#I loved making these this year and I can’t wait to create more in the future:)

[insidekatmind]

Bet in Madrid final part~Jude Bellingham

Pt.4

Plot: While on holiday in Madrid with your friends, you notice Jude Bellingham, Vinícius Jr, Rodrygo and Mbappé in a bar. Your friends challenge you: you have to ask Jude for a kiss, or you will pay for dinner.

It’s been five years since that night when you and Jude first met. Five years filled with love, achievements, and dreams woven together to create something truly unique. Your career as an artist has skyrocketed: exhibitions in prestigious galleries, features in international magazines, and now your name is synonymous with beauty and creativity.

But your greatest masterpiece isn’t on a canvas or in a sculpture. The most significant creation of your life is growing within you. You’re pregnant, and the child you’re expecting is the ultimate symbol of the deep and passionate bond you share with Jude.

You’re sitting in the garden of your home, a serene place that feels far from the chaos of the world. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting playful light over your growing belly. You’re holding a paintbrush, trying to capture the tranquility on a canvas, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Jude.

As if sensing your need for him, Jude appears in the doorway to the garden, wearing that smile that won you over years ago. “So this is where you’re hiding,” he says, walking toward you.

“I’m not hiding,” you reply with a smile, setting down the brush and looking up at him. “I’m creating.”

Jude sits beside you, placing a hand on your belly. “You’re always amazing, you know that?” he says, his tone soft and filled with admiration.

You laugh quietly, resting your hand over his. “And you’re still my number one fan.”

“Forever,” he replies, gazing into your eyes with that depth that always makes you feel safe.

You both stay there for a while, savoring the stillness of the moment. Jude leans in and kisses your forehead, then your lips, with a tenderness that melts your heart. “I can’t wait to meet him,” he murmurs, referring to the baby.

“Neither can I,” you say, your voice full of emotion. “But you know what? I think he’ll be special because he’ll grow up in a home filled with love.”

Jude wraps his arms around you, pulling you gently into his embrace. “And with a mom like you, he’ll be the luckiest kid in the world.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped by his presence and the warmth of the moment. Life isn’t perfect, but with Jude by your side and a new chapter about to begin, you couldn’t wish for anything more.

THE END

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE |

There's no one waiting for her. 

With her phone in one hand and trolley full of suitcases in the other, Leni helplessly watches as a crowd of happy faces reunite with their loved ones, while she just… stands there. At first she thinks Rose might be running a little late and although this is rather uncharacteristic of her Godmother, Leni decides to give her some grace. The woman’s husband just died, be normal! But when fifteen minutes turns into two whole hours and her hoard of texts and calls are left unanswered, Leni has no other choice but to panic a little. 

It’s fine. 

You are fine. 

You know this place like the back of your hand. 

Her uber is chatty. He tosses her bags in the trunk like they are mere pieces of paper, but once he does a double check on her location Leni watches a million different emotions go through his face before finally settling on a rather unreadable one. She thinks he is about to ask questions regarding her connection with the Camerons, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns up the radio and focuses on the long road ahead. 

In the meantime, Leni tries calling Rose again, but is once again left with an unanswered call and what now seems to be a warning of a full voicemail. Her mood worsens; the prickling in the tips of her fingers sends jolts of anxiety in every inch of her body and - what if she’s overreacting? 

What if, Rose is simply standing in the shadows of the ever daunting Tannyhill with Sarah and all their friends by her side, patiently waiting for Leni to arrive so they can finally throw that much needed surprise party she’s always been secretly hoping for? 

There’s no point in panic calling Sarah now; not when Leni has perfectly convinced herself that all of these missed calls are just a silly little ruse; a cruel prank she is yet to be mad at and when the uber drops her off in front of a house shrouded in darkness, she becomes even more convinced in the delusion she has created for herself. 

Even in the dark Tannyhill looks as glorious as ever. She remembers coming here for the first time as a doe eyed ten year old and being so impressed by its bigness that when she saw the pyramids for the first time in the following year all she could muster was: “I’ve seen bigger.” All of her best and most favorite memories were made in the halls and rooms of this giant of a house, but when she looks at it now, all Leni can feel is insurmountable pain. 

There is no surprise party waiting for her inside. 

With all her might, she tries convincing herself again; tries to read into the dim light coming from the random room on the ground floor, but despite all her attempts, Leni simply cannot escape from the truth: grieving people don’t throw parties. 

Her heart pulses in the middle of her throat as she presses the doorbell and allows herself to wait again. She no longer knows what or who to expect, but much like the plethora of calls, this too is left unanswered. 

Leni sighs and pulls her phone out of her pocket. It’s a winless fight, but perhaps this one last dial might be the one Rose finally decides to pick up-

“You came back.” 

A rough, almost dehydrated voice captures her attention and almost instantly Leni swings her head around. Standing before her is a face she hasn’t seen in a while; the only face she dreaded seeing each time she stepped foot in Tannyhill. But the Rafe Cameron in front of her is nothing like the one she remembers loathing all those summers ago. 

This one is frigid, with a pin straight back and even straighter shoulders. Hair buzzed dangerously close to the scalp and a suit so well fitted, it actually makes him look somewhat attractive. 

“Hey.”

“Elena.” His voice sends a child down Leni’s spine and she can’t help but notice the way his entire face dropped when he realized it was her standing there. 

“Yeah, I uh-”

“Sarah’s not here.”

“I know, Rose-”

“She’s not here either.”

Leni blinks. “What? Where… Where is she then?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that.” 

“Me? Why would I know where Rose is?” 

Her heart is beating so fast and hard against her chest, she can barely hear her own thoughts, little alone pay proper attention to just how close she and Rafe have been standing until now. She watches as he silently retreats in the darkness of Tannyhill’s main corridor; his silhouette becoming one with the shadows and even though she can no longer see them, the coldness of his blue eyes lingers on her skin like poison. 

“You comin’ or what?” He bellows, waking Leni from her trance and she’s about to go in when Rose’s warning from all those years ago starts echoing in the back of her head. Like police sirens they grow louder and louder; enhancing the prickling in her fingertips and tightening the knot in the pit of her stomach. 

“I’m pretty tired actually, so I think I’ll just-” 

“Fine. I’ll bring it to you.” 

A wave of relief washes over Leni just then. She knows it’s far too soon to let her guard down, but she’s so tired… With heavy steps she marches herself over to Tannyhill’s surprisingly small stoop and allows her body to crash against it. 

How can Rose do this her? 

How can she insist Leni come visit and then not be here? 

“Here.” For the millionth time, Rafe’s voice jolts her upward. “She left this for you.” 

Suddenly wide eyed, Leni carefully snatches the small piece of paper away from Rafe’s hands. Gently, she grazes her fingertips against the curves of her name; Rose’s familiar handwriting unexpectedly brings a dash of warmth and comfort that grows even bigger once she realizes the letter is still very much sealed shut. 

Her gaze meets Rafe’s again and she really doesn’t like just how tall and daunting he appears from the angle she’s looking at him from. And whilst he’s always been somewhat scary to her, this new and improved version of him is a far cry from the boy she once upon a time used to make fun of in the comfort of Sarah’s room. 

The Rafe from before didn’t loom over her like some benevolent spirit. He simply made fun of the gap in her teeth and threatened to cut her hair in her sleep if she ever dared to step foot in his room again. 

“You really don’t know where she is, don’t you?” She asks quietly. 

“No.” 

“I don’t understand… She said it was okay. She said I was more than welcome to come here and-”

“When exactly was this?” 

Their eyes meet again. 

“A couple of months ago.”

“And you and Rose haven’t spoken since?” 

“No! We did. We… text. She, she…” Her hands scour through the mess in her bag, desperate to show Rafe all the text messages she and Rose have been sending one another in the past week, but much like most things regarding Leni, he seems uninterested. “She was supposed to be here.” 

“Yeah well… she isn’t.” Rafe laughs bitterly. “Fucking bitch. She has my sister, you know that? Wheezie. She waited for me to finally be out of town so she can take my fucking sister away from me! MY FUCKING BABY SISTER!” He shouts and Leni practically jumps out of her skin. “Stupid fucking bottle blonde ass whore!” 

Rafe’s fist collides with Tannyhill’s facade and if she didn’t know it then, Leni sure as hell knows that now is the time to fucking go. Her shaky fingers make several attempts to call an uber, but she’s in so much distress, she can barely press any buttons. And since her day hasn’t been shitty enough, Leni’s hands suddenly decide to stop functioning altogether. Helplessly, she watches her phone graciously slide away from her hands and fall onto the dirty gravel next to her feet. 

“Fuck.” 

Cold, cold sweat trickles down in every visible area of her body - this can’t be fucking happening - as Rafe’s heavy footsteps draw closer and closer. With a lump in her throat Leni watches him scoop up her poor little phone, before handing it to her with the same blase attitude he handed over Rose’s letter.  

“Y’know, you shouldn’t be walking ‘round with a broken screen like this. You can get hurt or something.”  

“Right. Thanks.” Leni blinks at him. “I’m gonna go now.”

“‘Kay.” 

The sound of her beat up sneakers echoes across the entirety of Tannyhill and the grip on her suitcase is so strong, she can almost no longer feel the heat of Rafe’s fingers against her skin. Unfortunately the same can’t be said about his gaze. Those haunting blue eyes of his follow each and every single move of hers like a shadow. He should’ve been gone by now; retreated in the darkness of his hollow home and never think of her again and yet, there he is - watching her. 

When she turns to look at him again, he doesn’t flinch like others might. He just stands there -shamelessly- with his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. 

“You want me to drive you?” He says in a tone so condescending, it almost feels like the old Rafe is back. 

“No. Thanks.” 

Rafe nods and remains unmoving until Leni is inside the uber and on her way to the address written on the letter Rose left her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⸰ .° ☆ ° ☆ °. ⸰ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

| CHAPTER TWO

[justgleekout]

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[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[itsrlymine]

Stop Saying You Are "Dealing with Circumstances." The Only Thing You Are "Dealing With" is Your Mind.

Circumstances aren’t real. Circumstances don’t matter. Circumstances this. Circumstances that. You do realize they came out of you right? So you aren’t real??? Or is it just because you perceive your desire as separate from you and not presently in your reality? You are in a loving relationship with your sp right now but oh wait! Circumstances apparently matter and are stronger than you so that might not be real. You might actually be single asf reading this…. 

Is it starting to make sense? Are you starting to get how ridiculous that is? No? But that’s what y’all sound like when you keep worrying about circumstance you created as if you can’t recreate them or give them a new meaning.

The only “cirumcstance” you are “dealing” with is the one within your mind. It is the same boring story you keep telling over and over, refusing to “change” anything because claiming the old story and complaining is so much fun for you. More entertaining and easier than just shifting your mind to be the person you already are. 

Your mind is not an obstacle. You don’t need to break through programing or years of trauma to manifest something you want when everything is now. You have it now.

Circumstances are what you say they are. Circumstances are brought life when you breathe life into them. Tell them what to do and how to “change” and they will. 

Choose different and then your world will be different. Be different so you can experience a difference. How can you expect to get new results "doing" the same thing? Thinking in a way that doesn't benefit you? Clap for yourself then. You keep giving away your power. Good job I guess.

[mameillieureennemie]

you and me (let's make something great)

author's note: so i had an idea, and originally, it was gonna be a ficlet mainly focused on debauchery. BUT THEN my brain decided to turn it into something longer with plot, so here we are. it's very soft in the first bit but don't be fooled, it gets filthy as it progresses. please enjoy!

cw: gp!vi, afab!reader, pregnancy talk, breeding kink, dirty talk, nsfw 🔞 (primarily in the second part)

wc: 3.3k

dividers: @/cafekitsune

part i: let's talk about it

There’s always been talk of starting a family.

Kids with the white picket fence and a garden large enough for them to run around. Maybe a dog or two and a cat because you’ve always spoken about how much you want one. It’d be everything that’s so simple and expected of a family, something so ordinary that it’s almost laughable. But you and Vi never had the opportunity to experience what the ordinary family is.

She grew up an orphan with only her sister by her side, only able to survive due to Vander’s kindness.

You had your own set of problems; a family that didn’t listen or could listen but choose not to.

So to have a family where you can give your children the life you weren’t able to have, that means the whole world and more.

Vi toys around with the idea of asking you again, about the possibility of starting your family as soon as possible. You’ve been together for ten years and married for two, and life has never been as perfect as this.

You’re both doing well at work, bills are being paid on time and there’s even some savings in your joint account. Even savings to potentially look into starting something if that is what you want.

You’re swaying around the kitchen, speakers blasting your playlist as you cook up dinner for tonight. You’ve settled on a simple pasta dish, warm and spicy with delicious herbs. The sauce is bubbling away on the stove and your hips follow the stir of your wooden spoon. You bring the spoon up to your lips, blow gently before having a taste. A hum leaves your lips as your eyes flutter shut, pleased with what you’re creating.

Vi’s enchanted by you and one might call her silly, to be captivated by you merely making dinner. But it’s the mere act of it, the domesticity of it all and how you show your love through everything you do. Even if it’s cooking a dish that you’ve both eaten a hundred times before.

That’s what being in love is and Vi is greedy to share that with someone who’s both her and you.

“Taste this for me?” You ask, facing where she’s sat at the kitchen island. Vi’s quick to hop off her stool and make her way towards you. Her arms encircle you the moment she gets close and your smile brightens at the touch. You lift the spoon up to her lips and even though she knows it’s delicious, Vi goes in for a taste. She mimics your pleased hum from before, swaying you to the slow beat of the song that now plays.

“Babe, you crush it every time,” Vi reveres, causing you to roll your eyes fondly. “How do you do it? Were you a famous chef in your past life or what?”

“It’s pasta sauce,” you respond, voice deadpan but expression vibrant. “The same pasta sauce we’ve been making for five years and can make with our eyes closed.” You turn around in her arms so you can attend to the sauce, Vi taking this opportunity to latch onto your back. She nuzzles into the curve of your neck, pressing a kiss into the sensitive spot there just so she can feel you shiver. “It’s hardly Michelin star worthy.” You pause. “Wait, can dishes be given Michelin stars?”

“Fuck if I know,” Vi murmurs, hooking her chin over your shoulder and settling in. From here, she can see a pot full of water boiling for pasta and the sauce thickening nicely in its pan. “So I want to talk to you about something.”

“We can’t go to the water park next week,” you say, amused. “We’ve had this discussion like six times and as much as I would like to go and hit the wave pool, there’s no—”

The laughter that bursts out of Vi’s mouth is enough to hurt her chest. But it doesn’t stop her from cackling, burying her head into your shoulder in an attempt to muffle how loud she is. She can feel the shaking of your body and hear your lovely laughter as you join her, fully leaning into her chest for support.

“No, you idiot,” Vi manages to say through her chuckles. “Oh fuck you, this was supposed to be a serious thing.”

“Why do you think I said what I said?” You retort playfully and Vi falls even more in love with you, as if that’s even possible. “But tell me what’s on your mind, baby. What’s going on?”

Vi takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second to gather herself. When she opens them, you’re turning off the burner for the sauce and reaching for the fettuccine to the side. Just as you’re pouring the pasta into the bubbling water, Vi’s thoughts spill out.

“I want to have a family with you.”

You go still for a moment, your arms poised above the boiling water with the empty pasta box in your hands. Vi’s unable to see your face but she isn’t necessarily worried about your reaction. It’s a conversation that you’ve had multiple times over the span of your relationship, but today is where you start taking steps towards putting it in action.

“Well, yes,” you start, placing the pasta box back on the counter. Then you’re turning in her arms so you’re facing each other again, your eyes peering into hers. “We’ve spoken countless times about this.” You smooth your hands over the rounds of her shoulders, your face soft. “I’m still very much onboard with this because I want to have a family with you too. But I’m guessing you want to talk about a timeline.”

Vi nods, momentarily speechless because you always just get her, even without her having to say anything. She pulls you away from the stove to sit you on one of the kitchen island’s stools. She notes how you eye the pasta and makes a mental note to attend to the pot after five minutes.

“We always did say that we’d really start considering it once we’ve gotten our lives sorted,” Vi says, standing between your thighs. “And I’d say that our lives are pretty solid. We’re no longer in debt and we’ve got a decent amount saved away.” Her fingers play with your hair, causing you to lean into her touch. “So I thought that now would be a good time to try.” Vi then shakes her head. “Obviously, it’s your choice because it’s your body and I’d never want to pressure you into doing anything because of me and—”

Vi doesn’t notice she’s rambling until you’re pressing your finger against her lips, fond amusement colouring your features.

“I married a good woman,” you say, so tender that Vi feels her heart swell so much that it hurts. It presses against her ribs, pushes up on her lungs making her breathless. It makes her cling to you, hiding her head into the curve of your shoulder. Your hands come around to run soothingly down her back and she melts. “I know it's my choice, baby. You've never made me feel like it wasn't.”

Despite Vi knowing that, the relief that hits her is cool and instant. It's always nice to hear that she isn't pressuring you; that she's allowing you to make your own choices regardless of what she wants.

“I've always wanted to have children with you,” you continue, still running soothing patterns down her back. “That's something that has never changed and probably never will.” You then lean back and Vi's graced with the excitement in your beautiful eyes. “I imagine a little kid who's a mixture of me and you. Maybe my hair and your eyes or vice versa.”

“I hope they get your personality,” Vi says softly. “That they get your kindness and empathy. Your patience and wisdom.”

You laugh quietly, closing your eyes to hide from the blinding of Vi's earnest gaze. You're embarrassed, she can tell, and that makes this moment all the sweeter.

“Well, I hope they get your strength and conviction,” you reply, tilting your head up so the tip of your nose catches the softness of Vi's cheek. “That they get your loyalty and ambition. Your sympathy and empathy.”

Vi's cheeks burn at the compliments you dress her in. Compliments that you would call truths because that's how you see her. Even under all the mess and mistakes, you see the diamonds that rest beneath the dirt.

She'll never understand why someone as special as you forever wants to be with her.

“So…what are you thinking?” Vi asks, eager to see where your head’s at. She watches as you purse your lips with a hum, eyes rolling upwards to stare at the ceiling in thought. Then you’re looking back at her with a smile and that’s how Vi finds her answer.

“Really?” Vi has to double check, to be sure that you’re both on the same page; that this is what you want to do from this moment.

“I’ve been wanting to suggest it for a while but—Violet!” You exclaim out of surprise, laughter startled from you when Vi pulls you in for a tight hug. But your arms are wrapping around her instantly, holding on with a solid grip.

“Thank you,” Vi whispers into your neck, planting a delicate kiss over your pulse. “Thank you so much.”

“No need to thank me,” you say quietly, returning the kiss to the curve of her ear. “I want this too.”

Vi nods and gives you a firm squeeze before pulling away, but not too far so she can still keep you in her arms. She’s so overwhelmed; there’s so much she wants to say but all of it is tied at the back of her throat. The words aren’t coherent but they have meaning and Vi will try all she can to convey how precious that meaning is.

“Okay so,” you begin after you both sit in relaxed silence for a while. “I love you so much and you’re my everything but if that pasta’s mushy, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You lie,” Vi replies, nuzzling at your cheek. “You love me too much to hate me.”

“But I love pasta more,” you tease, your soft laughs muted by the gentle press of Vi’s lips against yours.

The pasta has gone soft but you don’t seem to mind, all too distracted by Vi's sweet kisses.

“So you’re officially trying for kids now?”” Jinx says one afternoon in the small cafe they often frequent. It's raining outside and there's a chill in the air that seeps into your bones and makes you want to stay in bed. That's where Vi wishes she was now, all curled up underneath the sheets with you.

“Yeah, we had a proper talk about it a few days ago,” Vi says. “Not that all the other talks weren't proper but our plans didn't have a start date.” She swirls the remaining dregs of coffee in her mug. “Now we're both ready and soon there's gonna be a kid in the picture.”

Jinx hums, taking a sip of whatever iced concoction she's gotten today. “I mean, it's a big thing,” she says around her straw. “Bringing a small human into the world. Plus babies are kinda gross with their uncontrollable bowel movements.” Her nose scrunches up. “Not to mention the crying and screaming and inability to talk for the first two years.”

Vi shrugs. “Yeah, but I don't give a shit about any of that.”

“Well, duh. Because you're with someone who's gonna make it worthwhile,” Jinx replies matter-of-factly. “It's kind of like being in love with the person of your dreams makes you more tolerable to things. Shocker.”

“You're already falling into your Cynical Aunt role.” Vi says, deadpan but smiles when Jinx chuckles.

“Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna love the shit out of that little goober,” Jinx says strongly. “Gonna be the best auntie in the world. Much better than Caitlyn or Mel, that's for sure.”

Vi makes a doubtful expression, an eyebrow raised, and raises her hands to placate when Jinx aims her butter knife at her.

“No, you'll be great,” Vi tells her and despite their jokes, she means it. She sees how Jinx is with kids; how she may not seem interested at first but then slowly opens up. Not to say that she connects with every child but when Jinx cares, she cares with her entire heart. So Vi knows that her children will be loved.

Jinx eyes her and takes another sip of her drink before saying, “There's something on your mind.”

Vi huffs. “How can you tell?”

“I'm your sister, we grew up together,” Jinx lists off. “I mean, ignore the fact that we didn't talk for seven years but I know you.” She finishes off her glass and pushes it to the side. “What's going on?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

Vi chuckles, running a hand through her hair, before leaning back in her seat.

“I just…worry that I may not be a good parent.” She confesses after a moment.

“Why?” Jinx asks straight away, not giving Vi the time to wallow too deeply.

“Because…I mean, look what happened with us,” Vi says, gesturing between them. “I left you alone for seven years over a misunderstanding that took ages to fix. I was supposed to be there for you when our parents died. When Vander died and I…” Vi stops for a second, a heavy knot in her throat. “...I wasn't there and I'm just scared that I'm gonna fuck all of this up.”

Jinx stares at her for a bit, her expression unreadable, before she gives a big eye roll.

“You're so stupid,” she says loudly.

“Gee thanks.” Vi replies.

“You're so stupid because I don't think you realise how good of a big sister you were,” Jinx continues. “How good of a big sister you are. Life sucked for us for a long time, Vi. Especially after our parents and Vander died. Then the hits kept on coming and we had no say in how we survived for a long time. Yes, we got separated and yes, it made me so fucking mad at you, but you came back for me.” She takes a deep breath. “If we could redo the past, we would. But we can't. But things have been fixed and you've shown me time and time how capable you are.” She then laughs. “I mean, you've been in a committed relationship for twelve years, Vi. Most people don't last up to the five month mark.”

Vi tries to ignore the sting behind her eyes, the tears that slowly blur her vision.

“Plus you guys are totally in love,” Jinx says, a slight smile curving her lips. “It's absolutely nauseating but it's also kinda beautiful. You'll make a really good parent, Vi. You got the best of mom and our dads. And your partner kicks ass and is one of the best people I've ever met so…” Jinx shrugs. “Your children are gonna be so lucky to have you two as parents.”

There’s then a lull that falls between them and Vi's trying so hard not to cry. So she swallows back the knot in her throat, chasing it away with her last bit of coffee.

“Saying all of that must have driven you nuts,” Vi jokes weakly, reaching out to give Jinx's hand a grateful squeeze.

“Yeah, I feel gross and need to take a shower,” Jinx jokes in return, weak too and she squeezes Vi's hand just as tight. “Consider that your birthday and Christmas gift.”

Vi laughs loudly, eyes crinkling and mouth wide with the joy she feels.

“Fair enough.” She concedes, knowing damn well Jinx will surprise her with a homemade gift regardless.

“...So, gonna go home and blast your baby batter into—?”

“Jinx.”

A week or two pass after those conversations are held. Life maintains its norm, leaving you and Vi to continue your existence in its blissful way. It's comforting as it is confusing, because Vi knows that everything’s on the table now. Left wide open for the both of you to bask at.

Vi waits for your move, watches you with a keen eye as you drift throughout the days. She cooks the both of you dinner every other night, picks you up from work every day without fail and holds you close at night so you fall asleep. She does what she knows to do, does it because it has that essence of normalcy.

But that doesn't stop the urges from arising. It doesn't halt the need that bubbles in her stomach every time she sees you. It's overpowering, overwhelmingly so, and Vi fails to understand it until one late evening.

You're curled up beneath Vi’s arm as a movie plays on the television. It's a standard comedy, nothing utterly hilarious but enough to pull a few chuckles from both of you. Vi has hit optimal relaxation, all loose and soft due to you being so close. She can smell the scent of your body wash, drops her face into your hair so she can inhale what lies there. Your shampoo and something so uniquely you.

Her focus has since shifted from the movie, all of it on you as she notes how you’re barely paying attention to the screen. You’ve got this faraway look in your eyes, seemingly lost in thought and Vi wonders what's going through that pretty head of yours.

Then you do something unexpected; you shift a hand towards your stomach and…gently rub at it. The arc of your hand graceful as you follow the slope of your covered flesh. It looks soothing, similar to how you rub Vi's muscles on the days the flare-up of old injuries is too much. But it's also different and Vi's quick to notice it; she sees how your hand comes to lay at your lower stomach and—

Oh.

Vi's suddenly feeling a bit flustered.

A minute goes by, slowly ticking, and Vi tries not to give herself away. She tries not to reveal how the simple act of you rubbing your stomach has her heating up. How she's instantly imagining your stomach round with her child and the way your hand would look caressing the bump.

So tender, so gentle.

Something hot within Vi stirs, causing her to grow a bit restless. The movie captures her attention for a bit, but it hardly does much. Especially when you're pressed into her, still rubbing at your stomach and fuck, her sweatpants feel a little tight.

Because it isn't only about your stomach growing with life inside you. It's also about the transformation you'll grow through. How you'll get softer, how your scent will become a little milkier. How your breasts will swell in preparation and how you'd be a stunning image of how you belong to.

Vi.

Because it's Vi who'll do that to you; it's her who will fuck you full until you can't take anymore. It's Vi who will come and come and come in you until it takes and she sees the fruits of her labour.

It's her who'll…who'll breed you until you’re tongue's tied and your body's a wreck.

So beautiful and pilant and hers.

“...Vi?” Your voice calls her home, like a siren's song, and she's retrieved from her debauched thoughts. “Vi, sweetheart, the movie's done.”

Vi blinks at the television, the credits rolling down the dark screen. How long had she been spacing out for.

“Oh,” she says lamely and you chuckle, standing up from the couch. You tug at her arm, smiling tiredly, as you tilt your body towards the bedroom.

“I'm sleepy,” you say, giving one more tug before Vi’s standing on her feet. “Let's go to bed, we've got work in the morning.”

“Uh huh,” is all Vi can manage as she allows you to lead her to your bedroom.

Something new has clicked in her brain.

Something deep and primal at its core.

...She cannot talk to Jinx about this.

[tinyfantasminha]

OC introduction

[Thank you @haryuwu, @stestylius-arts and @ai-kan1 for the templates they look so clean and organized and I love them 😋]

Personality:

At first glance, Vic comes across as reserved and ordinary, maintaining cordial relationships without actively seeking friendships. However, once she grows close to someone, her brighter, more playful side shines through—she’s witty, bantering, and a bit tomboyish. She dislikes feeling restricted and tends to rebel against rules she finds unfair or unreasonable. While she firmly denies being a "mom friend," (she repulses the thought even) her actions often tell a different story. She’s fiercely loyal, quietly looking out for her friends and always stepping in to support them when they’re in need, even if she doesn’t admit it outright.

Though Vic sometimes comes across as naive or a bit of an airhead, it’s often by design—she purposefully plays the fool, keeping others guessing about her true thoughts and intentions. Why does she do this? Well… whatever the reason, there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Backstory:

Vic was once a naive, pure-hearted child, eager to please and willing to follow anyone’s whims. That all changed after a traumatic incident during a school trip to the woods. A classmate told her, “Wait right here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Obediently, she stayed put, unnoticed by her teachers or classmates. Hours passed as she waited, terrified and alone, until she was finally found by school staff after her mother reported her missing. This event left a deep scar on Vic, and the phrase “I’ll be right back” still triggers a wave of unease in her. Afterward, her submissive tendencies only worsened. She believed that by doing everything people asked, she’d be liked and accepted, avoiding the risk of being abandoned or badmouthed. Throughout middle school, this behavior made her an easy target for manipulation and psychological abuse. By her final years of high school, something within her snapped. The years of mistreatment awakened a rebellious, sharp-edged side. Vic stopped letting people walk all over her, becoming grumpier, colder, and more distrustful. She built a fortress around her true emotions, frequently lying or feigning indifference to protect herself. Though she hated the version of herself her pain had created, she learned to survive in her own way.

After graduating, Vic celebrated the end of that painful chapter in her life and vowed to reinvent herself. But just three days later, her plans were upended when she was hit by a mysterious carriage.

After the events of the prologue and her enrollment at NRC alongside Grim, Vic was struck by the mortifying realization that she’d have to relive high school all over again. Adding insult to injury, she remembered that, at the time she was hit by the mysterious carriage, she had been on her way to celebrate her graduation with an açaí smoothie—a treat she never got to enjoy. To this day, she can’t help but lament the smoothie that never was.

Notable relationships:

Jack Howl 🐺

At first, Vic was intimidated by Jack, fearing he’d be as condescending and judgmental as her classmates from middle school. However, once she got to know him, his caring and loyal nature quickly won her trust. Because of her magicless status and petite stature, Jack’s protective instincts naturally kick in around her. He often escorts her across campus, which leads to them spending more time together and growing closer.

Vic admires Jack’s honesty and strong sense of justice—qualities she found rare during her school days. His loyalty and protective behavior deeply touch her, even when he tries to hide it behind his tsundere demeanor (which she secretly finds adorable). Around Jack, Vic feels safe in a way she hasn’t before.

As their bond deepens, they begin to pine for each other, turning what should be simple interactions into painfully awkward moments. Jack’s straightforward and genuine nature makes Vic’s carefully constructed mask of aloofness crumble in his presence, leaving her vulnerable and overwhelmed by her emotions. Her feelings for him force her to confront her fears and insecurities, often leaving her shaken.

"If only there was someone like you by my side back then… maybe I wouldn’t have…!”

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Initially, Vic and Leona barely interacted. He seemed indifferent to her presence and quietly appreciated that she didn’t nag him or try to change his lazy ways. However, her frequent visits to Savanaclaw piqued his curiosity, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was some kind of thrill-seeker. Her seemingly fragile, harmless appearance contrasted sharply with the boldness it took to linger in a dorm full of beastmen, leading him to nickname her “little mouse.”

Vic usually treats Leona with sweetness, but he sees right through her doe-eyed facade. Her true motives remain a mystery to him, and that intrigue makes him determined to unravel her secrets. To that end, Leona enjoys teasing and flustering her, just to watch her carefully constructed mask crack.

Leona is also keenly aware of Vic and Jack’s feelings for each other, which he finds highly entertaining. He takes great pleasure in cockblocking taunting them about it, using his sharp wit to nudge them closer to confronting their emotions. His teasing is particularly merciless with Jack, often warning him with sly remarks like, “You’d better keep a close eye on your prey, or she might just wander into the lion’s den.” What exactly does he mean by that? Who knows…

Ace Trappola ❤️ and Deuce Spade ♠️:

Vic’s first friends at NRC, Ace and Deuce quickly became two of her closest companions. The trio spends much of their time hanging out and bantering, creating a dynamic full of playful teasing. Her provocations often escalate with Ace, leading to occasional spats, though they’re always quick to reconcile.

With Deuce, Vic adopts a softer, almost sisterly demeanor, though she doesn’t hold back from teasing him—just not as intensely as she does with Ace. Around them, Vic maintains her cool, tomboyish exterior but will sometimes show emotional vulnerability when she needs comfort or support. Ace, however, never misses a chance to mercilessly tease her about her crush on Jack, much to her frustration (and embarrassment).

Idia Shroud💀:

Vic and Idia became friends through the Board Game Club, bonding over their shared interests and similarities. During club activities, they often team up to gently? bully and bicker with Azul, much to their mutual amusement. While Vic enjoys their camaraderie, their interactions mostly happen through DMs, as Idia’s shut-in nature makes face-to-face meetings rare—despite her frequent insistence that they hang out more in person.

Idia has developed a crush on her, which makes him even more hesitant to meet up outside of the club. He’s painfully aware (and secretly salty) about her preference for the athletic types in Savanaclaw, which makes his hopes—if he had any—practically nonexistent. For now, he keeps his feelings to himself, hoping to drown them. Vic, ever the supportive friend, often encourages him and occasionally flirts or gets touchy to tease him, delighting in his flustered reactions. Is she aware of his feelings? Who can say...

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙:

Vic initially had a strong dislike for Azul, finding his sweet-talking, calculating nature, and tendency to demand repayment for even the smallest favors uncomfortably reminiscent of her old classmates. She was openly hostile toward him, often meeting his charm with sharp-tongued, vulgar retorts. Yet, Azul remained undeterred.

Over time, as they spent more moments together in the Board Game Club, their constant bickering and competitive banter began to grow on her, almost without her noticing. She realized Azul was more "relaxed" during club activities, which made him easier to talk to. Vic now views him as a sort of rival, someone who challenges her wit and strategies, though neither likes to show vulnerability or weakness around the other.

If asked whether they’re friends, Vic will promptly deny it with a firm “no,” while Azul confidently responds with a smug “yes.” Despite their clashing personalities and opposing morals, they quietly look out for each other in their own way—remembering birthdays, exchanging souvenirs, and occasionally offering subtle gestures of support. Deep down, Vic knows Azul is an important friend, but she’d rather swallow a rock than admit it. Tsuntsun

Jamil Viper 🐍:

Vic harbors a superficial, puppy-like crush on Jamil, idolizing him and finding everything he does impossibly cool or impressive. Jamil, however, doesn’t seem to return her affections—or trust her, for that matter. He usually cuts her off with polite but firm indifference, which only seems to intensify her fascination, much to his exasperation. To Jamil’s dismay, Vic sighs dreamily whenever he’s cold or sharp-tongued with her (masochist much??) but gets utterly confused and flustered when he shows any hint of worry or care for her.

While Jamil would never admit it, he doesn’t entirely dislike her attention. Her admiration strokes his ego, and perhaps—just perhaps—he’s considering how he might use it to his advantage... t this doesn't seem very healthy...

Rook Hunt 🏹:

Like most people, Vic initially felt uneasy around Rook’s overly flamboyant and romantic demeanor. She couldn’t understand his fascination with her or his flowery praise, often responding to his compliments with pragmatic retorts or modest deflections. However, as time passed and she recognized the sincerity behind his words of encouragement, her wariness faded, and she began to trust him more.

Knowing it’s nearly impossible to keep secrets from Rook, Vic sometimes reluctantly vents her frustrations and insecurities to him. In turn, he offers thoughtful advice and unwavering emotional support. He nicknames her “Mademoiselle Fantôme” (ghost) and seems to see right through her composed exterior.

Like Leona, he’s aware there’s more to her than meets the eye and enjoys analyzing her hidden depths. Rook takes particular delight in evoking various reactions from Vic, describing her as a “kitten with hidden claws,” always intrigued by her blend of aloofness and fire.

Trivia:

While Vic appears tomboyish and sisterly with the first years, Jack is the exception. Around him, she’s notably sweeter and more bashful.

The more nervous or flustered she becomes, the higher-pitched (and more pathetic) her voice gets.

Vic used to be close with her older sister, a prosecutor. Her strong sense of justice and argumentative nature were heavily influenced by her sibling.

When heated, Vic becomes highly argumentative, delivering well-constructed, logical points to dismantle her opponent’s stance—a rare display of bold confidence.

Her dream is to become a detective/investigator.

Vic doesn’t get angry often, but when she does, it’s described as a “cold, merciless ire with sharp words that could make a grown man cry” (Ace’s words).

Though she’s a bit of a coward and dislikes confrontation, her quick thinking and improvisation often help her slip out of sticky situations. (Both Leona and Rook take notes on her sharp survival instinct.)

Despite her unassuming appearance, Vic has surprising leg strength and flexibility from self-defense classes she took as a child. She claims she’s rusty and fell out of practice for the most part, but her kicks prove otherwise.

Her birthday (February 4) is the same as Cater’s, so their celebrations are often combined in Heartslabyul. Cater affectionately calls her his “twinsie” and refers to her as “cute lil sis.”

Floyd nicknames her “Axolotl” and teases her relentlessly about her height. He especially enjoys being overly touchy with her in Jack’s presence.

Vic occasionally treats herself to Mostro Lounge visits to gossip with Jade, often about Azul’s defeats in the board game club. Jade uses this intel to tease and blackmail Azul later.

The Light Music Club adores pampering her and repeatedly begs her to join as a singer, but she always flusteredly declines.

Like Ace, Vic can be mischievous and a bit greedy. She shamelessly accepts Kalim’s generous offers of money (though she hopes Jack doesn’t find out...)

Vil intimidates her to no end with his sharp gaze, but she secretly admires him and dreams of having him give her a makeover someday. Rook frequently (and gleefully) tries to push her to approach Vil, much to her horror.

Malleus believes they are closer friends than they actually are, often due to misinterpreting her words and actions. Vic, too kind or maybe scared to correct him, finds herself roped into his gargoyle monologues during their awkward little outings.

[twilghtkoo]

pairings. jungkook x bookworm!reader (f)

genre/aus. fluff, established relationship

warnings. the word smut gets mentioned, jk in that fit

note. i’m a huge book lover and have been busy consuming all romance books in my free time and one part of my brain is just jungkook and another part is filled with all the romantic scenes that happen in the books i read and this idea came up :D lmk if u want more jk x bookworm!reader drabbles i actually loved writing this one so enjoy my brain rot,, likes and reblogs are appreciated ! stay safe <3

[ masterlist ]

—

“how’d you find this place, we’ve never been in this one.” jungkook notes, observes the surroundings of the small book store you both entered. floor to ceiling shelves filled with literature and writing of every genre, in different colors and sizes. warm yellow lighting from the lights in the ceiling and the battery operated candles that are placed randomly throughout the store. there’s greenery scattered along the walls and potted plants on the floor and one next to the register, creating a familiar, welcoming environment.

you can’t help but smile when you walk in. “i took a different route home from class last week and saw this place. i wanted to wait to go with you.” you answer, greeting the woman behind the counter with a soft smile.

you feel his hand blindly reach for yours from behind, you first find his pinky then interlace your fingers with his.

“it feels homey in here.” he thinks aloud, as both of you walk by a red worn out couch.

you lead him through the aisles one by one, not having any interest in the specific genres besides your favorite, but looking at the filled shelves brings you comfort.

“oh! they have comics here.” he points to the aisle across from you and now he’s taking the lead.

a comforting silence falls between you both as you skim through each shelf organized by the marvel universe, dc comics, video games and manga. from the corner of your eye, you see jungkook holding a manga in his hand.

“when was the last time you read one?”

he sighs, “i think when i was young, probably about six years ago to be honest. i don’t really have time now.” he slightly pouts at his statement.

you place your hand on his lower back before rubbing soothing circles. “i know you’ve read that one before. haikyuu,” you read the title out loud.

he nods, closing the book and placing it back with the others. “yeah i read like the first few volumes but never finished it.”

you both look throughout the manga selection some more before you manage to talk him into buying at least two volumes of jujutsu kaisen.

he holds the two books in one hand and holds your hand in his other.

you make it to the romance aisle, and immediately take your time looking around. you always feel overwhelmed in the bookstore and feel like you’re taking too long looking in just one section but jungkook always assures you to take your time and look, that he’s not in a rush.

you pick up a book and examine the cover and pages before reading the back, humming to yourself if one peaked your interest but not enough to hold onto it.

“do these have smut in them?” he blurts out next to you.

your eyes go big and you smack him on the arm. you look at the bright neon green sticky note that’s taped to the shelf with the word ‘spicy’. did they have to make it known to the world?

“would you be quiet?” you whisper-yell at him, trying to contain your laughter.

he rubs his arm where you hit him as his eyes blink innocently. liar.

he lets go of his arm and giggles, pulling you close to his side and kisses the crown of your head. “just messing with you.” he smirks.

you scoff, pushing him away lightly but failing because your boyfriend is 5’10 and muscles.

he lets you continue to look around and he does the same but not with a purpose. but he knows if he pretends to busy himself, you won’t feel rushed. and he wants you to take your time.

by the time you reached the end of the romance aisle, you’re holding two books in your hands. one hardcover and one paperback.

“that’s it? only two books you found?” jungkook stares in disbelief, his eyebrow arched.

“a hardcover is expensive.” you tell him. there were other books you found and wanted, but now that you know this place is here, you’ll stop by again one of these days after class and come back for them if they’re still here.

“babe, go get all the books you want.” he waves you off, but you stay put.

shaking your head, “no, i’ll come back for them one of these days after my classes.”

“go get them now.”

“kook, it’s okay.”

“i know it is, but i want to get them for you anyway. you got a new bookcase with more shelves and you need to fill it up.” he says, peering down at you softly but he’s not giving up.

you did get a new shelf, with your paycheck you decided to spoil yourself and get a new one that had five shelves instead of your three. you had a growing collection and you had a tower of books on your floor. you needed a proper space for them.

you bite your lip. “yeah, but i don’t want you-“

he interrupts you by placing his lips on yours, moving against your lips for only two seconds.

the kiss was so abrupt that it had you in a daze.

“go get the books, hardcover or not. i don’t care yn.” he used your name. not babe or baby.

you sigh in defeat, knowing you lost this battle. jungkook offers to hold your books and you let him, you went back for the books you wanted and carefully stacked them onto his hands. it was only ten books you found, but the stack reached to his chest and you felt bad.

“don’t give me that look, baby.” he tells you as you both make your way up to the front to pay.

the lady’s eyes go wide at the tower of books in his hands, but doesn’t say nothing and scans everything.

you inch closer to his side as the lady tells him the total and it makes you gasp. but jungkook is relaxed as the lady asks if we wanted to sign up to become a member and he doesn’t even bother to ask me as he gives her my number for the future. he finishes by tapping his card onto the machine and grabbing the two bags of books.

you thank the lady and you both leave the store. the sky now different shades of blue, orange and red.

“thank you kook, i really appreciate you.” you tell him thoughtfully, sliding your arm through his and holding onto it. he glances down at you with a soft smile, his piercings shining under the sunset.

he hums. “i love you.”

“i love you.”

[alargehunkofdebris]

Why There’ll Never Be Another Good Omens 2 Experience

The strangest thing happened after a few days post my watching of S2. I got a wave of real, bittersweet sadness.

Not due to the obvious – I was dealing with that too, but with more excitement than anything – but because I realized something, as a writer and consumer of media. I realized that it’s unlikely I’ll ever get a media experience close to what I experienced at the end of Good Omens 2. Because really, its setup was absolutely unparalleled – in general, and for myself personally.

I am currently writing my third romance, and what I’ve learned primarily about the genre, the way for it to really work, is that there needs to be something keeping the couple apart initially. The more things keeping the couple apart, the stronger the romance hits. The more the couple clashes with each other, the better it is. Societal norms, class issues, initial dislike, literal danger—all these aspects are what make a romance a story. It’s that conflict that creates the compelling narrative. No romance was ever popular because things worked out well from the beginning – it’s that “look at what we were, and look at us now” aspect that gives readers/watchers that satisfaction. It’s the “I can’t believe this happened” effect. The “I would never have foreseen this” effect. The “they’ll never be together” effect. It’s why forbidden romances are so incredibly popular.

Another aspect that makes a romance story really work well is the amount of time it takes for the romance to develop. A couple that gets together after a few days? Eh, it’s tricky. You better make it really dramatic somehow. A great example is Titanic – class differences, betrothal, and a huge amount of danger threatens this couple, so them being in love after only a few days works. But what really sells this one is because we can see how this romance has survived beyond those few days. We see it 80 years in the future, still there, in the memory of Rose. That is why it hits so hard. Romances that span over long periods of time (especially ones that are bittersweet/tragic) hit so much more than ones spanning a short period.

But wait! There’s more!

You can up this effect by not only having the romance take time in story…but having it take time in real life, for the viewer/reader.

This is why romances in TV shows that take years to finally work out are so compelling. It’s that “Pam and Jim” effect, that will-they-won’t-they deal. We are waiting right along with them, and we’re feeling that same relief when all those things keeping them apart finally fall away. This is harder to pull off, because there’s never that guarantee that the story will make it that far. TV shows get cancelled, creators lose interest or die, etc. So it’s not just “Will They, Won’t They,” it’s “Will They, Won’t They, Can They Even Try?”

This is also compounded by that fear that it won’t happen in-story after all, and while in romances you’re pretty positive that things work out (they kinda have to, for it to be labeled a “romance”) in other media, there’s always that possibility. Look at Community – there’s a forbidden/conflict-ridden romance that didn’t end up working out, even though it was “Will They, Won’t They”d for six entire seasons. You also then have shows and ships where fans are almost sure it won’t happen, but still hold out hope. (See: Supernatural, Sherlock, etc.)

Now. Now look at Good Omens. Look at that absolutely unparalleled, unbelievable set up. It’s unbelievable because it takes almost every single thing that makes a romance compelling, and not only uses all of them, but dials them up to 11.

Why are they at odds? Why are they forbidden from being together?

Because they are literally the most opposing forces you can imagine in Western Canon. They are the Angel Guarding The Gate and The Serpent of Eden. The literal only way you could’ve made this a bigger deal would’ve been to make it God and Satan, and even that would’ve not hit as hard, because it’d be like two CEOs getting together – there’s no fear of a higher power adding that delicious conflict. And to add to all this, in real life, the couple is portrayed as two men, which adds that second meta level of conflict.

And what fear/danger is keeping this couple apart?

Not just familial disappointment—but disappointment from God and Heaven and Hell. Not just moral guilt, but the guilt of potentially dooming the entire Earth. And finally, on top of that, the very real danger of being killed. Not only that, but making it as though you never even existed.

And in real life, they face all those roadblocks that queer couples in media have been battling for years and years, but I'll talk about that more in a second.

Okay, then Time. How long have they been kept apart?

For…all of it.

All of the time that ever existed.

They, quite literally, could not have been kept apart longer.

And this leads into those final two points, the ones that actually really sell it. Because I can sit down right now and write a story about an angel and a demon falling for each other at the beginning of time against all odds…but what I can’t do is to have already written it thirty-three years ago.

That’s how long this story has existed. Thirty. Three. Years.

I’m not even counting how this is using characters that have existed as opposing forces for thousands of years. I’m not even saying that, even though that’s also a part of it. But besides that, this story, this exact story started thirty-three years ago, and is still being continued by the author to this day.

Do you know how uncommon that is?

Yes, we have canon that has lasted for many, many years. Hundreds. We get new versions of beloved older stories ever year. But it’s so very rare that they are by the same creator. We get new Sherlock Holmes content, but it is not written by Arthur Conan Doyle. This, on the other hand, is actual canon content, written by the author of the original. That is unbelievably rare.

That means we’ve got a fandom where some people have grown up with these characters. People who read it at twenty are fifty-three. People who read it at fifty are eighty-three. Kids who saw their parents reading the book now have children of their own. It is a cult classic that has been in the hearts of so many people for generations. Me, personally, I fell in love with it ten years ago, at age twenty, at the very beginning of my own writing journey. This story means so much to people, because it’s stood that test of time.

And yet, this story was never explicitly romantic. So many saw it that way, but it was never something confirmed. Because this was a book from the 90s, at a time where this kind of romance just wasn’t in popular media if it wasn’t played as a joke. It was, back then, the same kind of “forbidden” as a romance between angel and demon. So people imagined, but they never expected anything more. And they’ve continued not expecting more, because even in the 2019 first season, there was never any true confirmation of anything, and people accepted it. You have a 33-year-old story here – it’s possible that this major change/confirmation could happen, but all things considered, it was unlikely. You would never blame the creator for not making major developments to a story they wrote with their late friend a lifetime ago. And no one in production was saying a word to confirm or deny, but we’ve seen all this before. It was a Will-They-Won’t-They…Probably-Not situation.

And then you have the end of S2.

And that's where that bittersweet sadness comes in for me, personally. Not at a huge level, not to the point where I'd have it any other way, but it's there regardless. Because I realized that this was a unique situation that could never be replicated, for me, and likely for many, especially readers of the book pre-show. In all likelihood, I would never again experience a romantic payoff like this one. Because it was the most forbidden of forbidden romances, the couple of which have been kept apart by the worst of all dangers and highest level of guilt for the longest amount of time literally possible, written over a real-life span of time where this kind of romance went from “completely taboo even in real life” to “finally acceptable in popular media,” written by the same creator, and not confirmed as canon until the story reached the age of Jesus Christ himself.

And the real kicker is, even after everything these two literally star-crossed lovers have gone through…they’re still being kept apart. They’ve still not taken down those final, seemingly insurmountable barriers between them. It wasn’t a “here you go 😊” move to make long-time fans happy – it’s being used as a perfect, painful plot point. After 33 years, we’re still having to wait longer.

Chef's kiss. Couldn’t have been a better set up if it was mathematically calculated. And yet, the best part is that it happened organically.

It just works.

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — one: beginnings | Joel Miller x reader

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chapter summary | You're dead weight, a burden on Joel's shoulders after the death of his daughter and the collapse of the world. But, if there's one person to challenge him, it was you.

author's note | this spurred from jo (@undercoverpena) and i, a conversation over kinks and wanting to explore them in separate chapters but somehow create a cohesive story and here we are. she spun for me and gave me a collection of beautiful kinks to try out. this is going to be BIG one for me, so if you plan on staying along for this ride, i love you so much.

chapter warnings | 18+, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), canon character de*th, canon typical violence, m*rder tw, morally grey!joel with trust issues, tommy is buffer, use of weapons, weapon training, unjust decision making, reader is such a nuisance to joel, sex as a distraction, joel is so emotionally stunted he can't help it, awkward aftercare

word count —6k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

You’ve never seen so much blood.

His shirt was soaked to his neck, expression blank and void as Tommy rounded the truck to open the door—it wasn’t the same one you’ve seen pull into their driveway for years now. It was new, unfamiliar. Joel’s weighed down, his arms straining as he heaves whatever he’s holding up in his arms, finally coming from around the door and into view. Her curls fell first, body limp in Joel’s arm as he held her close–it was Sarah. Little Sarah who you would babysit in high school for extra cash when the Miller brothers had to work a few extra jobs to pay the bills, little Sarah who always had the biggest smile on her face. Not so little anymore, years gone and passed as you graduated and went off to work some dead-end job to stay afloat in hopes that you could attempt to pay a college tuition.

But, that all seemed futile now. 

It was late September when the world ended—Joel’s birthday, you’d know that from the fact Sarah had mentioned it to you that morning as she checked the mail that Joel had forgotten from the day before. A normal day for you, for everyone else. But, for Sarah and many others, it was their last.

The neighborhood was quiet now, the hoard of freshly turned infected heading for the inner city and toward the noise, like one singular hivemind following a predetermined path. 

And your parents—they weren’t even here. They had left for vacation a week prior, spending the next two weeks out of the country, celebrating their anniversary far away from responsibility and the barrage of news from all over the world. But, they would come back to nothing. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t wait around—it would get you killed; starvation, lack of resources, it would only get you so far. 

The infection was worldwide, incurable—it was the last thing you heard before the satellite on your television cut out, snuffing out any last bit of hope you had left.

In the midst of Joel’s mindless walk to the front door of his home, Tommy glances over his shoulder to survey, likely for more infected. But, he spots you.

His eyes squint slightly, like he’s seeing a vision of you. They widen as he realizes you’re real, you here—you were shaking, arms crossed over your chest and your fingers digging into your biceps as you hid by the shadow of your door.

Tommy knows that look, your eyes go wide but soften as he approaches. 

You can’t say you’ve held a conversation longer than five minutes with either of them, even after living next to them most of your life, but his hands are held up as he approaches and carefully, almost as if you were going to scurry away like a feral cat.

“You alright, honey?” His voice is quiet, a hushed whisper as he comes closer and stops a few inches, peering inside of your house and finding it empty, “Are they—did they—”

He looks over at you wearily and your fingers dig into your skin, peering over his shoulder and staring at the open door, Joel no longer in sight, “They left on a trip and I—I don’t,” You sigh through your nose, closing your eyes to blink away the stinging tears, “They’re dead either way, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand reaches around to rub at your back and you fall into him easily.

“Sarah–” Tommy tenses up, pulling away slowly to look at you as you peer up at him, noticing the near permanent frown on your face, your expression unchanging as you attempt to process and fail—it wasn’t fair, none of it made sense, “is she dead?”

The sound of something fragile falling and breaking in Joel’s house startles you both, sending you both apart and rushing toward the house without thinking. The idea of being alone now was more fearful than anything else—no survival instinct, no plan or method to stay alive. You’d be dead by next nightfall if you stuck around though, that much you knew.

The sight sends your heart into your stomach. Joel was hunched over Sarah’s lifeless body, his arms sticky with blood—some of it dried and some of it not. There were a few broken picture frames on the floor at Sarah’s feet and you felt your breath catching in your throat, watching as Joel brushed her hair from her face and cried, silently.

“Joel,” Tommy begins, slow and careful, “we’ve gotta figure out a plan.”

“We’re buryin’ her first,” Joel tells him, “not leavin’ her like this.”

Tommy nods in understanding, looking over at you briefly.

“Listen, Joel…”

“She ain’t our problem, Tommy.” He bites harshly, resting Sarah down gently as he rose from his knees, “Kid’s got her own family.”

“Joel,” Tommy stresses, motioning toward you subtly—Joel looks reluctantly and he can see the fear, practically smelling it on you—it’s the last thing he needs right now, “they’re gone—can’t leave her here.”

“We can.”

“We won’t.”

You take a few careful steps back, quiet and timid, away from the brothers.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy moves in, blocking his brother’s face from view as you lingered near the open front door, staring out toward the street as you couldn’t bare the sight of Sarah’s body laying a few feet to your right, “she used to babysit Sarah—helped you out in a pinch a hundred times. I understand this—”

“This is my daughter—”

“She’s my niece too, goddammit—don’t try and spin this, Joel.” Tommy rocks on his heels, hands hugging his hips as his shoulders stretch out, broad and wide, “We bury her, we get our shit and we go–I’m not losing you, too. I will drag your ass out of here if I have to.”

There’s a sliver of Joel’s face that comes into view as he peers over Tommy’s shoulder at you, eyes dragging over you carefully before he returns to Tommy, “She’s ain’t worth the trouble.”

He’s completely tossing aside the fact that you were an adult, young but still—you sigh shakily, “I can carry my own weight, you know?”

He’s stoic, a long stretch of silence as Tommy stares him down, lingering and waiting for Joel to come to his senses, but even when he does—it’s forced.

“Then start loading the truck,” Joel tells you, “anything—food, water—”

“Yeah, I got it.” You respond in a pinched tone, trying to stifle your own emotions.

Joel doesn’t argue further, picking up Sarah with a sudden gentleness that returns at the sight of his daughter while Tommy disappears to the attached garage and you linger for a brief moment as Joel admires her, knowing that this was all he had. Knowing that eventually even this memory would fade over time.

His guard softens as he looks at her and you find that was the right time to speak more candidly.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You tell him, your voice quiet as you approach and he looks at you briefly, acknowledging with a nod as you move beyond him and toward the kitchen, “she’s a sweet kid.”

His voice breaks but barely wavers, a subtle sign of emotion that he was suppressing deep down.

“She was.”

His departure after that is quiet, meeting Tommy at the backdoor as he reentered from the garage with the shovels and blanket in hand, a sorrowful look on his face that furrowed his brow.

They both worked silently in the backyard while you loaded up what you could. Their house was mostly scarce, knowing Joel was probably creeping up on a shopping day that would never come. There’s a few canned goods you manage to scavenge along with a decently untouched pack of water bottles and while you couldn’t brave the other houses in fear that something else might be lingering, you gather what you can from your own. 

By the time you’re closing up the truck bed they’re both walking toward you, a gun tucked away in both of their waistbands and a rifle in Joel’s free hand—his arms were cleaner, albeit still dirty.

He’d changed, rid himself of the bloody clothes and brushed past you silently, his eyes dark and empty. 

Tommy stops at your feet, offering up a knife sheathed in a leather casing that you could attach to your jeans, “Ain’t got another gun, but it’s somethin’.”

You nod slightly and take it from his grip, “Thank you,” You tell him, turning to find Joel waiting with the door open, expecting that you would climb into the middle as there was nowhere for you to go, unless the truck bed seemed like the better option—it didn’t.

It was blind trust, putting your life in the hands of both brothers. 

But, you had no choice. All that mattered was living.

—

And for Joel, the cost didn’t matter.

It’s jarring, frightening. His emotions are like a light switch—when on, he’s calm and able to hold small talk, but even that was forced and uneasy. But, when your supply dwindles down after a week or so of driving and camping in the deep brush of forest, you find what the light switch is like when it’s off.

It was a stranger, a helpless guy alone and clearly on the verge of death. All of you were on edge, the dwindling September heat still lingered into October and you had blew through your last bottle of water the night before, sweat dampening your clothes as you sifted through the aisles of the convenience store that was bare bones and empty by now but you were hoping, praying—but then you hear it and to Joel, it was prey. 

He yanks your knife from where it’s secured at your waist, so quick you barely even feel the tug as he carefully steps around the corner toward the counter, finding an older gentleman with feeble hands and energy that was dying out by the second. He was starving, dehydrated. But, so were you. And so was Joel.

“Joel, don’t.” You speak from behind him, “There’s another store in town. It’s bigger.”

“Hand it over,” Joel demands, the knife tucked away in his right hand behind his back as he held out his left, beckoning with his fingers as the man stared on, bottom lip trembling in fear as he squeezed at the plastic bottle, “now.”

There’s a moment of hesitation where the man begins to speak, shaking his head, but Joel is on him before he gets the chance, shoving the knife through the center of his throat—quick, quiet, efficient. You sigh deeply, knowing it was already coming. Joel wipes the blood away on the now dead man’s pants and snatches up the water bottle before he’s shoving it into your chest and sliding the knife back into the holster.

“You killed him,” Joel looks at you torsely, eyes half-lidded as he waits for you to continue, “you—you didn’t have to kill him, Joel.”

“You’re welcome,” He answers with finality, “Tommy’s waiting’, let’s go.”

You glance at the dead body with a grimace, the weight of it pulling down as the man slumped to the floor and his blood pooled closer and closer toward you. You step back quickly and follow after Joel who’s already ringing the bells on the door above the entrance.

“That was quick—no trouble?” Tommy asks when you return to the truck, climbing over Joel’s lap as he refuses to move, digging your knee into his thigh out of annoyance.

He takes it in stride, though. Doesn’t even react.

“No,” You lie easily, “Last one, though.”

You’ve learned to not speak on it—Joel’s quick tendencies for anger and bruteness. Hell, most of the time you could just ignore it, like now. Arguing never worked, Joel didn’t care enough.

Besides, you were just a waste of resources. Joel said it so often that it echoed in the back of your mind every time he slashed, stabbed, or gutted someone for something you needed, or wanted.

It started in small glimpses, you or Tommy could say a word, make a noise, and Joel’s brow would pinch together and the scowl on his face would deepen. 

And Tommy was objectively selfless, which bothered Joel more than it should—but given how things were, it made sense. Good karma wasn’t going to do anything for your conscience in a world that was based on self-preservation. In Joel’s mind, it was kill or be killed. And he always killed first. He learned not to take chances, hold out on good faith. It didn’t exist anymore.

And he didn’t just attack on his own behalf—he’s done it for you on a few occasions. You’ve never killed an infected, Joel always got the first hit in. Your knife would be at the ready, shaky in your grip and he would look over at you with dismay, knowing that if you did manage to have a shot you would ultimately miss. So, instead of coaching, he yanks the knife from your grip and plunges it into the skull of the infected. 

He hides his tendencies from Tommy well for a while—you always sensed Joel’s underlying itch for conflict after Sarah’s ultimate death and the few weeks you spend together on the road. You didn’t stay anywhere longer than a couple days, different cities throughout Texas as you made your way upstate. Utah, Boston, Pittsburg. Anywhere but here.

The early mornings in the forest after an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement—no rain meant sleeping in the bed of the truck or setting up camp in the one tent you had to share. But, when it did, the three of you would be forced to hunker down inside the four feet of truck cabin with nowhere to angle yourself but one of the brothers. Joel almost always shrugged you away, so by default, Tommy was the one you always chose. He didn’t seem to mind, thankfully.

Regardless, early mornings usually meant that Tommy would take his time teaching you a few things while Joel slept heavy in the truck, the low rumble of his snore heard as you both paused and Tommy readjusted the position of the knife in your grip.

“If you’re gonna hold it the way you gotta keep the dull side close to your arm,” He tightens your fist around the handle, “that way you ain’t accidentally cutting yourself with your own blade.”

You nod, squeezing down on your grip until it feels comfortable and Tommy leads your hand back toward you before guiding it through and back towards him slowly, “Always aim for the head on infected—right to the brain, kills ‘em instantly.”

You already knew that, but the reiterating is a nice reminder. 

Everything had a weakness.

“People,” Tommy starts hesitantly, “I mean, they’re livin’ and breathin’—if you let them close enough anywhere is gonna hurt them, but try to aim for the neck or the face.”

The stark image of Joel forcing the knife through the center of the man’s throat is heavy on your mind and Tommy pats on your arm as you lower it, but your eyes focus on his waist.

“Can you teach me how to shoot?”

Tommy looks at you wearily—not because he doesn’t trust you, but there’s something there.

“What happens if one of you is in trouble?” You ask him, pressing on the issue. “And I’m the only one who can do anything? I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. I’m not asking for everything, just enough to know. Tommy, come on.”

Tommy sighs, scratching at his slightly grown-out facial hair. It wasn’t nearly as thick as Joel’s, but it was clear you had all been deprived of basic hygiene over the last several weeks.

“Alright,” He relents, but holds up a finger at you, “Just the basics, for now.”

“I mean, Joel’s planning to drop me off at the nearest QZ anyways,” You joke, shoving your knife into the casing at your waist as Tommy pulls the gun out of where it’s tucked into the back of his jeans, “might as well learn as much as I can before then.”

“He won’t,” Tommy assures you, “we’re not abandoning you like that.”

You didn’t agree, but you push the words back down and take the gun that Tommy is offering as he comes to your side, arms coming around your back and around you. He’s positioning your fingers alongside his own and speaking over your shoulder and neither of you hear the car door that opens over your shoulder.

Within seconds the gun is being yanked from your grip and into Joel’s, his fingers dangling through the loop of the trigger and his eyes locked on his brother, “You lost your damn mind?”

Tommy snatches the gun back from his brother, tucking it away into his waistband.

“She’s got just as much reason to learn,” Tommy argues, “—I don’t see you makin’ an effort to teach her anything.”

“It’s not my problem,” Joel says dismissively, “we’re better off just doing the work ourselves. Kid can’t even kill an infected, she’s not gonna save your ass in a gunfight, either.”

The frustration in you boils, simmering over the edge as you push through both of them and toward the truck, closing the door with a slam as their angered voices muffle into the cabin of the truck.

“She’s not our problem, Tommy,” Joel tells him, “the sooner you realize that the better.”

“That why you plan on droppin’ her off on the doorstep of the first QZ we stumble into?”

There’s a long beat of silence before Joel speaks, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Tommy answers, his voice laced with smugness that even you could hear, “she’s already got it set in her mind that you will and you know what—don’t blame her, either.”

Eventually, the argument settles. It’s abrupt and both of them sandwich next to you in silence as Tommy follows the path back to the road, his fingers drumming quietly against the steering wheel. But, you can feel the charge of Joel’s frustration as his fingers twist around each other. You tune it out eventually, the silence drowned out by the low hum of a cassette tape that was playing a song you had heard a thousand times by now.

You knew your own weakness was hope and it was dwindling every day.

-

By Denver, you’re all irritable. Eleven hours cramped in a truck on days of very little sleep and small scraps of meals you’ve made stretch for weeks. All the tension, arguing, and frustrations comes to a head when you stumble upon an abandoned cabin on the outskirts of town, close to the mountains and secluded. It was perfect. 

There was a large, brushy forest to hunt and it was right beside a stream. You knew it was better than nothing and that the three of you could make it work for a time—the only problem, it was already occupied.

“Stay in the truck,” Joel orders to you, cocking his gun in his lap before he’s stuffing it back into his jeans and nodding at Tommy to follow. You almost expect him to argue, but he doesn’t. He follows, like a dutiful little brother as they both stalk toward the cabin calmly.

It was one car, clearly hot-wired and stolen alongside its broken windows.

It was clear that whoever was in the cabin wasn’t the original owners either, spotting the pile of dead infected burned to a crisp beside a stack of logs that you assumed were to keep the fire burning inside the house, watching as the black smoke creeped out of the chimney.

The minutes that pass feel like an hour and you begin to wander if they both decided to keep going, abandon you and try their chances down the stretch of highway without you.

You scoot into the driver’s seat and open the door, stepping out carefully as they muddy ground causes you to slip until you regain traction and as you close the door you hear it—a loud crash, a scuffle, and then Tommy’s voice alongside Joel’s.

You run in without thinking, crashing through the slightly open door to find them both with their arms around the neck of two other men, the strangers your eyes set on are already fading. They claw, scramble for air but they’re losing. Joel slams the butt of his gun into the back of the head of the guy he’s holding before they’re both twisting at their necks in unison, the signifying crack louder than the bodies as they hit the ground.

It isn’t shocking as it should be, having seen so many people on the other end of Joel’s violence—but for Tommy, the guilt of you having to witness that is immediate.

“Kiddo, I’m sorry,” He approaches, his hands out in front of him—he was approaching you the same way he had on outbreak day, timid and careful, “you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

You glance at Joel briefly who’s gun drops to the floor behind him as he heaves the dead man up in his arms and drags him out the back door of the cabin, there’s a subtle shake to his head at Tommy’s words that makes your ears ring, drowning out his profuse apologies.

“It’s us or them, right?”

It cuts off his line of speech and his eyebrows raise slightly, “What?”

“Us or them—I’m always going to choose us, for as long as that is. Joel would too.”

Suddenly he realizes that his justifying is naut as Joel rounds the corner and continues to drag the other body out before he’s joining you both in silence as he rubs his hands against his jacket.

“Alright, uh—I want you both to settle in here, try and make it more homey for the time being. I’m gonna drive into town and see what supplies I can scavenge, should be back by nightfall.”

“I’ll come with you,” Joel adds, but Tommy stops him.

“No,” He tells his brother, a quick shake of his head, “stay here with her, get another fire going.”

And for once, Joel listens to his younger brother. His tongue is poking at his cheek as he looks away with a begrudging annoyance as he stalks toward the fireplace.

“Keep an eye on him,” Tommy whispers to you, “alright?”

You nod and smile at the gentle squeeze to your bicep that Tommy offers as he departs.

When he’s gone, the silence is deafening. Joel’s gun was still on the floor, somehow forgotten by the man who never let anything slip past him, always on guard, always ready to attack.

His back is turned when you pick up the gun, the deafening click making his head turn on a swivel.

-

He’s on you in seconds, standing from his crouched position but you were quicker, stuffing the gun behind your back with a faint smile, taking a few steps away.

“Give it to me,” Joel commands, palm extended in waiting.

“Not like you to leave stuff layin’ around,” you comment jestingly, “I think I’ll keep it for a bit.”

He stalks, heavy footsteps against the hardwood floor as you retreat further and further until you’ve ultimately cornered yourself and Joel lunges for it behind your back but you take the opportunity to sweep under his arm and slip from his grip, dangling the gun from the grip of it with two fingers.

“What? You don’t trust me with it?” you taunt, “Think I’m gonna shoot you, don’t you?”

“I’m not askin’ again,” He charges and despite your quick reflex his hand is on your wrist first, the other coming around your neck as he presses you against the back of an old, dusty couch. It creaks under your weight and sends a cloud of dust up with the movement, “drop it.”

“Say it to my face,” you retort behind a strangled tone, feeling the heavy pressure of his thick fingers around your throat, tilting your chin up at his face where he towers over you, “say it and I’ll go—you won’t see me again, hear from me. I won’t be your responsibility anymore.”

Joel shakes your wrist and squeezes and the gun drops, clattering against the floor but he doesn’t let go, not yet.

“You’ll die out there.”

You squint your eyes in disbelief, a soft laugh bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you repeat that to Tommy a million times over the last few months.”

You pull at his grip but find that it only tightens, your fingers clawing at the hand around your throat, his fingers tucked under your jaw as it pulls your chin up and up, nearly touching his chest with how close he is to you now, your feet scrambling slightly underneath your for proper footing as you leaned against the couch. 

You speak again, hoping to crawl under his skin and make him uneasy, bothered.

“What? Sudden change of heart?” you ask, “Suddenly I’m worth protecting? Tommy would love to know about the handful of men you’ve killed in my honor, you know?”

Joel’s face twitches at that, his eyes dragging toward the gun on the floor—that was your window.

You force your knees up and into his stomach, shoving him away as he stumbles but the feeling of his arm coming around your abdomen has you squirming, turning and hitting him with weak, balled up fists that didn’t amount to half the strength he encompassed. It was barely a struggle for him.

Eventually you give up, waiting and waiting for him to let you go. His gaze is heavy, almost curious in the way he watches you go through the stages of resistance to acceptance and then finally giving up before your eyes are peering up at him, pressed against him at every point of contact, the cold metal of his belt buckle digging into your stomach.

“You’re stuck with me and I’m sorry,” you tell him out of desperation, “I just want to learn and you could teach—”

It takes you a second to process when his lips press against yours, a biting kiss that is forceful and startling, gasping into his mouth at the action but your body reacts instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck and hands fisting into his hair, the subtle essence of salt and pepper that was only noticeable this close. Joel groans softly, the first true and honest sound that has come from him all evening.

“Irritating,” Joel speaks against your lips, mumbled as he leads you, bumping your legs against the arm of the couch before you’re both tumbling over, “—do you ever fuckin’ shut up?”

He’s coined you vexatious in his own mind, not realizing how impossible he was to be around either—stubborn, impossible. An unmoving force of rigidness, but here he was—pliable to the fingers that slip under his shirt as he settles between your open legs, his own pulling at the button of your jeans.

You don’t need words, knowing that you both have communicated off eye contact at a level that was never spoken about but just worked. It clicked and when he pushed, you gave into the blow.

Silently you work alongside his own hands, pushing your jeans down and off. You kick them to the floor, working at your underwear while he undoes his own jeans, feeling like you were both working against the clock with your heart hammering in your chest. He was eager, impatient—still Joel, but it was a new look. It was the dynamic that, for you, felt like the missing piece.

Weeks of constant bickering and side-eyed glances all boiling down to one break in his mulish personality, this was the resolve.

The warm touch of his palm against your upper thighs pull your attention to him and he breathes out harshly through his nostrils, his jeans shoved down his thighs and his free hand palming himself over his underwear, squeezing at your skin as he offers only one word in acknowledgement. A question.

“Yeah?”

You nod shakily, answering with a soft, “Yes.”

-

There is no build-up, no gentle touching that leads to soft caresses as Joel presses himself inside of you. His hand is gripping the arm of the couch above your head as he grips himself at the base of his cock before he’s pushing in with one solid jerk of his hips, a hurried and desperate movement to bury himself inside of you. Your fingers pull at the hair by his nape and he grunts, head pulling back as he snapped his hips back and pushed into you again, sharp and angered. His jaw was tense, the subtle peek of teeth bared behind his lips

It’s a harsh disjunction; a man you would watch from your window on weekends as he spent mornings chasing Sarah out in the lawn—softer, happier. Her protector.

With reluctance, he’s become your own. Whether he would admit it aloud or not, he knows. But, it isn’t the same—you were extra baggage, a burden, but one he felt chained too. And more importantly, distraction.

You could see his humanity slipping week by week, a dull shell of himself most days. He won’t even look at you now, his eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts into you, your eyes dragging from his face to his cock, your hand traveling down to fist at his shirt, dragging it up his stomach. 

The dark, coarse hair at the base of his cock traveled up his stomach, across his thighs. Big, strong thighs that held your legs apart and the thickness of him ached, stretched you open after months of unintentional celibacy forcing you to grip him tight, wincing with every continuous snap of his hips, feeling a hand come around to cup the back of your head, cradling it as his forehead drops and presses against your own, blocking your line of sight and forcing your eyes closed. Just feel, he’s trying to convey. Don’t think.

And it works, lingering thoughts fading away as pleasure bleeds in. His top lip grazing against the round part of your nose, his hot breath fanning over your mouth as he huffs and you moan against him, a soft and broken noise that only forces his grip to tighten against the back of your head and the other hand at your thigh, finger digging into the flesh so harshly that the ache would linger for days.

You feel the crest creeping up on you but it isn’t enough, slipping your fingers between your body silently, but the fingers around your wrist startle you, dragging you back to the surface and opening your eyes to his, his expression earnest but stoic.

“Don’t,” He shakes his head, “—just close your eyes, I got it.”

You can’t find the energy inside to argue, feeling the hand cradling your head circle around to the crown of your scalp, fingers digging into the hair and pulling taut, forcing your head back and then he’s touching you, two thick fingers circling your clit in time with his harsh, hurried thrusts.

You do close your eyes, feeling the soft tuft of his hair against the side of your face as buries himself there, his movements jerkier as his fingers work quickly, squeezing around him as your fingers dig into his forearm, hips working against his fingers instinctively to search out more and more until you’re tipping over the cliff and free-falling, coming with a soft gasp as he pulls away suddenly, fisting his cock tightly as he came over your stomach, hastily shoving your shirt out of the way as he grunts quietly, his face pinched and completely unreadable when you do finally find the energy to look at him, eyes dragging toward the ceiling as you breathe and try to process what the fuck just happened.

There’s a distant rip of fabric somewhere to the right of you and far away, noticing that Joel’s already redressed when he approaches and wipes gently at the mess of cum dressed across your stomach, shoving your jeans back into your hand in the same movement. 

You look at him oddly, shuffling the jeans and underwear in your grip as you rise, eyes following as he moved around, started building the fire Tommy had told him about a half hour ago and is so glaringly ignoring what had transpired just now—you move quickly, redressing to avoid the judgment if he looked back and you were still staring.

And you notice the itch, the unavoidable twitch in his shoulders as he can’t settle with his movements, occupying himself to keep running on the clear adrenaline high he was on—he’d killed a man and immediately directed his frustration at you and used it as a means to stall, distract, satiate that monster dwelling inside him that always came out around you.

“So, can I leave now?” You ask him, his eyes peeking over his shoulder as he shoved a new pile of wood into the fireplace, “Are we finished?”

“You’re not leaving,” Joel tells you—you weren’t moving, weren’t planning to, but you wanted to see where the conversation would go, whether Joel would admit that he cared more than he let on, his emotions so stunted since Sarah that they came out in bouts of violence and rage, “I’d never hear the end of it.”

You offer a smug chuckle in response, “So, I was right. You don’t want me around.”

Joel turns on his knee, allowing you to see the remnants of flush in his cheeks, his messy hair and his response that rips a hole straight through your chest, “I’m stuck with you because Tommy wants you around.”

It wasn’t a direct answer, but you could read into it enough.

You glance over the back of the couch, wondering if the gun was still laying on the floor where Joel had squeezed it out of your grip, but the click to your right has you turning in an instant, staring down the barrel of Joel’s gun.

“You got a lot to learn,” Your glare is less than impressed as it lands on him, petulant and annoyed, “Don’t ever touch my gun again, alright?”

“Oh,” you respond airily, an impish smile creeping onto your face as you tilted your head slightly, “so—you fucked me as punishment or because of some silly little fantasy you've always had of fucking your neighbors daughter?”

And to your surprise, Joel's response is less angered.

“You could do with a little punishment,” He rises on his knees, pocketing the gun back in his jeans, and smirking at your dumb-founded expression, “—couldn’t you?”

Joel approaches closer, motioning with his fingers for you to stand and without thinking, you follow. His subtle smirk grows wider and he’s reaching for the forgotten knife on the floor, having fallen off your pants in the midst of your hurried undressing.

“I ain’t here to teach—I’m keepin’ us alive. The sooner you learn to shut up and follow, the better,” He reaches for your hand, placing the knife into your open palm, “and you kissed back, so that look on your face, that regret—”

“Who said there was regret?”

Joel’s eyes stick to you, meeting yours fiercely for a moment as you take the knife from him and reattach it to the loop on your jeans. His tongue licks at his bottom lip briefly, watching the subtle grin spread across your face.

Your words were a challenge. 

And for you, that meant game on. 

-

dividers creds: @/saradika-graphics

[hismercytomyjustice]

Ngl I really enjoyed Via’s arc in Sinsmas. She is just SO MUCH like her father that it both delights and hurts me lol.

Their relationship is an interesting take on struggling to try to break the cycle of abuse/neglect.

Stolas grew up with his father not even knowing his name or showing him a shred of affection. He was a means to an end, a tool. The only way he’s ever received any kind of acknowledgement from his father is by doing his duty. Mastering his powers, entering into an arranged marriage, and producing an heir.

You can just so clearly see how he is trying SO HARD to give Via a different life. He wants them to be a family. For her to never doubt her parents love her. To be the father he never had.

To the point he shoves his own wants and needs so far down that he is barely holding on.

Via going from accusing him of not loving her to realizing that he loves her so much that he forced himself to play the role of a good father and husband. To the point he destroyed himself for her…

And that realization just devastates her.

Stolas getting involved with Blitz was the culmination of decades of forcing himself to be the person everyone else expected him to be. He feels he can’t be loved, but he can be useful. And maybe if he’s useful enough, people will care about him.

The reason his connection with Blitz is so strong is because both of them feel that way. The difference is that Blitz was able to create his own found family (tho it took him ages to realize it lol) while Stolas has always been alone. They’re two sides of the same coin. And while Blitz has spent the past few years healing, Stolas has been descending further into darkness because he doesn’t have that same support.

Via has absorbed so many of his insecurities. Especially the fear of not being loved or wanted despite Stolas trying SO HARD to be the perfect father to her. But he’s not. He can never be because he forgot the old adage of “put your oxygen mask on first before helping anyone else.”

I think that definitely can come across as him being neglectful of her. But to me it speaks to his desperation to be such a good father to her that he tries to hold himself to IMPOSSIBLE standards.

He doesn’t fail Via because he doesn’t care. He fails her because he keeps setting up these unrealistic expectations for their relationship. He massively overextends himself and puts his own wants and desires on the back burner so often that his life is imploding around him out of his control.

He doesn’t miss the stars with her because he doesn’t care. He misses them because he’s struggling to put his life back together after finally taking some initiative for himself. He’s trying to deal with the fallout of wanting a divorce from Stella, but he’s waited so long and he’s so overwhelmed by it all that the date slips his mind. And the instant he realizes what’s happened, he drops everything and goes looking for her.

Via keeps watching him make these promises he struggles with or fails to keep and doesn’t realize until she finds all of the happy pills how much he’s overextended himself for her sake. And because she’s her father’s daughter, she immediately thinks she’s at fault. She thinks he would be happier if he hadn’t forced himself to play house all these years for her sake.

She’s not wrong. If he’d separated from Stella years before, they’d probably all be better off. But he didn’t because of his sense of duty. Stolas’s problem is that he never advocates for himself until he reaches his literal breaking point. By then, the damage is more of a tsunami than a ripple because now his meticulously crafted house of cards is falling down around him faster than he can pick up the pieces.

Via is right that he would have been happier, but not for the reasons she thinks. He did it because he loved her, not out of obligation for her. And also because he is deeply broken and flawed.

Via’s dealing with a lot of complicated emotions too. Her father was willing to sacrifice himself for his affair partner, which she initially believes means he’s picking Blitz over her. But really it’s just Stolas trying to save the only other person in his life who understands him and who maybe cares about him.

How could he live with himself if he let Blitz die?

And it’s not like Stolas has time to sit down and think of a rational plan. He rushes to the trial because Blitz is literally about to be decapitated. And then he saves him the only way he knows how. I think part of him was also convinced that, as much as he loves Via, she might actually be better off without him because he is a wreck. He’s convinced he’s ruined his life and the lives of everyone around him.

I think this is why he doesn’t fight Stella much for custody of Via. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he genuinely thinks Stella is a more stable parent than he is and that Via will be better off with her as a result. The man also lacks a backbone too tho because his self worth is -9000.

But then Stolas doesn’t get executed. And the consequences of his actions hit him like a ton of bricks once the adrenaline and panic wears off. He saved Blitz, but at what cost? And, based on his statement in Sinsmas, it sounds like he would’ve done it all over again if given the chance. Because he’s the one who let Blitz use his grimoire even though he knew it was wrong. Because Blitz was in danger of dying because of him. And because he has a very strong sense of morality and justice too.

Dying in Blitzo’s place was a spur of the moment decision and once the dust cleared, Stolas realized how everything he’s tried to do to keep his shit together has fallen apart at the seams and now everyone knows it.

All Via can see when she looks at him now is that he’s hit rock bottom because of her. Again, not true. But Stolas has tried so hard to give her this idyllic family life, thinking that was the best thing he could do for her. Not realizing that she could see the cracks forming. She just didn’t understand why there were cracks until now.

I don’t think Via actually hates him. I think she hates herself. Convinced she’s the reason he’s hit rock bottom. Why couldn’t she see how much he was suffering? Why would he suffer so much for her? So she’s taking herself out of the equation, just like he tried to with Blitz. If she’s not in his life anymore, maybe he’ll stop killing himself to try to make her happy. Maybe he’ll stop being so miserable.

I think a big part of their arc together has been her going from thinking of Stolas as this perfect and larger than life figure to seeing him start to crumble and now getting a peek behind the curtain and realizing how much of that wasn’t real. And it scares and upsets her that her dad isn’t the perfect person he’s tried to be for her. He’s broken and hurting and she doesn’t know what to do to help because he’s spent her whole life focusing on her.

Not to say that he’s done that well. He genuinely hasn’t. He’s overcorrected so hard that he’s fucked her up in a completely different way because he’s overextended himself. He pushed himself until the illusion of a perfect happy family cracked along with him. He’s also made it difficult for her to know how to help him because he’s sheltered her so much.

I think this sometimes makes Stolas come across as selfish. He seemingly “ruined” his marriage and his relationship with his daughter for Blitz. But really it was just the pendulum swinging wildly in the opposite direction. He was so starved for happiness and connection that now he’s trying to live two separate lives and it’s just not possible and he’s falling apart even faster.

Stolas was so desperate for affection and to be of use that he lets Blitz have his grimoire, under the impression Blitz is attracted to him because Blitz literally tried to seduce him to get it. He also does all of the dirty talk because he thinks Blitz likes it.

I think he initially sets the terms for the grimoire usage because he thinks it’s a price Blitz is more than willing to pay because he showed up trying to seduce him. I think he l also just really wants an excuse to see/spend time with Blitz too. It doesn’t even cross his mind that Blitz might want anything other than sex from him. He’s once again playing a role based on what he thinks is expected of him.

It’s not until Stolas discovers he’s starting to develop feelings for Blitz that he realizes their arrangement is wrong. And the moment he realizes it, he immediately tries to make amends. He hopes Blitz will admit he has feelings for him too, but is willing to step away if not. But he also cares about him so much, he makes sure to give him the Asmodean Crystal so he can freely make the choice.

Meanwhile he has no idea Blitz will just view this as another person trying to abandon him or look down on him. Because Blitz struggles with self worth too and believes the only way people will care about him is if he can be useful. Blitz has a deep seated fear of abandonment while Stolas fears no one could ever love him just for himself. He offers Blitz the crystal to let him know his feelings are genuine and to gauge Blitz’s too.

All of this is to say that I think Via and Stolas will reconcile, hopefully sooner rather than later. I think Via needs some time to process who her father actually is vs who she thought he was. And both of them need to be able to forgive themselves/grant themselves some grace so they can finally meet each other in the middle like Stolas has finally managed with Blitz. Stolas needs to accept Via is grown up now and he can’t shield her from the negatives of the world forever. Meanwhile Via needs to understand everything doesn’t have to be so black and white.

[sakur4ii]

Rooted Connections Pt.2

Charles Xavier x Reader x Erik Lensherr

the gender of the reader is not specified

Note: I will not make a third part, I hope you like it. Also reminder that English is not my first language, let me know if there are any mistakes I didn't notice (especially with pronouns).

Summary: feelings come out, plants love romance and you are still as blind as in the first part.

Finally, peace.

After supposedly saving the future from great chaos, Charles decided to reopen the doors of his school, offering you to stay with him. You accepted because you didn't want to leave him alone, feeling his sadness through the earth. Although in reality, he wasn’t alone; he now had his students, but the connection the three of you had created was so strong that you feared that if you also left, he would break again.

Years have passed, and now the school is full, and you are a teacher.

You walk through the halls, searching for something, maybe someone, though you’re not sure. The mansion’s plants have warned you but haven’t specified anything, so you proceed cautiously, trying to find some intruder.

"Professor Y/N,” you hear, a voice you know well.

“What is it, Jean?” You turn around; you can’t see her clearly, but you can feel her nerves and hear her heart beating faster than usual.

“Someone is approaching from the backyard.”

Before she finishes speaking, you are already running to the backyard. The plants don’t want to reveal anything, and for some reason, you don’t feel any unusual presence, leading you to assume that the earth doesn’t want you to know who the intruder is on purpose.

Once your bare feet touch the green, damp grass, you stop feeling the presence of everyone at the school except for the person sitting on the grass a few feet away from you, and Charles, who is coming up behind you.

You take slow steps toward the seated person, hearing a gasp behind you. You sit down next to him and wait for Charles to come closer until he is on the other side of the man.

“What are you doing here, Erik?” Charles asks. You can feel his conflicting emotions through his voice. On one hand, he is happy to see him again and that it isn’t to stop him from killing all of humanity and condemning mutants. On the other hand, he’d love to punch him again for prioritizing revenge and abandoning him.

But you focus more on the absolute pain you feel from Erik through the earth. You can feel him mourning, yet also very angry, seeking comfort to avoid vengeance.

When Charles doesn’t receive any response, and you can assume he also starts to feel the man’s emotions, you wrap your arm around Erik’s shoulders, pulling him into a side hug, enough for him to start crying.

“I tried,” he sobs into your neck, while Charles sits on the ground, leaving the chair aside and firmly holding Erik’s hand between his own. “I tried to live like them, to blend in, and they… they killed my wife and daughter.”

You don’t know what to say; you don’t know how to comfort him with words, so you just rub his back. You know Charles is afraid of saying something wrong, something that will only make the situation worse, so both of you remain silent, comforting your old friend (and the third missing piece of the puzzle) through gentle touches.

“I didn’t know where else to go… you’re all I have left.”

-------------------------------------------------------

You weren’t born blind; you had the privilege of seeing the color of the sky and vegetation. You had the privilege of having a favorite color, but an accident occurred, and it was no longer worth thinking about things like a favorite book or a favorite flower because you couldn’t see anything anymore.

Plants are very talkative; they always have been. They love to gossip, and they love drama. The day before the accident, they were very hysterical, sensing something bad was coming, but they couldn’t say what.

Then the accident happened, and you were hospitalized. The plants felt guilty, apologizing over and over, even the plants you didn’t know but who knew you, apologizing and feeling ashamed that they hadn’t been useful, that they couldn’t prevent the tragedy.

It was when you lost your sight that your powers began to manifest: control of the earth, the ability to feel through it. Your mentors were the plants, the trees, and the earth itself. You learned that you could see through the roots of trees, and that was an easy way to find something or someone.

When you met Charles, even before the man arrived at your house, the plants were more talkative than usual. They told you everything they knew, like how Logan was from the future and needed help, your help. But they mostly talked about Professor X and a puzzle. You couldn’t understand them, but their excitement amused you.

When they freed Erik from that cell, the plants began talking non-stop again, once more about a supposed puzzle and Erik’s entire life, about how angry they were with some of his actions but how much they appreciated him.

The first time they fell completely silent was when Erik shot Raven; the second was when Erik fled to avoid being captured.

The third time you didn’t understand the silence; you were listening to Charles reading to his younger students, and out of nowhere, the plants fell silent, a mourning silence.

And the fourth time was the day after the third when Erik appeared unannounced at the school. Although it was more for drama—did I mention they are dramatic?

Erik stayed at the school, purposely obtaining the room that was between yours and Charles’.

If before the plants always talked about Charles, Erik, and his family and the children at school, now, whenever you entered your room, they only talked about Charles and Erik. You only heard about the children if you went outside.

A couple of years have passed. Erik is visibly better, happier, and that makes you happy because it’s real, he’s not pretending, and you’re the first to know that.

-------------------------------------------------------

Your room is a madhouse; you feel like you’re losing your sanity. They won’t stop talking about how handsome, intelligent, and kind Charles is, or how hot, serious, and cunning Erik is. They have the audacity to tease you for not being able to see them, those bitches. When did they go from remorse to mockery?

“What time is it?” you ask, tired, sitting on the edge of your bed while putting on your sunglasses. They all ignore you, except for some jasmine flowers Charles gave you for your birthday along with some heart-shaped sunglasses.

You leave the room, grateful for the silence the hallway plants give you. You don’t know what to do; maybe you’ll go to the kitchen and eat some ice cream, you’re not sure.

When you arrive at the kitchen and take out a tub of ice cream and a spoon, you’re surprised that no plant has told you not to eat something so cold in the middle of the night, raising your suspicions.

You focus on the earth, sensing how all the children and adults are sleeping, everyone except Xavier and Lensherr, which makes you sigh tiredly.

Lately, the plants not only wouldn’t stop talking about them, but they also did everything possible to ensure you spent most of your time in the same room with them, and you only complied because deep down, you wanted that too.

You finish the ice cream and walk through the halls to Charles’ office, without any obstacles in the way (the children make sure not to leave anything lying around that might hinder you, even though they know you could easily avoid it; they fear you might get distracted and have an accident).

—“Come in”— you hear in your head, making you jump in place, and some nearby flowers laugh.

You open the door, and for some reason, they’re both sitting on a three-seater couch. Charles’ wheelchair is set aside to not get in the way, and the plants laugh conspiratorially.

«Speak of the devil…» a flower murmurs, sparking your curiosity.

“Can’t sleep?” Xavier asks. You shake your head. The other man is silent; you know he’s watching you, his intense gaze on you. Sometimes you think he has the power to read souls and keeps it a secret.

Charles laughs at your thought, but you don’t notice him elbowing Erik to stop being so obvious.

“Come sit with us, darling.”

The flowers and plants in the room react as if the pet name was directed at them, as if expressing what you don’t dare express even in your own head for fear the telepath might discover your feelings.

Smiling, you approach the couch. Erik, the closest to you, takes your hand and guides you to sit between them.

“What were you talking about?” you ask.

“Nothing important; we were just planning to take the older kids on a field trip, maybe,” Charles responds, and you know he’s not lying, but from the booing of the plants, you can tell that wasn’t what they were discussing before you arrived.

Erik remains silent; you can’t figure out why. Lately, you can’t sense his feelings, only his emotions, and you can guess that the earth is hiding them on purpose—or maybe the metal?

What you do sense is his knee brushing against yours and his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.

You tilt your head to one side, sharpening your hearing, trying to pick up something more; you don’t know what, but you want to hear all their movements and, above all, the beating of their hearts.

Just when you perfectly hear their rapid heartbeats, the plants start making a ruckus, making you frown.

“What’s wrong?” Erik finally speaks.

“Why don’t the plants want me to hear your heartbeats?”

Unbeknownst to you, Erik and Charles share a wide-eyed look of complicity.

—“We should tell her”— Erik.

—“Now?”— Charles.

The silence between the two men creates a lump in your throat. Since that day on the plane, you felt like you were missing something in the dynamic, all because you couldn’t see. You felt out of place in moments like these, where they might be communicating with just a glance—or worse, telepathically. You hated the thought that they were having secret conversations, thinking that they were using the fact that you couldn't see to communicate in secret. And you hated knowing they were communicating because you could feel the change in emotions through the ground, but what you hated even more was that now you couldn't even feel the emotions of the two men because nature decided to turn its back on you this time.

Tired, you get up from the couch.

"Sorry for interrupting your time alone, I'm going to bed."

You avoid the obstacles you can't feel now but know are there.

"Y/N, no, wait! It's not what you think, let me explain," Charles says, while Erik gets up and runs towards you, grabbing you so you won't escape (and without you knowing, preventing you from bumping into the closed door).

"Listen to them, listen to them, listen to them," the plants chant in unison as you squirm in his grip. The earth allows you to see through your feet again, finally letting you feel the emotions of the two men, which makes you stop struggling and fall into shock at what you're sensing.

"You two are in love," you whisper.

Erik leads you back to the couch and sits you down so that you're facing the telepath, while he hugs you from behind and hides his face in the crook of your neck. He's embarrassed.

Charles gently removes your sunglasses, and you can feel his emotions not just through the ground but also inside your head. He takes your hand in his.

"We’ve been debating whether or not to tell you; we didn't know how you'd react, darling."

"So much secrecy just to tell me you two are dating? I'm not homophobic if that's what you were worried about," you say with an amused smile.

You're sure both men are rolling their eyes.

«Don't be an idiot» a flower says.

"Shush."

Charles laughs while Erik raises an eyebrow in a questioning manner towards him, knowing he's missing something.

"We're not just dating, Y/N. We love you as much as we love each other, and we want you to be a part of what we have because you're the missing piece of the puzzle," says Charles.

"And we want you to be officially ours," adds Erik.

Their words take you by surprise, making your heart race a thousand miles an hour. You're sure you're blushing, and loose words echo in your head.

The missing piece of the puzzle... ha... that sounds familiar.

At some point during the evening, you moved to Erik's room (the one furthest from the other rooms, with only one flower that you gave him a long time ago), where you shared kisses, hugs, words, and feelings. Where you expressed the great love you share, making grand plans for the future. And where you realized that you never were out of place; rather, you had always been missing, so they could feel complete.

The End.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

@djlnkaled @kindlover @only-nope @larissa1379 👋❤️

[neuvistar]

❝ MY STAR, MY DAUGHTER. ❞ signed: boothill . wc. 791

— featuring ┊boothill x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊sfw (lil bit of angst if u squint) . major spoilers abt boothill’s story. girldad boothill girldad boothill!!, established relationships (marriage), mentions of pregnancy, just pure fluffiness which hurts my heart | special tags . @rinneverse @mewnbuns

— a/n ┊this is VERRRRYYYY short n somehow took quite a bit bc readers block was eating my ass but i like how this turned out :3 if i see one more tt abt boothill’s silly (not so silly) backstory i will sob uncontrollably :,)

this was a blessing from the aeons themselves.

you were pregnant, with a daughter.. his kid, his flesh and blood. boothill closed his eyes, fingers gently stroking your belly in slow, comforting circles. you could feel his chest heaving softly, his breaths growing deeper and more laboured, signaling his fading consciousness. your husband’s arm loosened, draping over your belly and chest. “.. baby, thank you for this gift. son of a nice lady, yer fudgin’ strong for carryin’ our baby girl inside of ya.”

boothill was beyond excited, your husband couldn’t believe it.. after all these years, he couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude; he was creating a family, a future together with you, a future he could’ve had with his first daughter he had lost and grieved for years. in his eyes, this was his blessing, his second shot at being a father. your heart ached for your husband. you knew about his past and experiences, he told you many times already.. a story you can’t help hold dear to your heart. for boothill, the little baby girl he lost on that fateful day.. was the day he lost everything. the pain of her absence was immense and left a void that no amount of time could heal, sending him in a spiral of grief that engulfed him wholly.

but yet.. when he heard the news of your pregnancy a few months ago, boothill felt that little spark of light erupt once more with pure joy.. the glow he lost many years ago, returned with a new sense of hope, a new sense of hope for the future he’s always wanted. the joy and excitement he felt was a welcome reprieve from the grief that had consumed his soul for so long, overcoming his deepest regrets. he couldn’t wait for this little rascal to grow, experience the beauty of life herself, explore the world around her with curiosity and wonder.. teaching her about all the things he knew. maybe even tell her about the older sister she could’ve had. boothill wanted to see her smile, dress her up in pretty little princess dresses, help her walk her first steps, he wanted to experience and see it all. all he wanted was to see his daughter grow in-front of his eyes, something he had failed to see with his first.

to boothill, his flesh and blood forming inside of you was his second chance at fatherhood. he promised himself he’d pour all his love and energy into raising the baby with you, seeking a renewed sense of purpose and meaning of a father’s love. “i can’t wait for our little girl to grow up, baby.. m’ gonna be the best daddy ever, i’ll tell ya that.”

“you already are, hun. you already are.”

“heh.. rely on me from now on, ‘kay? ‘gonna protect you and her.” your husband leaned in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before moving to brush his lips against yours, tenderly.. his thumb forming gentle circles on your belly. “always darlin, always.” boothill smiled crookedly, a tear glistening in the corner of his eye. the cyborg leaned in, his forehead still touching yours as spoke softly.. his words destined for the bundle of joy growing within you. "little one," boothill whispered, his voice filled with love. " mommy and i have been talking. both so fudgin’ excited to meet ya. princess, we’ve been workin’ hard to make sure that when ya join us, you'll have everythin’ ya need. ‘going to shower you with love ‘n affection.. promise to be there for ya, to teach ya and guide ya. mama and daddy’re a team, ‘n we'll be the best parents we can be, just for you,”

your husband paused for a moment, allowing the love in his words to resonate before continuing. ".. ‘can't wait t’hear your first cry, ‘feel ya in my arms, kiss your forehead. mama and i love ya more than anythin’ else in this world. so.. for now, jus’ keep growin’ healthy and strong, okay?"

boothill reached over, taking your hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. your husband gazed back up at you, offering you a small smile as he spoke to the little girl, puckering his lips to leave a gentle peck to your belly. “heh.. jus’ so ya know, s’ your daddy, babygirl. can’t wait t’squeeze those chubby cheeks, roll you up in a marshmallow usin’ daddy’s good-old red scarf.. i can’t wait t’love ya. love ya as much as the universe. y’know why, darlin’?” he paused, nuzzling his nose against the warmth of your belly, “because you’re my star, sweetie. the star that lit up mommy and daddy’s life,”

“my star, my daughter.”

[4milly]

deserving; sub!roman headcanon

we all need a small break. especially your man—the most dominate man you know. be his peace. his breath of fresh air…he deserves it. (overlaps when he was champion…i miss him *sigh*)

warnings: smut.

parings: sub!roman x black!reader

sub!roman appreciated the small moments of coming home to you; a hot meal, clean house, and a hot bath waiting for him. you’d clean him off and when he’d step out the bath, you were ready to give him a massage. he always vocalized his gratitude towards you taking care of him when he needed it most.

sub!roman wasn’t always shown. your man was a true dominate—a leader. you followed him and he adored it knowing you put your entire faith and trust into him. he worked so hard in WWE. carrying the titles for damn near 3 years was starting to show work on his body, and his mental. so moments like these were rare. times when he’d let you lead him for a change.

sub!roman was a natural at pinning your hips down and digging his dick into your pussy and filling you to the brim. stretching your pussy on his dick to accommodate him, to make you cum over and over as you’d thrashed around under him…but you wanted the same reaction from him too.

sub!roman craved those releases. such as you standing behind the giant circular bathtub in your shared home, his long and girthy dick in hand as you stroked him in a sensual motion. your hand barely being able to wrap around his dick in its entirety. his head thrown backwards on his shoulder as moans emitting from his chest kissed the celling, “you like that baby?,” you quietly asked in his ear “i love the sounds you make for me baby.” you could feel his hips swiftly thrusting upwards to pump his dick in your warm hand a little faster.

sub!roman knew you wanted to join him—the ache in your pussy becoming more prominent. the sounds he made was so sexy, it made your pussy wetter and clench with each sound. you wanted to take your other hand and work yourself towards your own release, but tonight was about him. he deserved it. “tell me when you’re cumming, mkay?”

sub!roman was desparate. he was about to blow all over your hand if you kept stroking him, making sure to squeeze his angry red mushroom tip when you neared the top. “you’re doing so good, baby. you like it when i tell you how good you’re doing?” his moans growing louder as he neared his release, his chest heaving. “i know baby, i know. you’re gonna cum for me, mkay? don’t hold back. let it all out baby.” you sucked on his neck and placed loving pecs on his shoulders, increasing the pace of your strokes. “aw, fuck baby. ahh, don—don’t stop baby, please,” his voice sounding a tortured rasp “i can’t stop—i won’t. i promise. not till you cum.”

sub!roman felt the room spinning. it was dizzying. addicting, even. his mind was clouded with only one goal. he felt he body shudder before letting his mouth open on a whimper. chills raced through your spine. your wetness drenching your boy shorts. seeing him like this set you off. needy for anything you’d give him. “you said you’d always give me what i want. cum for me, baby.” your name fell from his lips as a breathless chant. his body going ridged against you before violently shaking and flexing his abs. “y-y-ahh, fuck! i’m cumming, i’m cumming.” warm hot spurts pouring out from his dick onto the top of your fist. roman always came a lot; it creating a waterfall, dripping down the sides of your hand.

sub!roman couldn’t say a word. you continued stroking, wanting to milk every bit of stress out of him “you did so good. you feel better, baby?” his head was spinning. between fighting his tremors off, catching his breath, and your hand still stroking him created an overstimulation. he let out another small whimper as he felt his dick ache for another release. his dick never falling limp, “you wanna cum again? hm? you deserve it. you work so hard, ro.”

[birdiewritessometimes]

ellooo I love your writing smm and I was hoping I could request a Mattheo riddle or Theo Nott x hufflepuff reader (which ever you decide) I feel like you can create a cute fluffy story with either of them being so soft for the reader (or whatever direction you want to take this towards)ㅤ ᵕ̈

Magical Matchmaker

A/N: Hii! Thank you so much for reading my writing and liking it <3 I’m sorry for the wait, I actually started this one before you sent in the request and it fit perfectly together. I’m sorry you had to wait so long for it though but I hope I’m making up for it in length! I shit you not, Archie is based on my cat and he loved toe bean massage! Also I promise I don’t hate Draco he’s just a perfect character to show how the slytherin boys values people I guess. Also, also, Slytherin boys + astronomy tower = <3 Btw its always Cormac who is an annoying ass…

Archie is my first cute little oc, he might make appearances later on in other stories since i love him so much <3

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!reader

Themes/warnings: Fluff, fighting, blood, smoking, that’s all I could think of, please let me know if there’s more

Word count: 7500-ish

Please do not copy or translate my work!

The soft rumble of the train could be heard as you walked through the train corridor. You were holding your cat, Archimedes, in your arms. The black cat was comfortably asleep as you searched the compartments for your friends, Hannah Abbott and Megan Jones. The train had just left the station around five minutes ago, yet you can’t seem to find your friends anywhere. Archimedes awoke when you stopped at one compartment to peer inside for your friends. Inside sat a group of boys, known for starting fights, talking back to teachers and just being trouble in general, most students were wary of them. They were in your year, all in Slytherin. In your time at Hogwarts, you had managed to stay clear of their radar. That all came to change the moment Archimedes jumped out of your arms and sneaked into the loud boys’ compartment. Your blood ran cold when you saw him jump up in one of the boys’ lap. You prepared yourself to go in there to apologise but you stopped when you saw how the curly haired boy gently petted Archimedes’ head, a smile on his face.

“Oi, where did that cat come from?” One of the boys, you recognised him as Blaise Zabini, he was known as a flirt, asked. The boy who held your cat in his lap was Mattheo Riddle, he was known as the intimidating, scary boy most people feared. The other two boys were Theodore Nott, the quiet one, and Lorenzo Berkshire, the sweet one in the group. You saw how Lorenzo leaned over to pet Archimedes.

“He is so cute.” He said as he also petted your cat. You saw how Mattheo swatted his hand away a playful frown on his face.

“Hey, he came to me, back of Enzo.” You heard him mutter irritably before continuing to pet Archimedes’ head gently. The scene in front of you made you smile; it almost made you forget who you were staring at. They looked so innocent as they surveyed Archimedes. Mattheo had a soft smile on his face while Lorenzo had a mischievous one, continuously trying to pet him. Theodore was chuckling at the scene while Blaise was grinning widely. Realising the situation you gently knocked on the door before sliding it open so you could stand in the doorway. All four boys snapped their eyes towards you, tearing their eyes from your cat. You cleared your throat awkwardly.

“Hi, uh, I’m sorry, Archimedes, my cat sneaked in here…” You trailed off, feeling more awkward by the second as they just stared at you, Mattheo still petting your very content cat’s head.

“Y/n, right? I didn’t know you had a cat.” Theodore cleared his throat, his eyebrows furrowed. You let out an awkward chuckle, the whole situation made you feel out of place. Like you had intruded and, in some way, you suppose you did. But you didn’t want to lose Archimedes on the train, he was a pain to find again, since he was deaf.

“Yep, since first year.” You confirmed, you could feel an amused smile make its way to your face at the awkward situation. They were looking at you like they have never seen you before, or like you were some sort of alien. Your eyes travelled to the curly haired boy who you’re your cat. He looked like he would rather die than to let you have Archimedes back.

“Y/n? You’re a Hufflepuff right?” Lorenzo asked, giving you a kind smile, probably trying to ease the weird atmosphere, which you returned.

“Yep, also since first year.” You chuckled, making him chuckle too. You saw that the rest of the group smiled at you too, except for Mattheo.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth that he really is yours?” Mattheo asked suspiciously, you let out a chuckle again at him. His eyebrow shifted upwards as he gave you a suspecting look. You nodded at your cat’s collar.

“Check his collar, his name, my name and my address are on there.” You said, now feeling amused at the situation. It seemed like Mattheo was trying to stall giving him back to you. You saw how Mattheo gently checked the tag on Archimedes’ collar, a frown on his face.

“Archimedes, y/n l/n, 71 The Green, London.” He mumbled, a sulking look on his face, this made you let out a giggle. Deciding to tune in with your kindness, that Hufflepuffs valued so much, you decided to let him cuddle Archimedes for the train ride.

“You’re welcome to cuddle him if you’d like, but do you mind if I sit then? I don’t want to lose him.” You said, but you realised your mistake as the words left your mouth. Mattheos eyebrows shot up in a questioning manner.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean that I don’t trust you with him, it’s just that he is, uh, deaf, so I don’t want to leave him on the train.” You rambled, feeling more embarrassed by the second. Mattheo’s face went back to normal, as he didn’t bother to answer you. You saw how Lorenzo and Theodore made space for you to sit next to them, to which you smiled and sat down. You saw how Mattheo lifted your cat, so they were face to face, Archimedes purring loudly.

“So, you’re deaf huh? And you have a silly name.” He muttered to your cat.

“Hey, my son doesn’t have a silly name! It’s cute.” You said defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest. This made the group chuckle and Mattheo to look past Archimedes and at you, an eyebrow raised in mock questioning.

“Damn, I didn’t know that you were a MILF, y/n.” Blaise said, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah- wait- I- no, what?” You stuttered out, completely taken aback by his comment. Mattheo let your cat back down on his lap before he whacked Blaise over the back of the head with a loud ‘smack’.

“Behave.” He muttered irritably.

“Don’t mind Blaise, his mum dropped him on his head when he was a baby.” Theodore mumbled from beside Lorenzo on the stuffy train seat that you now shared. You gave him a grateful smile as a reply before letting out a short laugh at his comment.

“Where did the name Archimedes come from anyways?” Mattheo asked nonchalantly, the question made a blush rise on your cheeks.

“Oh, my favourite film when I was little was the muggle film about king Arthur, it’s called the sword in the stone. Well, Merlin’s owl was called Archimedes in the movie, and I thought it was cute.” You explained which earned you a chuckle from the group.

“So not even like from the famous muggle guy? But like from a film?” Lorenzo said, a teasing tone in his voice. The question made you let out an embarrassed chuckle.

“Well, I was never into maths when I was little, just magic I guess, I failed maths every year I had to take it in muggle school.” You shrugged, not even thinking about the confession you just made.

“So, you’re muggleborn?” Theodore asked lightly, but the question was loaded, considering what some people, mostly Slytherins, thought about muggleborns. You felt slightly nervous due to the fact that you know whose son sat in front of you. Now you have never heard him utter as much as one bad word against muggleborns, but he did surround himself with pureblood wizards.

“Uh, yeah, that a problem?” You asked, suspicion in your voice at the question. Theodore must have realised his mistake because his eyes widened in panic.

“Wait, no, of course not, we don’t care, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean the question like that.” He apologised.

“Don’t worry, we’re not like Malfoy, we don’t care who your family is.” Lorenzo added, a gentle smile on his face. You looked at Blaise and Mattheo who nodded, a gentle expression on Mattheo’s face. It took you aback at first before a small smile broke out on your face.

“Good, because I think we will see a lot more of each other.” You said, brightness back in your voice. The boys gave you a look of confusion.

“Because Archimedes obviously likes you.” You said as a matter of fact, an answer to their questioning looks. They let out a chuckle and hummed in agreement. The boys then started talking about their summers on the ride back to school. They discussed what they did during summer and the excitement for the quidditch season to begin. At one point Blaise asked you to switch places, Lorenzo and Theodore was going to show him pictures from the national quidditch match that they went to during the summer. As you sat next to Mattheo you could feel his cologne hit your nose, he smelled rich with a hint of cigarettes and mint. Archimedes was asleep on his lap, but when you sat down your cat stretched out, so he was laying on his side and had one paw on your leg. With a small smile you massaged his paw. You heard Mattheo let out a chuckle making you look up at him. He was looking at your cat, amusement in his eyes.

“He is really something isn’t he?” He muttered as he stroked the sleek black fur on Archimedes side. His silver rings contrasting against the dark fur on your cat.

“He is the best.” You answered softly as your eyes shifted from his face to his warm brown eyes. You had never really realised how attractive he was before. But when he had this soft half smile on his face and that soft look in his eyes when he looked at Archimedes made you realise why half the female population at school have or at least have had a crush on him. His eyes snapped to yours as you were studying his face. A crease appeared between his eyebrows as he surveyed you.

“You’re not scared of me.” It wasn’t a question. His statement made you smile, because if someone asked you how you felt about Mattheo before this you would’ve said that he made you nervous at least. But now he didn’t. You shook your head at his question.

“Why, should I be?” You asked in a teasing voice. You saw a teasing smile, an actual full smile, make its way onto his face.

“I don’t think so, but then that wouldn’t go with the whole 'scary aura' I have going on.” He answered with a small chuckle. He did quotation marks around the two words most of the student body used to describe him. You could feel a grin break out on your face at his smile.

“So, he can smile.” You teased, what gave you the confidence you don’t know, maybe it was the relaxed atmosphere in his group of friends or was it just the fact that he smiled at you. It was a testament to the fact that he wasn’t always scary or serious.

“Shut up.” He muttered as he tried to supress his smile, but to no avail.

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’ll notice if you get to know me that I am a yapper, I yap about everything.” You beamed up at him. He let out a chuckle at that.

“Really, about everything huh?” He asked, a smirk on his face to which you let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, everything, like the fact that cats are obviously so much better than owls, and that quidditch is a weird sport and that my favourite colour is copper, that my favourite condiment is ketchup, and, oh you’re laughing at me, but I can go on all night.” You giggled as Mattheo let out a chuckle at your ramble.

“Wait, you think quidditch is weird?” He realised what you had rambled about, you nodded at his question.

“Why?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face. The two of you were so engrossed in your conversation that you stopped noticing what the others talked about, they had switched their topic to the two of you.

“What do you recon? I think he likes her.” Blaise muttered to Lorenzo who was sitting in the middle.

“She obviously likes him, look at how she is looking at him.” Lorenzo added.

“Do you think the cat knows something about this, I mean he led her to him in the first place?” Theodore asked suspiciously. At that moment Archimedes lifted his head from Mattheo’s hand, just as if he had heard him, and blinked slowly at the three boys on the seat opposite him.

“No fucking way.” Blaise said to which Lorenzo and Theodore nodded stunned.

“What’s not weird about quidditch?” You asked at the same time as the conversation between the other took place.

“What’s weird about it?” Mattheo countered.

“It’s a sport you play on broomsticks, it has no time limit, you beat balls at each other, come on Mattheo, you have to admit that that’s weird.” You gestured as you tried to get your point across.

“Oh, I think that’s perfectly normal.” He argued which made you let out a laugh.

“You’re only saying that for the arguments sake.” You said with a laugh, Mattheo let out a laugh of his own at this.

“Are we having our first argument as friends?” He asked, a teasing note in his voice.

“Hmm, I don’t know, are we friends?” You teased back. Mattheo reacted to this by placing his hand over where his heart is, in mock hurt.

“You wound me, love.” You felt a blush rise to your cheeks in record time at the nickname.

“I- uh, what?” You let out in your flustered state as your eyes shifted from his to your cat that still laid in his lap. You felt a finger poke your cheek.

“You’re cute when you blush, princess.” He said, really stressing the princess-part. You swatted his finger away, despite your flustered state.

“Oh, shut up Mattheo.” You laughed and what you didn’t see, but the three boys opposite you in the compartment noticed was the gentle smile on Mattheo’s face as he watched you laugh. It was softer than it usually was. The cold stare and frown that his face usually consisted of were replaced by a soft smile and gentle eyes. The same look he had when he saw Archimedes for the first time just hours ago. Time went by quickly on the Hogwarts express and before you knew it you found yourself on the platform moving along with the boys towards the carriages. As you walked, Archimedes in your arms once again, you tried looking for your two friends. You couldn’t see them anywhere on the platform. You felt an arm around your body as you walked, you looked to the side and found Mattheo by your side, leading you through the crowd to follow his friends.

“Come on, you can find your friends at the castle, when there isn’t that much chaos.” He muttered in your ear. You felt the blush rise to your cheeks once again, this time because of his proximity. Before you knew it you reached the carriages and you felt Mattheo’s warm hand on your back as you climbed up the small steps, Archimedes still in your arms. You felt hot, despite the cold evening air that swept around you.

“You okay y/n?” Theodore asked when he saw your face. The carriage started moving towards the castle after Mattheo had entered.

“Yeah, you look a bit red, are you cold?” Lorenzo asked, genuine concern on his face. If he only knew that you were feeling everything but cold. You dared to take a peak at Mattheo who was wearing a small smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You cleared your throat and directed a grateful smile at Theodore and Lorenzo before directing a glare at Mattheo, who sent you a wink in return. The rest of the ride up to the castle consisted of the boys talking loudly with each other. Playful insults and banter were thrown around along with the occasional joke which made the atmosphere lively and fun. As the carriage came to a stop before the entrance the boys all got out. When it was your turn you saw that Mattheo was standing by the entrance, ready to help you down. You sent him a grateful smile but before you could even as much as take a step down, he had grabbed you around the waist and swiftly lifted you down to the ground leaving you speechless. You could hear how the others tried to keep in their laughter as they saw your stunned face.

“I- they- they should call you the flirty one, not Blaise!” You let out when you came back to your senses, this was the thing that made the others burst out laughing, Mattheo full on grinning at you.

“What? I’m just being friendly.” Mattheo said innocently making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Oh, shut up, darling.” You said the pet name sarcastically before you slowly started to make your way into the castle, leaving the boys outside.

“See you later, love!” Mattheo shouted after you, a grin on his face, his friends still chuckling. When you entered the castle, you let Archimedes go to do some exploring, knowing that he will always be in your bed by night. You entered the great hall and saw the usual enchanted ceiling that hovered over the four house tables. The Hufflepuff one was one of the tables in the middle, next to the Slytherin table on the left and the Ravenclaw table on the right. Right next to the Ravenclaw table was the Gryffindor table. You found your friends; they were seated in the middle of the table. You ran over to them with excitement as they stood up and embraced you in a group hug. Hannah was on the Hufflepuff quidditch team as you and Megan chose to focus more on your academics. Not that Hannah wasn’t good in school, she was brilliant, she just chose to focus more on sports. The three of you sat down and caught up with each other, about how your summers were and what subjects you were excited about. After the sorting you talked, laughed and ate with your friends, completely forgetting to fill them in on your train ride here. With your bellies full you and your friends made your way down to the Hufflepuff common room and to your dorms. You were quiet with tiredness as you got ready for bed. You were out before your head even hit the pillow, Archimedes comfortably asleep on the extra pillow on your bed by your head.

The first day back went by quickly and before you knew it you were doing your homework in the great hall with Hannah and Megan as you waited for dinner. Archimedes were sitting on the bench next to you, extremely interested in the movements of your quill. You were working on an essay for defence against the dark arts, two rolls of parchment on how to identify and protect yourself from a kelpie, a water demon who looks like a horse. While you were thinking of how to write your next paragraph you looked up from your work. Your eyes searched the room, like they seemed to do automatically since you’ve been back, until they met the copper brown eyes of Mattheo. You have found yourself looking for him in every room you entered since you met him. You sat there looking at each other for a moment. You sent him a soft smile, which he replied with one of his soft looks. You felt a blush rise to your cheek as you broke your eye contact, just after you saw the slight smirk on his face. It seemed like Archimedes noticed Mattheo too, because with a sound that sounded like a pigeon he jumped off the bench and dashed over to Mattheo and his friends. You smiled when you saw how your cat head butted Mattheo’s arm, begging for attention. You saw how Mattheo smiled and lifted your cat up on the table so he could pet him easier while he talked to his friends. Archimedes looked at you for a long while before curling up in front of Mattheo.

Over the next couple of days you noticed that whenever Mattheo was close by Archimedes would run to him, begging for attention. All while staring at you. You assumed it was because he really liked the boy, but you couldn’t lie, it hurt a little that the cat you nursed since he was a kitten chose a boy he had just met over you. It was Friday night, after dinner, you were relaxing in your dorm when your cat tried to get you to follow him, so you did. Archimedes was walking hurriedly along the corridors of the castle. He was leading you up multiple stairs, through passageways and along corridors. Soon enough you found yourself at the foot of the stairs that led up to the astronomy tower. You looked suspiciously at your cat who had started to climb the stairs.

“Archie, are you sure about this? It feels like you’re trying to trick me.” You muttered but started to walk up the stairs anyway. You followed your cat up the stairs in silence but when you neared the top Archimedes started running up the stairs.

“Archie, wait!” You shouted, as if he could hear you. When you reached the top of the stairs you stopped. There was Mattheo standing by the rail, curls windswept, looking cozy in a sweater and your cat was stroking his body along his legs. Mattheo was smoking a cigarette as he looked at your cat stunned, before shifting his eyes to you.

“How did he know I was here?” He asked you, confusion in his voice. You looked at him bewildered.

“I have no idea; he dragged me out of my dorm for this.” You said, confusion in your voice too. Mattheo beckoned you to come closer and your body moved before you could think.

“Could you hold this for me?” He asked as he stuck his cigarette out for you to hold. You took it awkwardly and held it between your index and thumb as Mattheo removed his sweatshirt. You saw how he folded up the material and placed it by the castle wall. In an instant Archimedes was lying on it, looking extremely content. You felt a soft smile form on your face when you watched how the boy cared for your cat.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said softly as you stared at the boy in front of you. He let out a chuckle as he took his cigarette back.

“I take it that you don’t know that your cat seems to be obsessed with my sweaters, I’ve found him in my sweatshirt drawer like three times this week.” He said with a chuckle. You let out a startled laugh

“What? No, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry Mattheo, I don’t know what has gotten into him.” You said apologetically. Mattheo waved your apology away.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m quite fond of him.” He admitted.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed…” You muttered, reminded of the fact that your cat seemed to have a new favourite person. Mattheo raised an eyebrow as he took a drag of his cigarette, a silent question in the air.

“It’s just, he seems to be obsessed with you, and it hurts because I was the one who fed him with a bottle when he was a kitten.” You let out with a pout. Mattheo let out a laugh before throwing his arm over your shoulders, dragging you into him. You didn’t register what was happening as he squeezed you, sort of like a half hug, but with your face in his chest. His warmth surrounded you along with the scent of his cologne mixed with the smoke from the cigarette.

“I’m sure he loves you the most, you’re still his mum you know.” Mattheo said softly, his arm still around your shoulders, holding you close. You looked up at him with big eyes, he had a small smirk on his handsome face as he took another drag of the cigarette. Your eyes travelled down to his hand and then down his exposed arm. That’s when you noticed the goosebumps on his skin and your eyes snapped back to his.

“Is the reason why you’re holding me like this because you’re cold?” You asked suspiciously. Mattheo let out a startled chuckle.

“What, no? You looked cold, so I thought you would like a hug.” He said, his voice slightly higher than his usual smooth voice.

“Liar!” You said, a laugh escaping you as you pointed an accusing finger at him. He put out his cigarette, tossing the butt over the railing before letting both of his hands find your waist inside the zip up hoodie you were wearing while letting out a chuckle.

“I’m not! Now you seemed to enjoy this last time.” He said, his voice smooth as he looked straight in your eyes. He was obviously hinting at when he ‘helped’ you down from the carriage, you were determined to not fold this time.

“Don’t try to deflect this to me, Mattheo.” You said, a grin on your face, you saw how a smile appeared on his face too. Your hands found their place on his chest as the two of you stood there, smiling at each other. If you thought about it, it was kind of weird, you had only known each other for a week, but then again you have been classmates since first year so maybe it wasn’t that weird that you now stood here, in his embrace, staring up in his beautiful copper-like eyes.

“You know, Theo said something that sounded something along the ramblings of a mad man the other day when we found Archimedes in my room.” He said lowly, careful not to ruin the moment.

“What did he say?” You breathed out.

“He said that your cat was trying to get us together.” He mumbled, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips briefly. Your breath got caught in your throat for a moment, before his eyes met yours again.

“You’re right, he did sound like a mad man.” You mumbled back, your own eyes wandering his beautiful face. Because if you had to describe him with one word it had to be beautiful. Your eyes wandered from his eyes to the scar on his nose, to his pink lips, to his jaw, back to his eyes, paying extra attention to the scar that ran across his eyebrow. You felt breathless as the wind carried his cologne to your nose, the smell of cigarettes intensified from the one he just had. You felt how his hand traced shapes on your back, right over the fabric of your sleepshirt and you thought your brain stopped working for a moment.

“Theo didn’t sound like a mad man, Theo was right.” The voice of none other than Theodore broke the spell between the two of you, both of you jumped back, as if you were burned, “Please tell me that you guys saw that?” Theo asked Lorenzo and Blaise who was standing beside him at the top of the stairs.

“Yep.” Lorenzo said.

“Clear as day.” Blaise added before looking around, “And look, Archimedes is here, what a coincidence.” He added sarcastically.

“You guys sound very paranoid; he is just a normal cat.” You said with a laugh, after you had collected yourself from what ever had been going on with you and Mattheo. You leaned against the cold railing on the astronomy tower.

“You don’t think it’s a little weird how obsessed he is with Mattheo?” Lorenzo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Hey, what do I know, maybe he likes his energy, or I don’t know, his cologne maybe, it is good by the way,” you added, nodding to Mattheo who chuckled, “or he is just a weird cat who makes weird decisions.” You shrugged. The three boys looked at you for a moment in silence.

“Nah!” They all let out making you giggle.

“So, you would rather believe that he is some magical matchmaker?” You asked, disbelief mixed with amusement laced your voice. You heard Mattheo chuckle from beside you. The response consisted of various agreeing mumbles.

“So, what were you two doing before we came here?” Blaise asked while wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, because what were you doing? What would’ve happened if you weren��t interrupted? The thoughts made your blush intensify.

“I- we- we were, uh… oh look at the time, I got to get to bed, we have class tomorrow.” You rambled while going to pick up Archimedes and get out of there, the embarrassment filling you up. You heard chuckles and when you turned to walk away you came face to chest with Mattheo.

“Now where are you going, princess?” He asked, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Uh, to bed?” It came out like a question more than an answer.

“I bet Mattheo would die to join her.” You heard Blaise mutter to the others who burst out in quiet laughter. If Mattheo heard him, he didn’t let on. You bit your lower lip, as an attempt to stifle the embarrassment but also the giddiness you were feeling.

“Darling, it’s Friday, we don’t have class tomorrow.” He said slowly, his smirk growing into a whole grin when he saw that it dawned on you. You heard the others chuckling loudly at you, making you send a glare at them. They stopped laughing as they put their hands up in mock surrender. You nodded at Mattheo and put Archimedes down on Mattheo’s sweatshirt again. You ended up staying with them for a while, after the embarrassment subdued. You noticed that if you weren’t counting Mattheo, you had the most in common with Theo. Despite him thinking that your cat was some magical match maker. They were all really funny and you were really grateful for being able to see this side of them. You and Theo would gang up on Mattheo, poking fun at him through the night, Enzo and Blaise joining in from time to time. After a couple of hours, you started to feel tired, Archimedes had moved from the spot in Mattheo’s sweater to your lap, making you feel loved by your cat again. Mattheo bumped your shoulder when you stifled your like 10th yawn for the evening. You looked at him with a small smile before looking around at the others.

“I’m sorry boys, I’m too tired,” you yawned, “I’m going to bed.” You said with a sleepy smile on your face. They nodded understandingly. You stood up, Archimedes was asleep in your arms, like usual. The boys all said their various ‘good nights’ to you, but Mattheo rose to his feet and followed you to the stairs. You stopped at the top of the stairs.

“You don’t have to walk me back, I’ll manage.” You smiled at the boy before you as you placed what you thought to be a grateful hand on his arm. Mattheo looked like he wanted to say something, balling his hand into a fist before releasing it again and again. You furrowed your eyebrows in concern.

“Are you okay, Mattheo?” You asked gently. He let out a breath before looking you directly in the eye.

“Yeah,” he let out another breath, “just get back safe, okay?” He said before letting his hand brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand rested on the side of you neck before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, right by your hairline. You think your brain stopped working and your heart went into overdrive. You stared at him with wide eyes, a blush dusting your cheeks from his actions. He was watching you intently for any sign of discomfort. His large, warm hand, calloused from quidditch, was still resting on the side of your neck. He could no doubt feel your rapid pulse. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you finally came to it. You gave him a small smile.

“Yeah, good night.” You let out softly, the smile still on your face. You noticed that a similar smile made its way onto his face as well as he muttered a ‘good night’ back before you started to descend the stairs and make your way back to your dorm. You fell asleep thinking of him, Archimedes sleeping soundly on the pillow next to you. Over the next couple of weeks you realised that the feelings you had for Mattheo weren’t exactly as platonic as you thought they were in the beginning. You had started to hang out with the notorious boys more. You realised that you had developed a crush on the boy one night when the two of you were hanging out in the astronomy tower. The others hadn’t shown up yet, Archimedes were sleeping on the extra sweater Mattheo had brought for him, and you were sitting next to each other, shoulders touching, as he smoked his cigarette. You were joking about Cormac McLaggen, the older Gryffindor had a pompous air about him which the two of you found hilarious.

“And he thinks he’s so much better than everyone, god, I hate him.” Mattheo laughed to which you were laughing along.

“Also, that he totally turns into a douche if you reject him.” You gossiped.

“Really?” Mattheo asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, he asked my friend Megan out last year, she very politely declined, and he called her a bitch and stormed off.” You explained. You saw how Mattheo looked at you with a look between disbelief and irritation.

“He is such a tool, I wish I had a reason to kick his ass.” Mattheo muttered irritably. You let out a chuckle and turned your body fully to him, grabbing his face between your hands, slightly squishing it. His face made you let out a giggle.

“Hey, no need to fight him when you’re already better than him.” You giggled before letting go of his face. You saw a small smile on his face before he took another drag of his cigarette. This was the moment you realised, you liked him more than a friend. Little did you know that about a week after this Mattheo had gotten a reason to kick Cormac’s ass. You were walking with Hannah and Megan to lunch, it was a Friday, now early November. The castle was chilly, and the grounds wet from all the rain. Hufflepuff had beaten Ravenclaw in the first quidditch match a couple of weeks ago. Archimedes had found you while you were walking, and you had scoped your cat up in your arms. When you rounded a corner and into another corridor Cormac stopped you.

“Hi, y/n, do you have a second?” He had asked.

“Yeah,” you turned to your friends, “I’ll see you guys in lunch.” You told them, you assumed he wanted help with herbology, since you had a particular knack for the subject. You turned to Cormac with a smile but before you could say anything Archimedes leapt out of your arms and dashed around the corner you just came from.

“How can I help you, Cormac?” You asked kindly, even if you’d just made fun of him with Mattheo some time ago. He stepped closer to you, closer than comfortable. His strong, overpowering cologne hit your nose, almost making you sneeze.

“What do you say, how about a date? I can take you to Hogsmeade before taking you back to my dorm.” He wiggled his eyebrows. You tried your best not to make a face at his sleazy attempt at asking you out on a date.

“No, I’m sorry Cormac-”

“Come on, it will be worth your while, I’ve heard I’m a very good date.” He pressed on, stepping even closer to you, making your take a step back.

“She said no.” The voice of Mattheo startled you. He was staring Cormac down, his look dangerous. By his feet was no other than Archimedes. You scoped you cat up agian as you shifted your attention back to the tense situation before you. Mattheo looked scary, almost dangerous like this. His fist clenched, his eyes focused on Cormac, like he was some prey, he was clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“Look man,” Cormac lightly clapped Mattheo on his arm before continuing, “this has nothing to do with you, so how about you move along, huh?” what a brave man, you thought because Mattheo’s whole face darkened at this.

“What’s so hard to understand about the word ‘no’?” Mattheo asked, his voice cold and hard. You heard footsteps round the corner and cast a quick look behind you. It was Blaise, Theo and Enzo. It made you feel a bit better. You gently placed a hand on Mattheo’s arm, trying to diffuse the tense situation.

“Come on, Mattheo, let’s just go.” You said softly before turning to Cormac, “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” You said with the kindest voice you could muster. Then you heard it, it made your blood run cold. Cormac had muttered something under his breath right before straightening up. Mattheo heard it too.

“What did you say?” He asked, anger clear in his voice. Cormac, who wasn’t known for his superior intellect, repeated what he said, louder this time.

“Whatever, who wants a mudblood anyways.” He said, a smug smirk on his face. You felt tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t been called that in a long time. You felt a hand grab your arm, pulling you away from Mattheo, it was Theo. Tears were slipping down your cheeks silently. He rubbed your back in a comforting manner.

“You’re okay, come here, I’m sure Mattheo don’t want you to see this.” He said gently while leading you around the corner and placed himself in your way. The last thing you had seen was how Mattheo had frozen, presumably in anger. Then you heard a thud and a sickening crack. Someone had punched someone. Your eyes widened in panic as you looked up at Theo. Archimedes tried stroking your hand with his head to give you some comfort. Theo looked out from behind the corner.

“Don’t worry y/n, Mattheo is fine, he usually is.” Theo said, reassuringly while you could hear thuds and grunts repeatedly. You felt sick to your stomach with worry, and you tried to comfort yourself by hugging Archimedes closer, he made his usual pigeon sound before he headbutted your face in affection, also effectively drying your tears in the process. Theo let out a small chuckle.

“Will you believe me now that he is some magical match maker? He came and found us and led us here.” You knew Theo just tried to get your mind of the fight that was happening on the other side of the wall, but you let him.

“He did?” You asked softly as you looked into the yellow eyes of your cat.

“Yeah, he sounded panicked as well, I’ve never heard him meow so loud before.” Theo said also looking at your cat. Before you could talk further about the subject the thuds and groans had stopped and Mattheo came around the corner, a frantic look in his eyes. Your eyes searched his frame for injuries, a small cut on his lip and one larger on his eyebrow. He grabbed your face gently, his knuckles bloody and bruised.

“Are you okay, love? Did he hurt you?” He asked, worry evident in his voice. You saw in the corner of your eye how Theo slowly backed away and went around the corner, presumably joining Enzo and Blaise to give you some privacy. You looked at Mattheo a small frown on your face.

“You’re hurt.” You said softly to which Mattheo let out a huff like chuckle.

“That’s not what I asked, darling, are you hurt?” He asked, his voice gentle, but stressing the ‘you’. You shook your head as an answer to his question.

“But you are.” You said, stubbornly, “and is Cormac…” You trailed off.

“I’m fine and he is fine, well, bruised, but fine I guess.” He said, finally giving in. You let out a breath of relief.

“Let’s clean you up.” You said softly before dragging him into the girl’s bathroom that was just down the corridor.

“You know this is the girl’s bathroom, right?” He said suspiciously as you wetted some paper to clean up his cuts.

“Yeah, and I’m a girl.” You said as if it was obvious. Archimedes, who you had let down to wet the paper was sitting and watching the two of you on one of the sinks. Mattheo let out a chuckle. You gently dabbed at the cut in his eyebrow. Your other hand was resting on his shoulder. You felt his hands rest on your waist, just like that time in the astronomy tower. Your eyes looked over his face as you cleaned his cut.

“That was a very stupid thing to do, Mattheo.” You mumbled softly, you felt how he let out a huff like chuckle again, the sound echoing on the tiled walls of the bathroom.

“No one will ever get away with calling you shit like that. Now he and everyone else know that you’re off limits.” He muttered, some anger still left in his voice. You stopped what you were doing and looked, really looked, at him. His jaw was still tense, those copper-brown eyes that you liked so much still had shadows in them. You put down the damp paper on the edge of the sink before gently cupping his face in your hands.

“Hey, I’m fine, you’re fine, mostly. Thank you, for what you did, I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” You said softly, your thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones. His eyes immediately softened as they met yours. His hands squeezed your waist in an affectionate manner, the butterflies in your stomach running wild. He was looking at you intently, his Bambi eyes scanning your face, quickly stopping at your lips before returning to your eyes.

“To be honest I saw red the moment I saw him so close to you but when he said that,” He paused, closing his eyes as if he was remembering something painful, “I wanted to rip him apart. I don’t think I have a right to say you’re off limits to others, you’re not even mine, but I couldn’t stop myself from threaten him to stay away.” You had no idea where his honesty came from, but his admission made a gentle smile appear on your face.

“What?” He asked, when he saw your smile. You felt brave enough to snake your hands around his neck as you stood on the tips of your toes.

“But I am yours Mattheo, I’ve been for a while.” You mumbled lowly your own eyes flickering to his pink lips, the bottom one having a cut from the fight that had just happened.

“What?” He breathed out, his hands squeezing your waist once again as he simultaneously pulled you closer, so that you were flush against him. You nodded, a big smile on your face.

“Fuck, princess, you can’t just say shit like that and not expect me to kiss you.” He muttered, his face now considerably closer. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, you could count each individual eye-lash on his eyes from how close you were.

“Maybe I want you to.” You muttered before you closed the gap between the two of you. He kissed you back immediately. The kiss was slow and passionate and tasted slightly like iron as your hands gently raked through his hair. His hands ran over your back and waist, exploring every curve before finding their place low on your hips. His lips were soft and gentle as he tried to convey every feeling he had towards you through the kiss. You gently pulled on his hair, earing a groan from him, making you smile into the kiss. Finally, you had to break apart for air, but your faces stayed close.

“Does this mean I get to threaten people to stay away from you?” You asked teasingly, once you caught your breath from the kiss. Mattheo let out a chuckle before nodding. But before either of you could say or do anything else, the familiar sound of Archimedes could be heard. He walked over to you and headbutted both of you in affection. You let out a chuckle.

“You know what, I recon Theo was right about him.” Mattheo said with a chuckle before kissing you again.

[togrowoldinv]

Meeting the Team

Carol Danvers x Female Reader

Carol brings Monica and Kamala home to take refuge for an evening and to meet her wife. Fluff ensues

Note: I was just thinking about Carol having a secret wife and the lovely Monica and Kamala meeting her. Enjoy this one!

Carol Danvers Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You’re stirred from your sleep when you hear the sound of a ship landing near your house. You hope it’s Carol’s.

When you hear the sound of the front door unlocking, you roll out of bed and walk to greet her in the front room.

She’s in her suit but it looks a little worse for wear. Carol catches sight of you and the weight falls off her shoulders.

“Hey sweetheart,” Carol says softly, a smirk rests on her face.

You cross the room quickly and pull her into a hug. She flinches due to her own soreness but keeps hugging you anyways.

“Are you okay?” You ask her, grabbing her face in your hands.

“I’m okay,” she says.

Her eyes are determined. You realize she’s here just for a short time to regroup or gather some information.

“I missed you,” you say.

“I missed you,” Carol replies.

You lean in to kiss her but you stop short when you see two women, or rather one woman and one teenage girl, walk in the door behind her.

“Carol?” You alert her to the presence.

“It’s okay,” Carol says. “We’re- well I guess we’re a team.”

“We are so a team,” the teenage girl says.

Carol tries to hold back a smile but you see it on her face that she likes these teammates. She turns around and holds you by the waist.

“Y/n, this is Kamala and Monica,” Carol says.

“Wait, the Monica?” You ask. The woman’s eyes flash to Carol’s at your words.

“Yeah,” Carol says. “Our powers are entangled.”

“Right, okay. It’s nice to meet you both, come on in and make yourself comfortable,” you say.

They move to sit on the couch. Carol goes to the bathroom to freshen up first.

“What was your name again?” Monica asks you.

“Y/n,” you supply. “I’m Carol’s wife.”

“Oh my god,” Kamala says, mostly to herself.

“What?” You ask.

“Oh, she’s just a fan girl,” Monica explains. “She’ll be writing fanfiction later about Carol having a secret wife.”

You chuckle at the girl’s antics. You can’t blame her for loving Carol enough to want to create new versions of her.

“Carol and I got married a few years ago,” you say. “But we really haven’t been able to spend much time together. Planets need saving and all that.”

“Sounds familiar,” Monica says.

Carol enters the room and sits down next to you with a sigh. You want to ask more about her reuniting with Monica but that’s for another time when it’s just the two of you.

“Do you have powers?” Kamala asks. You realize this girl has a talent for breaking awkward silences.

“I do not,” you say. “Although, wrangling this one in should be considered a power.”

“Wow,” Carol says. “I’m offended.”

“Don’t be, baby,” you say. You kiss her cheek and she tries to hide her blush. “It’s a privilege to love you. Even when you run off to space for months at a time.”

“You could go with me if you want,” Carol shrugs.

“Nope. That’s your world up there. Not mine,” you reply. Carol only smiles. “Are you guys hungry?”

“Starving,” Kamala answers. “I mean no, we’re good.”

“Come with me,” you tell her.

You lead the girl into the kitchen and let her take her pick of food to eat. She settles on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Kamala asks you a few questions about Carol and your relationship. She seems genuinely excited with every answer she receives.

Monica and Carol are in the living room still. You don’t hear much talking, so you make Carol a sandwich and go get her.

“Babe, I made you a sandwich,” you say. “Please eat at least half. I know you haven’t been remembering to eat a lot.”

“I’m fine,” Carol says. “I get enough.”

“Go.” You leave no room for argument. She sighs and goes to the kitchen. That leaves you alone with Monica.

The woman is sitting on the couch. You know from her vantage point that she can see the framed photo of Maria that Carol keeps on the shelf.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” you say, not really knowing what to say.

“Oh, thanks,” she replies.

“You know I think Carol has some more pictures around here somewhere,” you say. “Maybe next time you come by we can look for them.”

“Yeah,” Monica says noncommittally.

“Do you need anything? A drink, food, medicine?” You ask.

“Thank you. I’m okay,” Monica says.

“Are you sure? I can tell Carol is sore so I can imagine you all are,” you say.

“You can tell that about her just from looking at her?”

“From the hug. She flinched,” you explain. “She never admits she’s hurting, but I know she is. Although, I do see a part of her healing. Probably from reuniting with you. She seems happier.”

Monica nods. She knows that this has meant a lot to Carol. It means a lot to her too, but right now she’s still a bit hardened to the idea of being in her presence again.

Carol and Kamala come back into the room before you can say anything else. You help show them where to sleep and then end up back your bedroom with Carol.

She changes into some pajamas and snuggles into bed next to you. You rest your head against her shoulder.

“How long?” You ask her.

“Just until morning,” Carol replies. “I need to fix a part of my ship. And I wanted to see you.”

“How are you doing with this whole Monica thing?”

Carol takes a deep breath. She hasn’t really had time to stop and think about it.

“I’m okay I think,” she says. “I’m good. It’s amazing how she’s grown up to be so wonderful.”

“Yeah? She has powers, that’s insane.”

“I know,” Carol says. “I didn’t know that until I saw her with Fury. She’s really a great person too. I definitely couldn’t keep Kamala as safe without her.”

“What’s the deal with Kamala? She’s a kid who loves you?” You ask, a chuckle escaping from your lips.

“Apparently,” Carol sighs. “But I really don’t feel like I’m a good role model for her. Maybe she’s seeing that in the choices I’ve already had to make in front of her.”

“Hey, you always do your best. Sacrifices are necessary. You know that, baby,” you try to encourage her. “The way that girl looks at you definitely makes me know that she looks up to you.”

Carol kisses your head and rubs a hand over your back. It’s slightly warmer than normal, meaning she’s using her powers to help you relax.

“We need some sleep,” Carol says.

“We do,” you reply. “Hey, don’t let me forget to tell Kamala in the morning about how we met.”

“Oh god, she’s going to write a story about it,” Carol says. “Whatever fanfiction is.”

“It’s fantastic,” you reply.

“You know what it is?”

“Of course, babe.”

“And you’ve read it?” She asks. You nod. “About me?”

“No,” you laugh out. “I don’t need to when I have you already, my love. Although, I do need some new content.”

Carol grins mischievously. She’s sent you countless videos, pictures, and voice memos over the years. But it has been a while since she has done that for you.

“Tell you what, when this thing is over I’m coming back home for a while,” she says. “And we can spend our time doing whatever we want.”

“I’d love that,” you say. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, my beautiful wife,” Carol replies.

You kiss her lips for a few minutes before you both feel the weight of sleep fall over you.

When you wake in the morning, you spend a few more hours with Carol, Kamala, and Monica. The goodbye is always hard, but you know Carol will come back to you. She always does.