typically temporary. Selfhood was overpowering and most people’s identities would win out in the end, shoving off the new skin and memories after a night of rest. Possibly retaining a few errant qualities of the shift that fit well into the original self, acquiring a small amount of muscle or confidence for their trouble. That took practice though, so most of them expected the new kids to fall under the influence of one of their elders for a bit. Or for forever, either or.

A college drop-out they’d picked up a while back hadn’t been on the job for a day before one of their veterans, Roland, had unwillingly taken him under his wing. A single blast and that kid’s face had seemingly shifted permanently, all his shaggy hair shortening into a clean cut and scraggly beard rapidly becoming well-kept. They’d expected the new appearance to fade in a month, but it had been a few too many by this point and it was safe to assume the Rolands would remain a pair. Not that those two were complaining, all buddy buddy between themselves, the drop-out assuming Roland’s identity so much that none on the crew even got to learn his old name. Roland happy to share his house and cigarettes with a man who shared all of his tastes.

Some people were suited to their own self. Call it narcissistic, but each of them enjoyed their turn. It was why operator duty of the transmutator was always an alternating duty. Each of them enjoying a day to themselves, in a way. It was bonding, being this vulnerable. The whole crew having access to every single one of each other’s deep internal lives, understanding it as they did. Mateo’s love for partying, shared across each of the crew after work, picking up chicks and twinks as an identical legion. Archie’s drinking problems, leading his identically bodied friends to embrace the man’s passion for football, all of them shouting for the same team as they lay across each other on a too small couch in one of their living rooms. Lucas’s daredevil tendencies leading five or six of them with broken arms and ecstatic grins in the hospital, regretting nothing and daring to do more the next go around.

This job was one of absolute connection and it wasn’t for the faint of heart. Countless amounts of prospective workers turning away when their soul wasn’t willing to play with new faces, was too rigid to go with the flow. The ones that stayed embraced it, trading jabs and inside jokes as they got to know each other from the inside out. Jose’s body craved a good steak no matter the time. Dallas’s brain was somehow still closeted, despite having fucked countless genders in everyone of his buddies’ bodies. Archie would get amusingly embarrassed even when another one of himself joked about how much they masturbated, especially so when the definition of masturbation was quite stretched in their cases.

Tonight, the guys would likely all go home in Pedro’s truck. Each of them shrugging off the man’s high vis vest in a pile of replicated clothing by the door. Pairs of them fitting into a shower before relaxing outside with their small army of clones. Inevitably curling up with as many as could fit on the bed, enjoying the way their shared brains didn’t mind the overbearing closeness of so many bodies. The newest of their crew would spend too long in the bathroom, acquainting themselves with every curve of Pedro’s older body as the veterans fought over blankets as their favorite talk show murmured in front of them. They’d probably fuck a bit, then pass out. Wake up to some of them in their own bodies as the remaining clones made breakfast, acting as good hosts for their “guests”.

They was nothing closer than a construction crew these days. Nothing like transmutation to make you trust them like you trust yourself, literally placing your life in their hands.

It was the good life, and twenty of the same face could attest to that.

#copy #identical #shapeshift #male shapeshift #clones #clone by conversion #male cloning #cloning #male tf #male transformation #personality change #my writing

125 notes · View notes

hotchs-big-hands · 1 year ago

Note

ngl i would genuinely get off to making haley jealous and angry because of how fucking easy it is. my personal hc here but i think she was controlling and thought she had hotch wrapped around her finger and it infuriated her that his job was the only thing he refused to listen to her about. i also think she tried to baby trap him with jack in the assumption that would "fix" their marriage and when it only made it worse she blamed aaron for never being home when she easily couldve hired a nanny or regular babysitter so she could work or do whatever. i believe she cheated bc of that one phone call to their house when hotch answered and it was a random man asking for haley before hanging up and the look hotch gave her like yeah he knew she was fucking around too. i think it made her even angrier that when she filed for divorce hotch didnt even fight her onit! didnt ask to work things out or for counseling or anything. just "okay ill sign the papers when i get back from this case"

now assuming reader is mid twenties i think your very existence would have her enraged. aaron seems happier and even healthier. hes got more color in his face, hes put on some healthy weight, he smiles and laughs now, he takes more time off work, his life has clearly significantly improve since she left him and she cant fucking stand it. she thought she was the best thing that ever happened to him and now shes seeing in real time she's actually the worst thing ♥️♥️

and you thinks its funny as hell to watch a 40 year old woman with a whole ass kid be that bent out of fucking shape because the man SHE LEFT is fine without her. like yes maam i am younger than you, hotter than you, nicer than you AND i can ride the dick just right. stay pressed bitch 💕. and when she tries interfering in your relationship hotch asks you to put up with it just for a bit because he knows hack is still adjusting to coparenting and he wants the best for his son so you let him handle his exwife until she crosses a line and tries to accuse you of some shit and aaron finally puts his foot down and haley cant believe that shes really lost complete control over aaron (haha fuck you haley)

like i fantasize about a situation where haley is trying SOOOO hard to break yall up and drive a wedge between you two and it isnt until jacks birthday or some big family function aaron brought you too and haley cant help it but lowkey stalk yall all night and so youre like "aaron watch this" and you drag him off to some secluded corner and hes like ??? but you tell him "hold on baby give it a minute. bet you anything haley pops up" and then once you hear footsteps you give aaron a big fat smooch and surprise surprise!! whos coming around the corner? why its haleys stalker ass following you two like a creep!

i literally just want to cuck haleys pathetic ass because fuck her and her scraggly blonde hair and that nappy ass wig she had on in witness protection with her no-style-no-personality-all-about-me havin ass 😒😒😒😒

sorry this is such a convoluted mess i just hate that lady 😭😭

I NEEDN'T SAY MORE THIS IS EXACTLY MY THOTS I WANT THAT WOMAN SEEEETHING AT THE SIGHT OF AARON BEING HAPPY AND THRIVING. SHE WOULD ABSOLUTELY BE THE CRAZY EX WHO PROBABLY ENDS UP HARASSING YOU.

The SECOND she says smth nasty abt you Aaron is soooooo fucking pissed. She insults you saying you're just a whore sleeping with Aaron for his money (and cuz us babes are plus-size queens she HATES THAT) and that Aaron is not attracted to you.

And Aaron OOF he takes her to one side and tells her she is fucking nothing but the mother of his child now. That YOU are his everything. YOU make him the man he is now. He's fucking happy with you as the love of his life and that Haley made him chronically stressed and depressed and almost completely ruined his self esteem. He warns her to back the fuck off from him and reader. He does not want any communication with her unless it's to do with Jack. End of.

#cutie kenzie #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #💌 ah asks #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine

186 notes · View notes

mybiasisexo · 9 months ago

Note

HI! Happy New Year!

Can I request #51 with Chanyeol pls? Wishing you all the best for 2024! Thanks in advance!

Distraction 🏋️‍♂️

Part 2 Genre: fluff | personal trainer!au Pairing: Chanyeol x f.Reader Length: 2.3k Warnings: Chanyeol is a warning all in himself boy!!!

a/n: I said i was gonna make a gym drabble and baby here it is!!! This isnt really fluff, but its def not angst. What other genres are there??? I could've made this 6k is2g lmao i want the smut 😂. but ayye these are just drabbles! I'll behave. Sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for the request 😚 this gif of him alwaaaays makes me crazy like if i stare at it for too long ill scream. no im not ok thanks for asking

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

Dread filled you as you gazed at the building looming in front of you. Your worst enemy—the gym.

You despised the place for two reasons. The first was simple, it was a gym, pretty self-explanatory. The second reason was your personal trainer, Park Chanyeol.

You swore from the moment he was assigned to you he made it his mission to make you never come back. He had to have a torture kink or something, with the stuff he had you doing. You’ve pushed yourself to the point of puking a few times under his care, and still he would make you keep going.

And sure, you were seeing results. And, yeah, it was getting easier. You felt yourself growing stronger with every session. He was good at what he did, even if his practices had you questioning the legality of it all.

With a withering sigh, you got out of your car and made your way to what was your personal hell.

You spotted Chanyeol as soon as you entered. He was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, legs spread apart, looking rather unimpressed as he hovered over a guy struggling to do pushups.

You tried not to stare too long at those exposed arms, the massive muscles bulging over his just as firm chest. He always wore the same thing: black basketball shorts with a black muscle shirt that left little to the imagination of how much time he spent at the gym. You’d only ever seen him work out once yourself and…. You refused to let your thoughts wander to that moment.

As if he could hear where your mind was attempting to go, his eyes flickered up to where you were scanning in your membership badge. A wolfy grin split his face as he took you in, the heat of his gaze made you shiver.

He only acknowledged you for a second. It took you a beat too long to realize he was counting his client’s reps. Ignoring him, you headed over to a secluded corner and started your warm up stretches. Chanyeol helped the poor dude up, that strength of his coming in clutch when his client’s knees buckled and he almost hit the floor.

You winced, knowing that pain. Luckily, this gym had darkly painted walls and dim lighting to give its customers a sense of privacy. It helped that it was later in the night, nearing eleven, so there wasn’t many people present to watch him struggle. As well as yourself. That was why you preferred coming late. Less people, less judgement, and it wore you out enough that you could go straight to bed as soon as you got home—after a post workout meal, if Chanyeol were to ask.

He clapped the scraggly man on his back, making him cough, and gave some uplifting words as they slowly made their way to the front door. You were just finishing your stretches when thick bowlegs were in front of you. You were sitting on the floor, so you had to look up, up, up that firm trunk of a frame to meet those round eyes of his alight with humor.

“You actually showed up today?” Chanyeol asked, tilting his head curiously. His shaggy hair fell into his stare.

You glared at him as you climbed to your feet. “Well, I figured you haven’t killed me yet.”

“Yet.” His grin was a warning. He nudged his head to the rather empty machines. “Come on. It’s leg day.”

You let out a relieved breath. It was torture for sure, but leg day was your favorite. He led you to a machine and you got to work.

You tried to focus on the tasks given to you. To focus on your posture, your breathing, on keeping your core tight. But, it was rather difficult when something, or rather someone, was far more distracting.

That was another thing about Chanyeol that you despised. When you first found out he was going to be your trainer, your immediate thought was ‘hell no’. You were hesitant to have a male trainer to begin with, but this one? He was fine as all hell. Too fine. And with that smirk he gave you when you first refused his help—the one he still gave you, mind you—you knew he was going to be a problem.

Matters were only made worse when you actually trained with him. During your sessions, he was nothing but professional. His goal was to help you through your workouts and he did. His large hands would skim over your body as he fixed your posture, or added pressure against your legs so that you knew where to put your weight. His voice was deep and he would use it to encourage and praise you. There was never any teasing or animosity while you trained. His voice would sink into your brain, scramble your thoughts and leave your body boiling. Especially when he’d hit you with a ‘good girl’ or ‘just like that. Perfect’.

He had to know what he was doing.

It was near the end of your session, you had one last work out to do.

“Save the best for last,” Chanyeol said as he took you to a bizarre looking machine.

“And what the hell is this thing?” You asked with a lifted eyebrow.

“It’s called a hip abductor,” he explained to you like he thought you were dumb.

You ignored his tone. “How’re you supposed to use it?”

“Sit on it and I’ll show you.”

You brushed off the innuendo, and prayed he didn’t catch the heat on your face. Instead, you bumped the machine with your shoe, warily taking it in. You were exhausted, and didn’t want to do another set of nothing.

“Why don’t you demonstrate for me?” You suggested.

Chanyeol lifted an eyebrow and you shrugged in response. “What? I’ve never seen you work out before. How do I know you’re qualified to train me?”

He barked a laugh at that, knowing you’re bullshitting now. “I imagine your glutes are enough proof of my teaching abilities.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And why are you looking at my glutes?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Just making sure I’m doing my job.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and hummed, unable to think of a good comeback. Instead, you nudged your chin towards this ‘hip abductor’.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. Despite his words, he didn’t call you out. You watched as he plopped onto the machine with a sigh. You couldn’t help but grin victoriously, eager to see the man at work.

He adjusted the weight, settled into the seat, and then pushed his thighs against the pads, spreading his legs out wide before bringing them back in. He began explaining what he was doing, what muscles he was working, and the proper way to move, but you could barely hear a word over the way his thick thighs flexed, the muscle underneath stretching the skin.

You realized then that your roles were reversed, and a brilliant idea popped into your head. He was always teasing you during your sessions, and now was your turn to have some fun and return the favor.

You took a couple steps closer to him, studying him more, like you were invested in getting everything right. Then you ran your fingers down his arm and he faltered for a second.

“Am I supposed to hold on to the seat like that?”

You didn’t miss the way his grip tightened, his knuckles whitening.

“Yeah,” he said between clenched teeth.

He pushed his legs out again, and you’re quick to fill the new space, forcing him to keep them open.

Your name left his mouth in a warning. That only made your grin grow wider.

He glared up at you. “What are you doing?”

“Testing to see how long you can hold this position.”

He said your name again, but you interrupted him before he could finish. “You always push me. Why don’t I test your limits for once?”

Something ignited in his eyes and the lights ahead shown in them hauntingly. “Who says you don’t already do?”

“What?” You asked, startled by how gently the words left his full lips.

He didn’t repeat himself, but he appeared to give into your challenge. He sunk more into his seat, eyes never left yours as he held the position, too competitive for his own good. Though it worked in your favor.

You’re not sure how much time passed, but it felt like hours of you standing between his legs, both never looking away from the other.

Finally, you decided it was time to up the ante. Sweat had started to gather on his forehead and neck, but most importantly, a slight tremor had started in his legs.

“What’s wrong?” You asked with a fake pout. “Can’t hold it anymore?”

“I’m chilling,” he replied back, but you heard the strain in his voice.

“Is that so?” You grinned again and rested the palm of your hands above his knees on either side of you. “You’re shaking.”

You took your time scaling his body before meeting his eyes again. He was holding his breath, but something in his expression was begging you to continue.

So, you did.

Slowly, you dragged your hands further up his legs, remembering all the times he had done the same. Although he was always professional about it. He only touched you when he had to. There was nothing professional about your touch. All the sexual frustration you’ve felt because of this man had seemed to bubble over and took control of your limbs. In this moment, you wanted him to understand what he did to you, wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.

His eyes fluttered as you dragged his shorts up with your wrists, wanting to feel his warm skin.

You quickly glanced around the gym, noticing you were the only ones left, and that made you even more bold. Nearly at his hips, you went to move your hands to his crotch.

Chanyeol was fast. Before you knew what happened, he had snatched your wrists with one hand, putting a halt to your little game and causing you to gasp in surprise.

Your ministrations had you bent over him, so your faces were only an inch or two apart. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours, the hair on his forehead tickled your own.

“You’re playing with fire here,” he warned, voice a steady grumble against your lips. When he pulled back to take in your expression, you saw the burning inferno ready to wreak havoc in his gaze. You knew that if he were to let go of those flames, it would burn away all pretenses, all politeness, and rules.

And you wanted that. You wanted his fire to consume you, wanted his desire to engulf and burn and hurt.

There was a pause as you both study each other, waiting to see who would break first. You found your arms shaking in his grip, not with the usual soreness you’d usually be shaking with at this time of your appointment. It was adrenaline, your own desire raised to meet his.

Of course, he felt it too. “How long have you wanted me, Sweetheart?” He sounded deceitfully sweet, and it made your sore legs weak. He gathered that much, so he gathered you. Large hands went to your waist, easily lifting you up so that you were now straddling him. With you on his lap, he could finally close his legs, and he did so with a relieved huff. A mocking laugh left your mouth, but he put an end to it by pushing you down so that you were seated fully on him—right on his bulge.

“Oh!” You startled. You blinked up at him innocently before throwing back at him, “how long have you wanted me?”

He hummed thoughtfully, running his hands up your thighs to hold your hips. He pressed his lips to your ear, “from the moment I first saw you.”

You shivered at both his confession and his warm breath on your skin. It took everything in you not to roll your hips into him, the pressure of him just as much a tease as his expression and words and touch.

“That being said,” he started, and you already knew you weren’t going to like what he was about to say. “You have a workout to finish.”

“I can think of a few alternatives that are just as effective,” you said, giving into the temptation to gently grind against him.

He bit his lip, holding back a moan as he forced you to stop with his hands on your hips. His attention fell to your chest hovering in front of his face. “You’re not getting out of this one. Nice try though.”

You groaned and straightened, slumping dejectedly. He chuckled before wrapping an arm around your waist, standing abruptly. You squealed, holding onto him as he turned around to sit you down onto the seat of the machine.

“Chanyeol,” you whined.

“Hey, I let you stall, didn’t I?”

“I mean yeah, but we were in the middle of something.”

“I tell you what. Finish this set and I’ll reward you.”

“Reward me how?” You questioned skeptically. His idea of a reward usually benefited him more than you.

As an answer, he stuck out his tongue, wagging it quickly at you. Your eyes widened in shock, scandalized. But the burning in your abdomen and the way your legs pressed together was a dead giveaway to how enticing a reward that was.

“Fine,” you grumbled, adjusting the weight and starting doing your reps.

Chanyeol’s loud laugh echoed throughout the building at your eagerness.

“If I knew that was all the encouragement you needed, I would’ve incorporated it sooner.”

“Shut up,” you muttered.

“Make me.” He smirked.

“Oh, I will be as soon as I get that reward you promised.”

When you left the gym some time later, you couldn’t help but to think maybe your trainer wasn’t that bad afterall.

112 notes · View notes